by Clara Benson
They took a short tour of the grounds in company with the gardener, and then returned by way of the side of the house to the front door. As they did so, Angela’s attention was caught by a little copse of trees at the bottom of the meadow perhaps two hundred yards away, and she wondered whether that was the wood in which Selina de Lisle had been found. She had half a mind to ask to go and see it, but decided against it, since it would look odd and perhaps even a little ghoulish—for there was no possible reason for anyone to be interested in the place unless they knew of the murder. Besides, after all this time there would be nothing to see.
Angela looked towards the building. Eleven years ago, someone had choked the life out of Selina de Lisle in that house. Whoever it was had shoved her body in a cupboard and then, perhaps in the dead of night, had brought her out here and hidden her in the woods at the bottom of the meadow. What had motivated such an attack?
‘Your brain is revolving, I can tell,’ said Freddy. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing useful,’ said Angela. ‘It’s just that strangling is such an awfully violent way to kill a person. I can’t help thinking that whoever did it must have truly hated her at that moment.’
‘I dare say he did,’ said Freddy. He gave her a glance of what might have been pity, although she did not see it, and then turned to ask the gardener a question.
As Angela continued to gaze absently at the house, she suddenly realized that someone was standing at one of the downstairs windows, looking out. From that distance she could not tell whether it were a man or a woman, but she had the impression of a lowering, brooding face and a kind of stillness. After a moment the face disappeared and did not reappear again.
They returned to the front of the house and were just about to take leave of the gardener when they saw another motor-car approaching up the drive. It stopped next to the Bentley and a man got out, whom Angela immediately recognized from his portrait to be Godfrey de Lisle. He looked completely unlike his brother, having the same tawny hair and light brown eyes as Roger de Lisle, although he lacked the imposing build. He came over to them and introduced himself, then begged their pardon for his having been unable to show them around the place in person.
‘Business took me to London yesterday,’ he said, ‘and I didn’t expect to be back until this evening. As it happened, it did not take as long as I thought it would, and so I came back as soon as I could. I see I am too late, however. I hope you have seen everything you wished to see.’
He had an unsmiling, almost haughty manner, although his words were perfectly polite.
‘Oh yes, thank you,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s a splendid house you have here. It seems just the sort of thing I’m looking for, and in the right part of the world too. Close to the sea, you know, but at the same time not too far from London.’
‘Yes, it is very convenient,’ said Godfrey de Lisle. There was a slight frown on his face as he looked at Freddy, and Angela wondered if he was entirely convinced of the truth of their story. She now spoke up.
‘Are you leaving Kent?’ she said.
‘We intend to,’ said de Lisle. ‘We live here only occasionally. Our home is in France, where we have a wine-making business. Our estates were severely damaged during the war, but we have been rebuilding them and would like to expand further, and so it is convenient to us now to sell Greystone Chase. My wife is French, you see, and is happier at home.’
‘Quite understandable,’ said Freddy.
They took their leave of Mr. de Lisle, promising that he should hear from them soon, and returned to the Bentley. As they expected, William had not much to report since, as Mrs. Smith had said, none of the present household had been at Greystone when the murder took place. They had all heard about it at second-hand, however, and had seen fit to embellish as they wished. The story of the servant who left without notice had been worked up into a fine tale. It was said that Jemima had always been a little simple, but after the murder she had gone quite out of her mind and jumped out of a window in the dead of night, never to be seen again. No-one had any real information to give, however.
‘You didn’t say much,’ observed Freddy to Angela as they returned to the hotel. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said. ‘You were doing such a good job of things I didn’t feel the need to interrupt.’
In reality, she was feeling somewhat drained and had been only too pleased to leave all the talking to Freddy. Still, the visit was over with now. She had done it as she said she would, and it had not been as bad as she had expected, although they did not seem to have learnt very much up to now. It was still a mystery why the de Lisles had appeared to abandon their younger son to his fate. There was no indication that they had felt a particular animosity towards him for any reason, and so it appeared to her that their failure to speak up for him pointed in only one direction: they must have had some additional knowledge or proof of his guilt, and had withheld it in the hope that the case against him would look weaker in court. It seemed the only possible explanation. But if that were the case, then her continued investigation could not unearth anything to his advantage. On the contrary, it would most likely do nothing except to confirm his guilt once and for all, and would certainly do little to help Angela shake off her gloom. The logical thing to do now would be to step back from the case, but oddly enough the thought of there being some hidden proof of Valencourt’s guilt made her even more determined to pursue the investigation, for the events of the past few days had caused a little doubt to creep into the back of her mind. What she wanted was certainty, and to find that she would have to keep going.
AFTER THEIR VISIT to Greystone Chase, Angela and Freddy agreed that if they were to investigate the matter properly they needed more information about the exact circumstances surrounding the death of Selina de Lisle, and so the next morning Freddy took himself off, intending to go and speak to his tame sergeant in the Kent police, to see if he could furnish them with more details of the events of that day. While he was gone Angela intended to try and catch Colonel Dempster alone, to see what he could tell her about the family. Fortunately for her, Mrs. Hudd and Miss Atkinson had spent a tiring day in Ramsgate the day before, and were just beginning a late breakfast as Angela was preparing to go out. Once outside, she took the path along the cliff top instead of descending the steps to the beach, hoping that the colonel would be a man of regular habits and that she would find him on the same stretch of sand as the other day. She was in luck, for as she walked briskly down the path to the promenade she spied the familiar figure, his dog by his side, strolling close to the water’s edge, and she bent her steps in that direction herself, in order to meet him apparently by chance.
As it happened, however, the colonel wanted to speak to her just as much as she did to him. He brightened when he saw her and greeted her heartily.
‘Mrs. Hudd was telling me your son has come to visit,’ he said. ‘Isn’t he out with you today?’
‘Not today. He has gone to visit a friend,’ said Angela. ‘He said he would be back in time for luncheon.’
The colonel harrumphed.
‘Must say, I was most surprised to discover you had a son of that age,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t have thought you nearly old enough.’
Angela acknowledged the compliment graciously. He tapped his nose.
‘And I’ve found out what you’re up to,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ she said in sudden fear.
‘Saw you both leaving Greystone Chase yesterday in your car. Was curious, so I spoke to the gardener. He says you’re thinking of buying the place.’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Angela, relieved. ‘We did go and see it. My son has just come into his inheritance, and I am trying to encourage him to put some of it into property. He’s a good boy, but rather young to have the charge of so much money, and so I thought an estate would be just the thing to teach him some responsibility.’
This was quite patently nonsense, but the colonel seemed
not to have noticed.
‘I dare say,’ he said. ‘Did you like the place?’
Angela spoke in praise of its beauty, and he nodded.
‘Not a bad old house,’ he said. ‘I used to visit often before the whole scandal came out. But after Evelyn died it all rather came to an end.’
He looked sad.
‘I believe you liked her very much,’ said Angela gently.
‘Yes, I did,’ he said. ‘Delightful woman. Don’t mind saying I should have liked to marry her, as a matter of fact. Should have been honoured, but somehow I never dared speak up, and then she married de Lisle and it was all too late after that. He took her to France shortly after their marriage, and then I was posted to Africa, although I made sure she knew that she could always rely on my friendship. They came back here during the war when their house was destroyed, and I’d returned by then too, so I began to visit again. Between you and me I could see she was unhappy in marriage, but it wasn’t my place to say anything, so I didn’t.’
‘Why was she unhappy?’ said Angela.
‘Why, that husband of hers, of course. Something of a tyrant. Never liked him myself. He was descended from the French kings—or that’s what he said. He set great store by it, and treated his house as his own kingdom, of which he was absolute ruler. Everyone crept around the house for fear of him and what he might do if he was crossed. A fearsome temper, he had.’
‘Dear me,’ said Angela.
‘Yes,’ said Colonel Dempster. ‘I don’t say a man oughtn’t to be in charge in his own house, but there’s such a thing as taking it too far. The family had to be careful not to seem to want anything too much, because if he suspected it at all he’d make damned sure they didn’t get it, just so they didn’t all start getting too above themselves.’
‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘That sounds rather mean-spirited.’
‘Yes. It was just like him. I remember when Evelyn’s mother was in her final illness and Evelyn wanted to go and see her, he wouldn’t allow it. Said he couldn’t spare her. Of course, in those days a woman didn’t go against her husband’s wishes, and so she was forced to stay at home and never got to say goodbye to her mother.’
‘How very sad,’ said Angela.
‘Wholly unnecessary,’ said the colonel with a snort.
‘If she was unhappy in marriage, then I suppose she had to look elsewhere for happiness,’ said Angela tentatively. ‘What a shame she was let down by her sons, too—or at least, her younger one. What about the elder one, Godfrey? We met him yesterday and he seemed rather a serious sort.’
‘He is,’ said the colonel. ‘I can’t say I know Godfrey very well. Not an easy chap to read. One of these brooding, secretive, jealous types, you know. One can never tell what he’s thinking. Expect he had a hard time of it from his father. As the eldest he was always destined to take over the estates and the business when Roger died, of course, and Roger was a hard taskmaster. Godfrey quickly learnt to keep his thoughts to himself if he wanted to stay in his father’s good books. Yes,’ he went on ruminatively. ‘I’ve often thought there’s a lot happening beneath the surface with Godfrey.’
‘Did he and his mother get along well?’ said Angela.
‘As far as I know,’ said the colonel. ‘But her real favourite was Edgar, who broke her heart in the end.’
‘If he was her favourite, then his arrest for murder must have come as an awful shock to her. Did she believe he did it?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Colonel Dempster. ‘Nobody did, to start with. Wasn’t the type, you see.’
‘No?’ said Angela.
‘That’s not to say he was an angel—he certainly wasn’t that. Something of a rapscallion as a boy, I gather. His mother almost tore her hair out over some of his antics, but he was one of those types who could always charm his way out of trouble. There were one or two minor scrapes at Cambridge, but nothing too serious—certainly nothing to indicate how he’d turn out. Marriage ought to have settled him, but it didn’t, it seems. I’ve often wondered whether perhaps the war had something to do with it. I’ve seen it often enough myself. The number of times I’ve heard about a chap who went off to the Front and came back a different man—well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
He coughed.
‘I understand they found evidence that he’d done it,’ said Angela.
‘So they did,’ said the colonel, ‘but even then his mother refused to believe it of him. I saw her shortly after it all happened and she was almost in despair, poor woman. Was sure someone had faked it to throw suspicion onto him, she said. Roger had told her to say as little as possible to the police, as he thought it would only harm Edgar’s chances, but she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t allow her to defend her son. When I saw her again next she wouldn’t speak about it at all—at the time I thought it was out of obedience to Roger, but now I think there must have been some other reason. She was Edgar’s mother, after all, and why should she keep quiet if she knew he was innocent?’
‘Do you think she had found something out that confirmed his guilt?’
‘Yes,’ said the colonel. ‘It’s the only thing that makes sense. The police had evidence that Selina’s body had been hidden in his room, and although that looked suspicious enough, it doesn’t mean he did it. After all, anyone can hide a body in a cupboard. No, I think somebody must have seen something else, and kept it from the police so as not to make things worse.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Presumably it was Roger who saw whatever it was, then, since he was the one who urged his wife to keep quiet.’
‘Might have been,’ said the colonel. ‘Or perhaps it was someone else who then told Roger about it.’
‘But who?’
‘I don’t know. It might have been anyone. A servant, even. They used to sneak about the place quietly enough, and I shouldn’t have been surprised if they’d come upon Edgar doing something suspicious and told Roger, who kept it from Evelyn for her own protection at first.’
‘But you think he told her about it later? Why?’
‘Perhaps to stop her making a fool of herself, since she only knew half the story. Or perhaps to prevent her from accidentally drawing the attention of the police to whatever it was. Who knows?’ said the colonel. He tapped his nose again. ‘If you ask me, there’s more to the case than meets the eye. Still, no matter, as there’s no doubt they got the right man.’
‘I dare say they did,’ murmured Angela. She was reflecting. From what the colonel had just said, it appeared that she was not the only person to have concluded that there must be some evidence which proved beyond all doubt that Valencourt had murdered Selina. And that conclusion certainly seemed to explain the behaviour of the household at the time. If somebody did indeed have further proof of his guilt—what that might be she did not know—then it was entirely possible that he or she had kept the information from the police. After all, it was not to be supposed that his family had wished to see Valencourt hanged, while Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, had said the servants liked him too, and had not wanted to believe him a murderer. Perhaps whoever it was had confessed what they had seen to Roger, who had then taken steps to ensure that nobody would ever hear about it.
‘Ah, it’s Mrs. Poynter,’ said Colonel Dempster, and Angela glanced up to see the elegant-looking woman she had seen the other day on the cliff top. She was walking her little dog, and she waved to the colonel as she passed a few yards away, although she evidently had no intention of stopping to talk. ‘A very pleasant lady, she is,’ he went on, ‘even if some of the old dears around here are a little catty about her. In a small place like this people tend to gossip, of course. I don’t believe a word of it, myself. All right, old girl, go and scamper about in the waves if you must, but don’t come howling to me if you get cold and soggy.’
It took a second for Angela to realize that this last remark was directed at his spaniel. The dog ambled off and the colonel bade Angela a cheery goodbye, leaving her to won
der what Mrs. Poynter was supposed to have done.
AS HE HAD promised, Freddy returned shortly after midday, and insisted on their going out of the hotel for lunch, so they could have a nice, long chin-wag about the case without any old hens flapping their ears at them, as he disrespectfully put it. Once they were seated in a quiet little eating-place on the High Street, Freddy ordered a large plate of chops for himself and dug in with some energy.
‘All this wandering around in the fresh air is giving me quite an appetite,’ he remarked. ‘I wonder it hasn’t had the same effect on you. Goodness knows, you look like you need it. You’re too thin. Look here, have one of my chops. I’ll never manage all these.’
Angela declined politely and prodded at her own food without enthusiasm.
‘Tell me what you’ve found out,’ she said.
‘Jolly fellow, this sergeant,’ said Freddy. ‘I caught him on a quiet day so he was only too happy to chat. I told him I was looking into the case on behalf of the family—which I am, in a way. I said there was some suggestion that Valencourt hadn’t committed the murder and what did he think? Of course he said there was no doubt of it, but he didn’t mind giving me the facts he had.’ He dug in his pocket and brought out a dog-eared notebook, which he put on the table. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I wrote a lot of it down.’
Angela pulled the notebook towards her and peered at it curiously, but Freddy’s handwriting was indecipherable, so she pushed it back.
‘So,’ Freddy went on. ‘They were odd people, these de Lisles. Kept themselves very much to themselves. It was all because of Roger, it seems. He had terribly fixed ideas about his family’s importance and didn’t want to sully the name by mixing too much with others. I gather they owned half of Northern France at one time, but things got a bit ticklish during the war and they ended up here, with Roger ruling over his foreign court like a petty despot. He was a stiff one, all right. Even when his daughter-in-law had been found strangled and it looked as though his son was about to be arrested, he still looked down his nose at the police as though they were serfs who’d come in through the front door by mistake and trodden something nasty through the house. Evelyn de Lisle wasn’t much help, either: she was evidently pretty cowed by her husband and resigned to his having the upper hand in all things. My tame sergeant said that had it not been for the fact that he caught her crying on the day Valencourt was arrested, he’d have thought she was as cold as her husband.’