The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10)

by Clara Benson

  ‘Roger must have been very angry when he failed to win over Selina,’ observed Angela.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘He was, even as his love for her grew. Much of the time he was like a bear with a sore head, and I had much ado to calm him. But one day he came to me in a mood which frightened me. I was not afraid of his rages, but this was something different—something cold and ruthless. He would not tell me exactly what had happened, only that he had been betrayed and made a fool of. It had been there under his nose for years, he said, and he would find a way to make them both suffer for it.’

  ‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘Have you any idea what he was referring to?’

  ‘No. He said nothing more, then went away, and the next time I saw him he was his usual self.’

  ‘When was this?’ said Angela.

  ‘It was a few weeks before Selina died,’ said Mrs. Poynter.

  Angela regarded her questioningly. For the first time the other woman seemed uncomfortable.

  ‘You want to know whether I think Roger did it?’ she said. ‘I do not know. I won’t say the idea didn’t cross my mind at the time, but I pushed it away. The police were certain it was Edgar, and I had no particular reason to disbelieve it.’ She looked Angela steadily in the eye. ‘I know nothing for certain, you understand. As far as I knew, Edgar was guilty. Had I believed him to be innocent I should have spoken up at the time.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Angela. She was thinking of what had been said. What a strange family the de Lisles had been! For Roger de Lisle to arrange a marriage between his son and the girl with whom he had developed an infatuation, purely in order to keep her close by him, was extraordinary behaviour indeed! And yet Selina had seemed to relish her situation—to revel in it, almost. It now struck her that this must have been what had first attracted Edgar Valencourt to Selina Lacey. Aside from her beauty she had evidently shared his love of danger and his willingness to defy convention. They must have made a wicked pair, the two of them. Had they laughed together at the knowledge that here, at least, was one sure way to thwart Roger? Roger, who had ruled over the household for so many years and cowed his dependants into weary submission, and who was now in thrall to an eighteen-year-old girl? Had Valencourt enjoyed the sight of Roger’s frustration when Selina refused to bend to his will? It would hardly have been surprising if he had. But it had turned out to be a deadly game for both of them in the end. Selina had died, and her husband had become an outlaw, driven defiantly into a life of crime and condemned to remain in hiding for the rest of his life.

  Angela was now almost certain that here was their murderer. Godfrey had been cast aside by Selina, yes, but with such a life he must have been accustomed to disappointment, and while he might have harboured bad feelings towards his brother, Angela could not picture him committing such a terrible crime and allowing Edgar to hang for it. But Roger—Roger was a different prospect altogether. What could be more likely than that Selina had tested his patience once too often, and that he had finally strangled her and put the blame upon his son—his son, who had defied him, and who had won the prize which had eluded Roger for so long? It all made perfect sense.

  But they were still as far away from finding proof as ever. Their one hope now lay in a dying woman named Jemima Winkworth, who could not even speak to them. Had she seen something that night? It must have been something damning, if so. But in that case, why had she allowed herself to be paid off? Somehow they must get into her room and search her things, for without that there was no hope that Edgar Valencourt would ever be exonerated.

  Angela stood up.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘You think Roger did it?’ said Mrs. Poynter.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I do.’

  Mrs. Poynter looked at the floor.

  ‘I shall be sorry if that is the case,’ she said. ‘But he is dead too, now, so I have not harmed him, at any rate. I was fond of him for a time, and he was always kind to me.’ She held out her hand to Angela. ‘I wish you success,’ she said. ‘It will not bring Edgar back, but perhaps you will find some kind of peace.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Angela, slightly taken aback. The thought of having been read so easily made her uncomfortable, and so she took her leave quickly. The visit to Mrs. Poynter had revealed much that Angela had only suspected before, and it all led to the inescapable conclusion that Roger de Lisle had murdered his daughter-in-law and allowed his son to take the blame. Now all that remained was to prove it.

  FREDDY ANSWERED ANGELA’S summons with alacrity, and the very next day he and William came down to Denborough in the Bentley, ready for action. The police sergeant in Kent had confirmed that there had been a housemaid by the name of Jemima Winkworth at Greystone Chase at the time of the murder, and so it seemed as though they had found the person they were looking for.

  ‘I went out this morning in search of the Misses Winkworth,’ said Angela. ‘I was hoping I might be able to worm some information out of them by means of charm and low cunning, but I didn’t see them, which struck me as odd, since they always go out at the same time each day. However, I did see Colonel Dempster, who says the elder Miss Winkworth is unwell with a nasty cold, and has taken herself off home to recover rather than pass it on to her sister.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Poplar, apparently. She sent the colonel a postcard, asking if he’d mind paying Jemmy a visit or two to keep her company, until she was well enough to return. He’s a kind-hearted soul and agreed.’

  ‘That might make it all the easier for us,’ said Freddy, thinking. ‘The elder sister’s absence, I mean. Have you been to look at the nursing-home in question?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘It’s called The Larches, and it’s on one of those wide streets towards the edge of town, a little way past the colonel’s cottage.’

  ‘I believe I’ve seen it,’ said Freddy. ‘Didn’t we pass the gates when we were out walking with those two old dears? Rather a splendid building, all white and gleaming and painful on the eyes when the sun is high. Well-tended lawns and all that.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Angela. ‘I paid them a short visit this morning, and told them I was thinking of giving them my elderly mother to look after for a spell, and could they give me a tour? They were only too happy, and so I got a good look at the place. It’s very smart and expensive, and they pride themselves on their discretion, so we can’t just go wandering about. I’m wondering how to find Jemima’s room, though. I’d hoped that since she can’t walk by herself but has to use a wheel-chair, she’d be on the ground floor, but the building has lifts, and in any case the director who showed me round told me proudly that the bedrooms are all on the upper floors and have either a sea view or a garden view.’

  ‘Do they have names on the doors?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Yes, they do,’ said Angela after a moment’s thought. ‘That ought to make it all the easier if we can get in there.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Freddy. ‘Do you suppose we can get a closer look at the place without being accused of loitering?’

  ‘We can if we go in the car,’ said Angela. ‘Nobody in a Bentley could possibly be suspected of anything but the most honourable motives. And William is bound to be very useful.’

  Ten minutes later, the Bentley was parked discreetly in a quiet lane that ran behind The Larches nursing-home. The grounds were bounded by a six-foot wall, and the building itself was only a few feet beyond it. There was no-one about. The three of them stood and stared at the building and debated what to do next.

  ‘I can’t ask for another tour of the place,’ said Angela, ‘but I can distract someone with spurious and idiotic questions if needs be. Although, on second thoughts, perhaps you’d do it better than I should, Freddy.’

  ‘Oh, if it’s idiotic questions you want, I’m your man,’ said Freddy. ‘I shall tell them I’m suffering from dropsy of the elbow and ask them whether it’s possible to chan
ge rooms every day, since a fortune-teller once told me the only way to cure it is to make sure one’s facing North on Wednesdays and South on Fridays. Too fanciful, do you think?’

  ‘Perhaps just a little,’ said Angela. ‘Unless you want them to put you in a strait-jacket and admit you forcibly, of course.’

  Meanwhile, William was gazing thoughtfully at the apple trees beyond the wall.

  ‘What do you think, William?’ said Angela. ‘You look as though you’d had an idea.’

  ‘That tree branch there isn’t much more than a foot away from that upstairs window,’ he replied. ‘It’s just a pity the window’s closed, or I reckon I could be up there and inside in a flash.’

  ‘Well, keep it in mind as a means of escape,’ said Angela.

  ‘What, for all of us? I can’t quite picture you climbing a tree,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Oh, I was quite the monkey as a girl,’ said Angela. ‘But these days I am staid and conventional, and prefer to send other people up trees to do my burglaries for me.’

  She stopped as she suddenly remembered the last time she had sent someone up a tree.

  ‘You’re smiling,’ said Freddy. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Angela. ‘I’m just thinking that trees are an awfully handy invention for anyone approaching a building with nefarious intent.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Freddy. ‘We need to find Jemima Winkworth’s room, get in and search it, then make good our escape. For that we need a plan, since there’s no use in trying it when the room is occupied. Do the patients take their meals in their rooms?’

  ‘I believe they do,’ said Angela. ‘Some of them, at least. Jemmy isn’t at all well and needs to be helped with her food, so I expect she takes hers in her room at any rate.’

  ‘Well, then, better not try it at meal-times,’ said Freddy. ‘Presumably the patients don’t stay shut up all day, though. The elder Miss Winkworth takes Jemmy out in the mornings, but what do they do in the afternoons?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s ten to two now. Lunch will be over soon, I expect, and it’s a pleasant enough day, so I guess we will soon see them emerging in their wheel-chairs to take a little bit of gentle sun in the grounds.’

  ‘We might if we could see into the grounds,’ said Angela. ‘But one can’t see anything much from the front gates, and the rest of the place is surrounded by either walls or thick hedges.’

  ‘Pardon me, ma’am,’ said William. He jumped lightly onto the bonnet of the Bentley and peered cautiously over the wall. ‘There’s nobody about,’ he said, and before they could stop him sprang up onto the wall and ran along it, shielded from view by the apple trees at the edge of the grounds. After a little way he stopped and gazed through a gap.

  ‘They’re all coming out, right enough,’ he said, and jumped back down into the lane.

  ‘Give me a leg up, will you?’ said Freddy. ‘I want to see if Jemima is among them.’

  William obliged, and Freddy, balancing precariously on the wall, peered through the trees.

  ‘I can see her,’ he announced. ‘Or at least, I can see that purple knitted cap of hers. Yes, she’s out in the garden all right. She has a nurse with her.’

  He swung himself down and brushed the dirt from his hands.

  ‘Very well,’ said Angela. ‘Listen, I have a plan. I think William will be the best person to carry out the search, so either you or I, Freddy, must go in through the front gates and talk to the woman at the desk in the entrance-hall. Meanwhile you, William, shall climb over the wall and sneak in through the front door while she is nicely distracted.’

  ‘Why can’t he simply come in through the front gate?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Because it’s easily visible from the front of the building, and they’re very careful about keeping an eye on whoever comes in,’ said Angela. ‘The director told me so. William will have to sign the book if he’s seen, and we don’t want to leave too many traces of our presence, so I think it’s best if nobody sees him at all.’

  ‘All right,’ said Freddy, ‘but isn’t there a side door?’

  ‘Yes, there is, but it leads straight into the public lounge, which was very busy when I saw it,’ said Angela. ‘There’s also a back door into the kitchens, but that’s no good either, as there will be far too many people about. The main entrance is quiet by comparison.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Freddy. ‘So, then, one of us keeps the girl at the desk busy until William finishes searching the place, and then we make our escape. You’d better work fast, old pal.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it will be difficult to find the right room,’ said Angela. ‘Not if there are names on the doors. You know what you are to look for, don’t you, William?’

  ‘I think so,’ said William.

  ‘It’s a long shot, but it’s the only thing I can think of,’ said Angela.

  ‘Shall you or I go in?’ said Freddy.

  ‘I think you’ll probably do it better,’ said Angela, ‘although I don’t like to funk it myself.’

  ‘You won’t be funking it. You can stay here and keep the engine running, ready for when we come running out with the loot, so we can make a quick get-away.’

  ‘We’re not robbing the place, Freddy,’ said Angela patiently. ‘We’re searching for evidence.’

  ‘Try telling that to the police,’ said Freddy, and headed off, ready to play his part.

  IT WAS COOL and dark in the entrance-hall and, as Angela had said, there were few people about. Only the occasional nurse or doctor passed through on their way to some other part of the building. Behind a desk, facing the door, sat a smartly-dressed young lady who straightened up when Freddy entered and gave him a bright smile.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said. ‘Are you here to see a patient?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Freddy. ‘As a matter of fact, I was rather hoping to talk to you.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘Yes. I’m a reporter for the Clarion—I dare say you’ve heard of it—and I’m here because someone has told me the most extraordinary story about Zelda Delmonico—you know, the film actress—and I want to know whether it’s true.’

  ‘Oh?’ said the young woman with a look of polite inquiry.

  ‘Yes,’ said Freddy. ‘I have it on good authority that she stayed in this very nursing-home recently, because the film studio had found out that—’

  He beckoned the woman closer and whispered something in her ear. She jumped, startled.

  ‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Quite,’ said Freddy. ‘You can see why they might want to have the extra one removed.’

  The woman shook her head firmly.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re not allowed to talk about patients, but I can tell you for certain that we have never had this person here at The Larches.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll have stayed here under an assumed name,’ said Freddy. ‘The studios have people to take care of all that kind of thing. They don’t want to be associated with any sort of unpleasantness, you see, and you’d be surprised at the lengths they are prepared to go to for their stars. They might arrange for the surgical correction of an unsightly bald patch which gleams unpleasantly under the lights, for example. Or if one of their actors is inclined to associate with unsuitable company, they can make sure he is seen out and about with a succession of pretty young actresses, so people don’t get the wrong idea. As a matter of fact, I heard about one particular actress who married a famous actor a few years ago, but carelessly omitted to divorce her first husband before the ceremony. The husband threatened exposure and was invited to a meeting with the head of the studio, who was anxious to keep the whole thing quiet. The chap toddled along, no doubt expecting a nice, fat pay-off—and was never seen again. Make of that what you will. I have my own ideas about what happened, of course, but I can’t prove it, so perhaps you’d better not mention it.’

  The girl was now staring at Freddy with wide eyes, rapt—which was just what Freddy had intended, for out
of the corner of his eye he had seen a figure slip quietly in through the front door while the girl was not looking. William’s entrance successfully effected, Freddy settled himself down and prepared to flirt.

  William, meanwhile, left the entrance-hall and entered a long, brightly-lit corridor. Here he paused, looking this way and that, wondering which way to go. To his right was a lift and, remembering that the patients’ rooms were all upstairs, he hurried towards it. On the door was a notice which declared the conveyance to be out of order, and he looked about him for the stairs. Just then, there was the sound of another lift door opening at the other end of the corridor, and he turned to see a middle-aged woman of forbidding aspect, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, heading in his direction. William hurriedly felt in his pocket for a screwdriver and began to tinker with the door of the broken lift. The woman stopped when she saw him.

  ‘Ah, it’s you at last,’ she said. ‘They might have sent someone sooner. We’ve been waiting nearly a week.’

  ‘Soon have it fixed,’ said William shortly, in his best Kentish accent.

  ‘Well, make sure you do,’ she said, and went on her way.

  As soon as she was out of sight, William pushed open a likely door, found the stairs and hurried up to the first floor. Up here all was quiet. William glanced into one or two rooms whose doors were open, and saw piles of sheets and pillows left ready, presumably for the maids. They would no doubt be starting work here soon. He ran down the corridor, reading the names as he passed. At the end was a window, and he looked out and saw it was the same one he had noticed earlier, close to the branches of the apple tree. He followed the corridor to the right and at last found what he was seeking, for there before him was a door which bore the name ‘Miss Winkworth.’ Glancing to the right and left, William tried the handle carefully, hoping that the room had been left unlocked in preparation for the maids’ visit. To his satisfaction the door opened easily and he slipped into the room, bolting it behind him. He looked around. The room was comfortably though sparsely furnished, with a bed, a little cupboard, a chest of drawers, a table and an armchair. A painting of a vase of flowers hung on the wall, and the curtains were heavy, presumably to prevent too much light from getting in and keeping the patients awake. The bed had not yet been made, so William knew he did not have long in which to find what he wanted. Fortunately, there were not many places in which to hide things. He headed straight for the little chest of drawers and searched through it, but found nothing. He scratched his head. A few things were scattered on the table by the window, and he looked among them, but there was nothing of interest here, either. On top of the cupboard was a trunk. William lifted it down and opened it. Inside were clothes and underthings of middling quality, worn and much mended, but no papers, letters or anything else of the sort. He closed the trunk and was in the act of putting it back on top of the cupboard when there was a knock at the door. William started violently and froze, the trunk held over his head. The knock was repeated, then someone tried the door. He heard an exclamation of impatience, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the corridor. He breathed a sigh of relief and returned the trunk to its rightful place.