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

by Clara Benson

  Fondest wishes

  Jemima

  ‘You see?’ said Miss Winkworth as Angela and Freddy glanced at one another again. ‘She was all alone and easily taken advantage of. She wasn’t to blame, but once she’d signed the agreement and taken the money there was no way out of it for her, and I told her so. The police would have arrested her. An accessory, they call it. She was an accessory, although she didn’t know it. We’ve always been respectable people and it wouldn’t have done to have the police on our doorstep.’

  Angela glanced through the other letters. Maria Winkworth had evidently asked Jemima for more details about what she had seen, since they contained a more precise description of the events of the day. Roger had killed Selina at about a quarter to six, and had told Jemima to say nothing but to go and report downstairs that Mrs. de Lisle would be spending the evening in bed. Presumably he had then locked Selina’s bedroom door and put her body in the cupboard in Valencourt’s room. It appeared too that after Selina had been found, Henry Lacey had tried to approach Jemima—presumably since he had by now guessed what had really happened and wanted to know more. However, Roger was keeping a sharp eye on her, and that very evening, while the police were still examining the scene in the wood, he had spirited her away to the house in Deal and told her to stay there until he returned. After she had signed the agreement he warned her that she was now bound by her word, and that if she broke it the police would come and arrest her and she would be thrown into prison for many years for obtaining money under false pretences. Thus was Jemima Winkworth bribed and frightened into keeping silent about the murder she had witnessed—although she had not been able to stop herself from telling all to her sister, who had also kept quiet since she was horrified at the very idea of Jemima’s being arrested for complicity in the crime.

  ‘Is this enough, do you think?’ said Freddy to Angela after they had read all the letters.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Angela. ‘If they won’t act after they’ve read all this then they never will. I’m afraid we must take these,’ she said to Miss Winkworth. ‘They’re terribly important and they might just clear Edgar de Lisle’s name. I’m sorry for your sister, but you must understand that we can’t allow this state of affairs to continue.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Miss Winkworth. ‘I expect the pension will stop now. At least the nursing-home is paid up until the end of the month so they won’t throw her out tomorrow. It’s a pity, though; she did so want to end her days in Denborough. Now I suppose she’ll have to come here.’

  ‘We shall have to see what can be done,’ said Angela, who felt obliquely guilty about uprooting a dying woman from her comfortable bed even though her care had been paid for illicitly.

  ‘Will they arrest me?’ said Miss Winkworth fearfully. ‘After all, I knew about it too.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Freddy. ‘Although they might want to question you, since your sister can’t speak for herself.’

  ‘Oh, Jemmy,’ said Miss Winkworth sadly. ‘What have you done?’

  There was no suitable answer to that, so Angela and Freddy took their leave and left.

  THEY HAD PROMISED to call in to see the colonel and report on Miss Winkworth’s health, so they returned to Denborough one last time.

  ‘One thing I still don’t understand is why Roger deliberately put the blame on his son,’ said Freddy, as the train chugged over the grimy streets of South London on its way to the Kent coast.

  ‘Perhaps there had been some particular offence,’ said Angela. ‘I can’t believe he did it merely because Valencourt had refused to work for him. I think that would be too much even for Roger. There’s no doubt that he strangled Selina out of jealousy, but I don’t know about anything else. Perhaps it was because Edgar had got the thing that Roger wanted and could never have. Who knows?’

  ‘So he strangled Selina, then hid her body in the cupboard in order to leave incriminating evidence in Valencourt’s room,’ said Freddy. ‘Then he must have drugged Valencourt to make him sleep soundly, since otherwise it would have been impossible to get her out and take her to the woods.’

  ‘Yes, Valencourt suspected himself that he had been drugged,’ said Angela. ‘I suppose the removal of the body was just an extra touch by Roger to make his son look even more guilty. Anyone might have hidden Selina in the cupboard, but only Valencourt had a reason to get her out of the cupboard, since obviously he wouldn’t want her to be found in his room.’

  ‘When do you suppose Roger thought of the plan to incriminate Valencourt?’ said Freddy. ‘You don’t suppose the whole thing was premeditated, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t think the murder was planned. Presumably the idea of pinning the blame on his son must have come to him afterwards. It was easy enough to do, after all.’

  ‘Well, it was ill-natured of him, to say the very least,’ said Freddy. ‘And it does sound rather as though Henry Lacey may have been put out of the way too, since it looks pretty certain he knew what had really happened.’

  ‘We’ll never prove that was murder,’ said Angela. ‘There’s no use in even trying. Still, I shall mention it to the police and perhaps they’ll look into it again.’

  ‘Rather terrible to think that he was so dependent on the drink and the morphine that he was prepared to keep quiet about his own sister’s death in return for the money to support his habits,’ said Freddy.

  Angela nodded but did not reply. Freddy was jubilant at their success in solving the case and she knew she ought to feel the same, but instead she felt nothing but a bleak emptiness. She had paid off her debt, but at what cost? Now she no longer had any reason to justify the wrong she had done. When, standing in the dock of the Old Bailey, she had denied having ever met Edgar Valencourt in order to save herself, she had done so with his tacit approval—encouragement, even, but then she had been able to find selfish comfort in the thought that, as the murderer of his wife, he deserved everything he got. Now, through her own efforts, she had discovered that it was all a lie; that he was an innocent man—innocent of murder, if not of other things—and because of that the whole edifice of half-truths she had built in her head since January to convince herself that she had not acted wrongly was exposed for what it was: a house of straw which one gust of wind in the form of Jemima Winkworth had now blown away. Her guilt was laid bare and at that moment she knew it would be with her forever.

  Freddy glanced at her in surprise at her silence, and was shocked at what he saw, for his friend suddenly looked tired and pale, her brow drawn and her eyes hollow.

  ‘Are you all right, Angela?’ he said. ‘You look as though you’d had a shock.’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite all right, thank you,’ she said. ‘We’ll go and say goodbye to the colonel and Miss Atkinson, and then I suppose I’d better pay a visit to Scotland Yard. It’s about time I told them the truth about everything.’

  Freddy regarded her with sympathy.

  ‘You’re not really all right, are you, old girl?’ he said. ‘I mean, you put on a good show and all that, but it’s pretty obvious you’re unhappy.’

  Angela turned to him suddenly.

  ‘Unhappy?’ she said bitterly. ‘Why should I be unhappy? I’m alive, aren’t I? I have my health and my friends; I’m comfortably off; I’m invited to all the most fashionable parties; I’m spoken of as one of the best-dressed women in London. I have every reason to be perfectly content. Of course, I’m having to face the fact that I sent the man I loved to his death for no good reason, but one can’t have everything, can one? Leaving that aside, I’m about to hand Scotland Yard the solutions to two crimes, so in addition to everything else I can pique myself on my own cleverness. They might arrest me when I tell them the truth, but let’s not worry about that, shall we?’

  ‘Then why tell them?’ said Freddy, taken aback. ‘Why not keep it to yourself?’

  ‘And add another lie to my account? Thank you, Freddy—I appreciate your concern, but it’s time I put things right.�
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  She refused to say another word on the subject and in fact relapsed into silence for the rest of the journey. By the time they arrived in Denborough she was her usual cheerful self again, as though her earlier outburst had never happened. Freddy was tactful enough not to mention it, but he felt he had seen a side of Angela he had only ever suspected existed, for her cool façade was the result of long practice and she did not let it down lightly. Now he knew for certain that she felt things as deeply as anybody else he could not help but admire the strength of character she had shown over the past few months, for evidently it had taken great effort and was not merely borne of an inability to feel.

  They found Miss Atkinson about to leave, and Freddy gallantly offered to accompany her to the station with her luggage. The two of them went off, and Angela found herself assailed by a sudden urge to visit Greystone Chase one last time, for she could not help thinking that it was only fair to warn Godfrey of what was about to happen. After all, the police would surely want to come and question the de Lisles again, and they might, not unreasonably, be curious as to why the whole thing had been stirred up again. How would Godfrey take it, she wondered. Would he be angry? She had no idea as to whether he had liked his father or not.

  As she approached the house she stopped to look at it. Solid and imposing as it was, it gave no sign of the unhappiness which had dwelt within its walls for so many years. Soon it would be sold and another family would come to live there, and perhaps erase the bad memories. As she stood there she saw a figure she recognized come out and walk down the path towards the gates. It was Victorine de Lisle. She hesitated briefly when she saw Angela, then changed direction and came towards her.

  ‘You again,’ she said in her brusque manner.

  ‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘I really came to see your husband.’

  ‘He is in France, and will not be back until next week,’ said Victorine.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Angela. ‘I had something important to tell him—to tell you both. New evidence has been found which proves that Edgar de Lisle didn’t kill his wife after all.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Victorine with distant interest. ‘Who did it?’

  ‘I think you know,’ said Angela.

  Victorine raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I suppose now you are going to say it was my father-in-law,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Did you know before?’

  ‘He was in love with her,’ said Victorine. ‘It was never mentioned, of course. If Edgar did not do it then of course it must have been Roger. Who else could it have been?’

  ‘But why didn’t you say something at the time, if you suspected?’

  ‘I did not suspect anything then,’ said Victorine. ‘Perhaps afterwards, but by then it was too late. And what purpose could it serve to bring it all up again? I had no proof, and we still had to live with him.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Do you suppose it would have been good for domestic harmony to have one half of the family accusing the other half of murder? I could do nothing—nor did I wish to.’

  ‘You seem anxious to protect Roger,’ said Angela. ‘Why?’

  ‘Protect him?’ said Victorine. ‘Of course I did not want to protect him. He was a wicked, wicked man. He told his own wife he had seen Edgar kill Selina, and he almost convinced her of it. She died of a broken heart. I liked Evelyn, but I hated him more than I have ever hated anyone, especially for how he treated Godfrey—how he treated all of us. We suffered for years from his cruelty until we thought we could no longer bear it. He was a vicious, black-hearted man, who caused nothing but unhappiness.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you do something?’ said Angela. ‘He got away with murder and was never punished.’

  ‘What makes you think he was not punished?’ said Victorine.

  Angela looked up and saw a glint in her eye.

  ‘Why, because he was never arrested for the murder or even suspected of it,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Victorine. ‘But there are other forms of punishment. The devil always comes to claim his own in the end.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Angela.

  ‘He is dead, no?’ said Victorine. ‘He died painfully, of food poisoning. At least that is what they say. Godfrey and I were there at the time. He suffered greatly, and then he died.’

  She said it carelessly, and there was a smile playing about her lips. Angela regarded her curiously. Was this a confession? It would not have surprised her in the least to discover that Victorine had taken matters into her own hands—those large, strong hands of hers which might have squeezed the life out of a slightly-built girl had she wanted them to. Had they instead administered a lethal dose of something to Roger de Lisle? Victorine held her gaze, still wearing that satisfied smile, and Angela, after a moment’s thought, decided not to rise to the challenge. She had had enough of the de Lisles and their intrigues, she realized, and wanted no more of them. Let them all murder each other if they liked; she no longer cared. Victorine might enjoy her triumph—if such it was—in peace. Whether or not it was an empty boast, Angela could not find it in her heart to feel sorry for Roger de Lisle. He had been a wicked man, but his soul was long beyond the reach of mortal man to save.

  ‘I gather food poisoning can be a terrible thing,’ she said politely at last.

  Victorine nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘I expect there will be a new investigation into Selina’s murder,’ she said, as though Roger had never been mentioned. ‘We shall be here if the police wish to speak to us.’

  And with that she turned on her heels and went on her way.

  THE TIME HAD now come to hand over the evidence of Roger de Lisle’s guilt to Scotland Yard. Charles Gilverson, who was overjoyed at Angela’s success, was only too keen to accompany her, as was Freddy, but she insisted on going alone, for she had an explanation to make which she did not want anybody else to hear. Accordingly, she presented herself and asked to see Inspector Alec Jameson. She had seen little of him in recent months—partly because he was newly married and had other things to do, and partly because her guilty conscience would not allow her to associate freely with those who were supposed to represent the law when she herself had behaved so badly. This made her sad, for she was very fond of Jameson and his wife, but she had judged it better to keep away from them as far as possible in order not to put them in a difficult position.

  Jameson himself came out to greet her.

  ‘Now, isn’t that odd,’ he said when he saw her. ‘I was just thinking about you and wondering where you’d been hiding. And now here you are!’