Design for Murder

by Nancy Buckingham

  “Well girls, cheers.”

  “I had a surprise today,” I said, and told them about Sir Robert’s offer.

  Grace beamed. “Oh, that is nice. I’m so glad for you, Tracy. I don’t mind admitting that I feel somewhat relieved, too, because it’s been rather on our minds — hasn’t it, Ralph dear? — that we pushed you into taking that job with Oliver.”

  “And it’s good to know,” he added, “that Tracy won’t be packing her bags and leaving us.”

  He took out his cigar case, and received a quick frown from his wife. “Really, Ralph, not just before dinner. Now, Tracy dear, we haven’t asked you here this evening out of morbid curiosity. So if you want to give your mind a rest from the dreadful business of Oliver’s death, we’ll try to talk about other things.”

  I smiled faintly. Yes, Grace always meant well. Yet she herself seemed to accept the impossibility of what she suggested, for her next remark was, “Ralph tells me that Sir Robert is taking it very badly.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It can’t have done anything to help his heart condition.”

  Grace reached for her glass and took a tiny sip. “The poor man, he needs all the support he can get at such a time, but I’m sure that he’s getting precious little from that wife of his.”

  “It must have been a shock for her, too,” I murmured.

  “No doubt it was. But it’s not the same thing at all, is it? I mean, Oliver wasn’t her son. Anyway, I doubt if the present Lady Medway possesses much in the way of nice feelings. She has always struck me as being very cold. She makes us feel that it’s a real condescension on her part when we’re invited to dine at the Hall—which really is the limit when one remembers that she was only an actress, and not a very good one at that, when Sir Robert met her.”

  “At least,” I said lightly, “you get invited to dine at the Hall. That’s more than I’ve ever been.”

  “Oh, but she has to ask us, Tracy. It’s a matter of custom for the agent and his wife to be on dining terms with the family. Quite apart from formal dinner parties, Ralph and I are invited alone three times a year. In the previous Lady Medway’s day, those evenings used to be a real pleasure for us. But now the atmosphere is far from agreeable.”

  I caught Ralph’s fond smile of amusement. “It’s all in your imagination, my dear. I’ve never sensed any particular atmosphere.”

  “But then you’re a man,” she said impatiently, “so you wouldn’t be aware of nuances. Men are so unobservant.”

  “Thank the Lord for that,” he chuckled. “It makes life a lot less complicated.”

  Grace plucked an invisible hair from the skirt of her dress.

  “At all events, it was most fortunate that Sebastian was right there on the spot for Sir Robert to turn to when ... when it happened. What a blessing that he’d come from Oxford by then.”

  “Oh, but Sebastian wasn’t already at home,” I said. “From what Sir Robert said this morning, they must have sent for him.”

  Grace drew her eyebrows together in surprise. “Are you sure, Tracy? I thought...”

  “I,” said Ralph, “am quite sure. Because I was the one who phoned for him to come home. I had quite a job contacting him, too. I tried his college rooms at Oxford, and they gave me another number to try, where there was some kind of legal conference going on. But Sebastian hadn’t turned up for it, and no one knew where he was. So I had to leave a message for him to phone me, and I was kept hanging about in the estate office till nearly four o’clock before he finally came through.”

  “How strange,” said Grace.

  “Why strange?” demanded Ralph. “I hardly felt that I could go out of the office and leave the job of informing Sebastian that his stepbrother had been murdered to one of the clerks.”

  “No, that wasn’t what I meant.” Grace gave her husband an uncertain glance. “Sebastian was here in this district yesterday morning. That’s why I thought he must be back home.”

  Ralph sank down in an armchair facing us and leaned forward. His face was tense.

  “What makes you say that Sebastian was in this district?”

  “Because I saw him.”

  “You saw him!” we exclaimed together, and Ralph added, “Impossible.”

  “But I did. You remember that yesterday morning I drove over to Chipping Nash to make arrangements about having the art exhibition in the library there?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “I’m telling you, Ralph. When I was returning home I took the back lanes through Nashwick Woods to be quicker, because I was a bit late for preparing our lunch, and even though it was only going to be ham and tongue and a tossed salad ...”

  “Get on with it,” said Ralph, showing a rare impatience with Grace’s love for minutiae.

  “Well, I pulled up at the crossroads near Friar’s Hollow for another car to go by, and I noticed that the driver was Sebastian Medway. There was someone with him, but I didn’t recognise her. He was driving rather fast, considering the narrowness of the lane.”

  “What time was this, Grace?” Ralph asked, frowning.

  “Just before twelve-thirty. About twenty-five past.”

  “What kind of car was it?”

  Grace wrinkled her brow. “You know I’m hopeless when it comes to cars,” she protested. “It was black ... quite big. One of those that have their sidelights on all the time.”

  “A Volvo!” he exclaimed. “Well, there you are then. Sebastian’s car at the moment is a Renault. Light blue. So it can’t have been him.”

  “It was,” she insisted unhappily.

  Ralph put down his sherry glass very slowly, as if he was afraid he might spill the wine. He stared between his knees at the dove-grey carpet.

  “Which way was the Volvo travelling, Grace?”

  “Towards the bridge.”

  Ralph took in a ragged breath. I knew what he was thinking, and Grace must have done by now, too. From the Volvo’s direction it could have travelled by way of a little used track that skirted the rear of the Coach House and emerged from the park by a farm-style gate not far from the Friar’s Hollow crossroads. Could have done. There were other possibilities, of course, in such a tangle of small lanes. But anyway, what was Sebastian Medway doing at that spot at that time, when he was supposed to have been in Oxford? If it really was Sebastian ...

  But I could see from Grace’s expression that her conviction was unshaken. And Ralph believed her.

  “My God,” he said, after a long moment.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “Do?” He gave me a blank stare, and I went on, “Well, we can’t keep this to ourselves, can we? I mean, it may be vital information. The police ought to know.”

  Ralph passed a hand slowly across his face. “Let me think, Tracy. Hang on a bit.”

  After the French clock on the mantel had ticked almost a full minute, Ralph said slowly, “Suppose I have a word with Sebastian about this?”

  “What good would that do?” I objected.

  “He ought to be given a chance to explain. And if he had a perfectly good reason for being in these parts, instead of at Oxford ... well, that’ll be that. We’ll have avoided dragging the police in and causing a lot of unnecessary unpleasantness for the family.”

  “But suppose Sebastian denies being here?” I asked.

  “In that case, we’ll have to think again.”

  I hesitated, then said against my better judgment, “Well, all right.”

  “So you’ll leave things in my hands?”

  I nodded, consoling myself with the thought that after all, it was much more the Ebborns’ concern than mine since Grace was the one who had claimed to have seen Sebastian in the district. All the same, I wondered uneasily what Neil would have to say, if he knew that I had agreed to suppress an important piece of information like this.

  Grace and Ralph both made an effort to get back to an easy atmosphere, and I tried my best to respond. Dinner was one of Grace’s supe
rb Boeuf Bourguignonnes. But none of us did justice to the excellent food, and too often I found myself turning to the beaujolais with which Ralph kept my glass topped up.

  The meal was punctuated by sudden awkward little silences, and I knew that they both shared my own sombre thoughts. Sebastian had been seen in the vicinity of Haslop Hall within minutes of his stepbrother’s murder. Sebastian Medway, adopted son of Sir Robert and now his only son. The new heir to the Medway fortune.

  * * * *

  The church clock was stirring into creaky life for nine o’clock as I slammed the door of Honeysuckle Cottage. I was walking to my garage at the side when I heard the front gate click, and glanced round to see that it was Neil.

  “Glad I caught you,” he called.

  “Only just. I’m on my way to work.”

  He grinned ruefully. “To tell you the truth, I was hoping to cadge a cup of coffee. I’ve been on the go since seven this morning, but I didn’t much fancy my chance of being served anything drinkable at that scruffy cafe on the Gilchester road.”

  I wasn’t feeling friendly after his treachery in questioning Ursula about my movements. But I shrugged and turned back.

  “Oh, all right. There’s nothing so urgent it can’t wait for half an hour. What brings you over this way so early?”

  “I have an appointment,” he said, and left it at that.

  He followed me inside to the kitchen. I filled the electric kettle and switched on, set out two mugs, and reached for the instant coffee jar. On second thoughts I put it back on the shelf and took down the tin of ground coffee and a filter paper. If Neil rated my coffee, it might as well be good.

  He perched himself on the edge of the table and glanced round appreciatively. With the sun streaming in between the orange-check curtains, giving life to the natural pine fitments and rush-matted floor, I wasn’t ashamed of my kitchen.

  “This is really nice,” he commented. “But then, considering your profession, I suppose it would be.”

  “It’s a bit cottagy,” I said, in the way we all have of disparaging our own creations.

  “But this is a cottage, a genuine old Cotswold cottage. It’s not precious, though, that’s the important thing.”

  “What a surprise,” I laughed, as I poured boiling water on the coffee. “A detective with an appreciative eye.”

  “A very appreciative eye,” he rejoined, and gave me a slow look.

  “D’you take sugar and cream?” I asked, turning away.

  “Dark brown, please, and two spoonfuls.”

  I took mine black, and leant back against the sink unit while I drank it.

  Neil spoilt the easier atmosphere between us by asking suddenly, “Have you seen anything more of Tim Baxter?”

  “I have.”

  He gave his coffee an extra stir. “When was that?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, when I arrived back at the Coach House after lunching with you. He had just called in to see me.”

  “Anxious to find out what had transpired, was he?”

  “If you mean did Tim know that I’d had lunch with you, the answer is yes. But then so did every single living soul in Steeple Haslop, I imagine, not to mention every cat and dog and budgerigar.”

  He grinned. “But about Baxter ...”

  “What about him?”

  “You were going to tell me what he had to say.”

  “Was I? Well, Tim asked me to dinner, but I was already engaged.”

  “So you made it another day instead.”

  “No, we didn’t, actually.” I put my mug down on the draining board with a bang. “If you’re looking for a link between Tim and me, you’re wasting your time.”

  “He rushed to cover up for you concerning those fingerprints,” Neil reminded me. “Which was a stupid thing to do. Why did he, I wonder?”

  “It was just an instinctive response.”

  Neil drained the last of his coffee, and held out the mug.

  “Any more in the pot?”

  “You’ve got a nerve,” I exploded. “Coming here expecting me to fill you up with coffee, and all the while making nasty insinuations ...”

  “People with nothing to hide,” he remarked sententiously, “have nothing to fear in answering police questions.”

  “You think I’ve got something to hide?”

  “Have you?”

  He was still holding the mug out, and I took it from him ungraciously, refilling it and adding cream and sugar.

  “You’d better hurry up and drink it. I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?” he asked me. “Any chance of you staying in this part of the world?”

  “I will be, as a matter of fact.” I gave him a brief run-through of my conversation with Sir Robert.

  “It’s a generous offer,” said Neil. “Mind you, he’ll recover any money he puts up to back you, I’ve no doubt of that. Still, I wonder why he did it?”

  “He feels he owes me something, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure he does owe you something—a hell of a lot, I should say. But did the Medways get rich by remembering their obligations?”

  “Do I detect a sour note?”

  “Probably. My Chief Superintendent has told me in no uncertain terms that I’m to treat the Medway family with kid gloves.”

  “Well, they are influential people in this neck of the woods,” I said.

  “In my book the landed gentry are governed by the same laws as everyone else. As it happens my ten o’clock appointment is up at the Hall... with Master Sebastian.”

  Damn him, why did he have to bring that name up now? Trying to sound casual, I said, “Are you seeing him for any special reason?”

  “To get some answers. We’ve made enquiries in Oxford, and he has some explaining to do about his whereabouts on the morning his stepbrother was killed.”

  I felt a chasm yawning open. I stammered, “But ... but why were you checking up on Sebastian? What reason do you have for suspecting him?”

  “You seem fond of using that word. The young man in question has, by the death of Oliver Medway, instantly become the heir to a large fortune. Don’t you think that’s sufficient reason for us to make a few enquiries about his whereabouts at the relevant time?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He gave me a long, thoughtful look. “You’ve already made it clear that you don’t much care for Sebastian Medway. Would you consider him capable of murder?”

  “Why ask me?” I parried.

  “Could be that I respect your judgment, Tracy.”

  I realised that I had no option but to tell Neil what I knew about Sebastian. Not to do so would be almost as bad as outright lying to the police, and I wasn’t prepared to do that— certainly not in order to shield Sebastian Medway. If, as Ralph seemed to expect, he had a perfectly good explanation for his presence so close to the scene of his stepbrother’s murder ... well, he could give it to the police himself. At least I knew that Neil would be circumspect in the way he set about asking questions. He wasn’t going to barge into the drawing room at Haslop Hall and fling out accusations.

  So, hesitantly and very unhappily, I told him about Grace having seen Sebastian on Wednesday morning. Neil’s expression became grim. As I faltered to a stop he demanded roughly, “What the devil did you think you were playing at, Tracy, keeping quiet about all this?”

  “Well, you see, Ralph wanted to speak to Sebastian first ... ask him for an explanation. He said that if he didn’t get one, then that was the time to inform the police. It... it seemed to make sense.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense at all. Ralph Ebborn can’t take it upon himself to judge whether or not this is important. What’s his game, I wonder? Trying to protect his lord and master’s family?”

  “Neil, you can’t think that Ralph would deliberately conceal important evidence?”

  “He won’t get a chance to now, anyway. Before I do anything else, I’m going to have a few words with Ralph Ebborn.�
�� He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now half past nine. “Young Sebastian will have to cool his heels until I’ve finished with Ebborn.”

  “Ralph will find it hard to forgive me for telling you,” I said miserably.

  “What you ought to be worrying about,” said Neil, “is whether I’ll forgive you. You did a damn fool thing, Tracy, and I hope you realise it. I know that it was primarily Mrs. Ebborn’s responsibility, as the actual witness. But you can’t dodge your own responsibility so easily. It was your duty to pass on to the police any knowledge you had which was relevant to the case. And you know it.”

  I was reduced to silence. Rising from his perch on the table, Neil reached out his hand and flicked my cheek with his fingertip.

  “You make a marvellous cup of coffee.”

  Chapter 6

  To allow time for Neil to get clear, I stayed to rinse out our coffee mugs. While I was drying them, the phone rang.

  “Hallo, Tracy,” said Ralph. “I dropped round to the studio to see you just now. You’re late this morning.”

  “Yes, I can’t seem to get started.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I ran into Sebastian first thing this morning. He was out riding, so I took the chance of having a quiet chat.”

  “What did he have to say?” I asked, my pulse rate suddenly speeding up.

  “He was pretty cagey at first. But I pointed out that although I was very reluctant to do so, I would feel compelled to inform the police that my wife had seen him on Wednesday morning—unless he could give me an explanation. So in the end he did.”

  “And what was his explanation?”

  “I’d better not tell you over the phone,” said Ralph. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter now, does it, as long as we know that Sebastian is in the clear. And I can assure you that he is, Tracy, so we can just forget the whole thing.”

  “It’s not going to be quite as easy as that, Ralph,” I muttered wretchedly.

  “Oh?” he demanded. “Why not?”

  “Because ...” But it was no use hesitating; I couldn’t avoid admitting what I’d done. So I plunged straight in. “I’ve already told Neil Grant about Grace seeing Sebastian.”