A Fatal Secret

by Faith Martin

  Clement shrugged. ‘Anything’s possible.’

  ‘You were here on Easter Sunday, sir?’ Trudy asked, deciding it was time to make this interview a rather more official affair. Besides, she didn’t like the way that Oliver de Lacey was so obviously assuming that Dr Ryder was in charge here.

  As if in confirmation of her suspicions, he turned a slightly surprised glance her way – as if he’d almost forgotten her presence – but he responded to her question quickly enough. ‘I was, officer, yes. But I didn’t take part in the Easter egg hunt of course. I remember doing so when I was a little whippersnapper myself. And I knew Martin’s two would be out and about. But I didn’t bother to go and watch. Besides, I was entertaining a lady. And later I had a paper to write.’

  Trudy felt her lips twist in a wry smile. This man didn’t need to point out just how important he was, or how precious his time had to be. His sense of self-worth and self-importance oozed out of every inch of him.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m sure you were busy,’ she said quietly. ‘But you were aware that Emily was friends with the boy who died?’

  ‘I think Mother mentioned it later, yes.’

  ‘Did your mother attend the Easter egg hunt?’

  ‘Oh no. She was taking a holiday with friends somewhere on the south coast. Besides, that sort of thing wouldn’t interest her,’ Oliver said blithely, leaning back slightly in his chair and regarding his free foot for a moment as he continued to rotate it in heedless circles. Needless to say, the leather was spotless and perfectly polished. ‘Even though Mother likes to think of herself as the interim lady of the manor, given that the position is vacant until Martin decides to remarry, she can’t be bothered to actually carry out the duties of the same.’

  Clement shifted slightly in his chair, and so in tune by now was Trudy with his methods, she realised at once that he wanted to take over, and took the hint by beginning to ostentatiously write down Oliver’s testimony in her notebook.

  ‘I understand your mother has lived here most of her married life?’ Clement resumed, glancing around the pleasant room with a smile. ‘It’s a lovely old house. But not quite Briar’s Hall?’

  Oliver allowed a cool smile to flicker over his face. ‘No, not quite. Mind you, we’re lucky to have it at all, as I have to keep reminding my dear mama. Martin’s under no real obligation to let us keep on living here rent-free you know. He does so out of a sense of family obligation and all that.’

  ‘Still, it can’t be altogether pleasant,’ Clement mused, ‘feeling as if your right to be here is solely by the grace and favour of your cousin?’

  Oliver’s smile was a few degrees cooler now. ‘Well, Martin doesn’t really have much option – not unless he wants to earn the disapproval of the village by chucking us out. And he does so like to be seen as the benevolent leader! Anyway, it may not matter for much longer. I’ve been thinking it was high time I got married and settled down, and the lady I have in mind would probably be much happier living in Oxford itself. Mama probably would be too, come to that.’

  ‘Would the lady you refer to be a certain Miss Chandler, by any chance?’ Clement asked casually.

  For a moment, Oliver de Lacey went utterly still – including his swaying foot. Then he cocked his head slightly to one side, like a starling spotting movement under a lawn, and regarded the older man carefully.

  ‘I can’t see how we’ve gone from a wretched boy coming to a tragic end on our estate, to my future bride,’ he said, making it clear that he suspected the older man of showing bad manners.

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised that things had progressed as far as that, between you,’ Clement said breezily, unrepentantly ignoring the implied reprimand. ‘Let me be the first to give you my congratulations. I shall be sure to do the same to Miss Chandler, when next I see her.’

  Oliver sighed heavily. ‘Hold your horses a moment.’ He held up a languid hand, managing to sound both bored and wearily amused at the same time. ‘I haven’t actually got around to popping the question yet.’

  At this, Trudy couldn’t quite help herself, and interjected smartly, ‘You seem to be taking it for granted the young lady will say “yes”, sir, if I may say so.’

  Oliver rolled his eyes slightly and once again sighed – rather more dramatically this time. ‘Mea culpa, officer. Let’s just say, the young lady has intimated that she wouldn’t be averse to a proposal, which has given me every reason to be confident of her response.’

  ‘And is your cousin aware of this?’ Clement asked mildly.

  ‘Martin? Good grief, I have no idea,’ Oliver said casually, then setting both feet firmly to the ground, he glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Now I really must be getting back to college before the little beast I have to mentor shows up to try and defend his latest essay. He won’t be able to of course,’ he added glumly. ‘It’s dire. I don’t think he has the faintest idea how Einstein… Well, never mind all that.’

  ‘Well, thank you for sparing us Einstein, sir,’ Clement muttered, rising from his own chair and holding out his hand. ‘And thank you for your time.’

  ‘As I did warn you at the outset, Doctor, I knew I couldn’t possibly be of much use to you, I’m afraid.’

  Clement wisely said nothing, and the three of them walked in silence to the front door. In the hallway, Oliver picked up a set of car keys from an ornate marble and ormolu console table and stepped outside with them.

  There he left them to walk around to the side of the house, where a small wooden garage had been constructed, probably sometime around the period when the first automobiles were beginning to make their appearances. He whistled something catchy from the latest show at London’s West End as he went, and promptly disappeared from view.

  Chapter 24

  Clement and Trudy had made it up the drive and were nearly at the double gates before they heard the sound of his car coming up behind them on the gravel, and both stepped instinctively onto the grass verge to let him pass.

  He gave a derisive toot as he swept past them, and Trudy was not surprised to see the long, low sweep of a Morgan in racing-car green shoot by.

  ‘I don’t like that man,’ Trudy said as the car disappeared from sight.

  Clement said nothing for a moment, watching as the car disappeared down the lane. ‘Any reason in particular?’ he asked eventually.

  Trudy frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe it was just that he was so full of himself – in every sort of way. You know – he was so much cleverer than us. So much richer, so much more important. So much better-looking!’

  ‘You speak for yourself, youngster,’ Clement said, straightening his tie ostentatiously, shooting his cuffs and then sweeping a hand through his quiff of thick white hair.

  Trudy burst out laughing. She wasn’t sure why, but it always took her a little aback whenever Dr Ryder displayed his sense of humour.

  ‘He doesn’t like his cousin much, does he?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I know he didn’t say much about him, but you could just feel him sort of… I don’t know… sneering underneath it all, whenever he talked of him.’

  ‘Yes, I agree. And I’m pretty sure Martin de Lacey reciprocates the feeling in spades. No, there’s not much love lost between those two.’

  ‘Do you think that’s why he’ – Trudy nodded her head towards the now empty road – ‘is so keen to marry Miss Chandler? Well, that and for her money, of course. To put one over on his cousin?’

  Clement nodded, but in truth he was pretty sure that Oliver de Lacey’s motives for wanting to marry and settle down with his rich American lady probably went far deeper than that.

  He knew Trudy hadn’t picked up on it – not surprising for a young girl who’d led such a relatively sheltered life – but he was quite sure that the opposite sex held little appeal at all for the likes of Oliver de Lacey. Clement found it quite easy to spot men who had no sexual interest in women – often it had something to do with the way they watched the opposite sex with a detached, uninterested
eye that was, to him, unmistakable. So he was more than willing to bet a guinea or two that the don’s reputation as a ladies’ man had been very carefully cultivated – and was utterly meaningless.

  However, he didn’t really want to take the time right now to give his protégé the somewhat tricky and awkward explanation that would be needed to make clear to her why such a man would eventually need to consider marriage as a suitable cover. Presumably though, since homosexuality was a crime, she must have been taught about such practices in her training.

  ‘Well, apart from confirming that the cousins aren’t very friendly with each other, I don’t see that we’re any further forward, are we, sir?’ Trudy said, a shade forlornly. ‘We seem to be finding out interesting things all right, but nothing that explains why Eddie Proctor either fell or was pushed down that well.’

  But Clement wasn’t so sure. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The lad had to die for some reason,’ he pointed out with grim logic. ‘Which means that someone must have wanted or needed him to be dead. And a young lad, living in a small village – the only people he could have made an enemy of must be around here somewhere.’ He looked around at the Hall, the dower house, and in the distance, towards the village of Briar’s-in-the-Wold itself.

  ‘So everything we learn about the people in his orbit could be significant, because it might lead us towards finding out why Eddie had to die.’ Trudy nodded, willing to be convinced. ‘All right. So, with that thought in mind… shouldn’t we take a detour to the stables before calling it a day?’

  Clement looked at her in surprise. ‘The stables?’ he asked, confused. ‘Why the stables?’

  ‘Well, we know that Jennifer de Lacey was a horsewoman, and that she died as a result of a fall from her horse,’ Trudy said, wondering if she was being foolish. ‘So if we’re looking for dark deeds that might have a bearing on the residents, don’t you think we need to chat with one of the grooms or…’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ Clement said hastily, angry with himself for not following her train of thought sooner. Uneasily, he wondered if he would have been so obtuse just a year ago.

  Trudy smiled in relief. For a moment there, she thought her idea had been a stupid one. Usually it was Dr Ryder who came up with leads and ideas, so she felt rather proud of herself as they made their way to the Briar’s Hall stable block.

  Clement Ryder was unusually silent beside her.

  Little was yet known about Parkinson’s disease, but he knew from the studies he’d been doing ever since being diagnosed that its main symptoms were tremors, slowed movement (or bradykinesia), and rigid muscles. More mundane (but annoying) symptoms could include bad breath, hence his recently acquired habit of popping breath mints regularly throughout the day.

  But although he experienced tremors and uneven footsteps occasionally, he had not, as yet, noticed any of the other problems that could accompany the illness. Such as depression, swallowing problems, sleep disorders or thinking difficulties.

  And the thought of the latter, especially, was truly terrifying. For he’d always been able to rely on his intelligence and brains. But when those inevitably and inexorably began to fail him…

  His heartbeat quickened sickeningly as they made their way to the stables, but he forced himself to confront his fear head-on. Because Trudy’s suggestion that they needed to talk to the grooms, for a horrifyingly blank moment, had made no sense to him at all.

  Of course, it had only been momentarily, and then he’d quickly followed her reasoning. But was that simply a momentary lapse, due to his age? Or was it the first sign of the onset of cognitive problems? His mind instinctively shied away from the word dementia. But he knew that later, when he was alone in his house and darkness fell, it would come back to haunt him.

  Then he noticed Trudy look across at him with a slightly puzzled glance, and told himself angrily to get a grip.

  Granted, although research on the ‘shaking palsy’ was still in its infant stages, it was widely agreed that dementia usually occurred in the latter stages of Parkinson’s. And he was still in the very early stages. So he mustn’t let himself become paranoid over every little thing. He was nearly 60, after all, and it was totally natural that his reactions and thoughts should be slowing down just a fraction.

  Yes, that’s all it amounted to, he reassured himself. For just a fraction of a second, his young protégé had been ahead of him. Which, considering the great pains he was taking in order to teach her logical and lateral thinking, was surely an encouraging sign?

  ‘That must be the stable block, don’t you think?’ Trudy’s voice interrupted his melancholy mood, and he looked up to where she was pointing. Through a large arched entrance in the wall where, in days gone by, the de Lacey coach and horses would have exited, they could see a cobbled yard and a long half-brick, half-wooden structure behind it, with tell-tale half-and-half stable doors.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Clement grunted, still having trouble shaking off his maudlin thoughts.

  They stepped through into a clean and well-maintained yard, and as they did so, a graceful equine head appeared inquisitively over the top half of a door. He had a black glossy coat and a white lop-sided star on his forehead, and Trudy couldn’t help but go over immediately to stroke his irresistibly soft and pink velvet nose.

  ‘He reminds me of Black Beauty,’ Trudy said. ‘That book made me cry buckets when I was 12! I wish I had a carrot for him,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘Here, try one of these,’ Clement said, sacrificing one of his mints to the cause. Trudy took it, laid it flat on her hand and offered it to her new four-legged friend, who, with a deft manipulation of his soft lips, accepted it gracefully.

  ‘Can I ’elp you?’ A somewhat sharp voice had them turning around, to eye the stable ‘boy’ confronting them – who looked to be in his late sixties, maybe even early seventies – if he was a day.

  ‘I’m Dr Clement Ryder, and this is WPC Loveday,’ Clement said, and he saw the other man relax slightly. He was wearing impeccable but old grey trousers, and a grey V-necked, sleeveless jumper over a white shirt. His cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, and he was as wrinkled as a walnut – and about the same colour too. An outdoorsman all his life, his head was now host to uneven tufts of white hair, and two white caterpillars of eyebrows guarded deep-set dark-blue eyes that watched them cautiously.

  He was holding, a little alarmingly, a long-pronged pitchfork, which he let drop to the ground on hearing the coroner’s cultivated voice.

  ‘Ah, squire said as you might be about sometime,’ he owned amiably. ‘I’m William Kirklees, Head Boy here. It’s about poor little Eddie? Squire said you’d be talking to us about him. Nice lad.’

  ‘Did he often come to the stables?’ Trudy asked.

  ‘Only sometimes, and always with Miss Emily. Usually when they had pinched some sugar lumps or carrots or apples from the gardens.’ He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. ‘All kiddies like feeding the ’osses. Not that the ’osses minded that. Greedy beasts, is ’osses,’ he said fondly.

  And so saying, he walked towards them and gave the black horse a fond pat on his neck. The horse responded by head-butting him affably in the shoulder.

  ‘I don’t suppose you were here on the Sunday of the Easter egg hunt?’ Trudy asked.

  ‘I was, then, but only to see to the ’osses. Didn’t do a full day’s work, it being Easter and all. Came in early then off to church. So I didn’t see the young ’uns scampering around. Went home after church, see,’ the Head Boy explained.

  ‘Yes I understand,’ Trudy said, never really having expected anything else. Artlessly, she turned to the horse and stroked it again. ‘He’s a beauty. Does he belong to the squire? Or is this his poor wife’s horse? I understand she died in a riding accident?’

  ‘Ah, no, this ain’t Miss Jennifer’s horse. The squire, he sold ’im on. Couldn’t bear to have ’im around, I reckon. Nice ’oss, mind, was old Seamus. Very nice ’oss.’

  ‘I
’ve been told Mrs de Lacey was an excellent horsewoman. It must have come as a real shock when she was thrown, as she was,’ Trudy continued artlessly.

  ‘Oh ar,’ the Head Boy said nodding. ‘Miss Jennifer had one of the best seats in the Home Counties, I reckon. Can’t think what could have happened. Seamus adored the missus, he did. And she knew how to handle him like a dream. Sorry to see ’im go, I was, but there you are.’ He heaved a massive sigh.

  He seemed a simple soul, and willing enough to talk, so Trudy nodded and decided to push her luck a bit. ‘You must have thought about it a lot. Did you come to any conclusions about what must have happened that day?’

  The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Trudy could have sworn she could almost hear the rasping sound made by his white stubble as his stubby thumbs swept over them. ‘Only thing that makes sense is something spooked ’im,’ the old man said at last. ‘And the missus was so taken by surprise, he unseated her afore she could get control of him.’

  ‘And is that what all the grooms here thought?’ Trudy said craftily. ‘I dare say they were all upset?’

  ‘Oh ar. Yerse, I reckon that’s what most of us thought. Except maybe John.’

  ‘John?’ Trudy prompted.

  ‘Blandon. He was Seamus’ groom. Well, he worked with all the ’osses, like, but Miss Jennifer, she preferred John looking after Seamus special like.’

  ‘Oh? Do you mind if we talk to John?’ Trudy asked, sensing something a little wary in the old man’s manner now.

  ‘You’d have a job, I reckon,’ William Kirklees said, and gave a rather fruity chuckle. ‘Not lest you can shout real loud! He moved up north somewhere, not long after the missus went. Married someone who owned a pub, or so one of the other lads told me. Mind you, that don’t surprise me. He was always the sort to land on his feet, was John.’

  Trudy glanced at Clement, whose eyes were now twinkling.