by Ann Granger
‘You don’t want to worry about him, sir,’ Wilfred assured me, accompanying his words with a wink and what would have been a broad smile, if he’d had more teeth. As it was, it was a disconcerting display of gums, dotted with yellowing stumps. ‘He won’t set you on the ground.’
I wondered, as we rode out of the yard, whether my longing to see Lizzie that night might have led me into an unwise decision. It was late to be setting off. It had been a long day. We rode along the main road and then turned off up a rutted track, and passed by a couple of dilapidated cottages where a pair of scruffy dogs ran out, barking at us. Wilfred yelled a volley of abuse, and the curs withdrew; but no one came out to see what the noise was about. At last we emerged on to the heath. The track here was wide and seemed well used. Wilfred turned in the saddle to look back at me and asked, ‘All right, there, sir?’
I called out that I was. Wilfred gave his toothless grin again and set off, his mount breaking into a canter. Firefly followed the lead of the pony ahead and soon we were making good going. Wilfred glanced back a few times to make sure I was still securely in the saddle. I found I was quite enjoying myself. Eventually he slowed, for the track was narrowing. We carried on in this way, making faster time where the going was good, and picking our way with more caution through the narrow tracks made by the wild ponies through the heather. Wilfred certainly did know the way. I would never have found it without him. But I kept a sharp look out for anything that might serve to guide me if I had to cover the ground alone. The heath, dotted with patches of gorse and the occasional cluster of trees, was peaceful. The only sound was the dull thud of the ponies’ hooves on the soft soil. The air was fresh and balmy. I would sleep well that night. Eventually we reached another wide, stony track, crossing our path, and turned on to this. About ten minutes later Wilfred reined up, turned in the saddle and pointed.
‘There it is, sir! That white building down there. That’s The Old Excise House.’
It had taken us just under three-quarters of an hour. The arrival of horsemen caused the housekeeper to come to the door. As she did, her husband came round the corner of the house and greeted my guide.
‘’Tis you, then, Wilf.’
‘’Tis me, Jacob,’ Wilfred agreed.
Jacob then came to hold Firefly’s bridle and I managed to dismount in fairly good order.
‘Ben!’ It was Lizzie, running from the house and, to the amusement of Wilf and Jacob, throwing her arms about me.
‘I can’t stay long,’ I told her. ‘But I was anxious to see you and let you know I’ve arrived.’
‘But you’ll stay to dinner, sir?’ This question came from the housekeeper, who had followed Lizzie.
‘Indeed, I can’t, I am sorry.’ I turned to Lizzie, whose face clearly showed her disappointment.
‘We’ll have the opportunity to talk tomorrow, l hope,’ I said quietly. ‘I am very anxious to hear your account of the dinner party.’
Lizzie was leading me into the house. ‘Aunt Parry is waiting!’ she whispered.
Mrs Parry was indeed awaiting us in the parlour, seated in state as if to grant a royal audience. Her ankle was swathed in bandages and propped on a tapestry stool. ‘At last, Inspector Ross,’ she said. ‘We have been waiting for you all day!’
‘Ben only came from London today—’ Lizzie began in protest, her face reddening.
‘I was obliged to stop for a while in Southampton and discuss the matter with the inspector there, who has been overseeing the inquiry,’ I explained.
Mrs Parry accepted this grudgingly, but next declared, ‘Well, I am very pleased to see you, Mr Ross, but it would have been very helpful if you had come at once, as soon as poor Sir Henry’s body was discovered.’
Lizzie was now crimson with suppressed ire.
‘If only it had been possible!’ I said hastily. ‘But there is an official procedure in these matters, and it must be followed. Until we received a request from the local police, asking for the assistance of the Yard, I couldn’t come.’
From the corner of my eye I saw a gleam in my wife’s eye and knew she meant mischief. ‘Bessie wrote to me, explaining the coalhouse door has fallen off,’ she said brightly.
This totally unexpected contribution to the conversation left Mrs Parry startled and speechless, as Lizzie had known it would.
‘It did,’ I agreed. ‘But Biddle’s Uncle Walter has come to mend it. Walter is apparently an excellent worker and can turn his hand to anything.’
‘What on earth,’ asked Mrs Parry with rising ire, ‘has this to do with your investigation? Of what possible interest is a coalhouse door? Mr Ross, we are in fear of our lives here!’
‘Has anyone else been attacked, since the death of Sir Henry?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she conceded unwillingly. She flung out a plump arm clad in cerise silk and pointed at the window. ‘But if a charming and hospitable gentleman like poor Sir Henry has been slaughtered in his bed, who else can be safe?’
These words did interest me. I’d heard that his peers had respected the deceased. That he had had some influential friends. That he had been successful in his business affairs. No one, so far, had suggested that Sir Henry had been charming. But Mrs Parry was a wealthy widow. Lizzie, in her letter informing me of the murder, had written that, at the dinner party, the late Sir Henry had been affable most of the time. He’d charmed Mrs Parry. Lizzie had added that he’d not troubled to charm herself. This did not make me think better of him. If anything, the reverse was true.
Fortunately at that moment a very pretty girl with a mass of red hair came in, carrying the tea tray. As tea was being dispensed I took the opportunity to ask Mrs Parry, ‘You appear to have met with some mishap, ma’am?’
Conversation changed direction away from the murder, and was concentrated on Mrs Parry’s unfortunate fall, in which she had sprained her ankle. Cold compresses, I was assured, were having a beneficial effect but walking, even with a stick, was difficult.
It was then time for me to leave and start back to the Acorn. Lizzie came to the door to say goodbye. ‘I have so much to tell you!’ she said in a low voice.
‘We’ll have an opportunity to talk soon, my dear,’ I promised. ‘Is Mrs Parry being very difficult?’
‘The murder of Sir Henry has really frightened her. She’ll feel happier now you are here.’ After a second’s pause, Lizzie added, ‘And so will I.’
‘The lady’s ankle injury must make life difficult, I imagine,’ I said. I had noticed as I’d entered the house that the stair to the first floor appeared narrow, steep and dark. ‘How does she manage to get upstairs?’
‘She doesn’t!’ said Lizzie frankly. ‘She could only just manage to get up the stairs before she twisted the ankle. The staircase is narrow and she is rather wide. She can’t manage it at all now. However, fortunately there is a small room on the ground floor. It’s fitted out to be Mr Hammet’s study, when the Hammets are in residence. I imagine it’s his refuge. The smell of cigar smoke lingers in it. There is a bookcase in there and a writing desk, and a very large chesterfield sofa. I expect he takes a nap on it after his lunch. Anyway, a bed has been made up for Aunt Parry on the chesterfield, so she has no need to tackle the staircase.’
‘That’s lucky,’ I remarked.
‘It’s not very lucky for poor Nugent. All Aunt Parry’s clothes, personal necessities and so on, are upstairs in her bedroom, which means Nugent is running up and down the stairs all day long. And if it’s not Nugent, then I am sent on the errand. I have reverted to being her companion, as I was before we married. Well, I knew, before we came, that there was no other reason she invited me.’ Lizzie’s voice echoed with suppressed resentment.
I was filled with guilt, because I had urged Lizzie to accept Mrs Parry’s offer. ‘This has been something of an unlucky visit for all three of you, so far.’
My wife rallied and with splendid confidence replied: ‘It will be all right now you are here, Ben.’
That only m
ade me feel worse. Everyone expected me to solve this dreadful mystery with the utmost speed. Apart from Mrs Parry and my own wife, urging me on were Dunn, so that I could return to my proper place in London; Hughes, so that he might close the file; the coroner, because Sir Henry had been his friend; Mr Pelham the solicitor in London because he had the will to settle; Beresford, because he was the heir; Harcourt the land manager and all the staff employed by the late Sir Henry because their future employment was at stake.
‘Beresford is coming to the inn tomorrow at breakfast-time to take me to Sir Henry’s house and the scene of the tragedy. We’ll talk at greater length, Lizzie. I hope to dine with you and Mrs Parry tomorrow evening. Is there anything you think I should know before I see Beresford?’
She hesitated. ‘There was something of a strained atmosphere at dinner, between the three men.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘No. I think they may have been discussing something earlier, some cause for dispute. It’s only a guess.’
‘Did you like Sir Henry?’ I asked, curious that she hadn’t shared Mrs Parry’s insistence on his charm.
‘Not a bit!’ said Lizzie briskly.
Wilfred and Jacob were waiting with the ponies a little way off, holding a bridle apiece. If I stayed talking seriously with Lizzie much longer, they would be curious.
‘Your lady was very pleased to see you, sir!’ called Wilfred to me as we set off back to the Acorn.
The sun was setting, reflected on the surface of the water to our right, lending the ripple of the waves a rosy hue. I wished it did not make me think of blood. We turned to ride inland. A few birds swooped overhead, making for their roosting places. The heath, which had appeared so pleasant a sight during our ride across it earlier, was now patterned with shadows and had taken on a slightly sinister aspect.
‘I was very pleased to see her, Wilfred,’ I told him.
He returned me his gummy grin, just visible in the shadows. There is a comradeship that comes with the setting sun. It is probably rooted in an ancient fear of being alone in the dark; and instinct to draw together against whatever dangers might be out there.
‘Wilfred,’ I asked him. ‘Did you ever meet Sir Henry Meager?’
‘Not meet,’ he replied at once. ‘He wouldn’t have had any time for the likes of me. I never worked for him, neither. Saw him a few times, riding out. He was a fine figure of a gentleman.’
‘But you knew of him by reputation?’
‘Oh, I knew of that,’ he agreed.
‘Of what?’ I asked.
‘Why, sir, his reputation, like you said.’
‘And what, Wilfred, as far as you heard it, was Sir Henry’s reputation?’
Wilfred waited a moment before he replied. Then he said, his voice seeming to echo in the gloom as it floated across the shadowy heather so that it was almost as if an oracle spoke, ‘As I heard it, sir, he was a regular terror! Very violent temper, by all accounts; and he would have his way in everything. But then, he was an important man hereabouts. Important gentlemen,’ concluded Wilfred sagely, ‘have their ways. Best not for the rest of us to question them.’
Chapter Eight
Inspector Ben Ross
Mrs Garvey had kept a dinner waiting for me: steak and kidney pudding in a suet crust. I enjoyed it very much, but a heavy meal after a busy day and two rides across the heath finally finished me off. I fell into my bed and slept undisturbed until awoken by a knock at the door and the arrival of Mrs Garvey with a pot of tea, followed by the potman, Jed, with a can of hot water.
‘You did ask to be called, sir, on account of Mr Beresford coming to meet you this morning,’ she said brightly.
I did not remember requesting an early-morning call; although it was a good thing she had woken me. I thanked her, sat up in bed and let out an unwary yelp of pain.
‘Ah,’ said the landlady wisely, ‘that will be from riding over the heath with Wilfred. You take cabs and such in London, I dare say.’
She and the grinning potman departed. I gingerly got out bed; aware that I had muscular aches and pains where I hadn’t been aware I had muscles. After I’d stretched a few times, drunk my tea and moved around a little, I was able to shave using the hot water, dress and make my way downstairs. There I was shown into the snug again – apparently reserved for my private use – and served up a generous platter of bacon and eggs. As I did my best to do justice to the breakfast, it suddenly occurred to me that I had not warned Mrs Garvey that Mr Beresford was coming. She had given me the letter, it was true. Possibly Beresford himself had told her he meant to arrive at breakfast-time, or she had it from Tizard. It was a reminder, right from the start, that it was going to be difficult to conduct my inquiries unobserved and without the surrounding countryside knowing.
I was expecting Beresford to arrive on horseback. But a clatter of hooves and rattle of wheels announced his arrival, driving himself in a pony and trap. I admit to feeling relief that I did not have to scramble back into the saddle again immediately. I got to my feet as Beresford entered the snug. He looked much as I remembered him, a little heavier perhaps, but otherwise unchanged: a tweed-clad country gentleman, clean-shaven but with curly hair, now greying a little. A black armband had been sewn around the right sleeve of his jacket.
‘I am not too early?’ he asked, after we had shaken hands and exchanged greetings. ‘Tom Tizard told me you wanted to make an early start.’
‘Not too early at all,’ I assured him. I decided to tackle the matter of Tizard and the berlin at once. ‘It was very good of Harcourt to send Tizard to meet me at Hythe,’ I told him. ‘He indicated the carriage would be at my disposal, but I shall be able to manage. I am able to hire a pony from the inn here.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Beresford, suppressing a smile, ‘you were out riding yesterday evening, I hear. But you will need a guide.’
‘I hope,’ I said firmly, ‘to avail myself again of the assistance of Wilfred, Mrs Garvey’s stableman, as I did last night.’
I was well aware that Wilfred, too, would report my movements, as it seemed he had already done, but it was the best I could do. Wilfred, at least, had not worked for the victim in this case.
‘As you wish, of course,’ Beresford said. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘You have married, Mr Beresford, since my last visit here,’ I said now, getting a grip on the conversation. ‘My congratulations, sir!’
‘Thank you. My wife and I hope that you and Mrs Ross, and Mrs Parry, will dine with us tonight.’
This was embarrassing. ‘You will forgive me,’ I said, ‘if I say that my wife and I, and Mrs Parry, will be delighted to accept your kind invitation, but not, perhaps, until my inquiries are settled. Please don’t be offended. It is because I am here to investigate your uncle’s death.’
Beresford nodded. ‘I do understand you want a free hand in your investigations and also that, as my uncle’s designated heir, I must be a suspect. Don’t, please!’ He raised a hand to forestall me. ‘Don’t deny it. Of course I am. I’m the one who benefits by his death.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Could Mrs Ross and Mrs Parry take tea with my wife this afternoon? Would that be in order? Agnes is very anxious that I should ask.’ He hesitated. ‘With so much to do, if the ladies could come this afternoon, Agnes would very much appreciate it. Although the invitation is somewhat rushed, the days after that will be busy.’
‘I understand,’ I told him. ‘This is a difficult time for you and your wife.’
‘Yes, she is an orphan and has no close female relative who could come and stay. It’s another reason why I would be very pleased if your wife and Mrs Parry could come. Agnes is bearing up well under the shock and the pressure, given the circumstances, but I think she needs another female to talk to.’
‘A very good idea,’ I agreed.
‘I wonder, have you met Pelham, my uncle’s solicitor?’ Beresford asked suddenly. ‘He takes care of the affairs of a number of well-known families in Lond
on, so you may have run into him.’
‘Mr Pelham and I,’ I told him, ‘have met on a few occasions. I have not yet spoken to him with regard to the present matter.’ I was rather proud of this speech. I could simply have said that Pelham and I were old foes.
‘He is coming down tonight from London,’ Beresford continued, ‘in order to attend my uncle’s funeral, although the date of that is still not fixed. Pelham believes we should wait until you – the police – agree the burial can go ahead. In case…’ Here Beresford drew a deep breath. ‘In case it is felt a postmortem examination is necessary. The cause of death is clear enough, so I hope that will not be so. Once the funeral has taken place there can be a formal reading of the will, even though the contents are no secret.’
‘Where is Sir Henry’s body now? At the undertaker’s or still at the Hall?’ I asked. The reply was unexpected.
‘The servants at the Hall are all in such a state that we felt, Harcourt and I, that it was not wise to leave the body there. So, at the moment, the coffin is in a disused icehouse in the grounds of my place, Oakwood House.’
I must have looked as startled as I was at this unusual – although sensible enough – place to keep the body, if it had to be moved from the Hall. My surprise must have shown itself.
‘The alternative,’ explained Beresford, after a quick, sideways glance at me, ‘would be to leave it at the undertaker’s establishment. That’s in Lymington. But the undertaker is uneasy at such an idea. It is not known how long my uncle’s remains would be there and other clients – I mean the living relatives of other deceased persons – might be upset at the notion of their own dear departed lying in a small morgue alongside a murder victim.’
Beresford hesitated. ‘Friends and family of the dead person often call to pay their respects at the side of the coffin. With someone as well-known as Sir Henry, a gentleman and a murdered one at that, the undertaker feared a queue would form at his door, all manner of folk wanting to “pay their respects”. It could become, the man told me, akin to a gruesome sideshow at a carnival of curiosities.’