Death in the Greenhouse

by JRL Anderson

  Another philosophical entry ran.

  I am now convinced of the uniqueness of adamantifera, and that it does represent an unknown genus. I confess that I am still torn between my desire for scientific recognition of this, and my old fears about giving knowledge, or half-knowledge, to the wrong people. I think I can solve the problem by writing of adamantifera technically as a rare African plant, continuing total reticence about any of its other attributes.

  Early in the year before he died, he wrote, ‘I have been able to acquire samples of some diamondiferous earths from South Africa. Experimenting with this I have produced adamantifera much more nearly flecked than anything I have achieved in the past.’

  Then, ‘I have spent weeks in calculating height-lines for adamantifera in an Equatorial African habitat. Relating my calculations to the geological survey of our old Colonial days, I think I can estimate within fairly narrow limits where the flecked variety is likely to be found. The Colonial survey is very imperfect for the Otaro region, but at least it gives me something to go on. I shall write to Father Simpson and ask him to make a search for me.’

  Later, ‘Simpson’s box of earth has arrived. I lost no time in potting several specimens of adamantifera in different concentrations with other composts.’

  That was near the end of the book. The last few entries read,

  Have grown perfectly-flecked adamantifera in the greenhouse. Will try transplanting selected specimens.

  Today transplanted three specimens of flecked adamantifera to the garden.

  No doubt remains about adamantifera. Whether it has ever been found outside Africa I don’t know, but its qualities in an Equatorial African setting are now proved. I have decided today to deposit this diary at the bank, with a letter to Meredith Boscombe, who has gone into politics and has been given a job at the Foreign Office. I say that adamantifera’s diamondiferous qualities are proved – I ought to qualify this by adding, ‘to my satisfaction’. Before acting finally I must wait to see whether the transplanted specimens produce flecked petals when they flower. I am convinced they will, but others will require physical proof.

  That was the last entry in the diary. Quenenden was right in his conviction, but he did not live to see his flecked flowers in his garden.

  *

  The diary explained a good deal, but it left much unexplained – in particular, where and how Miss Sutherland fitted into the story. It was left to Father Simpson to throw on this such light as we ever obtained. He came to see me every day while I was in hospital, but when I was still acutely ill he came, he said, just to offer a prayer for me, and did not stay many minutes. Ruth would not let him stay, anyway. One day when I was getting better, and able to sit up in bed, he took a chair by the window. I had scarcely noticed him on his previous visits – now that I looked at him in a good light I thought he had aged terribly. For what seemed a long time he sat staring into the sky. At last he said, ‘May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Of course, though I may not be able to answer it.’

  ‘But for me, do you think Robert Purbeck would have killed Hilda?’

  It was an extraordinary question. ‘I don’t see that you had anything to do with it,’ I said.

  ‘I had everything to do with it. Many years ago I introduced Eustace Quenenden to Hilda, and she also met Robert Purbeck here, when he stayed at the Mission during a tour of the district. Then recently, when she came out to stay with us, I took her to see the place where I had dug samples of soil for Eustace.’

  ‘So that is how she knew the way! That’s why the path was slightly cleared.’

  ‘Yes. I had no reason to think that I was betraying any trust. Hilda was Eustace’s heir, she had inherited his books and the records of his work. She told me that Eustace had been very pleased when my box of earth reached him, and said that she would be most interested to see where it came from. So I made a picnic for her, and took her there.’

  ‘She betrayed you. She must have told Purbeck almost at once.’

  ‘I suppose so. It would have been easier if Eustace had confided in me and told me about his search for diamonds in his plant adamantifera’s clay. I should have been as discreet as he was – more so, for I should not have told Hilda. But he did not confide in me, and I knew only that he was trying to propagate a rare species of plant.’

  ‘What was the link between Mr Quenenden and Miss Sutherland?’

  ‘What are the links between any two human beings? As I told you, Eustace Quenenden met her here, when she was a young teacher in our first secondary school. She was lively and pretty, and he enjoyed talking to her. In the school holidays he would invite her to stay with him at his official residence in Fort Edward. I’m sure there was never anything improper in their relationship. Eustace was old enough to be her father, and I think he came to regard her rather as a daughter. He had absorbing interests in his life, languages, botany, and the welfare of the African people, but in many ways he was a somewhat lonely man. Hilda’s youth and brightness gave him something that he lacked, I think. And he kept in touch with her when he got back to England. I don’t know, but I think he wrote to her each week, and probably she was the one person he trusted to talk to, or write to, about his work.’

  ‘Do you think she stayed with him at his cottage?’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t. Eustace was rather an old maid, with a Victorian sense of the proprieties. He would not have invited a woman to stay in a cottage where he was living alone. It was different at Fort Edward – there he had an official residence, with staff, and facilities for guests. I should imagine that he would meet Hilda when he could in London, and take her to lunch or dinner, but no more.’

  ‘What do you know of Robert Purbeck?’

  The old priest was silent for a long minute. ‘It is not for me to judge the dead,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not asking you to judge him. I’m asking for any factual knowledge you may have about him.’

  ‘I know he ruined Hilda’s life. Can one break confidence with the dead?’

  ‘Yes, in certain circumstances. But where it is a question of trying to remove doubt and uncertainty, where you cannot harm the living, and can no longer hurt the dead, then I think you can speak freely of matters within your own knowledge.’

  ‘I am less sure. But I will try to tell you what I know. I told you that Robert Purbeck met Hilda here. They were both young, he was virile and attractive, and Hilda fell deeply in love with him. It was because of him that she went back to England. Indeed, she asked my advice, and I advised her to return to England, and to try to put Robert Purbeck out of her life. She explained the situation. Robert Purbeck, she said, was already married – he had married very young, the marriage was not a success, and his wife had left him to live in the United States. He was now in love with Hilda, but he could not offer marriage because his wife had strong principles against divorce, and would never consent to divorce.’

  ‘I wonder. Do you think there really was a wife?’

  ‘How can I know? My impression was that Purbeck was certainly attracted to her, but that he had no wish to get married. Hilda took my advice about going back to England, but it would seem that she did not act on the part about putting Robert Purbeck out of her life.’

  ‘There is evidence that she went on seeing him, and that he stayed at her house fairly regularly. She had to be careful, I suppose, that Quenenden should not get to hear of it. He might have disapproved strongly, and he might easily have altered his will.’

  The priest put his head in his hands. ‘I cannot think of Hilda as an evil woman,’ he said. ‘She was besotted by Robert Purbeck. Was he evil? He had ambition, and greed, and selfishness. They are common characteristics – in him, it seems, carried to excess. If he had been kinder to Hilda, could she have helped him? Could I have helped either of them?’

  ‘You did what you could many years ago. This time you did not even know that Robert Purbeck was around. You gave hospitality to Hilda. Did she come quite without
notice?’

  ‘Not quite. She sent a note from Fort Edward saying that she had come to Africa for a holiday, and could she visit the Mission? I wrote back and invited her at once. I was delighted to see her. I could not know why she had come, of course.’

  ‘You could have done nothing but what you did. Let the dead bury the dead. You have much work to do for the living – for the changed society that opening up the diamond fields will bring.’

  ‘That will be work for my successor.’

  ‘No, it won’t. Your successor will have a different kind of job to do – the work of guiding the Mission when the forest people are bewildered by the first changes that the diamond fields bring to their lives will be yours. It is presumptuous for any mortal to discern the will of God, but maybe that is why you have been here for all these years.’

  *

  I hope this reflection comforted him a little, but in the whole dreadful chain of events it was hard to feel anything but pity (and some contempt) for the human lot. It was a record of betrayal – betrayal by Robert Purbeck of Hilda Sutherland’s devotion to him, betrayal by the Sutherland woman of her benefactor Quenenden, and, though in a minor way, of her host at the Mission. Her life didn’t bear thinking about – the years when she might have had children, home, and family, wasted in devotion to an insanely ambitious man. Did Purbeck ever have a wife? I was inclined to doubt it, though it would be hard to establish one way or the other. The Registrar General’s records would show if he had ever been married in England, but it was possible that he might have been married in America, or somewhere else. It didn’t matter. My instinct was to suspect the story of the wife as a convenient excuse for not marrying Miss Sutherland, but while it might have served for a time it was ridiculous to prolong such an excuse for years because if he had ever really cared for Miss Sutherland he could easily have got a divorce. Did she believe it? As an intelligent woman perhaps not, but emotionally she would not have wanted to disbelieve it. She was able to maintain some relationship with Robert Purbeck, and I suppose she convinced herself that it was all she could have. It was her loyalty to him that brought about her own death. Horrible as the circumstances were, it was impossible to feel that death was anything but a release for her. She had nothing left to live for, save remorse, and that is a tortured way of living. Had Purbeck lived to be brought to trial I think Miss Sutherland would also have been tried as an accessory in Quenenden’s murder, but with Purbeck dead she could scarcely have been tried on her own. I still wondered why she had run away from Newton Blaize after I had telephoned to ask for an interview. Really, she had nothing to fear – I had not then visited her old house in Lancashire, and if she had told a reasonable story about her relations with Quenenden it is quite likely that I should not have gone to Lancashire, and would not then have seen the adamantifera plant growing in her garden. It was Professor Huntingford’s interest in the slight differences of coloration between the Lancashire plant and the flowers in Quenenden’s own garden that made me understand the importance of the box of clay sent to him from Africa. If Miss Sutherland had stayed put, probably the case would never have been solved. But she couldn’t stay put, for the same reason that she felt driven to warn Purbeck about my arrival at the Mission – she knew too much for any peace of mind. On the night she walked out of Newton Blaize she must have gone straight to London Airport via Reading. When she walked out of the Mission to warn Purbeck, she walked to her death.

  It may be convenient to record here one small happiness that did come from Hilda Sutherland’s personal tragedy, though it did not emerge until months later. Had Miss Sutherland been convicted of any part in Quenenden’s murder her interest in his will would have been set aside, for you cannot lawfully inherit from someone you help to murder. As things were, she could not be convicted, so her inheritance stood, and at her death the cottage and the money that Quenenden left her formed part of her own estate. She left no will, and having died intestate the property went to an elderly cousin with a crippled husband, whom she had looked after for years with great fortitude and very little money. The unexpected legacy from Miss Sutherland transformed their lives. When I heard about it I reflected that old Quenenden would have been quite pleased: he was a kindly man.

  My next visitors were more like a delegation. Sir Edmund Pusey flew out to see me, and he came accompanied by Mr Malindono and Mr Sessini – a helicopter brought the three of them together from the Mpugan capital.

  ‘At least you’re getting a sort of holiday with Ruth,’ Sir Edmund said.

  ‘A sort of holiday! It would take a Home Office man to think up that one! If you’re going to make it count against the leave you owe me you will just have a vacancy on the staff.’

  ‘My dear Peter! It is at moments when you feel a really deep emotion that you need to talk lightly.’

  ‘All right, I’ll forgive you.’

  *

  The Africans were less afraid of showing their feelings. ‘You have given our country a diamond-bright future. How can we ever thank you?’ Mr Sessini said.

  ‘It is not much to do with me. You owe the diamonds to Eustace Quenenden.’

  ‘True, but without you we should not have known about them. There would have been illicit diamond-working, much smuggling across the frontier, and much political trouble. You have saved us from all that.’

  ‘With the help of Sergeant Taskalu. I hope he will be promoted.’

  ‘That has already been seen to. He will go far, that young man.’

  ‘Mr Meredith Boscombe has behaved with great generosity,’ Mr Malindono said. ‘He has conveyed all interest in the land he owned to the Mpugan State, without fee, and without asking for any royalty or concession. Needless to say, since we owe the discovery of the diamond fields to the British, we shall employ British firms as far as possible to help in their development.’

  ‘Mr Boscombe did ask for one thing,’ put in Mr Sessini.

  ‘Yes, and we are glad to grant it. He asked that a small charge on the revenues from the diamond fields should be set aside to provide for two Mpugan boys and two Mpugan girls to go to Oxford every year. He also asked if these grants could be known as the Quenenden Scholarships. This, too, we have been most happy to agree.’

  Meredith Boscombe, it seemed to me, came out of things very well. He was a thoroughly honourable man – though whether he was tough enough to be a successful politician I was less sure.

  Ruth and I were married at the British High Commissioner’s office in Mpuga, and afterwards the Mpugan Government gave a reception for us. They wanted to give Ruth a diamond necklace as a wedding present, but mercifully they sent a discreet message first to inquire whether she would accept it, and she had no hesitation in saying firmly No.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J.R.L. Anderson was an author of fourteen mystery stories and numerous works of non-fiction. He was a journalist at the Guardian for many years, before retiring to pursue his career as an author. He had a life-long interest in sailing and adventure, which results in many of his novels (as his original author biography from the 1970s puts it) ending ‘with an exciting sea chase in a small boat’.

  If you enjoyed Death in the Greenhouse, why not continue reading The Peter Blair Mysteries . . .

  Death in a High Latitude

  When the deputy chairman of a world-leading oil company gets kidnapped in Hamburg, Peter Blair is urgently called in to lead the rescue mission.

  The captured Dr Braunschweig is a wealthy and powerful man, and a sizeable ransom demand seems certain. So it seems very strange when all the kidnappers desire in exchange for their hostage is a certain 17th Century Arctic map.

  But when the map is suddenly reported missing from its museum in Cambridge, it becomes clear there is much more at stake than a valuable relic. And with news that an oil expert has been murdered in the Arctic, an old map from the past threatens to have global consequences for the future...

  Death in a High Latitude is the final mystery starring the
marvellous Peter Blair - and J.R.L. Anderson has saved his best investigation till last.

  You might also enjoy J.R.L. Anderson’s next series, The Piet Deventer Investigations . . .

  A Sprig of Sea Lavender

  Up-and-coming painter, Sandra Telford, races down the platform to catch her train to London.

  Two hours later she’s found dead in her seat. At her feet is a portfolio containing millions of pounds worth of unlisted artwork – and a single sprig of sea lavender.

  Inspector Piet Deventer, an art lover himself, is put on the case. The victim is the former lover of an escaped convict, the mastermind behind one of the largest gold robberies of the century – and Piet suspects the two cases might be connected.

  Struggling for leads, Piet enlists the help of Sally Graham, a friend of the victim, to help with his investigation. But with a dangerous criminal on the loose, Piet will need all his wits about him – so it doesn’t help that he finds himself falling in love . . .

  A Sprig of Sea Lavender is J.R.L. Anderson’s first mystery featuring Piet Deventer, and is an unmissable read for all lovers of English crime.

  First published in Great Britain in 1978 by Victor Gollancz Ltd

  This ebook edition published in 2015 by

  Zaffre Publishing

  80-81 Wimpole St, London, W1G 9RE

  www.zaffrebooks.co.uk

  Copyright © J.R.L. Anderson, 1978

  The moral right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.