by Clara Benson
‘Good gracious! How did it happen?’
‘We don’t know, as nobody was there at the time. It was in the afternoon, not long after most of the family had arrived—in fact I’m not even sure that everybody had arrived. People were scattered around the house, doing whatever it was they were doing, when suddenly there was the most awful shriek and a thud and everyone rushed out at once, but it was too late. She was lying there on the floor of the hall, quite dead.’ Louisa paused. ‘It was all rather upsetting,’ she said unhappily.
‘But how on earth did she manage to fall over?’ asked Angela.
‘There is a large chandelier that hangs nearby from the ceiling above. It was thought she must have overbalanced while leaning over the balustrade to dust the light with her handkerchief. She was rather a stickler for cleanliness. At any rate, there was a perfunctory inquest and her death was ruled as accidental, and again nobody had any reason to question that conclusion, although several people did remark that we seemed to be rather unlucky whenever we met as a family.’
Angela nodded sympathetically.
‘Yes, I can imagine they did,’ she said.
‘Then we come to Edward,’ went on Louisa rapidly, as though determined to get the story over and done with now she had begun. ‘That’s where all the trouble started. The talk, I mean. You see, there was a row after dinner. I think by this time everyone was getting rather sick of having to troop along here like good little boys and girls whenever they were summoned. And I imagine we were all somewhat on edge given what had happened to Philippa and Winifred.’
‘What was the row about?’
‘The house, as usual. It was always about the house. John started it. I was furious with him for doing it, but he never could resist needling Edward, who had no sense of humour at all.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, the silly old fool made one or two jokes in very poor taste about how his sisters’ deaths had removed two of the obstacles to his keeping Underwood House, and didn’t Edward think that it was almost as though the house didn’t want to be sold, and that perhaps he had better watch his step? Of course, Edward flared up at once and said some rather regrettable things, then lots of other people joined in, and it ended up with Edward’s stalking out of the house in high dudgeon. He didn’t come back that night, and by breakfast-time the next day Ursula was frantic with worry and insisted on having the grounds searched.’
She paused.
‘They found his body in the lake that afternoon. It looked as though he’d gone out in a rowing-boat, fallen overboard and drowned.’
‘I see. How terrible,’ said Angela.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Haynes. ‘It was, rather. Of course, it did look suspicious after what happened to Philippa and Winifred, but Ursula made things worse by kicking up an awful fuss. She kept on insisting that Edward hated water and would never have dreamed of going out in a boat by himself as he couldn’t swim. And then she brought up the row of the night before and asked John what he had meant by his remarks, and before we knew it, she’d gone to the police and people in the village were saying that they’d all been murdered and that John was about to be arrested.’
‘Oh, so it’s a police matter, is it?’
‘Yes, they came and asked us lots of questions and took a close look at the boat, but they didn’t find anything conclusive.’
‘Was there a post-mortem examination?’
‘Yes, he drowned all right. There’s no doubt about that. They found one or two bruises on his face and body, but they couldn’t say whether those were caused by a struggle with someone or by the fall overboard.’
‘But what was he doing to fall out of a rowing-boat? And why was he in the boat in the first place? It seems a strange thing to do if indeed he did hate water.’
‘He was very angry when he left us,’ said Mrs. Haynes. ‘Perhaps he wanted to clear his head.’
‘Perhaps. You said there was an inquest, I believe?’
‘Yes. I was hoping they’d find it was an accident but in the end there was an open verdict, which of course set tongues wagging even more, as we’re still none the wiser about what really happened. We’ve been the talk of the place for weeks now—thanks partly to Ursula, who refuses to be silenced. John is in the grumps and won’t talk about it, but I want all the pointing and whispering to stop. I want your help, Angela.’
‘But what can I do?’ asked Mrs. Marchmont. ‘I don’t see how I can put an end to idle gossip.’
‘That’s just it. I’m not at all sure it is idle gossip.’
Angela’s eyebrows rose again.
‘Do you mean to say you think they were murdered?’ she said.
‘Yes—no. I don’t know,’ said Mrs. Haynes. ‘But you must admit the deaths look very odd when taken together.’
‘What do the police think?’
‘I don’t know. They can’t arrest anybody, as there’s no evidence. But if Ursula has been badgering them then they are probably keeping a close eye on us all and if anything turns up then they will act.’
‘I still don’t see what I can do.’
‘Why, I want you to try and find out the truth,’ said Louisa, then went on hurriedly as she saw her friend about to object. ‘Do say you will, Angela. You’re so terribly clever at that sort of thing. I don’t know anybody else who could do it.’
‘I? Why on earth do you want me? I am not an investigator.’
‘No, but you do find out things. Your name was all over the papers after the case in Norfolk. “Mrs. Marchmont, the lady detective”, they called you.’
Angela reddened.
‘That was all rot,’ she said crossly. ‘But Louisa, if you really do suspect foul play then surely you ought to speak to the police about it yourself?’
‘But I told you, they’ve already looked into it and found nothing to go on. And having them tramping all over the place again will just stir things up even more. I want somebody discreet.’
‘But if it was murder then the police will have to be called in any case. You must see that. I should only muddy the waters even further by poking my nose in.’
‘Oh dear, I suppose you’re right,’ said Louisa. ‘But I did rather hope—’
She paused. Mrs. Marchmont gave her a searching look.
‘I believe there’s something you haven’t told me,’ she said. ‘I believe you suspect someone in particular.’
‘No-o,’ said her friend. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘Louisa!’
Mrs. Haynes relented.
‘Well, it’s just that Ursula has been so insistent on pointing the finger at John that I did wonder if she mightn’t have something to hide herself.’
‘Do you think she did it?’
‘No, but perhaps—’
‘Her son, Robin, then.’
Louisa looked half-ashamed.
‘It’s such a terrible thing to suspect one’s own family of but really, I don’t know what to think. My head is all of a muddle. Do please help me, Angela. We are all under suspicion at the moment and I simply don’t know what to do.’
Angela was becoming increasingly alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken.
‘But Louisa, I don’t see what I can do that the police haven’t already done. I should have to skulk about, asking impertinent questions and putting everyone’s backs up. And what could I find out that they haven’t discovered already?’
‘Don’t worry about asking questions. I shall see to it that everybody agrees to answer them. After all, if the police have come to a dead-end and Ursula really is as keen to find out the truth as she says, then she can't object, can she?’
Looking at her friend’s hopeful face, Mrs. Marchmont said reluctantly:
‘You must give me time to think about it, then.’ She rose. ‘I shall sleep on it and give you my answer tomorrow. I must go now or I shall miss my train.’
Mrs. Haynes rose too.
‘Of course you must think about it. But I do
hope you will say yes. I am relying on you, Angela.’
‘I should far rather you didn’t,’ said Angela, smiling, and took her leave.
THREE
The train to town was not busy and Angela had no difficulty in finding an empty first-class carriage. She took a seat by the window and prepared to spend the journey deliberating over the strange problem that had been put before her, hoping—if the truth be told—that a good excuse for refusing the task would somehow present itself.
But she had barely even had time to review the facts of the matter before her quiet solitude was interrupted by the entrance of another passenger into the carriage. Angela looked up, suppressing an irritated frown which immediately turned into an exclamation of recognition as she saw who it was.
‘Why, it’s Inspector Jameson,’ she said.
‘Hello, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said the inspector. ‘You look as though you were deep in thought. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘Not at all,’ said Angela. ‘I have just been visiting an old friend and was thinking about something she told me, that’s all.’
Inspector Jameson seated himself opposite her.
‘So you are a friend of the Hayneses’,’ he said.
Angela looked up in surprise.
‘I saw you as you left the house,’ he explained.
‘Ah,’ she said, suddenly understanding.
Jameson studied her for a moment.
‘You are a very remarkable woman, Mrs. Marchmont,’ he said. ‘Anyone else would have immediately bombarded me with questions.’
‘I should rather have thought that you had questions to ask me if you have been watching Underwood House,’ replied Angela.
The inspector nodded in acknowledgment of the parry.
‘I haven’t been watching it,’ he said. ‘I was in Beningfleet this afternoon talking over one or two things with the local superintendent, including the Haynes case. I was passing the house on my way to the station when I saw you come out.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t be of any help. I knew nothing of the matter until this afternoon.’
‘I see.’
Mrs. Marchmont threw him a wary glance but said nothing. There was a short silence, then Jameson laughed.
‘Yes, I see I shall get nothing out of you. You keep your counsel very well.’
‘I have nothing to tell that you don’t already know,’ said Angela. ‘I had tea with an old friend who told me about a number of unfortunate deaths in the family, but that is all.’
‘Indeed? Forgive me, but I thought your friend might have asked you for advice.’
‘Perhaps she did.’
‘Perhaps she did, as you say. And perhaps she even asked you to investigate the mystery. Ah, I see I’ve startled you,’ he went on. ‘No, I wasn’t hiding in a cupboard during tea. The simple fact of the matter is that a few days ago when I told Mr. Haynes that the police would not be investigating further unless some new evidence turned up, he growled something about his wife having a bee in her bonnet about calling in a friend of hers who was a detective. When I saw you, of course I put two and two together.’
Angela went scarlet.
‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘How dreadful! I do hope you don’t think that I go around telling people I’m a detective. It’s all the fault of those horrid newspapers after what happened at Sissingham. Of course, I should never dream of setting myself up as a professional investigator. Louisa got hold of the wrong end of the stick, that’s all, and I told her so.’
‘Then you refused?’
‘I said I should have to think about it, but that was more an excuse to get away than anything else. The last thing I want is to become involved in a family feud and create even more of a muddle than there is at present, and when you arrived I was just musing about how best to say no.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Jameson. ‘I had thought that perhaps you could shed some light on the matter. Our hands are tied at present owing to a lack of evidence, but as a friend of the family acting informally, you might be able to unearth some new information that would clinch the thing one way or the other.’
‘Do you think all three of them were killed deliberately, then? Or just Edward? Or none of them?’
‘It’s impossible to tell. We’d have to get exhumation orders from the Home Office for Philippa Haynes and Winifred Dennison in order to be certain, but we can’t just do that on a whim. We need something to go on first. Vague suspicions and village gossip are not enough.’
Mrs. Marchmont pondered for a moment. ‘I don’t like this at all,’ she said finally. ‘Two people have now asked me to investigate this matter: you and Louisa. But one might almost say that the two of you are on opposite sides. What happens if I discover something that might be better kept hidden? What happens, in short, if I find out that one of the Hayneses is a murderer?’
‘What does Mrs. Haynes say about that?’
‘We didn’t talk about the implications of her request, as I confess I was rather thrown into a panic by it and was anxious to get away as quickly as possible. But I’m afraid she doesn’t realize that she may be opening up Pandora’s box with this.’
‘Perhaps you will find that there is no mystery.’
‘You think I shall prove a negative?’
‘I don’t say that,’ replied Jameson, ‘but you may be able to find positive evidence that all three deaths were accidents.’
Angela was becoming interested despite herself.
‘Tell me about Ursula Haynes,’ she said.
Inspector Jameson scented victory.
‘She is a most interesting woman,’ he said, ‘but I don’t wish to prejudice you before you’ve met her so I won’t say too much on that score, except that she is something of a tartar. It was she who first brought our attention to the affair.’
‘I understand she refuses to accept the theory of an accident.’
‘Yes, she has intimated as much to us.’
‘And what about her son?’
Although there was nothing much in the question, Jameson was instantly alert.
‘Robin Haynes? What did your friend tell you about him?’
‘Nothing in particular, why?’
‘I can’t say too much, just that we have been interested in young Master Robin’s dealings for some little time now.’
‘Oh?’
‘He works at Peake’s, you know—the stockbroker’s. There’s nothing we can quite put the finger on, but there have been rumours coming out of the place lately which suggest that someone has been carrying out certain murky transactions there, and they have been traced back to his department. I gather from my informant that it may all blow up any day now.’
‘I see,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘Does he benefit from his father’s death?’
‘Yes, he and his mother each inherit a half-share of five thousand pounds.’
‘But if I remember correctly, they lose another five thousand pounds, which goes to the lawyer, Mr. Faulkner. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’
‘Yes, it does rather,’ replied Jameson. ‘But I have seen much stranger in my line of work. Philip Haynes and Mr. Faulkner were close acquaintances, so it takes no great stretch of the imagination to accept that an eccentric old man might choose to express his gratitude to his solicitor through his will.’
‘Who benefits from Philippa’s death? I understand she was unmarried.’
‘Yes. She had a wide circle of friends, to whom she left various sums. She also left money to servants and charities. The remainder went to her family, but I don’t think anyone got more than five hundred pounds.’
‘Hardly a motive for murder,’ said Angela.
‘That depends—a starving man might kill for a square meal.’
‘True. And of course we mustn’t forget the five thousand pounds for Mr. Faulkner. What about Winifred? Where did her money go?’
‘Winifred Dennison was a widow with an enthusiasm for lost causes, and appears to have giv
en most of her money to various organizations during her lifetime. As a result, her daughter Susan received little or nothing. You may have heard of the daughter—she is better-known in Bohemian circles as Euphrosyne Dennison.’
‘Oh! The artist. Yes, I have seen her work. I believe she is meant to be quite the latest thing. Was she upset at the size of her bequest?’
‘I have no idea. I didn’t get much change out of her at all, I’m afraid. She rather looked down on me as a policeman and put me firmly in my place.’
Angela smiled at his rueful expression.
‘Then it appears that only Mr. Faulkner has a motive for all three deaths,’ she said.
‘He is the only one with a purely financial motive, yes. But we have investigated his movements and found that he has alibis for the times when each of them occurred, so that’s no go. There is another person who gains an advantage from all the deaths, however,’ he went on cautiously.
Angela was nothing if not a realist.
‘You are referring to John Haynes,’ she said. ‘I’d thought of that. With his sisters and brother out of the way it becomes far easier for him to claim Underwood House as his own. Unless Ursula or Robin or Susan had strong views about the house’s fate, of course. I assume the shares of Edward and Winifred passed on to them.’
‘Yes. John Haynes inherited the entirety of his sister Philippa’s share when she died, so he now owns half the house. I have no idea whether he has reached any private arrangement with the remaining relatives to buy their shares.’
‘From the impression I have gained of Ursula, I imagine that she would be unwilling to let John have all his own way.’
‘She’s certainly the type,’ agreed the inspector.
The train was now arriving at Waterloo station.
‘I do hope you will think about it,’ said Jameson, as they prepared to alight.
‘Oh, I shall think about it all right,’ said Mrs. Marchmont.
The inspector lowered his voice.
‘Officially, the police are maintaining a discreet distance, you understand, but I may be able to provide assistance if you need it—strictly unofficially, of course. You will always find me at Scotland Yard.’