by Clara Benson
‘Uncle!’ said Stella reproachfully.
John Haynes looked sheepish.
‘Well, I dare say that was in poor taste, but it’s no use pretending there was any love lost between Winifred and Edward and me, although I was rather fond of Philippa.’
‘Louisa said you were in your study when Winifred fell,’ said Angela.
‘Yes. I was in the middle of something and didn’t take any notice of the row for a bit. Eventually I couldn’t ignore it any longer and I came out to find out what in heaven’s name was going on, only to find the old girl sprawled out on the hall floor with her neck snapped in two and everybody running in fifty directions at once.’
‘I see,’ said Angela.
‘Perhaps Robin will be able to tell you something more about it,’ said Guy. ‘He was found bending over Winifred’s body, so he must have been the first to arrive.’
‘Yes, he or Donald,’ said Angela.
‘Ah, Stella, that reminds me,’ said John. ‘What’s all this I hear about a disagreement between you and Don?’
Stella scowled.
‘It’s none of your business,’ she snapped. ‘But seeing as I shan’t be speaking to him ever again you may tell him from me that he’s a horrid pig.’
Guy raised his eyebrows.
‘I say,’ he said. ‘Poor Don.’
‘Never mind “poor Don,”’ said Stella. ‘I’m the one who’s had to put up with him and his beastly moods. Well, that’s all over now. He can find some other silly girl to follow him around. I shan’t be taken in by him again.’
She turned on her heel and stalked off.
‘Too bad,’ said Guy, gazing after her. ‘I wonder what it’s all about this time. Her work again, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Her work?’ said Angela. ‘Louisa said she is a nurse.’
‘Yes, and a very fine one too if what I hear is true,’ replied the young man. ‘She wanted to be a doctor, but her father wouldn’t hear of any daughter of his doing that kind of thing, so she was forced to be content with nursing. Don would like her to give it up after they get married but she doesn’t want to. It’s caused plenty of rows between them, I can tell you. They’re each as stubborn as the other.’
‘Damn’ silly quarrels,’ said John. ‘He ought to keep his mouth shut and give her her head. That’s the way to get round a woman. Let her think she has the upper hand and she’ll be as quiet as you like. But just try to forbid her from doing something and you’ll know about it! Ten to one she’ll decide to give it up anyway once the children come along. I shall have to have a word with him when he returns—make him see what he’s about. Stella’s a good girl, and he’d be a fool to let her slip through his fingers.’
‘I’m sure he’ll come round,’ said Guy. ‘I’ll bet my life on it.’
There was a wistful expression on his face as he said it, which did not go unnoticed by Angela.
They left John and walked up to the house together.
‘Did you find any clues?’ asked Louisa eagerly as they entered the drawing-room.
‘Not exactly,’ said Angela. ‘But then, I didn’t expect to after all this time.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Louisa. ‘It all happened weeks ago now, and it rained for the whole of April, so any evidence will have been destroyed long ago.’
‘Yes, but I have a better picture of events in my head now, so it was useful in that regard at any rate.’
‘Have—have you reached any conclusions?’ asked Louisa hesitantly.
‘No, but I haven’t spoken to everyone. I have yet to meet Ursula.’
‘You’re going to speak to Ursula, are you?’ said Guy. He grinned maliciously. ‘I’m sure you’ll find her a very interesting person. Robin, too.’
Louisa threw him a reproving look.
‘Old Dick Trent was looking for you earlier,’ she said. ‘He said something about the bull getting into the lane and taking all the cows with it. Perhaps you ought to go and speak to him.’
Guy’s features twisted into a grimace of comical horror.
‘Oh Lord,’ he said. ‘Not again. That bull is the bane of my life. I swear I could work two mornings a week and spend the rest of the time fishing if it weren’t for that dratted animal.’
He saluted Angela and left.
‘He’s a great help to us,’ said Louisa, ‘but sometimes he needs just a little reminder to get on with his work.’
Angela laughed.
‘Like most young men, I imagine,’ she said. ‘He is rather young to have charge of the whole estate, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is, but he knows the place inside and out. Philip found him about ten years ago. He’d just come down from Oxford—he was a scholarship boy, you know, and terribly clever. He won prizes for his studies, as well as for boxing, cricket, swimming and all kinds of other sports.’
‘Quite the all-rounder,’ observed Angela. ‘What did he mean about Ursula? I must say, I am growing more and more curious to meet her.’
Mrs. Haynes laughed.
‘You shall, my dear. She and Robin live in Datchet.’
‘Then to Datchet I must go,’ said Angela. ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ She brought out the photograph. ‘Do you recognize this?’
Louisa took the picture and looked at it, mystified.
‘No, I can’t say I do. She’s rather pretty, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Who is she?’
‘I have no idea. I found it down by the lake just now.’
‘Do you think it has something to do with all this? Is it a clue?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Angela, ‘but I should very much like to find out.’
She took leave of her friend and left the house. She was heading for the gate when a thought suddenly struck her and she walked out onto the lawn and gazed at the upstairs windows.
‘Still here?’ said John Haynes at her shoulder. ‘Haven’t you solved the mystery yet?’ He chuckled at his own wit. ‘No, and nor shall you. I should give it up if I were you—it’s all a waste of time, although very kind of you to offer to help Louisa, of course.’
‘Well, we shall see,’ replied Angela pleasantly.
‘What are you investigating now?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Angela. ‘I was just wondering how your gardener proposes to subdue that ivy. Look, it will soon be halfway across that upstairs window.’
‘Yes, I must get one of the younger men to see to it, although I’m afraid old Briggs will be dreadfully offended. He is failing now, and isn’t the man he was, but I let it slide as he’s a faithful old thing—been here since my father’s time, or even longer.’
‘Whose room is that?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. Donald’s, I think. Or is it the guest bedroom next door? It’s one or the other, anyhow.’
Angela was unable to pin him down to any more definite answer, so was forced to be content with that. She then took the photograph out of her pocket and showed it to him.
‘Do you know who this is?’ she asked.
John stood stock still for a moment.
‘Why, that’s—’ he began. There was a long pause. ‘Where did you say you found it?’
‘At the little cove by the lake.’
‘Oh? What odd things one finds in the strangest places these days.’
‘Then you don’t recognize it?’
He shook his head.
‘Can’t say I do. Perhaps it belongs to a servant or one of the tenants on the estate. Might have blown in from anywhere when you come to think about it. London, even!’ He laughed. ‘Well, goodbye.’
He strode away. Angela put the photograph in her bag, thinking hard. She was sure he had recognized the woman. Why, then, had he denied it?
EIGHT
The house in which Ursula Haynes lived was at the end of a quiet lane not far from the railway station. A gleaming white construction with a modern, featureless aspect, it perched uncomfortably among the lush shrubbery and well-tended lawns that sloped gently do
wn to the river some hundred or so yards away.
Mrs. Marchmont was admitted by an unsmiling parlourmaid into a stark, pale entrance hall that gave little indication of its owner’s personality, since it contained almost no furniture and no knick-knacks or ornaments of any kind. Angela was eyeing a spindly tubular chair doubtfully and pondering whether or not to risk sitting on it, when she heard footsteps approaching from above.
‘Mrs. Marchmont,’ said an imperious voice. ‘I am Ursula Haynes.’
Angela squinted upwards, but the bright sunlight shining in through a window on the half-landing prevented her from seeing anything but a straight, slim shadow. There was a long silence, then the figure descended and its face came into view. Angela’s first impression was one of absolute rigidity. Ursula Haynes was of only average height, yet she carried herself so upright that she seemed rather taller than she really was. Her figure was spare and her face cold and unsmiling. Her short hair, which was black with streaks of iron-grey, was in perfect order, and her dress, although elegant, was similarly severe in its tailoring. Altogether, it looked as though not one molecule had been wasted in her construction.
Mrs. Haynes scrutinized her visitor for a second, then held out her hand and unbent so far as to permit herself a small smile.
‘So John and Louisa have finally admitted that this affair requires investigation,’ she said. ‘But of course it would have appeared most odd had they refused to cooperate. That must be why they have asked a friend to look into it, rather than engaging a detective with no connection to the family.’
In spite of her expressed dislike of being described as a detective, Angela was stung.
‘I assure you that I have not been asked to take sides, if that is what you mean,’ she said. ‘I am approaching the inquiry as objectively as anyone can do in my position. I have no wish to protect the guilty party—if indeed there is a guilty party.’
Ursula clicked her tongue impatiently.
‘Of course there is a guilty party,’ she said. ‘Only a fool could imagine that three deaths in similar circumstances in the space of a year were mere unfortunate accidents. But Louisa was always—well, never mind. Please come this way.’ She turned and led the way into a large, square drawing-room that was as sparsely furnished as the hall. ‘Do sit.’
Angela, feeling rather as though she were back at school and being examined on her French grammar by a particularly dour mistress, sat gingerly on the edge of the least delicate-looking chair she could find. It had a sloping seat and a slippery cover, and some effort was required to avoid sliding off it and onto the floor. The room had large windows that looked out onto the garden and the river, and again Angela was struck by the contrast between the house and its situation.
Ursula sat bolt upright with her hands folded neatly in her lap, and looked at her visitor expectantly. She was clearly waiting for Angela to begin, and offered no opening.
‘Is she intending to make me feel at a disadvantage?’ said Angela to herself. ‘If so, she’s making a jolly good job of it.’ Determined not to admit defeat, she said out loud, ‘Tell me why you believe your husband’s death was not an accident.’
‘Of course it wasn’t an accident,’ said Ursula. ‘There’s no “believe” about it. Mrs. Marchmont, my husband was a milksop. He hated the outdoors and would never have dreamed of getting into a boat, least of all on a winter’s night while wearing his evening things.’
Angela raised her eyebrows at the description.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Then what do you think happened?’
‘It’s perfectly obvious what happened. Somebody knocked him out, then bundled him into the rowing-boat and tipped him overboard in the middle of the lake. He couldn’t swim, and so he drowned. Whether or not he regained consciousness before he died I cannot say. I can only hope he was unaware of what was happening to him.’
She might have been placing an order with the butcher, so dispassionate was her manner as she spoke.
‘You communicated your suspicions to the police, I believe,’ said Angela.
Ursula bristled.
‘I did, but I might as well have saved myself the time and trouble. Simpletons, every one of them—incapable of seeing the obvious even when it is dangled in front of their noses.’
‘But I understood they looked into the matter. Surely they must have thought there was something in your theory, in that case?’
‘Not at all. I have no doubt that they would much rather I had gone away and forgotten all about it. But I had no intention of doing so.’ A thin smile played briefly about her lips. ‘Let us say that the inquiry had to do less with conviction on their part than with the fact that I made myself somewhat objectionable until they did as I wished.’
It was the first glimpse of humour Angela had seen in her, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Ursula went on:
‘I imagine you are aware that the inquest returned an open verdict. I should advise you to disregard that. A lack of evidence does not mean that there is nothing to find.’
Angela acknowledged the point.
‘When did you first suspect that the deaths of Philippa and Winifred may not have been all they seemed?’ she asked. ‘Was it before your husband died?’
‘Oh, I make no claims to cleverness in that regard. Like everyone else, I thought that Philippa’s death was perfectly natural and that Winifred had met with an unfortunate accident—which was, moreover, quite in character. It was only when my husband was killed that I started to look with suspicion on the events of the previous two gatherings.’
‘What is your theory, then?’
‘I am not an expert, of course, but I do know that Philippa had been taking digitalin for her heart for many years, and that she was very careless in leaving bottles of the stuff lying about all over the house—she was always complaining that she could not find it. Now, everybody knows that it is necessary to be extremely careful with digitalin, since when taken to excess it is a deadly poison. What could be more simple, then, than for a person of malicious intent to procure some of her medicine and put it in her food or drink?’
‘But I seem to remember hearing that digitalin has a very bitter flavour. Wouldn’t she have tasted it?’ Angela stopped as she dimly remembered something that Louisa had said. What was it? Something about Philippa’s having complained about the dinner that night.
‘I have no idea,’ said Ursula. ‘As I said, I am not an expert.’
‘So presumably you are also of the view that Winifred did not fall over the balustrade accidentally, but was pushed.’
Ursula bowed her head.
‘Winifred was a very silly creature,’ she said, ‘but having reflected, I have come to the conclusion that even she was not such a fool as to lean out far enough to topple over.’
‘But I tried it myself, and was worried that I might fall.’
‘You are a tall woman,’ said Ursula. ‘Winifred was not more than five feet one or two. She would have to have been balancing precariously on her stomach with her feet off the floor in order to fall accidentally.’
This was a point that Angela had not considered.
‘Then you think that someone pushed her while she was reaching out?’ she said.
‘Or, more likely, that they grabbed her by the ankles and simply tipped her over. Nothing could be easier. She wouldn’t necessarily even have seen who did it.’
‘Who did do it, in your opinion?’
Ursula rose suddenly to her feet and thrust her face malevolently towards Angela.
‘Look for the motive,’ she hissed.
‘I—,’ began Angela, taken aback.
‘Who had the most reason to kill them? Not I—Edward’s death was to my disadvantage and my son’s, as we lost five thousand pounds by it. The same goes for Susan, since her mother left her nothing. Who benefits? Who? Mrs. Marchmont, go back to Underwood House and find out: what is John Haynes hiding?’
A dumbfounded Angela was saved the necessity of re
plying by the entrance of a young man with a sulky expression, who stopped short when he saw her.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, and looked questioningly towards Ursula.
‘Robin,’ said Ursula, ‘this is Mrs. Marchmont. She is a friend of Louisa’s. You will remember I told you about her. Mrs. Marchmont, this is my son, Robin.’ She had regained her normal frigid poise, as though nothing had happened.
Robin Haynes held out his hand and narrowed his eyes warily. Angela had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being examined and classified like an unfamiliar species of moth or beetle. Apparently the result of the study was satisfactory, for his face lengthened into something akin to a smile.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘the lady detective. We shall all have to be very careful not to incriminate ourselves.’
Despite his joking manner, there was something forced in his tone and Angela studied the young man, curious to see what kind of son Ursula had produced. Robin Haynes had a puny, under-nourished look about him and a mouth that turned down at the corners, as though a complaint hovered perpetually on the tip of his tongue. With a head of sleek, dark hair which as yet had no silver in it, he bore a striking physical resemblance to his mother, but unlike Ursula, who easily dominated the room with her presence, he seemed to cultivate a deliberate shrinking insignificance that would make him easy to overlook if he wished it.
‘I shall leave you to question my son alone,’ said Ursula, and departed. Robin cast a glance after her as she left and relaxed visibly.
‘What has she been saying to you?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Your mother has been telling me about her suspicions,’ replied Angela. ‘She believes that your father’s death was murder. What do you think?’
Robin bridled at the direct question.
‘Well, really,’ he said, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Mother is usually right in these things, though, so I dare say she has good reason for saying it.’
‘Do you agree that it was out of character for him to go out on the lake?’
‘How should I know? If everyone says so then it must be true. I haven’t given the matter much thought.’