Death at Knytte

by Jean Rowden

  Beddowes took a step forward, but Sir Martin put up a hand to prevent his intervention. ‘By all means let that be done, if that is what you wish. I need only to inspect the place where the crime was committed, and then I shan’t trouble you about it again. If you would be kind enough to have us shown the way, the business will soon be done. I wish we hadn’t found it necessary to intrude upon your grief.’

  ‘There is one more thing, Lady Pickhurst,’ Sergeant Beddowes put in. ‘Please may we speak to Miss Drake?’

  Lucille laughed, a high-pitched almost hysterical sound. ‘Of course. If you can find her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s gone. All because of that man. Despite the fact that they were cousins I was willing to allow her to stay at Knytte for the sake of the children, but she vanished, ran off in the middle of the night. It was so thoughtless. The poor boy started wailing for her before dawn.’

  Beddowes began to protest but Sir Martin quelled him with a look. Turning to the woman he frowned. ‘I always found Miss Drake to be a responsible person. Surely she wouldn’t leave without some notice.’

  ‘She left a note.’ She gestured at a piece of paper on the table beside her. ‘There. It’s plain enough.’

  Tremayle picked up the note and scanned it quickly. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any mistake. Miss Drake apologizes for causing such inconvenience, but says she’s unable to face being here during Jackman’s trial.’

  ‘But she—’

  Again Sir Martin silenced Beddowes. ‘That can wait,’ he said sternly. ‘We have business elsewhere.’

  The whole house was shuttered, and with few lamps lit the corridors were even gloomier than before. ‘We’ll need light,’ Beddowes said, half his thoughts on Miss Drake. Why would she leave so suddenly? Either he’d misjudged her, or she’d not left of her own free will. If his suspicions of Lady Pickhurst were correct, she was already a murderess, and Miss Drake might have given a damning testimony against her.

  ‘Nobody has been allowed in the old library to close the shutters,’ Henson said, leading them along a passageway so dark he was only a shadow before them. ‘Her ladyship has given orders for workmen from Trembury to be engaged to close the room up, and we’re forbidden even to come along this passage without her permission.’

  ‘A woman in mourning isn’t always rational,’ Inspector Tremayle murmured solemnly as they entered the library and suddenly there was light again. Beddowes shot him a scathing look; far from being irrational, he suspected Lady Pickhurst was a cold and calculating young woman.

  Having opened the door for them, Henson scuttled away, averting his eyes from the inside of the room. Sir Martin looked with revulsion at the stain on the floor. ‘Well, Beddowes?’

  ‘Inspector Tremayle can tell you how he found things here,’ the sergeant replied. With a sideways look, as if expecting some trickery, Tremayle complied, describing where Lord Pickhurst’s body had been lying. ‘It was obvious a blow from the bust had killed him. You can see why I immediately sought out a man of unusual strength.’

  His lordship nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He looked enquiringly at Beddowes.

  ‘I thought all along that the bust wasn’t an ideal weapon,’ Beddowes said. He turned to the fireplace and picked up the poker. ‘This would have made a better one, and it was here, ready to hand. No matter how strong Jackman is, I couldn’t see him picking up that great block of marble on an impulse. It couldn’t be swung with great speed. Why would Lord Pickhurst sit at the table and ignore a man staggering towards him with that thing in his arms? On the other hand, if the person who committed the murder was standing here –’ Beddowes walked to the other side of the table, ‘– to keep the victim’s attention distracted from the bust as it swung down to hit him, perhaps he wouldn’t have seen it coming.’

  ‘So the attacker was in two places at once,’ Tremayle said sarcastically, ‘or are we looking for two murderers now?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Beddowes pointed to the ceiling. There was a large hook, once used to hold a chandelier, almost above their heads. ‘The bust must have been hung from that. These gouges in the edge of the table were probably made when the murderer was adjusting it to swing to exactly the right spot. It would have been tested earlier, probably the previous night.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Tremayle burst out angrily.

  Beddowes said nothing, but walked across to the nearest bookshelf. The volumes that filled it were tattered, dusty and unloved. Reaching behind them, the sergeant removed a great tangle of ropes, a piece of thinner cord, and two pulley blocks. ‘I found these hidden here yesterday. Whoever thought up this scheme knew how to lift heavy weights. The library steps were placed on the table to reach the hook in the ceiling; if you look carefully you can see the marks of the feet are still there in the dust. This rope is splashed with blood; that end was tied round the neck of the bust. It’s only a guess, but I imagine the thinner rope was used to anchor the bust, holding it just above the plinth. The hinge of that shutter has been pulled out of shape by the weight. I believe the rope was then passed beneath the table, and secured here with a suitable knot. Release that, and the axe, as you might say, would fall.’

  ‘This doesn’t prove Jackman’s innocence, it only makes him a more likely murderer,’ Tremayle said triumphantly. ‘He’d know how to use this sort of tackle.’

  ‘Yes, but any intelligent person could have learnt to do this by watching him. Over the last few months large pieces of stone were regularly brought in from the quarry. I agree Jackman is still a suspect, but this proves he isn’t the only possible culprit. You arrested him because of his physical strength, but I think we should find out who had a reason to kill Lord Pickhurst.’

  ‘We’ve established that.’ Tremayle was impatient. ‘Jackman was mad with jealousy.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Beddowes said. ‘But why would his lordship meet him here in the middle of the night?’

  ‘He must have been lured here,’ Sir Martin said.

  ‘Perhaps he was brought here by force,’ Tremayle suggested.

  Beddowes nodded. ‘That’s possible, but if the murderer was holding a gun to his head, why would he go to all this trouble? There’s one more thing.’ He returned to the book shelves, and brought back a large volume bound in crumbling leather. ‘There were signs that this had been moved recently. It’s the Pickhurst family bible, with records of births, marriages and deaths written inside.’

  The other two men leant over the book as Beddowes opened it. A spattering of reddish brown stained the end paper where names and dates had been entered in a dozen different hands. ‘It seems this was a silent witness to the crime.’

  ‘There’s an entry when Lord Pickhurst married his first wife,’ Tremayle commented, ‘and a note recording her death.’

  ‘No mention of his second marriage.’ Sir Martin commented. ‘He made no secret that he was after an heir, but that pairing was no more successful than the first.’

  ‘No doubt he’d have been happy to make an entry if he’d got what he wanted,’ Beddowes said. ‘Here, as you can see, somebody else has added Lucille Gayne, the third Lady Pickhurst. The ink looks fresh. I think she decided to make her own mark. And this little line here is interesting.’ He pointed. From between the two names a straight vertical line had been drawn, with a tiny question mark in pencil, in the place where the name of a child would be entered. ‘Perhaps his wife brought him down here to show him what she’d written. It would be a romantic way to give him news he wanted very much to hear.’

  ‘You think Lady Pickhurst murdered her husband?’ Sir Martin looked outraged.

  ‘I didn’t say that, but the stains are there, and this handwriting doesn’t match this earlier entry made by Lord Pickhurst. It would be easy enough to find out if it belongs to her ladyship.’

  ‘It’s all very circumstantial,’ Sir Martin said. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It could still be Jackman,’ Trema
yle reminded him.

  Sir Martin agreed. ‘All that’s changed is the method by which the murder was committed. What do you say, Beddowes? You’re very keen to prove Jackman innocent, but you’ve found no evidence in his defence.’

  ‘No, because everything points to his guilt,’ Beddowes said. ‘It’s all a little too convenient. I think he’s meant to be the scapegoat. Suppose Lady Pickhurst returned his affections for a while but then grew tired of him? Another man caught her eye. She decided to rid herself of her husband and her discarded lover in one fell swoop.’

  Sir Martin scowled at him. ‘I’ve met Lady Pickhurst on a dozen occasions, and she always appeared to be a doting and dutiful wife.’

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Beddowes said, thinking again about Miss Drake. He hadn’t thought she would run away. A flicker of fear coursed through him; perhaps she hadn’t.

  ‘Jackman remains the most likely suspect.’ Sir Martin picked up the bible. ‘However, I shall find out if her ladyship was responsible for the newest entry in this book, and when it was made.’

  ‘But with her face covered by that veil, you won’t be able to see how she reacts to your question,’ Beddowes objected. ‘Perhaps you might ask her to remove it.’

  ‘We are dealing with a lady, Sergeant!’ The Lord Lieutenant was scandalized. ‘You aren’t in your London stews now!’

  ‘I’ve found men and women pretty much the same everywhere, Sir Martin,’ Beddowes replied, unrepentant. ‘Manners might vary between rich and poor, but not human nature.’

  ‘It’s Annie, isn’t it?’ Beddowes said. Ignoring Sir Martin’s protests that he didn’t have Lady Pickhurst’s permission to roam freely about the house, he’d left the other two men downstairs, declaring his intention to seek out the nursery.

  The maid looked warily at him. ‘Yes sir,’ she said. The sound of a child crying could be heard coming from somewhere close by.

  ‘Perhaps you should go back to the children. It seems they’re upset.’

  ‘That’s Master Rodney.’ The girl’s mouth turned down. ‘It’s no good me going to him, when ’tis Miss Drake he’s wanting.’

  ‘When did you last see Miss Drake, Annie?’

  ‘Last night. The children were in their beds. I took down the tray from their supper.’

  ‘Were you the one who discovered Miss Drake had gone?’

  ‘No sir. That was her ladyship. Master Rodney was screaming and carrying on so that she couldn’t sleep. She rang the bell, and ordered her maid to see why Miss Drake wasn’t tending to him.’

  ‘And then you were sent for.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but wandered to the door at the far end of the nursery. ‘Is this Miss Drake’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes. But she didn’t sleep in there much. Master Rodney was having so many nightmares she spent most nights in the chair beside his bed.’ Annie pouted. ‘Daft I call it, cosseting a boy that age.’

  Beddowes opened the door onto a small sparsely furnished room. The bed was in disarray, the linen and bedcover half heaped on the bed and half on the floor. He swung round and stared at the girl, as if seeing her properly for the first time. ‘Miss Drake wouldn’t leave this sort of mess, would she Annie?’ He stepped into the room, noticing that the drawer in the washstand had been left open. ‘Do you think she left in a hurry?’

  The girl flushed and stared at the floor. ‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

  Beddowes stayed where he was, looking sternly down at her and letting the silence stretch uncomfortably between them. Annie fidgeted, and he could see the flush of colour rising up her face.

  ‘I think you have something to tell me, Annie,’ the sergeant said. ‘Were you the one who searched this room? You’d better tell me the truth, or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

  She plucked nervously at her apron. ‘The room were all upset when I come up,’ she said. ‘I only looked in the mattress, because I’d seen Miss Drake hiding something there, when she didn’t know I was at the door.’ She reached in her pocket and pulled out a purse, placing it reluctantly into Beddowes’s outstretched hand.

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I thought if she hadn’t taken it, then it weren’t wanted.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’ Beddowes voice was suddenly harsh, ‘You’re not a fool, Annie. If you don’t want to find yourself in prison for theft you’d better tell me everything you know. I don’t think Miss Drake packed her own belongings. What else is there that she wouldn’t have left behind?’

  ‘In here, sir.’ The maid scurried out of the room and into the nursery. There was still no sign of the children, but the boy’s crying had quieted to an occasional sob.

  Annie took a small volume from a shelf among about a dozen books. ‘Miss Drake always carried this when she went to church. She was proper attached to it.’

  It was a prayer book, much used. Written inside the front cover was the name Bernard John Drake, and beneath that in a smaller hand, Phoebe had inscribed her own.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beddowes took the book and went racing downstairs. Without even looking for a servant to announce him, he went barging into the room where Lady Pickhurst had received them, an accusation already forming on his lips as the door flew back. The words were never spoken for the room was empty. He spun back to the hall and found himself facing an outraged Henson.

  ‘Can I be of assistance?’ the butler asked stiffly.

  ‘Where are Sir Martin and Inspector Tremayle?’ Beddowes demanded, quite unrepentant.

  ‘Sir Martin’s secretary, Mr Docket, arrived a few minutes ago. I showed all three gentlemen into the morning room.’ Henson took a step back and indicated a door across the hall. ‘If you would come this way. I suggest if there is anything else you require, sir, you might ring the bell,’ he said sternly, ushering him in.

  A shutter had been opened here, and a shaft of sunlight fell on the three men seated round a small table. Docket looked up as Beddowes entered.

  ‘I found it, Sergeant,’ he said. The young secretary was obviously weary, his hair and clothes dishevelled, but his tone was triumphant. ‘I have a name for the dead man. That ring was sold to a Mr Laidlaw, nearly forty years ago, on the occasion of his marriage. I was able to ascertain that the couple were no longer living, but they were survived by a son who moved to London about three years ago.’

  ‘And that son is almost certainly our corpse,’ Sir Martin said. ‘We have our answers at last. A Mr Laidlaw from London was a guest at Hagstock Hall the night the first robbery took place, along with a friend by the name of Mortleigh. In appearance they match what little we know of the men you encountered at the crossroads.’

  ‘There was no reason to suspect them,’ Tremayle said defensively. ‘They’d returned to the Castle Inn before the robbery took place. Since they weren’t well known in the area I took a little trouble when questioning the two gentlemen. They appeared to have a very good alibi.’

  ‘The details of how they carried out the robbery hardly matter at the moment,’ Beddowes cut in. ‘Where’s Mortleigh now?’

  ‘He’s here. At Knytte,’ Sir Martin said. ‘I think we can be sure we have our villain. He certainly has plenty of nerve; it appears he intended to settle down amongst the victims of his crimes. He took up the tenancy of the Dower House a few days ago.’

  Beddowes felt as if somebody had just struck a killing blow over his heart. The purse and the prayer book were still in his hand. He flung them down on the table ‘I’m afraid we may have another crime to investigate, maybe even another murder, though God forbid. Whoever packed Miss Drake’s things made a big mistake. They left these behind. The poor girl didn’t leave Knytte of her own free will. I’m afraid we may be too late to help her.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Inspector Tremayle took a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘We have her letter here. She makes her reasons for leaving quite plain. Perhaps she was in a hurry—’

  ‘She would hardly leave behind five guineas.’ Beddowes
said. ‘Nor this. It belonged to her father. The maid was sure she wouldn’t willingly have abandoned it.’ He opened the prayer book, displaying the young woman’s name, before taking the paper from the inspector. ‘The handwriting’s different. This note wasn’t written by Phoebe Drake. Don’t you see? She told me Lady Pickhurst was leaving the house at night to meet her lover, but on at least one occasion she knew it couldn’t have been Jackman who was waiting for her in the grounds. Somebody else took his place. It has to be Mortleigh.’

  ‘We certainly have cause enough to question the man,’ Tremayle said.

  ‘Question him?’ Beddowes rounded on him furiously. ‘Miss Drake has gone missing. For some reason they suspected that she knew too much; her ladyship knew Miss Drake had spoken to me. All this may well be my fault. God willing we may still find her alive, but we must be quick.’

  ‘Come, Beddowes, you surely can’t think Mortleigh has killed the girl?’ Sir Martin was brusque.

  ‘He killed his friend,’ Docket broke in, too exhausted to show proper deference to his employer. ‘Sergeant? You really believe Miss Drake was taken by force?’

  Beddowes nodded. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Docket leapt to his feet. ‘We have to go to the Dower House.’

  ‘It would be unwise to rush to arrest Mortleigh without proper precautions,’ Tremayle said, pushing back his chair. ‘Assuming Beddowes is right the man is dangerous. I’ll send to Hagstock for help.’

  ‘That would take too long,’ Beddowes protested.

  ‘You think we can tackle him on our own?’ Tremayle looked around at his companions, the portly and aging Lord Lieutenant, Docket, painfully young and eager, and Beddowes, who still had one arm in a sling.