Ruth just sat numbly. She couldn’t speak. She was terrified to the very core of her being. Delia had killed Richard. Delia had killed Richard. The words kept going around and around in her head … but why … when Stephen existed? Now Richard was dead, Stephen was the heir to Canleigh. If it was Canleigh Delia was after in her devious twisted mind, she now had a baby in her way. Surely she would have known about him but then, if she was out of the country all this time there was a chance she might not know of his existence. Ruth looked at Vicky in horror, fighting hard not to become hysterical.
“I don’t know how she did it, Vicky, but Delia has had Richard murdered so she can gain control of Canleigh when your father … when your father dies. I bet she doesn’t know about Stephen if she’s lived in America since she disappeared. So, what the hell will she do when she finds out?” she cried.
CHAPTER 29
NOVEMBER 1973
Delia sat in the stark, dreary police cell in Oxford police station. It was exactly as she had anticipated but cold reality was far worse than imagination. On arrival, a doctor had been summoned to check her over to make sure she was fit to be questioned following the alleged attack by Rocky. Her photograph was taken, along with her fingerprints, and then, as she was still being treated as a suspect, she had been placed in the cell after making a call to a Mr. Danby, of Danby, Parsons and Gilbert, the most prestigious firm of solicitors in Oxford, to represent her. He turned out to be a short, wiry little man who spoke rapidly, almost firing questions at her, and gave the distinct impression that he knew exactly what he was doing and had no doubt in his mind that any suspicions the police might hold that she willing killed either of her brothers was knocked on the head. By the time Delia had spent an hour with him, going over and over what went on in the flat, she was convinced she had no case to answer and wasn’t too worried about the coming interview with the detectives assigned to the case. She had rehearsed what she was going to say for months and luckily, all the action in the flat had gone smoothly, just as she had planned, so there was no need to embellish her story. Thankfully, Mr. Danby believed her.
However, what was so galling and wildly maddening was that he had confirmed Richard’s final words about her father’s marriage to Ruth and that the devious bitch had produced a baby. Another bloody heir to the Canleigh estate, which made all the planning and scheming over the last year, let alone the actual act of murder of Richard and Rocky, completely useless. It had been a total waste of time and effort … all for absolutely nothing. Delia was so angry she felt as if her body was going to explode. Bloody, bloody Ruth. That simpering, sneaky, silly little blonde female Richard had fawned over had married their father, obviously seeing him as the bigger prize, and not only ensnared him but had born him a child … a bloody son … who would take precedence over his much older half-sister. Delia was enraged; more than she had been in her entire life and wanted nothing more than to stand up and beat the whitewashed walls with her bare hands in sheer rage and frustration.
But all her acting skills had to come into play now. She had to hide her feelings about Ruth and pretend she was distraught at losing her brother and in shock that Rocky could have killed him in cold blood and then tried to kill her before she shot him. She also had to cry about her father as Mr. Danby had also informed her that on hearing the news about Richard he had suffered a heart attack, was rushed to hospital but was, for the moment, declared out of danger. So, she had to be convincing that she was terribly worried about him. She wasn’t, of course. She utterly detested him and was glad he was suffering after what he had done to her, pushing her aside in favour of Richard and a bloody Frenchman to run the estate. He knew how much she loved Canleigh. She hated him with a passion for denying it to her … and then to produce another flaming son!
Delia hoped he would die and Ruth would become a widow. Indeed, she wished all kinds of hell for Ruth. She wanted her to die too … and she wanted the child to die. Jesus Christ, all she had strived for … all that awful time in America, working on Rocky. What a complete waste of her time and money. Her life was in ruins now, well and truly. Fate had dealt a cruel blow to her hopes and dreams and most of all it was down to Ruth dratted Barrett. The woman had ruined everything … and how the hell had she achieved it? Last time Delia had set eyes on her she was playing up to Richard and now she was married to their father. Why on earth had the stupid man wanted to marry the wretched woman? He could have just bedded her. After all, he possessed enough wealth to buy anything he wanted … companionship … sex. He certainly hadn’t had to marry someone with no breeding, no position and no money.
Delia wiped away a tear of bitterness impatiently. How had it all come to this? A dratted baby standing in her way. Her dreams were utterly shattered unless something happened to him … and it would be so easy to get rid of a small infant. Smothering, drowning in the bath … ideas flashed through her mind …but she dismissed them all as that wouldn’t be exactly clever. She wouldn’t get away with another murder … that is if she could extricate herself from her present predicament. A long jail sentence was not what Delia had in mind and she hoped desperately that all her meticulous planning would pay off and her story would be believed by the police and the courts. She was positive she had covered everything carefully but if she had made one tiny mistake they would find out and lock her up for years. In a cell, like this one.
She groaned, holding her head in her hands. The prospect was too terrible to contemplate and anyway she had to get out of here and decide what to do next, although she would have to return to Canleigh. Being away from the place had allowed events to occur which she had no power to prevent. If she was actually in situ, at least she would know what was going on and if it wasn’t in her interests, might be able to do something about it. Then there was Philip, of course, and Demon. She had to get back there for them.
The official interview, an hour later, was a nightmare. Two sour faced middle-aged detectives entered the interview room and sat down opposite her and Mr. Danby. The eldest of the two turned on the tape recorder before looking Delia straight in the eyes and the most difficult few hours of her life began.
Mr. Danby had advised her to remain calm and composed throughout the questioning because as far as he was concerned, she had nothing to hide. She had only acted in self-defence and would be released as soon as the interview was over but it was tougher than Delia had ever imagined. She was used to being treated with deference as the Duke of Canleigh’s daughter but the detectives weren’t impressed by her title or her natural arrogance, and she struggled to prevent her words being twisted and misunderstood as question after question was fired at her. It took all the late afternoon and evening and as the night wore on Delia began to think she would have to remain there until the morning, which filled her with horror.
The only breaks in the interrogation were for her to either use the toilet and return to her cell for the early evening meal, which in her opinion, was inedible. The over-cooked fish fingers, mushy peas and a dollop of lumpy mashed potato followed by luke-warm jam roly-poly and runny custard revolted her. Even the coffee was vile; too strong and made with powdered milk. She didn’t drink it. Feeling filthy and degraded, she longed for a relaxing soak in a warm bath. She normally washed her hair every day but now it felt lank and greasy, probably because she kept running her hands through it in her anguish about her newly acquired stepmother and the new heir to Canleigh. She itched all over, positive the last person to inhabit her cell must have had fleas. Reluctant to sit on the bed she remained on her feet until nearly dropping with exhaustion, craving the comfort of a hotel or her bedroom at Canleigh; in fact, anywhere she could be clean and comfortable and think in peace about what had happened in her absence from her precious home.
Then, finally, it stopped. Detective Inspector Leach, a tall, thin man with a sallow complexion, probably from spending so much time in windowless and airless interview rooms, and having had his fill of snobby little arrogant sods he frequently ha
d to arrest since his career in Oxford, didn’t believe her. He left the room for a few minutes and then returned waving a form in the air. His next words caught Delia and Mr. Danby unawares.
“Lady Delia Anne Margaret Canleigh. You are hereby charged with the manslaughter of Peter Percival at or around 11.00 a.m. on the morning of the 23rd November 1973 in Flat 2, Walton Street, Oxford ….”
Delia sat frozen to her chair and didn’t even hear the next words. She was being charged. No. It couldn’t be happening. What the hell had she said for this ghastly man to conclude she was guilty of murder? She stared blankly at him but Leach just smiled wryly, switched off the tape recorder, pushed the charge sheet towards Delia, and left the room with his colleague.
Delia hadn’t expected this, thinking she would be released once it was established she had only acted in self-defence. Danby had told her so. What an utterly useless solicitor he had turned out to be. Her mind was in a whirl. What the hell was going to happen to her now?
Mr. Danby gave an embarrassed cough. “I am so very sorry, my dear. I can’t see how any judge or jury will convict you. Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to get Cubitt-Jones to represent you. He’s the best barrister in Oxford. If he can’t get you off, no-one can. Now, who would be willing to stand bail for you?” he asked.
“Oh, God, I don’t know,” she said, an intense weariness consuming her whole body. “Father obviously can’t as he is in hospital.
“How about your step mother? How close are you?”
Delia snorted. “No, Mr. Danby, I don’t think so.”
“Your sister … Lady Victoria? I understand she married a Barrie Saunders-Smythe and they have a very successful club in Kensington … although I gather from my sources that she is at your father’s bedside in Leeds as we speak.”
“Really,” Delia said slowly, letting his words sink in. So, her silly little sister had swallowed her pride and married the delightful Barrie. Well, that marriage wasn’t set to last, that was for sure, not with Barrie’s roving eye. What a lot had been going on in Delia’s absence … and a club …in London … and successful too. That meant they were making money and probably lots of it. Delia couldn’t ask Vicky to stand bail but there was one other delicious possibility which would really set the cat amongst the pigeons. She threw a defiant look at Danby.
“Contact my sister’s husband, Barrie Saunders Smyth. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will do everything he can to help me … although you might mention that I will really make it worth his while.”
* * *
Barrie complied readily, intrigued and unable to resist a chance to further his financial status, if that was what Delia was offering. With Vicky safely out of the way at Canleigh he could do as he pleased without question and if Delia was truly grateful to him for his assistance in her plight, she might well show her appreciation in other ways. She had been a good lay on their little tete a tete at Canleigh and he wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.
The hearing at the magistrates court was brief and half an hour after the session commenced, Delia was free to do more or less as she liked during the intervening weeks before her trial at crown court, although her passport was confiscated and as she gave her home address as Canleigh Hall, she was to report regularly to the central police station in Leeds every week.
Barrie’s first sight of Delia was an eye opener. She had been allowed a shower before leaving the police station for her court appearance and had washed her hair. It lay over her shoulders, gleaming with health and vitality. She was wearing a black suit with a pale pink blouse and looked smart, respectable and every inch a Lady to the Manor born and certainly not a killer but then what did a killer look like, he thought.
The press were camped outside the court but Barrie was allowed to bring his black Jaguar to the rear of the building so Delia could make a dignified get away. She sank gratefully into the luxury of the deep leather passenger seat, unbuttoned her jacket and smiled wickedly at Barrie.
“Take me away from all this, for God’s sake. I need a long soak in a deep, deep bath and then maybe I shall feel somewhat human again and perhaps, just perhaps, ready for a little distraction with a willing man,” she smiled coquettishly, placing a hand on his knee.
Barrie’s hopes for a little dalliance with the stunning Lady Delia rose rapidly.
“I presumed you would want to go straight to Canleigh … to see your father,” he said questioningly.
“Heavens, no. My wonderful family can wait for a day or so. At this moment in time, I’m in need of mental distraction and physical exertion and I have a funny feeling you might just be the one to help me with that,” she said, running her hand up and down his leg.
Barrie’s face creased into a smile and his eyes darted over her body. God, he hadn’t felt so randy for ages. “We’ll get a move on then,” he said, starting the car quickly. “There’s no point in going to a hotel as we’ll be recognised so we better head back to the flat and there’s no time to lose. You probably know Vicky is at Canleigh so we should make the most of it.”
“Thanks for this, Barrie. I mean it,” Delia said as the car smoothly joined the traffic heading out of Oxford and idle flirtation was put on hold while Barrie concentrated on driving. “I need a bit of breathing space. My brain is having difficulty in taking in what’s happened. Two days ago I had two brothers and now they are both dead … and I’ve been arrested and charged with the murder of one of them … and it was self- defence for goodness sake … why can’t they see that? Why won’t they believe me?” she said angrily. “And I’ve discovered I have a new step mother … with a blasted child … my father is in hospital and you’ve married my sister. I feel as if I’m walking about in a dream. It’s all surreal.”
Barrie looked at her kindly and ignored her comments regarding the family. “Danby will find you a brilliant barrister and before you know it, you’ll be exonerated and that will be that. You’ll see. Once your case comes to trial it will be dropped due to lack of evidence and you’ll be as free as a bird again.
“But that’s going to take months according to Danby,” Delia muttered. “And until then I shall be classed no better than a common criminal. It beggars belief … and I shall have to return home in the interim.”
“But surely you want to go back to Canleigh,” said Barrie, completely puzzled. From what he remembered and from what Vicky had told him Delia was obsessed by the place and never wanted to leave it.
Delia tossed her head back and banged it on the leather headrest. “What, now that my darling Father has seen fit to marry again? To that stupid, simpering Ruth,” she hissed.
“Ah, yes. But Ruth is really rather nice,” commented Barrie. He liked her. She kept the Duke happy and while the Duke was happy, he was generous and that suited Barrie admirably. Vicky was very close to Ruth too, which was a bonus, especially now.
“Nice!”
“Yes, nice. She’s understanding and helpful. To be honest, Delia, if it weren’t for her I doubt if Vicky and I would have had such an easy time of it. Your father wasn’t happy about our marriage for obvious reasons but Ruth persuaded him that if he didn’t agree with Vicky’s wishes, he would probably lose her as she was so determined to marry me,” he laughed.
“So, that woman has managed to make you fall under her spell too. What is it with her? Why do men fall at her feet? Richard, then Father and now you.”
“Oh, believe me, I don’t think of Ruth in that way at all,” said Barrie. “She’s just someone who has been very helpful in my advancement, should we say. Thanks to her I have married your sister and your father bought the club for us.”
“Wow. That was overly generous of him. Must have cost him a pretty packet in the middle of Kensington.”
“Yes, it did. Quite a few millions I believe.”
“You believe? Don’t you know?”
“No. He kept it under wraps. When I say he bought it for us, he didn’t. He bought it for himself. It’s in his name. We’re just
allowed to live there, free of charge of course, and manage it. He also paid for the refurbishments but we have the day to day running costs. So, if it all goes wrong and Vicky and I split up at any time, there will be little to fight over … apart from Vicky’s inheritance from your grandmother, of course, which she keeps squirrelled away … but money is flowing in from the club and we’re very comfortable … so comfortable in fact that you were lucky I was able to put up the bail money, even though that meant putting my relationship with Vicky at risk. So, you better turn up for your trial otherwise I shall really be in the shit.”
“Don’t worry yourself on that score. I need to clear my name. I don’t want this hanging over me for longer than need be … and anyway, darling, I shall make it quite worth your time and effort … as I promised, seeing as my father seems to have managed to control any hope of you benefiting from the Canleigh fortune.”
Barrie grinned. “Yes. Canny old bugger, keeping everything in his name, but I do okay really. The profits from the club are split three ways between Vicky, Alex and myself and I get to live and buy mostly what I want,” he said, patting the steering wheel of the car. “And thanks to Vicky saving every penny she can because she wants a nice home in London rather than living above the club, we have a tidy sum of money sat in the bank; although she won’t be too keen to hear that I have put most of it up as surety for you. All in all, though, I’m pretty happy with the way things are.”
“Well, good for you,” muttered Delia, almost envying him. He had everything he wanted. All she had was her grandmother’s inheritance.
Barrie sensed her jealousy. “Look, it’s been a horrendous time for you but you have a few months before the trial. Ample time for your case to be prepared and then it will be dropped. You’ll see. In the intervening period I think you deserve a little pleasure, don’t you?”
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 48