by J. R. Ellis
The one person he was hoping not to see this morning, however, was Andrea. He still fancied that they could make it up and that she would stay at Redmire. As promised, she had sent her resignation to him in writing but he hadn’t yet passed it on or discussed it with Alistair Carstairs. Maybe she would change her mind if he left her alone for a while. He knew it was better not to harass her at the moment. When things had settled down he would talk to her again.
First he went to see the staff at the garden entrance and gift shop, who told him that business was brisk and coach parties were expected in the afternoon. At the café he spoke to the catering manager, who reported a few problems with food having gone past its use-by date but said that otherwise things were fine. The tables were occupied with visitors drinking coffee, and there was a delicious smell of lunches being prepared. He wandered through the children’s areas and arrived at the little railway station.
Ian Barden was there in his blue overalls and cap, and the engine was steamed up ready to go. There was a queue forming at the little ticket office. Wilkins smiled as he thought about how many adults enjoyed the ride through the gardens and tunnels as much as their offspring.
Barden saw Wilkins and called him over. ‘Morning, Mr Wilkins. Have you time for a quick word?’
‘Aren’t you busy? You’ve got a queue of eager customers, I see.’
‘Have the police told you anything about who they suspect?’ said Barden, ignoring Wilkins’s comment.
‘No, Ian. I don’t think it works like that. They won’t tell me anything.’ Barden was a good mechanic, but not very bright in other ways.
‘I just wondered, you know. I’m working on some ideas of my own about who killed Harry. I’ve seen things.’
‘Have you? Well, if you know anything you should go to the police.’
‘Not yet. I’m going to make sure before I accuse anybody – if I do.’ He smiled in a strange way. ‘It might be useful to know things about people, mightn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean, Ian, but you’ll certainly be in trouble with the police if you withhold information from them. Anyway, I must be off.’
‘OK.’ Barden went over to the ticket office.
Wilkins shook his head as he walked on. Ian Barden had a reputation for being what the locals called a ‘romancer’. He liked drama and the limelight; you were never sure how much to believe his stories. Wilkins continued through the gardens and again discovered Morton and his team at work, hoeing weeds in the main borders.
‘Hi, David. Nice to see you here again. You probably think I don’t do any work, just walk round talking to people.’
Morton laughed and leaned on his hoe. ‘Well, I’ll let you off as you have a desk job. I couldn’t do it myself; I think everybody needs some time out in the fresh air.’
‘Thanks. I take it the police have spoken to you since we met the other day?’
‘Oh, yes. That chief inspector came over into the potting shed. I told him what I know, which isn’t much. You know what I’m like: blunt-spoken. I made it clear that I couldn’t say in all honesty that people would miss Lord Redmire as the person in charge here. Though I didn’t know of anyone who’d want to kill him.’
‘That’s fair enough.’
‘They’re pretty sure poor Harry knew about that bloody trick thing and somehow he got involved and that’s why he was got rid of.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway, let them get on with it, I say, and we’ll get on with running this place. Things are going to be so much better with Mr Alistair.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. By the way, did you know Ian Barden has joined the police investigations?’
‘Has he? You don’t surprise me.’
‘Says he has his theory about who the killer might be.’
‘Well, if I were the police I wouldn’t be worried that he might solve it before they do. In fact, if they listen to him, they’ll get right off the track.’
The two men laughed and Wilkins continued on his rounds.
Morton returned to his work, pausing occasionally to take in the magnificent sweep of the borders, with their roses and clumps of large perennials. There was no point working to maintain these wonderful gardens if you never took time to enjoy them. He had never been an artist, but he always thought of the gardens as his painting. It was a canvas that changed continuously through the seasons as various plants in different colour combinations bloomed and then faded. Or it was like a play, where different flowers took their moment on the stage before departing and being replaced by others. Whichever way he thought about it, these gardens played a central role in his life and he was proud to be the person entrusted with the job of maintaining them.
Later that day, since Oldroyd had no evidence against any of the family and friends who had been detained at the Hall, he reluctantly agreed to allow them to leave.
Douglas and Antonia Ramsay were driving back to their converted farmhouse in the lower part of Wensleydale. Douglas was his usual jovial self, but Antonia was still quietly furious with her former husband.
‘I think we’ll just call in to the Bedale shop, darling,’ said Douglas. ‘I need to have a word with Stephen about that new sofa range he’s planning to stock. They sound a bit on the pricey side, even for our customers.’ Ramsay’s was known all over this prosperous ‘county’ part of Yorkshire for its luxury sofas.
‘Fine,’ muttered Antonia, and sighed.
Douglas glanced at her as the car glided along the country roads past herds of grazing cattle mingled with fields of ripening crops. ‘Try not to let it get you down, darling. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I don’t think Tris is a bad character at heart, if he can master this poker-playing business.’
‘But can’t you see how I feel about that after the years with Freddy and his gambling? And now we’ve found out just how much he squandered of his children’s future.’
‘I know, but Alistair’s OK.’
‘I don’t know. It’s a big responsibility, running a place like that, and Freddy left him no capital. They’ll make nothing out of it for themselves; it’ll all have to be reinvested. Nothing for Caroline and Emily. They’ll be living in that big house in genteel poverty. Alistair’s too proud to work up debts; he’d rather live frugally. I can’t bear to think about it.’
‘Well, darling, I don’t think we can really talk about poverty, can we? I mean, none of us are really badly off. I can’t see Alistair and Katherine actually suffering much at Redmire Hall and, to be honest, I think it’s a good thing that Poppy and Tris have to work for a living. She was far too much of a Daddy’s girl.’
‘Douglas!’
‘She was, darling, and you know it. Even Freddy’s hard heart melted, I’ll bet, when she asked him for cash, though I think in the latter years he didn’t have much to give her.’
They arrived in Bedale and drove up the beautiful and spacious main street with its market cross and handsome three-storey buildings. At the top, near the church, Douglas pulled in to a parking space opposite a large shopfront with big display windows full of sofas and dining-room tables.
‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ conceded Antonia. ‘But I can never forgive that man for this. Gambling away his children’s – our children’s – futures. Somehow it’s worse than all his infidelities.’ She turned to Douglas with a strange expression on her face. ‘I think it was a good thing he was stopped before he could do any more damage.’
Poppy and Tristram were heading down the M1 back to London. Tristram was driving and Poppy had been silent for some time. He tried to put some music on, but she said she wasn’t in the mood; she sat with her legs and arms crossed and her head resting on the passenger window.
‘Oh God!’ she said suddenly. ‘How could he do this to me?’
‘Come on, Pops; it’s not that bad a deal.’
‘Tris! How can you say that? And don’t call me Pops! You make me sound like an old grandfather.’
‘It could have been a
lot worse. Think what another few years of his gambling would have done to your nice legacy.’
‘Tris! That’s my father you’re talking about!’
He laughed rather cruelly. ‘Well, to be honest, you don’t seem that upset about him dying – more about not inheriting as much as you’d hoped for.’
‘That’s not true! Of course I’m sad about Daddy.’ As if to emphasise her feelings, she started to cry gently. ‘But he was selfish; he wasn’t thinking about me when he was losing all that money. What if I don’t get anything? That solicitor said Daddy’s assets might not be enough to pay the debts.’
‘He was only considering the worst-case scenario, and he said it was unlikely, so I wouldn’t worry about that. No, your father wasn’t thinking about anyone except himself. I’m afraid that’s what gambling does to you.’
‘Well, you should know,’ she said, turning away from him in a sulky manner, ‘and you also know what I’ve told you about it.’
‘You haven’t done that badly anyway,’ Tristram said, ignoring her last comment. ‘We’ll be able to buy a flat somewhere with that money and you’ll be able to help me make a fresh start.’
She darted a glance at him.
‘And what do you mean by that? If it’s what I think, you can forget it. You can pay off your debts by saving up your own money. And who is this “we” who can buy a flat? You mean “you”, don’t you? It’s my money and it’ll be my flat.’
Tristram was not surprised by this response. He was well aware of a hardness beneath her surface frivolity, especially where money was concerned.
‘Come on, darling; share and share alike.’
‘Huh! What have you got to share with me? Don’t you mind being a kept man?’
‘Not when the keeper is so attractive. It’s actually quite erotic. There I am, a kind of sex slave kept for your pleasure.’
‘Yes, and you’re not much good for anything else, are you?’
‘Hey, that’s not true! I earn more than you do.’
‘When you can be bothered to work at all.’
He ignored her again. ‘Anyway, you should also be grateful to your poor father for bringing us together. If it hadn’t been for him, we would never have met.’
He found her silence following this remark quite unsettling.
Dominic and Mary had decided not to return home until the following day, but they didn’t want to stay any longer at Redmire. Instead they checked in for a night at an inn with a highly regarded restaurant in one of their favourite villages near Ripon. It was an old coaching inn and Dominic swung the Merc through the rather narrow gateway that led to the car park at the rear, next to the converted stable block. They’d said virtually nothing to each other on the short journey from Redmire, after Mary had stated with intense relief as they got into the car: ‘Thank goodness we can get away at last.’
They were both tired after the ordeal at Redmire, so went down to dinner early. As they sat in the bar, consulting menus and drinking G&Ts, Dominic was unusually subdued and Mary was wary of what he might be thinking.
‘Well, what a relief to get away! I do love this place,’ she said, looking round and admiring the low wooden beams and the collections of local paraphernalia, such as horse brasses and Victorian photographs, adorning the walls.
‘Yes,’ replied Dominic, as if he hadn’t really been listening to what she had said. ‘I think I’m going to have the duck pâté, followed by the rack of lamb. How about you?’
‘I’m not sure yet, darling. What did I have last time, can you remember?’
‘I think you had the Portuguese salted cod for a main and maybe the prawn and avocado for starter.’
‘What a memory! You never forget things to do with food, do you?’ She was trying to lighten the lugubrious mood but without success. ‘I’ll have the wild-mushroom soup and the coq au vin.’
‘OK. We’ll have a bottle of the Chablis for starters, then I’ll move on to a burgundy.’
He signalled to a waiter, who came to take their order. After the menus had been removed, they sat in silence, Dominic sipping moodily at his gin.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ asked Mary.
‘As well as I can be after all that ridiculous carry-on. I’m still thinking of reporting that chief inspector. A typical jumped-up official throwing his weight about and definitely a damned socialist, if not a communist.’
‘I wouldn’t bother, darling. Let him get on with the job of finding “whodunit”, as it were.’
‘I don’t like his insistence that it could be one of us.’
‘Well, I know, but look at it from his point of view; he has to consider everything.’
Dominic looked at her sharply. ‘You don’t believe it is one of us, do you?’
‘Of course not, not really, but when the whole thing’s such a puzzle you don’t know what to think.’
‘That’s the whole point: he’s done it all deliberately to make us doubt ourselves.’
The waiter announced that their table was ready and they followed him into the dining room. This also had low beams, with polished wood panelling and a deep-red carpet. Large dark-oak sideboards that looked Jacobean lined one side of the room. Lighting was very subdued and there were candles on the tables. As it was quite early there was only one other couple in the room. The waiter opened the bottle of Chablis and poured a little for Dominic to try.
‘Good, but take it away and chill it a little more.’
The waiter obliged.
After a little while the soup and the pâté were brought in. Mary ate her soup daintily. ‘I must say, this is excellent; you can always tell the difference between supermarket mushrooms and the real thing.’
Dominic spread butter liberally on a piece of bread and then added a second layer of the thick pâté. The wine returned, this time to his satisfaction. He quickly drank half a glass while devouring the bread and pâté in two mouthfuls.
‘What a scoundrel my brother was,’ he observed as he prepared his second piece of bread. ‘Not only did he never have to work for a living but he threatened to bankrupt himself and the estate with gambling debts.’
‘Irresponsible.’
‘Irresponsible! It was worse than that: the man was a complete disgrace. It’s people like him who give our class a bad name.’
Mary kept her composure during this rant. It made her more intent than ever on keeping certain facts secret from her husband.
‘Well, I suppose things will improve with my nephew in charge, but there’ll be a whopping scandal when the press get hold of it. Think what that socialist rag the Guardian could do with a story like this – and what’s more, they’d be right! They’ve loved all this “gambling in exclusive London clubs” business since Lord Lucan. Now there was another rogue who let the side down. It could have a bad impact on the estate.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You know what they say: “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.” I think they’ll all come flocking after everything that’s happened.’
The waiter cleared away the starter plates. Dominic grunted. ‘You’re probably right. There’s nothing Joe Public likes better than gawping at other people’s misfortunes.’
The main courses arrived, along with Dominic’s bottle of burgundy, which he tested to his satisfaction. He attacked his rack of lamb with gusto.
‘I got nothing, of course, but I didn’t expect Freddy to leave me anything. He always seemed to assume I was well off without realising it all has to be worked for. Times have been difficult recently,’ he continued, taking another drink from his glass of expensive wine, ‘and that detective was right: I could have done with a little support for the business. Freddy always refused but maybe Alistair will be more sympathetic when he’s sorted everything out. I had a word with him. He’s a man who has the well-being of the estate and the family at heart.’
‘You had a word about what?’
‘Well, you know, I let it be known that a little help wouldn’t go amiss
if he could see his way at some point and so on.’
A thought struck Mary. She hadn’t realised how Dominic’s prospects might improve with Freddy out of the way. Just how desperate was he for money? He would never talk about his business affairs with her.
‘Not like Poppy – just like her father, that one. Mark my words, she’ll work her way through that legacy in no time, or that boyfriend of hers will gamble it away if she lets him.’ He shook his head and took another drink of wine. ‘What I could have done with that money! I’m proud that our two are so sensible and hardworking.’ Their children, Edward and Philippa, were established in steady professional jobs as a solicitor and an optician respectively.
‘Sensible’ is your hallmark, thought Mary. No wonder I often feel so frustrated.
Good though it was, she left some of her coq au vin, while Dominic cleared his plate completely. The waiter brought the dessert menus. Mary ordered coffee; Dominic opted for the Yorkshire cheese selection and some port.
Mary sipped her coffee and watched as Dominic loaded his plate with mature Wensleydale, Skipton Cheddar and blue Swaledale. Maybe a heart attack would finish him off in a few years’ time, she found herself thinking, as he bored on about who was pulling his or her weight in the company, and who he needed to get rid of.
It wasn’t until he was drinking his own coffee and finishing off the port that he returned to recent events. ‘I don’t know what my mother’s making of it all. As far as I’m concerned she’s been shown the truth about Freddy, unpalatable as it was. She refused to talk about it when I went to say goodbye, but I have to say she looked grim.’
‘I think she knew what he was like. It must be awful knowledge to live with: that your son is, well, a character.’
He looked at her curiously. ‘That’s a rather positive way of putting it. I’ve never been sure what you really thought about my brother. I know all you women found him very dashing.’
‘Yes, I suppose we did, but we also knew what he was like.’