by J. R. Ellis
Oldroyd sighed. He would get someone else to do further research and contact the Italian authorities, but he wasn’t optimistic about it. Count Mazarini and Vivian and Frederick Carstairs were dead and had gone to their graves without revealing the secret; the answer wasn’t going to come from them. Oldroyd and his team were going to have to work it out themselves.
He turned his attention to the other research project he’d set himself, and this proved much more fruitful. Officers at Harrogate station had been doing the legwork, but when he saw their reports he was pleased. In this case, he reflected, many things were not what they appeared to be. He reached for the file containing the letters and the photographs again and examined them very closely.
Something attracted his attention and he took up a magnifying glass he’d brought from Harrogate for this very purpose. He sat very still, looked through the glass carefully and then smiled. At last things were starting to move forward.
Mary and Dominic lived in a large, ugly, 1960s detached house in the Fulford area of York. The contrast between this residence and Redmire Hall was sharp and Dominic felt it keenly every time he returned from the ancestral home.
It was the evening after their return from Redmire. He and Mary were out on the wooden decking outside their French windows facing the garden, Dominic in a cushioned metal seat and Mary with her legs stretched out on a lounger. A bottle of wine, two glasses and a bowl of pistachios stood on a matching round metal table that supported a green sunshade. The garden consisted of a huge square of lawn edged with bedding plants and a scattering of ornamental trees and bushes. Neither Mary nor Dominic had much interest in gardening, and relied instead on the basic services of a gardening contractor.
Mary drank her wine with gusto. She knew she was drinking too much, but the boredom she was suffering was intense. For years she’d been in the role of a stay-at-home mum. Their children, Edward and Philippa, had gone to an independent day school, which they could hardly afford, but Dominic’s pride and snobbery had not admitted to the possibility of them attending a state school. Now the nest was empty, as the offspring had fled to university and then to jobs in other places, and she was left with Dominic. The prospect of the dull years ahead with a grumpy, negative husband was too bleak to consider.
‘How was the office, darling?’ she asked through partially gritted teeth. There was no reply. ‘Dominic?’
He was dozing, and woke with a jolt. ‘Oh! Did you say something?’
‘Yes. I asked you how it was at the office.’
‘Don’t talk about it.’ He shook his head and fiddled with his wine glass. ‘We’re not getting the clients at the moment. Mind you, we’re in the summer – holiday period and all that. Recruitment always slackens off a bit.’
‘Will it pick up in the autumn, then?’
‘I certainly hope so. We’ve got a few . . . a few cash-flow problems, but we’ll come through.’
‘I could go back to work. I’d like to.’ She’d worked as a legal secretary for a large firm of solicitors in York and risen to be office manager before she’d had the children.
‘There’s no need for that, my dear.’
‘Why not? Why do you think I’m happy just to stay here all day and follow the tedious social round of coffee mornings and meeting people for lunch?’
‘Well, you could always do some voluntary work at one of the charity shops.’
‘Oh, wonderful! I don’t want to join the grey-haired brigade yet, thank you very much.’ She looked at him defiantly. ‘The problem is, you don’t really want me to go out to work because I might prove to be more successful than you. You’re so 1950s, aren’t you? Keep the little wife at home.’
Dominic was shocked by her outspokenness. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that at all, I just . . .’
‘Don’t want to have to rely on your wife for money?’
‘No, well, what’s wrong with that? What man would? Anyway, it won’t come to that. I’m sure Alistair will come to our aid if need be.’
‘But I’ve been thinking about that. Surely you can’t ask Alistair for money? He’s got enough problems running Redmire, especially after the state Freddy’s left it in. Anyway, aren’t you ashamed, asking your own nephew for support?’
‘Why should I be? Alistair understands the importance of the family. I knew things would be better when Freddy was out of the way. Why shouldn’t I have some of the family money anyway? I’ll do a lot more good with it than Freddy ever did. I deserve it.’
‘I see.’ Mary drank her wine thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t feel anything for your brother, did you, except jealousy?’
Dominic frowned at her. ‘What’s got into you this evening? Why should I feel anything for him? He never did anything but deride and belittle me. I expect a lot of older brothers are the same, but that doesn’t make it easier to bear.’
‘You’re actually glad he’s dead.’
‘So what if I am?’ Dominic replied angrily. ‘He was not only vile to me, but his behaviour let the family down – and our class, for that matter. Good riddance, is what I say!’ He glared at her in a strangely defiant way that made her wonder again about what exactly he knew, or at least suspected.
On the same warm evening in Kirkby Underside, the hilltop village between Harrogate and Leeds where Oldroyd’s sister, Alison, was vicar, the two of them were sitting in the sprawling but unkempt garden of the vicarage. Swifts were hurtling and shrieking around the old house. There was a wide, panoramic view over the fields of Lower Wharfedale, with Otley Chevin and Ilkley Moor rising in the distance to the west, illuminated by the slanting evening light. Further east Oldroyd could just make out Harewood Bridge over the river and the ruins of Harewood Castle at the top of Harewood Hill. It was one of those views of a sweeping landscape that made you understand why Yorkshire was known as the ‘Broad Acres’.
The remains of a tennis court, greenhouses and a broken-down summerhouse were testimony to the comfortable lifestyle enjoyed by the Anglican clergy in an earlier age. Alison, recently returned from her retreat, filled up their glasses with red wine and relaxed back into her chair.
‘Well, what a lovely evening, Jim! We didn’t get many like this in Scotland, but never mind. Iona is one of the most spiritual places I know: those white sands and that ancient abbey church. When the sun is out, the sea is Caribbean blue and crystal-clear. You can see right across to the Cuillin Hills on Skye.’
‘What was the retreat like?’
‘Wonderful! Just what I needed – lots of sessions on prayer and meditation led by people from different traditions in Christianity and Buddhism. It gets deep into you and puts everything into perspective.’
‘Right.’ Oldroyd was rather sceptical himself. He’d never found any kind of prayer or meditation helpful, preferring music and walking on the fells.
‘You would have enjoyed some of it,’ said Alison, as if reading his thoughts. ‘There was a woman recommending late Beethoven string quartets for their serene, unworldly quality.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
‘Yes.’ Alison looked at her brother. ‘You look as if you would have benefitted, Jim. You seem tired.’
‘Do you wonder?’
Oldroyd had told his sister about Julia asking about a divorce.
‘No, it’s not easy for you; I understand. But I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve not really done much since your separation to persuade Julia that anything’s changed, so you can’t blame her if she’s started to look elsewhere. Most of us prefer to have a partner; we don’t like living alone.’ Alison had always had the elder sibling’s authority to tell her brother off.
‘I could change, given time,’ said Oldroyd sulkily, sipping his wine.
‘That’s what you always say. How many times have we had this conversation about overworking and what it does to you? But nothing happens; you carry on in the same way. We’re none of us getting any younger, Jim. Julia’s thinking about her future. Why should she face old age
alone if she doesn’t have to?’
‘What about me facing old age alone?’
‘Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? No one, Julia included, wants to have an absent partner. You can’t neglect people and then expect them to be there when you want them.’
‘She said something about moving on and not trying to recreate the past.’
‘Well, perhaps she’s right.’
‘Louise said the same.’
‘I’ll bet she did. That daughter of yours has a wise head on her young shoulders.’
Oldroyd looked into the distance. As it got darker, he could see the lights of cars on the A61 in the dale bottom approaching Harewood Hill.
‘Trouble is, I don’t go anywhere to meet anybody. It doesn’t seem the same when you’re older. I thought Julia and I would always be together. Isn’t that what the Church believes anyway? Marriage for life?’
‘Ideally. But things are often far from ideal, aren’t they? Many of us would now teach that marriages should not continue if they are truly unhappy. I’m sure you don’t want to hide behind the Church’s teaching anyway.’
‘No. I suppose I’ve just got to bite the bullet, whatever that involves.’
‘It’ll definitely involve putting yourself before work; if you don’t, it will consume you and then when you finally have to retire you’ll be hollowed out and you’ll have nothing.’
Oldroyd winced. It was a terrifying prospect. ‘Then maybe you can help me with this locked-room case. If I can solve it more quickly, I can start to do other things. You know how I value your comments.’ Oldroyd knew that Alison was always intrigued by his work, particularly its human and moral dimensions. She often made some perceptive observations.
‘You mean this case at Redmire Hall?’
‘Yes. Three people have been murdered now. I’ve got some ideas, but we’ve got a way to go yet.’ He outlined the key points.
Alison drank her wine and thought for a while.
‘There are two things that strike me,’ she said at last. ‘The first is the ruthlessness of the people involved: they don’t hesitate to kill anyone who they think might be a threat to them. There’s something strange about their psychology; it suggests they’re damaged in some way. They believe that what they’re doing is justified and that they have a right to get away with it. It makes me wonder if the money motive, strong though that can be, is enough to explain things.
‘The second point is the method of the first murder, which is clearly the main one. I’ve no idea how this illusion business might work, but what puzzles me is: why bother in the first place? Why go to all that trouble to kill someone when there must have been easier methods? Very strange.’
‘You’ve “harped my fear aright”, as Macbeth says,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘The third murder was particularly brutal and cruelly cynical. What kind of a mind would devise that as a method for killing someone? I told Stephanie Johnson that we need to approach it all differently. Nothing is what it appears to be on the surface.’
‘Which is also a very Shakespearean theme,’ remarked Alison.
They continued to drink their wine as the warm darkness fell and a few bats fluttered around. Oldroyd reflected that, however difficult this case was, it might turn out to be more easily solved than the problems of his private life.
‘It’s not what you think, darling. I . . .’
‘Well, what am I supposed to think? “Astrid Belanov. Discreet Personal Services. Men Only.” You’ve got the card of a bloody call girl! Are you telling me she comes to wash your socks and shirts when your partner’s too busy?’
‘No! Look, OK, OK . . . I wasn’t going to tell you, but . . .’
‘Not going to tell me what, for God’s sake?’
‘I don’t go to her – of course I don’t – but Freddy did.’
‘Freddy!’
‘Yes. He had a number of these women that he saw when he was in London.’
‘Freddy?’ she repeated, and shook her head. ‘Why am I surprised? He was a bigger bastard than we all realised, wasn’t he? Even those of us who thought we knew him well. But what’s it got to do with you?’
James looked very sheepish. ‘I was blackmailing him.’
‘What?’
‘I was getting money out of him to help with the business and I forced him to leave me that legacy in his will in case he suddenly popped off, which in fact he did.’
Alex got up and walked to the French windows. She opened them, walked out, lit a cigarette and looked down into the street below. Forsyth joined her, but she didn’t look at him.
‘Bloody hell, James. I can’t believe it.’
He tried to put his arm around her but she shrank away.
‘I’m sorry; I didn’t want you to get involved. I didn’t want that man to figure in any way in our relationship. It was just between me and him.’
She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. ‘How did you find out about it?’
‘I had him followed.’
‘What?’
‘I suspected what was going on and I hired a private detective. When I was certain what he was up to, I went to see this woman and got her involved in my scheme. I paid her to continue seeing Freddy, report back to me each time and be prepared to testify against him. When I thought I’d got enough evidence, I confronted Freddy.’
‘But so what? He’s not in a relationship with anybody.’
‘That didn’t matter. Freddy didn’t want the scandal of a being the Lord Who Visited Call Girls. It wouldn’t have made the national news these days, but it would have been enough to damage his social standing, especially at his clubs. He could have faced being thrown out of some of them. It wouldn’t have done Redmire Hall’s tourist reputation much good either: “Come to Redmire Hall, the home of sleazebag Frederick Carstairs.”’
‘How long has he been giving you money?’
‘Just over a year – and it’s come in very useful, I can tell you.’ He looked at her. ‘I don’t feel sorry about it. He ruined our business venture and I lost a lot of money. This was payback, as far as I was concerned.’
‘But blackmail, James. It’s such a nasty thing.’
‘That’s as may be, but it’s the only way you can get through to a man like Freddy. He had no conscience, as far as I could see. He didn’t care who he damaged with his thoughtless career of gambling money away and womanising.’
‘I see. So that money he left you was not some kind of goodwill gesture?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
She took a drag on her cigarette and looked down on the street, where cars and people were moving past. At the end of the block, there was a pub with tables outside and people drinking and laughing.
‘That must have put extra financial pressure on Freddy, given that he was also in debt through his gambling.’
‘No doubt it did.’
‘How convenient, then, that he “popped off”, as you put it. It’s made sure that his financial help continues.’
‘It has.’
‘What will the police think if this gets out?’
‘We’ve got to keep it from them.’
‘It already looks suspicious, doesn’t it? That you benefitted from the will.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And what am I supposed to think? Maybe it seems suspicious because it is.’
‘What do you mean by that? You don’t think . . .’
‘Maybe Freddy wasn’t the only man I didn’t really know.’
‘Do you feel better after talking to Auntie Alison?’
‘Yes. Have you been talking to her too?’
‘She called me for a chat. She’s worried about you.’
‘Yes, everyone seems to be.’
‘That’s because they care about you, Dad.’
Oldroyd and Louise were having breakfast together. She’d asked her father to call her early to make sure she got up and did some work instead of lying in bed all morning. Toast popped out of the t
oaster and she went over to get it.
‘I always thought I could look after myself. I’ve always been successful at work and good in charge of others,’ said Oldroyd glumly.
‘That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? How many successful people have rubbish private lives? You haven’t really been taking care of yourself, have you?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘You really need to think about where your life might go from here.’ She yawned. The effort of getting up so early was already taking its toll. ‘Anyway, I’d better get started.’ There was a pile of weighty tomes on the table next to the marmalade. She must have called in at her mother’s to get them.
‘What are you doing next Michaelmas?’
‘It’s sixteenth and seventeenth century: good old Tudors and Stuarts. I’m looking forward to it. There were a lot of strong women around then, you know: Mary Tudor, Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth herself. No wonder that John Knox talked about a “monstrous regiment of women”. I’ll bet he was a fun guy to have around!’
‘I don’t think you’d have got on together. I don’t think he frequented bars much, for one thing.’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘By the way, I’ve got some good news: I finally managed to get a job. It’s bar work and only part-time, but it’ll be fine. I really need to be doing some reading anyway and this’ll give me the chance during the day. That’s why I wanted you to get me up.’
‘Which pub is it?’
‘It’s that one with the funny name in High Harrogate: The Orphan Girl.’
‘Yes, it’s curious, isn’t it? I’ve often meant to research that name and . . .’ Oldroyd trailed off, looking distracted.