Skeleton Key

by Robert Richardson

  *

  Maltravers and Tess looked through the immense wrought-iron gates of St Barbara’s as they left the Penroses for a walk in the park. The gates were guarded by a uniformed policeman and inside they could see more men, several with dogs, probing between the gravestones and in the bushes.

  ‘Hunt the cricket ball, I presume,’ said Maltravers. ‘If one of those turns up complete with tell-tale fingerprints all our questions may be answered. One assumes it must have been the weapon. But who wielded it?’

  ‘I’d like to go in the church again,’ said Tess. ‘Where Simon took me. I suppose we can’t at the moment.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll take kindly to tourists just now. But it shouldn’t take them long to finish in there—it’s not all that big.’ Maltravers started walking towards the Bellringer Street gate into the Park. ‘Tell me about that visit again.’

  Tess found the memory painful. Only hours before he had died, Simon had been amused and amusing and had revealed to her something of his secret self; when she was able to go back into the church it might be a catharsis.

  ‘I told you most of it;’ she said. ‘Oh, except for one silly story.’

  Maltravers listened in amusement to the strange tale of the dead butler killed by a free-falling Earl of Pembury.

  ‘What a very odd skeleton in the cupboard,’ he remarked. ‘Which reminds me, I wonder if there’s any news about the lost remains of Tom Bostock? Probably not, there are much more serious matters now. What about that other grave that Simon showed you? Susannah or somebody? Where’s that?’

  ‘Just near the door to the Darbys’ garden. That was just horrible.’

  ‘She was a very unfortunate girl,’ he agreed. ‘And now we know exactly why Simon identified with her.’

  ‘But for God’s sake, it was different for him,’ objected Tess. Maltravers shook his head.

  ‘Not really. Simon suffered the dreadful burden of primogeniture. Everything—the title, the wealth and the privileges—must go to the eldest son and in his case he was the only son. And he would have had to marry and produce an heir to follow him.’

  ‘Tell me, what date do they have on the damned calendars at Edenbridge House?’ Tess demanded angrily. ‘Do they know it’s the twentieth century? You’re describing a bloody feudal system.’

  ‘Perhaps, but it works. Without it, the great estates and houses of England would have been splintered within a few generations. There’d be nowhere like this,’ Maltravers gestured all around as they entered the lodge gates to the park, with the house visible through the trees. ‘No Longleat or Beaulieu or any of them. The monarchy works on the same principle. We’d have a king for every county if everything had to be divided up fairly between the children all the time. It’s nothing to do with fairness, it’s a matter of preservation. Simon recognised it and was trapped by it.’

  ‘But now some other member of the family—possibly Oliver—will inherit and the result’s the same,’ said Tess. ‘Simon said he couldn’t refuse the title but he could have done if he’d really wanted to. Edward VIII gave up the throne—and he did it for love, remember.’

  ‘And look what happened,’ said Maltravers. ‘He alienated his family, nearly wrecked the system and forced his brother to take on the burden for him: a burden that eventually killed him. Very romantic, but very wrong according to the rules. Simon was a stronger man than that. It hurt him, just like it hurt Susannah all those years ago, but he would not let the family down. You may think it’s stupid—a lot of people would—but it’s an honourable stupidity.’

  ‘Susannah Hawkhurst killed herself because of that honourable stupidity,’ Tess said bitterly.

  ‘As I said before: ancient aristocracy, different rules.’ Maltravers took Tess’s hand sympathetically. ‘How very strange it all is. Right, which way shall we go?’

  ‘Not too far. I want to get back to try and see Joanna York again. I’ve got an excuse which I think will work.’

  ‘Let’s just stroll up and look at the house again then. That won’t take long.’

  Edenbridge Park was crowded again, although there were fewer people about than when they had been there the previous Friday or during the cricket match. Maltravers was taking some photographs of Tess with Edenbridge House in the background when he suddenly lowered the camera and looked beyond her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘It’s the ‘orrible Oliver.’

  Tess turned and saw Hawkhurst getting out of a taxi in front of the house.

  ‘So the police must have released him,’ she said. ‘Does that mean he’s in the clear?’

  ‘Maybe. Or it could just mean they haven’t charged him and can’t hold him any longer or…I wonder? Have they found Luke Norman? Come on, let’s get back and see if there’s anything on the radio about it.’

  They were just about to go back into the Penroses’ house when Maltravers stopped and looked across at the church again.

  ‘What was that story Simon told you about the butler?’ he asked.

  ‘Butler?’ said Tess. ‘You remember, he was killed when Lord Pembury fell on him. Why?’

  ‘There was something…’ Maltravers’ eyes narrowed as if he was trying to catch something floating out of his mind, then he shrugged dismissively. ‘No, it’s gone. It can’t have been important.’

  They found they were in between radio bulletins so Maltravers rang a friend of his at the Press Association news agency to see if they had heard anything about Luke Norman being found.

  ‘Apparently not,’ he said as he replaced the receiver. ‘He said he’d check and call me back if there was anything but it doesn’t appear likely or PA would know about it. Oliver must have told the police where they can find him if they need to. The fact he’s been released doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve finished with him.’

  ‘Well I’m going to see Joanna York,’ said Tess. ‘Wish me luck.’

  Joanna York was on the landing when the front-door bell rang. For a moment she leaned against the bannisters breathing deeply, then forced herself to go downstairs. Somehow she had to come to terms with what was happening to her, putting on a normal face to the rest of the world who must never be allowed to suspect the truth. She braced herself as she stood by the door then opened it, a smile stitched across her face with an effort. ‘Hello again.’

  What was her name? She was the woman who had called earlier—the friend of that man Maltravers who had seen her in the square. Oh, please go away. Don’t try to help. Nobody can help me.

  ‘Look, I’m dreadfully sorry to be a nuisance, but could I possibly use your telephone? Peter and Susan’s is on the blink and I’ve simply got to ring my agent in London. I don’t know where the local phone boxes are and it will only take a moment.’

  Tess stood on the step, a smiling, unthreatening visitor asking a small favour. It was as if the incident outside the shop had never happened. Joanna York was so relieved that she appeared to have forgotten it and was treating her like a normal human being that it was as disorientating as sudden relief from pain. She had to stifle a gasp of pleasure.

  ‘Of course, please come in. It’s just by the door.’

  ‘That’s awfully kind of you.’ Tess, all politeness, was looking for signs of what she had seen before. ‘It’s only to London, it’s a local call from here.’

  The front door opened straight into the tiny downstairs combined living and dining room with the stairs running up behind a wall in the corner. As Tess picked up the phone and dialled the number of her own flat, Joanna York went through into the kitchen extension on the back of the house. Tess played out a short rehearsed conversation with a ringing tone for a few moments, leaving the pauses at her end as brief as possible in case Joanna heard it, then hung up.

  ‘Thank you. I must give you the money,’ she called through to the kitchen where she could see Joanna standing by the sink. ‘Have you any change?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Joanna York turned to her, picking up a tea towel to dry her
hands. ‘It’s only coppers…If you need it again, just ask.’

  Tess noticed the embarrassment and discomfort in the gesture that accompanied the offer, the hands nervously crumpling the towel, the smile artificial. In only a few hours Joanna York had gone from near total hysteria to apparent normality. Does not compute, thought Tess, and decided that a frontal attack might go straight through the slender defences.

  ‘It seems all wrong worrying about silly things like business appointments at the moment, doesn’t it?’ She saw the flicker of apprehension in the girl’s eyes. ‘It’s so awful about Simon being murdered.’

  Oh, you poor kid, I’ve got you in one, she told herself as all the racking emotion she had seen earlier erupted back into the hesitant, nervous face. Joanna dropped her head very quickly, but too late to hide it. Tess crossed the small room and gently put her hand under her chin, lifting it like a child’s.

  ‘What is the matter?’ she asked softly. ‘You don’t know me and I don’t know if I can help, but you are so unhappy aren’t you?’

  In certain states of mind, gentleness is a devastating and irresistible force and Joanna York crumpled under it. She threw her arms round a woman she hardly knew, her body convulsed with sobbing. Tess held her very firmly until the spasms subsided then led her to a chair by the large brick fireplace that filled half of one wall and made her sit down.

  ‘Come on,’ she said coaxingly. ‘What is it?’

  Joanna’s breath stuttered for a few moments then she tried to speak but her voice was an inarticulate croak.

  ‘Take your time,’ Tess said. ‘Hang on, I’ll get some water.’

  She grabbed a cup from a wall rack in the kitchen and was filling it when she heard the front door open and Alister York came into the house. As Tess turned to see him, the figure of his wife flashed between them and there were frantic footsteps running up the stairs. Tess and York stared at each other as water overflowed from the cup she was still holding and gurgled down the drain.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked stonily.

  The water splashed on to Tess’s hand and she put the cup down quickly and turned off the tap. The action gave her time to grasp the feeling that she should be very careful.

  ‘I’d called to use your phone because Peter and Susan’s is out of order,’ she said, turning back to face him. ‘Your wife seemed…unwell and I was just getting her some water.’

  York’s eyes flashed upstairs and there was the wrong sort of concern in them.

  ‘Well as I’m here now there’s no need for you to be troubled any further,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  His voice labelled Tess as an intruder in his house. As she hesitated, he stepped to one side, tacitly directing her out through the front door, still standing open behind him.

  ‘If my wife is unwell, I must go to her. Will you please leave now?’

  Tess could think of no arguments that she could possibly use to remain and York’s look convinced her that it would be advisable to get away from him as quickly as possible.

  ‘Of course.’ She crossed to the door warily, eyes never leaving his face as the distance between them diminished. ‘I hope she’s soon better.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ he replied.

  The space between York and the wall was narrow and Tess paused fractionally in front of him, their eyes meeting at close range. She was instantly reminded of when she had been a drama student and Sir Ralph Richardson had frighteningly demonstrated how he conjured up evil with just the expression of his face; but the man she was looking at now was not acting. As York’s burning eyes ordered her out, she felt scared of him.

  Even before she was down the two shallow steps to the pavement outside, the door slammed behind her. She whirled round and looked at it helplessly for a moment then ran back up Bellringer Street like someone who has seen a child drowning and is unable to help. Inside the house, York put his briefcase on the table, picked up the telephone and dialled the Penroses’ number; when Maltravers answered, York put the receiver down without a word then went upstairs. Her back and shoulders shuddering with crying, his wife was lying face downwards on the bed. ‘What did you tell her?’ he asked quietly.

  There was no reply, just a muffled sound from her mouth pressed against the bedclothes, a whimper for mercy. He took hold of her arm and savagely pulled her upright.

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  Joanna York’s head shook mutely and helplessly, sobs and gasps choking out of her. York began to drag her like a doll across the room and she struggled violently in his grip before she fainted and lay crumpled at his feet.

  Maltravers had just put down the telephone, dismissing the call as someone’s ill-mannered response to dialling a wrong number, when Tess burst into the kitchen, face frozen, and ran straight past him into the dining room. When he followed her, she had opened the drinks cabinet and was agitatedly pouring herself a whisky, the decanter rattling against the rim of the glass. She crashed the decanter down and took half the drink at one swallow.

  ‘What the hell has happened?’ he demanded.

  Stung by the shock of the alcohol, Tess shook her head violently as if to dispel terrible images. Maltravers crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said firmly.

  ‘I can’t describe it. He came in just as I thought I was going to get her to talk. He…’ She turned to Maltravers urgently. ‘Gus, he’s mad! I know he is! We can’t just leave her there with him, we’ve got to help!’

  Maltravers looked at her for a moment. ‘You’re not telling me. Come and sit down and start from the beginning.’

  They sat on adjacent chairs by the large circular oak dining table and he listened impassively as Tess pulled herself together and related everything that had happened.

  ‘And what do you think?’ he asked when she had finished. Tess sat for a moment, looking at the glass cupped on her hands on the table, analysing and finding her conclusions. ‘There’s no other explanation. He must have killed Simon,’ she said finally. ‘We’re right, I’m positive we are…Christ, it’s like waking up in a Hammer movie. Give me a cigarette.’

  ‘You’ve given up.’

  ‘I’ve just started again. This is worse than the risk of cancer.’

  She was still embroiled in her thoughts as she dipped the end of the cigarette into the flame of Maltravers’ lighter, drew deeply then blew out the smoke with a grimace of revulsion.

  ‘God, it tastes awful.’ She took another mouthful of whisky. ‘That’s better. Gus, we’ve got to tell the police what’s happening.’

  Maltravers leaned back in his chair and regarded her gravely.

  ‘And what do we tell them?’ he asked. ‘We’ve still got nothing more than an hysterical woman, a domineering husband and an unprovable guess. No…’ He held up his hand to prevent Tess’s protests. ‘We don’t have a single, solid fact and it’s very likely that your visit may have put her into a state where she won’t talk to anybody, including the police. At the moment they have two leading suspects and are not likely to be interested in theories without hard evidence to support them. Believe me, I feel as badly about this as you do, but the police do not take kindly to people shouting bloody murder from the housetops because of a half-baked idea. We need proof.’

  ‘And how do we find it?’ Tess looked at him pleadingly. ‘Because I’m sure we have got to.’

  Maltravers sighed. ‘I don’t know. I wish to God I did. Perhaps if the police could get Oliver and Luke Norman out of the way, then they might—’

  The telephone rang in the kitchen. When Maltravers answered, it was his contact at PA calling back.

  ‘Where do you get your tips from, then? We’ve just got reports coming in that there have been two sightings of Luke Norman driving towards Penzance.’

  ‘How definite are they?’ Maltravers asked.

  ‘The police are apparently taking them seriously enough to have half the force in C
ornwall looking for him. At least that’s what the local stringer tells us and he’s reliable enough. We’re just putting out a wire service rush on it.’

  Maltravers mentally visualised the dwindling triangle of the county where England tapered off into the sea; if Norman was beyond Penzance there were very few ways out.

  ‘If it’s true, they won’t need many road blocks to catch him then,’ he commented. ‘Thanks for calling back. I owe you a drink.’

  Absently swirling the last half-inch of whisky around in the bottom of her glass, Tess looked drawn and worried as Maltravers returned to the sitting room.

  ‘It looks as though the police may be closing in on Luke Norman and it may not take them very long to catch him.’ He explained what he had just been told. ‘I think that for the time being we may have to leave Joanna York alone. If they find Luke and it turns out that he killed Simon, then whatever’s happening down the hill may be totally unconnected. There appears to be something very wrong there, but we don’t know what it is—and can we make it our business if it’s nothing to do with the murder? At the moment we can really only wait and see what happens. All right?’

  Tess’s abstracted nod was only token agreement. She was convinced that a few minutes earlier she had stood face to face with Simon’s killer and that there had to be some other explanation for Luke Norman running away.

  ‘No, it’s not all right,’ she said. ‘And you know it isn’t. I just hope to God that Bellringer Street doesn’t end up with another murder on its doorstep because everyone’s running round in circles looking for the wrong man.’

  10

  Stars blinked and twinkled in an ink-black sky and the sea was black, dancing silver, licking gently against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs a hundred feet below where Luke Norman sat on the narrow, grassy path between Lamorna and Porthcurno. Exhausted, drained of fear and panic, he stared at the jagged, shining blade laid across the water by the moon, his mind filled now only with regret and remembered love. He had been there for nearly five hours after leaving his car and walking along the coast path until he had suddenly decided to stop and try to think. In the whispering darkness he watched a fishing boat slowly cross the light-path of the moon, reliving another warm night in Greece when he had first met Simon. He lowered his head on his knee and started to rock slowly backwards and forwards as he wept.