‘I waited and waited. I kept trying to contact someone – Miss Summerleys, Piers, or George. Or Kent. I understood that there’d be no reply to Kent’s landline because he’d obviously left home by that time and was on his way to meet me. But my messages to his mobile went to voicemail and he didn’t ring back. I noticed the battery on my phone was dying and I hadn’t my charger with me so I started using my brother’s landline. I couldn’t understand why there was no reply to Miss Summerleys’s phone. I thought she might have gone home for some reason but when I rang my landline, a stranger answered. I think now that it must have been a policeman, but at the time I thought I must have dialled a wrong number, and put the phone down.’
‘The twins smashed my phone,’ said Magda. ‘And Piers’s. We couldn’t contact you, and you couldn’t contact us.’
‘Eventually I thought of trying Mrs Tarring, but she didn’t answer her phone, either.’
‘By that time,’ said Magda, ‘we had gone back home only to discover the place had been searched and the jade collection removed.’
He passed his hand across his eyes. ‘Yes, that is a blow, though trivial in view of everything else that has happened. The police asked me about that. They thought it might have been an opportunist thief, but …’ He shook his head. ‘Unlikely, I think.’
Magda continued her report. ‘Then we found Owen’s body. That was it. We had to call the police.’
‘After that,’ said Mrs Tarring, ‘I couldn’t take any calls.’
Lucas gave her a long, considering look.
Bea also considered what Mrs Tarring had and had not done. Why hadn’t the woman taken Lucas’s call earlier? Wasn’t there another occasion on which she ought to have been in contact, and hadn’t?
Bea said, ‘How long did you wait at the London house, my lord?’
‘Call me Lucas, please. About an hour and a half. George’s housekeeper brought me a sandwich, but I couldn’t settle. My mobile had died. I used George’s landline to keep trying everyone at intervals, but no one picked up. I checked with George’s housekeeper in the country; she said he’d left ages ago. Finally I left a note for my brother and went home, only to find the police in situ. They were kind enough to inform me that a body had been found in my bed—’
‘Not your bed,’ said Magda. ‘Mine.’
Lucas frowned. ‘That’s strange. They told me the body was in mine. I was afraid it was you, Miss Summerleys, er, Magda, though I couldn’t think why. The police wouldn’t let me in further than the hall. They knew nothing, would tell me nothing. At first I refused to cooperate until I knew what had happened to you. I kept asking, was it your body in my bed? It was a total nightmare. Finally they told me it was a man and that my housekeeper and a friend had called them in, and had subsequently left to make a statement at the police station. That was a relief, of sorts.
‘They interrogated me up hill and down dale, wanting me to explain what had been going on. I told them I had no idea. They showed me pictures of the dead man, and I identified Owen. They said he’d been dead since the previous day and what had I been doing then. I’d been chasing around all that morning thinking Owen had set up some sort of scam … and yet, they said he was dead!
‘I had difficulty believing it. And, where was everybody? The police wanted to know what I thought of Owen. I told them. I was open and frank in my answers. I got the impression they thought I must have killed him. They took me down to the station and I made a statement there. Then they told me I could go but not return home, and not to leave London. They wanted to know where I could be found. I said I’d be at my club. So many unanswered questions. Where was my brother and my nephew? And Miss Summerleys? I knew her parents lived somewhere up north. I assumed she must have gone there, but I had no idea of the address or how to contact her.
‘I decided the first thing to do was to get another charger for my phone. At the shop they told me it would take some hours to get it working again. That didn’t help. So I went back to George’s place, hoping he’d have turned up there by now. I tried George’s housekeeper in the country again. She insisted he was at the town house, but of course he wasn’t. And his town housekeeper had vanished. The house was empty. Does anyone know what happened to her?’
‘Yes,’ said Bea. ‘The Oxford police had rung her to say Lord Rycroft had met with a fatal accident, so she packed up and left to stay with her brother.’
He nodded, the lines on his face deepening. ‘Poor George. Yes, I did hear, eventually.’
Bea said, ‘Your London housekeeper let Mrs Tarring know about it but not till early this morning, so she couldn’t tell you what had happened.’
‘She couldn’t get through to me, anyway. Once back at George’s, I put my phone on charge and used George’s landline to call another cab. I went round to Piers’s studio, thinking that Kent might have mistaken the time or the day … which was absurd, but I was clutching at straws. Again, there was a policeman on the door. He wouldn’t let me in, refused to answer my questions. I was half out of my mind by that time. I feared that Miss Summerleys must have been involved in some accident, but they said it was a man and he wasn’t dead, and that he’d been taken to hospital. I assumed, wrongly as it turns out, that this was the artist himself.’
Bea shook her head. ‘No, it was Kent.’
‘I know that now, but at the time I imagined some weird scenario in which the artist had frightened Miss Summerleys away and she’d left. There was only one place to go and that was back to George’s house. There wasn’t a note, or a message on the phone. Nothing to tell me why it had been abandoned. It was like the Mary Celeste. But at least I had access to a phone. I left messages everywhere I could think of, saying where I was and asking for information. I made myself a sandwich – I left rather a mess in the kitchen, I fear – and started phoning the hospitals. By that time it was early evening. That’s when I heard Kent had been taken in. I took a cab and went to see him. He was unconscious. They said …’
He blinked again, slowly. ‘I stayed with him until he … eventually … but at least they did let me stay. I talked to him, held his hand. They say hearing is the last of the senses to go. I remembered him being born and what a game little lad he used to be, climbing every tree in sight. He wanted to go into the army, you know? But he settled down to deal with family affairs when he realized that he was the only one who could do so.
‘He married a girl … not a good choice. I think she married him thinking he’d inherit the title and the country house, but we’re a long-lived family and George was only too hale and hearty. She went off with someone else. They divorced but he had custody of the child, Ellis. Kent didn’t seem bothered by her leaving him, but he was very cut up when Ellis was killed. Again, such a waste.’
‘Was Ellis killed before or after Owen descended upon the family?’
His eyes swivelled to Bea and narrowed. He became very still. ‘You are suggesting that Owen was responsible for Ellis’s death? No one has suggested it before. I think … not. It is true that Owen had arrived and started to make a nuisance of himself before Ellis died, but you must realize that Ellis was a demon cyclist, riding through London’s traffic as if he were the only person on the roads. No, I think it was an accident.’
Bea nodded. ‘Understood. It was just a thought.’
He inclined his head. ‘Kent took his son’s death hard. I was thinking, when I sat beside him last night, that at least he’d see his son again soon. He died about midnight. I went back to the town house. Returning to childhood, you might say. I slept in the room that had been mine when I was growing up. I didn’t sleep well. And then, I overslept.
‘This morning there was still no sign of anyone. I tried our solicitor, and the call went to voicemail. Finally I tried the housekeeper’s brother’s number, thinking he might know why she wasn’t at work. She said she wasn’t coming back and told me what had happened to George. She said she’d left the number of the Oxford Police Station on the pad by the phone.
I’d seen it but not recognized it for what it was. So I rang them. Apparently he’d been on his phone while driving back to London; the brakes had failed as he’d descended a steep hill; he’d taken a corner too fast and run into a tree. It took my breath away. I tried to ring you, Mrs Tarring, but your phone was always engaged.’
Mrs Tarring said, ‘Yes, I suppose it would have been. By that time I was trying to get details of which police force had been dealing with which incident.’
He nodded. ‘Poor George. A kind and generous man.’ His eyes went out of focus. Then he shook himself back to the present. ‘He was much older than me. He’d been there all my life. My first thought was that I must tell Kent. And then I remembered he was dead, too.’
He turned back to Mrs Tarring. ‘I’m afraid this will mean a lot of extra work for you. Our solicitors may be able to suggest someone to deal with registering the deaths, finding out which funeral directors should be asked to officiate, and so on. I didn’t have their phone number on my mobile, but I suppose waiting till tomorrow won’t be a problem. The police said that there will have to be an autopsy in both cases. No, in all three cases. Owen was a Rycroft, too. And then there will have to be notices to the papers, arrangements for the funerals, and so on.’
He shuddered, and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I really have very little idea of what is required, but I suppose I will learn. Meanwhile, Mrs Tarring, both his housekeepers must be reassured that they will be properly looked after. Do you think you could do that for me?’
Mrs Tarring nodded and made a note.
Lucas visibly turned his mind away from death. ‘Anyway, when I’d pulled myself together this morning, I remembered I’d told the police I’d be at my club, and of course I wasn’t. So I rang there to see if they’d been round looking for me, and they hadn’t. But I was informed that Miss Summerleys had left a message for me to ring here. So here I am, and this might be an appropriate moment to find out what has been happening to other people.’
‘Shall I begin?’ asked Magda. ‘You need to know that the jewels are safe.’
Lucas inclined his head. ‘I never doubted it.’
Bea’s mobile rang, and she answered it. A stranger was on the phone. A man with a clear-cut, precise voice, holding back some annoyance. ‘Is that Mrs Abbot?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Would you be so kind as to confirm your address and email?’
‘What? Are you the police?’
‘Certainly not. While I was otherwise occupied, my wife foolishly agreed to chaperone a child on the train journey to London and deliver her to a Mrs Abbot who has an agency in Kensington. I have this address on my smartphone and would be grateful if you would confirm that you are she.’
‘Bernice? You have Bernice?’ For a moment Bea wished the child to the devil! Just as things were getting interesting with the Rycrofts! Then her anxiety for the child broke through. She took the phone through into the kitchen so that she could talk in private. She gave her address.
‘Can you send me a selfie, so that I can check your details against your picture on the website of your agency?’
‘Tell me what to do.’ He told her. Bea was all fingers and thumbs. She’d never had to send anyone a selfie before. She knew youngsters did it all the time, but she really did not use the media that much.
Finally, the man seemed to be satisfied. ‘Very well. You are who you say you are.’
‘You have Bernice with you? I’ve been worried sick about her.’
‘I understand you allowed her to go off to stay with a friend without knowing the host or hostess.’
‘Far from it. I expected her back here for a family weekend. We had tickets for the theatre and planned to visit relatives.’
Oh, those tickets! She’d forgotten she was going to return them to the theatre. Ah well, it was too late to do anything about them now.
Bea continued, ‘Bernice received what she thought was a better offer, and I checked with her friend’s grandfather, whom I knew—’
‘Who apparently allowed her to make the return journey on her own. What were you thinking of?’ The man was a censorious pig! On the other hand, he was quite right.
‘At the moment,’ said Bea, ‘I am only so pleased that she has managed to find good people to look after her.’
There were raised voices from the big room. Bother! She spoke into the phone. ‘There has been a, er, complication at this end. I am extremely grateful to you for looking after Bernice. She was supposed to be returning to boarding school this evening, but I think I should inform them what has happened, and keep her here overnight. Would it be possible for you to put her into a taxi at the station, and give the driver this address?’
‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of abandoning a child on the streets of London. Who knows what might befall her? And it is out of the question that you should ask me and my family to delay our own return home to the Midlands in order to deliver her to your door. No. Either you collect her yourself in forty-five minutes from the main ticket office, or I hand her over to the police to look after.’
Bea wanted to scream. In fact, she did so, silently. The man was right, of course. He was acting as a good citizen should. But talk about inconvenient!
‘I agree,’ said Bea. ‘How shall I know you, and may I speak to Bernice?’
‘I will recognize you, Mrs Abbot. You do not need to know me.’ He switched his phone off. Bea pressed the buttons for Bernice’s phone. It went to voicemail.
At that point she did open her mouth wide and screamed, semi-silently. Not enough to disturb the people next door … except that Piers hove into sight, looking worried.
‘What’s up?’
‘That pesky child! She’s found someone to look after her on the train coming back to London. I have to fetch her in forty-five minutes from outside the ticket office at the station while I’ve got the people next door in the middle of a crisis. I could wring her neck!’
She looked around for her handbag. Did she have keys, cards, makeup bag? Did she need a coat, or would a jacket do? She shot out to the hall to find something to wear.
Piers followed her, looking at his watch. ‘I don’t have a car at the moment. Shall I get a cab? But, London traffic is unpredictable. The Tube would be quicker—’
‘Yes, it would. The Circle line is slow, but sure. You’re right; I’ll take the Tube.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ He sounded unsure of himself.
She told herself she was making a big mistake, but nodded. And shrugged herself into the first jacket that came to hand.
He said, ‘I’ll tell the people next door that they can stay here if they like, but we’ve got to go out. Right? You go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.’
She nodded and half ran, half power-walked out of the house and along to the main road. The lights were at red. Traffic had stopped. She managed to get across one lane, then two … and down the street, past the church … and there was Piers, loping along at her side. He took her arm to cross the High Street. She did not know why she didn’t object to his doing this. Into the ticket hall they went and through the barriers. Oyster cards are a wonderful invention. A train was due in one minute. Thank the Lord. Praise Be. And all that jazz. On to the train. They were lucky enough to get seats side by side.
Piers said, ‘Why is the child doing this?’
A good question. Bea didn’t know. But she’d find out, if it killed her.
Piers said, ‘I know so little about children.’
It was true. He’d always said small children bored him. He’d shown little interest in their son until he was in his twenties, when Piers had looked him up and started to get to know him. Now that son was married with a couple of small children, Piers kept in touch now and then, but seemed to have no need for a closer relationship. He said, ‘What makes Bernice tick?’
Bea had to think hard about that. ‘She had a rotten childhood with a clever con man for a father and a doormat for a
mother. She was rescued by her intelligent but aged great-aunt and travelled the world with her till the child decided for herself that she needed to go to boarding school to get a proper education. She knows that she’s got twice the brains and strength of character of almost everyone she’s ever met. She thinks for herself, sometimes without knowing all the facts, and so she has and will make mistakes. She is aware that she will inherit a stonking fortune, which gives her a certain sense of entitlement; other people can see this as arrogance.
‘Her mother and stepfather are not up to her weight. She’s fond of them and of her little half-brother, but they can’t offer her anything but unconditional love. As yet Bernice hasn’t worked out that such love has a price above rubies. For some years Bernice has looked after and protected a girl called Alicia, who befriended her when she first went to boarding school. I have a feeling that something has gone wrong there, precipitating her flight back to London.’
‘She’d originally arranged to spend this weekend with you and see her family?’
‘Yes. The theatre tickets I got for us have gone to waste. Annoying. And her mother is upset and complaining about it. That’s going to take a bit of sorting.’
‘How do you personally get on with the child?’
‘I don’t think of her as a child, but as a pre-teen. She infuriates me and she enriches my life. By the time she’s eighteen and at uni, she will have left me far behind. She loves me, fiercely, most of the time. Some of the time she hates me because I’m her guardian and she doesn’t like bowing down to authority. She is approaching puberty late. Some days she’s a real Plain Jane, but other days you can see she’s going to blaze into beauty. Not in a Beauty Queen style – although she has good bone structure – but with intelligence and wit.’
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