A Dangerous Deceit

by Marjorie Eccles

  Twenty-One

  ‘I can’t deny it’s come as a shock, meeting you again, Hamer, after all these years, though I would have preferred it to be in happier circumstances. However, this disagreeable business with Julian has gone on quite long enough. It’s a miserable affair and I’m glad to see someone’ – Lady Maude nodded graciously towards Margaret and Symon – ‘has had the common sense to do something about settling it once and for all. Maybe now the rest of us will find some peace of mind.’

  Hamer Rees-Talbot, a large, tweed-suited man, looking slightly out of place in the formal, elegant drawing room, smiled slightly. ‘You haven’t changed, Maude.’

  But he had, she thought. Still as handsome, his figure upright and trim, but his many years as a senior army officer, his wide experience in both peace and war, had given him an authority that had certainly not been apparent in his days as a freewheeling subaltern, when he had taken his pleasures and his obligations lightly. A young fellow well-liked by everyone, he had never needed much to keep him happy outside his duties – little more than a horse to ride, some shooting, and pretty girls to amuse himself with.

  She suspected he had been trapped by astonishment into agreeing to come over here with Symon and Margaret when they’d motored across to Malvern, where he was now living in retirement with his new wife in what she had heard spoken of as a cosy villa – no doubt stuffed with elephants’ feet stools and Benares brassware, probably manufactured in Birmingham, shipped out to India and then sold as authentic. She doubted Hamer would have known the difference, or cared if he had: he had never been the aesthetic sort. Golf, the company of the widow he’d married, a good dinner and a glass or two of port to look forward to every evening, and he would be a happy man.

  In actual fact she was wrong on several counts, but especially about Hamer’s reasons for allowing himself to be persuaded into making the journey to Maxstead. Margaret had given him little explanation, only that it was something to do with Lady Maude and the time he’d spent fighting in South Africa. He hadn’t known Maude Prynne well out there, though well enough to admire the spirit that had taken her there in the first place, and the fortitude with which she’d borne her disappointment at not being allowed to continue with what she had clearly seen as her patriotic duty. Because he had believed that the sturdily independent girl he remembered must really need his help if she had requested him to come and see her after all these years, he had allowed himself to be driven over here today without much demur. All the same, his antennae had twitched. He had a nasty feeling about what was to come. And only a few minutes ago he had discovered it was not her idea at all that he should be brought here, but that of his niece and her fiancé, Lady Maude’s son, the padre. She had seemed, in fact, more surprised than he was, though she had recovered herself remarkably well.

  It was only now, having partaken of cups of tea and scones with strawberry jam, that they were getting down to brass tacks. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle, if you feel you’re here on false pretences,’ Margaret began. ‘I’m afraid you’ll think this has all been very devious, but I thought you wouldn’t come unless …’

  He considered it damned devious, if the truth be known, but he was not the impatient young man he had once been, and was prepared to wait until he found out what was going on before voicing any opinions. He was fond of his niece, and he felt she wouldn’t have brought him here for nothing. She had had a lot on her plate lately, one way or another … and as far as he could gather, Felix hadn’t been much help there, a thought that caused him a nasty twinge of conscience. Hamer had been uneasily aware for some time before his brother’s death of the disagreements between Felix and his father, but had not felt it his place to interfere, especially in the delicate circumstances that existed between himself and his brother. Well, Ossie was dead now, and perhaps the time had come to step in himself, in loco parentis, as it were. A Cambridge graduate, clever young devil, Felix should have left all that left-wing claptrap behind in his student days. A spell in the army would have put paid to it. Never did any young feller any harm that Hamer had ever seen.

  ‘Well …’ Margaret began hesitantly. She certainly wasn’t herself. Not the bright, happy girl he knew.

  ‘Margaret, my dear, Symon will tell this,’ Lady Maude intervened, turning to her son for support. ‘He’s more used to explaining difficult things.’

  Hamer had in his time presided over numerous courts martial and he now listened judicially while Symon, after giving his mother an ironic glance at this role she had assigned him, gave an admirably succinct account of the recent events which had involved his elder brother, Sir Julian (apparently known as Binkie) with some chap from South Africa who had got himself murdered. South Africa! His apprehensions deepened. The trouble was, Symon went on, that the police didn’t yet seem prepared to dismiss his brother from their enquiries entirely, though Binkie had had nothing to do with the victim, other than unwisely investing in some shady scheme that had been put forward and gone the way of all such schemes.

  ‘Are you saying they actually suspect him of this murder?’

  ‘I can’t believe so, or they wouldn’t have let him go, surely. But it seems they’re still not quite satisfied – very likely grasping at straws. Until Binkie came forward, they didn’t seem to have much to go on.’

  ‘How did he get himself mixed up in all this?’

  ‘The chap who was murdered was some scoundrel who persuaded him to part with money – got him to invest in a South African mining company which didn’t exist.’ Symon’s reply sounded deliberately neutral, revealing no indication of his own opinions on the matter.

  ‘Who was he, eh? Apart from being a bit of a rogue?’

  ‘Who, indeed?’ asked Lady Maude. She had grown slightly flushed, and Hamer began to think she was perhaps not as much in control of herself as he had thought. ‘If you can tell us that, it may justify your having been brought all this way, Hamer … Oh, please forgive me, I suppose I should give you your rank! It’s Colonel Rees-Talbot now, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, but Hamer will do, Maude,’ Hamer said gruffly.

  ‘Very well.’ He had forgotten she had a very sweet smile, not unlike that of her son, though neither of them appeared to use it much. ‘I must ask you this: did you know anyone in Cape Town called Mauritz?’

  ‘No one in particular, that I can recall. It’s a common enough name in that part of the world.’

  ‘Wim Mauritz, this man called himself. He came here with a copy of a photograph – one taken when we all went on that picnic near Table Mountain. I can’t show you my own copy – the police have borrowed it – but you’ll remember that day, and the de Jager girls, Sophie and Bettje?’

  He knew for certain now where this was going and felt lowered by the knowledge. They were all looking at him. Margaret’s fingers were locked together. Already desolated by her father’s death, this was going to be a further blow, which he devoutly wished he could spare her, while knowing now that he could not.

  ‘You must remember Sophie and Bettje?’ Lady Maude repeated. ‘They were very attractive girls. I stayed with them at their house in Cape Town.’

  ‘Yes, of course I remember them.’

  ‘I knew you would. I venture to say you were very much taken with Bettje, were you not?’

  ‘We both were, Osbert and I. More than a little. Half in love with her, in fact. She was – enchanting.’

  ‘And also quite a silly girl, at times.

  ‘We can all be foolish when we’re young.’ There was no backing out of it now. He harrumphed, then squared his shoulders. ‘Yes. There was a bit of trouble … you must know about that, Maude, you were there.’

  ‘I know what was being whispered while I was there. It was what happened after I left that I know nothing about.’

  ‘Nor I – I was back with my unit before you ever left the country. Osbert, too – and almost immediately wounded again, more severely. Losing his arm, in fact. As soon as he’d recovered sufficiently he was sen
t home. Cape Town was behind us, and neither of us ever saw it again.’

  ‘But did you not hear any of the stories – the gossip? There were so many officers, in and out of Cape Town, and such news travels fast.’

  ‘Not until three years later, I swear, long after South Africa. Some fellow from another regiment I met when I was serving in India …’ He stopped, took a breath, and then went on rapidly. ‘You obviously know that Bettje had a child, Maude?’

  From outside came an unearthly shriek. Hamer, startled, swung his gaze to the window, though none of the others in the room appeared to notice. It wasn’t until, through the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of impossibly exotic blue, limned against a dark hedge, that he realized it was nothing more than a peacock strutting across the lawn, stopping to spread its tail and display its finery.

  It had provided a distracting moment. Lady Maude waited until the sound had died down before speaking. ‘I did hear the rumour that she was expecting one,’ she answered slowly at last. ‘I didn’t know whether to believe it or not, but it was obvious that something was wrong in the family. The de Jagers, the mother and father, went about tight-lipped, and poor Bettje wasn’t allowed out without supervision. I left for home about that time, and though I wrote to them when I reached England, thanking them for their hospitality, they never replied. I have always wondered what happened to Bettje.’

  Hamer spread his hands. ‘According to this chap I met – Browne, his name was – the parents washed their hands of her.’

  ‘That doesn’t really surprise me. They were extremely strict.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I regret to say, this chap Browne looked a bit askance at me when he told me all this, obviously thinking I was responsible. Can’t blame him too much. I’d escorted her around pretty frequently, and I must confess I had a bit of a reputation with the ladies at that time’ – Lady Maude raised a wry eyebrow – ‘but he’d got the wrong end of the stick.’ He stopped and looked down, inspecting the immaculate toecaps of his polished shoes, and when he looked up, his face was crimson. ‘The wrong Rees-Talbot, don’t you see.’

  Margaret gave a small, inarticulate sound.

  ‘My dear,’ Hamer said sadly, ‘I know, I was shocked, too. I wrote to Ossie immediately, asking him if it was true and if so what he had done about it, but, well … the upshot was, he wrote back that even if it was true, it was nothing to do with him.’ He stopped and cleared his throat, and then, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, he went on, ‘I couldn’t believe that, you know. Bettje was a frivolous young minx, but I know she was in love with him, or thought she was, and he – well, it was so obvious how he felt about her I’d backed down myself in his favour. And I was certain there was no one else around at that time. But by the time I heard about the child and wrote to him, Ossie was back in England, married, with a wife and family, didn’t want complications. It was in the past and best forgotten, as far as he was concerned, no need for him to intervene after all this time.’ His shoes occupied his attention again until at last he looked up, saying, ‘I thought it a bad show, to tell the truth, and it caused a rift between us. We didn’t write or communicate for years. You wouldn’t know about all that, Margaret, you were only a child. It was your Aunt Deborah who persuaded us to patch things up later, after a fashion, but things were never the same between us.’

  ‘What happened to her – to Bettje?’ Lady Maude asked.

  A moment or two passed before he spoke. Clearly he was having difficulty in finding the right words. ‘The worst,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry to say, Bettje, poor young thing … she died. If what they say is true, I’m afraid she took an overdose of laudanum or some such.’

  ‘And the child?’ Margaret asked in a choked voice.

  ‘Her sister had married and took the child in, m’dear – her sister Sophie. It was taken care of.’

  There didn’t seem anything more anyone could say. It was hard to credit, harder still to bear, but the facts spoke for themselves. Her father, Major Osbert William Rees-Talbot, DSO, had not acted like the officer and gentleman he had always held himself up to be – or even as any honourable man should. He had branded himself as a moral coward and it had eaten into him all his life. And in the end, had his cowardice come back to haunt him?

  ‘So this man who came over here to England and obtained money from Father – threatening him, I suppose, was …’ She stopped. It was impossible, just yet, to allow herself to voice the inevitable conclusions that were forcing themselves on her: a stranger, a man called Wim Mauritz, and what he must be to her, and to Felix, personally. Had Osbert met him? She closed her eyes to shut out the image – and immediately another came to her. ‘But it wasn’t him those cheques were made out to, it was Aston.’

  Hamer gave a startled exclamation. ‘Who did you say?’

  ‘Arthur Aston. He was Father’s batman at one time. He must have known about all this. Father had been making cheques out to him … that’s what the payments to him were all about, they must have been!’

  ‘Lance Corporal Aston? Oh yes, I remember him. Amateur boxer, saved Ossie from Johnnie Boer once, but I never took to him much. Always one like him in every company. Knows everybody’s business, where to get you anything you want, as long as you ask no questions. Threatening, was he? Just let me have a few minutes with him!’

  Symon said quietly, ‘Colonel Rees-Talbot, the man is dead. He has been murdered too.’

  The silence went on so long it was almost an intrusion when Margaret spoke. ‘But Felix …’ she said, through stiff lips. She knew now that the blood could and actually did run cold; she felt icy, to the very pit of her stomach. Images and ideas flashed before her like a series of moving pictures: Aston, murdered … Felix’s fight with him the night before he was killed, after Felix had just found out that Aston had been blackmailing their father … But what if he had not just found out? What if he had known before then? What if he had heard more than he’d told her about that overheard conversation of their father’s with Aston? What if he had known about this man, this Mauritz – and had learnt who he was? It wasn’t difficult to see where that might have taken him.

  She didn’t know how long she had sat there, frozen into immobility, but suddenly found Symon was pressing a tumbler with brandy in it into her hand, closing her fingers around it, guiding it to her mouth. He must have left the room and brought it in without her noticing. She gulped obediently, swallowed, and the fire of it immediately began to warm her.

  At that precise moment, the door was thrown open and, without ceremony, in burst Major Frith.

  Red-faced and with his usually smoothly brushed iron-grey hair dishevelled, he took two quick strides into the room. ‘There is no need to panic, my lady, but you must all leave the room. Don’t rush, but move as quickly as you can.’

  ‘What? What is it, Giles?’

  ‘There’s a fire,’ he answered, stating what was becoming increasingly obvious, second by second. Acrid smoke was beginning to drift from somewhere further along the corridor outside, unaccustomed noises and shouts, the sounds of panic, were issuing from the back quarters.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Never mind that!’ ordered Hamer, automatically assuming control and marshalling them out into the corridor behind Frith, at the same time as Frith shouted over his shoulder, ‘Not that way, can’t get through the hall! Follow me, this way, out at the back.’

  Having left the house by way of the kitchens, the women assembled on the front lawn, along with some of the older servants. Margaret left Lady Maude in the care of old Hanson and the housekeeper, and went to help the rest to carry out what they could, anything that was deemed valuable. The fire was raging in the snug, and by now the hall was alight, the flames licking towards the green baize door that separated it from the kitchen quarters. Anything that would hold water – buckets, bowls, saucepans – was being thrown on to the flames, which barely hissed as they swallowed it up.

  ‘The fire engine’s
been sent for, my lady,’ Stanton tried to reassure her. ‘And the Colonel’s organizing water being drawn from the big pond.’

  ‘They’ll never get here in time,’ Lady Maude said, visualizing the miles of winding lanes and rutted roads that lay between here and Folbury.

  There was nothing to do but stand helplessly and watch Maxstead as it blazed to the ground.

  Twenty-Two

  The town’s fire engine passed them, clanging its bell and heading out of the town just as Stringer was drawing the car into the side.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right address, Gilmour?’

  ‘It’s the one they gave me, sir.’

  They left Stringer to find a place to park the car where he could wait for them. ‘Near as possible,’ Joe reminded him. Reardon had scarcely spoken since leaving the station, wrapped in his own thoughts.

  Castle Street was a busy side street running between Victoria Road and the market, but it was mostly small shops, some of them with premises above. Although it was getting towards the tail end of a bustling market day, the shops were still full: a queue of late shoppers snaked out on to the street from inside a pork butcher’s whose pies and faggots were famous beyond Folbury, a mouth-watering smell of hot roast pork issuing from its door, while a few steps further along came the nutty smell of wholesome bread. Joe’s stomach growled. It might be some time yet before supper, and he was hungry – even for supper supplied by his aunt.

  In the greengrocer’s they were headed for, the proprietor was too busy weighing out potatoes and onions to give them more than a cursory glance before calling over his shoulder that the flat above the shop had a side entrance, then straight up the stairs, green door at the top, only one, can’t miss it.

  It was indeed the only door off a square landing at the top of scuffed, lino-covered steps, with a passionate tenor rendering of ‘You are my heart’s delight’ coming from behind it. A second knock was needed before eventually the door was opened.