by Frank Smith
Gwyneth’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘And she meant it!’ she concluded heatedly. ‘She was the sort who would do it out of sheer spite.’ There was a hard edge to the words that hadn’t been there before, making Paget wonder if there might be more to Gwyneth Jones than they’d seen so far.
‘Did you tell anyone about this?’
Gwyneth shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t be much point, would there, sir?’ she said. ‘If I told Mr B it would be like telling tales, and I didn’t want that. And Mrs B wouldn’t have believed me, because she wouldn’t hear anything bad said about her daughter, and Miss Toni would have denied it anyway, and then she’d have seen me sacked for sure, and I need this job.’
Paget was about to ask another question, but Gwyneth continued on. ‘She wasn’t like that when she first came here,’ she said. ‘She was all charm and friendly then, and I quite liked her. But then she changed. Like with Julian. She and him were as thick as thieves at first; took to one another straight off. But it didn’t last more than a couple of weeks before she went off him. I felt sorry for him, actually, because he didn’t go off her, you could tell. Not even when she treated him the way she did. Proper misery, he was, moping about the place, but she didn’t care. I think she enjoyed it.’
‘You say they were as thick as thieves. Do you mean romantically?’
Gwyneth became still, as if realizing that perhaps she had said too much. Colour crept into her cheeks once again. ‘You could say that, sir,’ she said cautiously.
‘Were they sleeping together?’
‘Some nights, yes sir. That is,’ she added quickly, ‘like I said, just at first.’
‘When did that relationship come to an end?’
‘Couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks after she came. I mean that’s more or less when she cut him off, as you might say, but he kept after her for weeks after that.’
‘Do you know why it ended?’
Gwyneth shook her head.
‘Did you ever see Miss Halliday with anyone else – either here or outside the manor?’
‘You mean another man? No, sir.’
‘Did Miss Halliday go into town very often?’
‘She did at first. Almost every day when she had her own car, but not so often since she’s been without it. But when she does, it’s usually on a Thursday, like yesterday.’
‘Do you know where she goes? And what’s so special about Thursdays?’
Gwyneth shrugged. ‘She told her mum she was going into Worcester yesterday, but I don’t know if that’s where she always went.’
Paget decided to leave that line of questioning for the moment, and asked Gwyneth what she had done after Nash left.
‘I cleared up,’ she said. ‘Nobody came back to the dining room, and the dinner had gone cold anyway, so Mrs Lodge told me to clear up. So I did.’
‘And then?’
‘I put everything in the dishwasher, and went home.’
‘What time did you leave?’
There was a slight hesitation before Gwyneth said, ‘I get off at eight.’
‘That’s not exactly what I asked, is it, Gwyneth?’ Paget said. ‘So, what time did you actually leave? And can Mrs Lodge confirm that?’
Gwyneth looked guilty. ‘Well, no, not really. I mean she wasn’t there when I left, and to be honest, sir, I did leave just a few minutes early, and she must have come in just after I’d gone, because she gave me a proper ticking off this morning. I don’t think she would have minded so much if I hadn’t forgotten to do the broth before I went, but she was none too pleased about that, I can tell you.’
‘Broth?’ Paget queried.
‘It’s for soups and things. Cook left it simmering. I was supposed to take it into the wash-house to cool before I left, but I forgot. Mrs Lodge came back just after I’d gone and saw it was still there on the cooker, so she had to do it. It’s very heavy, and Mrs Lodge isn’t too steady on her feet, so I usually do it. It’s not that I mind doing it; I just forgot last night, that’s all. I told her I was sorry.’
‘And you went straight home?’
Gwyneth’s eyes shifted away. ‘That’s right.’ she said. Her voice sounded strained.
‘You live in Hallows End?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which way did you go? Down Manor Lane or round by the main road?’
‘Manor Lane,’ she said promptly. Her hands were clasped again.
‘Did you see anyone or anything unusual along the way? Did you speak to anyone?’
The girl shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Do you know the man who was injured last night? Major Farnsworth?’
‘No, sir,’ she said quickly.
Paget looked puzzled. ‘But surely you must,’ he said. ‘He lives at Lower Farm, and you must pass it on your way back and forth to work.’
‘Oh, well, yes, if that’s what you mean,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve seen him out walking with the dog, but I don’t know him, if you see what I mean?’
‘But you didn’t see him last night?’
‘No, sir.’
Paget eyed Gwyneth thoughtfully. He felt sure that she was holding something back, but it might not have anything to do with the investigation. ‘Thank you, Gwyneth,’ he said as he got to his feet, ‘you’ve been very helpful.’
Her relief was evident as she scrambled to her feet. ‘Just one question before you go,’ he said as she reached the door. ‘It looked to me as if you’d been crying when you came in. Is there something wrong? Something you would like to tell me?’
‘Crying, sir?’ The words caught in her throat. She forced a small laugh. ‘Oh, no, sir. I wasn’t crying. I got something in my eyes coming to work on the bike. It made my eyes run, that’s all. May I go now, sir? Mrs Lodge will be needing me.’
NINE
Margaret Bromley sat on the floor in her room, legs drawn up, hands clasped around her knees. Every drawer in her desk, the dressing table, even the small drawers in the bedside tables had been pulled out, some of them overturned on the floor, their contents scattered across the carpet as her search had become more frantic. It was her own fault for being so careless about where she left her jewels, she told herself, because those stored in the wall safe were untouched as far as she could tell. Thank God she hadn’t shared the combination with Toni, as she had shared so many other things these past few weeks.
More than half the pieces she had left so thoughtlessly in drawers were gone. Toni must have been stealing things bit by bit ever since she’d arrived, then scooped up whatever she could find before leaving the manor for the last time. Margaret felt the anger rising; anger at herself for being such a fool. Anger for allowing herself to believe that Toni had changed, when it was clear that she would never change.
How foolish and pathetic she must have looked to Charles, she thought bitterly. And how Toni must have despised her for her weakness.
And now she was dead. Her only child was dead, but she felt nothing. There was no sense of loss, no pain, just emptiness and . . . relief? Shocked and shaken to the core when Charles had told her what had happened the night before, she had broken down and wept. But there were no tears now. Just images of years gone by, flickering like old movies inside her head. Images so real and vivid she could hear the nurse’s voice saying, in her lovely Irish brogue, ‘It’s a girl, a lovely baby girl. You have a daughter, Mrs Halliday.’
Margaret opened her eyes, half expecting to see the nurse standing there in mask and gown. Just as well, she thought sadly, because she would have had to tell her that she’d been wrong. Toni, difficult from the very beginning, had never been ‘her daughter’. Even feeding had been hard. Nothing seemed to suit, nor would she settle, which led to sleepless nights and ragged nerves. Toni had fought her every inch of the way, and Margaret had been driven to despair in those first few years with no one to turn to for help. Bernard was away for months at a time, and when he did return he blamed her for Toni’s bad behaviour. Then, when Toni was five, and he realized
how photogenic she was, he began to use her as a prop in photo ops with the Press and on TV.
Only five years old, but Toni had known instinctively how to play up to him. For his part, Bernard had used her shamelessly and catered to her every whim. From that point on, Toni was his . . . for life!
Margaret pulled herself to her feet. It was over she told herself. She’d wasted enough of her life on dreams and false hopes. She looked around the room. Time to pick up the pieces and move on. She smiled wryly at the unintended metaphor as she picked up a drawer and slid it back in place.
Julian Bromley, a self-styled actor who was ‘resting’ at the moment, slouched inelegantly in the chair, his long, thin legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. He was taller than his father, slim, dark-haired, and deeply tanned. His face was long and lean – a bit too narrow to be really handsome, but striking nevertheless, and no doubt there would be women who would find the wolfish look attractive. His blow-dried hair was practically a work of art, and whether consciously or unconsciously, he kept drawing attention to it by stroking it with his fingertips throughout the interview.
He wore a deep magenta shirt, and jeans so faded and threadbare that they looked as if they’d lost an argument with a rock crusher, but expensive if the label on his backside was to be believed, as were the heavy sandals that completed the ensemble.
Paget began the questioning by asking him when he had last see Toni Halliday.
Julian frowned in studied concentration. ‘It was just after dinner last night,’ he said.
‘Can you give me a time? It’s important.’
‘Half past seven, more or less,’ he said. ‘We sat down at seven as usual. Toni came waltzing in a few minutes later, then this plumber chap came crashing into the room, waving his arms about and threatening Toni. Near hysterics all round. I’m sure you can imagine, but to tell you the truth, Chief Inspector, I thought the whole thing was a bit of a farce. Over-acting in the theatrical sense, if you will. Not that I was unsympathetic to what had happened to his daughter, of course, but it really was a bit over the top. But then, considering what happened later . . . Terrible,’ he concluded, pursing his lips and composing his features into a sorrowful frown.
‘So the last time you saw Miss Halliday was around seven thirty,’ said Paget, bringing him back to the original question. ‘Where were you in the house at the time?’
‘At the bottom of the main stairs. Charles and Lockwood were outside seeing the plumber chap off, and no one seemed interested in finishing dinner, so we all went our separate ways.’
Tregalles spoke up for the first time, pen poised over his notebook. ‘You’re quite sure about that, are you sir?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t see her leave the house, for example?’
‘Quite sure, Sergeant,’ said Julian sharply. ‘Did you not hear me?’
‘Just making sure I’ve got it right for the record, sir,’ Tregalles told him blandly.
‘But that’s not quite right, is it, Mr Bromley?’ Paget said. ‘Or did you simply forget about your meeting with Miss Halliday later that evening? The one in Miss Halliday’s room?’ He knew he was taking a chance, but from what both Margaret Bromley and Gwyneth had told them, he thought it a risk worth taking.
Julian wrinkled his nose in distaste and rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose it was dear Margaret who told you that,’ he said acerbically. ‘Not that it’s any of her business. What did she do? Listen through the wall? Her room is right next door, you know.’
Paget didn’t answer. Julian Bromley would hang himself, given enough rope.
‘I’ll bet she didn’t tell you what she said when she came charging out of Toni’s room like a mad cow, did she?’ Julian threw a questioning glance at Paget. ‘No, I thought not. She didn’t tell you she threatened to kill Toni, did she?’ Clearly disappointed at the lack of reaction, he plunged on. ‘She was in such a blind rage that she ran right into me. She said, “I swear I would have strangled that girl if I’d stayed in there one more minute,” or words to that effect. Then she pushed me out of the way and went storming off to her room and slammed the door so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t come off its hinges.’
‘Did Mrs Bromley say anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ Julian heaved himself out of the chair and crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace. ‘Well, isn’t it?’ he repeated.
Paget ignored the question. ‘Right now, I’m more interested in your movements last evening,’ he said. ‘So, tell me, how long were you in Miss Halliday’s room?’
Julian eyed him stonily, then grimaced as if remembering something unpleasant. ‘No more than a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have been there that long if Toni had had her way. Spent half the time trying to shove me out of the door. She wouldn’t take anything I said seriously. There was no reasoning with her at all.’
‘What was she being unreasonable about, Mr Bromley?’
‘I don’t think that is any of your business,’ Julian said loftily.
‘You talked about the child, didn’t you?’ Paget prompted. It was a guess, but once again a fairly safe one. ‘You wanted to know if Toni intended naming you as the father.’
The expression on Julian’s face told him he had scored a direct hit. Suddenly the arrogance was gone, and he looked at Paget with troubled eyes. ‘I had nothing to do with her death, if that’s what you think,’ he protested. ‘We had a row, yes, but . . . She was killed in the barn, for God’s sake. I left her in her room.’
‘You could have followed her there.’
‘But I didn’t!’ His voice was beginning to rise.
‘Then, let’s go back to the beginning. Tell me what happened when you went into the room after Mrs Bromley left.’
Julian shook his head. ‘I didn’t go in right away,’ he said. ‘I’d heard Toni and her mother shouting at each other, so I decided to let Toni cool off before tackling her myself. I was going to wait for half an hour or so before going back upstairs, but I couldn’t wait; I had to know what she was going to do.’
‘Time?’ Paget said.
‘Eh?’
‘What time was it when you went back up to see Toni?’
‘Who knows?’ Julian snapped irritably, but stopped when he saw the expression on Paget’s face. ‘Eight, eight fifteen, something like that,’ he said sullenly. ‘I was hoping Toni would have cooled down by then, but she’d been drinking, her eyes were red, and by the way she kept snuffling I’m sure she’d been snorting cocaine as well. But she wouldn’t even listen to me. Just kept telling me to get out. Even tried to push me out the door physically. When that didn’t work she went on charging around the room, pulling clothes out of drawers, throwing them on the bed.’
Julian sighed and shook his head. ‘It was useless,’ he said bitterly. ‘There was no reasoning with her at all, so I left. I thought I might stand a better chance in the morning when she’d slept it off.’
‘You say she was pulling things out of drawers and throwing them on the bed,’ said Paget. ‘Did it not occur to you that the reason she wanted you out of there was because she was getting ready to leave?’
Julian shook his head impatiently. ‘No it didn’t,’ he said huffily, ‘but then I’m not a detective and I had other things on my mind.’
‘Let’s go back to why you went to see her in the first place. It was to talk about the child, wasn’t it?’
Julian gave a grudging nod. ‘I wanted to find out if she really was pregnant, and if she was, whether it was mine. And if it was, I wanted her to promise not to tell anyone, least of all my father. I didn’t want him to know that we’d been sleeping together.’
‘What did you do after you left?’ asked Paget.
‘I went out. Went for a walk along the path above the river, trying to think about what I was going to say to Charles if Toni did tell him. She would have, you know. She was like that.’
‘Did you meet anyone while you were out?’
‘No, except for some
kids on bikes some distance off. Not that I was out there for very long, because the storm came up and I had to leg it for home. Even so, it was blowing gale-force winds and the rain was coming down in sheets by the time I got back.’
‘You went straight up Manor Lane, across the road and out onto the heath when you left the house? Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Major Farnsworth was out walking with his dog around that time,’ said Paget. ‘Did you happen to see him?’
‘No. I told you, I didn’t see anyone . . . well, except for the two cars on my way back. I didn’t get much of a look at the first, although I’m pretty sure it was a light-coloured Jag. But I did recognize the second car. It was Lockwood’s. Then, when I went through the gate, Margaret was coming up from the stables, hobbling and moaning about her ankle, and we went inside together. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I wonder . . .?’ Julian pursed his lips and screwed up his face as if in deep thought.
‘Exactly what do you wonder?’ Paget prompted.
Julian shrugged. ‘Oh, Charles doesn’t see anything wrong with it, but one can’t help wondering, can one? I mean, considering the number of times Lockwood pops in to see how Margaret is getting on, it just struck me as a bit of a coincidence that she was coming up to the house from the stables, while Lockwood was coming up the lane on the other side of the wall.’ He flicked his fingers through his hair. ‘But then, Charles is always accusing me of having an over-active imagination.’
Paget decided it was time to bring Julian down to earth. ‘So,’ he said coldly, ‘let’s leave that for the moment and look at what you’ve told us so far. You were scared to death for fear that Toni Halliday would name you as the father of the child she claimed to be carrying, but when she refused to talk to you, and pushed you out of the room, you simply left it at that and went for a walk. And shortly after that, Miss Halliday turns up dead. As I see it, you realized that she was preparing to leave the manor; you followed her, confronted her in the barn, and when she refused to listen to you, you grabbed the closest thing to hand and killed her. You had motive, means, opportunity, and by your own admission, no alibi. And to top it off, considering that you and she were sleeping together only a few weeks ago, you don’t appear to be very troubled by her death. In fact, I suspect that you’re relieved.’