by Frank Smith
‘That went well,’ Tregalles observed as he stared after Bromley. ‘But I don’t get it. He knows why we’re here, and he knows his wife is in serious trouble, yet he’s worrying about a loose tarp? And then he’s off to a meeting in town? I don’t understand him at all. Doesn’t the man have any feelings for his wife? Or is he just plain bloody clueless?’
‘Perhaps he thinks there is not much he can do at this point,’ said Paget. ‘But you’re right, I don’t understand him either. However, we’re wasting time, so let’s go and see if Mrs Bromley and the ever-present Dr Lockwood are any more helpful than her husband.’
It was Lockwood who came to the door when Paget knocked. He stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him. ‘I assume you have come to talk to Mrs Bromley,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that she be left alone. She is in no condition to be questioned. In fact I doubt if she could tell you her own name at the moment. Mr Bromley thought it best to sedate her last night, and she is still recovering. I’m sure you understand.’
‘What I understand,’ said Paget, ‘is that a man was killed in this house last night, killed by Mrs Bromley, according to her husband and Mrs Etherton, and I must talk to her.’
‘But it’s pointless,’ Lockwood persisted. ‘Margaret is really not well. In fact, if I had my way, she would be in hospital, and the last thing she needs is someone like you firing questions at her. I mean it’s not as if she’s going to run away, is it?’
Paget eyed Lockwood narrowly. ‘On the other hand, Doctor, now that you mention it, how do I know that Mrs Bromley is even in there unless I see for myself? And we are not in the habit of “firing questions” at anyone in need of medical treatment, so let’s take a look, shall we?’
Lockwood hesitated, then stepped aside. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Come in and see for yourself.’
Molly Forsythe glanced at the kitchen clock and poured herself and Mrs Lodge another mug of tea from the over-sized Brown Betty teapot. She had intended to talk to Charles Bromley first, to persuade him and then the others to come down to Hallows End to have their formal statements recorded. But after what Mrs Lodge had told her, she’d decided it might be better to wait before tackling the man. Besides, the poor woman needed someone to talk to.
Mrs Lodge sat with wrinkled hands cradled around the mug, drawing comfort from its warmth.
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it,’ Molly said for perhaps the tenth time. ‘With everything that’s happened in this house recently, and with his brother being killed last night, and his wife a suspect, Mr Bromley has been under a lot of strain. I’m sure it was nothing personal, Mrs Lodge.’
‘Well, it sounded personal,’ the housekeeper muttered sullenly. ‘It was never like this before she came,’ she added darkly. ‘She never liked it here from the start. London was where she wanted to be, and she was always after Mr Charles to sell the place. Mr Charles was born in this house; it’s his home, and he promised the old la . . . his grandmother, that he’d look after it. I know, because I was there when she died. He promised her and he’s kept his promise, made it his life’s work.’
The housekeeper raised red-rimmed eyes to look around the kitchen. ‘It’s a funny old place, and it’s got it’s faults,’ she said softly, ‘but I feel I’m as much a part of it as he is. It’s been my home for forty-two years,’ she continued. ‘Thirty-nine as housekeeper here, so you’d think I’d have earned a bit of respect by now, but the way he looked at me this morning—’
‘But there were happier times,’ Molly broke in quickly before the housekeeper could get started once again about the unfairness of it all. ‘You said yourself that things were different years ago when the first Mrs Bromley was here and Julian was growing up.’
The housekeeper nodded slowly. ‘It was,’ she said softly. ‘Lovely girl, she was. She was an Ashcroft, you know, like her sister, Mrs Etherton was before she married Lionel Etherton. You wouldn’t know, though if you saw them. Sisters, I mean. Different as chalk and cheese, but they always got on well, better than you might expect, considering. A bit flighty, Helen was, but nice with it, if you know what I mean. It was a horrible way to die. I shall never forget that day.’
It occurred to Molly that, while Sergeant Ormside had spoken to a number of people about the fire that had taken Helen Bromley’s life, she hadn’t heard Mrs Lodge’s name mentioned at all. ‘Tell me about that day,’ she prompted. ‘I’m told that you were the first to spot the fire.’
‘I was,’ the housekeeper said, visibly perking up. ‘Saw the smoke from my bedroom window just as I’d finished making my bed. I knew it must be coming from the stables, but I couldn’t see where exactly, so I ran down downstairs and down the drive and saw the flames. I knew I couldn’t do anything about it myself, so I ran back in the house and rang for the fire brigade.’
Mrs Lodge’s eyes misted over. ‘If I’d known she was in there,’ she said huskily, ‘I don’t know what I could have done, but I didn’t, you see. I thought she’d gone off riding, because I’d heard someone go off earlier, and I thought it was her. But it was Mr Paul who’d gone out ahead of her. It wasn’t until I came back inside and saw that his boots weren’t there that I realized he’d gone out as well. But even then I got it wrong, because I thought they’d gone riding together. We had two maids back then, Millie and Vera, although Vera was on notice because there was a bit of an austerity drive on, and both of them were already up and working in the kitchen. So, with Mr Charles still in London, and Julian in Cambridge, the only one left in the house to tell was Mrs Etherton.’
She shrugged. ‘Come to that, I thought she was out as well at first, because her shoes were gone, and I thought she was out on one of her early morning rambles. Loves walking, does Mrs Etherton. Anyway, I remember standing there in the passage wishing there was someone in the house that I could tell. But then I realized that her jacket was still there, and she wouldn’t go out without that, so I ran upstairs to tell her what had happened.’
‘Did all this come out at the inquest, Mrs Lodge?’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘They took a statement from me, but they said it wasn’t necessary for me to be there, so I suppose it did.’
Molly frowned. ‘You said something a minute ago about Mrs Etherton and her sister getting on well together, considering. Considering what, Mrs Lodge?’
The housekeeper looked at Molly blankly for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, I see. Of course you wouldn’t know about that, would you? It’s just that everyone always thought that Mr Charles would marry Elizabeth Ashcroft, in fact I think they were actually engaged, but something happened and he married her sister, Helen, instead.’
Margaret Bromley could hear him; she knew he was asking her a question, but he seemed so very far away. It was like looking at someone through the wrong end of binoculars. She closed her eyes tightly then opened them again. There, that was a bit better. And she knew who he was, but her tongue wouldn’t do what she wanted it to do when she tried to speak.
‘Mrs Bromley,’ Paget said again, ‘do you know who I am?’
‘Of course I know who you are,’ she said crossly, then realized that he was still looking at her, waiting for an answer. The words were still there inside her head. Nothing had come out. Her mouth wasn’t working the way it should. She closed her eyes. Perhaps it was a dream and she’d wake up later and everything would be all right.
Paget drew Lockwood to one side and said, ‘A few minutes ago, you told me that Mrs Bromley would be in hospital if you had your way, so what’s stopping you? She is your patient, and while I’m no doctor, I think this woman needs help, professional help.’
‘It’s not quite as simple as all that,’ Lockwood said. ‘Margaret has made it very clear she does not want to go to hospital, and Charles, who has many more medical degrees than I have, says he will not go against her wishes. My hands are tied.’
‘Well, mine aren’t,’ Paget said, ‘so I am
arresting Mrs Bromley on suspicion of murder, and since she is quite clearly in need of medical attention, I have no choice but to send her to hospital for a complete examination. Perhaps you would be good enough to call for an ambulance, Dr Lockwood? Once that is done, Sergeant Tregalles will caution Mrs Bromley, but since we don’t know if she is capable of understanding the caution, I want you and Mrs Etherton to witness that she has been cautioned. I will also give you my assurance that Mrs Bromley will not be questioned until I am satisfied that she does understand, and can have legal or other representation with her if she so wishes.’
Steven Lockwood felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The thought of Margaret facing a charge of murder was not a pleasant one, but he took comfort in the thought that they would never make it stick, when she had clearly acted in self-defence. And if this was the only way to get to the bottom of what was ailing her, so be it.
The main thing was, she would be out of this environment; away from the manor and the scene of her daughter’s violent death . . . and Charles.
It was an uncharitable thought, but one that had been growing for some time. Steven Lockwood had always respected Charles as a noted surgeon and top man in his field, and he regarded him as a friend, but he did not like the way the man kept sedating Margaret every time she had a problem.
‘Lowers the stress level,’ he’d say. ‘There was no point in calling you out, Steven, when all she needs is rest.’
Lockwood sighed inwardly. It was pretty obvious what Charles was doing. He must have guessed that there was more to his relationship with Margaret than that of doctor and patient, and he’d been foolish to think his feelings for Margaret would go unnoticed by Charles. It was true, he was in love with Margaret, and he was almost sure that she was in love with him.
His thoughts were interrupted by Tregalles. ‘They want to know if it’s an emergency,’ the sergeant said, cupping his hand over the phone. ‘They’re a bit stretched at the moment, and they’re asking if we can wait for about an hour?’
Paget looked at Lockwood, who nodded. Paget nodded in turn at Tregalles, and said, ‘We can wait.’
There was an audible sigh of relief from Mrs Etherton as Tregalles pocketed his phone. ‘In that case,’ she said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the room, ‘I suggest you all leave us alone and let me give Margaret a quick sponge bath to freshen her up before she goes.’
TWENTY-NINE
‘Let’s go through to the kitchen and see if we can persuade Mrs Lodge to make us a cup of tea,’ Lockwood said when they reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘I know I could use one. How about you, Chief Inspector?’
‘I’ll second that,’ Tregalles said before Paget could reply. ‘In fact I could . . .’ He broke off when he saw Molly Forsythe hurrying toward them. She looked worried.
‘Something wrong, Forsythe?’ Paget asked as she stopped in front of him.
‘I’m not sure, sir,’ she said, ‘but I’ve just been talking to Mrs Lodge, and some of the things she told me . . .’ She glanced at Steven Lockwood, then focussed her attention on Paget. ‘If you have a minute, sir . . .?’
Lockwood took the hint. ‘I’ll go on ahead and get things started,’ he said, and was about to set off down the hall when Molly stopped him. ‘Please be careful what you say to Mrs Lodge, Doctor,’ she said. ‘She and Mr Bromley have had words, and she’s extremely upset.’
‘Right. Thanks for the warning,’ Lockwood said. ‘I’ll be careful.’
‘They had words, Forsythe . . .?’ said Paget once Lockwood had gone.
‘Yes, sir, but it’s more than that. It’s what she told me about the day of the fire in the stables, and—’
‘Then we’d better sit down and hear it,’ Paget cut in. He moved down the hall and opened the door to the dining room. ‘Now,’ he said to Molly once they were seated, ‘What did Mrs Lodge tell you?’
‘It’s a number of little things sir,’ Molly said cautiously, already beginning to wonder if she was reading too much into what the housekeeper had said, ‘but when you put them all together . . .’ She read Paget’s expression, and launched into a succinct account of everything the housekeeper had told her, concluding with, ‘and Mrs Lodge is convinced that Mrs Etherton had been out earlier that morning, then pretended that she was still in bed when Mrs Lodge knocked on her door.’
‘And this is based entirely on Mrs Lodge’s observation of walking shoes that were not in their place that morning?’ said Paget.
Put that way, it did sound pretty flimsy, but Molly wasn’t prepared to let it go. ‘As I said, sir, when Mrs Lodge came back into the house to ring for the fire brigade, she said she was sure that Mrs Etherton must be out on what she called her early morning rambles because Mrs Etherton’s walking shoes were gone from the back passageway. But then she realized that Mrs Etherton’s jacket was still on the peg, and she knew that Mrs Etherton wouldn’t have gone out without it, especially on a cold morning. Then, when she went upstairs, she found Mrs Etherton’s door locked, something Mrs Lodge said she’d never done before, and when Mrs Etherton came downstairs, she was wearing her walking shoes, something else Mrs Lodge insists Mrs Etherton had never done before.’
‘Has Mrs Lodge mentioned this to anyone before?’ Paget asked.
‘She says she was surprised and thought it odd at the time, but with everything that went on that day, it went right out of her mind until I asked her about it today.’
Tregalles snorted. ‘Come on, Molly, you can’t be serious,’ he said. ‘Are you actually suggesting that Mrs Etherton had something to do with the fire that killed her own sister?’
‘Did you know that Mrs Etherton, or Elizabeth Ashcroft, as she was then, was once engaged to Chares Bromley, but he broke it off and married her sister?’ Molly countered. ‘I think that could have fostered some resentment or even hatred toward her sister.’
‘Even so . . .’ Tregalles began, but Molly was determined to press on. ‘Mrs Lodge also told me that before Helen Bromley died, Mr Bromley had been on what she calls one of his “austerity drives”. One gardener had been let go a month or so earlier, and one of the maids was on notice. But thanks to the insurance on Helen’s life, as well as on the horse and the stables themselves, life continued on as usual, and the maid didn’t have to leave.’
Molly turned to Paget. ‘Mrs Etherton told us herself that she’s been working closely with Mr Bromley almost ever since she came to the manor, and I came away with the impression that she is almost as keen to keep this place up as he is. And there’s one other thing: a friend of Mrs Lodge’s, whose daughter works in the bank in Broadminster, told her that Mr Bromley is in financial trouble again, and it’s really serious this time. But if Mrs Bromley died, he would inherit a great deal of money – in fact it would be even more now that she inherits her daughter’s share.’
Tregalles was shaking his head. ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, ‘I’d say you’ve made a fair case against Charles Bromley. He’s the one who needs the money.’
‘Except he wasn’t here when Helen died,’ Molly put in quickly. ‘I believe it was established that he was in London at the time, so if someone did set the fire deliberately, it couldn’t have been him.’
‘Assuming that it wasn’t an accident,’ Paget began, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone.
‘Yes, Len,’ he said. He remained silent for a while, but his expression suddenly changed. ‘Twice . . .?’ he said. ‘Better give me that again, Len. I want to be sure I have this right.’
Charles Bromley closed his phone and stuck it in his pocket as he entered the house. ‘This afternoon,’ he muttered in disgust. Damned contractors. Considering what he’d paid them over the years, you’d think they could put themselves out a bit to come and tie down a tarp they hadn’t tied down properly in the first place. At least it wasn’t raining, but the way the weather had been acting lately, that wasn’t much comfort. He looked at his watch. He would have to be
going soon, but perhaps he should go upstairs to find out what was happening. Paget’s car was still outside, so presumably Margaret was still here as well.
He drew a deep breath and massaged his face with his hands. She would be taken in eventually, of course. Even Lockwood couldn’t hold them off forever. He’d do his damndest, though. No one liked to see the woman they loved arrested for murder, and there was no doubt in Charles’s mind that Lockwood was in love with Margaret. Now, if it had been him in Margaret’s bedroom last night . . .
Charles dismissed the thought. He’d done all he could to delay things by giving Margaret an extra-large dose of Zimovane last night. She was probably feeling like hell right now, but she’d recover. He looked at his watch again. Just the thought of having to go hat in hand to that pipsqueak of a bank manager for yet another extension was enough to raise his blood pressure to a dangerous level. Sadly, there was no other option. Beth kept telling him to hold on, that things would work out all right, but time was running out.
He mounted the stairs and walked down the corridor to Beth’s room. He paused. Muffled sounds were coming from inside. He opened the door and stopped, slack-jawed, as he stared in disbelief at the scene before him.
‘Don’t just stand there, you fool!’ Beth hissed. ‘Close the door and lock it and come and help me. She’s dead weight, and we haven’t much time. They’ve sent for an ambulance, and it could be here at any minute. Help me get her to the window.’
‘Beth! What the hell do you think you are doing?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Charles, there’s no need to look so shocked. You know very well what I’m doing, so get over here and help me. I’m doing this for you, for us, so shut the damned door! Whatever you gave her last night is wearing off and she’s trying to fight me.’
Even as she spoke, Margaret began to struggle. Her eyes were open but unfocussed. ‘Beth, you’re hurting me. Stop it, Beth! Please . . .’ Her head slumped forward, and she slid from Beth’s grasp.