The Death of Kings

by Rennie George Airth

  She paused when she saw the look on his face.

  ‘Don’t worry, Daddy. We’re going to have a lovely evening. And I don’t want you to think you have to say a word about Angus’s case. We’ve lots of other things to talk about.’

  • • •

  ‘So you see, if Rex Garner and Portia did have an affair in the past, it would change things. Of course, it may not be important—she seems to have had a lot of men friends—but he also knew Stanley Wing from years back. Angus and Tom Derry didn’t know that: they never had a chance to find out. There may be some significance to it.’

  ‘It’s a triangle, isn’t it?’ Lucy’s face lit up. ‘A love triangle!’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that.’ Madden dismissed the notion. ‘Wing wasn’t one of her lovers: that’s for certain. No, the question is, was Portia just flirting with Garner to amuse herself, or was there some meaning behind the performance she put on with that pendant, dangling it in front of his eyes? By the end of dinner Garner looked quite mesmerised, or so Sir Richard said.’

  ‘I think it meant something.’ Lucy was reluctant to abandon her suspicions. ‘Otherwise why was the pendant taken from her body?’

  ‘You could look at it that way.’

  As though prompted by his own words, Madden paused to study the wine in his glass. The remains of their meal lay about them on the kitchen table. His daughter was a surprisingly good cook—surprising only because she had the gift of never seeming to take pains over anything, yet somehow managing to achieve a level of skill beyond mere competence; and all that with flair and style. Despite having observed her closely throughout her life, he still didn’t know how she managed it, any more than he understood why he was talking so freely about the inquiry to her now. It wasn’t as though Lucy had raised the subject herself. It was he who had chosen to refer in a casual way to the call he had received from Jessup’s secretary earlier that day, a remark that had led with seeming inevitability to the conversation they were having now.

  ‘But it still depends on the two factors being linked.’ He dragged his mind back to the present. ‘I mean Portia’s performance the night before and the disappearance of the pendant. But if someone just happened to find the pendant—if it was torn off her neck in the struggle and picked up later in the wood—then the whole idea of a connection between them falls away.’

  ‘So it could be just a red herring?’ Clearly unhappy with the notion, Lucy frowned.

  ‘Yes, and there might be nothing to any of this,’ Madden felt bound to point out. ‘We have to bear that in mind. All these interviews I’m having—they may be a waste of time. It could be that we’ll decide at a certain moment that they were right all along, Angus and Derry. That there’s no need to re-open the investigation.’

  ‘Oh, I hope not.’ No longer able to restrain herself, his daughter gave vent to her frustration. ‘It would be such a damp squib.’

  ‘I’d hardly call it that.’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’ Catching his eye, she smiled, and then stretched. ‘I must get these things washed up before I go to bed.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. I’ll clear the table.’ Madden returned her smile. ‘I’ll put the dishes in the sink. Alice will see to them in the morning. And thank you for dinner, my dear. It was delicious.’

  He watched as she rose and came around the table.

  ‘I’m so glad we talked.’ She bent to kiss him goodnight. ‘I hated everything being so stiff and formal between us. It made me so unhappy. You don’t realize how important it is for me to know that you’re always there and that I can say anything I want to you and you’ll understand.’

  She kissed him again and then went to the door, pausing to glance back at him.

  ‘Why are you looking at me that way?’

  ‘It’s something your mother said. She seems to think I’m putty in your fingers. I can’t think why.’

  ‘Well, it’s not true.’ Her smile dazzled him.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Goodnight, my darling. And sleep well.’

  9

  ‘THAT TIME YOU MET her at a party—what did you talk about?’ Madden asked.

  ‘Me, mostly. Of course, I knew who she was and I was rather in awe of her; we all were. But as I said, she turned out to be quite different: not at all what I expected.’

  Helen turned to smile at him, her face bright in the morning sunlight. They were sitting on a bench on the platform at Highfield station waiting for the train that would take Madden to London, where he had an appointment to meet with Adele Castleton later that day. Wanting to form some sort of picture of a woman about whom he had heard just enough to make him curious, he had asked Helen to describe her and she had been doing her best to recall the details of their brief encounter.

  ‘It was one of those parties in London that Violet and I went to that autumn; there seem to have been dozens, though there can’t have been that many. All I remember is that I was starting to get tired of them: the same faces, the same partners, the same dance bands. I had gone to the bathroom and on my way out I caught sight of Adele sitting on her own in a small room off the passage. She was smoking a cigarette. I was going to walk by, but she called out to me. “Come and sit down,” she said. “Helen, is it?”

  ‘She told me she had noticed me dancing earlier and asked who I was. I felt tremendously flattered. She was older than I was, of course, and a figure in society: not beautiful exactly, but tremendously attractive, with dark hair and pale skin. And something more: it was in her manner, the way she carried herself. I suppose you would call it “presence”. She only had to enter a room and all eyes would be drawn to her. That was partly because of her reputation, of course. There were endless stories about her, and although half of them probably weren’t true, you could tell just by looking at her that she was different; and that she didn’t care what people thought of her. I was nervous—I couldn’t think what I was going to say to her—but I needn’t have worried. As soon as I sat down she began asking me questions. She wanted to know who I was and where I came from and what I was doing with my life. They were quite intimate questions, but I didn’t mind because I could see she was really interested, and so I told her that I was getting tired of the social life we were all caught up in, the never-ending parties, and that I’d applied to study medicine at London University, but I wasn’t sure whether I’d get in, being a woman. I thought it might sound pretentious to her, but I couldn’t have been more mistaken. She said it was a wonderful idea and I should do it. And then she said something I’ve never forgotten. “Don’t be like me and find yourself sitting on your own at a party one night wondering what to do next, and whether it even matters.”’

  Helen sighed.

  ‘We were going to meet again. She said she would get in touch with me once she had sorted out a few things in her life—that was how she put it—and we could have lunch together and talk more; but I never saw her again. She went to America soon afterwards. I read about it in a gossip column. She was with some man. But I got into university, as you know, and I always hoped that the news might have reached her wherever she was. Will you give her a message from me? Say I remember meeting her and that I’m sorry we lost touch after that.’

  A whistle from down the track alerted them to the approach of Madden’s train. He had not been up to London that week, preferring to stay at home and attend to work at the farm, leaving his daughter to see to the gradual disposal of Aunt Maud’s furniture. Lucy had decided to remain in the house at least until the end of the month while she looked about for a suitable flat for them to buy.

  ‘I’m glad you two have patched things up,’ Helen said as they rose from the bench.

  ‘Just as you predicted, you mean?’ Madden drew her to him. ‘And you’re quite right. I won’t deny it any longer. I am putty in her fingers. And yours, too, I suspect.’

  ‘Nonsense. Whatever gave you that idea?
’

  Laughing, she kissed him on the lips. Then she drew back.

  ‘You won’t forget my message, will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I wonder if she’ll remember . . .’

  Following his meeting with Jessup, Madden had waited for a few days after their meeting before ringing Adele Castleton.

  The interval had also given him an opportunity to discuss the case further with Sinclair, whom he had found in notably better spirits and moving about gingerly with the help of a cane. They had spent an hour together after lunch on Sunday sitting in the shade of the chief inspector’s apple tree while Madden gave his old friend an account of his conversation with Sir Richard Jessup; in particular what he had learned about the fateful week-end when Portia Blake had lost her life.

  ‘There was certainly something going on,’ he said. ‘Whatever the reason behind it, her behaviour at dinner sounds artificial to me. So was she put up to it, and if so, by whom? Stanley Wing would seem to be the obvious candidate. But even if that’s true, what possible motive could he have had for stirring things up? And let’s not forget there’s still no reason to suppose that that scene had anything to do with her murder the next day. That still looks to me more like a chance killing than anything else.’

  Sinclair’s muttered growl in response had suggested he was not yet ready to accept the proposition, and his next words lent force to that impression.

  ‘But we still haven’t heard what Mrs Castleton has to say, have we? Let’s suspend judgement until then.’

  The lady in question had received Madden’s telephone call in what had sounded like a friendly spirit—it was clear that Sir Richard Jessup had been in touch with her—and they had fixed to meet at her house.

  ‘I live near Kew Gardens,’ she had told him. ‘You can come down by tube if you like, or there’s a bus that will drop you at the Victoria Gate. I’m only five minutes’ walk from there.’

  • • •

  Of the two alternatives offered him, it was the train Madden chose, and, having been deposited at Kew station a little after four o’clock, he made his way through leafy suburban streets to the address given him, which proved on arrival to be a small, neat-looking villa standing in its own patch of garden and shielded from the street by an ivy-clad wall.

  ‘I was in love with Kew when I was a child,’ his hostess told him later. ‘My father was an amateur botanist. Plants were his passion; he seized every opportunity to visit the gardens, and once he discovered that I shared his interest he used to take me with him. We would wander through the park and the greenhouses hand-in-hand. My happiest memories of childhood all have to do with the hours we spent together. When Jack died and I knew I would have to leave Foxley Hall, there was only one place I could think of living; which is why you find me here.’

  Madden’s ring on the doorbell had been answered by a maid of similar vintage to Alice—they were becoming a rarity in post-war England—who had led him through the house to the garden behind it, where Mrs Castleton awaited him. Dressed simply in a tweed skirt and workaday blouse, she had been kneeling on the grass, digging in a border with a trowel, when he was ushered through a pair of French windows onto a small paved patio, and had risen at once to greet her visitor.

  ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Mr Madden.’

  Removing the gardening gloves she was wearing, she had offered him a hand bare of rings to shake. Slight of figure and with short grey hair now—no trace remained of the dark locks that Helen remembered—she appeared to be in her late sixties, with a delicate bone structure that gave more than a hint of the looks that must once have drawn men to her; and might still have done so had she wished it. But it was the intense quality of her gaze that seized Madden’s attention—her eyes were deep and dark; that and the sense she gave at once of being at ease in his company while not caring what impression he might have of her. He guessed this was what Helen had meant by the word presence.

  ‘You made a great impression on Richard. He wanted to know more about you, he said, but was obliged to spend the time you had together answering your questions.’

  She had let a few moments go by before speaking again. It was as though she wished to give each of them the opportunity to appraise the other.

  ‘I felt it was the other way round,’ Madden replied. ‘I’m still in awe at the thought of what it must take to run a concern like Jessup’s. I know that the war interrupted Sir Richard’s business career, but if I understood him right, he must have felt ready to take on the responsibility when he was still in his early thirties.’

  ‘When Jack had to relinquish control of the company, you mean?’ She nodded. ‘Of course he wasn’t well, but even so he felt it was time he handed over the reins to someone younger.’ She smiled. ‘Poor darling, he really was no sort of business man, and he knew it. And as you say, Richard was more than ready to take command.’

  There was a table with some chairs standing in a corner of the patio and she led him to it, turning to her maid as she did so.

  ‘You can bring us our tea now, Agnes.’

  She waited until they were alone again before continuing.

  ‘Richard has told me why you went to see him. I do find it extraordinary that this dreadful business should be brought up again after all this time. But he explained about the pendant to me and said all he wanted was to see the matter cleared up once and for all. He asked me to help you in any way I could, which of course I’ll do, though I doubt there’s much I can add to what he’s already told you.’

  ‘It’s very generous of you both.’ Madden bowed his head in thanks. ‘But before we begin, I’ve a message for you. It’s from my wife. She wants me to tell you that she went ahead and did what she said she would do. She studied medicine and became a doctor. She wonders if you remember her telling you that. It was a long time ago.’

  Plainly astonished, Mrs Castleton stared at him open-mouthed. They sat like that for several seconds, neither saying a word. Then, without warning, she tossed her head back and laughed.

  ‘Helen!’ she said. ‘Is that her name? It must be.’

  Madden nodded.

  ‘Of course I remember. I can see her now. She was such a lovely young woman, so open and engaging. It was at a party in London. We sat and talked. I was so envious hearing what she wanted to do with her life. I remember wishing I had done the same; not studying medicine, but something I really cared about . . . botany, for instance; or natural history. We were going to meet again, but then . . . oh, let’s not talk of that. It depresses me just to think of it.’

  She shuddered.

  ‘Helen . . .’ She murmured the name again. Then, still clearly struck by the memory he had stirred, she drew back a little in her chair as though to underline the importance of what she was about to say next.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Madden, when you married her did you feel you had won some great and undeserved prize in life?’

  He looked at her in wonder.

  ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘I told you—I remember her.’ Her dark eyes held him captive. ‘But tell me more, please. When did you meet?’

  ‘It was after the war—the first war. I was a police officer then, a detective, and I was assigned to a murder investigation in the village where Helen lived. I had served in the army and when it was over I returned to my old job at Scotland Yard. But it wasn’t the same: I wasn’t the same. I hadn’t recovered from my time in the trenches.’

  ‘And did you fall in love with her at once?’ Mrs Castleton checked herself. She put a hand to her cheek. ‘Forgive me, Mr Madden. It’s none of my business. My friends are always telling me I’m too direct. Don’t answer if you’d rather not.’

  ‘I’m sure that I did.’ Madden had no hesitation in replying. ‘Although I wasn’t aware of it at first.’

  Even as he spoke, h
e was struck by the extraordinary sense of intimacy she had created between them in the space of only a few minutes. He saw, too, that it was this same gift that must have been at the very heart of the fascination she had held for so many people.

  ‘Quite simply, the thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t imagine I might ever mean anything to her.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘It was the war. I thought something had broken inside me. I couldn’t feel anymore. I was numb. A lot of men who came back from the trenches had the same experience. I couldn’t see any future for myself. I felt I was damaged goods.’

  He had never talked this way to anyone but Helen, yet the words seem to flow naturally, as though from a hidden source.

  ‘But she saw through all that? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘As if it were in plain sight.’

  The memory of those days—so precious to him—was still fresh in his mind. It was as if he were speaking of yesterday.

  ‘I didn’t have to tell her anything. It was as though she already knew. It still seems like a miracle to me.’

  ‘Dear Mr Madden . . .’ There were tears in Adele Castleton’s eyes. ‘I do believe you and I are two of a kind.’

  • • •

  ‘Jack Jessup was my saviour. I met him in Kenya in 1930.’

  She was interrupted by the rattle of crockery behind her signalling the arrival of the tea trolley, and for a while she was occupied with pouring their tea while her maid hovered over the table, first handing Madden his cup and then offering him a choice of biscuits or cake, both of which were carried on a stand. Only when she had left them did Mrs Castleton resume speaking.

  ‘I was there with friends and we were invited to visit a farm in the highlands. I was already wishing I hadn’t come—to Africa, I mean. It seemed like just another pointless holiday; and a holiday from what? I’d been drifting for so long that I’d lost all sense of direction. Jack was staying with the family on the farm. I knew who he was, of course. Black Jack Jessup, the papers called him. He was said to be a friend of the Prince of Wales. He was about to go off on a safari the next day and was only there, at the farm, for that one night. I was feeling ghastly.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘Not unwell, but simply despairing. I lost my husband not long after we were married. He was quite rich, but he wanted to be a racing driver and was killed in a crash. After that I seemed to lose my bearings and went from one man to another until I reached the point where I couldn’t see any way of escaping from the mess I had made of my life. I sat up late on my own in front of the fire—it was the end of summer and the nights were getting cold—and Jack found me there. He had come down in his dressing-gown and pyjamas to look for a book, but instead he sat down beside me and asked me what the trouble was.’