Edward had not bowled well and was feeling annoyed with himself. He took a cup of tea and a sandwich gratefully from Fenton and looked round for Verity. She was sitting on the grass by herself looking cool in white. He had been trying to have a quiet word with her ever since he had reached Swifts Hill but had been frustrated. He had driven her down from London in the Lagonda that morning but they had given a lift to Edmund and Maggie Cardew so he had not been able to talk to her about anything private. As soon as they arrived, Verity was swallowed up by the house party – particularly the male members. Edward assumed it was not deliberate but he felt he was being spurned in favour of her new admirers, notably Roddy Maitland, Edmund Cardew and, most obviously, Sir Simon. Frank was occupied with Miss Schuster-Slatt whom he had driven down in his brand-new convertible Hudson Terraplane – a black and yellow monster with bright red leather seats. It was a present from his parents and Edward did not approve. At Cambridge, only the richest and showiest of men had their own cars which had to be garaged in the town.
All this admiration did not make Verity popular with the ladies, Edward observed. Only Mrs Cardew, who treated her like a favourite daughter-in-law, seemed to appreciate her. Verity, who had never had a mother, always blossomed when she found a motherly woman to fuss over her. As he now approached her, he was forestalled by Graham Harvey who sat himself beside her and launched into something which sounded like a tirade from where Edward was standing. Verity gazed at him, seemingly entranced. Inevitably, he and Edward had disliked each other on sight and had hardly exchanged a word. She said something and Edward fumed as he watched Harvey put his hand on her arm and make some sharp comment which, he thought sourly, she would never have taken from him without protest but which she accepted from Harvey with studied meekness. With his ‘lean and hungry’ look and his deplorable views on Winston Churchill, it was the last straw when he turned out, rather improbably Edward thought, to play cricket.
Annoyed and frustrated, unwilling to play gooseberry, Edward took his sandwiches and tea over to where Maggie Cardew was sitting on her own.
‘May I?’ He gestured with the sandwiches to the vacant chair.
‘Of course, Lord Edward. Please do.’
‘Miss Pitt-Messanger looks happier,’ he observed. The news of Maud’s suicide attempt was common knowledge so he knew Maggie would understand what he meant.
‘Oh, yes. I wonder why she did it. So awful, don’t you think, to try and harm yourself? You would have to be so miserable to try. I know I would never dare.’
He wondered if she was giving him a coded message that her disfigurement did not make her unhappy enough to consider ending it all. Chewing on their sandwiches, they watched Maud in companionable silence. The scars on her wrists were healing but she still wore bandages which she made no effort to conceal. She had dressed with some attempt to look her best in a short-sleeved summer frock which, though hardly fashionable, made her look younger than she was. She wore a wide straw hat round whose brim she, or perhaps Virginia, had woven wild flowers which gave her an appealing aura of innocence.
Edward turned back to Maggie. It was odd, he thought, how quickly one forgot her disfigurement and she was certainly restful after Verity.
‘What could be more English?’ he said vacuously. ‘What more innocent way can there be of enjoying a beautiful summer day than a village cricket match?’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ she said, sounding surprised.
‘You don’t then?’
‘Well, I don’t know about the village team but, when you think about it, there is so much going on among our own friends. I’m not sure “innocence” is the word I would use.’
‘I don’t quite follow you.’
‘Well, take you for example. You are cross with Miss Browne because all the men swarm round her and she seems quite willing to let them. And you are cross with your nephew for liking that American woman with the odd views on sex which she insists on sharing with everyone. Then Isolde is cross with Roddy for having a crush on Miss Browne and he dislikes Mr Harvey who seems to have some sort of hold over her, while you, of course, cannot even bear to exchange a word with the man . . .’
‘Please stop, Miss Cardew!’ Edward laughed. ‘Am I such an ogre?’
‘Disappointed love is a dangerous condition. Oh, I am sorry! How rude of me. But you must admit, your Miss Browne has made herself universally unpopular with us women.’
‘You think Roddy is stuck on Verity?’
‘It’s pretty obvious, I should have thought. I have just seen Isolde take Roddy behind the pavilion – for a kiss, I assumed – but she reappeared a few moments ago wiping her eyes. Even Ginny is annoyed – at Simon. She knows well enough what he’s like with women but normally he has the decency to hide his infatuations from her.’
‘Simon Castlewood has a roving eye?’
‘You could put it that way. I think – and I am sure Miss Schuster-Slatt would agree – that he is a typical predatory male determined to spread his genes to every female who will let him. What is it they say? A woman requires a commitment before she makes love to a man. A man requires only an opportunity. Oh, now I have shocked you.’
‘Not shocked me, but you have alarmed me. What a good detective you would make! And to think, when I first met you, I thought butter would not melt in your mouth. Now I am quite afraid of you.’
‘I hope not, Lord Edward. I find you intelligent and attractive and I think Miss Browne is being rather foolish giving you the run-around but then we women so often don’t appreciate what is under our noses. Look, Mr Harvey has gone off to “pad up”. Isn’t that the expression? She is alone now. Should you not go and sit with her?’
‘I would rather sit with you,’ he said politely.
‘I don’t believe you but it is nice of you to say so.’
‘No, it’s true,’ he said, and found that it was. ‘In any case, that good-looking young German is talking to her now.’
‘Adam von Trott.’
‘Is that his name?’
‘He’s the one you ought to be afraid of. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll go and help Ginny. It was so good of you to take pity on me.’
‘What do you mean, Miss Cardew? I will be most upset if you think I came to sit with you because I was sorry for you. You don’t need anyone’s pity.’
‘No, I don’t and, when Dominic has repaired my face, I’ll need it even less.’
‘Montillo?’
‘You know he is a most experienced plastic surgeon? He says it should not be at all difficult to make me presentable again. I am so excited.’
She did not sound excited and Edward was intrigued. What an extraordinary girl this was. She was more intelligent than any of them but her tongue was sharp and might make her enemies.
‘If I sit with you much longer, people will begin to talk,’ she said, rising. He, too, rose to his feet.
‘Let them talk. I would be flattered if anyone thought you were taking an interest in me.’
She smiled and moved away.
The young German had been captured by Miss Schuster-Slatt, who wanted his views on German marriage and was not to be denied, so Edward took the opportunity of a few moments alone with Verity. He plonked himself down beside her.
‘At last! I’ve been waiting to have a word with you alone. Don’t you want to know what I found out from Pride about Pitt-Messanger’s murder?’
‘Yes, of course. Tell me all.’
It was the right thing to say but he could tell that she wasn’t really concentrating. He went ahead with his report anyway. ‘Basically, they are no further on. They have interviewed everyone who was sitting in the immediate vicinity of the Pitt-Messangers but no one knows anything or saw anything.’
‘So someone must have been hiding in the cloisters?’
‘It seems the only possibility, although they still think Maud saw something which she doesn’t want to tell them or doesn’t know she saw.’
‘You mean some trivial
thing which she doesn’t realize is significant?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And Sidney Temperley . . .?’
‘I was coming to him. Pride has done quite a lot of research into Pitt-Messanger’s past and, though he had lots of enemies, they are either dead or accounted for. Temperley died, as we know, of cholera. There’s no suggestion that there was anything fishy about it. There were rumours at the time that Pitt-Messanger had in some way “done him in” but there was nothing to them. Several people on the dig went down with cholera at much the same time – dirty water, I suppose – though only Temperley died. Apparently he wasn’t a fit man. The climate didn’t agree with him.’
‘But there was a quarrel?’
‘Yes. Temperley claimed he had found this extraordinary tomb but Pitt-Messanger insisted he kept quiet and that he, as leader of the excavation, took the credit.’
‘And then Temperley wanted to marry Maud. That must have made things worse between them. You told Pride about that?’
‘Not about her abortion. We agreed that was confidential. Still, I am a bit worried about it. It might be relevant and Pride won’t like it if he finds out we have not told him everything we know.’
‘I don’t care. Maud told me about it in a very private moment. I ought not to have told you and I certainly forbid you to tell the police. Can’t you just see Pride bullying the poor girl to give him all the grisly details?’
‘I suppose so,’ Edward said with some reluctance.
They watched the cricket, which had resumed now that tea was over. Sir Simon and Graham Harvey were opening the batting.
‘Why was the old man so against Temperley? Was he just jealous?’
‘Pride thinks he didn’t like the idea of the two people who were most essential to him getting together, which makes sense. Pitt-Messanger was always thinking people were conspiring against him and no doubt he thought this was another conspiracy, all the more deadly for being close to him. Pride also said Temperley had no money – no way of supporting a wife.’
‘What a selfish old swine. I’m glad he was killed!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘He had money. He could have financed their marriage. He owed his daughter that for all the unpaid work she had put in on his digs.’
‘Well,’ Edward said reasonably, ‘he needed all the money he could raise for his work. However, the fact is Temperley had a reason to kill him but, of course, he didn’t.’
‘No. He died – conveniently for Pitt-Messanger – and Maud’s life was ruined. Is there anyone else . . . a relation of Temperley’s who might have sought to avenge him?’
‘Don’t let’s be dramatic, V.’
‘There’s Maud’s brother – the one who ran off to sea. How old would he be now?’
‘I should have told you. Pride confirmed what Mrs Cardew told us: the boy’s name was Edwin and he was seven years older than Maud. Pride discovered he was born with a harelip and a cleft palate. Now here’s the interesting thing. He went for an operation to a brilliant young surgeon, a friend of Pitt-Messanger’s . . .’
‘Montillo?’
‘Correct.’
‘Did it work – the operation?’
‘Possibly – possibly not, but the boy was never seen again.’
‘Good Lord! How old was he?’
‘Fourteen or fifteen.’
‘And Maud . . .?’
‘She was told he had run off to sea.’
‘She believed it?’
‘I don’t know, V. She might have done. She was only seven when he disappeared. It is one of the things I want to ask her before Pride gets to her. He frightens her and I know she will clam up if he tries to bully her.’
‘Golly!’ Verity said excitedly. ‘So Montillo may have murdered Maud’s brother.’
‘Hang on, V! That’s jumping the gun. Montillo may have a perfectly reasonable . . .’
‘Why hasn’t Pride asked him . . . Montillo, I mean? Isn’t this what the police call a breakthrough?’
‘He’s going to. He has asked him to come to the Yard for a chat.’
‘Who told him about Edwin’s cleft palate?’
‘Pride dug up – not literally, of course – a family friend who remembered the deformity because Pitt-Messanger had been so upset about it.’
‘Wouldn’t you be upset?’
‘Of course, but Pitt-Messanger apparently took it as a slur on his genes. He thought his children ought to be perfect specimens . . .’
‘That’s disgusting! I’m not surprised everyone hated him.’
‘Look, V, if Montillo had something to hide and Pitt-Messanger was blackmailing him – well, he had a motive for murder.’
‘Was Montillo at Benyon’s memorial service? I don’t remember hearing he was a friend of his.’
‘No, he wasn’t at the Abbey. It was the first thing Pride checked.’
‘But he may have slipped into the cloister and pounced . . .’
‘He might have, but why do it that way? It’s pretty farfetched.’
‘Should we speak to Maud about this?’
‘Pride asked me to keep it under my hat for the moment. When he has interviewed Montillo, then we can speak to Maud, though I have to admit, I am tempted to drop a hint . . . ask her a casual question and see what she says.’
‘Where is Montillo, by the way?’
‘He’s not here – at least not until this evening. Sir Simon tells me he doesn’t play cricket. He’s gone to London for the day – to see Pride for one thing – but he is coming back tonight.’
‘Gosh! Pride has done well,’ Verity said grudgingly. She did not like him and he certainly did not like her but she gave credit where it was due. She contemplated what Edward had told her. ‘Pitt-Messanger was killed by a dagger from one of those Hittite tombs, wasn’t he?’ she said at last.
‘Yes, and that certainly suggests an archaeologist was involved but they haven’t been able to trace where the dagger came from – certainly not from a public collection. The expert from the British Museum had never seen it before.’
‘Were there any other archaeologists in the Abbey?’
‘Not that Pride has been able to discover.’
‘Did anyone have any idea that Pitt-Messanger would sit where he did?’
‘No. As you know, where we were sitting in the nave there were no reserved seats. It was first come, first served.’
‘Or a surgeon.’
‘What do you mean, V?’
‘Well, the killing was done by someone who knew how to use a knife.’
‘That’s a thought, certainly.’
They meditated on this for a moment and then Verity said, ‘So Pride has no idea what became of Edwin?’
‘Assuming he isn’t dead, he may be in Australia for all we know. It is possible Montillo can throw some light on his whereabouts.’
‘He’s not going to admit he killed him, or even that he died on the operating table.’
‘We must wait and see.’
For a moment they were, once again, a team happily exchanging information and theories. Edward saw Sadie Schuster-Slatt and Frank sitting some way off. She appeared to be lecturing him and he was listening intently. ‘What do you think of that Schuster-Slatt woman?’ he asked Verity.
‘Oh, she’s not too bad.’
‘I think she’s perfectly awful and a bad influence on my nephew.’
‘I shouldn’t get yourself all worked up. It’s not as though she is going to marry Frank.’
‘You don’t know. She might.’
‘Well, so what if she does. I expect his aristocratic genes would benefit from some new, hardy American ones. Sadie certainly thinks so. She was telling me how inbred the English aristocracy is.’
Verity smiled to show she was joking but Edward did not like her tone.
‘How can you say that? The woman’s a monster – vulgar, loud-mouthed . . . What did she say to me when we were introduced? “You guys are just too much! Dooks and lords and all that shit. Who i
n hell needs that stuff.”’
‘What’s wrong with that? She talks a lot of sense. I like her and so does Simon for that matter.’
Edward was shaken. Sadie . . . Simon . . . Verity was way ahead of him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow. He took a deep breath. ‘Well, never mind that. Do you want to continue with this investigation or should we just forget it? As you say, Pride seems to be doing all right without our help and anyway, you don’t seem very interested. I suppose with all your new friends . . .’
‘Please don’t use that tone of voice with me, Edward. It’s not my fault if Frank is in love with an American. I thought you liked Americans.’
‘You know I like Americans. I just don’t like . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with you, V. Anything I say is wrong and you bite my head off. And while we are having a row, I might as well say, I don’t like that man Harvey. It’s not fair on Maud for one thing. You said she was sweet on him and now she sees him fawning over you and ignoring her. He’s a . . .’
‘Please, Edward. Don’t make a fool of yourself,’ Verity said frostily. ‘What you say is quite unfair.’
‘If only you’d listen to reason for once!’
‘I never listen to reason. Reason is just what someone else thinks I ought to be doing or saying.’
In fact, she did feel a bit guilty and that made her cross. She had not told Edward about having had a dawn coffee in his cottage. She told herself that she and Harvey had politics in common – nothing more – but in her heart she knew he was getting too fond of her company for other reasons. She had told Edward what Maud had said to her – how they were lovers – but she could not help wondering if this was Maud’s fantasy. She was trying to pluck up courage to ask him.
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