A Grave Man

by David Roberts

  ‘Yes,’ Pride said. ‘We’ll have to ask both gentlemen if they did meet earlier than we had thought – without of course saying who saw them together,’ he added, seeing Edward’s face.

  ‘Mr Maitland, Mr Cardew, the young German, von Trott, and – begging your pardon, my lord – yourself and your nephew . . .’ Jebb continued.

  ‘Quite right, Inspector,’ Edward concurred. ‘And don’t forget that I was also in the Abbey when her father was killed.’

  Jebb smiled uneasily but pressed on with his list. ‘Dr Morris – but we can rule him out, I think. Mr Harvey . . .’

  Pride raised an eyebrow. ‘The Communist gentleman who lives on the estate?’

  ‘That’s him, Chief Inspector,’ Edward said, a little too eagerly. ‘I don’t like the look of him and Miss Pitt-Messanger had confided in him. He might have known more than was good for him.’

  ‘Miss Browne seems to have seen a good deal of him at Swifts Hill,’ Jebb said, not looking at Edward.

  Edward frowned. ‘They’re both Communists, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t see what else they could have in common.’

  ‘Miss Browne visited Mr Harvey in his cottage very early on the day after the dagger was stolen,’ Jebb said mildly.

  ‘She did what? She never told me . . .’ Edward said in surprise. ‘I mean, she told me she had talked to him but not . . .’

  ‘Not when she talked to him? She probably did not think it relevant,’ Pride said, trying unsuccessfully to be tactful.

  ‘Mr Harvey told me they discussed Mr Churchill. Apparently Mr Harvey does not care for the gentleman.’

  Edward was silent. He would not humiliate himself by asking Jebb for any further details of the conversation. He would get that out of Verity himself as soon as the opportunity arose.

  Jebb said carefully, ‘We have to consider the possibility that Miss Browne took the dagger out of the case while she was being shown it and then passed it to Mr Harvey. She must have had some reason for meeting Mr Harvey when she did. Mr Harvey says it was accidental but we only have his word for that. She says she went for a walk because she could not sleep.’ Jebb was consulting his notes. ‘Harvey was also out walking and they met and went back to his cottage for coffee. Miss Browne was wet and chilled.’ He finished reading.

  Edward said nothing but looked like thunder.

  ‘Mind you,’ said Pride, ‘reading your notes of your interview with Sir Simon, Jebb, it doesn’t look as though Miss Browne would have had an opportunity to remove the dagger before Sir Simon pointed out that it was missing.’

  ‘True,’ Jebb acknowledged quickly, ‘and she would not have known about the dagger before Sir Simon took her to see the collection.’

  The two policemen looked at each other but carefully avoided Edward’s eye. Edward, head bowed, said nothing. With relief, Jebb went on consulting his list. ‘That’s the eight men on Sir Simon’s team. The other two were Sir Simon’s tenants who were press-ganged to play for him. Neither are serious suspects as they are unlikely to have known about the dagger and hadn’t met Miss Pitt-Messanger.’

  Edward roused himself. ‘Right, that’s eight and Dominic Montillo. One of us killed Maud and I think I know who it was but I don’t know why. Will you give me twenty-four hours, Jebb? No, give me a week – I may have to go down to the South of France to get my facts straight, you understand.’

  Jebb looked at him curiously. ‘Very good, my lord. I would be most grateful for anything that you can come up with. It may be that one of these gentlemen will talk more freely to you than they will to me.’

  ‘The South of France?’ Pride said, stroking his chin. ‘You think the two murders are connected to Mr Montillo’s beauty clinic?’

  ‘It was remiss of me not to look at his laboratory and hospital. The Beauty Institute was all above board but, the more I hear of his other place, the less I like it. Miss Cardew is to have an operation there to remove her scar, which gives me an excuse to visit.’

  ‘You think it is safe for her?’

  ‘I don’t think Montillo will harm her, if that’s what you mean. He is, by all accounts, a first-class cosmetic surgeon.’

  ‘You know her brother is an investor in the Beauty Institute?’ Jebb said.

  ‘No, I didn’t. Did he tell you?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s no secret about it. I believe Sir Simon arranged it. Cardew needs money and he wanted to help him.’

  ‘Thank you, Jebb. I think I understand everything now.’ Edward looked at his watch. ‘I must go. I am expected at Swifts Hill for lunch and I need to talk to Graham Harvey and to Isolde Swann and Roddy Maitland.’

  At lunch, Virginia was nervous and almost irritable with Roddy, which was so unlike her that Isolde looked at Edward in consternation and he raised his eyebrows to show that he too was alarmed. As soon as lunch was cleared away, Virginia whisked Edward up to her boudoir and to his embarrassment broke into sobs.

  ‘Hey there, Ginny. What’s the matter? If there’s anything you want to tell me . . .’

  ‘It’s Simon . . . it’s so humiliating.’

  ‘He’s in the South of France?’

  ‘Yes, at a board meeting or something. Dominic and Teddy Cardew are with him.’

  ‘There’s no problem with the Institute?’

  ‘No. Why, should there be?’ She had stopped crying and was looking at him in alarm.

  ‘No, I was just . . .’

  ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s . . . it’s his women.’

  Edward squirmed in his chair and wished he was anywhere else. ‘His women?’ he repeated weakly.

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know about them,’ she said sharply. ‘He makes very little effort to hide his . . . his sordid little affairs from me, so I’m sure you know about them.’

  ‘Well, I’d guessed . . .’

  ‘I don’t care what he does, provided he doesn’t do it in front of me.’

  ‘And he has?’

  ‘It’s so bloody. I discovered he was having an affair . . . no, not even that. Just a . . . what do you call it? A “roll in the hay” with one of the maids here . . . under my very nose. We had a fight and I told him I would throw him and his floozie out. He told me to calm down and that I was not to take it out on Hannah . . .’

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘Yes, Hannah Preston. I ought to have known better than to employ a pretty maid. Anyway, he said she couldn’t be sacked and that I was not to ask why but he had not . . . made love to her. I told him I did not believe him and he shrugged his shoulders and left.’

  ‘You’d like me to talk to Hannah and find out if Simon was telling the truth and there is nothing “going on”?’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘And is this the only thing that’s worrying you?’

  ‘No, it’s not the only thing. I’m worried how much time he spends at the German Embassy. This mad expedition to Tibet . . . and there’s this business with Isolde and Roddy.’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘He . . . Dominic seems to have some . . . some designs on their baby. You know . . . he wants to breed a super race and he thinks Isolde and Roddy are the perfect couple. It’s all madness. I honestly think Simon is going mad and Dominic . . . I used so to like him but now I think he’s driving Simon to do something . . . something silly. Tell me I am imagining it all?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Ginny. I think Simon has got himself into some sort of trouble with Montillo but, with luck, it’s not too late. Look, let me speak to Hannah and then to Isolde and Roddy. Now, wipe your eyes. It’s not as bad as all that.’

  He only hoped he was right.

  Hannah Preston was a very pretty girl of about twenty with a delightful smile and sparkling eyes. She was still in her uniform – mob cap, belted apron over blue-striped shirt and blue skirt. It was Hannah with whom Verity had noticed Roddy flirting at tea on her first visit to Swifts Hill. She was no longer smiling, her eyes were dull and her brow furrowed. Edward was being a
s gentle with her as possible and had chosen to talk to her in the servants’ sitting-room which was little more than an alcove off the kitchen. He thought she would be more at ease here than in the drawing-room on the other side of the green baize door.

  It was odd, he thought – thinking of Mersham as much as Swifts Hill – that even the most benevolent employer would not think of carpeting the stairs in the servants’ quarters. The lighting was bad and was not helped by the ubiquitous brown paint on the walls. He knew Hannah shared a room with another maid in the attic which he guessed was hot in summer and cold in winter.

  ‘Hannah,’ he said when they were seated, ‘I want you to remember that I am not a policeman and I’m certainly not your employer. Anything you say to me I promise to keep to myself, unless you give me leave to do otherwise.’

  She nodded but did not look reassured.

  ‘From what Lady Castlewood tells me, I know the family think very highly of you and that you work very hard.’

  ‘No one has a right to say otherwise.’ She had a husky voice which at any other time would have carried a hint of laughter.

  ‘No, indeed. What time does your day start?’

  ‘I get up at five and we – me and the other servants – have breakfast here in the kitchen at five thirty. Then I do the fires and clean the grates, polish the brass, clear up in the drawing-room and Sir Simon’s study. After that I take early tea to guests who want it . . .’

  ‘When do you stop in the evening?’

  ‘After dinner.’

  ‘So, when there are guests, you may be up till eleven o’clock?’

  ‘Not usually so late but Mr Lampton likes me to help clear the dining-room after dinner and Cook needs me in the kitchen to help with the washing-up.’

  ‘Those are very long hours, Hannah.’

  ‘I’m not complaining, my lord. Sir Simon and Lady Castlewood are very considerate. We have a break after tea is served in the drawing-room and when Sir Simon and Lady Castlewood are by themselves there is much less to do.’

  ‘And when they are in London . . .’

  ‘Then we have to clean the house and do all the jobs we don’t have time for when the house is full.’

  Edward was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He knew perfectly well that what he took for granted when he was staying in a country house – hot water, food at any time and someone always on hand to press his clothes or clean his shoes – was only possible because of the silent and often invisible work of the servants. It was easy to forget what that might entail.

  ‘So you don’t have much time for any social life?’

  ‘I am sorry, my lord?’

  ‘I mean going out and having fun.’

  ‘No, sir. I have a half day off every Wednesday and a full day off every second week. And a week’s holiday . . . I’m not complaining.’

  ‘I know that, Hannah, and I wasn’t trying to trick you. I just wanted to get an idea of how you spend your days. I suppose you want to be head housemaid one day or would you have to move to a larger establishment?’

  ‘I have never thought of it, my lord. I am quite happy here.’

  Quite understandably, Edward thought, if she had any aspirations she wasn’t going to share them with him.

  ‘Forgive me if I am being impertinent but I had heard that . . . that you and Mr Lampton . . .’

  Hannah coloured and looked mutinous.

  ‘Nothing to do with me, of course,’ he continued hurriedly. ‘It’s not idle curiosity. The truth is – how shall I put it – I wondered if . . . and I promise we are speaking in complete confidence . . . I wondered if . . . a pretty girl like you . . . sometimes had to fend off unwelcome attentions from . . .’ He took the plunge, hoping she would not burst into tears or slap his face, ‘. . . people staying in the house. I mean, I understand that Mr Maitland thought you . . .’

  ‘Not Mr Maitland, my lord.’ Her voice was so low he could hardly hear her. ‘Has Lady Castlewood been saying anything to you?’ She looked up and her eyes were blazing but also glistening with tears.

  ‘She doesn’t blame you . . .’

  ‘She says it’s my fault . . .’ she burst out, seemingly unaware of the tears which were rolling freely down her cheeks, ‘but it’s not. I’m a good girl but if Mr Lampton ever got to hear of it . . .’

  ‘He wouldn’t want any more to do with you . . .?’

  ‘He’s a Methodist, my lord – very strict.’

  ‘But Lady Castlewood knows . . .’

  ‘She said I would be turned out without a reference if she ever caught Sir Simon with me. I didn’t encourage him. I don’t even like him – not that way, anyhow.’

  ‘He tried to kiss you?’

  ‘He will . . . fondle me any time he catches me alone. I hate it, but if I make a fuss it’ll be me who gets the blame. You don’t know what it’s like, my lord. If you are thrown out without a reference, you end up starving or on the streets. No one will employ you without a reference – particularly if you are thought to be . . . to be wanton.’

  It was an old-fashioned word but Edward thought it quite explicit.

  ‘I can assure you, Hannah, that it won’t happen but if you are in any trouble, you should telephone me at the number on this card.’

  She looked at Edward’s visiting card uncomprehendingly but put it in the pocket of her apron.

  ‘You won’t say anything to Sir Simon . . .?’ she asked, suddenly alarmed. ‘He won’t like it. I’ll have to leave . . .’

  ‘Please, Hannah, look at me. I promise you can trust me. I won’t mention your name and I will never let on what you have told me but I can and will stop Sir Simon . . . interfering with you. If you do have any more problems, be brave and find somewhere you can telephone me. If I am not there, you can leave a message with my valet, Mr Fenton. You have met him, haven’t you? Just say Hannah called and I will know who it was.’

  ‘You are very kind, sir. I don’t know why . . .’

  ‘I wanted to understand why you stole the dagger.’

  The thrust was deadly and, for a moment, he thought she was going to faint.

  ‘How did you know?’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘I didn’t know for sure but I couldn’t see who else it could be. You were cleaning the glass and you looked at this beautiful thing and thought – what? – that you could defend yourself with it?’

  ‘I thought – if I had it – I could say I would only give it back if he stopped . . . stopped bothering me.’

  ‘But he could have simply called you a thief and the police would have taken you away.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking clearly,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It was on the spur of the moment, you understand. I saw the keys on the dressing-table. I suppose I thought he wouldn’t dare to denounce me because, if he did, I would say why I had taken it – the dagger, I mean. But, of course, no one would have believed me. I’m only a maid and Sir Simon is a magistrate. Oh God, will I go to prison?’

  ‘Not if you tell me what happened. How did the dagger end up killing Miss Pitt-Messanger?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ she wailed. ‘I was . . . I didn’t know what to do when I heard.’

  ‘When you took the dagger – when was that by the way?’

  ‘When I was dusting the cabinet on the Thursday before Sir Simon discovered it was gone.’

  ‘What did you do with it? You couldn’t keep it in your room?’

  ‘No, Mary would have seen it – the girl I share with.’

  ‘You hid it somewhere?’

  ‘In the cricket pavilion, my lord – under a broken bit of floor. I couldn’t hide it in the house. I knew the house would be searched. I wished I had never taken the thing.’ She was sobbing now.

  ‘So when did you last see it?’

  ‘When I hid it, my lord.’

  ‘Which was when?’

  ‘That Thursday afternoon. As soon as I had taken the thing, I wished I hadn’t. I knew I had to keep it hidden but it was
so big.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just put it back?’

  ‘It was difficult, my lord. I thought someone would see me. And anyway,’ she added defiantly, ‘since I had taken it I thought I might as well use it . . . not against anyone – but like I said – to keep Sir Simon . . .’

  ‘At bay?’ Edward suggested.

  Hannah managed a tiny smile. ‘You could say that, my lord.’

  ‘Right!’ Edward lay back in his chair which creaked alarmingly. ‘Someone either saw you hide it in the pavilion or found it by accident later. If only we knew who that could be.’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord. I’ve been racking my brains but I just don’t know. Will I have to go to prison, my lord?’

  ‘No, I think I can assure you that you won’t go to prison. I will tell Sir Simon – and the police if need be – that you borrowed the dagger to protect yourself and, when it was taken from where you had hidden it, you were too frightened to confess what you had done. Sir Simon will not, I am sure, want you to explain in court your reasons for taking the dagger,’ he said grimly. ‘One last thing – the keys . . . what did you do with them?’

  ‘I was going to put them back on the master’s dressing-table but I thought I’d be caught so I threw them in the moat. In a clump of nettles . . .’

  When Edward left, Hannah seemed much happier. He had offered to ask Lampton if she could have the rest of the day off but she would not hear of it.

  ‘I’d be better working, thank you, my lord,’ she said firmly. ‘I need to have something to keep me busy.’

  He had no doubt of the truth of her story and he was beginning to have an idea who might have taken and used the dagger, but how to prove it? That was the question.

  12

  Adam now realized he had made a mistake. He had gone to the German Embassy to talk to a friend of his about the Castlewood Foundation. When he arrived in Carlton Gardens he was told his friend was no longer able to see him and instead he was to see a Major Stille who was described as Head of Security. Adam said that rather than waste the Major’s time he would come back another day but, as he turned to leave, he saw his way was barred by two men in grey suits, neither of whom would meet his eye.