A Grave Man

by David Roberts

  The Inspector was horrified. ‘But not his own son! That’s impossible.’

  ‘Pitt-Messanger was a cruel man,’ Harvey answered. ‘But there was hope. This brilliant young surgeon, Dominic Montillo, said he could repair Edwin’s face and mouth with a small operation. Pitt-Messanger told him to do whatever he wanted – experiment on the poor lad. What happened I don’t know. I asked Montillo but he said Maud had imagined the whole thing and he never even knew the boy.’

  ‘Whatever happened, Edwin died and, instead of being properly buried, his body was . . . was used by Montillo for . . .’

  ‘For experiments,’ Harvey finished Verity’s sentence.

  ‘No, it’s not possible!’ exclaimed the Inspector. He thought for a moment. ‘But how did Miss Pitt-Messanger discover this? Perhaps it was all in her imagination.’

  Harvey said flatly, ‘That was my fault. Maud and I fell in love. At least, I suppose that was what it was. We were both lonely people. We found each other just by accident at some political rally.’ A slight smile curved his lips. ‘Maud fancied she was a Communist. It seemed to stand for everything her father hated – equality, serving each other, looking after the weak. Anyway, when she plucked up courage and told her father she was going to marry me, he was furious. No, not furious, scornful. She said he laughed at her. He told her no one would want to marry a freak like her – so ugly. It was then that he told her how much he despised both his children. He told her that Edwin hadn’t run away to sea but had been disposed of like the rubbish he was. Maud told me she decided quite coldly, then and there, to kill him. She could forgive him for ruining her life but not for what he had done to Edwin.’

  ‘But why kill him in Westminster Abbey of all places?’ the Inspector asked.

  ‘It seemed the right place to her,’ Harvey said.

  ‘Because it was “holy”?’ Verity asked suspiciously.

  ‘No, no,’ Harvey said impatiently. ‘Because Darwin’s disciple, Francis Galton, arranged for him, the arch-unbeliever, to be buried there. Next time you visit the Abbey, spend a minute or two contemplating Darwin’s monument at the east end of the nave. He has a long beard and looks like God. It was a terrible joke, which always made Pitt-Messanger laugh, that this atheist – who had done more than anyone since Newton to undermine the Christian religion – should be buried in England’s holiest shrine. So it was only justice that another of his disciples, whose “religion” had led him to destroy both his children, should lie near him.’

  They were all silent for a moment or two while they digested this. Then Verity said, ‘So when I met Maud at Swifts Hill . . .’

  ‘She had gone there to kill Montillo – to complete her work, as it were. But I dissuaded her – or I thought I had. I told her there was a better way. I suggested she made public all she knew about Edwin’s death and ruin the reputation of Montillo’s bloody Institute.’

  ‘But she tried to kill herself?’ Verity put in.

  ‘You have to remember she was hardly sane. You cannot kill your father and remain sane. She had this mad idea – she told me afterwards – of cutting her wrists just badly enough to attract attention. Montillo would patch her up and then she would stab him or make some sort of a fuss . . . As I say, she wasn’t in her right mind. I was worried she would do something . . . I don’t know . . . something awful. I was intending to creep into the house to see her when I bumped into you that morning. I didn’t know she had cut her wrists because I left the house immediately after that horrible dinner the night before and you didn’t think to tell me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I suppose I thought you knew. Anyway, I didn’t know then that you cared for Maud.’

  ‘She was convinced she would be punished for killing her father. I think it was only her love for me that kept her going, and I let her down.’

  ‘So Montillo found her with her wrists cut and bandaged them up. But she didn’t attack him or anything?’ Verity asked.

  ‘She couldn’t – not in front of Dr Morris. However, she did have words with him later that evening. She told him she knew what he had done to her brother and it was that which had made her kill her father. She said she was going to expose the Institute for what it was – a place where criminal operations took place. She signed her death warrant when she told him.’

  ‘I have just remembered something which has been puzzling me. When was Edwin’s birthday?’

  ‘April 27th. I know because it was a sacred day for her.’

  ‘How stupid of me! I found her diary the night she tried to commit suicide. It was empty except for the letters EPM against that date. I asked her about it later and she said they were her father’s initials, which, of course, I already knew. I never thought of Edwin.’

  ‘But if she had no evidence – just this strange story about her brother – ’ the Inspector said, ‘surely, Montillo could have dismissed it as the ravings of a mad woman?’

  ‘She told him, which was true, that I had my suspicions of the Clinic and was planning to go and do some detective work in the South of France.’

  ‘And did you find what you were looking for?’ the Inspector inquired.

  ‘Yes, I have all the evidence I need. I made friends with a nurse who was troubled by what she had seen in the Clinic. She stole some record books and gave them to me . . . oh, what does it matter now?’

  ‘It does matter,’ Verity said firmly. ‘It explains why you were in Cannes – not to kill the Duke of Windsor but to expose that . . . that horrible place. Where is the nurse? We will need her to give evidence.’

  ‘She died in a car accident – if it was an accident,’ Harvey said gloomily.

  ‘So why did you travel to Cannes this time? To kill Mr Montillo?’ the Inspector asked.

  ‘I am happy to kill him, Inspector, if I ever get the chance, but he has powerful friends. No, I came to kill Edmund Cardew. It was he who killed Maud at Montillo’s urging.’

  The Inspector looked thoroughly bewildered. ‘Please, I do not understand. Who is this Edmund Cardew?’

  Edward listened intently to everything Verity had to tell him. When she had quite finished, he sighed and then wished he hadn’t because it was so painful.

  Verity saw him wince and asked, ‘These flowers are glorious. Who are they from? I haven’t even brought you grapes.’

  ‘They are from the Duke of Windsor. And he wrote a very nice note. He is planning to come and visit me after the operation to retrieve the bullet.’

  ‘How very kind of him,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Perhaps he’ll give you a medal.’

  ‘I don’t think he has that power but don’t sneer. It’s nicely meant.’

  ‘I should think so, after you acted as a pincushion on his behalf,’ she said hotly.

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘I know you didn’t but he doesn’t know that.’ She smiled. ‘So, what has the doctor had to say? He thinks you’ll live?’

  ‘Don’t joke. Remember how sweet I was to you when you got shot. I have been very lucky, apparently, though I have to say I don’t feel particularly lucky. The bullet just missed my lung. It didn’t touch my spine. If it had, the doctor told me – rather too cheerfully I thought – I might have been paralysed. So, as I say, I have to count myself lucky – lucky to be alive and lucky not to be seriously wounded.’

  ‘And the bullet comes out tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, they think I am strong enough to withstand the probing.’

  ‘Yuk! You know I can’t stand blood.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry. It’ll be my blood and you won’t have to see it.’ He paused and then said lightly. ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘Another week or even more if I need to. This is a very big story for the New Gazette. Joe says . . . well, you can guess what he says.’

  ‘Your lover gunned down in front of you at the Cannes casino . . .? I can certainly guess the way Weaver wants to play it,’ he replied drily. Verity said nothing because there was nothing to say. ‘But I’m
not your lover, am I?’ he demanded almost angrily.

  ‘Please don’t, Edward. I love you . . . you know I love you.’ She spoke fiercely, as though the words were forced out of her. ‘Don’t make me feel guiltier than I feel already. It just happens that at this particular moment I’m in love – which is different – with Adam. I’m sorry, Edward, I really am, but I can’t lie to you just because you’re ill.’

  Edward sighed again and winced again – this time because her honesty hurt him more than his wound.

  ‘So what about Cardew?’ she said to change the subject.

  ‘They’ll find him. He can’t escape. The French police are very efficient.’

  ‘And he killed Maud? You are sure of it? You’re sure Harvey is right?’

  ‘Yes, V. I’m sure. When Maud told me she was in danger, she meant, of course, from Montillo. What she did not know was that Montillo had told Cardew how dangerous she was to the reputation of the Institute. Cardew had gambled away the little money he had earned in the City. As an MP, he earned virtually nothing and he had to support his mother and his sister. Montillo gave him a chance to invest in the Institute. It may have been a genuine act of friendship but Cardew clearly stood to lose everything – his investment, his career and the respect of the men he called his friends if the Clinic was exposed as a place where . . .’

  ‘It really was a place where experiments on people were carried out? I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Inspector Carbourd has retrieved the record books Harvey stole from the Clinic and they make it clear – in revolting detail – that Montillo had some contract with German scientists to carry out experimental work of a disgusting nature.’

  ‘And this was profitable?’

  ‘Very, but I don’t think that was Montillo’s main reason for taking on the work. He genuinely believed these experiments were for the good of the human race.’

  ‘Is he mad, do you think?’

  ‘Montillo? Yes, I suppose so, although I think a jury would find him guilty of murder.’

  ‘But will they ever catch him?’

  ‘That I don’t know, V. Someone tipped him the wink and he had time to get out before the police came for him. I guess he’s in Germany by now and the Nazis will not give him up easily.’

  Verity rubbed her cheek meditatively. ‘So Montillo told Cardew he had to get rid of Maud or he would be dragged under with the Institute. I hear he was head over heels in debt and he would have lost his seat in the Commons if he had gone bankrupt. But I still don’t understand why Montillo didn’t kill Maud himself?’

  ‘I expect he thought he wouldn’t get away with it. No one knew of any connection between Cardew and Maud but it was widely known that Maud was Montillo’s patient. He thought about getting her to the Clinic – to “convalesce” after she cut her wrists. He could have got rid of her there but, in the end, there wasn’t time. She had to be disposed of immediately.’

  ‘And the dagger?’

  ‘Montillo happened to see Hannah hide it in the pavilion, I think. He might have suborned her to steal it for him but I don’t think so. She struck me as an honest girl. It was a perfect weapon. There was no way Cardew could know where it had been hidden, let alone steal it. The dagger made it look as though the murderer had to have had access to Sir Simon’s museum which Cardew didn’t have.’

  ‘And during the cricket match he had every opportunity to take it out of its hiding place.’

  ‘Yes, V. Montillo went off to London to establish the perfect alibi but, annoyingly for him, came back to Swifts Hill too early. He was seen talking to Sir Simon before Cardew had done the deed.’

  ‘Was Sir Simon involved in Maud’s murder?’

  ‘I don’t know but I’m inclined to think not. He may be a fool but he would never have countenanced murder at his beloved Swifts Hill. I saw his face when he heard that Maud has been killed. He could not have faked the horror he showed then.’

  ‘I wonder if Montillo knew, or guessed, that Maud had told Harvey what she suspected?’

  ‘I am sure he did and he would have been planning to get rid of him as well but he never got the chance.’

  ‘So there were two daggers. Maud used one from her father’s private collection and she was killed by the dagger in Sir Simon’s museum.’

  ‘Yes, V. Ancient evil bringing death through the millennia.’

  A nurse came in and asked Verity to leave. She kissed Edward and said, ‘Can you forgive me for not being the woman you deserve?’

  ‘You’re the woman I want,’ he countered.

  ‘And can you forgive me for that?’

  ‘There’s no question of forgiveness,’ he said ruefully. ‘It’s a fact of life. You mustn’t worry about me. Connie will be here tomorrow.’ His sister-in-law, the Duchess, was the woman, after Verity, whom he loved most. ‘She’ll look after me.’

  Verity thought this remark was probably aimed at her but said nothing. Edward knew that she was not good at ‘looking after’ people. She recognized she was selfish but that was the way she was and it was futile to pretend she was something different.

  ‘And Maggie Cardew will want looking after,’ she said seriously.

  ‘Indeed. I understand that her mother is dying.’

  ‘Such a shame. She’s such a nice woman. By the way, how is Maggie’s face?’

  ‘She seemed optimistic that the operation had been a success.’

  ‘So maybe something good will come out of this awful business after all.’

  ‘Maybe. Now go. You have people to interview and stories to write.’

  ‘Bye, then. I’ll come in tomorrow. Keep your pecker up.’

  ‘It’s up,’ he said.

  Verity blushed and, giving him a wave, left the room. She did have a story to write. Inspector Carbourd would have to approve it before she could file it but he was not averse to publicity and she thought she would not have too much trouble with him.

  15

  The copper beech which shaded the lawn and hung over the river had turned a glorious red before shedding its leaves in the October winds. Mersham Castle was beautiful but melancholy, as though it knew what was to come and feared it. Edward, who loved the place more deeply than words could express, found his mood matched by the changing seasons. Although his health had improved and his wound healed, his spirits were at a low ebb. The Duchess was worried about him but the distractions she offered were rejected. One cold and wet Thursday in late October, she sat on his bed while he ate his breakfast and, with some trepidation, informed him that Maggie Cardew had expressed a wish to see him.

  ‘I have her letter here if you would like to read it. She says she is writing to me rather than you because she has already sent you two letters which you have ignored. Is that true, Ned?’

  Edward wrinkled his face and pushed away his eggs and bacon. ‘I’m afraid it is, Connie. The truth is I don’t know what to say to her. Her brother is in prison waiting to be hanged and I was responsible. What can I say to her that would not add insult to injury?’

  ‘I think you owe it to her.’

  ‘Do I? Do I, Connie?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘I think I have paid my dues.’

  ‘It’s up to you, of course, but the poor girl is all alone since her mother died and though Lord Weaver has been very kind to her, she has no real friend.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said grumpily. ‘I say, Connie, I’ve been meaning to . . . to tell you how grateful I am to you for taking me in and nursing me and so on. You’ve been an absolute brick and I truly think Gerald is the luckiest man alive.’

  The Duchess smiled and got up from his bed to hide her pleasure. In her most secret imaginings, she had sometimes fantasized about what it might be like to be married to the younger brother. Of course, Gerald was a dear and, in a certain light, he was almost handsome and it was something to be a duchess but . . . but he was dull and, whatever else Ned was, it wasn’t dull! She wrapped her silk dressing-gown round her more closely
and asked, ’You’ll be here for Christmas, won’t you? Frank’s coming.’

  ‘With that awful American girl?’

  ‘Oh, she’s not that bad,’ the Duchess said gaily. ‘As a matter of fact, I think things may have cooled between them. She took him to some meeting about eugenics and Frank made a bit of an ass of himself – so he says – and rather laid into some women who were spouting nonsense about breeding. He’ll tell you the details but there’s a certain froideur there.’

  ‘Ah! I knew the boy had sense.’

  ‘Is Fenton all right – staying here for so long, I mean?’

  ‘He’s loving it. He seems to have “formed an attachment” – his words – with Mary. Have you noticed?’

  ‘Mary? My Mary? What a sly boots! No, I haven’t noticed. I must be going blind in my old age.’

  She considered for a moment. Mary Harris was her personal maid and it would be inconvenient, to say the least, if she married and left her service. She ticked herself off for being selfish. Why shouldn’t the girl be married? She was pretty enough. Connie remembered the time, when Frank was back from Eton for the holidays, she had caught him kissing Mary in the buttery and had had to threaten him with his father.

  ‘So, that’s settled – you’ll stay at Mersham for Christmas?’

  ‘I would like that very much. Then I shall return to London and resume my normal life,’ Edward said pleasantly. ‘I’m still hoping for that Foreign Office job I was telling you about.’

  ‘Have you written to Vansittart?’

  ‘No, should I?’

  ‘I just wondered. They may have appointed someone else by now to run that department of industrial espionage or whatever it’s called. Surely they couldn’t hold it open for you indefinitely?’

  ‘Sh! That’s top secret!’ he said with exaggerated emphasis. ‘I ought not to have told you anything about it. Anyway, the Foreign Office is much too grand to indulge in espionage.’