The Judgement of Strangers

by Taylor, Andrew

  ‘How was the inquest?’

  ‘They decided the death was an accident.’

  Toby laughed again, a shrill squirt of sound. ‘Which everyone knew already. Our legal system has a genius for stating the obvious, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose they have to make sure.’

  Toby bent forward and carefully stubbed out his cigarette in the grass. ‘I wanted a word about the fete actually. I wondered if you have a fortune-teller.’

  ‘Not as far as I know. I don’t think we’ve ever had one.’

  ‘I thought it might add to the fun. If you’ve no objection, of course.’

  ‘As long as it’s suitably light-hearted, I don’t think there’d be a problem. But I wouldn’t want anyone to take it seriously.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Toby.

  ‘Who had you in mind?’

  ‘Actually, I thought I could do it myself. I did it at school once. Just for a joke, at a sort of show we had. I wore a wig, and a long dark robe covered in stars.’ The fingers of his left hand fluttered as though miming the flowing folds of the robe. ‘Just a bit of fun.’

  I thought about it for a moment. The idea was attractive. I had felt for some years that under Audrey’s hand the fete was becoming rather a dull affair, with the same stalls and the same sideshows coming round monotonously every year.

  ‘There’s an old tent in the stables up at the house,’ Toby went on. ‘It looks sound enough. I could use it as my booth.’

  ‘What sort of fortune-telling?’

  Toby shrugged. ‘I’m not choosy. Palmistry, the cards, astrology, the I Ching. Whatever the customer wants.’

  ‘I’m sure people would enjoy it. And it’s very kind of you, too. But I’d better have a word with Audrey first. She’s doing most of the organizing.’

  ‘I shall have to think of a name.’ He grinned up at me. ‘The Princess of Prophecy: something like that.’

  I glanced at my watch. ‘I must be going. Vanessa will have supper on the table soon.’

  Toby stood up. ‘How’s the research going, by the way?’

  ‘Lady Youlgreave’s death is a complication. We’re a little concerned about what will happen to the papers.’

  ‘It all depends on who the heir is, I suppose. No news on that?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The solicitor must know,’ Toby went on, half to himself. ‘There must be a solicitor.’

  I nodded but said nothing. I had never met Mr Deakin, though Lady Youlgreave had mentioned him once or twice. I wondered if he’d been at the inquest, one of the anonymous men in dark suits.

  Toby took a step away from me, then stopped, as if something had occurred to him. ‘Why doesn’t Vanessa come and see Francis’s room on Sunday afternoon? I know we were going to wait till the party after the fete, but it would be much better to do it in daylight. Besides, you know what parties are like. Full of distractions.’

  ‘That would be very kind, but –’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ he rushed on. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you all come? And if any of you would like a swim, you can bring your costumes. The pool should be sorted out by then.’

  I thanked him, and said that Vanessa or I would phone later in the evening.

  ‘Do come,’ he said. Then he smiled and loped away – not along the path but among the graves. The cuffs of his T-shirt and of his trousers swayed as he walked. He looked like a blood-red pixie.

  Later that evening, Vanessa and I had another whispered conference in our bedroom. It was a warm evening and we sat propped up against pillows on top of the bed, I in my pyjamas and she in her nightdress. The nightdress was dark-blue with cream piping around the neck and the cuffs. I dared not look at her too much because it made me want to make love.

  ‘What on earth’s wrong with Rosemary?’ she hissed. ‘She’s been very subdued all evening.’

  ‘She’s got an upset stomach.’

  Vanessa shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t believe it for a moment.’

  ‘She was sick when she came home. I heard her.’

  ‘Perhaps she was. But no one with an upset stomach eats the supper she did. No, if you ask me, it’s something else. Maybe something shocked her.’ She paused. ‘Who is this mysterious schoolfriend?’

  ‘I think she’s called Clarissa. Or Camilla. Something like that.’

  ‘Are you sure she exists?’

  Startled, I turned and looked at Vanessa. Her hair floated on her shoulders. Her face was very close to mine. The neck of her nightdress was open and I could see her left breast. I longed to be old – to reach an age where sexuality was no longer a distraction and a temptation.

  ‘Why shouldn’t the friend be real?’ I said, clinging to the safety of words.

  Vanessa picked up an emery board from the bedside table and began to buff her nails. ‘I may be maligning her,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but it’s a classic tactic – the old schoolfriend, going shopping, that sort of thing.’ She smiled at me. ‘We used to use it when I was young. I suspect my parents knew perfectly well what I was up to, but they chose to turn a blind eye.’

  ‘But I thought she was interested in Toby Clifford.’

  ‘She is. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s the mysterious schoolfriend.’

  ‘But –’ I stopped. But what? But he’s years older than she is. But he’s a hippy, or at least he dresses like one. But I was talking to him only a few hours ago. But I don’t like to think of my daughter with a man like that, perhaps with any man.

  ‘Just a thought,’ Vanessa said. ‘He might have tried something on. That might account for her being so upset.’

  ‘So upset it made her sick?’

  ‘It happens.’

  ‘What does?’

  She glanced at me, then away. ‘Sudden physical revulsion. In some ways, Rosemary’s very young for her age.’

  ‘You really think he may have made advances to her? Physical advances?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m just saying it might have happened that way: if Rosemary had her head stuffed full of romantic dreams about Toby, and he misinterpreted how she was responding to him, he might have made a pass at her, and she might have found the whole thing totally revolting. Men and women look at these things very differently.’

  After all, you and I look at these things differently. The words lay between us. There was no need to speak them aloud.

  ‘Rosemary said she didn’t want to come on Sunday,’ I said haltingly, as though in a language I did not fully understand. We had discussed Toby’s invitation over supper.

  ‘Exactly. Yesterday nothing would have kept her away from Roth Park. Still, maybe it’s all for the best. He’s very charming, but really too old for her. And I’m not altogether sure I trust him.’

  We sat there in silence for a moment. Traffic grumbled in the main road.

  ‘Audrey came round this afternoon to complain about Michael,’ I said.

  ‘Hush.’ She darted a glance at me. ‘They’ll hear if you’re not careful. What’s he been doing?’

  ‘She claimed that he and Brian Vintner had been spying on her.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Roth Park somewhere. I suspect she’s been out looking for clues. I had a word with Michael but he denied it. He did say that they had seen her in the park this afternoon.’

  ‘Audrey will always find something to complain about.’

  ‘She’s having a difficult time.’

  ‘So are we all,’ Vanessa snapped, forgetting to lower her voice. ‘The woman’s a cow and that’s all there is to it. A menopausal cow at that.’

  ‘You may be right. But she’s a victim as well. What happened to Lord Peter would have been a terrible shock for anyone.’

  Vanessa glared at me.

  ‘By the way,’ I said before she had time to reply, ‘there’s something we need to discuss. It’s about the Youlgreave papers.’

  ‘You’re trying to change the subject.’


  ‘Yes, but we still need to talk about this. And I’m not sure there’s much more we can usefully say about Audrey.’

  She held up her hand and examined her nails. ‘All right. What’s this about the papers?’

  ‘After the inquest, Doris told me something. I think we should treat it as confidential. She knows I’m going to mention it to you, though. It seems that on Friday evening, Lady Youlgreave asked her to throw away some of the papers. They went out with the rubbish on Monday morning.’

  Vanessa stared at me. The colour in her cheeks receded, and suddenly there were freckles where I had noticed none before. ‘Oh my God – the ones in the box? Which ones?’

  I passed on what Doris had told me. Vanessa rested her head on her hand.

  ‘I could kill her,’ she said slowly. ‘If only Doris had had the sense to pretend to throw them away.’

  ‘She’s not that sort of person.’

  ‘Then I wish she was. I wonder what we’ve lost. The old lady was very cagey about letting me see some of the stuff.’

  ‘About Francis’s time in Rosington and afterwards?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyebrows wrinkled. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘That seems to have been the most controversial period in his life.’

  ‘There’s no hope we could get them back, is there?’

  ‘By now they’ll be yards deep in rubbish in some landfill.’

  ‘Is the box still at the house?’

  ‘I don’t know. Doris said that someone from the solicitors came to take away any easily portable valuables. Just in case. Would you be able to know what was missing?’

  Vanessa shook her head. ‘Lady Youlgreave never let me catalogue the entire contents of the box. She doled things out to me as she saw fit.’ Unexpectedly she put her hand on top of mine, which was lying palm down on the bedspread. ‘You are very patient with me, David. All this must seem rather unimportant.’

  I twisted my hand so I could grip hers. ‘It’s important to you so it’s important to me. But part of me thinks Lady Youlgreave was right. Perhaps the least said about Francis Youlgreave the better.’

  She drew away. ‘I never knew you felt like that.’

  ‘I don’t want to put it too strongly. But maybe in the long run this is a blessing in disguise.’

  She said nothing. I turned on my side, facing her, and ran the fingers of my right hand lightly down her arm from the shoulder to the hand. I brought my head closer and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘David,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t feel like it.’

  I drew back. ‘Not to worry. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I know you’re disappointed in me,’ she went on, ‘but sometimes I wish we could just leave sex out of it. Just for the time being. I’ve tried and tried. But at present it just won’t work. It’s not that I don’t love you. I just don’t want to show it like that. Not now. Perhaps later, when I’ve had time to get used to the idea.’

  ‘Vanessa –’

  ‘You were celibate for ten years. You must have got used to it. Couldn’t you get used to it again? Just for a little while. What I’d like to do is live together, like brother and sister almost.’ She paused. ‘Like Toby and Joanna.’

  27

  The secretary spoke with an upper-class drawl of the type that takes generations to perfect. She telephoned me from Lincoln’s Inn on Thursday morning to arrange a meeting with Lady Youlgreave’s solicitor. Mr Deakin, she said, was going to be at the Old Manor House for most of the day and he wondered if we might be able to discuss the arrangements for the funeral. I had a busy day in front of me, but I knew that I would be free at some point in the early afternoon, so I suggested that I call at the Old Manor House between two and three.

  The sunshine of yesterday evening had given way to dull, clammy weather, neither hot nor cold. It mirrored my mood. When I reached the Old Manor House, it was about a quarter past two. I had been there less than a week ago, on the day that Lady Youlgreave died, but already the shabby house looked even shabbier.

  I rang the doorbell. A moment later, the door was opened by a thin-faced, ginger-haired youth with long sideburns and a tweed suit with a mustard-yellow-and-black check.

  ‘Afternoon, Reverend,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘Good of you to pop round. I’m Nick Deakin.’

  We shook hands, and he took me into a little room at the back of the hall which was furnished as a study; I’d never been in there before. I had been expecting a different sort of solicitor – a pinstriped family lawyer, a man to match the secretary, overbred and pompous.

  ‘Afraid the whole place stinks,’ Deakin said. ‘Those dogs, I suppose. Let’s sit down and make ourselves comfortable. Would you like a coffee or something?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  The room was very dirty, every horizontal surface covered with a layer of gritty dust. Deakin had flung open the window, which overlooked the tangled garden at the back of the house. The furniture was old and heavy; like that in the dining room, it had been designed for larger rooms in a larger house. There were two armchairs near the window, upholstered with brown leather, dry and cracked. Deakin waved me towards the nearer one.

  ‘I gave them a good dust.’ He grinned, revealing projecting front teeth which gave him the appearance of a friendly red squirrel. ‘Poor old Mrs Potter, eh? Must have been a hell of a job trying to keep this house clean as well as keep the old lady on the straight and narrow.’ He sat down and offered me a cigarette. ‘You know Mrs Potter?’ he went on.

  ‘Very well.’

  Deakin clicked an enormous gold lighter under my nose. ‘She says she wants the dogs.’

  ‘She told me that, too.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone else would mind. They’re practically dead on their feet, eh? Besides, after what happened, you’d think they’d be better off in the Great Kennel in the Sky. Still, none of my business. But she knows what she’s doing, does she? I thought I’d better check before we made any decisions.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘More than most people.’

  We went on to talk about the arrangements for the funeral. Deakin had already discussed possible times with the undertaker, and we soon agreed on Monday, at 2 p.m.

  ‘Burial or cremation?’ I asked.

  Deakin opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. ‘Cremation – she specified it in her will. There’s another point: she doesn’t want to go in the family vault. She’s left quite detailed instructions about the headstone, et cetera, but that needn’t concern you.’

  Relief washed over me, surprising me with its intensity. I had not wanted to go into that vault under the chancel of St Mary Magdalene. I felt reprieved. I also wondered why Lady Youlgreave had not wanted her mortal remains to wait for the Last Judgement beside Francis Youlgreave’s. Perhaps she had known too much about him to feel comfortable in his company, dead or alive.

  ‘Will any of Lady Youlgreave’s relations be there?’

  Deakin shrugged. ‘Almost certainly not. There’s no close family. But we’ll put a notice in The Times and the Telegraph. Maybe the odd friend will turn up.’

  ‘Some local people may want to come as well. I’ll pass the news around the parish. What about afterwards?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘People often expect something. If only a cup of tea.’

  ‘Oh, I see. What do you suggest?’

  ‘We could use the church hall. It’s on the green, next to the library. One of our churchwardens has a tea room – if you like, I could ask her to provide tea and biscuits. It shouldn’t be expensive.’

  ‘Sounds OK to me. Can’t exactly have it here, can we?’ He leant forward and stubbed out his cigarette in a discoloured brass ashtray embedded in what looked like the foot of an elephant. ‘Not unless we have the place fumigated first.’

  ‘What will happen to the house?’

  He hesitated, then grinned at me. ‘No reason why you shouldn’t know. Under the terms of her husband’s will, Lady
Youlgreave only had a life interest in most of the estate. It’ll go to some of his relations – second cousins, once removed; something like that. They live in South Africa now, so I doubt if they’ll be at the funeral.’

  ‘My wife was working on some Youlgreave family papers. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Francis Youlgreave?’

  Deakin shook his head.

  ‘He was a minor poet at the turn of the century. My wife was going to write a biography of him – with Lady Youlgreave’s approval. But what’s the position now?’

  ‘She’ll need to discuss that with the heir. Why don’t you suggest she writes to them? We can forward a letter, if you’d like. There are one or two bequests from Lady Youlgreave’s personal estate, but Youlgreave family papers won’t come into that.’

  Shortly afterwards, Deakin saw me out. We shook hands on the doorstep.

  ‘She was a game old bird,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You know, in a funny way I’ll miss her.’

  We said goodbye. It was not until I was crossing the bridge over the Rowan that the obvious question occurred to me. How had Nick Deakin known Lady Youlgreave? Deakin could not have been qualified for very long – he looked in his mid-twenties, at the most. He must have seen her recently. I wondered why.

  As I was passing the entry into the drive of Roth Park, I glanced across the green and noticed Audrey coming out of Tudor Cottage. I waved to her, but she appeared not to see me. There was a sudden gap in the traffic so, on impulse, I crossed the road to the green. She too had crossed the road outside her house and was now on the green as well. She would need to know about the arrangements for Lady Youlgreave’s funeral, and about the tea and biscuits afterwards. Now was as good a time to tell her as any. If I intercepted her on the green, I thought, there was less chance of her delaying me.

  Audrey still had not seen me. She veered towards the bus shelter. I began to walk more quickly across the grass. I heard her talking but could not see her, because the bus shelter was between us. Her voice rose higher and higher. I swore under my breath and broke into a clumsy run.