by Alan Hunter
‘But isn’t that the same thing as saying ...?’ She let it trail, still holding his eye.
Reymerston said: ‘I came by the Lodge and couldn’t help noticing the excitement. I thought it was time to brief Ruth on the direction things might take.’
‘We have made some progress at the Lodge.’
‘Oh heavens,’ Ruth Quennell groaned. ‘Poor Julie. But I can’t believe it. Ray just isn’t that sort of man.’
‘You know him very well, Mrs Quennell.’
‘I’ve known Ray for twenty-five years. He isn’t a saint, but on the other hand there’s nothing really bad about him. It’s his manner really ... and a certain weakness.’ She looked down at the flowers. ‘He’s made passes at me, too, though not so often since he married Julie. He always wanted Julie. Perhaps because Arthur saw her first.’
‘He has lived in his brother’s shadow.’
‘Yes. Ray is fundamentally a younger brother.’
‘A jealous younger brother.’
She gestured. ‘Simply, one can’t believe it of him.’
She looked more drawn and colourless today; it might have been that the costume didn’t suit her complexion. Reymerston, who had come across to sit by her, was watching her face with a trace of concern.
Gently said: ‘It is important for me to see Fiona, Mrs Quennell. Somehow that letter got to your husband, and it may be that your daughter can tell us how.’
‘Fiona can’t tell you.’
‘Still, I must see her.’
Ruth Quennell shook her head, her expression determined. ‘I guessed what it was you’d come for. I told Andy. But nobody is going to see Fiona.’
‘Is she in the house?’
‘We have consulted Dr Grey and he says positively that she’s not to be troubled.’
‘I can promise you—’
‘Oh, I know. But it makes no difference.’ Her mouth was trembling. ‘Fiona wouldn’t have done it, not even if she’d thought it was a silly prank. She didn’t love her father but she never went against him. She always treated him with respect.’
‘Even so, the letter—’
‘She couldn’t have done it. I’ve been thinking of nothing else. She wasn’t near her father all morning, and at lunch she was first to leave the table.’
‘But if she passed by him?’
‘She didn’t pass by him. He was sitting at the top end of the table. She went straight out and up the stairs, and I heard her moving about in her room. Fiona didn’t do it because she couldn’t – and nobody is going to upset her.’
She bit tightly on her lips and made an odd little keening sound. Reymerston reached out to touch her arm but she put his hand away. Nevertheless she seemed close to tears. She kept her face turned towards the flowers.
‘The letter originated at Caxton Lodge.’
He could hear her gasp. ‘I can’t believe that!’
‘We have evidence in proof.’
‘But who?’ Now she faced him, her eyes large.
‘Perhaps the style suggests the author.’
‘The style ...? Oh heavens ... not Julie!’ Her eyes were shocked. ‘This is too much. How can I believe that such things have gone on?’
‘Last week, how many times was your daughter at Caxton Lodge?’
Ruth Quennell groaned. ‘Oh no.’
‘Was she there on Thursday?’
Ruth Quennell nodded.
‘That day she was alone with Mrs Tallis.’
‘Alone with her ... are you suggesting ...?’
Gently stared at her in silence.
‘There’s logic in it,’ Reymerston said quietly. It isn’t so, but there’s logic in it.’
Ruth Quennell stared wildly, her lips quivering, her face long. ‘Paul! It has to be Paul.’
‘I have questioned Paul, Mrs Quennell.’
‘He was here on Saturday morning – it’s the only possible way.’
‘I believe he went nowhere near your husband.’
‘But he could have left the letter for Freddy to find.’
‘To convince Mr Quennell he must seem to have dropped it. To do that he must have been in Mr Quennell’s vicinity.’
‘But you don’t know he wasn’t.’
‘By your own account Paul Tallis was here and your husband down the garden. That agrees with his own account. Your daughter’s account we still await.’
‘But – I could have been wrong.’
‘You were in the kitchen?’
‘Yes, but all the same—’
‘With the door open?’
She nodded helplessly.
‘To get to the back Paul Tallis would have to pass by either the kitchen door or the kitchen window, and return by one or other of the same routes. Could you have remained unaware of that?’
‘Yes – it’s possible.’
‘But how probable?’
‘I don’t care – I know it was Paul.’
‘According to him he saw your daughter with an envelope in her hand.’
‘Then he was lying – he was lying!’
‘Is Paul Tallis a liar?’
‘Why wouldn’t he lie if he was in this dreadful plot against Freddy?’
‘But ... would he have been in such a plot?’
‘Oh God – and would my daughter?’
Reymerston murmured: ‘There’s a point there, you know. Old Paul was something of a buddy of Freddy’s.’
‘I know. I know. And I can’t help it. Anything is possible except that Fiona ...’
‘You’ve always reckoned Paul a decent kid.’
‘He is, I don’t deny it. Oh Andy, I’m so confused. It’s as though the ground were opening under my feet.’
Reymerston turned to Gently. ‘Isn’t it just possible that somebody has put it across these kids? If it were Julia Tallis who concocted that letter, it’s worth remembering the influence she’d have with them. Paul would lie himself stupid for his mother, and Fiona would feel obliged to stand by them. Only in her case the shock of discovery has been too great: she’d been made an instrument in the killing of a father.’
Gently said: ‘Can you suggest a way they could have been imposed on?’
‘Not off the cuff. But it must have been possible.’
‘Possible – but credible?’
Reymerston shrugged faintly. ‘When it’s a woman like Julia Tallis.’
Ruth Quennell burst out: ‘I just can’t believe any of it, not however hard I try! Julia isn’t a sort of Lady Macbeth, and Ray – well, I’ve always felt sorry for him. And Paul – oh dear, Paul! He’s just a silly, passionate boy. He’s fond of Fiona, and she’s fond of him ... there’s just no reason for any of this.’
‘Yet somewhere there’s a reason,’ Reymerston said. ‘Somewhere there has to be a reason.’
‘Well, it isn’t to do with us – not any of us.’ She began to cry with a sort of half-controlled hysteria. ‘We aren’t murderers – we’re just ordinary people, people trying to live a decent life – weak people, perhaps, but only weak: not wicked! And something’s happened – I don’t know what’s happened – I don’t know how it could have happened ... just like poor Arthur getting drowned. Only this time ... this time ...’
‘Hush,’ Reymerston said. ‘Hush, Ruth. It’ll all come right. It must come right. But we’ll have to help him. He’s a compassionate man, I know him. We’ve got to help.’
‘Andy – I’m so afraid. Everything seems to be going to pieces.’
‘It’ll come right, Ruth. We’ll make it come right. I know, because I’ve been through it all before.’
She cried for a time; he held her hand tightly. In the rest of the house there was silence. Somewhere out there was Frank Quennell, probably the domestic, and ... in her room ...? But all was silence. Outside, you could hear the breeze lilting in the copper beech.
At last she contained her sobbing.
‘Then ... there’s nothing for it. You must see her?’
‘If I may, Mrs Quenn
ell.’
‘But what’s the use ... in the way she is?’
‘I must still try.’
‘It could make her worse.’
‘You may stop me whenever you please.’
‘Couldn’t you let me question her?’
Gently hesitated. Then he nodded. ‘In my presence.’
Ruth Quennell snuffled and produced a handkerchief from her sleeve. After dabbing her eyes and face she rose, stared a moment at Gently, then left the room. They heard her feet on the stairs and the opening of a door above.
Reymerston said: ‘You know, what scares her is that Fiona might really have had a hand in it. Fiona has never properly got over the shock of Arthur Tallis’s death.’ He glanced at Gently. ‘That’s not the idea, is it?’
Gently hunched. ‘That’s one alternative.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Reymerston said. ‘It was her own father, remember.’
‘Apparently Arthur Tallis also meant a great deal to her.’
‘But no blame ever attached to Quennell. You can think what you like about Raymond Tallis, but Quennell came out with a clean sheet.’
‘According to Raymond Tallis it was Quennell who tailored their evidence.’
‘But that’s what you’d expect him to say,’ Reymerston retorted warmly. ‘Quennell isn’t here to give him the lie. But mark this – young Paul didn’t blame Quennell: they were on the same footing as before. It’s easy to guess who Paul blames, and that would go for Fiona too.’
‘As I said ... one alternative.’
‘Not an alternative to waste much time over.’
Gently said: ‘Mrs Tallis and Fiona Quennell would have passed the gorse circle approximately at the time of Quennell’s death.’
Reymerston sat very straight. ‘You’re not serious about that.’
It’s a fact on the table.’ Gently shrugged. ‘Here’s another. We’ve identified the weapon. It was one that Mrs Tallis had practice in using.’
‘The weapon!’
It wasn’t a knife.’
For a while Reymerston stared, eyes intent. Then he shook his head. ‘This is beyond me. But all my instinct says you’re wrong. Me, I’m not siding with Julia Tallis, who for all I know is Messalina’s cousin. But when you try to link her with Fiona Quennell, then my instinct kicks. Fiona doesn’t fit. She may be disturbed, but at the bottom she’s a gentle, affectionate kid. She would no more plot and plan murder than a bishop would cheat at cards. Nor do I believe you truly think so.’
Gently said: ‘I’ve seen her three times. Once at the gorse circle, twice staring at the windows of Caxton Lodge. And each time she ran.’
‘Fiona is innocent.’
‘But what there is to know, she knows.’
‘She’s still innocent.’
Gently said nothing. Reymerston went on staring at him.
They heard steps on the stairs, a hesitation and low voices. Then Ruth Quennell entered along with her daughter and Frank Quennell.
‘Where’s daddy?’
Fiona Quennell spoke it in a tone so completely natural that for a moment you were almost glancing about the room, seeking to locate the absent man. Her manner too seemed entirely tranquil. She followed her mother into the room. Smilingly, Reymerston rose to give her his chair, and Fiona Quennell graciously accepted it.
‘Where’s daddy?’
‘Hush, Oona!’
Ruth Quennell sat by her daughter’s side. Her face was still smeary from crying; her eyes were fixed anxiously on her daughter.
‘Those two men are policemen, aren’t they?’
‘They are here to help us, darling.’
‘Oh, yes. Because we’ve lost daddy.’
‘Hush, darling. They are kind men.’
Fiona Quennell stared at Gently. Her intense brown eyes had no expression. Seen closer, her smooth, full-cheeked face suggested a ripe fruit, firm, flawless. Her straight dark hair was brushed back and caught up loosely behind with a ribbon. She was strongly built. She was wearing a short skirt that revealed well-muscled legs.
‘Have they found daddy?’
‘They are helping us, darling, and we must try to help them too.’
‘I don’t think daddy’s going to come back. I think he’s gone away with a friend.’
Frank Quennell had remained by the door, where he stood gazing frowningly at his sister. Reymerston had taken a seat on the settee. Eyke, as ever, held the background.
‘Listen, darling. We’re trying to remember. Every little thing that happened on Saturday. What daddy did, what we did. Even the tiniest thing might help.’
‘Oh, I don’t think it would. He’s gone with a friend, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about that.’
‘But we must try, darling.’
Fiona Quennell sat silently scrutinizing Gently.
‘Mummy, who is that man?’
‘Oona, darling—’
‘He isn’t one of ours. I keep seeing him about everywhere, and always he’s staring at me.’
‘He’s from London, darling. He’s a nice man.’
‘I don’t think he’s nice at all.’
‘He’s kind and he’s helping us.’
Fiona Quennell sat silently staring. At last she said brightly:
‘I bought a dress, you know. Aunty Julie took me in. And there was this peculiar woman in the shop, I think she was one of those. Do you think she could have been? Aunty Julie thought so. She was all over me in the fitting-room. There was a teacher sacked for it at Huntingfield, but that was when I was in the fourth.’ She paused. ‘But daddy wasn’t with us. So why does that man keep looking at me?’
‘Oona, please—’
‘I’m sure he shouldn’t be here. Daddy wouldn’t want him in the house.’
‘Hush, darling, hush!’
‘He’s up to no good. Mummy, I think you should ask him to leave.’
Ruth Quennell looked helplessly at Gently, who shrugged and felt in his pocket for his pipe. He stuck it empty in his mouth. Fiona Quennell watched every move.
‘Darling, try to remember a little more. What were we doing on Saturday morning?’
‘I think daddy has gone to London and he’s living there with a friend. That’s all right, isn’t it? I mean there isn’t a law against it. Aunty Julie thinks it’s all right. But I’m never going to get married, mummy.’
‘Darling, on Saturday—’
‘I shall live alone. I’m going a long way away. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to get married.’
‘Oh, darling.’
‘They can’t make me, you know. I needn’t get married unless I want to. And I don’t want to! I want to be alone. But I’ll write you letters when I get there.’
‘Oh, darling, where?’
‘Where I’m going. Somewhere very far away. But you needn’t worry, I shall be all right, you don’t have to worry about me any more.’
‘Oona, oh Oona!’
It’s all right, mummy. Don’t cry in front of that wicked man.’
Frank Quennell said: ‘You’ve got to stop this. Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?’
Blank-faced, Gently chewed on his pipe, staring back into Fiona Quennell’s unwinking eyes. They hadn’t once faltered. Words were coming from her mouth as though they had no reference to those wide-open eyes.
‘Frank, don’t interfere!’
‘My sister’s being crucified. The police have got no right—’
Dabbing at her eyes, Ruth Quennell jogged herself straighter in her chair.
‘Oona, listen to me. You’ve got to remember. Paul called when daddy was down the garden.’
‘I don’t like that dress, mummy. Aunty Julie liked it, but I don’t think it suits me. Aunty Julie—’
‘Listen to me, Oona!’
‘I don’t think daddy would have liked it—’
‘Oona, I’m asking you. When Paul called, what were you talking about in here?’
And for the first time the eyes flick
ered ...
‘Of course it can come out of my allowance, but I’m never going to wear it. Daddy was in the garden, he always is, daddy talks to Jackson on Saturdays ...’
‘Did Paul give you something?’
‘I told Aunty Julie, the dress wasn’t really my colour at all, I prefer greens and tans, blues don’t go with my complexion. She said why not try something different, but I’m never, never going to wear it, daddy would have agreed, daddy liked me best in green.’ Her eyes slid. ‘I saw him from my window.’
‘Who did you see from your window?’
‘When I was doing my essay he went down the garden to talk to Jackson. They got the ladder from the shed and Jackson went up into the tree, but that was before I bought the dress, daddy never actually saw it.’
‘Oona, answer me! What did Paul give you?’
‘I’m never going to get married, mummy.’
‘What did he tell you to do with it?’
‘I’m going a long way away.’
‘Stop it, stop it!’ Frank Quennell cried. ‘Leave Oona alone, just let her be.’
‘Daddy’s in London,’ Fiona Quennell said. ‘They say he’s dead, but he isn’t really. He’s gone to London with his friend. I expect he’s gone for a long time. We may not even see him again, perhaps he won’t write me a letter. But he isn’t dead, they only say that. On Saturday he was picking apples in the garden.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘It’s a mistake, you know. It wasn’t daddy who was killed at all.’
‘Oh God, God,’ Frank Quennell cried. ‘Mother, will you let it go on? This is Oona, this is my sister. For pity’s sake don’t push her any further.’
Ruth Quennell threw an anguished look at Gently: Gently went on chewing his pipe.
‘I shall give the dress to Oxfam,’ Fiona Quennell said. ‘That’ll be best. It was quite an expensive dress, but that’s what daddy would have done. I shall write them a letter, a letter, a letter. Perhaps daddy will write me a letter. Then I shall write him a letter. Then he will write me a letter. A letter, a letter. I’ve never had many letters.’
‘Oona,’ Frank Quennell groaned. ‘My little sister.’
‘When I go away, I shall write letters. Only I may not be able to post them, I’ll need a friend to smuggle them out. That’s how it’s done, isn’t it? People smuggle them out for you. But who’s going to smuggle them out for daddy?’ Her mouth puckered. ‘I shall write to mummy, Frank and Aunty Julie.’