by P A Nash
“Frank, is that one of the Dudleys?”
“Yes, it’s that one with the double—barrelled name.”
“Dudley Gosford—Feniton.”
He walked close by and Ella smiled at him and said “Lovely poem and so well–read. Thank you.”
“Pardon?”
“At the funeral. It’s always been one of my favourite poems. Although I always thought it was written by WH Auden. Seems I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were.”
Frank chipped in. “Can we have a word with you sometime soon? We’re helping Mrs Aylesbeare sort out some of Mr Buckerell’s files.”
“Yes, and your name came up a couple of times,” Ella added.
“We’d really appreciate your viewpoint on one matter in particular.”
“Certainly, I’ve nothing to hide. Call me, I’m in the telephone directory. I’m free, the day after tomorrow.”
“Excellent!”
“But now, I’m involved in a very important game of golf. Please excuse me.”
Dudley Gosford—Feniton and his golf trolley strolled off in the direction of the putting green towards the other three players who were waiting patiently.
“Come along, Dudley. No business allowed on the fairways. You know that.”
“It wasn’t business. Just some acquaintances of a friend of mine.”
Frank and Ella followed the path as it left the golf course and headed through the bracken towards the cliff—top of West Down Beacon. They reached the Coast Path, turned left and headed along the path back towards Budleigh Salterton.
Frank read from his phone again. “There was a fire beacon here, hence the name of West Down Beacon. Then during the Napoleonic Wars, it played the role of a signal station. They used an optical telegraph, which needed a direct line of sight with the previous and next beacons. To the west was Dawlish Head and to the east Peak Hill.”
“Don’t remind me of Peak Hill!” Ella put her hands over her ears to block out Frank’s voice.
Frank stopped reading and continued walking. A while later, as the path started to go downhill Frank continued, “They even used the signal stations to warn of suspected smuggling activities. If they helped catch the smugglers, the signal operators were entitled to a share of the booty!”
Ella was listening once more as they walked in single file, down towards Budleigh.
“Did they use Morse Code?”
“No, they used a system of flags and balls. The different combinations all meant something. One ball above a flag meant enemy frigates were around. Three balls above a flag meant an enemy vessel close to the land.”
“They must have have been quite a size to be seen out at sea.”
“Eventually, the system was replaced with a semaphore telegraph. That was a high pole with hinged signal arms. We did flag semaphore in the cubs when I was a lad.”
“Guess who invented that?”
“Baden Powell?”
“No, the French during the Napoleonic Wars!”
They passed through a green field before reaching Budleigh promenade. They were presented with a glorious view of Budleigh, the pebble beach stretching to the estuary of the River Otter. The iconic trees stood there as if protecting the estuary from unwanted invaders.
“Beautiful,” murmured Ella as she stood and took in the view.
Frank just nodded.
After a while, they strolled on downhill towards the centre of town. They turned off the Coast Path and soon reached the high street. There they found a quaint teashop where they stopped for a leisurely well—prepared meal.
“Lovely day,” murmured Ella when they arrived back at the car.
***
Frank phoned Dudley Gosford—Feniton to confirm their appointment with him. Eleven o’clock at his house in Budleigh. Two days later at precisely eleven o’clock Frank and Ella parked in the gravel driveway that led to a very imposing Georgian style building.
“Very posh,” remarked Ella.
“A late Victorian replica,” Frank clarified.
“Are you sure?”
“Speak with confidence and fools will believe you tell the truth!”
“Then it’s not late Victorian!”
“Phone App working?”
“Yes. Ready to be switched on!”
“Fully charged?”
“Of course!”
Ella rang the old fashioned doorbell and, after a short wait, the door opened and Dudley invited them in.
The inside was as grand as the exterior. There was even a polished stone staircase that angled its way upstairs. Paintings of exotic plants and jungle—like scenery hung in ornate frames on the buff coloured plaster walls. Everything was quite tastefully presented.
Dudley led them into the sitting room at the front of the house. “Please sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. Coffee?”
“That would be lovely,” replied Ella.
Dudley had already prepared refreshments on a hostess trolley. He poured out black coffee in small china cups before adding warm milk.
“Sugar?”
“No thank you, for either of us.”
“Very wise.”
He passed them their cups and then offered them a plate of very sugary shortbread.
“How can I help you?”
Frank began. “I assume you know how Anthony Buckerell died?”
“It’s been in the local papers.”
“Indeed. We’ve been working with the police and the family estate to establish any potential lines of enquiry.”
Ella joined in. “We read your letter of complaint.”
“Ah yes, I thought that would come out at some point.”
Frank continued, “About some inheritance?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’ll soon discover the truth so I…”
“Why don’t you tell us all about it, Mr Gosford—Feniton?” Ella asked, rather needlessly. “I’m going to record the rest of our conversation, if you don’t mind. I’d be quite happy to provide you with a copy later.”
“Yes, that’s OK. I understand. It all started many years ago.”
***
“I came to you in good faith, Anthony. I thought you were my friend, not just my solicitor.”
“Well Dudley, I am. It’s just that you have not been quite straight with me, have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve looked into the birth certificate you provided. It’s fake.”
“How did…?”
“Auntie Clarissa was not your Auntie. In fact, she was not even a distant relation. You’ve no right to the inheritance. In fact, I’ve got more rights than you have.”
“How?”
“Well, in the midst of my research, I found out that Auntie Clarissa was a long lost cousin, twice removed, of mine.”
“But she can’t be?”
“She is. I managed to get hold of the birth certificate to prove it. I’ve submitted my claim and I’m very pleased to let you know that they’ve accepted my evidence. There doesn’t appear to be any other living relations, distant or otherwise.”
“You must be mad!”
“No, just very careful with my research.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
“There’s no question of getting away with it. It’s all legal and above board. Anyone can see the facts for themselves. And speaking of facts, your birth certificate and various copies of it are safely stored away in various places.”
“You swine, that’s…”
“Blackmail? Were you about to say blackmail? That’s an interesting word. I was thinking, as a gesture of your appreciation of me not going to the police and the University authorities, you might like to, willingly, pay my subscription to the Golf Club. They’ve invited me to become a member. It’s a bit of an expensive luxury, but…”
“Blackmail!”
“..if you’re paying, willingly, of course, then I can afford it.”
“Blackmail!”
“I should beat you to within an inch of your life.”
“I wouldn’t advise that. If anything happens to me, I’ve left instructions to pass a message on to the relevant authorities. I’d make sure you lost your job, your house and your pension!”
I got up to leave.
“I’ll send you my bill. Along with the bank details for the Golf Club subscription. Oh, and by the way, the next time I’m up for a part in one of your silly little pantomimes, don’t go running to the director…”
I’ve never slammed a door so hard in all my life.
***
“I wrote a letter of complaint so, at least, there was a record of my disgust. I didn’t and couldn’t mention too much about why I was so disgusted but anyone could read between the lines if they knew him.”
“Did you pay the subscription?” Ella gently questioned.
“To my utter shame, I paid every year. However, every time I paid I wrote another letter of complaint. Again, nothing too lurid, but just enough to build up an irritating portfolio.”
“And what about the silly little pantomimes?”
“We’re both in the local dramatic society. I saw him there a couple of days ago. He looked his usual rambunctious self. Anyway, I write plays and the annual Christmas pantomime. I even direct a few of our efforts. After his blackmail, I made sure he never got a part that made him look good in the eyes of the audience. Petty, I know, but it was about the only time where I held the upper hand between us!”
Ella smiled when he really wanted to laugh out loud.
“I’m not proud of myself, but…”
“What did he mean about the university authorities?” Frank wanted to find out more about his background.
“I work for Exeter University. I’m a Professor of Tropical Botany. I specialise in African plants.”
“How fascinating,” interrupted Ella, playing the part of the gushing female.
“Yes, it’s been my life’s work. I still go to Africa on expeditions to find new varieties and new species. Once I was collecting plants in Tanzania when a herd of elephants came wandering my way.”
“Do you mean plants that can be used for medical uses?”
“Yes, but my interest is far wider than just medicinal herbs and plants. I suppose, if I had any particular specific expertise, it would be in the area of….”
“Poison?” guessed Ella.
“This herd of eleph… Yes, how did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
Chapter 8 – It’s the Quiet Ones That Cause the Damage
Well, that was illuminating. Another one interested in plants.”
“And poisons.”
Frank and Ella were driving home having parted company with Professor Dudley Gosford—Feniton. Ella had enjoyed their visit and bombarded the professor with a variety of questions about his work.
“I liked him. I do hope he’s not our murderer. Not only did he lose an inheritance but he was reminded about it every time the demand for the golf club annual subscription landed on his doormat.”
“Yes, he was being blackmailed. He does know about poisons. But did he have the opportunity?”
“We’ve got to find out more about how Anthony Buckerell died.”
“Did someone poison him during the day?”
“Or at the police station?”
“ I can’t believe anyone could have got at him in that cell.”
“We were locked in. There were no windows. He had no visitors. Yet, somehow he died.”
“Perhaps you did it!” Ella chuckled.
“Perhaps I did.”
“Don’t be silly. You know nothing about poisoning. My cooking is not that bad!”
“No, perhaps I killed him without even realising it. Perhaps it was WPC Knowle. It could have been like that case in Salisbury with the poison in the perfume spray.”
“Did either of you spray the room with anything?”
“No. Well, not as far as I’m aware.”
The conversation ceased and a thoughtful silence occupied the car until they arrived back in Otterbury.
***
That afternoon Frank phoned WPC Knowle. He told her about their visit to the professor. He could hear her busily scribbling down some notes as he spoke. Frank mentioned the idea about the perfume spray.
“What do you mean? Like Salisbury?”
Frank explained, “Could we have unwittingly passed on some poison to Mr Buckerell without us even knowing?”
“I don’t see how. Surely we would have died as well?”
“Good point. Is there any news about the type of poison used to kill him?”
“Not yet. I’ll get on to them and find out what the hold up is.”
“What do we do next?”
“Well, both PC Hydon and myself are too busy on other cases to do any sleuthing but I suggest you find a way to have a conversation with the remaining two Dudleys.”
“What about Doctor Moore?”
“I checked on him. He’s still on holiday in Thailand. I’ll speak to him as soon as he gets back.”
“Right, Ella and I will speak to the two other Dudleys and then, I think, we’d better get together and brainstorm a bit.”
“Good idea. Give one of us a ring when you’re ready to meet.”
***
The next morning Ella popped into Budleigh to meet up with Mrs Aylesbeare.
“Good morning, I hoped you were still here.”
Mrs Aylesbeare was sat at her desk in the deceased solicitor’s office. She was surrounded by papers and files.
“I’ve been paid till the end of the month so I’m making sure that whoever takes this on has a tidy and organised filing system.”
“Whoever takes it on?”
“Mr Buckerell has no relatives as far as I can find out.”
“Not even a distant aunt?”
“No, no—one. Oh, except his wife, but she’s in New Zealand. Ex—wife now. I contacted her straight away and she wants nothing to do with the business or the money.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and then I checked his will and she’s not even in it.”
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“He deposited the will in the safe. I didn’t even know it was there until I began sorting this lot out. He wasn’t particularly friendly with any other solicitors in the area, so, in the directions for his funeral, he asked me to be the executor. If I was still employed here, that is.”
Ella smiled reassuringly.
“Well, I am. Still employed. So I am his executor.”
“Good for you.” Ella took her coat off and found a chair in which to sit down.
“Who benefits from the will?”
“I can’t tell you until the will is officially read. Sorry. As an executor, I must abide firmly by the protocol.”
Ella nodded her agreement.
“Yes, but the will is incredibly interesting. Especially to any detectives trying to solve a murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, sorry! I’m blabbing too much. Forget I said anything.”
Ella found some law magazines and began leafing her way through whilst contemplating how interesting the will might be. Mrs Aylesbeare went back to her paperwork. After a minute or so, she put a rather large and heavy file down and turned back towards Ella.
“You haven’t asked me the most obvious question yet.”
“And what would that be, Alice?”
“Did I poison Mr Buckerell?”
“Did you?”
“Well, I had the opportunity. I had the motive. He could be the most infuriating employer sometimes. Every day, I could have slipped something in his coffee.”
“So did you kill him?”
Mrs Aylesbeare laughed. It was a sweet vibrating laugh that suited her little old lady’s persona perfectly.
�
�No, my dear. Mind you, if it had been me, I’d have poisoned his morning cup of coffee years ago.”
“How?” Ella raised an eyebrow.
“Deadly Nightshade. They used to call it Belladonna because drinking the juice diluted in water would dilate the pupils and make the lady appear attracted to her lover. Of course, eating a single leaf would cause death. I didn’t feed Mr Buckerell any leaves. He wasn’t a salad type of man.”
Ella put down the magazines and gave Alice her full attention.
“As I said, I only found out about the will the other day when sorting through the safe. Normally he wouldn’t let me anywhere it — the safe that is. I had to phone the makers to get it open. They sent one of their engineers. He used some sort of a passkey or something. I had to sign a lot of very important paperwork before they showed me how to open the thing. Then he only let me open it if he witnessed me doing it.”
“Very thorough then?”
“Yes, and then he took photos of each item in the safe.”
“This engineer was actually from the company?”
“Oh yes, he asked me to phone the company to make sure. I did, and he was!”
“Fascinating!”
Ella was suddenly reminded of why she had come to see Alice in the first place. “Alice, we need to find a reason to visit Dudley Weston and Dudley Musbury. Can you help?”
“Of course, I can. Now. Let me think?”
Quickly, Mrs Aylesbeare tapped an index finger on the desk. “The will. You need to go to see them as representatives of the executor to explain the time and venue for the reading of the will.”
“Excellent idea. Can you set up appointments for us with them? We’re available any morning.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll phone them, set it all up and then let you have their addresses. That’ll make it official!”
“Can I have copies of their letters of complaint?”
“Certainly. As executor, I can allow that!”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think one of the Dudleys poisoned him?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a clue how.”
“You’ll find out.”
***
The following Monday Frank and Ella made their way to Dudley Weston’s house in Budleigh Salterton. It was situated around the corner from Professor Gosford’s—Feniton’s luxurious house. Not as grand but it looked more homely.