Motive for Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  Matthew turned back to the room.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Right, then I’ll go.’ He could hardly leave fast enough.

  But as the door closed behind him, I knew I was not sufficiently ‘better’ to stay alone in the room where his words still lingered. I would willingly sacrifice the afternoon to transcribe my notes, but for the moment I had to have company.

  I opened the library door as the front door shut behind Matthew, waited until I heard his car start up, then walked down the passage and into the kitchen.

  Mrs Johnson, busy at the sink, turned in surprise. ‘Can I get you something, miss?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ I was still trembling.

  She dried her hands on her apron. ‘What is it, miss? You look – here, sit you down by the fire.’ The kitchen grate glowed cheerfully in defiance of the hot sun outside.

  Gratefully I sat in the comfortable old arm chair, ‘I’ve just heard about Miss Harvey,’ I said.

  ‘Ah. Very sad, it were. Very sad indeed. A lovely young lady.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said stupidly, hoping she would go on. That was the first unsolicited remark I’d ever heard about Linda. I put my hand in my pocket and drew out the letter. I stared at it for a moment and it shook in my hand.

  ‘There now miss, don’t ’ee fret,’ Mrs Johnson said soothingly. ‘ ’Tis all over now, and mayhap for the best. They say her father was a parson, and a rare strict man.’

  I raised my head, puzzled by the irrelevancy of the remark. ‘Her father?’

  ‘Yes. He’d never have forgiven her, likely.’

  ‘I – don’t understand.’

  ‘I thought they told ’ee?’

  ‘Only that – she was drowned.’

  ‘Well now, she was expecting a baby, you see. So it would never have done.’

  I’d been partly right after all. I said urgently, ‘Who ...?’

  ‘Why, we don’t know, do we, miss? Only the poor lady herself could have told we.’

  Another thought struck me with the force of a sledgehammer. ‘Then you think she – she might have ...?’

  The woman suddenly looked frightened. ‘Oh Lord love us, no, miss, that was not my meaning at all! I’m not saying as how the poor young lady did anything a - purpose’. Such a happy creature she was, right up to the end. No thought of drowning herself, I’d stake my life. Dear me no!’

  The good soul looked horrified and I abandoned the supposition stillborn. Nevertheless, that would have been a more feasible reason for not telling me and there was, after all, someone besides Linda who knew who the father was.

  Slowly I leant forward and tossed the unopened envelope into the heart of the fire. It browned at the edges like an autumn leaf, darkened, slowly curled, flamed briefly, became transparent. And still the cramped handwriting was weirdly legible, like a letter to a ghost. Mrs Johnson moved to the fire and the breeze of her movement wafted it up the wide chimney. Perhaps Linda would get her letter after all.

  I shivered, and Mrs Johnson clucked sympathetically. ‘Not a nice thing to hear, miss; I’m surprised Mr Haig told you. I was ordered very particular not to mention Miss Linda, which was why I was a mite startled when you spoke of her that morning.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked sharply. ‘Why wasn’t I to be told?’

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Johnson replied with logic, ‘mayhap he foresaw how the news would affect ’ee.’

  ‘One last thing, Mrs Johnson. There was an inquest, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, a nasty affair. Poor Mr Haig was in a fair pother.’

  ‘And – what was the verdict?’

  ‘Why, death by misadventure, miss, what else?’ Mrs Johnson replied serenely.

  * * *

  The Monday which had dawned so brightly was spoilt for me, and even Mike’s phone-call at lunch time did not lift my sense of depression.

  ‘How’s my girl today?’

  ‘So-so.’ I kept my voice low and my eyes on the dining-room door, through which I had hurried to take the call.

  ‘What’s wrong, honey?’

  ‘I’ve just heard about Linda.’

  There was a silence. Then he said, ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘I can hardly tell you over the phone.’

  ‘Look, I was ringing to say I’m tied up today, and how about tomorrow? But if you’re upset, I could manage half an hour around four o’clock. How would that be?’

  ‘Oh Mike, could you? I’ve some typing to do first, but if we could have a cup of tea together ...’

  ‘Right. Try not to worry, and I’ll call for you at four.’

  I was waiting at the gate when he drove up. The dear old car had been standing in the sunshine, and as I leant back in the seat the warm leather came round my shoulders like an embrace.

  Mike leaned over and kissed my cheek. ‘There’s a café in town I use sometimes. Shouldn’t be too busy on a Monday – we can talk there.’ He was more serious than I’d seen him, and I was glad. I was not in the mood for flirting today.

  The Tudor Café was oak-beamed, with shining brass and copper, and delph racks on the wall. Mike led me down the length of it to the table by the wide brick fireplace, now screened with an arrangement of chrysanthemums and dahlias. Their bitter­sweet perfume overlaid the scent of floor polish and hot buttered toast. There were only one or two people there, all at the other end of the room.

  ‘Now.’ Mike settled forward, his arms on the table. ‘Who exactly told you what?’

  Falteringly, I repeated the events of the morning, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘As far as it goes, I suppose.’

  ‘Mike –’ I clenched my hands. I had to ask this. ‘What did you mean about not making a habit of swimming with Matthew?’

  He frowned. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘But what did you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Only that he wasn’t much help to Linda.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was with her that afternoon. Didn’t he tell you that bit?’

  I went cold. ‘He told me he had found her.’

  ‘That too – later. Of course, at the inquest he said he’d left her half an hour earlier.’

  ‘And you didn’t believe him?’ My palms were clammy with sweat.

  ‘I don’t know what to believe. No doubt he’d have saved her if he could.’

  We were silent while the waitress brought the tea. Automatically, I poured it.

  ‘Mike ...’ I stumbled to a halt, my face burning.

  ‘About the baby?’ he said quietly. ‘It wasn’t mine, Emily.’

  I let out my breath on a sigh, not looking at him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He laid his hand over mine. ‘She was Derek’s girl, and it’s my guess he was the one, but you never know. Does it matter?’

  I knew that it shouldn’t, but it did. I was greatly relieved Mike wasn’t the father, but I found that I didn’t want it to be Matthew, either.

  As though reading my thoughts, he added, ‘She had a soft spot for Matthew, mind you. Sorry for him, I suppose – wanted to mother him.’

  ‘Why did his marriage go wrong?’ I asked curiously, ready, now, to drop the subject of Linda.

  ‘It was always the attraction of opposites; Kate’s a social animal, better suited to the bright lights, but Matthew wouldn’t leave Cornwall. So the house was always full of people – parties, weekend guests – they were never alone together. Eventually she just upped and left him, but it’s my belief he’d have her back any time. They rowed like hell the whole time, but he was knocked for six when she went. We – my mother and I – saw a lot of him at that time, and the stuffing just seemed to go out of him. It’s taken him a long time to get back more or less to normal.’

  ‘Poor Matthew,’ I said softly. And poor Sarah, too.’

  ‘Yes, she’s a nice little thing. Loves to come to the farm and watch the animals being fed. I bring her here sometimes for an ice-cream.’ He
patted my hand. ‘Don’t fret about her, honey. Kate wasn’t much cop as a mother, and she gets love of a sort from old Tammy.’

  He grinned suddenly. ‘The old battle-axe couldn’t abide Linda! Came upon her and Derek once in what are known as compromising circumstances. She was outraged.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said. So we were back to Linda again. Well, her ghost was surely laid and I could now forget her. And for what it was worth, if Matthew was still in love with his wife, he was unlikely to have been Linda’s lover. I was surprised how little comfort there was in the thought.

  Mike glanced at his watch. ‘Now, Cinderella, we’d better be going. I’ve a man coming to see me about some poultry feed at five.’

  ‘Thanks for meeting me, Mike. I needed to talk to someone.’

  ‘A pleasure, always!’

  We drove back in silence, and again he stopped outside the gates. He kissed me on the mouth.

  ‘Don’t worry your pretty head about the past, my love. The future’s all that matters. See you tomorrow?’

  ‘Fine. What shall we do?’

  ‘How about dinner at the farm – you’ve not been there yet. Derek and Sandra are coming too.’

  My precarious happiness faded and my face must have shown it.

  Mike said a trifle impatiently, ‘Look, Emily, they’re my friends. Try to like them.’ It sounded to me like an ultimatum – like them, or you kiss me goodbye. And I didn’t want to do that. They’d a longer-standing claim on him than I had, I reminded myself, and if I wouldn’t play ball on his terms, there were plenty of girls who would.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As I dressed for my date with Mike the next evening, I was determined to be good company. I would not let Derek’s suggestiveness or Sandra’s inanity get under my skin as I had on Saturday. Mike was worth the effort of being pleasant to his friends, whatever my private opinion of them.

  I opened my bedroom door to come face to face with Matthew, on his way upstairs. His eyes took in the new lilac dress.

  ‘Mike again?’

  ‘Mike again.’

  ‘Well, enjoy yourself. You make me feel old!’ He nodded and went along the passage to his room.

  This time, Mike was alone when he called for me.

  ‘The others will be along later – they’re calling at the pub for a crate of beer.’ His eyes went over me, warm, personal and admiring – quite different from Matthew’s non-committal gaze. ‘You look good enough to eat!’

  We drove down to the main road and turned left, away from the town. The road hugged the coast for a while and I guessed we must have come this way through the fog to the Flamingo. Now, it was a calm September evening, the sky washed with deep blue, pink and gold as though splashed by a careless paint brush. Tiny fragments of cloud trailed like purple chiffon, and the seagulls, soaring into the sunset, became birds of flame. I drew a deep breath. It was all so perfect that it hurt.

  After a while the road left the coast to turn inland, passing scattered cottages and farms until we branched off it altogether up a steep, twisting lane with high hedges on either side. A wooden post announced ‘Chapel Farm. Private Road.’

  ‘Very imposing!’ I said.

  ‘We have to keep the rabble out!’ He drew up in front of a white, five-barred gate.

  ‘I’ll open it,’ I said, and slipped out of the car. The gate swung easily and Mike edged the car through. We were in the farmyard, and I gave an involuntary exclamation of delight.

  The farm buildings and the long, low house formed three sides of a square, all of them painted white, and glowing in the setting sun. In the centre of the yard was a patch of grass, smooth and emerald green, with a copper beech tree in the middle of it.

  ‘Oh Mike!’

  He got out of the car and came to join me. I could see he was pleased by my delight. ‘Yes, it is rather fine. Those are the byres and stables over there, and opposite us the pig and poultry sheds. This gate leads to the men’s cottages behind the farm house. It’s quite a little colony, as you can see.’

  ‘It’s lovely, and so spotless!’ True enough, the cobbles underfoot looked as though they’d been scrubbed.

  ‘“Seven maids with seven mops”!’ Mike laughed, taking my arm. ‘Come inside and meet Mrs Trehearn. Since you’re “company” we’ll use the front door.’

  We went through the low entrance into a tiny flagged passage. There was an oak door on either side and one straight ahead. Mike flung this open and I found myself in a real, old-fashioned farm kitchen, complete with an enormous white-scrubbed table and a huge open grate.

  A small, thin woman came forward to greet us, nodding her head and watching me with tiny bright eyes. So this was Mrs Johnson’s sister.

  ‘How do you do, miss, I heard from Patsy as you’m come.’

  ‘How do you do?’ I turned back to Mike, who was smilingly watching my reactions.

  ‘Come through to the sitting-room and I’ll get you a drink.’

  We went back down the passage and he opened one of the other doors. This opened into a long, low-ceilinged room prettily decorated in blue and white. The chairs and sofa were floral patterned, and there were some Dresden figures on the mantlepiece. Above the fireplace, dominating the room, was a large portrait of a young girl. Mike noticed my eyes on it. ‘That’s my mother,’ he said.

  ‘She was lovely.’

  He stood for a long moment, his eyes on the painting, and I remembered Matthew saying how upset he’d been at her death. To distract him, I went on, And what a lovely room – not quite what you’d expect in a farmhouse!’

  He nodded and, as I’d hoped, turned away from the portrait.

  ‘Yes, I love the place, even if we haven’t been here for generations, like the Haigs at Touchstone. It was actually bought for my uncle, Grandfather’s younger son, but he was killed by a tractor soon afterwards. So when – my father died, Mother moved here with me.’

  He laughed. ‘A Grace and Favour residence, as you might say! Fortunately, we have a marvellous bailiff: Simkins. He’s virtually run the farm for over twenty years.’

  The sun was off the windows now and an autumn coolness breathed through the room. I walked to the log fire and sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘Apple wood,’ Mike said,

  ‘Isn’t it rather lonely out here,’ I asked, ‘with only Mrs Trehearn for company?’

  ‘She doesn’t live in, either. Her husband’s my head cowman – they live in one of the cottages at the back. No,’ he went on reflectively, ‘I can’t say I’m ever lonely.’ He grinned, sliding an arm round my waist. ‘I can usually find company when I want it!’

  ‘But seriously, Mike, I should have thought Matthew would have invited you to Touchstone more often. After all –’

  He dropped his arm and turned away. ‘I don’t want Matthew’s company any more than he wants mine.’

  ‘But why? I asked helplessly.

  The door-bell rang, and Mrs Trehearn’s footsteps sounded in the passage as she went to answer it.

  ‘Mike?’ I insisted, laying a hand on his arm. He paused and looked down at me, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘There are some things I can’t forgive Matthew, Emily, but you needn’t concern yourself with them. Drink your sherry, there’s a good girl, and stop asking questions.’ There were voices in the hall, and as Mike opened the door, Derek staggered in with the crate of beer, Sandra behind him.

  Mike helped him to lay the crate in a corner. Derek straightened. ‘Phew – it’ll be easier carrying that outside than in!’ He bowed to me. ‘Good evening.’

  I wondered if they were as disappointed to see me as I them. They probably feared I would cast a dampener on their evening again.

  I made a conscious effort. ‘Come and get warm,’ I said to Sandra, and she moved over to join me at the fire. She was quite beautiful with her silver blonde hair hanging like a pale curtain and her wide, china-blue eyes – not, I thought suddenly, unlike Linda. But there had been animation on the face in Sarah’s album,
whereas Sandra’s, perfect and heart-shaped though it was, was almost doll-like in its lack of expression.

  ‘Time for a quick one before we eat,’ Mike said, handing glasses to the new arrivals. ‘Want yours topping up, Emily?’

  I was about to refuse when it occurred to me that an extra mouthful of sherry might help me into the party mood, and I held out my glass.

  ‘And how’s Emily tonight?’ inquired Derek jovially, standing with his back to the fire and rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘Making the most of the sunshine, I see.’ His eyes rested on my brown neck and shoulders and I felt uncomfortable.

  ‘I have to keep out of it.’ Sandra said complacently, ‘or I scorch, with my skin being so fair.’

  ‘Give me the nut-brown maiden,’ murmured Derek in an undertone, as she turned to speak to Mike.

  Mrs Trehearn knocked on the door. The meal’s ready when you are, sir.’

  ‘Right, thank you, we’ll go straight in.’

  I moved forward quickly, noticing from the corner of my eye that Derek’s hand was coming up to take my arm. I remembered all too well the unpleasant warmth of his fingers, and wondered how Sandra could bear to let him touch her.

  The dining-room was tiny – barely enough space for the table and four spindly-legged chairs. A huge copper plate hung on one wall and a gas fire glowed on another.

  The meal was simple, but beautifully cooked. Succulent roast shoulder of lamb followed a clear soup, and we finished with apple pie and thick yellow cream.

  ‘I pity the girl who marries Mike,’ Derek said, with a sly look at me. ‘She’s a lot to live up to!’

  Mike said, ‘Mrs Trehearn’s a wonderful cook, but she has her limitations in other ways!’

  Derek laughed loudly and banged his hand down on the table, setting the glasses tinkling.

  The meal finished, we returned to the sitting-room. Mike threw another log on the fire, and we settled round it.

  After a while Mrs Trehearn knocked on the door. ‘I’m going now, sir, if there’s nothing else you want. Nice to have met you, miss. Goodnight, all.’