by Hazel Holt
“But this cousin must be pretty ancient by now,” Thea said doubtfully.
“Mrs Dudley said he was quite active.”
“Still…”
“Well, even if it wasn’t him, “I persisted, “it just shows that there are all sorts of people who had very good reasons to wish he was dead.”
“You’re just pleased to have found someone with a motive that you don’t actually know.”
“Well, there is that, but the general principle stands, you must agree.”
“Of course I agree, but you must remember – oh, darling, don’t do that!”
Alice, annoyed at being ignored, had decided to attract our attention by pouring her mug of Ribena partly over the remains of her mashed potatoes and partly over the tablecloth. In the general confusion of clearing up the mess and getting Thea off for her appointment, I never did get to hear what it was she thought I should remember.
Nevertheless, in spite of what Thea had said, I just couldn’t help mentioning it to Roger when I saw him, dog-walking as I was, on the beach.
“It does show,” I said, when I had reported the gist of Mrs Dudley’s story, “that there may be masses of people with motives for killing Sidney Middleton.”
Roger smiled. “Why is it,” he enquired, “that whenever I have a conversation with my grandmother-in-law, all I get is a lecture on how badly we’re bringing up Delia and Alex?”
“But seriously, Roger…”
“Seriously, I will, of course, pursue the lead you have kindly given me, though, I must say, I don’t think it’s going to lead anywhere in particular.”
“But there may very well be people elsewhere. Have you checked his business activities in London?” I persisted.
“Yes, we’ve been into all that and, although he was considered to be a shrewd operator in his day, sometimes a bit borderline, there’s no evidence that he gave anyone cause to want to actually murder him.”
“Oh,” I said, deflated. “So you still think it was someone here, someone local?”
“That does seem to be the most likely option. The people down here had the strongest reason for wanting him dead.”
“But why should whoever it is have waited till now, why not have killed him ages ago?”
“Well, Bill Goddard, for example, only found out recently about that letter.”
“Oh no,” I said vehemently, “I know it can’t be Bill!”
Roger shook his head. “You believe he couldn’t have done it because you know and like him, but you don’t actually know.”
“That’s nonsense,” I said impatiently.
“And Brian Thorpe,” Roger continued. “He may have had some special reason for wanting the cottage and the money Middleton left him at this particular time.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t. There’s no evidence for any of this, it’s all supposition and, on that basis, there’s no way I can put together a case against any of the suspects that would stand up in court.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry Sheila, but you do see I must keep an open mind and evaluate the facts – I repeat, the facts – as I see them.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Roger, for being so tiresome!”
“You shouldn’t get yourself so involved in other people’s lives,” Roger said, “but then I don’t suppose you’ll ever stop doing that.”
Tris, who’d been investigating some unidentified sea creature on the edge of a rockpool, began to dig vigorously, showering us with sand.
“Oh dear,” I said, “I’d better take him back before he gets covered in wet sand. He will shake himself all over the inside of the car and it’s the very devil to clear up. Give my love to Jilly and the children.”
Michael called that evening, to return a lamp he’d repaired for me, and I told him what I’d learnt from Mrs Dudley.
“Joe Middleton, “Michael said. “Yes I know him. Nice chap, made a great success of that antiques business.”
“Antiques?”
“He owns that place in Taunton, the something-or-other Gallery just off the Precinct.”
“The Oriental Gallery. But that’s very grand!”
“Yes, well, he’s some kind of expert in Oriental stuff, people come from all over to consult him. He’s been on the telly on some of those antique programmes you’re always watching. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him.”
“That Joe Middleton, yes, of course I’ve seen him, but I never made the connection. How do you know him?”
“Oh, we’ve acted for him a couple of times. He was a friend of Edward’s parents, so he knows him quite well.”
“I see. But how did he get into antiques? I mean, after losing his business and all that. It seems like such a massive change of direction.”
“Apparently he’d always been interested in that sort of thing, but he’d never had the time to do more than dabble. When he went through that bad patch, he said, he decided to give it a go. He read up all he could and had a couple of lucky finds at auctions and so forth and it just sort of snowballed from there.”
“How extraordinary. Do you know anything about his private life?”
“He married a while back, a nice woman, used to be some sort of curator at the Indian Institute in Oxford, that’s how they met. She was a widow with a couple of children. They’re grown-up now, of course, but he seems devoted to them.”
“Well! I do hope Sidney knew all this, he’d have been absolutely furious. Especially about being on television. After all, that is the final accolade nowadays, isn’t it?”
“It is a success story, certainly.”
“A happy ending, in fact.”
“You could say that. Is that the time? I’d better be going, Thea will have supper ready.”
“Yes, of course. Bless you for mending the lamp. It’s always been a favourite of mine.”
As I put on the potatoes for my own supper, my main feeling was of astonishment that, in all the years I’d known her, Mrs Dudley’s information was incomplete. Of course I could never tell her so and doubtless the local intelligence service would bring her up to date, but still it was a shock to find that she was not, as we had all thought, infallible. My instinctive feeling of triumph gave way, however, to one of sadness. I didn’t want to think about it, but I had to recognise the fact that Mrs Dudley, the last authority figure for my generation, was getting old and one day would no longer be with us.
Chapter Eighteen
* * *
I felt a bit foolish, having presented Joe Middleton to Roger as a possible new suspect when obviously he wasn’t, so I didn’t get in touch with him right away to correct the supposition. In any case I was trying to nerve myself to finish a review which was proving tiresome. I’d just switched on the computer and was trying to marshal my thoughts about yet another book on the influence of the industrial revolution on the Victorian novel, with special reference to the works of the women writers of that period, when the bell rang. It was Brian.
“I’ve got the wood for those shelves,” he said as he came into the room. “Would this be a good time? Oh dear, no it isn’t. I’m sorry, you were working. I’ll come back another day.”
“No,” I said, closing down the computer. “I’m glad of an excuse to stop. You carry on. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“A bit later, perhaps. I’ll just bring the wood in and get started.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be in the kitchen if you want anything.”
Out in the kitchen a bowl of Seville oranges mutely reproached me. Making marmalade was another thing I’d been putting off. Deciding that if I couldn’t do one task I’d better do the other, I got out the chopping board and a knife and started preparing the oranges. Soon the whole kitchen, my whole universe indeed, was filled with the smell of them and as I stood patiently stirring the delicious mixture in the old preserving pan that had belonged to my mother, I tried to remember when I’d first been entrusted with this annual task.
It was, I decided, when I was still at Oxford, at the end of one Christmas vacation and the thought of cutting up oranges was more inviting than sitting in my room trying to make sense of Beowulf. I suddenly had a vivid sense of just how long ago that time was and, like my thoughts about Mrs Dudley, I had a painful reminder of my own, and others’, mortality.
The marmalade had set quite nicely and I was just filling the warmed jars when there was a tap on the door and Brian came in.
“Just to say I’ve finished putting up the shelves,” he said, “and I’ve primed them. I’ll come and finish the painting another day.”
“Oh, that’s splendid. Just let me finish this and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
“It all smells very good,” he said.
“You must have a pot, if you’d like one.” I put the waxed disc on the last jar. “I’ll let these cool down while I put the kettle on. Do go into the sitting-room. The smell of oranges is nice for a bit but it does get rather overpowering!”
While we were drinking our tea I asked about his mother.
“I told you, didn’t I, that David – he asked me to call him David – said he’d come back and have a proper talk. Well, he did. Mother was really pleased to see him. I couldn’t believe it; she wasn’t nervous at all. She’d even made some little cakes specially when she knew he was coming. It was like a miracle. When she went to have her rest he told me about his own mother, all that she’d gone through, and how he’d had to learn how to look out for her and try and comfort her when things were really bad, even though he’d been having a bad time himself. So then, it sort of made sense, the way Mother trusted him.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“The things he told me about his own life don’t bear thinking about. I could hardly believe some of them, but I’m sure they were true.” He stopped suddenly. “I shouldn’t be saying all this – he told me in confidence…”
“It’s all right,” I said, “I know all about it. David told me himself.”
Brian looked relieved. “That’s all right, then.” He took one of the biscuits I offered. “Thanks. Like I told you before, it’s really good to be able to talk to somebody about it. I mean, it’s all so strange, lots of people simply wouldn’t believe it.”
“Oh, I believe it all right,” I said. “The more I learn about Sidney Middleton…well!”
“What David said was so frightening was the way he gradually found himself turning into the person his father said he was. That was really weird.”
“It can happen,” I said. “But I’m so glad you’ve been able to talk to each other about things.”
“It’s made a real difference,” Brian said earnestly. “I sort of feel a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Of course,” he continued, “there’s still the police.”
“I gather you neither of you have an alibi?”
“Well…” he hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t tell the police exactly where I was.”
“What do you mean?” I asked anxiously. “Where were you that night?”
He hesitated, then he said, “I was most of the night in the Casualty department in Musgrove hospital.”
“In Casualty!”
“Yes. It’s a long story…”
“Whatever happened, and why on earth didn’t you tell the police?”
He shrugged. “It’s all a bit complicated. You see, Margaret rang me that evening. Mark had been larking about and he’d fallen quite heavily and she thought his arm was broken. So I said she must get him to hospital but she said she couldn’t because Carol, that’s the little girl, was ill in bed with a bad ear infection. She’d got a temperature and was really ill so Margaret couldn’t leave her or take her to the hospital too.”
“No, of course not.”
“She begged me to take Mark to Casualty – he knows me and he’d go with me all right. But she knew how difficult it is. Mother can’t bear being left alone at night. She gets really frightened and upset if I’m not there. Well, I looked in on Mother and she was sleeping really soundly because she’d taken some of her tablets to make her sleep, so I thought I’d risk it. I had to, Margaret sounded so desperate. She’s got no family, you see, and her neighbours are an old couple who wouldn’t be much help.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“So I got the van out and collected Mark. He was really miserable, poor little chap. But when we got to the hospital they had an emergency and we had to wait for hours before we were seen and then there was all the business about X-rays – it was broken – and having the plaster put on and so forth, so by the time we’d finished it was almost daylight!”
“How dreadful.”
“I took him back and just managed to get home before Mother woke up, so it was all right in the end.”
“But that’s a perfectly good alibi,” I said. “Why on earth didn’t you tell the police that that’s where you were? I mean, it’s something they could easily check on.”
“The trouble is,” Brian said slowly, “that when that Inspector came Mother was upset, like you’d expect having a strange man calling, so she went out of the room.”
“So?”
“But I knew she’d be listening outside the door. That’s the way she is, nervous and suspicious of everyone. So I knew she’d hear what I said. Well, the fact is, I didn’t want her to know that I’d been out that night and left her there all alone.”
“Yes, I can see that. But,” I continued, “why didn’t you go and call at the police station and tell them there?”
He was silent for a moment. “I was going to, but I kept putting it off, you know, like you do, and then David came and we talked and he said he hadn’t got an alibi, so I thought if I told the police where I was then it would all be on David. He’d be the only suspect they had left. I thought if there were two of us, then maybe it would confuse things…” His voice trailed away. “I didn’t care if he had killed the old bastard,” he went on, “he’d had every reason to. I wish I’d done it myself years ago!”
“I’m sure you do,” I said, “but please don’t go around saying that, even if you do have a perfectly good alibi. But seriously, though, you must tell the police. I’m sure it won’t affect the way they regard David. Anyway, there’s absolutely no evidence against him.”
“Are you sure?”
“If there had been they would have questioned him again.” He still looked doubtful, so I went on, “I know you want to help David in any way you can, but you must tell the police where you were. I’m sure that’s what he’d want you to do.”
“Well, if you think so.”
“I do.”
“All right, I will then. But, if I didn’t kill him and David didn’t – and I’m pretty sure he didn’t – then who did?”
“I really don’t know, and, as far as I can tell, the police have no idea either. I think we must all get on with our lives and leave it to them.”
When Brian had gone I finished off the marmalade and, as I put it away in the larder, I felt a great sense of relief that he did have an alibi. I hadn’t, in the beginning, believed he’d killed Sidney Middleton because he seemed too quiet and gentle a person. But, as I learned more about his life and what he and his mother had been through, I’d certainly had doubts. His motive would have been very strong. So it was good to know that my first impression of him had been right. But, if Brian was no longer a suspect, then that only left David. He too had a motive, even stronger than Brian’s, but, having discovered the ‘new’ David, I was very reluctant to think of him as a murderer.
Foss, attracted by my presence in the kitchen, emerged from the study, where he’d been sleeping on a pile of copies of The Journal of the Jane Austen Society, and wound round my legs, loudly demanding food. When he’d rejected the tinned food I offered him and I’d warmed up the remains of his fish in the microwave, it was time to go and meet Anthea at Brunswick Lodge to a
rrange about the collection of things for the next jumble sale, so I had other things to think about.
“I’m leaving the books to you,” Anthea said, “because you know about such things. Paperbacks always go well and Mary Perry is moving house. She’s going into one of those bungalows in Regents Close, poky little places, very little space, so she’s having to throw out a lot of things. She says she’s got a couple of boxes of books she wants to get rid of, so I said you’d go round there today and collect them. Oh, and while you’re there, she said she had some curtains that are the wrong size for the new windows, so you might see what they’re like and if they’d be any use to us.”
I refrained from telling Anthea that my literary activities did not automatically qualify me for heaving boxes of books about, but meekly took my instructions.
“Then,” Anthea went on, “if you and Rosemary can come in next week and sort through the clothes… Yes, I know it’s a nuisance but I don’t want to ask Edith Spencer again. Last time she did it, she picked out a lot of the really good stuff for herself, and that’s really not on!”
I knew better than to interrupt Anthea when she was in full flow so I merely nodded.
“Oh, and something’s the matter with the light switches in the Committee Room. The whole place was plunged into darkness last Wednesday. We’d better get Jim Norton to come and see to it. I did try to phone him yesterday but there was no reply. If you happen to be going in that direction you could call in and ask him.”
Since that was tantamount to a command, I didn’t say that the Norton’s house was in a totally different direction from Mary Perry’s, but nodded again and made my escape before Anthea could find any other task for me to do.
It had begun to rain, not heavily but persistently, a cold miserable rain and I didn’t feel much like driving round Taviscombe collecting jumble and delivering messages. Even returning to my tiresome review seemed preferable. Still, I got into the car and drove to Mary Perry’s. After some time and several cups of tea I finally made my escape. Mary is a good soul and I’m very fond of her but she is the sort of person who hates to be alone and her passion for company (any old company) means that it’s very difficult to get away. One makes many false starts, but she always remembers one more thing she has to tell you and there you are, standing uncomfortably with one hand on the doorknob unable to get away until she’s wrung the last drop, as it were, from your visit. I loaded the boxes of books and a motley collection of curtains (I didn’t stop to see if they were ‘any use’ or not) into the boot and quickly drove away.