Stella shuddered.
‘How horrid!’ she exclaimed.
‘Now,’ went on Angela, ‘I believe I am correct in saying that this room here was occupied by Susan.’
‘That’s right. She was nearest the stairs.’
‘And whose is this one?’
‘That’s Don’s.’
‘Ah!’ said Angela keenly, but made no further comment.
They carried on along the passage, with Stella pointing out the various family and guest bedrooms.
‘Which was Winifred’s room?’ asked Angela as they turned into a new passage.
‘That one,’ said Stella, pointing. ‘The second one along.’
‘That’s rather odd,’ said Angela. ‘May I?’
She opened and closed the door. It shut with a click.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Stella.
‘Would you mind awfully doing something for me?’ asked Angela without replying.
‘Of course not.’
‘Go into this room and wait there for two minutes, then come out and slam the door behind you.’
Stella raised her eyebrows but nodded and entered the room without comment. Angela returned to the gallery, slipped quietly into the guest room which had been occupied by Susan and shut the door behind her. After a few minutes she heard Stella calling her and came out onto the landing.
‘There you are,’ said Stella. ‘Whatever were you doing?’
‘Did you slam the door?’ asked Angela.
‘As loudly as I could. Didn’t you hear it?’
‘No,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t.’
‘You’re being jolly mysterious.’
‘Am I? I don’t mean to be,’ said Angela. ‘I have just been trying to reconstruct the events of that afternoon in my head.’
‘And where did that little pantomime fit into the picture?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ replied Angela and would say no more.
They returned to the drawing-room where they found Guy Fisher frowning over a letter written in a large, ornate scrawl.
‘Hallo, Mrs. Marchmont,’ he said. ‘Still pursuing your inquiries, I see. There have been no more attacks, I trust?’
‘Happily not,’ replied Angela.
‘Still, I suppose that is one of the hazards of being a private investigator. It must be very tiresome having to be constantly on one’s guard against sudden assaults by assassins brandishing knives and bludgeons.’
‘What a dreadful idea!’ said Angela, laughing. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the most difficult task so far appears to be that of pinning down my witnesses to speak to them. Everyone always seems to be out and about or engaged with someone else when I want to speak to them. Indeed, I had so much trouble in catching Mr. Faulkner at a free moment that I had to go to Somerset House in order to get a look at Philip’s will.’
‘Faulkner? Typical of a solicitor. Yes, I hate it myself when people won’t do what is required of them,’ said Guy. ‘I have a case in point right here in my hand.’ He flapped the letter at them with a grimace. ‘And now I suppose I shall have to go and do something about it.’
He got up and left the room without ceremony.
‘He seems rather cross,’ observed Angela.
‘Yes,’ said Stella. ‘I think he finds his job a little difficult sometimes. He is forever having to sort out disputes between tenants, and it makes him grumpy. I think he would prefer to live a life of idleness really.’
She spoke fondly, and Angela looked up.
‘You like him very much, don’t you?’ she said.
‘Yes, I do. We have lots in common. We are both orphans, for one thing, so we know what it is like to feel an outsider. And he always cheers me up when I am feeling blue, which seems to be quite often lately.’ She stopped and closed her lips.
‘And I rather think he likes you, too,’ said Angela gently.
Stella looked up, then back down.
‘Perhaps he does,’ she said.
‘I hate to see a young man with a broken heart,’ Angela went on, only half-jokingly.
‘I have no intention of breaking anybody’s heart,’ said Stella.
‘No, but you could do it without meaning to.’
‘And what if I—share his feelings?’
‘Do you?’
Stella got up and paced restlessly up and down the room.
‘I’m very fond of Guy and we should rub along well together, I have no doubt of that,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe in all that romantic, happy-ever-after drivel any more. The most important thing is to find somebody I can trust—somebody who makes me feel safe.’
‘Don’t you feel safe now?’ asked Angela in concern.
Stella turned to her with a white face.
‘Oh, Mrs. Marchmont, if only you knew how frightened I’ve been!’ she cried.
NINETEEN
At that moment, Louisa and Donald came in, talking animatedly. Stella took one look at them and hurried out of the room.
‘Whatever is the matter with Stella?’ said Louisa. She did not wait for an answer and went on breathlessly, ‘Angela, have you heard the news?’
‘What news?’ asked Angela.
‘Why, that the police have visited Robin to question him about Winifred’s money!’
‘Oh,’ said Angela. ‘Is it certain, then, that her money was stolen?’
‘It seems so,’ replied her friend. ‘Apparently, they went to her bank and discovered that a few months before she died she had withdrawn a large sum which constituted most of her money, but nobody could tell them what she did with it. I don’t know how the police got wind of it or fastened onto Robin,’ (here Angela stared hard at the floor) ‘but at any rate they went to Datchet and asked him straight out whether he had had anything to do with it. Of course, he denied it all so they had to go away again.’
‘Who told you all this?’
‘Ursula. She called me in a great fury. She was convinced that one of us here at Underwood had been sneaking to the police. I did my best to persuade her otherwise, although I’m not sure I was successful. But of course none of us reported it,’ she went on. ‘Why should we dream of doing such a thing?’
Angela debated for a second but decided not to confess. She wanted to speak to Ursula again, but there would be no chance of that if Ursula knew that she had been the one to tell the police about Robin’s supposed dishonest dealings.
‘Perhaps it was the house,’ said Donald darkly. ‘Have you noticed how all those who have a dislike of the place seem to suffer?’
‘That’s hardly helpful, Donald,’ said his mother impatiently. ‘Really, I don’t know where you get these fey fits from.’
Donald glowered but said nothing, then shortly afterwards excused himself and went out.
‘I do wish he and Stella would make it up,’ said Louisa. ‘They have had rows before but this one has gone on for ages now.’
‘Perhaps they won’t make it up at all,’ said Angela.
‘Oh, but they must. Why, it’s perfectly obvious to anyone who has seen them together that they’re made for each other. I think I shall have to have a word with Stella.’
‘I shouldn’t if I were you,’ said Angela. ‘I think it would be better to leave them alone. These things have a habit of resolving themselves, and your interference might be more likely to cause harm.’
‘Do you think so? I suppose you’re right. You always are right, Angela.’
‘Hardly,’ said Angela. ‘But listen, Louisa. I have a question to ask you while we are alone.’
‘I am all ears,’ said Louisa with interest.
‘How shall I put this? Do you know of any person or persons to whom Philip might have wanted to leave a legacy without his family knowing about it?’
‘A secret bequest, do you mean? Is that possible?’
‘Yes—I have discovered that it is quite legal for a testator to bequeath some money to one beneficiary, intending all the whi
le that it should be passed on to another person entirely.’
Louisa was surprised.
‘I have never heard of such a thing,’ she said. ‘Why should anyone want to do that?’
‘Lots of reasons,’ said Angela, ‘but the most obvious one is a desire to provide for illegitimate children.’
She paused delicately to allow Louisa to digest the significance of the remark.
‘Are you suggesting that Philip might have had a secret family somewhere?’
Angela said nothing as Louisa considered the possibility, her head on one side.
‘Obviously I can’t say for sure, but I’d be very surprised if he did,’ she said finally.
‘But it might explain why he named Mr. Faulkner as the ultimate beneficiary of twenty thousand pounds. That is a very large sum to leave to one’s solicitor at the expense of one’s family. Perhaps Philip intended Mr. Faulkner to pass it on to someone unknown.’
‘Well, if Philip was leading a secret life it must have begun long before I met John,’ said Louisa, ‘because I know nothing about it.’
‘I didn’t want to ask John as I wasn’t sure how touchy he might be on the subject,’ said Angela.
‘Oh, go ahead and ask him. He has long since given up being embarrassed about his family,’ said Louisa with a laugh. ‘But I’m sure he would have told me if he knew of anything of the kind.’
Angela was privately unconvinced of this, but said nothing and shortly afterwards got up to go.
‘I forgot to ask,’ said Louisa, as she accompanied her friend to the door. ‘Will you come to our family gathering on the 27th?’
‘Do you mean the famous one of the will?’
‘The very same. Do come, Angela. Just imagine what fun you will have watching us all scowl at each other and descend into idiotic bickering.’
Angela could not help laughing at her friend’s rueful expression.
‘Don’t you think my presence will be unwelcome?’ she asked.
‘On the contrary, you might just be the calming influence we need. There are not many of the Hayneses left to fight each other,’ she went on a little sadly, ‘but I foresee trouble between Ursula and John and you could perhaps act as a useful buffer.’
‘And here was I thinking that you had invited me for my sparkling wit and devastating repartee,’ said Angela.
‘Oh, that too, of course,’ Louisa assured her. She clasped Angela’s hand in hers. ‘You will come, won’t you, darling? I hate to admit it, but I shall be terribly frightened without you, given what has happened at all the other family meetings.’
Angela relented.
‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
She left the house and got into her car. William was in high spirits, having been successful in his attempt to ingratiate himself with the servants. Mrs. Jones the housekeeper had not been present, and he had spent the morning being plied with tea and biscuits by a bevy of admiring maids. Over the course of the morning he had discovered that of the family, Mrs. Haynes was considered pleasant but forgetful; Mr. Haynes was irascible but well-liked, although he had been rather gloomy lately; Mr. Donald was a decent chap and very handsome too (if a little odd); Miss Stella had a secret, and Mr. Fisher was such a charming man and was still hoping that his watch could somehow be repaired. As for the guests, everyone was scared of Mrs. Ursula Haynes, Mr. Robin took liberties and Miss Euphonium—or whatever she was calling herself nowadays—gave herself airs.
All this was no more than Angela had already known or guessed.
‘Did you find out anything about the dates in question?’ she asked.
‘Not as much as I should have liked,’ said William, ‘but I did find out from Annie that John Haynes usually poured Philippa’s coffee for her after dinner. Of course, nobody can say whether he did it on the night she died as it was such a long time ago.’
‘Naturally. And what about the 16th of February of this year? Did you ask about the laundry?’
‘I sure did, ma’am. They were all quite certain that nobody had given them any dirty or wet evening clothes to clean. Might I take the liberty of asking why you wanted to know?’
‘It’s simple enough. Edward Haynes was drowned in the lake, so whoever did it must surely have got wet in the struggle. At the very least his jacket and shirt cuffs would be drenched—unless he was unclothed at the moment of the killing, which is of course a possibility.’
‘Do you really think so? I don’t see it myself. What was the victim doing while the killer was stripping off? Did he just stand there and exclaim, “Say, it sure is a fine evening for a swim. Mind if I join you?”’
Angela laughed.
‘Hardly. But the murderer may have knocked him unconscious first, to make it easier to drown him.’
‘I get it. He gives the guy the old one-two, then while he’s out cold, strips off, bundles him into the rowing-boat and out onto the lake, throws him out then swims back to shore, leaving the boat behind.’
‘Or holds his head under in the shallows. That might be easier,’ said Angela. ‘Then he would merely be throwing a dead body overboard rather than struggling to hold a live one under the water.’
‘Well, it’s a rotten trick whichever way you look at it,’ said William indignantly.
‘The whole business is rotten, William,’ said Angela, ‘and we have to find out who did it—and soon, or he might just do it again.’
Her thoughts returned to the events of the day, and particularly Stella’s unexpected outburst. Who or what was Stella afraid of? Was it somebody at Underwood House, and did she know something about the mystery that she was concealing? Angela resolved to speak to Stella in private as soon as she could, and find out what had frightened her. She sighed. Nothing seemed simple. The further she delved into the case the more perplexing it seemed to become. One thing was clear, though: she was going to have to bite on the bullet and speak to John as soon as possible.
TWENTY
True to her resolution, a day or two later Mrs. Marchmont went down to Underwood House to speak to John. She went to his study and knocked quietly.
‘Who is it?’ said John.
‘May I?’ asked Angela, putting her head round the door.
‘Ah, Angela. Come in. Are you snooping round here again?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Angela apologetically. John gestured to a chair and she sat. To her relief, it was soft and comfortable and showed no inclination to eject her onto the floor.
‘So tell me, are you getting anywhere with all this investigating?’ asked John in his abrupt manner.
‘I very much hope so,’ said Angela. ‘I’m sure you must be dying to get rid of me by now.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ he said politely. He waved a letter at her. ‘I was just looking at our—invitation, I suppose I must call it, although how one can be invited to dine in one’s own home by a fellow who won’t be there is anybody’s guess. Anyway, we are all to present ourselves here like good little boys and girls and smile nicely, although of course the company is much reduced these days. Is there any way of getting out of it, I wonder? Can Father really have intended us to go on meeting and scowling at each other over dinner, especially now three of us are dead?’
‘I don’t suppose he intended anybody to die.’
John snorted.
‘Don’t you believe it! The old devil would be hugging himself with glee at the mischief he had caused, if he knew. In fact, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he wrote the will as he did deliberately to set us all at each other’s throats and see who would be the first to resort to murder.’
‘Tell me, why do you think he made such a strange will?’ asked Angela. ‘You are the only one of his children left, and must have known him better than anyone living today. Why was part of your inheritance only a life interest? Why did he favour his solicitor over everybody?’
‘I tell you, I have no idea. Perhaps old Faulkner had some kind of hold over Father—i
f anyone can match my father for cunning and trickery, it’s that wily bird.’
Angela looked at her hands.
‘What would you say to the suggestion that before his death, your father had asked Mr. Faulkner to hold the money on trust for someone else?’
‘Someone else? Who do you mean?’
‘Why, I don’t know. I was hoping you might have an idea.’
‘There is no-one else. Father didn’t exactly encourage friendships, and the few friends he had are all dead now, as far as I know.’
‘You don’t think he might have had—a secret family somewhere?’
John went silent for a second, then burst out into a roar of laughter.
‘Oh my, that’s a good one,’ he said finally, wiping his eyes. ‘A secret family? Why, he was far too busy making his real family’s lives a misery to have time for another one.’
‘Can you be certain of that?’ asked Angela.
‘As certain as I am of anything,’ said John. ‘So that’s your little idea, is it? Well, you may as well forget it at once. I don’t say he was the best of men—quite the opposite—but I do know that my father rarely left Beningfleet, and it’s such a small place that we should have found out years ago had there been any funny business going on, I’m quite sure of it.’
‘I see.’ Angela was disappointed. She hated to abandon her pet theory, but everywhere she turned she seemed to come to a dead-end. Still, there was no sense in flogging a dead horse.
‘I also wanted to ask you something about the day Winifred died,’ she said. ‘I believe you said you were here in the study when she fell, but Donald says he was looking for you at the time and he came in here but couldn’t find you. Are you quite sure that’s where you were?’
John’s face went purple.
‘I—ah—’ he began, then recovered himself. ‘Of course I’m sure, although now you mention it I may have run outside for a moment or two to get some fresh air. This room gets very stuffy, you know. So Donald says he came in here, does he? I must have just missed him, then. Any other questions?’ He appeared keen to change the subject.
The Mystery at Underwood House (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) Page 12