by Janet Woods
There was a fair amount of truth in it, but she couldn’t tell him that. And the fact that Florence had named Denton would put a question mark over him. ‘All Doctor Denton Elliot is guilty of is being Richard’s childhood friend.’ Her heart gave a painful thud. ‘Does Beamish know about this?’
‘It seems not, but he’ll have to be informed. If the statement isn’t withdrawn, I shall have to attack her on the witness stand.’
‘May I read the statement, please?’
He slid over a sheet of paper. ‘My secretary has copied this exactly as it was written, only on a typewriter.’ He passed over a piece of paper, and Livia’s heart sank as she read it. ‘This is just awful.’
The door was open and Connie appeared with a tray of tea. Her colour was high. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. I thought there was something odd about Florence before I left. She seemed awkward and couldn’t look me in the eyes.’
Livia wondered if Connie would ever grow out of the habit of eavesdropping.
‘Can I read the statement please?’ Connie asked.
She might as well, since she knew most of it already. Livia pushed it across to her, and a few minutes later was glad that she had.
Connie looked up. ‘Florence didn’t write this. To start with she can’t spell. And neither can she read or write to this standard.’
‘Her signature has been witnessed by Rosemary Sangster.’
‘That may be so. But she didn’t write those long words, and she wouldn’t have known what they meant, even if she could write them. I expect she was having a good gossip, like she does from time to time. It doesn’t take much to get her going, and she wouldn’t have meant anything by it. This has been written for her and they got her to sign it. I bet Beamish doesn’t know. I reckon it would have been that wife of the major’s. She’d be behind all of this. She can’t wait to get her greedy hands on that money.’
‘Which money are you referring to?’
‘The Sinclair legacy, of course. I’ve got it all worked out. If she can find a way to blacken Mrs Sangster’s name and get custody of the child, then they also get control of the Sinclair legacy.’
Simon Stone and Livia exchanged a glance.
‘Likely they’ll be after the captain’s estate as well, since one thing follows another when a name is being blackened. Everyone will believe the worst, of course. It’s no wonder Florence didn’t come down to see Mrs Sangster when she had the chance. She was too ashamed of herself to look her in the eye. I bet she can’t even look at herself in the mirror.’
‘You could be right, Mrs Starling.’
‘The major was all right until he met Rosemary Mortimer,’ Connie fumed. ‘He always was easily led by a pretty face. Old Bugg said the major kept what was left of his brain between his legs. He was a man with an itch he could scratch but never satisfy, and was after women all the time.’
The lawyer spluttered over his tea, ‘Dear oh dear,’ and he didn’t know where to look. ‘This case is getting messier than I thought it would. They have a lawyer representing them who is known for his dirty tricks. His name is Philip Conrad, and he’s suggested that perhaps we could reach a mutual settlement, to save your name being dragged through the courts.’
‘A settlement?’ Livia drew in a deep breath, one that only added fuel to her anger. ‘The time for that is past . It would be tantamount to admitting there is some truth in these accusations. I’m not going to sit here and be attacked from left, right and centre. I’m going to call the major’s bluff. Tell this Philip Conrad his client has seriously misjudged me if he thinks I’m going to allow the major to take what rightfully belongs to my child. If I’m to be dragged through the courts I’ll drag his client’s name behind me. Tell him I intend to sue him, and all his supporters, for libel. See if he likes that.’
Simon Stone nodded. ‘You’re taking the stance that the best defence is to go on the attack? You have a point, but it’s risky.’
‘What’s risky about it? Unless they can prove the accusations, which they can’t because they’re not true, then I have nothing to lose. We should start with Florence. If we can get her to tell Beamish what she’s done, he’ll persuade her to withdraw the statement. It’s better than us telling Beamish first.’
Connie nodded. ‘She’ll be afraid she’ll get into trouble if you or Mr Stone tackle her about it, and she’ll dig her heels in. I’ll be happy to ring her if you like. She usually listens to me.’
She did so then and there. ‘Florence, I’ve just read a statement you were supposed to have made. What on earth came over you to talk to that horrible woman? You know what might happen now . . . they’ll try and take Mrs Sangster’s baby away, and the dear little soul will never see her mother again. Then Esmé will have nowhere to go except back to the orphanage, and it will all be your fault.’
Livia heard a loud wail of distress, followed by garbled talking. Connie certainly knew how to apply pressure.
‘I realize that, but Mrs Sangster was always good to you, and she doesn’t deserve this. Isn’t it enough that she’s still grieving for her husband?’
There was a scramble of words from the receiver, then Connie looked at them and nodded, saying, ‘Beamish doesn’t know? Well, I didn’t think he did, since he wouldn’t have allowed that woman to creep around bothering innocent folks, would he? Your man is as honest as they come. Perhaps it would be best if you started setting things right again. He thought the world of the captain and his lady, and if he finds out what you’ve done from someone else, he’ll be cross.’
Again came the scramble of words.
‘Yes . . . I’ll tell her. The baby . . . she’s a sweet little thing. Her name is Margaret Eloise and she’s named after her two grandmothers. We call her Meggie for short. She’s the very image of Mrs Sangster.’ There was a pause, then, ‘You are?’ A smile lit up Connie’s face. ‘No, I won’t tell Beamish. Congratulations, my dear. That news should sweeten Beamish up when you tell him what you’ve been up to. What day did you say that woman visited you? A Monday, was it?’ A few moments of small talk later and Connie hung up and turned to them. ‘Rosemary Sangster wrote the statement, and she promised to read it back to Florence and pay her five pounds. She did neither. She made Florence sign the statement, then said she’d left her bag in the car and would fetch the money and bring it back. She didn’t. She just got in and drove off.’
‘So Mrs Beamish was offered a bribe, and she didn’t know what she’d signed.’ Simon Stone smiled. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘Florence is expecting a baby in June. That should keep her out of mischief. And there’s something else that’s struck me as odd. Florence said Rosemary Sangster was wearing a diamond brooch in the shape of a swan, and the last time she’d seen it was on the dressing table at Foxglove House when the captain’s mother died.’
‘She couldn’t have. It’s in the safe at Foxglove House. I itemized all the jewellery and gave Mr Stone a list.’
‘Have you checked on it lately?’
‘I haven’t been back there at all. Mrs Anstruther calls in, and so does Matthew Bugg. They tell me if they’ve had visitors, or needed to ask me if there’s something they’re not sure of.’
Mr Stone stood. ‘Perhaps we should check on it while I’m here.’
Livia gazed at the pink carriage clock Richard had given her. ‘I have an hour before Meggie needs feeding. If she wakes, would you mind keeping her occupied until I get back please, Connie?’
Mrs Anstruther opened the door to them with a smile.
‘Mr Stone and I are going upstairs to check on something. We shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, Mrs Anstruther.’
Foxglove House was an empty tomb shrouded in dustsheets. Livia could feel the sadness of abandonment in it. Their footsteps echoed across the hall.
Here was the room in which Margaret Sangster had died, and in which Richard had spent his last painful few months struggling for breath. She’d thought she’d be able to feel his prese
nce, but she couldn’t. It was just an unoccupied room, and she realized that she didn’t think of Richard as much as she used to, or in the way she used to – with such an aching intensity of emotion.
She pulled the key from its compartment, fitted it into the lock and swung the door open. She couldn’t believe what she saw. ‘It’s not here,’ she spluttered. ‘The jewellery box has gone.’
They questioned Mrs Anstruther. ‘Has anyone been here . . . any workmen or the like?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Not even family.’
‘Not that I know of, Sir, except . . . there was something that struck me as odd.’
‘What was that?’
‘Matthew took me into the markets a little while ago. A Monday it was. You came with us, if you remember, Mrs Sangster. We bought some baby clothes and you fell asleep in the car on the way home.’
‘I remember.’
‘That was about two months ago. We used your car, though nearly came a cropper when we rounded the bend and almost collided with a woman driving towards us. It was her fault, but she honked the horn as though she owned the road, and you woke with a start. Anyway, when we arrived at the house the postman had been.’
‘And?’
‘Well . . . the letters were on the hallstand instead of on the floor. Matthew and I checked right through the house, and we saw nothing amiss. All the windows and doors were still locked. To be honest, I thought it was all a bit creepy. Then I thought the postman must have come earlier, and I must have been a bit absent-minded and picked the letters up and put them there myself.’
‘Can you describe the car you nearly collided with?’ Mr Stone asked her.
‘One of those little ones with two seats, a Morris Oxford, I think, though I’m not much good with cars. It was green. Is something missing, Sir?’
‘Some jewellery – it was in a jewellery case in the safe.’
‘I didn’t know there was a safe. I’ve never seen one. Have the thieves taken that as well?’
‘No, but it’s well hidden, and only a few people know where it is and how to open it.’
‘Including me,’ Livia said.
When they were outside, she asked, ‘What would you suggest we do? Report the theft to the police?’
‘We shall have to, I’m afraid. The jewellery was part of your husband’s estate. I have an inventory of it that could be circulated.’
Livia sighed. ‘I really don’t want my life to get any messier than it is at the moment. We both know who’s at the bottom of this, because Rosemary Sangster was wearing that brooch. What if the jewellery was returned, no questions asked?’
He turned his eyes on her and smiled. ‘I could drop a suggestion into an ear or two and see what happens. We’ll give it until the end of the week. If there’s been no progress we’ll have to report it, I’m afraid.’
The word in the major’s ear came via Philip Conrad.
‘Word is out that Foxglove House has been robbed. Someone with inside knowledge has removed your former wife’s jewellery from the strongbox.’
‘Good Lord,’ Henry spluttered, his surprise unforced, for although he was sure Rosemary had taken the jewels, she had forgotten to tell him. ‘Are you sure she hasn’t mislaid them?’
‘She?’
He seized the opportunity to wear Livia’s reputation down. ‘The maid my son was tricked into marriage with. Livia.’
‘Livia Sangster is now a mother, and has gilt edge references as to her character. I might as well tell you now, you won’t win a custody battle.’
‘The baby is born then? A little early, wasn’t it?’ Henry felt uneasy. ‘What did she have?’
‘A daughter. You know, Henry, you really should drop this case. Simon Stone has all the cards. Blackening a young widow’s name and dragging her through the courts to gain control of her child and inheritance has an unpleasant whiff to it. It’s simply not gentlemanly to go after a defenceless young woman like this. It will be reported in the newspaper, I expect. The public will be on her side. The house being robbed without any sign of breaking and entering will just add fuel to the fire.’
‘It won’t go to court.’
‘Then what the hell am I supposed to be representing? This sounds like a private vendetta against your daughter-in-law, not a legitimate challenge to a will.’
‘You owe me a favour . . . several favours in fact, and I don’t think your wife would appreciate hearing about them.’
‘What do you know of my wife?’ Philip turned hooded eyes his way. ‘You know, that sounded very much like a threat to me, Henry.’
‘I’m merely reminding you. The fact that the jewellery is gone only proves one thing . . . that if somebody can walk into Foxglove House, sight unseen, and steal my former wife’s jewellery case, then the security is non-existent.’
Philip picked up a paper knife and dug it into the blotting paper on his desk. His expression was one of distaste, as if he had a bad smell in his nostrils. ‘Apparently, no questions will be asked if the jewellery is returned by the weekend. After that, the matter will be placed in the hands of the police.’ Philip gazed up at him. ‘Are you implicated in this, Henry?’
Of course he was implicated. It had been his idea. But Rosemary had conveniently forgotten to tell him she’d been successful, which made him uneasy. ‘Why do you suspect me?’
‘Apparently the robbery took place on the day your wife interviewed Florence Beamish. And by the way, Mrs Beamish has retracted that statement. She said your wife wrote it, and she didn’t know what she was signing.’
‘The hell she didn’t. Rosemary said she read it.’
‘She couldn’t have done. Mrs Beamish is almost illiterate, apparently.’
The major shrugged. He felt tired and dispirited, and wished he hadn’t started this. He shouldn’t have listened to Rosemary in the first place. ‘Didn’t you offer them a settlement?’
‘Forget that. You threatened to take Livia Sangster’s child away, and she’s going to fight you every inch of the way if you persist. If you or your wife has that jewellery, returning it is the only concession you’ll get. I’d be happy to deliver it.’
‘I daresay you would if I had it. But I don’t.’ The major rose, experiencing an urgent need to get back to London. Rosemary had been impatient, eager for him to leave, and his feeling of unease grew. ‘Keep in touch, old boy. Let me know if anything develops.’
‘By the way, my wife passed away two years ago, so you couldn’t tell her anything. It was Spanish flu.’
‘Oh . . . I see . . . bad luck.’
‘Yes . . . for you. My resignation will be in the post tomorrow. Find yourself another legal representative. I thought you might have a legitimate claim against your son’s estate after his wife and child, but I don’t want the rest of it on my conscience. Besides, your case is collapsing like a pack of cards.’
‘Just remember that anything I’ve said to you is confidential.’
‘I know the meaning of the word. It’s a pity you don’t. Good-day, Henry. Off you go to that young wife of yours. I hope Rosemary proves to be worth it, but I doubt it.’
The blinkers fell from Henry’s eyes when he discovered that Rosemary definitely wasn’t worth it although he’d always suspected as much. When he arrived home it was only to confirm that she had gone. The drawers in her bedroom were empty, suitcases missing. There was a pawnshop receipt on the dressing table, dated the previous month, and brochures from a steamship company. India, America, Canada, Australia. It would be fairly easy to find out which ship she was on, but he saw no point. Rosemary planned things carefully, and it would have set sail.
Downstairs he found a letter of foreclosure from the bank. The apartment was to be resumed at the end of the week. The game was up. Now he had to put an end to it. He was ruined.
He took the picture of Richard down from the mantelpiece and gazed at it. The boy greatly resembled his mother. Now there was a son to be proud of, he thought. For once he�
�d done something right in his life. It was a pity Richard had died so young.
Going upstairs again, he dressed in his military uniform, his Sam Brown and his boots. The uniform made him feel important and useful. He fetched his army issue revolver from his desk and attached it to the lanyard. The Webley had never fired a shot, yet he still cleaned it regularly, and it didn’t have a fleck of dust on it. He loaded one lethal dose of lead into it, the only bullet he had, then spun the chamber and held it at arm’s length, awkwardly twisting his hand so the barrel pointed towards him. He closed his eyes and felt the sweat bead on his forehead.
He thought he heard a quiet chuckle and opened his eyes again.
Richard looked at him from his frame. Instantly, Henry felt guilty. His son had loved that girl, and now there was a daughter from the marriage – one that neither of them would ever see if he carried this out. And he was curious to see the infant.
Richard wore a faint smile on his lips, as if amused by Henry’s predicament.
Livia might allow you to be the child’s grandfather.
‘After the way I’ve treated her? She’d never allow it now.’
She’s only human. She’s got her back to the wall and has come out fighting, just like I thought she would. What were you thinking of, coming between a mother and her child? Put the proposition to her. Give her room to breathe and allow her to think about it. She’s not unreasonable.
Henry shook his head. ‘I’m too ashamed.’
So you should be. You might think what you intend to do is the easy way out, but you’re a coward, and you’re weak and you haven’t got the guts to do it. Look how your hand is shaking. You’ve never seen a man with his head blown off, have you? Your brains will be splattered all over the room.
‘I know what I am, Richard, but you’re wrong about me not having any guts.’
Holding a conversation with a dead man struck Henry as bordering on madness. It was ridiculous! People would think he was insane.