‘Don Martin’s,’ I said. ‘So — Tessa — if he works for somebody else, what was he doing here, and why was he shouting?’
‘He was shouting for Rowland, demanding to see him.’
‘Well, then...’ said Amelia.
Tessa leaned forward slightly. ‘Rowland was terrified of him,’ she confided directly to Amelia, woman to woman. ‘Terrified. He didn’t want to speak to this Charlie, but I knew he had to. He just stood at the head of the stairs, hesitating. So I pushed him.’
I cleared my throat. ‘But you had no intention of bringing about a fall?’
‘No. Of course not. Urging him.’
‘You meant him no harm?’
‘Most certainly not.’
I looked sideways at Amelia. She had her lower lip caught in her teeth, her eyes bright.
‘Well, Tessa,’ I said, ‘in that case, you could go to the police station yourself and tell it all to the Superintendent there, and he’d send you packing. He’d laugh at you. It wasn’t murder, it wasn’t even manslaughter, because you intended to do no more than urge him. It was purely and simply a fatal accident, which was how it must have been accepted in the first place.’
She was silent, staring straight ahead with no expression on her face, then she shook her head as though freeing her mind, and I saw that two tears were running gently down her nose, slowly and undemonstratively. We waited.
In the end she gave a sudden shudder, like a shaggy dog shedding rain-water. Her voice was very quiet, though quite steady. ‘I’m much obliged to you.’
I shrugged. ‘For very little.’
‘It has been a...a weight on my mind.’
‘And now?’
She managed a thin smile. ‘Now I can marry Geoffrey.’
‘With a clear conscience?’
She made no reply to that, her thoughts reaching away into the future. Then at last she spoke, for the first time with decision. ‘I shall sell this place, of course.’
Amelia knew nothing of Tessa’s plans, but she used her imagination. ‘Isn’t it the ancestral home?’ she asked chattily, as though it was of no more than minor interest.
‘Ancestral?’
‘The Searle home. Jeremy the seventh baronet, or something. You just can’t...’
She laughed. She wasn’t used to laughing, and the tone it produced was flat and humourless.
‘Oh no — it’s not like that. It’s not an earldom. Rowland wasn’t Lord Searle of Penhavon. No...the house has nothing to do with it. Jeremy will be — is — Sir Jeremy Searle. This doesn’t have to be his ancestral home. He can live in a bed-sitter — as I believe they call them — and he’ll still be Sir Jeremy Searle. I think you’ll find the bequest, in that respect, is valid. I have the house, and what money there’s left. I don’t expect there’ll be much.’
I couldn’t imagine a comfortable future for Sir Jeremy Searle. ‘And Jeremy personally? I understand he’s short of ready money.’
She gave a minimal shrug, and seemed to ignore the question. ‘I shall put the place on the market, as they say, though I understand the housing situation is very difficult at this time. The boys can stay here until it’s sold. I suppose. Or would vacant possession be a better way of offering it? I believe so. Penhavon Park, with vacant possession. That sounds very attractive, don’t you think?’
The worry had been lifted from her mind. She was now more fluent and more self-possessed. The practical woman was emerging, released after many years of living beneath domination, or that was the impression she wished to convey. But she’d had no time to think it through.
‘And Jeremy?’ I asked.
‘Jeremy?’
‘He’s been virtually dispossessed. The oil paintings are worth nothing.’
‘I’ll look after him.’
‘Virtually dispossessed on purpose.’ I was trying to make it plain to her.
‘Well, yes. I rather expected that. Jeremy has been a great worry. I know for a fact that Rowland helped him several times. Jeremy has proved to be a very incompetent accountant — or a very unscrupulous one.’
‘But you’ll help him out, nevertheless?’
‘If there’s anything left after estate duties and the rest — yes. But I fear there’ll be very little.’
I glanced at Amelia. Tessa, though treated as an appendage by her husband, had seen and heard what had been going on. She was certainly not stupid.
‘And,’ she added, ‘after the sums of money Rowland paid to Charles Pinson.’
Her words lay heavily on the ensuing silence.
‘Bookmakers in this district have become very rich,’ she explained drily.
I cleared my throat. ‘There would have to be something—’
With a note of acid in her voice she interrupted. ‘When that was really a gamekeeper’s lodge, there was a gamekeeper. Rowland used to invite friends, influential friends, to shoot over his land. Charles Pinson was the gamekeeper.’
Then she looked beyond me, her lips clamped together firmly, leaving me to make what I might from that statement.
6
We were back in our room, and I’d told Amelia the details of what she’d missed from Tessa. She had asked whether we might care to stay the night, but in a tone that suggested it would be for her benefit rather than ours. I still wasn’t at all certain what she expected from us, unless she felt that something might be about to happen. If so, I couldn’t imagine what.
And it really wasn’t convenient. We had come unprepared, expecting no more than an hour’s visit. A reading of the will, that had been the full agenda. We might now, logically, take Mary back with us. Or Mary might wish to make a short stay of it, with Jennie. That would be logical. Then...it would need only a phone call from her, and I could easily run over to pick her up, at any time. But no — Lady Theresa Searle had requested that we — Amelia and I, but of course including Mary — should stay overnight.
It was now nearly five o’clock, dark outside but with the stars clear and brittle. A frost, I thought, we’re going to get a frost. Presumably, there would be afternoon tea, though there had been no information on that, and evening dinner at eight thirty or nine, I had to assume.
‘We could run home for a change of clothes,’ said Amelia. ‘Perhaps pack a bag. Oddments. You never know...’
‘Hmm!’ I gave it consideration. ‘But I’d feel easier if one of us stayed here.’
‘Why? Why would you feel easier?’
‘Can’t you sense it?’ I asked. ‘The whole damned house is quiet as a morgue — and I don’t like it.’
‘I’ll stay, Richard,’ she said quickly. ‘And keep an eye on things. If that’s what you want.’
‘But you’ll keep out of it?’
‘Oh yes. Of course. But how will you know what to bring for me?’
I smiled at her. ‘I rather thought I’d take Mary.’
‘Well...you crafty devil, Richard. You want her to yourself — probing and questioning. It’s not very pleasant, is it, spying on a friend?’
I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Look at it the other way. Finding out the background — discovering any danger hanging around.’
She frowned heavily. ‘Danger, Richard?’
‘Embarrassment, then.’
‘You’ve got something in mind, haven’t you?’ she demanded. ‘I’ll not have Mary worried. I’m warning you...’
‘Now, now,’ I said. ‘I’m on her side. Remember? I’ll just pop into the kitchen on the way out — might cadge a cup of tea — and I’ll bet that’s where I’ll find Mary.’ I went to the door and paused with my hand on the door handle. ‘Oh, by the way — how old do you think she is...our Mary, I mean?’
‘Now how can that possibly...’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Richard! You’re not thinking...oh dear.’ She stopped.
‘Thinking what?’
‘That she could’ve been under sixteen when...oh, but that’s ridiculous. Jennie can’t be more than forty.’
She bit her lip to
silence.
‘And Mary...now?’ I asked softly.
‘I’d...I’d always thought of her as being at least sixty, but, but...Oh, damn you, Richard.’
I grinned at her. ‘And if she’s younger? She’ll not have had an easy time of it, you know. Hence the touches of grey. And with the age of consent at sixteen, then and now, and if Mary was a little under seventeen when Jennie was born — and she did say something about being only seventeen, and Jennie about fortyish, now, that would make Mary around fifty-eight. Maybe fifty-nine. Would you say I’m a little younger than Mary? Five or six years, say.’
‘No, no. You mustn’t even suggest it to her. Not so much as a hint. Richard...I think I’ll come with you myself.’
I shrugged. ‘If you don’t think it matters...and you surely don’t think I’d ask?’
‘Oh damn you, Richard. You trap people. And how does it matter?’
I considered for a few moments about shrugging it off and saying something very futile about instincts and feelings. But Amelia had to know my thoughts on it.
‘Tessa told me that Charlie Pinson was here, that day Rowland died. Shouting. Shouting for Rowland. She maintains that Rowland was scared of Charlie. Now why would that be, I wonder? That’s what I have to ask myself. And the answer keeps coming back the same — that Charlie was the gamekeeper. It was in his cottage — or lodge as they call it — that Rowland and Mary used to meet. She hasn’t said so, of course, and I only dared to make a guess at it. But that seemed to be obvious. But...it would have to have been done with Charlie Pinson’s knowledge. Had to be. With his connivance, even. But Charlie would have known his own sister’s age, to a day. He’d have known that Rowland was committing a crime, if she was under sixteen when it happened. Over sixteen when Jennie was born, perhaps, and Mary’s said seventeen — but she might have been playing safe. But it would’ve been something like criminal assault, if I’m guessing right. Could Sir Rowland Searle of Penhavon Park afford such a thing to be revealed? Not on your life. Perhaps Rowland slipped him a fiver, each time they used the cottage. Later — it would have become straight blackmail.’
Amelia was staring at me, pale, her eyes huge. ‘But not — surely not continuing all these years. It would be past history. Not recently, Richard.’
‘I don’t know. Rowland could have thought the danger was still around. And it may not be true, what Tessa told us. Charlie might not have been here at the house when Rowland died. It could all have been a pack of lies. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. But I’d dearly love to find out.’
‘Mary,’ she said softly, ‘must be closer to sixty-five than sixty.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ I said soothingly. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Then don’t you dare to go asking her.’
‘Of course not. I’ll just find her, and we’ll be off. She’ll want a change of clothes herself, anyway.’
But Mary, when I found her, chatting in the kitchen with Gladys, seemed well equipped with clothes. Jennie and she were much the same build, so that no end of Jennie’s clothes seemed to be available to Mary. But they were a younger person’s clothes. Now, in dark slacks, a white cotton shirt, and a short black jacket, Mary could indeed have been no more than sixty...though the brown hair, shot through with grey, was misleading. But at the moment she could have been even less, though I had to take into account the fact that this exciting day had flushed away a number of years, and she was as bouncy and chirpy as her daughter.
‘Richard?’ she asked as I entered, half rising to her feet.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve just come to cadge a cup of tea, then I’m off home.’
‘We’re going back—’
‘I am. A fleeting visit, Mary. Tessa’s asked us to stay overnight. Amelia and I, that is. You’re taken for granted — she’ll obviously not expect you to rush away. But we all need a change of clothes. Who knows, it might stretch to more than one night. And I thought you might care to come along. I might not make too many mistakes in choosing things for Amelia, but I wouldn’t care to rummage through your dressing table, or whatever.’
This assumed that Mary might not be happy about wearing Jennie’s clothes.
‘I’d think not — indeed,’ said Gladys.
‘Oh...I’ll come,’ Mary decided, nodding. ‘I’ll come, certainly. And I did want a little chat, Richard. Now? Are we going now?’
‘After I’ve had my cup of tea.’
‘And I’ll take a tray up to your wife,’ said Gladys.
I thanked her, found a spare chair, and sat beside Mary, not at all disappointed with the way it had gone. But I’d planned my approach carefully, on my way down the staircase, aware that walking down the centre of the treads was a minimal hazard, as they were naturally wider at the centre than at the edges. In fact, the extra width made the fall less steep. How difficult it would be to break your neck falling down there! You’d really have to try your very best.
And now...here I was, presented with the fact that Gladys obviously went up and down that staircase many times a day, sometimes with a tray in her hands, and with no chance of using the banister then. Yet she had survived.
Tessa’s strained admission of a push — an urging push — was becoming less and less credible the more I considered it.
So — where did that leave me? Nowhere.
In cardboard boxes, padded with old and tatty blankets, the dogs were comfortably dozing. They hadn’t leapt forward in welcome at my entrance, having Mary safely in sight. But when she got up to leave they were out in a flash. Both of us leaving, so they had to be in on it. I fussed them a bit, and promised to be back. But all the same, as we walked round from the kitchen, I heard one of them howl. Jake, that would be. Amelia would hear, and come down to them, possibly even take them out for a short walk. But it was dark, no moon, only the stars. It wouldn’t be pleasant, with the grim, grey building looming over her.
I settled Mary in the passenger’s seat, made sure her seat-belt was fastened, and then we were off.
It was an ideal evening for driving, and I knew the route now. Later, perhaps, there could be frost. I would have to consider that on the way back.
Mary was silent all the way through the lanes and villages, until we hit the open road. Then she said, ‘You know very well Amelia would have come, Richard. So why me? Is it because you want to throw questions at me?’
‘I thought we ought to have a quiet talk,’ I admitted. ‘You said the same thing.’
‘Interrogate me, you people call it.’
‘That’s the point of the car, Mary. Interrogation is face to face. In a car it’s informal. One friend to another. Hmm?’
‘If you care to put it like that.’ But she seemed distant and cool. ‘What is it you wanted to know?’
‘I’m not at all certain. How the adoption came about — what about starting there?’
I was aware that I was assuming a lot from very little evidence, but I had to take the risk.
‘Came about?’ she asked.
I was silent, overtaking a farm tractor along a narrow stretch of road. Then I said, ‘It must have been terrible for you, Mary, parting with Jennie.’
There was no answer. I glanced sideways. She was very still, and a little withdrawn. When she eventually replied, it was so quietly that I had to strain my ears above the engine hum and the tyre whine.
She was hesitant, her voice unsteady. ‘When...when it was obvious I was going to have a baby, the mistress — I thought of Tessa as the mistress in those days — she was all for getting rid of me as fast as possible. You can imagine. Of course, she’d guessed the truth. She’d have had to be very foolish if she hadn’t. Guessed the child would be Rowland’s, I mean, and this was when the doctor had told her she couldn’t have any more children herself. Poor Tessa. Oh, I did feel miserable for her. But Rowland refused to dismiss me. There were the two boys, you see, and we were very attached to each other. Rowland wouldn’t have it. The house had room for another chi
ld, he said. All it would mean was that I’d have three to look after, instead of two. But that was Rowland, dreaming his dreams — and I do believe he thought Tessa had no idea about the father. So silly. I went away to have the baby, of course, a private place. Rowland paid for that. Just think, if I’d been living back in our old cottage by the Red Lion, that’s where I’d probably have had her. But it was a proper maternity home, and I brought Jennie back from there. As though Tessa was going to let me stay at the house! It was too obvious. Too obvious.’
‘Obvious?’ I wondered how it could’ve become more obvious than it had been.
‘Obvious that Jennie was Rowland’s child, of course. Tessa said she had the Searle nose.’
This was quite absurd. The long, aristocratic nose of Jeremy and Paul was clearly Tessa’s — in her family line — and nobody could dispute that Jeremy and Paul were her children. The Searle nose? Had she been taunting Rowland?
‘A baby?’ I asked. ‘Surely—’
But Mary, once launched, was determined to sail ahead.
‘Tessa saw what she wanted to see. She’s always been like that. She wanted me and the baby out of the house. There were hysterics. Oh...she can be quite placid. You’d never think she felt anything. But it makes things worse, don’t you think, Richard? Bottling it up. She’d go into sudden tantrums. “Get them out of my sight!” That sort of thing, when the boys had been too noisy for too long. And certainly, positively, I had to go.’
I noticed that now it was Mary who’d had to go. Tessa had perhaps softened her line on the baby, Jennie. Had been obliged to. But Mary was the most important one who had to go.
‘I think I can understand what she felt,’ I said quietly.
‘But, poor Rowland!’ she said. ‘It left me as the bargaining issue. As though they were haggling over the price of a new dress she’d bought. No — that’s backwards. Haggling over a new shotgun he’d bought. I’d become a “thing”, to be argued over. And what could I say, amongst all that?’
‘I don’t know, Mary. What did you say?’
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