Mask of Innocence

by Roger Ormerod

  Perhaps, though — give him his due — he had been soured by the forced departure of Mary. Pressure had been put on him. It had bruised him permanently.

  This I was thinking as Amelia led the way into their drawing-room, directly opposite the gallery, the room to which the ladies would have withdrawn, in the past, whilst the men passed around the port. In the prescribed direction, of course. But that was in the past.

  It was by far the most pleasant room I’d seen so far, intended for comfort and with a modicum of grandeur thrown in. Carved ceilings and a chandelier, embrasures bearing pots of flowers around the walls, and pictures, too. There had been no mention of these in the will. Then, my attention aroused, I saw that these must be Paul’s. Now professionally framed, they gained in stature. Earlier work, I guessed, as they were more representational than those in the studio. There was a definite touch of Cotman in them. No wonder he was very possessive about the watercolours in the gallery.

  I was surprised to see that Paul was there. My impression had been that he would have gone for an X-ray. But there he was, in a wing-back chair beside a fire that was stacked, and burning furiously. He leaned forward towards it, as though cold. Shock perhaps. I went over to him, put a finger beneath his chin, and gently raised his face. Angrily, he thrust my hand away.

  ‘Only looking,’ I said equably. ‘Nothing broken, then?’

  There was a heavy bruise on one side of his chin, the lip swollen to meet it, and a cut over the other eye. Jennie helped him out, from behind me.

  ‘The ambulance came. They had a look and said it was all right. Because he could move it. His chin. They said we ought to have sent for his doctor, not them.’

  ‘It’s often difficult to decide what’s best,’ I agreed, as she’d sounded a little guilty.

  ‘I’ll live,’ said Paul thickly.

  ‘More’s the pity,’ murmured Jeremy from behind me.

  I had not realised he was in the room. All the chairs were high-backed, and as nobody seemed to want to face anybody else, they were scattered randomly. Tessa was there, too, sitting with her head back and her eyes shut, hoping it would all go away if she didn’t watch it.

  I advanced on Jeremy. He had caused this upset, but I couldn’t feel anything but sorrow for him. He was, after all, the elder son, the eldest child, and he had been badly and unfairly treated.

  ‘And you?’ I asked, advancing on him. My training naturally gave me a touch of authority in this situation, but I was trying not to exert it. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’

  He was seated with his knees spread, forearms on them, and had been staring down at his feet. His head came up challengingly. There were traces of dried blood on his upper lip, and a bruise over his right eye, which was slightly closed. His nose was red and swollen.

  ‘Not exactly civilised behaviour, is it?’ I asked. ‘You and your brother.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ put in Paul quickly. ‘It’s that bloody will. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair, whatever way you look at it.’ This, from Paul, was quite magnanimous.

  Amelia said, ‘Life doesn’t have to be. There’s nothing in the rules about fairness.’ But I caught her eye, winking. They weren’t in the mood for philosophy.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair. But it’s a legal will. You can’t get round it. Contest it in court, yes. You could do that, and I think Mr Russell would confirm that. But it all takes time. Three months at least to prove the will, so how long if it’s contested?’

  Jeremy made an angry gesture of rejection. Paul said, ‘I’m not taking it into any court, and that’s that.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Jennie, obviously thinking of her plans with Joe, who had clearly gone back to his own place.

  Jeremy looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Oh no...you’re all right. Suits you, Jen, doesn’t it?’ There was a bitter tone in his voice.

  She bit her lip and turned away.

  ‘So...’ I asked. ‘What was it all about?’

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ Paul asked in disgust. ‘He wanted me to take the masks away.’

  ‘Away!’ put in Jeremy angrily, the basis of his complaint again being presented to him. ‘I want those damned mask things out of that room. That’s all.’

  ‘Then,’ said Paul, ‘he wants the Sotheby’s rep to look at what’s left in there.’

  ‘So why not?’ Jeremy’s voice was rising.

  Tessa straightened herself stiffly in the chair. ‘I’ll have no squabbling in my presence.’

  I was surprised she’d used that word — squabbling.

  ‘That’s all right...’ Jeremy was speaking pedantically now, in measured tones to lend emphasis to his claims. ‘That’s fine. Blame me. All I want is those damned ugly things out of that room, so when he comes he can see the rest, all together.’

  ‘Not the—’ Paul began, but Jeremy merely raised his voice and went on heavily. ‘That’ll all be mine. I want it like that. From now on.’

  ‘The watercolours are mine.’ Paul was trying to lever himself to his feet. Jennie went and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Mine!’ shouted Jeremy. He darted a glance at his mother. ‘Mine,’ he repeated, but more quietly. Then he went on, appealing to her directly. ‘It’s all I want. He can keep those silly stone heads in his room.’

  ‘I’m not goin’ to hump ‘em up there. Let ‘em stay where they are.’ Paul made an impatient gesture. He’d heard it all before. Too often.

  ‘Out of that gallery. I don’t care where. I’ll take ‘em up to your room for you.’

  ‘No!’ snapped Paul.

  ‘I don’t want the man to be distracted. Worthless rubbish!’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Paul looked round the room in mock wonder at this display of ignorance.

  ‘Or take ‘em up to that damned studio of yours. That’d be best.’

  ‘It’s not mine, it’s Jennie’s cottage now. It’s in the will.’

  Jennie, almost frantic to keep the peace, said quickly, ‘It’s not mine yet. You can use it, though, Paul. Really. I don’t mind. Really.’

  Paul breathed out heavily, his shoulders slumping. ‘I don’t want to get you involved, Jen. That’s all. That idiot over there doesn’t know his foot from his elbow, and if he sells my watercolours from under my nose, I’ll charge him with theft. Theft.’ He darted a look at me, sudden humour in his eyes. In the middle of this, he could find something amusing! ‘Isn’t that so? You tell him. You were a copper. Theft. It’d be a laugh.’

  I ran my hand up the back of my neck. It wasn’t simply that I didn’t wish to become involved, it was that, by offering an opinion, I would be trespassing on Russell’s preserves: civil law. But he had already expressed the basics, and I could see no harm in repeating them. All the same, I couldn’t help sighing.

  ‘It seems to me,’ I said, ‘from what Mr Russell told us, that nothing can be sold until the will’s proved. Otherwise it would be theft from the estate of your father. Which means, Jeremy, that you can’t even attempt to sell your oil paintings. As to the watercolours—’

  ‘I’ll kill him if he touches those,’ said Paul flatly.

  ‘Don’t talk like a child.’ I told him sharply. ‘You’re all acting like children. Let me finish. I would suppose that if Jeremy sold the watercolours, it would be theft, in any event, before or after the probate of the will. If I’m understanding it correctly. But that’s another problem. You’ll have to get another legal opinion, not simply Mr Russell’s, as to the meaning of that phrase in the will, and whether it includes the watercolours with the oil paintings. Or not. But why argue about it now? Why not cool off? There’s months you’ve got to wait.’

  ‘But I can’t wait!’ Jeremy burst out. ‘Can’t.’

  There was silence. We all stared at him. He gestured wildly. ‘I need money. Lots of money. And soon. Or I’m in trouble, and that’s that.’

  ‘Just a second.’ I held up my hand, halting him. ‘Don’t say another word. I don’t want to know.’

&
nbsp; There was a shocked silence in the room now. Coal moved and the flames flickered. Tessa was staring fixedly at the chandelier. I went over to Jeremy.

  ‘I don’t want to hear another word about it,’ I told him quietly. ‘Do you understand? Any hint of anything illegal, and it’d put me in a very difficult situation. A positive statement, and it’d be my duty to report it. Understand, Jeremy? Is that clear?’

  He raised his eyes to me. I feared he was not far from breaking into tears. ‘Can’t you help?’

  I shook my head. ‘Who can? Even your mother...’ Tessa looked at me, startled. She must have been thinking along these lines. ‘She can’t touch the estate. Only for day-to-day expenses.’

  Jeremy looked at his feet. ‘Then I’m sunk.’

  Paul spoke quietly, his eyes on the fire. ‘It’s only the watercolours I want. You can have the damned masks, if it’d help.’

  Jeremy’s head came up. There was a wild light in his eyes for a second, then the hope faded. ‘No. They’re yours. I’m not arguing about that.’

  ‘I can give ‘em away, can’t I?’

  ‘You can’t dispose—’ I began, but Paul jumped in, and I was surprised at the anger in his voice.

  ‘And you can just keep out of it! You an’ your damned law. He can have ‘em. He can raise money on them, can’t he! That bloody stupid will wouldn’t stop that. Wouldn’t.’

  I supposed this to be true, but I had no chance of expressing an opinion. Jeremy came into it again. ‘I don’t want ‘em. They’re yours.’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘And probably worthless, anyway,’ said Jeremy in disgust. Paul gave a flat and almost chilling laugh. ‘One of those masks went at Sotheby’s last month for over £9,000.’

  There was silence. Then Jeremy whispered, ‘What?’

  ‘There’re nineteen of ‘em, Jerry. Nineteen. That’s going on for £180,000. Wouldn’t that dig you out of it — whatever it is?’

  Probably the watercolours were worth that much, too. I had no idea. Paul didn’t think of them in terms of financial value. He wanted them to look at. But the masks...Paul clearly didn’t cherish those. It was, therefore, a very generous gift of £180,000, and not to be rejected lightly. I expected Jeremy to pounce on it.

  But all he said, hoarsely, was, ‘No. They’re yours.’

  Perhaps this had been easy to state before, when Jeremy had no idea of their value. Now, to make that statement must have been agonising.

  But clearly I had not understood Jeremy. My guesses as to his worthiness and honesty had been based on his possible fraudulent behaviour. But he possessed a pedantic, ingrained sense of fairness. Life wasn’t fair; it threw rocks at you when you weren’t looking. Therefore, Jeremy had to counter this with his own personal moral code. On fairness he was rigid. The masks were Paul’s, in Jeremy’s mind, the paintings his. Anything else was not fair. This he clung to with desperation.

  How this reconciled with his possible fraudulent activities, I found it difficult to understand. Perhaps, once money passed into his keeping to be invested, it became a set of figures, a nebulous hypothesis. And you couldn’t steal figures; you manipulated them. That, he could rationalise. If it was pointed out to him that it was theft — fraud — he wouldn’t be able to understand what you were talking about.

  And yet, subliminally, having as he did the basic instinct of rightness and fairness, he must have had difficulty in reconciling his actions. He had perhaps not examined these fully, but the knowledge that he was encroaching on his own deeply felt principles must have concerned him. He could have come very close to self-disgust.

  Thus, to have his morality challenged in this way, to be faced with a chance to reprieve himself, but only at the cost of relinquishing his sense of personal fairness, must have torn him apart distressingly.

  His reaction was violent. In a second he was on his feet, waving his arms wildly, fending off his own mental chaos.

  ‘No. They’re yours. Yours! No. I can’t touch ‘em.’

  ‘No need to touch them, Jerry,’ said Paul quietly. ‘Leave them where they are, and somebody could come, somebody who knows. He’d advance money on them, like a shot. More than enough...wouldn’t it be? More than enough.’

  This generosity pushed Jeremy just too far, into fury. ‘No! You get ‘em out of there. D’you hear me? Up to your bloody room—’

  ‘No. Don’t be an idiot, Jerry.’

  ‘Or your damned cottage. Out of my sight.’

  It would have to be out of his sight, with a Sotheby’s agent at his shoulder and the masks under the same roof. The temptation to show them would drive him insane.

  Paul got to his feet, straightening languidly. ‘And certainly not there. It’s not secure. Act your age, Jerry. The offer stands.’

  And Jennie, wanting to help, bursting with a desire to smooth the way but not really understanding the moral problems here, said, ‘Oh...it’s all right, Paul. The cottage is mine, or will be, and you can use it how you like. Really, Paul.’ She’d tried it once; she was trying it again.

  Paul gave her a weary smile. ‘Thanks, Jen. Good of you. But I’m not going to have nearly £200,000 worth of antiques sitting inside a cottage you could open with a toothpick.’

  ‘You can just get ‘em out of that gallery!’ Jeremy shouted.

  ‘I’m going up for a bath and a change, ma,’ said Paul, and he ambled towards the door.

  I had caught sight of his face as he turned away. It was apparent from his pallor that he wasn’t feeling too good. He went out, and closed the door quietly behind him.

  ‘You get ‘em out of there!’ Jerry shouted after him.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Tessa. ‘What are we going to do with them? They’ll be the death of me.’

  Jeremy turned his head away and stared at the fire, watching his basic principles dancing through the flames. They would either melt, or emerge case-hardened and stronger. In this, he was on his own. It was his life he was staring at. Could he live with himself, sublime in his principles, if he discarded them just this once?

  Jennie went across and sat on the arm of his chair, then ran her fingers through his hair. He jerked his head angrily. Women find it soothing, I believe, but men don’t. Something for Jennie to learn.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of money coming, Jerry,’ she said softly. ‘If it’ll help.’

  He looked up at her with his eyes angry, his lips twisted in an ugly line. ‘How can it...’ Then he caught at his anger, and his voice softened. ‘Thanks, Jennie love. But it’s not enough. Oh Lord, not near enough.’

  She laughed it off, flicking his hair back to where it had been, and sliding off the arm at the same time.

  ‘Never mind. If you don’t want it, I know Joe can use it.’

  She had a level head, Jennie had. Marriage would work for her; Joe would.

  It was with this thought that I calmed my own anger, which I’d tried to keep to myself so far, though I was aware that Amelia was eyeing me with concern. Now I found myself missing my former official authority. In those days I would have tossed both the brothers into cells, far apart, and left them overnight to contemplate on life and the effort of living it.

  It was at this point that Gladys Torrance put her head in and announced that she was ready to serve dinner. Tessa nodded. ‘Thank you, Gladys. We’ll be right in.’

  It was going to be, I thought, a miserable meal.

  This was not so; Tessa seemed to be a person of strong character, as she put behind the tensions she couldn’t really ignore completely and acted the part of hostess. But how often must she have done that, when the county friends visited, and she had to hide the fact that her personal life was in chaos?

  She chatted to me, enquiring as to the tribulations of attempting to uphold the law, and to Amelia about the strain it must be to live with a policeman as her husband. We didn’t tell her that this had not been so, as we had met during what turned out to be my last case, a murder, during which she had emerged as the principal s
uspect.

  Mary, of course, was completely immersed in Jennie. Jeremy was silent, and ate very little, I noticed. Paul did not put in an appearance, but his mother made no comment.

  Afterwards, there seemed nothing to do. Tessa had assumed we would be staying the night, though Amelia, once we were alone in our room, declared that she would like to go home, and right there and then.

  The tension that seemed to permeate the house was the reason for her uneasiness. But it was exactly that atmosphere that told me we ought to stay.

  ‘It’s just...’ She waved her arm vaguely. ‘We seem to be intruding in something that’s entirely a family matter. I don’t find that very pleasant, Richard.’

  ‘Somebody ought to be here, love. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Somebody? But who’re we to offer ourselves? Oh, I know all about your experience. But Richard, it’s not fair. Not fair to take sides. They’re all expecting you to take sides. And you mustn’t do that.’

  ‘I’m trying not to,’ I assured her, staring out at the night. ‘D’you know which is Paul’s room?’

  ‘Oh, Richard! Must you?’

  ‘Just to check he’s all right.’

  ‘Now...you’re not being honest with me, Richard. It’s not like you.’

  ‘Come with me, if you like.’

  ‘May I?’

  I laughed. ‘Of course. Now all we’ve got to do is find where his room is.’

  ‘Oh, I know that. I saw him coming out of the bathroom, with a robe on, so I know where he went from there.’

  ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet.’

  So she took me along the corridor and indicated the bathroom in question. We would need to know that, anyway. Paul’s room was directly opposite.

  I knocked on it, and he called out, ‘Come in.’

  I put my head in. ‘Are you decent? I’ve got my wife with me.’

  ‘Oh, come in, come in. You’re both welcome.’

  He had put on slacks and a shirt and a roll-necked sweater. On a side table there were used plates. Gladys had brought him something to eat. He was standing by the window.