by Rack, Ruin
‘If all this is true, Tansy,’ the superintendent told her, ‘whatever Jay Taylor’s belief, it would still have to be proved. Until then it’s a conjecture based on circumstantial evidence: rumour, an elderly person’s memory, the name of someone, who might have been acting as no more than a good friend in need, registering a baby’s birth… this wouldn’t be enough in law. A DNA test would have settled it; if Monty, say, had agreed to participate. He might have been loath to do so. If it did prove it, it would make Lionel Taylor Monty’s half-brother. Jay would be right.’
Tansy nodded. ‘I think he was right. I sort of feel it in my bones. My mother says the Bickerstaffes were always very cagey about Edward, even though the poor chap died before he was fifty. My grandfather Harry – Monty’s cousin – remembered his Uncle Edward smoking like a chimney; and told us some chest complaint took him off, not surprisingly. Mummy later got the impression from Grandpa that Edward had blotted his copybook somehow, although she’d no idea how or when. Neither of us did until Jay starting digging and presented us with his findings.’
Tansy leaned forward earnestly. ‘But Uncle Monty never knew anything about Elizabeth’s baby, or the affair or any of it. He was only a schoolboy himself at the time. I told you, it was all hushhush and “we don’t speak of it”. So when poor Uncle Monty found a dead man on his sofa and told you, the police, he didn’t have a clue who he was, he was telling you the truth. He didn’t know and he still doesn’t.’
Tansy stared at them disconsolately. ‘I suppose the poor old chap will have to be told now. He’ll have to be told everything. About Mum and me feeding Jay that—’
The solicitor coughed loudly and leaned towards her. ‘The prosecution will have to establish that. I advise you not to say anything about it now.’
‘Yes,’ Carter said to Tansy. ‘He will have to be told everything, I’m afraid.’
‘It will be such an awful shock for him. And it’s all Jay’s fault!’ Tansy burst out furiously.
‘Miss Peterson—’ began the solicitor again.
‘Oh, shut up!’ snapped Tansy, rounding on him.
The unfortunate young man subsided into a depressed huddle, still clutching his briefcase to him, and probably contemplating the premature end of a promising career.
She turned back to Jess and Carter. ‘Jay traced all the surviving Bickerstaffes and collateral descendants. That was easy enough because the Bickerstaffe family were once well known in the biscuit world. There are all sorts of references to us. You can even still find the odd packet of biscuits with the name on it. The family don’t own the firm any longer, of course. They sold that ages ago. But you can trace the Bickerstaffes, every last remote branch of the tree, with no problem. Jay even found me. He also went off to see if Sneddon Farm Cottage, where his grandmother had lived, and Balaclava House, where his grandfather hung out, were still there. The cottage had fallen down and had obviously always been a dump. But Balaclava was a different matter. It was also pretty much a ruin, but it sat on a big piece of land. It belonged to Monty Bickerstaffe, who was childless and old. It was then Jay got his crazy idea that he was morally entitled to inherit Balaclava. Of course, his father had been born illegitimate, and no Bickerstaffe had ever recognised him, but Jay still thought Balaclava should be his; and he meant to get his grubby paws on it somehow or other. So, you see, it was all his fault.
‘He started plotting and planning and snooping round in the way he did so well, and decided to use me. He’d seek me out and chat me up. That would be easy for him to do. He was good at interviewing people and getting the “real” story from them. That was the journalist’s training he’d had. I was stupid enough to be flattered he liked me, as I thought. I believed for a while that he loved me. I was even ready to marry him at that point, although I dare say I only really wanted to spite my mother. She was so dead against him from the start. I should have been sharper, too. I’m not normally that thick when judging men.
‘Well, he got from me that I was Uncle Monty’s heir in his will. Jay thought he’d hit the jackpot. He’d marry me. This was when I was still obviously dewy-eyed over him! I’d inherit the house and he’d persuade me to pull it down. When I told him I’d found out what he was up to, and he could forget any idea of marrying me, he said he’d press his own claim to Balaclava. He said he was a closer blood relative than I was to Uncle Monty. We all call Monty “Uncle”, but he was my grandfather’s cousin. So, I’m a cousin’s granddaughter, that’s my relationship to Monty. But Jay was his nephew, his nephew! I wasn’t sure Jay couldn’t persuade Monty to alter his will. Jay could be very persuasive and who knew? Monty might be tickled pink to find out he had a nephew. So I talked it over with Mum and we decided that we had to kill him—’
‘Miss Peterson!’ pleaded her distraught solicitor.
‘I wasn’t going to let him think he could use me and get away with it – and I wasn’t going to let him get his hands on Balaclava, pull it down, and cover the whole place with horrid little starter homes, so there.’
Tansy turned her attention to Jess. ‘I told you once I’d never had an aim, any goal in life. That wasn’t quite true. I’ve always had a secret dream, since I was a kid. It was to make Balaclava beautiful again. I wasn’t going to let Jay kill that dream, although I suppose now he pretty well has. That’s my real punishment, you know. I don’t care about being sent to gaol. I thought if I killed him, my dream would live on. Now it’s gone. I’ve got nothing left – and that includes nothing more to say,’ Tansy finished.
‘Yes!’ agreed her solicitor fervently. ‘Say absolutely nothing more, please!’
Chapter 20
‘So,’ said Jess into the phone, ‘I owe you a dinner, Tom. That magazine photo you remembered and dug out for us, gave us the link that took us to Tansy, and then to her mother.’
‘You don’t owe me dinner,’ said Tom’s voice in her ear. ‘Glad to have been of some use. You can buy me a drink, if you like. Are you free this evening? We could drive out into the country and find a decent pub, one that does steak and chips. I have a hankering for steak.’
‘That would be fine,’ Jess told him.
‘Then I’ll stop by your flat and pick you up at, say, seven thirty tonight?’
Jess confirmed that would suit her perfectly, as Morton appeared in the doorway. ‘See you later,’ she told Tom in farewell.
‘One of us,’ Morton said gloomily, ‘has to go and see the old fellow at Balaclava House and give him all the lurid news about his family. What’s he going to make of it all? He’s already had to be told two of his family are murderers. Now we’ve got to add in to the mix his father’s fling with a neighbour – and a neighbour who ended up as Monty’s own mother-in-law. Then you’ve got a brother and a nephew, neither of whom he had the slightest idea existed. The nephew was the man he found dead on his sofa. What’s poor old Monty going to make of all that? His head will be spinning. They talk about dysfunctional families nowadays. What was that Bickerstaffe bunch like, if not dysfunctional? It’s like a blooming soap opera; they ought to put it on the telly.’
‘It’s going to be a lot for Monty to take in,’ Jess agreed. ‘And it’s a real tragedy, however you look at it.’
Morton shook his head and then looked at her desperately. ‘It’s not going to be my job, is it? To go and tell him? Not only does that house give me the creeps, but I can’t play the agony aunt. There’s a load of other work on my desk, as well.’
‘I’ll go,’ Jess said briskly and Morton looked relieved. ‘I’m not an agony aunt, either, but I agree he has to be told as soon as possible. As you say, he knows Tansy’s under arrest and Bridget, too, even if she’s still in hospital. He’s got to be bewildered and wondering why on earth it’s happened. He’ll have to be told exactly why and what the motive for it all was. I’ll go there now, this morning. I’ll ask the superintendent if he wants to come with me.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Morton and took himself off before Jess could change her
mind.
‘No, I don’t think so, Jess,’ said Carter when she relayed her question. ‘The old chap likes you and I think you’ll handle it better than I would. I’d be in the way. Besides, there’s a mountain of paperwork to do and get off to the Crown Prosecution Service. I haven’t the time.’
‘Men!’ muttered Jess to herself, as she drove to Balaclava House. ‘As soon as it’s got to do with emotions and love affairs and babies, they’re suddenly all too busy!’
It was a fine, bright day, if a little chilly. As she passed Pascal’s garage, she saw Seb standing by the petrol pumps talking to a spindly youth in overalls. Alfie’s replacement, Jess supposed. At least Pascal had got over his fear of reappearing at his place of business, even though Pete Sneddon was now out on bail, awaiting his trial date at the Crown Court. Pete no longer had a gun, and his licence to own one had been revoked, but there were plenty of other objects around a farmyard that would make a weapon. Sneddon, however, was banned by court order from approaching Pascal or his garage. He had given assurances that he wouldn’t and seemed to have lost the urge to take any action. The police were confident there would be no repeat of the earlier drama. Jess hoped they’d judged it right. Sneddon was busy working about his farm and Rosie was coping somehow. One of her married daughters had come to stay and lend a hand keeping an eye on her father.
Balaclava House, however, had a visitor. A yellow Renault Megane hatchback was parked outside the gates. Jess parked alongside it, and walked up the drive to the front door. It was ajar. Now that Monty was back in residence, it seemed he had reverted to his old bad habit. She walked in and stood for a moment, listening and looking up the staircase to where the sun threw patches of red and yellow across the wall from the stained-glass Jezebel window. She could hear voices in the drawing room. The driver of the Megane. Now, who could that be? Jess set off towards the sound.
The drawing room was in an even greater state of disarray than it had been originally, difficult though that would have been to imagine when Jess first saw it. Now it looked as though a whirlwind had hit it. The air was full of the disturbed dust of years and Jess had to pinch the bridge of her nose to stop herself sneezing. Cupboards and drawers were open, their contents spilled on to the faded carpet. What on earth was going on? Was a desperate robber ransacking the place?
Then she saw that, in the middle of this chaos, Monty was sitting in an armchair, gripping the arms so fiercely that the veins on the backs of his hands stood out like cords. He was glaring at an unknown, middle-aged woman who looked reassuringly normal and non-threatening. Nor was Monty exhibiting alarm, just simmering resentment. His visitor was moving around, picking up items and putting each into whichever she considered appropriate of several wooden crates. As she did so, she carried on a one-sided conversation with Monty under the guise of consulting him.
‘What about these?’ She held up a pair of china shepherdesses. ‘Would you like to take these, keep them to remind you? They’re very pretty and would look nice in your new home.’
‘Chuck them out!’ growled Monty.
‘Nonsense, of course not! I’ll put them in the box going to the auction rooms. They’re too good for Oxfam and probably worth quite a bit. They should be valued properly.’
She became aware of Jess, standing by the door, and paused in her activity. ‘Hello?’ she said, managing to make the work both a greeting and a question.
‘Inspector Campbell,’ Jess told her, taking out her ID. ‘I’ve just called by to see how Monty’s doing.’
‘I’m not doing at all,’ said Monty loudly before the woman could answer. He pointed at his helper. ‘Her name is Hilda and she’s married to someone in the family.’
‘I’m Hilda Potter,’ explained the woman. ‘My husband’s mother was a Bickerstaffe.’ She made this claim with pride.
‘You’d think it was something special, wouldn’t you?’ snarled Monty. ‘Well, it is, in its way. It’s specially awful – a curse!’
‘Now, Monty,’ began Hilda. ‘You don’t mean—’
‘What would you know about it?’ Monty interrupted her rudely. He turned back to Jess. ‘They’re packing me up, too. Packing off, more like it! I’m going to some damn sheltered flat.’
‘You’ll be very comfy there,’ said Hilda, undaunted. ‘Do you want to keep some of those books over there?’
‘No,’ snapped Monty. ‘No one’s opened any of them for fifty years. I’m not going to start reading them now!’
‘I think we’ll get an antiquarian bookseller in to look them over. You never know.’
Monty hauled himself up out of his armchair. ‘Come into the kitchen,’ he invited Jess. ‘She’s driving me barmy.’
‘Oh, I can take a hint!’ said Hilda breezily. ‘You stay here and have a nice chat with the inspector. I’ll go upstairs and see about making a start up there.’
‘You see what it’s come to?’ Monty asked Jess, when Hilda had gone. He sank back into his armchair and gestured at another. ‘Sit down, m’dear. Like a drop of whisky? The bottle’s hidden in that coal scuttle there. She hasn’t found it yet.’
‘I won’t have a drink, thanks, Monty.’ Jess took a seat facing him. ‘I am very sorry for everything that’s happened. I deeply regret Mrs Harwell is so badly hurt. But the hospital says she should recover in due course. There are thankfully no significant internal injuries. As for Tansy, I do understand how you must feel. I know how fond of her you were—’
‘Still am!’ snapped Monty.
‘Oh, good.’ There didn’t seem to be much more Jess could say about that. She indicated their surroundings and went on, ‘I’m particularly sorry you’re leaving Balaclava. I know you don’t want to go. But the new flat will be warm and comfortable and I dare say you’ll be much nearer the shops. You won’t have to walk all that way to buy – er – groceries.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Monty mumbled. ‘I know I’ve got to go. In a way I’m not sorry to be rid of the place. It’s caused nothing but trouble. Truth is, I should have sold it years ago. I can’t think why I was so keen on staying on here. It’s not as if it holds any happy memories. The whole place is jinxed.’
‘Is it to be sold, then?’ Jess asked him.
‘Yes, and there’s already a buyer, believe it or not. Some property developer by the name of Hemmings. Good luck to him. I don’t care if he pulls it down. He’s paying a fair price. There’ll be enough money to set me up in the new flat; and there will be a nice little bit left over in the bank for young Tansy, when she gets out of gaol.’ He looked up at Jess. ‘She will go to gaol, I suppose?’
‘I can’t second-guess the verdict, Monty, but it was a cold-blooded, carefully planned murder, carried out by both women. Bridget may be in hospital now, but she’ll stand trial too, eventually. Tansy didn’t have anything to do with the dead man being left here on your sofa. You should know that. But she plotted together with her mother, was present at the fatal lunch, even gave a hand helping prepare it, and she watched her mother drive away with the dying man. She could have rung the police, rung an ambulance, anything, if she’d wanted to save Taylor. She didn’t.’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Monty said calmly. ‘He betrayed her. Bickerstaffe women don’t take kindly to being betrayed. Bickerstaffe women kill.’
This seemed an over-the-top statement to Jess but she let it go. She had to tackle the duty that had brought her.
‘I’ve come to explain some things, Monty, things you might not know about. Some of it may come as a shock. But you need to know because, among other reasons, you’ll understand why Bridget and Tansy plotted together as they did. You must be wondering. Not that anything can excuse them, murder can never be excused, but they had what they considered a motive.’
Monty said nothing, avoiding Jess’s gaze, and staring meditatively into space. He was listening; Jess knew that. Tentatively she began to unfold the details of that old doomed love affair and its consequences. She told him of his father and Elizabeth Henderson,
of Lionel’s birth, the adoption, Jay’s discovery of the truth and his belief he had a claim on Balaclava. She went on to explain how he hoped to use Tansy, once he’d learned she was to inherit the house, by marrying her and in time persuading her to sell off the whole estate. When Tansy indignantly refused to go along with his plan, he had been prepared to tackle Monty directly, claiming to be a nephew. Not knowing how this would play with Monty, the two women had panicked.
At this point, Monty muttered, ‘No, no… Wouldn’t have changed my will in favour of a complete stranger!’ Otherwise he made no comment.
When she had finished, they sat again in silence for a while. In the quietness she heard Hilda Potter come down the main staircase, go out of the front door and almost at once re-enter. She began to puff her way up the staircase again. What had she taken out to her car, wondered Jess, that couldn’t be put in one of the waiting crates?
Monty stirred in his chair. ‘Secrets are buggers,’ he said. There was another long pause, before he went on, ‘The only place for them is out in the open where they can’t muck up anyone’s life. There was I, all those years thinking I was the only one who knew. The truth was they all knew, but they thought I didn’t.’
‘You knew about this?’ Jess asked incredulously.
‘What?’ Monty looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there and the words he’d spoken had been an observation made to himself. ‘Oh, no, not all of it, not by a long chalk. I didn’t know Mrs Henderson, Penny’s mamma, had a baby. Lionel, you say his name was? I had no idea that fellow sprawled on my sofa over there…’ Monty pointed at the piece of furniture in question. ‘Was in any way related to me. But I knew about the affair between my father and Penny’s mother. I came across them in Shooter’s Wood, in flagrante delicto. I was twelve at the time. They didn’t see me. They were too busy! I crept away. But there was no disguising what was going on. Young as I was, I knew what it must be. I went to a boys’ boarding school, you see. We eavesdropped on the older boys and they seemed to talk of almost nothing else. It fired our curiosity and made us precocious little brats. But I never told my friends at school about Shooter’s Wood. I couldn’t speak to anyone of what I’d seen. It was my secret and I’ve kept it for over sixty years.’