A Sprig of Sea Lavender

by JRL Anderson

  ‘What has happened to Malcolm?’

  ‘He and a woman with him called Trish – or Patricia – have been arrested on very grave charges, which must now include the murder of a policeman. Did you know about the Southampton bullion robbery just over three years ago?’

  ‘Know? God knows. You asked me to tell you the truth – it is very hard to know what is the truth. I knew Rupert Lexington, of course. He was a friend from the old days. Yes, I suppose I did know. I knew Malcolm was a bad lot. There were other things. He was . . . he was not very nice to me. There were always other women. I left him – or he left me – about two years before the affair at Southampton. I could have divorced him, and perhaps I should, but I’m a Catholic, and I cannot bring myself to divorce. Although we have long been separated, he still turns up sometimes. He has been here. I try not to think about him, but I can’t help wondering . . . wondering if, when he comes to see me, he wants an alibi for being somewhere else. That may be unfair. Before you came, the police have never been to me about him. He’s very clever.’

  ‘How did you get the money to buy Moat Cottage?’

  ‘My great-uncle died and left me some money. I’ve always wanted to do something like this, and I thought I’d put my money into it before Malcolm could get at it. I didn’t have quite enough, but Aunt Emily – that’s Mrs Marshall –I’ve always liked her and we’ve got on together – was able to lend me the rest.’

  ‘Whose idea was that extraordinary clause in your contract about buying with the property anything found below ground?’

  ‘It was Malcolm. Aunt Emily helped to bring him up, and she’s about the only person he’s always been fairly nice to. She has a soft spot for him, in spite of knowing what he’s like. She told him that she was helping me to buy Moat Cottage. To my surprise he said it was a good idea, told me that with these old properties you never know what may turn up, and suggested that we insisted on a clause to safeguard my rights. But how on earth do you know about the contract?’

  ‘You must accept that I do. I suppose Poplar’s Fen belongs to Mrs Marshall?’

  ‘Yes, but she hasn’t been there for years, and I’ve never been there. Her mother died when she was a child, and she lived in the old mill with her father. He seems to have been rather an eccentric. She never had much schooling, but her father was an educated man and he used to teach her. The Winterers were a good family once, but they had this vein of eccentricity and they fell on hard times. Aunt Emily’s father died when she was about seventeen. There was nothing but the old mill and a bit of surrounding fen, and nobody wanted to buy it in those days. She went into service with some people who then lived at Southwold, but soon afterwards they moved to Lavenham, and she came with them. She married here. Her husband was a lot older than she was. He was wounded in the First World War and had some sort of pension. I think he had a little money of his own, but it wasn’t much. He did have the cottage where Aunt Emily still lives, but when he died she didn’t have enough to live on so she went back to work. Domestic work was all she knew about, but she’s a hard worker and very good at it, and she always found people who wanted her as a daily. She’s a careful, saving person, which was how she had the money to lend me when I needed it.’

  ‘And when Malcolm asked if he could use the mill, she just said yes?’

  ‘It wasn’t quite like that. Malcolm said he thought the mill could be used as a sort of holiday camp, to provide a bit of income for her when she was too old to work. She told him to go ahead. Of course he never gave her anything – I don’t think she ever really expected anything.’

  ‘Did you know where Rupert Lexington was living after his escape from prison?’

  She didn’t answer at once. Then she replied with a question. ‘Did you follow the trial closely?’ Answering herself, she went on, ‘Of course you must have done. So you’ll remember that the others got twenty-five years, but Rupert only fifteen. The gold, some in bars, some in South African gold coins, came by ship, and was being sent to London in two big security vans. Just outside Southampton the road was partly blocked by a faked road accident, with smashed cars, an ambulance, and men in police uniform to direct traffic. The security vans were stopped and the guards tricked into getting out to help the police release a man they said was under one of the smashed cars. Then the “police” got into the vans and drove off. One of the security men tried to stop them and was shot. He was wounded, but wasn’t killed. Rupert didn’t go off in the vans with the others, but stayed behind to drag the wounded man off the road and do what he could to stop the flow of blood. Then he got away in the fake ambulance. The wounded security man had recovered by the time of the trial. He identified Rupert and told how Rupert had tried to help him. A doctor gave evidence to say that without Rupert’s help the man would almost certainly have died. That was why the judge reduced Rupert’s sentence.’

  ‘You haven’t said if you knew where Rupert Lexington was living while he was on the run.’

  ‘Haven’t I told you enough? I have said that Rupert was an old friend. He did wrong things, but wasn’t bad, like Malcolm. He was weak, I suppose. His father had a flourishing business, and Rupert had too much money at Cambridge. Then something went wrong, his father died, the business was bankrupt and there wasn’t any money. His mother had gone off years before, divorced and married someone else. Rupert left Cambridge without taking a degree. He was used to having money, and I think he didn’t care much how he got it. Do you know how he lost the top joint of his little finger?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Trying to mend my bicycle chain when I was about eleven.’

  Piet changed his line of questioning.

  ‘All the security guards said that there were five men in the group that tricked them. Only four were ever caught. Do you know who the fifth man was?’

  ‘I’ve told you that I don’t know.’

  Again Piet changed his questions.

  ‘Have you met the woman called Trish who is apparently living with your husband?’

  ‘I’ve met a girl called Trish, but only briefly, and I didn’t know she was living with Malcolm. It was some little time ago. She came here early one morning with another girl called Sandra Telford, whom I do know quite well. She’s a painter, and a good one. I’ve sold several of her pictures, and I had some more for sale, but she took them away because she said she wanted them for an exhibition in London. I lent her one of those big portfolios to carry them in –like the one I gave you last week. The next morning she came back, with the girl called Trish, who was driving her to the station to catch a train for London. Sandra just introduced her, something like, “This is Trish. She’s one of us at Poplar’s Fen. She’s taking me to Sudbury for the train.” Sandra was in rather a state. She said she’d lost her handbag and wondered if she’d left it here, forgetting it because she was carrying the portfolio. Sandra, Trish and I all looked for it, but we couldn’t find it. Sandra was upset because it had her money in it. I said I’d lend her some. She said she could get some more in London, but could she have enough for the train and a bus or tube at the other end? I gave her a five-pound note and enough in change for the little train from Sudbury to Mark’s Tey. Then Trish said, “We’ll have to drive like hell if you’re going to catch that train,” and they went.’

  ‘Have you had the money back?’

  ‘No, but Sally – that’s another girl from Poplar’s Fen who gives some art classes here – tells me that Sandra seems suddenly to have made up her mind to go and paint in Normandy. I’m sure I shall get it back, though, because I think a lot of Sandra.’

  *

  Piet got up. ‘To have knowledge of criminals on the run without disclosing it can be a very serious matter. I can make no promises, but my own feeling is that you have told the truth, and that in the circumstances it is unlikely that proceedings will be taken against you. I shall have to check your great-uncle’s will – you will understand that I must be certain that you have not profited in any way from the proc
eeds of theft.’

  ‘I haven’t had a penny from Malcolm for years – not since we were first married. And even then he had money from me, more often than not. I was working for an antique dealer in London and I kept on my job after we were married. That’s how I know about the antique trade. My great-uncle was Sir Arnold Travers, a retired member of the old Indian Civil Service. His solicitors were Messrs Harmsworth and Headington, of Lincoln’s Inn. You can check his will easily enough.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t say these things to hurt you, but because it’s my duty. I think you’ve been hurt enough. May I give you some advice? Try to carry on here as normally as possible. There will be pain for you and Mrs Marshall when Malcolm Winterer is brought to trial, but try to find comfort in the faith that prevented you from seeking a divorce, and look to the future, not the past. Rupert Lexington will have to return to prison, but there were special circumstances about his arrest which may help him later. My personal views don’t matter much, but I may say that I’m inclined to agree with your assessment of his character. Good luck.’

  *

  ‘They gave me some tea and they brought some for you, but it’s stone cold. Shall I get some more?’ Sally asked.

  ‘No, thank you. Please, Sally, I want to go away from here.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? I can stay here – there’s room in one of the caravans again.’

  The thought that his adventure with Sally was over had not occurred to Piet. She remained an important witness, of course – her identification of Sandra’s handbag would be vital when the case came to trial. But that was months away. There was no need for her to string along with him any longer. ‘You’ve been nearly drowned, you’re dead tired, and if you want to stay here I shall wholly understand,’ he said. ‘But if you ask what I want, then I’d like you to let me take you back to London.’

  Sally said nothing, but got up from the tea table and went with Piet to the Mini.

  They drove through Lavenham and Sudbury in silence – to both of them the route seemed one that they’d been living on for half their lives. On the way from Sudbury to Halstead Sally asked, ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Home,’ Piet said simply.

  ‘That’s my half room at Shepherd’s Bush.’

  Piet stopped the car. ‘I’m not taking you to Shepherd’s Bush,’ he said. ‘If we’re going to be married your home is my home, or my home your home, whichever way you like to put it.’

  ‘Are we going to be married?’

  Piet put his arms round her. ‘My dear, beloved Sally, if you want me to get out of your life you have only to say so, and I’ll take you – yes, I will take you – to Shepherd’s Bush. But at least you suggested earlier today that you could contemplate our being always on the same side. I love and admire you more than anybody else in the world. And I want to be on your side as long as this life lasts, and in any other life there may be.’

  ‘That’s what I want too. Only . . . only . . . I could feel that you’re under a dreadful sort of strain, and I didn’t want to take advantage of it.’

  Piet went on kissing her until she gasped, ‘My darling, we’re not on a layby. It wouldn’t do for a Chief Inspector to be run in for obstructing traffic.’

  *

  Old Mrs Deventer was delighted. She had long been worried about Piet’s apparent lack of interest in finding a wife, and she felt instinctively that Sally was the right one for him. She went off for a few minutes and returned with a magnificent single-stone ruby ring that Piet’s great-grandfather had brought back from one of his voyages to the east. She gave it to Piet and he put it on Sally’s ring finger. It fitted as if it had been made for her. ‘You see, it’s just been waiting for you,’ Mrs Deventer said.

  *

  Piet had a long interview with Rupert Lexington at Wormwood Scrubs. Piet now understood what he had meant by saying that people who were ‘morally if not legally innocent’ would suffer if the secret of the Fen came out, but with Malcolm Winterer arrested he was ready – indeed, he seemed almost glad – to talk. ‘I’m a bad hat – selfish, gilded youth – bad company – standard morality play,’ he said. ‘Only thing I was ever really any good at is sailing – perhaps if I’d spent more time at sea I wouldn’t have got into such trouble on land. Yes, I’m a bad hat all right, but Malcolm – he’s got the devil in him. Attractive devil, though. Tragedy that young Shirley fell for him. I knew her as a kid, you know – or probably you don’t know. She’s convent-educated, not far off being a saint. Malcolm treated her like dirt. Used to beat her up. Shirley’s father left her quite a bit of money. Malcolm got through the lot and before he thought up schemes for getting into the big money himself, he tried to make Shirley into a call-girl. That’s when she left him. Old Aunt Em – she’s a good scout. Malcolm got the mill from her – not a bad place for the loot, though. I’m afraid I thought up the idea of the artists’ colony – rotten artists, most of them, but who’d have thought of a hippy lot like that sitting on a few million pounds in gold? Can’t think how you got onto the place.’

  ‘Why did he go on calling himself Winterer?’

  ‘Why not? Winterers have had the Fen for donkey’s years – natural for a Winterer to be there. Used to have a lot of land in Suffolk, round the Essex border, too, Constable country. Malcolm’s great-great-grandfather was a friend of Constable, watercolourist himself – not much good – but interested in painting, and in Constable’s last years, when he was miserable after the death of his wife, old Winterer used to go and see him. Got a lot of unfinished pictures off him, things that Constable didn’t think were going right, or had put aside to go on with later.’

  ‘How did Sandra come into it?’

  Rupert Lexington said nothing for a bit. When he went on it was in a tone quite different from his earlier, slightly bantering manner. ‘Sandra was a bit like Shirley, less of a saint, but you could see her becoming a saint. I fell for her –and she wanted to rescue me. I didn’t really want any more of Malcolm’s bloody gold, I know a little about pictures and I thought up a scheme for using some of old Winterer’s stuff that was still in the mill. Sandra could paint anything – in any style. Because she wanted to rescue me she was prepared to finish off some of the Constables and have a go at Gainsborough and a few others. I planned to sail them over to France and unload them on the Continent – not strictly honest, maybe, but I could have made enough to live with Sandra somewhere safely abroad, without touching any more of the gold. Unhappily, Malcolm found out about it, because he knew about the pictures in the mill, though he didn’t realise what they might be worth. He didn’t try to stop me, though – said he understood my feelings and wished me luck. Then Trudi came along – she’s a friend of Malcolm’s bloody Trish, thinks she can paint herself, fell for me and hated Sandra, and everything went wrong.’

  ‘Did you know that Malcolm Winterer was trying to sell a faked Constable, presumably touched up by Trudi –fortunately rather badly – for himself? And covering up by involving Shirley Vincent? Trish called herself Mrs Vincent, had trade cards in Mrs Vincent’s name, and took the picture to a London art dealer for sale?’

  ‘If I had known that I think I would have killed the lot of them and given myself up. I’d reckon life imprisonment a small price for keeping Shirley out of it.’

  *

  Trudi’s body was washed up on the beach near Orford Ness. With Trudi beyond interrogation the question of who first decided to kill Sandra could never be wholly answered, but that didn’t matter much, for the pattern of events was clear. The details of the final act were put beyond doubt by the discovery on Malcolm Winterer’s boat of a small bottle of sleeping pills. They appeared to be a normal barbiturate prescription, but on analysis, each pill was found to contain a lethal dose of the drug. Malcolm Winterer admitted nothing, but access to a bent doctor or chemist was entirely likely in his world, and as the specially-formulated pills were in his possession it was reasonable to assume that he had obtained them. Piet wondered whe
ther they were intended in certain circumstances for Aunt Emily.

  The story of the lost handbag and Shirley Vincent’s recollection that it was Trish who had driven Sandra to the station on the last morning of her life was damning evidence of what happened. Sandra, already ill from arsenic poisoning and fearful that the train journey would make her sick, would have been near panic. ‘Look, I’ve got some travel-sickness pills – I use them on the boat. Have one of mine,’ Piet could almost hear Trish saying.

  Interviewed in prison on remand, she was nearly as tough as Malcolm Winterer, but not quite. At first she denied all knowledge of Sandra’s trip to Sudbury, but when told that her call with Sandra to look for the handbag at Lavenham was known, she decided to remember having driven her to the train. The rest she put on Trudi. ‘If Sandra was poisoned, then Trudi did it,’ she declared. ‘Trudi hated Sandra.’ As for the handbag, well, Trudi must have put it on the cruiser, to divert suspicion from herself.

  Sandra had been living with Trudi on Rupert Lexington’s boat, and it seemed probable that it was Trudi who had actually taken her handbag. She could have given it to Trish to make sure that Sandra couldn’t find it. But Trudi was slowly killing Sandra with arsenic – why suddenly join up with Trish to finish her off? And do so in a way in which poisoning was almost certain to be detected? It seemed to Piet, as he had felt all along, that there were really two distinct and separate cases, which, for some reason, had coalesced. He thought back to what Shirley Vincent had told him – that she had lent Sandra a portfolio to remove her own pictures from Moat Cottage. But the pictures in the portfolio at Liverpool Street were not Sandra’s paintings – they were the touched-up Constable and other fakes. Sandra had clearly taken away her pictures from Moat Cottage, but she had not taken them to London next day. Why?

  The detailed search of the mill at Poplar’s Fen brought to light several canvases that were undoubtedly Sandra’s own work, in the style of her paintings at the London exhibition. Shirley Vincent identified them as those she had had for sale at Moat Cottage, and which Sandra took away. Therefore she must have substituted them for the pictures found in her portfolio before she left Poplar’s Fen. Why had she done this? Why had she decided to go to London at all?