Murder at Standing Stone Manor

by Eric Brown

  ‘That’s right. A dog trainer. Quite an … an authority, by all accounts. Oh, Bill, you’re so bad!’

  Maria said, ‘You go to bed, Nancy. I’m sure Bill will be fine down here. I’ll put the fireguard in place before we turn in.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ Nancy said, then screwed her nose up at them in farewell and stumbled from the room.

  Donald sat up, waited until the door clicked shut, then said, ‘Well, blow me down!’

  ‘The dog in the park?’ Maria said.

  ‘It was trained to fetch the blasted valise.’ He screwed his eyes shut, then opened them and stared at her.

  ‘But why would Deirdre blackmail the man she’d just got back with?’ Maria asked, her head swirling.

  ‘You know, I thought it odd that she should resume a relationship with someone who’d treated her so appallingly in the past. I wonder …’ He tapped her knee. ‘First thing in the morning, my girl, I’m going to pay the woman a little visit.’

  ‘You do that, Donald, and perhaps you’d be a wonderful darling and make me another drink?’

  Their drinks recharged, they sat in the glow of the fire, talking, as midnight approached.

  TWENTY-TWO

  At ten o’clock the following morning, Langham turned into Elm Lane and parked twenty yards from the Old Manse. He sat for a minute, watching the snow fall and considering Deirdre Creighton and her part in the life and death of Professor Edwin Robertshaw.

  Rather than approach the front door, he made his way down the drive at the side of the house. He came to a double garage, a rickety weatherboard affair with a corrugated asbestos roof, and with his handkerchief wiped a clear patch in the frosted windowpane. There were no cars in the darkened interior. He glanced across at the house; no lights shone behind either of the two side windows. He moved cautiously to the rear of the building. Twenty yards away, at the bottom of the garden, he made out what might have been dog kennels and a long run enclosed in wire netting.

  He checked the rear windows and, reasonably confident that he was unobserved, made his way down an asphalt path to the kennel. Like the garage, it was absent of any incriminating evidence it might once have contained.

  He retraced his steps back down the drive and knocked on the front door.

  The maid opened the door and frowned. ‘Oh, it’s Mr …?’

  ‘Langham,’ he said. ‘Is Mrs Creighton at home?’

  ‘If you’d care to come this way.’ She led him to the drawing room and departed.

  Langham moved to the settee and ran his fingers across the crushed velvet, finding pale hairs too thick to be those of a Persian cat.

  ‘Mr Langham …’

  He turned. Deirdre Creighton, as poised as he recalled from their first meeting, stood in the doorway with her fingertips resting lightly on the handle: she might have been posing for an interior shot in Homes and Gardens magazine. She wore a pale-green dress and pearls, and her hair was immaculately coiffured.

  ‘Ah, you said you might be back, Mr Langham. Would you care to take a seat?’

  He eased himself on to the settee as she took the Queen Anne chair opposite. ‘The case is proving to be more than a little intriguing,’ he said.

  ‘Are you any closer to apprehending the person responsible for …?’

  ‘We’re getting closer by the day,’ he replied, ‘little by little, interview by interview. I assure you that it’s only a matter of time before we have the affair cleared up.’

  ‘That is more than gratifying to hear,’ she said with a smile. ‘How might I be of assistance, Mr Langham?’

  He withdrew his notebook and spent half a minute leafing through his record of their first interview, not as an aide-memoire but as a ploy to keep her waiting.

  He looked up. ‘I’d like to ask you about your relationship with the professor.’

  She sighed. ‘As I think I mentioned last time, our marriage was far from satisfactory. Edwin thought nothing of—’

  He stopped her with a raised hand. ‘When I said “relationship”, I was referring not so much to your marriage as to your more recent relations with the deceased.’

  She swallowed. ‘I see.’

  ‘Well …?’ he said, smiling across at her.

  ‘What would you like to know, Mr Langham?’

  ‘According to my notes,’ he went on, making a show of consulting his notebook, ‘you said you were lonely, and then Edwin appeared on the scene and provided a welcome distraction from the same old routine.’

  She looked away from him and gazed through the window. ‘That is correct,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  Langham sighed and sat back, crossing his legs and relaxing. He said, ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like the truth.’

  Her eyes flashed at him. ‘The truth?’ she said, her expression inscrutable.

  ‘I don’t buy it, Mrs Creighton. More than twenty years ago the professor was serially unfaithful to you, ending in his having an affair which, to employ a cliché, was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and you threw him out. And then, a few months ago, you just happened to accidentally bump into him in the Midland and it proved to be the rekindling of your relationship. You took him back, albeit presumably on your own terms: he provided a welcome distraction from the same old routine.’

  She nodded, but far from convincingly. ‘That’s correct, yes.’

  He stared across at her, letting the silence stretch. ‘I’m no psychologist, Mrs Creighton, but I don’t think that it takes one to see your story for the flagrant fabrication that it is.’

  She held his gaze. ‘It’s the truth, Mr Langham.’

  He smiled at her. ‘There are two ways we can go about this. You can tell me the truth, and it will go no further than these four walls – or you can persist in your lies and I’ll hand over what I know to the police.’

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. ‘But … but I thought you said you were from the police?’

  ‘You are not the only one adept at stretching the truth,’ he said. ‘I’m a private detective, working on the case on behalf of the Robertshaw family.’

  ‘I see.’ She sat clasping her hands on her lap, gazing down at the carpet as if frozen. He found himself feeling sorry for the woman.

  ‘I have no idea whether you decided to make the professor pay for his past misdeeds when you met him,’ he said, ‘or whether it came to you later. Whichever it might have been, you decided to blackmail him.’

  She swallowed. Without looking at him, she murmured, ‘What assurance do I have that you won’t pass what I tell you on to the police?’

  ‘Whether you believe me or not,’ he said, ‘I’m a man of my word. The police need to know nothing about the blackmail. However, if you insist on withholding the truth …’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘First of all, I’d like confirmation that you wrote to Professor Robertshaw on two occasions – on the second, demanding one hundred pounds.’

  She leaned forward in the chair, wringing her hands. ‘It wasn’t just the money … honestly,’ she said, almost pleading to be believed. ‘I … I admit that … that I am living beyond my means here. Appearances can be deceptive. I rent this place, and the upkeep is exorbitant, and the annuity I received upon the death of my second husband hardly covers—’

  ‘So you began the affair with the professor with the express intention of extorting funds from him?’

  ‘No! No, that was only a secondary consideration. I admit that the money would have come in useful, but my primary motive was … was probably even more base than that: I wanted revenge. I wanted him to pay for how he’d hurt me all those years ago. Do you have any conception of what it is like, Mr Langham, to love someone, to genuinely love someone with all one’s heart, and then to find out that they are being unfaithful to you? Can you begin to comprehend the pain, the mental anguish?’ She shook her head. ‘And more than that, one’s trust in human nature is undermined, wrecked.’

  ‘
So you decided to exact your revenge.’ He smiled to himself as he fingered a dog hair on the settee beside him. ‘I must admit, it was a clever ploy, using the dog to retrieve the valise. Very clever indeed – or perhaps not. You see, when I discovered that you were once a dog trainer, it all fell into place.’ He raised a finger on which sat a wiry hair.

  He looked across at her. ‘You really must have hated the man.’

  She smiled bitterly. ‘Hatred does not really describe the degree of loathing I felt towards Edwin Robertshaw. He almost destroyed my life all those years ago. Hardly a day went by when he didn’t cross my mind, sour my thoughts, poison my happiness. When the opportunity came to avenge that hurt, I took it.’

  ‘But did you hate Robertshaw sufficiently,’ he said, ‘to kill him – or to have him killed?’

  She looked shocked. ‘I … I swear, no – I might not be perfect, Mr Langham. I admit that I hated the man. But I am no killer, and nor would I have employed anyone else to kill him. It was sufficient to see him tortured by my blackmail demands.’

  He let the silence stretch. ‘There is one thing that puzzles me,’ he said. ‘In the first blackmail note, you wrote: “If you don’t pay up, Nancy will find out.”’ He shrugged. ‘What did you mean by that? Why did you think that Nancy would be bothered about her uncle’s conducting an affair with you?’

  An odd light entered her blue eyes, and Langham took it for self-congratulation. ‘My express intention was to hurt him, Mr Langham. He would be tortured by the secret of his affair becoming public if he didn’t accede to my demands – but I wanted to torture him even more. I wanted him to worry himself sick as to who might know his other secret.’

  Langham shook his head. ‘His other secret?’

  ‘Why do you think I left him, twenty years ago? What do you think pushed me over the edge? He’d had previous affairs, as I mentioned, and though they hurt me, it was the last one that almost destroyed me. You see, he was having an affair with his sister-in-law, Amelia Robertshaw – the wife of his youngest brother, George.’

  Langham’s mouth ran dry. ‘But …?’

  She nodded, smiling. ‘Not only was he having an affair behind my back, Mr Langham, but he was betraying his brother. Can you imagine the kind of egotist who would do that without the slightest qualm? When Amelia fell pregnant with his child, the truth came out. You see, George was unable to father children. Amelia admitted the affair to her husband and begged him not to throw her out – and he showed more forgiveness than I did. They remained together, though George did sever all ties with Edwin. For me, it was the last straw, and I threw him out and didn’t set eyes on the monster for twenty years.’

  ‘But the child …’ Langham began.

  ‘A daughter,’ she said.

  He sat back on the sofa, staring at her. ‘Good God – it was Nancy,’ he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. ‘Nancy is the professor’s daughter.’

  She nodded. ‘I read about her parents’ death in the train accident two years ago,’ she said, ‘and when I was reacquainted with Edwin, he told me he’d taken her in. The least he could do, he said. Despite myself, I admired him for this – it was one of his rare acts of humanity.’

  Langham sat in silence for a while, considering how Nancy might react to learning the truth about her parentage. ‘My word,’ he said at last. ‘Well, that came as something of a revelation, I must admit.’

  She leaned forward. ‘You don’t think it has any bearing on …?’

  ‘I can’t see how it might,’ he said. ‘Even if she had somehow found out, she could have no reason to hate her father, surely?’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve come to know Nancy quite well over the past few days; she would never do such a thing.’

  He sat back and closed his eyes, marshalling his thoughts. Then he leafed through his notebook, reading quickly and aware of her eyes on him.

  ‘There’s one other thing I wanted to ask you,’ he said. ‘Did Edwin ever mention his surviving brother, Doctor Spencer Robertshaw?’

  ‘He did crop up in conversation, yes.’

  ‘In what regard?’

  She hesitated, fingering the pearls at her neck. ‘They were never close – in fact, I gained the impression that Edwin disliked his brother, but at the same time he felt a certain … pity for him.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘I recall him saying that Spencer had a traumatic time of it in the war. He served in Africa, in a tank regiment, and his vehicle suffered a direct hit near Tobruk. Spencer was injured but was thrown clear of the wreckage. His fellow crew were not so lucky. They all perished, and Spencer witnessed their deaths. According to Edwin, he never got over what he saw that day.’

  ‘That would account for it,’ he said, more to himself.

  ‘His addiction?’ she asked.

  ‘The professor told you about that?’

  ‘Edwin said Spencer’s receptionist would contact him when the doctor was having one of his “turns” – I don’t think the woman was ever aware of her employer’s addiction – and Edwin would go over to the surgery to “sort things out”, as he said. A little while ago, it got to the point where he was going over a few times a week.’

  ‘A little while ago? Can you recall exactly when this was?’

  She thought about it. ‘Just before Christmas,’ she said. ‘He would go over and find Spencer almost comatose and put him to bed. He said it was a miracle that his brother managed to run his surgery, though I understand he had lost a number of patients recently, and the practice was suffering in consequence.’

  ‘Presumably, Spencer was grateful for his brother’s help?’

  The woman thought about it. ‘It’s difficult to assess what Spencer thought of his brother from the little that Edwin mentioned. I … I suspect that if Spencer were cut from the same selfish, egotistical cloth as Edwin, he would be more likely to resent his brother for his assistance than be grateful.’

  Langham made a note of this. ‘Well, I think that covers everything.’ He closed his notebook and slipped it into his breast pocket.

  ‘Mr Langham,’ she said hesitantly. ‘About what I did …’

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘As far as I’m concerned, what you did was reprehensible. At the same time, I think I know what motivated you. Hatred is a powerful emotion, isn’t it, and so hard to resist, and when you saw a way to gain revenge …’ He gestured. ‘I’m not condoning what you did, Mrs Creighton, but I think I understand.’

  She sighed. ‘I assure you that … that it would not have continued, Mr Langham. Edwin was becoming more … more insistent that we escalate the terms of our relationship, and I’d decided that in a month, maybe two, I would sever all contact with him—’

  ‘Escalate the terms of your relationship?’ he said, smiling at the euphemism. ‘Did he say what he had in mind?’

  Mrs Creighton almost winced as she said, ‘He wanted us to remarry, Mr Langham.’

  ‘Remarry? But …’

  ‘He told me that his wife was ill – terminally ill – and he said that she would be dead within a month. After that, he said, he would be free.’

  Langham stared at the woman. ‘He said that – free?’

  ‘He said we could marry, and that I could move into the manor.’ She shook her head. ‘I was, of course, horrified at the thought, and I decided that enough was enough and I would stop seeing him.’

  Langham nodded, considering what she’d told him, then climbed to his feet.

  She stood also. ‘Mr Langham, you promise you won’t …’

  ‘Not a word to the police,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Langham. Goodbye.’

  He left the house and walked slowly along the lane to his car. He sat for a time, ordering his thoughts. So Professor Robertshaw had been confident that his wife would be dead within a month …

  He drove south to Bury St Edmunds and made his way to Mrs Greaves’s terraced house.

  TWENTY-THREE
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  Langham parked outside the small redbrick house, consulted his notes, then strode down the short path and rapped on the stained-glass panel of the front door. It was opened almost immediately by a portly middle-aged man in the uniform of the local bus company.

  Langham showed his accreditation. ‘Is Mrs Greaves at home, by any chance?’

  ‘Else!’ the man called. ‘It’s the police, come about poor Doctor Robertshaw.’ He said to Langham, ‘Come in, sir. I was about to go – my shift starts at twelve. You’ll find Else in the front room. Terrible business. She’s fair shook up still.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Langham said, squeezing past the man as they exchanged places. He moved along the short passage until he saw the glow of a standard lamp in the cramped living room.

  Mrs Greaves was ensconced in a chintz-covered armchair drawn up to a two-bar electric fire, and the aroma of dust burning on the elements filled the room like incense. She clutched a mug of tea in her right hand and a balled handkerchief in her left; from time to time she dabbed at her reddened eyes and sniffed.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this, Mrs Greaves,’ he said, taking a seat opposite her. ‘I just need to ask a few questions, if I may?’

  ‘I still find it hard to believe, sir. I mean, I know he was bad and all, but I never thought he was that bad.’ She stared at him. ‘But he must have suffered something shocking, mustn’t he, to do what he did.’ She leaned forward. ‘It was a suicide attempt, wasn’t it?’

  He noticed an effigy of the Madonna on the mantelpiece next to a wooden crucifix propped against the wallpaper. ‘That remains to be seen,’ he said.

  She crossed herself. ‘I’ve been saying prayers for him all night, I have. Hardly slept a wink. He must have been suffering terribly, mustn’t he? Pain is a terrible thing, sir.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ he agreed. ‘Now, I wonder if you can help me with one or two things?’

  ‘I’ll do anything I can to assist,’ she said, and smiled at him, woebegone.

  ‘I understand that when Doctor Robertshaw suffered these … attacks, he contacted his brother, Professor Robertshaw?’