by Carrie Marsh
Gilding ran a hand through his hair, remembering why he hadn't slept overmuch that night, though he wasn't feeling tired. He had spent most of the evening on the telephone with Nigel, arguing about the possibilities of Gerald or Joshua Cauley as the suspects. In the end, Gilding had won. He was all but prepared to arrest Gerald the next day. He was just waiting for the festival to finish so as not to cause too much disruption in the smooth life of the villagers.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “That sounds good,” he added cautiously.
Harry grinned. “I should hope so. Well, see you later. It looks like Vicar Prestwick is about to round this part off with a speech. About time, too. If the hobbyhorses play “Here we go round the Mulberry bush” one more time, I will go batty.” he inclined his head in the direction of the carousel, where half a dozen village children were riding enthusiastically.
Gilding grinned at Harry. “Just as well he's about to give a closing speech, then. See you later?”
“Good,” Harry nodded, smiling affably. He headed across the fairground to go and stand beside his wife.
Gilding tried to listen to the vicar's speech, which was blessedly short, but he was distracted. He lifted an arm to block the slanting afternoon sun out of his eyes and, for the fifth time in almost as many minutes, wondered what it was that Marcie wanted to discuss with him.
“I wonder if she has any new leads?” he asked aloud. “If she found whatever last piece of information she was looking for?”
He hoped she had. He was sick of this case – it wore on him, making him weary to the bone. He wanted to find the murderer, and soon. So that it could all be put to rest. And he could move on with his life.
The festival was over, the day starting to cool though it was only five o' clock, and Gilding followed the press of people along the field toward the rear gate to Stowe Manor. He followed the familiar path up through the forest area of the manor grounds, approaching the house from the rear. A small but imposing two-story Victorian manor, its sandstone walls and elaborate gables and reliefs made Gilding smile as he always did on seeing it. Watching the reactions of the village children when it arose from the treeline, beside the pond, set in fragrant gardens, always made him smile.
As he always did, he watched the children hurtle toward the manor. Tamsyn was among them. He was relieved to see her looking well again, and wondered privately if the news Richard had received had not, perversely, made the man feel even closer to his child. She certainly looked happier and he smiled as he heard her laugh, racing the other children to the top of the manor stairs.
He fell back, and was one of the last to cross the threshold of the place. As always, Marcie led them to the large reception room on the first floor where she had laid out trestle tables on the marble flooring and set out some chairs so the elderly guests could sit. The room was filled with delicious scents and he sampled a jam tart, feeling his stomach contract painfully. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, unless you counted the apple and a sample piece of cheese. He was ravenous.
The tea progressed as it always did, with laughter and the sound of voices, loud and happy, and someone, somewhere, probably Mrs. Grace, the music teacher playing the piano in the corner. Gilding found himself feeling impatient despite the genteel surroundings. What was it Marcie wanted to tell him?
It was only as the last guests were leaving and the Winston-Browne's housekeeper, along with a small team of volunteers from the village school, began to dismantle the tea setup, that Gilding caught sight of Harry.
“Come and join us for a last cup of tea?” he asked. Gilding nodded.
He headed into the small, intimate space of the parlor. Marcie was already there, seated in a Victorian wing back chair. She looked up and smiled, though she looked too tired to stand. Her silvered hair was arranged in an elegant style, he noticed now that her hat was removed, and she looked elegant and poised, if completely tired.
“Gilding. Good of you to join us.” She glanced at Harry, who headed to the door.
“I'll man the fort, dearest. You carry on.”
“Thank you,” Marcie sighed. “Someone has to oversee the cleanup,” she explained to Gilding, who nodded. He was standing at the door, and only when she invited him to sit did he come and join her, feeling his uncharacteristic impatience rising as she insisted he take a cup of tea.
“You are wondering what I have to tell you now,” Marcie said slowly.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well,” Marcie smiled and set her cup down. “I have to tell you a story.”
“A story?” Gilding stared.
“Yes, a story,” she continued lightly. She was sitting in the dusk soft shadow, the pale late-afternoon light giving her face a tranquil radiance that made her ageless. “It is a sad story, about a little girl who wanted her greatest wish answered,” she began.
Gilding nodded. He knew Marcie, and knew her well enough not to rush her. He guessed that the little girl was Janet, as Marcie had known her and he guessed she had found something out. He didn't want to risk her not telling him the whole story. “Tell me.”
She smiled serenely. She cleared her throat and began. “Little girls wish for many things, officer. Most of them want to meet their prince charming, and head off into the sunset, happily ever after. But this little girl had a deeper wish. She wanted freedom. She came from a place where freedom was rare, you see. And so the first opportunity she saw, she seized it. But it was not what she thought it would be.”
Gilding listened to the wise, cultured voice talk as the sunset cooled to lilac beyond the windows and the room, lavender scented, filled with banks of shadow. The first opportunity, he guessed, was Janet's marriage to Richard, which had helped her to escape her frightening home life.
“...So the little girl looked elsewhere. She knew freedom was there to be found. And one day, she thought she had found it. That was the reason she took a suitcase with her on the morning before her death. She wanted to fly away with someone special. The man she had loved ever since she was a little girl. Her freedom. The father of her child.”
Gilding blinked. “Who?”
Marcie smiled. “Doctor Marlborough.”
He stared at her. “What? But...how? When...”
Marcie turned her tranquil gaze to him and set aside her half-a-cup of tea. “Don't you want to hear what happened next?”
Gilding sighed. “I do. Though I think I know that part.”
“I suppose you do,” she continued. “Doctor Marlborough, as we know, could not up sticks and run away without leaving some casualties. His wife, for one, his profession for another. His respectability. You know the man. Do you think he would do that?”
“Well...” Gilding hesitated.
“Since he is a doctor and must have known Tamsyn was his, yet he did not even think to claim parentage, I do not think he's the sort to compromise his reputation,” Marcie observed archly.
Gilding had to agree. “So what happened next, ma'am?” he asked despite himself.
“Well, next he called on a friend, saying he needed to borrow his car. He often does, when he has to head out into the countryside for emergencies, you know that?”
Gilding stared at her. “Mr. Gerald,” he said, suddenly awed he had not seen it sooner. “He borrowed his truck.”
“He did,” Marcie confirmed. “Then he headed up to where he knew Janet would be driving. He knew she was meant to catch the train from Norwich station. I do not know which one, though we could look up the timetable to check what leaves around twenty minutes after six o' clock.”
Gilding shut his eyes. He imagined it too clearly. The dark evening, the car parked at the roadside, waiting. The small Vauxhall that Janet drove, heading along the hill past the cliff, innocent. “The bastard,” he said aloud, surprising himself with the raw anger he felt.
“Quite,” Marcie raised a brow.
“Sorry.”
“Not at all.”
“But...madam. If it was Marlborough who kil
led her, and he wanted to stop her telling anyone of their past, why did he then kill Grant? From jealousy?”
Marcie shook her head. “Janet and Grant had a secret.”
“Oh?”
“Tamsyn mentioned to me she and her mother had gone walking a lot with Grant. Out near Lytchwood, mainly. Grant loved that land. He had been watching Gerald for years, trying to stop him selling it.”
“Yes,” Gilding said slowly.
“Well, as you know,” Marcie said, “Gerald sold it. The company was all but ready to come in and develop it next month.”
“Yes.”
“Gerald did not own that land. He was not allowed to sell any piece of it. The council owns that land. He has no right to a claim.”
“But how..?”
“Well, if you know someone on the council, it's easy, isn't it? Especially when you stand to profit so much. Just promise someone a share in the profit. And then you can duck the law.”
Gilding stared. “Who did he bribe?”
“Who is on the town council, who also happens to be a friend of Mr. Gerald?”
Gilding understood immediately. “Marlborough.”
“Exactly. He stood to gain a great deal by that deal, which, incidentally, was due to be completed at the end of this month. Approximately ten days before Janet died.”
Gilding leaned back. “So that's why he didn't tell us who had borrowed the car that night?”
“Yes,” Marcie agreed. “He had so much to gain from Marlborough – he was only selling that land with help inside the council – and he also had a lot to lose if Marlborough either refused or if he told someone.”
“True,” Gilding nodded. “So he could blackmail him.”
“Exactly. So when the deal went through, which would have been last week by my reckoning...”
“The deal went through ten days before...hang on, did you say ten days?” Gilding stared.
“Yes, officer..?”
Gilding jumped out of his seat. “The note! It makes sense now!”
“Which note, inspector?”
“The one in her wallet! It said: Only ten days! I wondered why she would have written that. Or maybe it wasn't her. Maybe...”
“If you have a sample of Grant Hiddingh's writing, and there used to be a fine example of it spraypainted on the wall outside Gerald's property, as I recall, I suspect it will be a match,” Marcie nodded slowly.
Gilding breathed out. He was amazed how all the little pieces finally fitted together. “We cleaned that off, but there might be a trace left. I'll look tomorrow. So, he killed Grant because he knew about the deal?”
“I believe so, yes,” Marcie nodded. “I do not think it is likely that our Mr. Hiddingh would not have known about the deal. He had been keeping his eye on that piece of land, and Gerald, for far too long to miss something like the deal going through.”
“And we know he knew, because of the note he wrote,” Gilding added immediately. “The one we found in her purse...” he added slowly. “He killed her because she knew, too.”
“I think so,” Marcie agreed.
Gilding stared at her. All the pieces finally fitted together. The man had a motive – the only motive that made sense of both deaths, besides the possibility of Richard being jealous, which he no longer believed. He also had an opportunity. And he had access to the weapon. It all fit together perfectly.
“But what about...” he paused.
“Mm?” Marcie asked gently.
“I have no idea why someone took her wallet, though?”
“To destroy evidence?” Marcie suggested. “He probably knew Janet kept important notes in her wallet. Maybe he wanted to check nothing incriminating had been kept. Too many bus tickets to Norwich would have given his presence away, too – or at least led one to look in Norwich. He had to make sure there was nothing in her wallet that could lead you to him, directly or indirectly.”
“True,” Gilding nodded. “But why Gerald's car? And the white paint...” He trailed off.
“I guess you can understand the value of the deal he and Gerald had made? And also the danger to himself were it to come to light. He wanted everything to go through smoothly when the deal was made. And he also wanted to get the deal for himself. If Gerald were to be in prison, he could step up and maybe threaten the developers, get them to pay him too. He needed him out of the way. And so,” she paused.
“And so he deliberately led us to suspect him.”
“Yes,” Marcie finished.
“The white paint...he put it there, didn't he? As a clue.”
“I suspect he must have done,” Marcie inclined her head. You didn't mention the paint to me, but I am sure you'll find that if there is no other place it could have come from, it was done to lead you to draw incorrect conclusions.”
“Which we so nearly did!” Gilding exploded.
“Which you were intended to do, so of course it all fit together logically,” Marcie said gently. “You did nothing except your job, inspector.” She sighed. “I knew Janet, or none of this would have occurred to me either. And besides, if I hadn't known her I wouldn't have been so interested in the first place. She was a good woman. And I wanted to ensure her murderer was brought to trial.”
Gilding nodded. “So...” he began hesitantly.
“So I suggest you ask Mr. Gerald about who might have borrowed his car in the last few weeks,” she said slowly. “And also that you take a drive to Norwich, to talk to someone.”
“I should arrest that man now,” Gilding sighed. To think, that he had actually seen him the other day, liked him, shaken his hand...he shook his head. Murderers were not monsters, he reminded himself. It was just the shock of having had him literally under his nose all that time while all the while pursuing so many other avenues except the right one. He sighed as Lady Winston-Browne coughed in response to his statement, setting down her teacup and putting the cup and saucer on the table between them.
“You should at least take him in for questioning, officer,” she affirmed. “I suspect he will have some difficulty accounting for his whereabouts and movements on those two nights. Do you not?”
Gilding nodded briefly and deeply. “I suspect so, madam. Now,” he said, setting aside his tea and standing slowly, “I think I will head to the police station. There are a few things I need to organize before I head into Norwich tomorrow morning. Thank you for the tea and,” he added shyly, “...and everything else is beyond my power of thanking you.”
Marcie met his eye, her own pale blue ones astute and wise. “You have no need to thank me, officer. I loved Janet and I love Tamsyn and I am pleased to know that the man who did this to them will feel the results of it.” She shook her head.
“Thank you, ma'am,” Gilding said, and as she stood to show him out, he bowed. She raised a brow.
“I see gallant gentlemen are not extinct, good inspector.”
He laughed. “Perhaps not, ma'am.”
“Well, that's good news, officer. Good news indeed. Keep it up. You're an example to those young unmannerly youths everywhere!”
Gilding smiled and headed down the stairs into the growing dark.
Finding his car at the fairground and driving to the station, he felt exhausted and drained. He was relieved, the relief sapping him of strength. It was finally over.
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
The child ran along the lawn and sprang out to embrace Marcie, who giggled.
“Tamsyn! You gave me such a fright!”
“Got you!” Tamsyn said, and embraced her. She was ten years old now, and getting taller, Marcie thought, stroking the red-tinged dark satin of her hair.
The little girl scampered off again, playing hide-and-seek in the flowerbeds at the manor house with a small poodle, who was her new companion. Marcie turned to where Harry sat on the terrace and sighed.
“It's good to see her looking so lighthearted, dear.”
“It is,” Harry sighed, and drank some more of his tea
. The slanting sunlight turned his hair pale gold, catching on the white satin of its locks, and Marcie smiled into his eyes, thinking how handsome she thought him.
“I'm glad she feels safe now,” Marcie said, coming up the stairs to the terrace and sitting down beside Harry. She reached for a cup and saucer and the china teapot, pouring herself some tea.
It was almost a year since Janet and Grant had passed on, and Marcie and Harry had offered to take care of Tamsyn while Richard was away in Norwich for business. The little girl had blossomed in the last few months, and her sunny laugh raised all their spirits as she played with her dog, Brambles, in some elaborate tug of war with a tree branch.
Marcie sighed hearing the happy, unrestrained sound of childish laughter and the excited bark of the little dog. The sounds were good for her heart, she was sure. She had had no more pains for a long time. She had heard that the doctor had been imprisoned in Norwich, and was pleased that the news seemed to make Tamsyn feel safer. Her knowledge of her parentage was something Marcie had not passed on to Tamsyn, and she had sworn Gilding to secrecy as well soon after her discussions, though she was sure he would not have divulged the news in any case.
She looked over to where the doorbell rang around at the front of the house.
“Richard,” Harry echoed her own statement a second later. “I'll get it.”
As Harry welcomed Richard in and brought him through to the terrace for some tea, Marcie leaned back in the golden light of a late autumn afternoon and thought how pleased she was that the case had been so thoroughly finished off.
Tamsyn was slowly healing from her grief, Richard was more peaceable and closer to his daughter than she had ever seen him, and Gilding, too, seemed happier now that it was done. He was coming to visit them later in the evening for a bite of supper.
“Good afternoon, Richard,” she smiled as Richard waved and then headed down into the garden.
“Good afternoon.”
She watched as he lifted Tamsyn in an embrace and the two of them walked slowly up the steps, arm in arm, the little poodle following happily behind. She turned to Harry, where he sat beside her, smiling into the sunset.