[Lord and Lady Calaway 03] - A Murderous Inheritance

by Issy Brooke

  “I will heed your advice. Thanks for everything, but I had best be off home.”

  “What’s it like, living at Tavy Castle?” Rhodes asked as Theodore got up and pushed a dent out of his hat.

  “Rancid,” Theodore replied with honesty. “Do you know a good drainage engineer?”

  “Afraid I don’t. Drains are bad, then? Makes you wonder why they built the damned place where they did.”

  “I can’t work it out. Defence, I suppose.”

  “Ask The Countess. She’s about three hundred years old, isn’t she? She was probably there when they built the Norman tower. She knows everything, that woman – don’t let her fool you.”

  “I shall do.”

  “It’s all awfully interesting. Good luck with the investigation. Do let me know what you find out.”

  “Of course. That’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

  Rhodes laughed, and raised his glass in a mock salute as Theodore left.

  WHY WAS HARTLEY KNIGHT killed? Theodore took the medical files with him and read them on the train back to Tavy Castle. The police medical officer had noted that the deceased man had a large blunt force trauma to the back of his head but was unable to say what had caused it; a solid object consistent either with the edge of a stone step or the blow from an implement. It was infuriatingly vague. The deceased also had evidence of noxious gases in the respiratory system which had corroded the linings of the mouth and airways. What noxious gases were they, Theodore wondered, almost shaking the papers in frustration. Do your science, man! He wished he had been present when the corpse had first been wheeled into the mortuary. He could have performed certain experiments to pinpoint those so-called noxious gases.

  It was possible that some traces of the substance might yet linger in the body but he wasn’t hopeful. Still, he intended to find out and now that he had a letter of authority, he was able to move forward – as soon as Inspector Wilbred was done. Once the case was officially closed, he was free to do as he liked. If he tried to act while Wilbred was still investigating, then no doubt the inspector would act in an obstructive manner. He had to take care not to make trouble either for himself, or for Rhodes.

  But again his mind circled back to the thorny problem of just who was motivated enough to kill the house steward. Mrs Rush was again the most likely suspect though she claimed to have an alibi. Who else? The steward was controlling and had taken over many aspects of the running of the castle. When he had discussed the matter with Adelia, she had told him that the steward very much overstepped his boundaries. Who else would resent that? Mrs Rush, again.

  What about Felicia? He shook his head. Felicia was suffering from her own issues and she was far too sensitive to act in such a manner. He considered each of the other occupants of the castle. The Countess – no, she was too old and frail. Lady Agnes – again he dismissed her. What motive could she have? She was odd and he liked to talk to her when she spoke frankly but most of the time she was silent and simply observed people. Then there was Lady Katharine who he vaguely remembered meeting from time to time, but nothing about her struck him as out of the ordinary. Yet she was exiled to the gatehouse and had no part in the life of the household – why was that? Could that be anything to do with the steward? And then there was Brodie, her son, who was immature and lost, clever and alone. He was certainly a prime candidate if Theodore could find a possible motive.

  Were murders ever committed without a motive? Perhaps. Those crimes of chance, those accidental moves – a shove, a punch, and someone went down too hard. Could this death be simply that?

  No. No! The noxious gases, the strange way he was found – and the place he was found – all suggested some darker deed. What secret yet lurked in the depths of the ice house?

  Theodore closed the file and jumped up. He had nearly missed his stop.

  Eight

  Adelia and Theodore spent Monday night deep in conversation, making notes and drawing diagrams which started well but inevitably ended in frantic crossings-out and very large question marks. Theodore told her all about the meeting with Rhodes, and what he had gleaned about the manner of death. Adelia, in return, shared her information about Mrs Rush and also the suspicions that had emerged around Lady Agnes.

  They made a list. Mrs Rush was at the top because she had the main motive but there was still the claim of her alibi to look into. If she had been at the local chapel as she said she was, then everyone would have seen her, and that would be a solid alibi indeed. Adelia’s task was to investigate that.

  They wrote Lady Agnes’s name down next, because of her odd manner and the secrets that were hinted at, but Adelia wasn’t comfortable with her name being on the list. “She is strange,” she mused, “but has no reason to kill the steward.”

  “Except that he fancied himself in charge and she could do nothing about it,” Theodore pointed out.

  “I don’t know if that bothered her unduly. She appears to be content in her own world with The Countess.”

  “If she is so content, why find her a husband?”

  Adelia had to concede defeat on that one. She allowed Lady Agnes’s name to stay, but with a large question mark alongside it.

  “Lady Katharine and Oscar Brodie,” Adelia said. “I do need to speak to Lady Katharine. I am actually rather put out that she hasn’t come up to the castle for any dinner. She must come to the ball.”

  “She is something of a hermit; but I agree. We ought to look into her simply because we don’t know anything about her. And Brodie is a nice enough lad but needs taking in hand.”

  “Could he be a murderer?”

  “As much as any of us could be,” Theodore said. “I confess that I was talking to him about it, and he was asking a lot of questions, and then I stopped just in case I was, indeed, speaking to the perpetrator himself. I cannot imagine that he had a motive unless it was sheer boredom. Or, of course, we discover that Hartley Knight was keeping something of immense value in the ice house, as the lad hinting he might.”

  “The lapis itself is valuable enough, and yet it is all there going to waste.” Adelia shook her head. She accepted it had lost its one-high status since ultramarine was synthesised, but there was absolutely no reason not to sell what remained as jewels and gem stones rather than for artists’ pigments.

  “The Buckshaws are wealthy. Clearly it means little to them.”

  “What if Knight was selling the lapis? If he had access to it, it would be easy enough for him to steal. No one would know.”

  “And do what with it?” Theodore asked. “It might be worth asking around in Plymouth but you cannot simply sell such high-quality goods without people knowing. You need specialist dealers. He would need links to London. Yes, it is possible, but it hardly seems the most likely.” He scribbled a note on the paper nonetheless.

  Their conversation carried on in a circular vein until neither of them could stop their yawning. They agreed on Tuesday’s course of action – Adelia’s task was to look at alibis, and Theodore intended to explore the poison in the deceased man’s system and in the ice house itself – and then they went to bed.

  ON TUESDAY THEODORE left for a trip into Plymouth to speak with the medical officer. Adelia ate breakfast alone and afterwards found Felicia sitting in a morning room on the first floor, on the eastern side of the Tudor additions around the central castle, nestled in a chair that was carefully placed out of the sunlight. It was already warm. The warmth of the past few weeks seemed now to be baked into the very stones of the building and even the nights brought no real respite. Adelia had a fan with her, and she fluttered it, trying to cool her neck as she wandered over to the windows. “Do you think it will help if I open these?”

  “I would rather you did not.”

  “The smell?”

  “All manner of reasons.” Felicia turned the pages of an illustrated journal for women, but she wasn’t really reading anything. “We are to wear pink next season, apparently.”

  “Will you go to
London, do you think?”

  “Perhaps. It depends on Percy, of course.”

  “Has there been word from him?”

  “Not yet and I hardly expected anything.”

  The conversation was so stilted it felt like it had come from a foreign language primer.

  Adelia remained by the window, but there was nothing to see but grey-green grass and brown-green trees, topped off by looming grey-yellow moors beyond. “And have you advertised yet for a new house steward?”

  “I?” Felicia asked in surprise.

  “Yes, you. Who else would do it?”

  “Well...” she tailed off. “No, I suppose he cannot do it. Not now he’s dead.”

  “Felicia, listen to me. You have given up far too much authority to others. This is your house and you cannot be ruled by the servants! Now that Hartley Knight is dead, may God rest his soul, you have a chance to redress the balance and take back the control that you ought to have by rights.”

  Felicia trembled at Adelia’s stern words and that infuriated Adelia even more. She continued, saying, “I am not saying this to bully you or to cow you or to make you feel bad, Felicia! But you ought to know what your duties are, especially in the absence of your husband.”

  “He is coming home soon and he can deal with it. I should hate to overstep my role.”

  “This is your role! You are shirking it. Trust me when I say that you are in no danger of overstepping a thing at the moment. Why do you think he will be angry? I have met him many times; I cannot believe it.” Then she softened her voice. “But tell me the truth, my dear. If you engage a new steward, will Percy be so very furious?”

  “No, not at all. But what if I get it wrong? I could not bear to be blamed.”

  That was the heart of it, and had always been Felicia’s problem even as a child. She dithered and thought about things for so long that she was utterly hobbled by indecision and the fear of making the wrong choice.

  Felicia was now staring intently at a page in the journal. “Pink,” she said again. “I cannot possibly wear pink, though. What do you think?”

  “About pink? Nothing at all.” Adelia left the room abruptly. If she had stayed, she would have taken her own dear daughter by the shoulders and tried to shake some good sense into her.

  ADELIA ENCOUNTERED Lady Agnes as she wandered along a long gallery that overlooked the great hall below. Lady Agnes was carrying a tray covered with a cloth and she greeted Adelia warmly.

  “How is The Countess this morning?” Adelia asked.

  Lady Agnes nodded at the tray. “She has eaten all her breakfast which is always a positive start. I thought I’d take the tray back myself to speak to cook about dinner tonight. Unless perhaps Lady Buckshaw herself has already done so, do you know?”

  “I very much doubt it. So, you take on many of the duties of the lady of the house?”

  Agnes pursed her lips and looked away for a moment, sighing. “Sadly, yes, but you must not think for one moment that it is my choice. I am not the mistress here and have no ambitions in that regard. I know my place and my role, and I am content in it. I step in where I am needed, that is all. When Lady Buckshaw is incapacitated for whatever reason, then of course I do what needs to be done.”

  “And I am sure she is grateful for it.”

  “Do you think so? For my part, I suspect she doesn’t even notice.”

  “Well, then, I am grateful for it, on her behalf. But it is a constrained life for you, nevertheless. What of the future, Lady Agnes?”

  She blinked and furrowed her brow. “I do not think of the future. That is in God’s hands and it would be wrong of me to second-guess the divine plan, would it not?”

  “Are you so full of faith? I did not see you at church last Sunday although perhaps you are a chapelgoer?” Adelia said. She was hoping to get the confirmation – or denial – of an alibi for Mrs Rush.

  “I? I am as faithful as anyone, I suppose; but in this matter, I do trust only in the Lord’s path for me because what else is a spinster woman of my age to do? I have been through my years of anguish. I have walked through the vale of tears and the valley of sorrow and weeping; I have had to come to peace with the future that appears to be mine, and to do more than find mere peace; the only way to really be is to find fulfilment in the lot that befalls one.” She nodded at the tray in her hands. “Here is my lot, and I can do nothing but embrace it. And no, I was not at church or chapel because I sat reading the Bible with my mother.”

  “Of course. I understand. Yet if a man of mature years with a steady past came into your future...?”

  Just the barest hint of a flicker of interest showed on Lady Agnes’s face. A tinge of pink coloured the thin skin around her eyes, and she almost smiled. She hastily composed herself. “That would never happen. I embrace my fate.” She shifted the weight of the tray in her hands, a clear signal that she wanted to continue down the stairs to the kitchens. Adelia stood aside to let her pass but said, as she went, “So you and The Countess were both here when the death occurred outside?”

  Lady Agnes stopped. Now she was looking angry. “Yes. But we saw nothing and heard nothing. If you must know the truth, my mother was asleep and I was reading quietly to myself.”

  “So...”

  “So no, I have no real alibi – how dare you!”

  “No, forgive me, that was not what I was going to say.”

  “I have had enough of this. Good day!” Lady Agnes stormed off, and Adelia was left feeling very wrong-footed. Lady Agnes’s reaction was out of all proportion to the innocent questions that Adelia had levelled on her. And that reaction was, therefore, one that made Adelia suspicious. For there were tensions over who was in control here, and Lady Agnes knew more than she was letting on.

  And there was someone else who had not been seen that day. It was time, Adelia reflected, to pay a call upon Lady Katharine, out in her gatehouse.

  OSCAR BRODIE MUST SPEND half his life lurking in the shrubbery, Adelia thought. Theodore had told her that he had been accosted by the young man the previous day, and now it was her turn. Theodore said that he didn’t mind Oscar and his awkward manner but something about him made Adelia’s flesh creep and she felt ashamed of herself for that. Her unbidden reaction to him made her overcompensate and act with more friendliness than she really felt.

  “Good morning, Lady Calaway!” He was dressed like a country squire in tweeds and slightly crumpled yellowish linen, as if it hadn’t been dried in the sun properly. “What news on the death, if I might ask?”

  “Nothing as far as I know. Inspector Wilbred has concluded his investigations. The funeral will be soon. We hope Lord Buckshaw will return in time for it.”

  Oscar’s face lit up. “Have you heard from my lord?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ah. If you do, might I beg a favour? Please let me know. I cannot wait for his return. He means a lot to me.”

  “I am sure that he must. He has paid for your education and seems to treat you as a son rather than a nephew. You are very lucky.”

  “I am very lucky indeed and I give thanks for it every day. I want only to make him proud of me. So, regarding the death ... you say the investigations are concluded ... might I ask ... do you know ... what those conclusions are?”

  He was obsessed with the matter, his eager words coming out in short bursts as if he could not order his thoughts logically. She suppressed a sigh. “I understand it is to be considered an accidental death.” She wasn’t lying, and that was information Oscar could easily get from the newspapers.

  “I see, I see. Even though your husband suspects otherwise? What if there is a killer on the loose?”

  “Please don’t be worried. I don’t think any of us are in danger.”

  He put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out again, twisted his fingers, and generally looked as nervous a youth as possible. He said, “I am not worried, it’s just ...”

  “What? What is it, Oscar? May I call you Oscar? Please. You ca
n talk to me.” He was “Oscar” in her head though she knew Theodore was firmly calling him “Brodie”. She let her maternal instincts override her antipathy to him, and tried to get closer to him. Here he was, a lacklustre young man whose father was long dead of drink and dissolution, living in the shadow of a castle he was never going to inherit. She did have sympathy for him, after all.

  Plus, his habit of hiding in hedges and watching people could very well prove useful.

  “Did you see something that morning?” she pressed. “You were here, weren’t you?”

  “Yes – yes, I was here with my mother. She does not care for church or anywhere that there are lots of people. But no, I am afraid I saw nothing. Nothing but...”

  “What? Something is bothering you, isn’t it? You can speak freely to me.”

  “I know, but it’s about your daughter and I don’t want to speak out of turn...”

  Now she understood his hesitancy. She warmed to him, slightly. “I am aware that Lady Buckshaw has been behaving oddly. The airs around here do not agree with her constitution and she is sometimes prone to fancies.”

  “There is more. She can...” He gulped noisily. “She can lash out. She can be violent. She can be uncontrolled. She needs help, my lady. Please...” His eyes were wide and liquid and full of pain.

  “Oh, Oscar. And my poor dear Felicia.” Adelia clenched her fists to stop herself copying Oscar’s nervous movements. “Thank you for telling me. Indeed, I have seen some of that myself.”

  “But ... my lady, where was she on the morning of the death? Of the ... murder?”

  Adelia recoiled as if he had actually struck her in the stomach. “You cannot possibly be suggesting that my own daughter had anything at all to do with that man’s death?”

  Oscar’s face was naturally white, one of those that would not tan in the sun, and he seemed to go even paler. He began to babble a stream of apologies but Adelia did not want to hear them. She hated her rudeness but she could not bear to speak to Oscar any longer. She walked past him and ignored his pleas while his words echoed in her ears. She knew why he was saying such things.