The Truth-Seeker's Wife Read online

  ‘He set out on his regular visit to the tenant farmers, riding round from one to the other to find out if all was in order, and nothing causing any problem. Apart, of course, from Sir Henry being murdered. They’ll all be very worried what that will mean to them. He took a horse from the stables at the Hall, and it came home without him. They’re all out looking for him, lest he’s had a serious accident…’

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. The light was beginning to fade. ‘Right, Joe!’ I ordered. ‘Drive me to the Hall and tell me as we go along everything that’s happened.’

  I was glad I had eaten a good luncheon with Hughes. I suspected it was going to be very late before I got a chance to dine.

  The first person I saw on arrival at the Hall was Pelham. Black-clad and pale-faced as always, he was standing at the front entrance to the house, as if waiting expressly for me. I didn’t doubt that was exactly what he was doing; and I shouldn’t have been surprised. Nevertheless, it was still disagreeable to find myself outmanoeuvred. I had not wanted to tell him anything new. Now he was in the position of being more informed than I was. He was probably enjoying his revenge.

  Joe pulled up and I scrambled down from the dogcart, wincing. Wilfred had been right to warn me it would be a bumpy ride. I felt as though I been put in a sack and shaken up and down vigorously by a giant, so that all my joints had become loose. At least my obvious physical discomfort served to hide my annoyance.

  ‘Ah, Inspector Ross,’ Pelham greeted me, with a suave grimace. I wouldn’t have called it a smile. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Pelham smile. But he reeked of satisfaction and came as near to showing it as I’d ever seen. ‘Such a pity you had chosen to go over to Southampton today.’ He was almost purring. ‘That boy will have told you that Mr Harcourt’s horse came home without him earlier today—’

  I was not about to allow Pelham to lecture me. ‘Any news of Harcourt himself?’ I interrupted him.

  ‘Indeed there is, and it is bad news.’

  And never did bad news have a smugger messenger. My heart sank.

  ‘He was found on a track running through some woods. Clearly he had been thrown.’

  ‘You don’t know the circumstances? He is still unconscious?’ I knew I asked the question more in hope than in expectation.

  ‘He is dead,’ said Pelham simply. ‘His body was brought back on a cart and is laid out in one of the bedrooms upstairs here. Dr Wilson, a local practitioner, was called to confirm death. He is still here and talking with Mr Beresford.’

  ‘The body should not have been moved,’ I snapped.

  ‘It could hardly be left lying where it was on the muddy ground.’ Pelham’s tones were now icy. ‘Particularly as we did not know whether you would return tonight from Southampton.’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ I admitted. He was right. Riding accidents were common enough and I had no cause to treat this as a criminal matter. But I didn’t like another death following so quickly after a murder; particularly when it was the death of the only suspect who might be said to have had a motive. Now I had to look elsewhere and had almost nothing to guide me.

  ‘Mr Beresford and the doctor are waiting to see if you would arrive before nightfall. The doctor is anxious to return home. He has other patients.’ Pelham spoke reproachfully.

  I heartily disliked the way Pelham spoke of my absence in Southampton as if it had been some avoidable dereliction of duty; and not just the unfortunate coincidence it was. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d take me to them,’ I said.

  ‘This way, Mr Ross,’ said Pelham, invisible frost closing on his words as they reached the air.

  If I didn’t like the way Pelham treated me then he didn’t like being treated as the butler. Incidentally, where was the butler? Quoting scripture again in the kitchen? Were the maids in a fresh bout of hysterical weeping? Had the wretched valet, Lynn, passed out again? Lynn… Something tugged at my memory, but I hadn’t time to identify it now.

  Indoors, gathering gloom had necessitated the lighting of the gas mantles, which burned brightly. Beresford must have ordered it. The frugal ghost of the late Sir Henry was probably scowling at this needless expense. No doubt he would have ordered oil lamps lit in such circumstances. Both Beresford and the doctor were in the dining room, seated at the table, a bottle of brandy and two glasses before them. There was a third used but empty glass nearby, so Pelham had evidently had a drink to restore his nerves.

  As I entered Beresford jumped to his feet with every sign of relief. ‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was afraid you might stay overnight in Southampton.’ He indicated a stocky young man with a weather-beaten countenance and short-cropped hair. A country doctor, who rode round visiting his housebound patients, I thought, and calling on those important enough to summon his presence, not find their way to him. ‘Dr Wilson,’ Beresford said.

  I shook the doctor’s hand. ‘I understand,’ I said, ‘that the body is upstairs. I should like to view it.’

  ‘Of course, this way…’

  Beresford set off and the doctor and I followed. I was glad Pelham did not attempt to tag along. He must have seen the body already and once was enough for him. As we three left the room I saw Pelham, from the corner of my eye, seat himself at the table and reach for the brandy.

  Harcourt’s corpse was laid out on a bed in a small back bedroom. They had removed his coat and his riding boots, but it was otherwise clothed, other than that the shirt had been unbuttoned and the cravat removed. The coat had been folded neatly and hung over the back of a chair. The boots were also lined up beside the chair. The effect was exactly as though their owner were only taking a nap and, on waking, would get up and put them on again.

  My first emotion was one of pity. Harcourt had believed, rightly or wrongly, that he was entitled to be in this house. Not as a dinner guest, called in to make up the numbers, or just to discuss estate business. No, Harcourt had believed himself a member of the family. Now, in death, he lay on a bed here. I wondered if he had ever been upstairs in life. If he had shot Sir Henry, then the answer would be yes, at least once. But I did not now believe he’d shot Meager, if only because as long as Sir Henry remained alive Harcourt’s greatest wish, to be acknowledged, still flickered in his hopes. That wish, to be known as a gentleman’s son, if not exactly a gentleman himself, might yet turn out to play a part in what had happened here; even if I couldn’t yet see how.

  ‘Cause of death?’ I asked the doctor. I knew my voice to sound cold, monotonous, a policeman doing his duty.

  ‘Broken neck, clear enough.’ Wilson hesitated. ‘There is a mark on the forehead. I understand a large stone lay near the head where he was found.’

  ‘Had his neck not been broken, could such a blow have killed him?’ I asked.

  Wilson hesitated. ‘It might have done. I could not be sure. It would require a post-mortem examination to determine whether the skull is cracked. For myself, I am satisfied the broken neck killed him.’ He still looked awkward. ‘The mark on the forehead, where it struck the stone, is clear to see. But there is no bruising. Look for yourself.’

  I bent over the corpse again and studied the pale face. There was a mark, sure enough, in the form of broken skin only and a smear of mud. There was no purple bruise. There was, or had been, no significant bleeding. I asked quietly, ‘Tell me, doctor, in your opinion, is it possible that contact was inflicted after death?’

  ‘I think so,’ Wilson replied, also quietly.

  But Beresford had overheard us. He chose to interpret my question as a criticism. ‘It was not easy to remove him from where he lay. We had to carry him on a hurdle through the trees, and then load him onto a cart. The journey back was over rough ground. The— the body might have received some knocks then.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course!’ I soothed him. But that was not what I had been thinking.

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ I told the medical man.

  ‘Am I still required?’ he replied. ‘I have an evening surgery and must
get back.’

  I told him I didn’t need him at the moment and thanked him again. He took himself off.

  When I turned back Beresford was standing by the bedside, staring down morosely at Harcourt’s body. He looked very shaken.

  ‘Poor fellow,’ he said. ‘He could be difficult on occasion. But he was an excellent estate manager.’

  ‘Were you aware he claimed to be an illegitimate son of your late uncle?’ It was a question I had to ask and now was probably the best time to ask it. Beresford would not have the time to manage his reaction. He’d just answer. Witnesses often complain that an officer has questioned them immediately after a shocking event. They believe their feelings should have been respected before the law badgered them. No, the time to ask the questions is before they’ve had time to consider the best replies.

  ‘Oh, yes, I know he did,’ Beresford said frankly, and in fairness to the man, I think he would not have tried to deny it. But he looked straight at me and added: ‘Don’t ask me if he really was. I have no idea. One could not have asked Uncle Henry. Had he wanted to, my uncle could have said he’d fathered Mrs Harcourt’s child. But what would that have done? Other than cast a shadow on mother and child and cause deep embarrassment to the lady’s husband, Mr Harcourt senior? He was a decent old fellow, by all accounts, and content to have his name recorded in the baptismal register as father of the infant.’

  ‘Can you tell me the sequence of today’s events?’

  Beresford was visibly happier to discuss this topic, but said, ‘May we not leave the poor fellow here in peace? I don’t think discussing it over his body is quite the thing.’

  ‘Pelham will still be downstairs, I suppose?’ I knew the answer to that, at least. Of course he was.

  ‘He’s waiting for you to be finished; and then Tizard will drive you both back to the Acorn in the berlin.’ Beresford had read my mind and gave me a slightly sardonic look. ‘You won’t shake him off,’ he said. ‘I know from my own experience that he has the sticking quality of a limpet. But he is an excellent solicitor.’

  ‘I have no doubt of that. Before we rejoin him,’ I asked hesitantly, ‘I wonder if I might take a look at your grandfather’s portrait. My wife has told me about it.’

  Beresford raised his eyebrows but only asked, ‘Which one? There are two, one of him as a young man, one in old age.’

  ‘Perhaps the earlier one first, then the later one.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Beresford spoke a few minutes after. ‘My grandfather Captain Hector Meager. He had not been given his baronetcy at that time.’

  Standing before the portrait of Old Indestructible in his youth I could only be impressed. There he was, preserved for generations to admire, in his naval uniform, the wind blowing his Byronic curls and the foam-tipped waves in the background throwing spray into the air.

  ‘He had just been promoted to the rank of captain,’ Beresford told me. ‘The portrait was commissioned to mark the occasion.’

  ‘He was young to have been given his own command!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘We were at war,’ said Beresford. ‘The loss of naval officers and crew was great. My grandfather’s older brother, also named Henry and in the navy, did not survive, though it was fever that took him. Admiral Nelson had been but twenty when he was made captain. My grandfather had to wait until he was twenty-four.’ Beresford turned away from the painting and led me to another, that of his grandfather in old age.

  ‘Still a fine-looking old gentleman,’ I remarked. ‘But looks very fierce.’

  ‘He was very fierce,’ agreed Beresford. ‘I was only a small boy when I was taken to see him and he terrified me. I don’t suppose he meant to. He just didn’t know any other way.’ He turned to look me directly in the face. ‘Well, what do you think, Ross? Do you see poor Robert Harcourt there?’

  ‘Do I think Harcourt looks – looked – like his claimed grandfather? I couldn’t swear to it. Possibly, there is a likeness. But then, you see, I am a detective and I require proof. A chance resemblance isn’t proof he was Sir Hector Meager’s grandson, and consequently Sir Henry’s son, even if poor Harcourt believed he was. Did he claim his mother told him the truth of his parentage?’

  ‘If she did, she never made the claim in writing. If you ask me what I think, then I believe that Harcourt took it into his head he was my Uncle Henry’s son, because Henry paid his school fees. I am ready to believe there was an old love affair between my uncle and the lady who later became Mrs Harcourt. My Uncle Henry liked a pretty woman and, yes, he had brought the lady from France when he was young. It doesn’t make him Robert’s father. But Harcourt brooded over it for years and the idea became fixed.’

  Beresford indicated the general direction of the study. ‘I think we’ll leave Pelham to the brandy in the dining room. He arrived after the body was found, anyway. I sent for you when it was realised Harcourt was missing. As you were not at the Acorn, Pelham, according to Tizard, commandeered the berlin and ordered Tom to drive him immediately to the Hall.’

  I was increasingly seriously annoyed with Pelham. His business was with the will, not with the investigation into Sir Henry Meager’s death. Clearly Beresford was also annoyed by the solicitor’s interest in the investigation.

  ‘Before we are disturbed, then…’ I said. ‘Let us go into the study.’

  The last time I had been in this room, it had been to examine the desk with the forced drawer, in which the pair of pistols had been kept. The drawer still stood open but now it was empty.

  Seeing me looking at it, Beresford said, ‘The pistol that is pair to the murder weapon is now locked in the safe I have at my house.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘It is possible Inspector Hughes at Southampton may send a constable to take charge of it. He feels the pistol and its companion together form evidence.’

  ‘Oh, well, if that’s what Hughes wants.’ Beresford spoke rapidly. Perhaps he feared Pelham might appear at any moment, and was more worried about that than the pistol. Good, it would save argument when Hughes’s constable arrived to collect it. He went on in the same rapid way.

  ‘As for the sequence of today’s events, which you will want to know. That, at least, is not in question. I understand that Robert Harcourt requested yesterday that a horse be saddled ready for him at ten this morning. His intention was to visit the tenant farmers and calm their nerves. The murder has caused something of a panic in the countryside. They all live in lonely farmhouses and the thought of break-in and violence frightens them. Also, Sir Henry was their landlord. Harcourt wanted to reassure them all personally that the investigation was in good hands and they need have no fears.’

  I was grateful for his confidence in my powers of detection, but I said nothing.

  ‘He had been gone a little over an hour. It was about a quarter to twelve when the horse arrived back in the stable yard, riderless, lathered up and behaving wildly. I have this information from Tom Tizard, who then took it upon himself to organise a search, and also sent word to me. Tom is a shrewd old fellow, and keeps his head. I came here with a couple of my men and we also joined the hunt. I decided on the probable route Harcourt would have taken. We followed it, calling at each farm and establishing that Harcourt had been there and left. We now had a good idea of the way he would have taken to return to the Hall, after the final visit. This way includes a path through woodland. It’s a narrow path, not much used and uneven. The trees and undergrowth crowd in on either side. We had just begun to ride along it in single file when Davy Evans, a local man, came running towards us. He had come across the body.’

  ‘What was Evans doing on that path?’ I asked sharply.

  ‘He had been here at the Hall, helping in the stables. He does it often. Uncle Henry was pleased to tolerate his coming and going. I don’t know why he didn’t just employ him as a groom. I honestly think it is because Evans likes his independence, and it amused Uncle to let him have it; or it saved money on regular wages. My uncl
e could count the pennies, as I may have mentioned before. But Evans was on hand, so Tizard had enlisted his help to search. When we encountered him, he was coming down the path from the opposite direction.’

  I frowned. ‘Would that not have meant he was coming away from the direction of the Hall, towards that of the farm you’d just left?’

  ‘Yes. He must have heard us coming. He was on foot. The horse he’d borrowed from the stables here had been left tethered near the scene.’

  I did not like the involvement of Davy Evans in this at all. But if he had been working in the stable yard while Harcourt had been on his visit to the farms, then he had an alibi, if there had been any mischief.

  ‘Is Evans still about the place? I need to speak to him,’ I said.

  ‘I had told him to stay until you came,’ Beresford admitted. ‘But then we learned you had gone to Southampton, so I wasn’t sure when that might be. I told Evans he could go.’ He frowned. ‘He rode off on the horse he’d been riding earlier, when he found the body. That was a liberty. I shall speak to him about it!’

  New times were coming for Davy, I thought. The easy way he’d come and gone at the Hall in Sir Henry’s day was over.

  ‘How did the body look? Lying on his back or on his face?’ I wished I’d seen Harcourt’s body at the scene for myself.

  ‘He lay mainly on his side but with upper arm and shoulder turned down towards the path. But his head was tilted backwards and I didn’t like the angle of it. It wasn’t natural. I feared he had broken his neck. At any rate, although I saw he was dead, I tried for a pulse and there was none.’

  ‘What about this large stone or rock that lay by the head?’

  ‘Yes, I saw that. I originally thought, on first seeing him, that his head might have struck it as he fell and that had caused the skull to flip back quickly and snap his neck. I am not a medical man. It’s how it looked to me.’ Beresford’s voice was strained. ‘But now the doctor has declared the injury to be post-mortem. You thought so at once.’

  ‘I have seen numerous injuries and quite a few dead bodies,’ I said to Beresford. ‘And there was no blood, even in a small amount.’