Deadly Inheritance (52 page)

‘You are not afraid of losing your reputation?’ Jackman had asked.

‘I am long past the need for a chaperon,’ she replied lightly.

The dining room was most pleasant, without being overwhelming. Jackman felt comfortable with its upholstered chairs, immaculate white tablecloths, sparkling cutlery and glassware. He liked the touch of a small vase of rose buds in the centre of their table. The other diners looked most respectable and Miss Grandison, wearing her black travelling suit with her chestnut hair tied into a tight knot at the back of her neck, seemed to have turned off the light of her personality. Jackman thought what a useful attribute that must be.

During the meal, Miss Grandison confessed that she was nervous about the coming interview with Maximilian Russell. The idea that this self-confident American woman could be nervous was somehow reassuring. Jackman leaned back in his chair.

‘Bearing in mind all the arrangements that have been made, I do not anticipate that he will cause us much trouble.’

‘I have only met Mr Russell a few times; he has always been very pleasant, charming in fact, but I found him a powerful character.’

He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean that he could be dangerous?’

‘If he felt threatened, yes, I think so.’

‘The circumstantial evidence against him is strong but not conclusive. I think we can rely on his demeanour when faced with us tomorrow to declare his guilt or innocence.’

‘It is the situation that will transpire if he is guilty that I am worried about, Mr Jackman.’

‘Will Mr Russell recognise you?’

‘He will not be expecting an encounter, but I am sure he will have no trouble in placing me.’

‘So his reaction will almost certainly tell us what we need to know.’

Miss Grandison sighed. ‘Despite my strong belief that he could be the Earl’s assassin, I hope he is not.’

Towards the end of the meal, Miss Grandison asked him about London. ‘I had hoped to see the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Madame Tussaud’s. And now I fear I may have to return to the States without visiting any of them.’

‘That would be a shame,’ Jackman said, dismissing an urge to offer himself as escort for a trip round London.

She nodded regretfully. ‘Mr Seldon may well decide Belle, Miss Seldon, should return straight home.’

Jackman could understand why. ‘Surely, though, if she is escorted by her father, there would be no need for you to return as well?’

‘I was hired to be her companion. Without Belle, there is no reason for me to remain in England.’

‘Perhaps the Countess might need you to support her?’

She gave a brief, ironic laugh. ‘No, Mr Jackman, there is no chance of that.’

* * *

More and more passengers were advancing on the gangway. Jackman knew that at any minute Mr Russell could be shown into the office. He felt tense and wondered if Miss Grandison had infected him with her apprehension over how this man could react to their questioning.

After all, only a few feet away was the boat Russell intended should take him to a new life. If he was guilty, might he fight for his freedom? Perhaps try and take Miss Grandison hostage?

Jackman told himself not to be ridiculous. The harbour police could perform an arrest and, if Russell attempted to resist he, Jackman, should be well able to deal with him. And the man could be innocent.

A movement at the bottom of the gangway caught Jackman’s eye. A tall passenger was being questioned by the two officers checking boarding papers.

‘I think Mr Russell might have arrived,’ Jackman murmured.

The harbour policeman straightened his shoulders and moved one leg slightly apart from the other. Miss Grandison’s gloved hands tightened on the small purse she held on her lap.

Yes, after some argument, one of the officers had taken charge of the passenger’s carpet bag and was now escorting him in their direction. As the two men disappeared into the main building, Jackman could feel tension building in the office. They were about to be faced either with a killer, or an innocent man who might have valuable information for them.

A few minutes later, the door opened and a light, authoritative voice was heard to say, ‘I cannot imagine what problem there could be with my papers.’

‘I’m sure it’ll all be sorted out very quickly, sir,’ came the stolid, official response.

Then the passenger entered.

Afterwards, Jackman tried to work out the exact sequence of events. But everything had happened so swiftly, even his trained policeman’s eye had difficulty sorting it all out.

The open door initially masked Miss Grandison and the passenger approached Jackman.

‘What’s this all about?’ he asked. ‘I see no reason for further checks on my papers.’

Jackman saw no sign of the charm Miss Grandison had mentioned. The man was well dressed with a long coat over a fine tweed suit, and he held himself with an easy command, but he looked tired and stressed, with an air of nervous energy that put the detective on his guard.

‘Mr Russell,’ he started, ‘we have been sent by Colonel Stanhope …’ Before he could continue, Miss Grandison gasped and rose, her face white, and her purse slipped to the ground.

Russell turned. When he saw her, his expression froze and Jackman, not a fanciful man, later swore he had the look of a man facing his nemesis.

Jackman started again. ‘Mr Russell, we understand you met with the late Earl of Mountstanton shortly before his death six days ago …’

He trailed off as, with a speed that took them all by surprise, the man reached into the pocket of his overcoat and produced a small but lethal looking pistol.

Miss Grandison uttered a strangled cry. The harbour policeman took a step forward and said, ‘Now, now, sir.’

Jackman produced his own revolver. ‘There is nowhere you can escape to, sir; give me your gun.’

The pistol was raised; a shot rang out in the small room.

Mr Russell’s knees gave way; he sank to the ground, the pistol falling from his fingers, blood issuing from his ear. As he collapsed, Miss Grandison threw herself down by his side, pulled off his cravat, opened his shirt and pumped her hands on his chest. Jackman scooped up the gun, slipped on the safety catch, and put it in his pocket.

Miss Grandison seemed to realise her efforts were useless. The dying man’s mouth moved. She bent so that an ear was directly above his lips. A moment later, he had gone, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Jackman checked for a pulse while Miss Grandison reached forward and pulled down the eyelids, her mouth a thin line of distaste. Jackman helped her to her feet, then sat her down in a chair.

‘Are you all right? Can I send for anything?’

For an instant her eyelids fluttered and closed for a moment as she gave a deep sigh. Then, ‘Thank you, Mr Jackman. I am quite all right.’

Knocking came on the door. The harbour policeman went outside and they could hear his voice assuring those outside that everything was in order.

‘What did he say?’ Jackman asked.

For a moment he thought she was not going to answer, then, very quietly, ‘He whispered, ‘‘Forgive me, Helen”.’

‘Helen? Isn’t that the name of the Countess?’

‘I didn’t realise how close their relationship was.’ She spoke almost in a trance. ‘It was all there, at that dinner party; I should have seen.’ She looked up at him and seemed to come back to the present. ‘What happens now, Mr Jackman?’

He looked down at the corpse. ‘If ever guilt was displayed, we saw it today. But he has cheated the hangman.’

Miss Grandison shivered.

‘We need a death certificate, of course, then …’

‘We must take his body back to Mountstanton,’ she declared, her voice suddenly strong.

‘To Mountstanton?’

‘The Colonel will need proof of what has happened.’

‘Will not a death certificate be enough?’

She looked down at the dead man and shook her head. ‘I think he will expect to see his body.’

Jackman remembered the character of the man who had hired him and knew she was right. ‘Well, then, I had better start making arrangements,’ he said. ‘But first I will take you back to the hotel.’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, Mr Jackman, I appreciate your concern but I am sure you will have to deal with a great many official procedures. I will find my own way.’ She picked up her purse, then put a hand to her forehead and swayed slightly. ‘Oh, dear …’ she said faintly.

He caught her before she fell.

Ursula regained consciousness and found herself lying on a narrow bed in a small, bare room. She lay for a moment wondering where she was and what had happened.

She gradually realised the room was in the same style as the office where they had waited for Max Russell. Then memory flooded back and she wished she could return to oblivion.

What was Helen going to say? How was the Colonel going to take this news?

The door opened and in came a nurse in a blue cotton uniform, white starched apron and winged cap. ‘How are we feeling?’ She took Ursula’s wrist and felt for her pulse.

‘I’m fine,’ Ursula murmured, wondering how accurate that statement was. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Shock,’ the nurse said in a kindly manner. ‘I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea and then I think you will do all right.’

‘Where am I?’ Ursula asked before she disappeared.

‘It’s a first aid area. We sometimes have passengers who need a little attention.’ The nurse whisked out of the room before Ursula could pose any more questions.

Ursula discovered that her footwear had been removed and set neatly on the floor. Gingerly, she sat up, swung her legs off the bed and put on her shoes. She felt as though she was in a dream world.

The nurse brought in a cup of tea and tutted to see her up. ‘Don’t want you swooning again, Miss Grandison.’

Ursula drank the hot, sweet liquid and felt life gradually returning. ‘How is Mr Jackman managing with … with everything, nurse?’

‘Would you like me to find out, Miss Grandison?’

‘No, thank you,’ Ursula said quickly. ‘Is there, though, someone who could find me a cab to take me to my hotel?’

Back in her hotel room, the scene in the office returned again and again to haunt her. To shoot himself like that! But then Ursula remembered the look in his eyes as he saw her. He must have realised the game was up and that there was only one way out. He had come prepared; no wonder he had seemed nervous when he entered the office.

What had he intended to do in America? Assume a new identity? Or rely on the probability that no one there would be interested in Maximilian Russell?’

‘Forgive me, Helen,’ he had said with his dying breath.

Max Russell and Helen, Countess of Mountstanton.

Ursula remembered more and more about that first dinner party. How the two of them had hardly spoken. How, when you were aware of what could be the situation, it was noticeable how each had managed to be in a different part of the room from the other. Then how brief Helen’s thanks had been when Ursula and Mr Russell had extricated Belle and Mr Warburton from the shrubbery.

Ursula remembered her conversation with Belle in that little woodman’s cottage. Belle had been convinced that Helen used it for assignations with Mr Warburton. What if it hadn’t been Mr Warburton but Maximilian Russell she had met there?

Ursula also remembered the antagonism the Colonel had shown towards the man when he had appeared at their picnic. She had wondered about that at the time, then dismissed the incident. Now she thought that the obvious explanation was that the Colonel had been aware of a liaison between Max Russell and Helen. He had been jealous!

And was it in fact jealousy that had led to the firing of the shotgun the night of the Dowager’s birthday fête?

Ursula gave a deep, deep sigh. She had thought Helen had conquered her waywardness; managed to learn how to keep her sudden passions under control; had left behind the times when she had been every bit as reckless as Belle.

A shudder ran through Ursula as she remembered the mangled remains lying in the Belvedere. Just how much did Helen have to answer for?

Ursula lay down on her bed and drifted into an uneasy sleep. At some stage, she was sure, Mr Jackman would want to know if she was all right and if she would dine with him that evening.

She remembered enjoying their meal the previous night. But that was before today’s events. If they ate together this evening, would he want to know exactly what lay behind those dying words? And then there was the question still to be answered of exactly who was responsible for Polly’s death. Ursula did not feel up to dealing with the investigator yet. He would not be surprised to hear that she was stricken with a headache and would keep to her room.

She wondered how long all the formalities regarding the shooting would take. She and Mr Seldon would travel by train tomorrow to Mountstanton. Would the investigator, together with the coffin, be on the same one? A shudder ran through her. She turned her mind instead to the task of everything that had to be told to the Colonel.

How she wished he could have been in Liverpool this morning. Mr Jackman was immensely efficient and courteous, but …

Ursula decided it was time she took herself in hand. How could she accuse Helen of wayward thoughts and not be in control of her own?

She stood up and went over to the desk that stood in a corner of the commodious room she had been assigned, opened the hotel’s writing folder, and began to record her version of everything that had happened at Mountstanton, not only what she had seen but also what she had deduced.

* * *

Early next morning Ursula was back at the landing stage, hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck and wearing the black straw hat Annie, the cheerful maid who was now looking after her, had dug out from somewhere. Ursula would not have been surprised to learn that the housekeeper had supplied it; somehow its no-nonsense shape belonged with Mrs Parsons.

In her purse was a note from Mr Jackman. He hoped that she had recovered from the previous day’s distressing events and wrote that it looked as though he might be able to set off with Mr Russell’s coffin that afternoon. If not, he would come down with it the next day. She could, no doubt, explain what had happened to the Colonel. He would give an official report on his arrival at Mountstanton.