Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (31 page)

“That must be difficult,” said William. “Because your mother loaned the DVD to me.”

“There were extra bits,” I said quickly. “You know, outtakes.”

My heart began to thunder in my chest as I became aware of how enormous William really was—certainly large enough to carry Vera effortlessly to the grotto.

“I’ve never been in here before.” William scanned the room. “Your mother always kept it locked.”

“She’s very private.”

“I can’t believe she’s the author Krystalle Storm,” he said. “I really enjoyed
Gypsy Temptress
.”

“Yes. It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

“I lent it to Lavinia,” said William.

“Good.”

William ambled over to the corkboard and pointed to the newspaper clipping of Lady Edith. “Isn’t she an astonishing woman? It’s hard to believe she’s eighty-four.”

“Yes. It is,” I said.

Gesturing to the corkboard with all Mum’s scribbles and Post-its, William said, “What’s your mother’s new book? Is she writing about the family? About Lady Edith?”

“I have no idea.”

He pointed to the Post-it labeled
Billy Bushman
. “Is she writing about me?”

“I don’t know who you are but I do know that you are not my mother’s stepbrother,” I said boldly. “Or Lady Edith’s illegitimate son.”

William stood staring at me. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Billy died of an aneurism on Blackpool Pier—”

“Ah. I see. Guilty as charged.” William looked sad. “He was my friend, you know.”

“But you decided to impersonate him? Why? Did you know that Lady Edith was Billy’s mother?”

“He told me,” said William. “Billy and I did the circuit during that time when most of the traveling shows were being broken up in the late sixties—”

“Harry was right. You really were the strongest man in the world.”

“Billy told me all about his big sister, Iris, and how she ran off with some bastard who put their dad in prison for racketeering.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Billy told me some other things about this house, too.”

“So you just came south and asked Lady Edith for a job?”

“Not exactly,” said William. “About eight years ago, just after Billy died, Edith comes to Blackpool asking questions. She was in a terrible state. Seems Rupert had eloped with one of the servants and she’d disinherited him. Billy and I used to joke about that stupid mouse mascot of his. He said if anything ever happened to him, I should have it because it would bring me luck—and it did, up until now. The old biddy assumed I was Billy and refused to believe I wasn’t. She hadn’t seen Billy for decades so I thought—no harm, no foul. Why not.”

“You fooled a vulnerable old lady!” I cried. “So
who
are you?”

“Ralph Jackson.”

“But why pretend?”

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m sixty-six years old—no, I know I don’t look it,” said William, pulling in his stomach. “Life on the road is hard and these days my sort—carnies, circus folk, and gypsies—are herded onto traveler sites and treated like pariahs. Do you know what it’s like to have no money? No pension plan? Just relying on the bloody government and the charity of people like Edith?”

“You’re right, I don’t know what it’s like,” I said hastily. “I couldn’t even pretend to understand.”

“I’m devoted to Edith but when she dies, what’s going to happen to me? Who is going to look after me if Rupert gets his way?” William’s mood had darkened considerably. I could sense his desperation and that made him dangerous.

“I’m not going to say anything,” I said. “We can keep this between ourselves. It’s obvious Lady Edith is fond of you and I can see that you are of her, too.”

“But your mother knows the truth,” said William. “She’ll tell her.”

“Believe me, Mum doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“She doesn’t care that I’m pretending to be her stepbrother?” he said with scorn.

William sank down into the wingback armchair and put his head in his hands. “No, it’s too late. Edith has guessed. Did you see her expression when she was looking at that old photograph of your mother’s?”

“What does it matter?” I said.

“I knew it was over when Harry showed me Jazzbo Jenkins,” said William. “I knew.”

“William—”

“You don’t understand,” shouted William. “I told Edith that Iris was dead.”

“What?” I cried.

“Yes! You see?
Now
do you understand? I told Edith that Iris had drowned and she was devastated.” William was getting agitated. “She was guilty and upset because she never got a chance to say she was sorry for sending Iris away.”

“All these things can be sorted out,” I said soothingly. “I’m sure of it.”

“It’s too late,” said William.

A loud click sounded on the DVD and the screen fizzled and recalibrated to show the field outside my bedroom window. And then I remembered Vera lying dead in the grotto.

“
Bugger,
” I muttered.

William’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted to the television set, the surveillance box, then followed the cables running out of the partially open window. “You saw us Saturday night.”

“Saw what?” I edged toward the door, slipped Mum’s Dictaphone into my pocket, and fumbled for the large record button.

William’s eyes flashed and for the first time I felt afraid.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said grimly.

“I wasn’t intending to.” I tried to stay calm but my knees were trembling so much I could hardly stand. I knew I had to keep him talking—wasn’t that what people did on TV?

“What did you find in the underground tunnel, William?” I asked. “What were in those two black plastic dustbin liners? Were they from the robbery?”

“Clever you,” said William.

“The cylindrical tube gave it away. It’s used for transporting canvasses,” I said. “Several paintings were stolen that night.”

For a moment William seemed taken off guard. “How do you know that?”

“My boyfriend investigates stolen art, remember?” I said. “I have a full list of all the items that were taken. You’ll never be able to trade them on the black market.”

“We weren’t intending to.”

“Oh!” Now I was really confused. “We?”

“When Eric’s tractor fell into the tunnel, Vera found a recess where the Royalists used to hide during the Civil War,” William said. “The stuff was in there. I’d been looking for it for years.”

David was right. “So it
was
an inside job. How did you know?”

“Billy stayed in touch with Shawn’s dad—”

“Robert Cropper, the Detective Chief Superintendent,” I said.

“Everyone knew what had gone on,” said William bitterly. “Shawn’s dad the copper, Tom’s folks, the Croppers, everyone except Edith. Vera’s mother told me it was the old earl’s idea. He knew how important the Honeychurch estate was to her. He didn’t want Edith to have to sell up after his death. Damn Vera! She ruined everything.”

“She was going to blackmail you, too, wasn’t she?”

“Blackmail?” William seemed incredulous. “We couldn’t wait to tell Edith that we’d recovered the loot—most of all, the seed pearls.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You were going to give everything back?”

“Yes. Of course we were.” William sounded impatient. “I told Vera we’d give everything to Edith in the morning. I took the stuff up to my flat. Half an hour later Vera pays me a surprise visit—says she can’t sleep for excitement and wanted to try the pearls on because she knew she’d never have another chance.”

“What happened?”

“I was packing up to leave this place. I knew it was only a matter of time before Edith discovered I wasn’t the man she thought I was and that Iris was very much alive.” William’s shoulders slumped. “Vera—stupid cow—saw my suitcases. She thought I was doing a runner with all the stolen heirlooms. I told her I wasn’t but she got hysterical—and then she saw that wretched elephant snuff box—”

“It was
you
who was taking Lady Edith’s snuff boxes?”

“No!” William shook his head vehemently. “I’m positive Rupert was responsible for that. Tormenting poor Edith by taking them out of the credenza and then putting them back. Trying to send her mad. But yes, I did take the elephant snuff box because—”

“You needed the money,” I said gently.

“None of this would have happened if Vera hadn’t come back,” William said bitterly. “But she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t let me explain.”

I could easily imagine Vera’s hysteria. I’d seen it firsthand myself.

“I gave her the snuff box. She tripped and hit her head on the corner of the coffee table. It knocked her out but I knew it wouldn’t be for long.”

“Tell Shawn it was an accident,” I insisted but William didn’t seem to be listening.

“I carried her to the grotto. I was just going to leave her in there so I could get away but she came around just as I reached the steps—”

“Vera threw the snuff box up on the bank?”

“I didn’t know Vera was terrified of the grotto. She was screaming about the blue lady. I couldn’t shut her up. I never meant to hurt her … I just wanted her to be quiet.” William regarded his hands with bewilderment. “I told you, it was an accident … I just put my hand over her mouth … but who would ever believe me?”

“I believe you,” I said quickly.

“I love Edith—she’s been kind to me.”

I was about to point out that he had deceived Lady Edith but decided against it. As if reading my mind, William added, “Not at first. No, at first I just wanted to find the loot. I saw her as someone I could easily fool but over the years…”

“You should tell her ladyship everything you’ve told me,” I said firmly. “She cares about you. She doesn’t need to know that you stole the snuff box.”

“Tell Iris, I’m sorry about the Post-it Notes.”

“It was
you
who tried to frame my mother?” I said. “And the Wellington boot?”

“Yes. I put it in the dustbin and yes, it was me who drove Vera’s car to Totnes railway station and left it there,” said William. “I cut across the fields and when I stopped to check on Jupiter, Edith and Lavinia turned up.”

“Tell Shawn the truth,” I said again. “It’s the only way.”

William shook his head again. “No, I can’t do that.” His expression of despair had been replaced with something more sinister. “I’m so sorry, Katherine.”

Suddenly, he lunged out of the chair. I shrieked and tried to dive out of his way but tripped over a stack of
Country Life
magazines and fell down hard.

William was on top of me in an instant and pinning my hands above my head. I struggled, kicking my legs up violently but he was far stronger than me.

“Don’t,” I gasped. “Please. I won’t say anything. Just leave. Please. Please!”

Holding my wrists in one of his massive hands, William pulled a syringe out of his jacket pocket. “Stop fighting me.”

I saw the needle and screamed, “What are you doing?”

“It won’t hurt,” said William. “I promise. It’s ketamine. By the time you come around, I’ll be gone.”

I struggled so violently William couldn’t remove the cap.

“Lay still!” he shouted but I kept on wriggling and managed to jab my knee into his groin.

With a cry of pain, William rolled off me and curled up in a fetal position. I got to my knees, tried to crawl to the door, but his hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me back toward him.

“Let me go,” I shouted and lunged for the winged cupid crystal award that Mum kept on the shelf of her bookcase. I smacked it down hard on William’s head. He fell back, dazed but still conscious. I snatched the syringe out of his hand, tore off the cap, and plunged it into his neck.

William went out like a light.

The office door rattled, “Open up! It’s the police.”

There was a crack and crash as Clive shouldered the door and exploded into the room closely followed by Shawn and my mother who cried, “I’ve brought the cavalry!”

Chapter Twenty-six

“I’m nervous,” Mum whispered.

We were standing at the gate inside the equine cemetery. “Don’t be silly. I’m sure Lady Edith is far more nervous than you. Why are you whispering?”

“It’s a whispering sort of place,” we chorused and laughed.

“There she is.” I pointed to the small figure on the wooden seat looking out over the river. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Mum shook her head and set off down the hill alone.

Back at the Carriage House my heart sank when I spotted David’s Porsche parked in the courtyard. He jumped out and hurried over.

“Kat!” he cried. “I was worried! Why haven’t you returned my phone calls?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Is this
still
about Trudy and Dartmouth?” He pointed to his Porsche’s rear wing that had substantial damage. Eric was right when he’d said cars weren’t made the way they used to be. “I think I came off worse in that scenario.”

“Really?”

“Look, I understand why you’re angry and that you need to cool off a little but,” he paused, “I need to talk to you. Not about us, but about your mother.”

My heart sank. “What about my mother?”

“Trudy got an e-mail from someone called Vera Pugsley this weekend,” he said. “She’s the housekeeper here. Apparently this Pugsley woman told Trudy she had important information regarding the real identity of Krystalle Storm—and of course, given what happened to Vera—”

“Vera’s death had nothing to do with my mother,” I said sharply.

David looked hurt. “I didn’t say it did. It just looks a bit suspicious, that’s all. I know how much William—or should I say, Ralph Jackson, liked your mother.”

“You mean my mother was so afraid of being found out that she persuaded William to kill Vera off?”

“So what really happened?” said David. “I couldn’t get a straight answer at the Hare & Hounds, only that Jackson got twelve months for involuntary manslaughter.”

“Isn’t that all we need to know?” I said.

“Aren’t you curious?” said David. “Why did Ralph Jackson change his name to William Bushman?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I said, feeling my face redden. I had always been a hopeless liar. “Why are you so interested?”