Murders Most Foul (20 page)

He had it – the answer! He sat up.

But too late, he had to let it go; this fleeting shadow of a nightmare was too far-fetched to have any credibility.

‘Laurie – Laurie, wake up! For heaven’s sake – please!’

Lizzie sat up, confused, wondering if this was a dream. Dawn streaked the sky and Clara stood over her, trembling.

‘What is it, madam, what is wrong?’

Clara sat down on the bed and put her hands over her face. ‘Oh dear God, Laurie. He is here! Here!’ she sobbed.

‘Who, madam, who are you talking about?’

‘My stepfather, Bodvale.’ Clara sat up. ‘He came to my bedroom, just minutes ago.’

Lizzie got out of bed, calmly threw a shawl over her mistress’s shoulders, shivering in her thin nightgown. She had dealt with this situation before …

‘Come along, madam. You’ll catch cold, let me get you back to bed. You’ve had another of your horrible nightmares—’

‘Nightmare! This was no nightmare, Laurie. This was real. He tried to make me go with him. When I said no, he said he would … would kill me …’ The rest was inarticulate as she sobbed. ‘Please help me, Laurie.’

Lizzie looked at her, shivering, clearly terrified. What could she do? She put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s go to your room, madam. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

She ushered Clara back to her bedroom, eased her into her bed and prepared to go down into the kitchen.

‘No, no, don’t leave me,’ Clara cried. ‘He might come back.’ She stared across at the window. ‘He could be lurking about outside.’ She took Lizzie’s arm. ‘Promise me you won’t leave me – promise.’

Lizzie was prepared to humour her, convinced that this had been yet another of her mistress’s nightmares. She sat down, taking her cold hand in hers. The usual procedure was to stay with her until she fell asleep again.

‘Close your eyes, madam,’ she said gently. ‘You’re quite safe—’

‘Safe!’ Clara almost shrieked. ‘I thought I was safe. That was my dream for the past few years. Now I know I will never be safe. I will never be safe again.’

‘Madam, believe me, it was all just a horrible dream.’

Clara sat up in bed, rolled up the sleeves of her nightgown. ‘Dream, was it? If you don’t believe me, look at the marks on my arms – and my throat too.’

And there in the lamplight there were indeed red blotches; bruises on both her arms were clearly visible.

‘I was fast asleep. Suddenly I was awake, someone had turned up the lamp. I thought it was my husband paying me a rare midnight visit. Then I heard Bodvale’s voice in my ear, calling my name.

‘“Clara, Clara.” Horrified, I opened my eyes, I saw his shadow. He called me his little beauty and said he had waited a long time for this moment. He tried to kiss me, I
struggled and he got hold of my arms. “I’ve come to take you away, you’re coming with me where you belong.” I started to scream and that was when he took me by the throat, said one yell and he would finish me off. Like he once told me, if he couldn’t have me, no one else would. He said he’d been patient, tracking me down – he’d waited. Now the waiting was over.

‘He said, “Prepare yourself, you’re coming with me. Not tonight, I have things to do first, scores to settle, then we’ll be together for always, for the rest of our lives, just as I’ve always dreamt about. If you won’t come with me, then I’ll kill you too.” I think I must have fainted. I opened my eyes but he was still bending over me. Then he said to me, “I mean you no harm, my dearest girl, as long as you wait and do as I tell you … Here, drink this.” And he gave me a glass of water. I drank it. I think I fainted again for when I opened my eyes, just before I came to you, he had gone.’

Lizzie said: ‘Why didn’t you go to the master?’

‘Oh, Lizzie, you know perfectly well why I couldn’t do that,’ she cried. ‘He knows nothing of my past. Only you know,’ she added reproachfully. ‘You’re the only one I could trust.’ She paused, then wailed, ‘But what shall I do? He must be lurking about, waiting. Outside somewhere.’

Still unconvinced despite those bruises, which in a nightmare Lizzie believed could have been self-inflicted, she had some questions that needed answers.

‘How did he get into the house, madam?’

‘Oh, how do I know? He was just … there.’

Lizzie persisted. ‘But how did he know which was your bedroom – or that you had a separate one from the master?’ she added as delicately as she could.

Clara shook her head. ‘I don’t know – I don’t know anything, only that he was standing by my bed.’

Lizzie thought for a moment, reconstructing the scene in her mind. How could he get across the garden and into the house without the dogs barking? The master liked to think of them as guard dogs and they made a terrific din when disturbed.

Clara took her hand and whispered, ‘Who can help me, Laurie, who can I turn to?’

If it was true and the intruder was real and not the figment of a nightmare, then, to Lizzie, there was only one person or persons who could help, who could protect Clara. The police, but in particular one DC Faro. But Clara had said: ‘Tell no one.’

If the intruder was real, had her mistress been drugged so that he could make his getaway? One sip of the water was enough to confirm that the bitter taste was laudanum.

She kept this sinister information to herself, but seeing Clara still distraught throughout the day and with Archie away on business, when she was usually given permission to see Faro, she had a better idea.

First of all, she had to tell Clara what she intended.

‘You need someone to help you, madam, isn’t that so?’

‘Oh yes, anyone, Laurie. Anyone who can get me out of this horror. I am absolutely desperate.’

‘There is one person, someone we both know, who we can trust, who is the soul of discretion.’

Clara stared at her, bewildered. ‘Who, Laurie, who? I don’t understand. Someone we both know?’ She shook her head.

‘Yes, madam. DC Faro.’ Lizzie smiled, trying to keep the pride out of her voice.

‘Your policeman friend, Laurie? No, my dear, that will not do at all,’ Clara said firmly. ‘The police must be kept out of this. For reasons you already know, if they are involved then it will all come out. My past,’ she shuddered. ‘All that I have concealed from my husband. Once he knows, then he will show me the door; my safe and secure future, my marriage will all be at an end.’

Lizzie put a hand on her arm. ‘Please don’t distress yourself, madam, we are not talking about the police. You can tell Jeremy Faro. Explain what happened. I am sure when he knows the truth he will be persuaded not to inform official sources. He will keep a promise too, that I have made—’

‘And are about to break,’ said Clara reproachfully.

‘Then I beseech you, for your own sake, madam, to release me from that promise.’

Clara sat motionless, silent, thinking, then she sighed. ‘Very well, Laurie, if you are sure there is no other way. I have no option.’ And clasping her hand, ‘I do trust you, dear Laurie,’ and stifling a sob, ‘you are all I have to trust.’ She sat up and said firmly, ‘When can you arrange this?’

‘With your permission, I will bring him when he comes to meet me outside the gate tonight.’

Faro was somewhat taken aback when Lizzie hurried towards him. She was not wearing outdoor attire and seizing his arm said: ‘Come with me.’ Bewildered he allowed her to lead him through the kitchen door where a surprised Mrs Brown looked up from her household accounts and demanded:

‘And where do you two think you’re going?’

Heading for the door into the main hall, Lizzie said: ‘We have an appointment with the mistress. We are expected.’

They heard Betty giggle as the outraged housekeeper sprang forward. ‘This is most irregular. Wait! I must announce you first. The mistress is in her room – she has given orders that she is not to be disturbed.’

But she was too late; even as she undid her apron they were gone, their footsteps echoing down the stairs.

At the top of the staircase Lizzie whispered: ‘The mistress thought it was safer to talk in her bedroom, less chance of being overheard, or listened to downstairs.’

Faro put a delaying hand on her arm. ‘Wait a minute, Lizzie. What is all this about?’

‘Madam thought she was having a nightmare last night, came and woke me up. That has happened before. But this was no dream, it seems we had an intruder, a man who threatened her—’

Faro was taken by surprise. Was this a further attack by the killer on Clara Lumbleigh? ‘This is a police matter, Lizzie,’ he said sternly. ‘She should have called the beat constable immediately and his escape might have been prevented—’

‘No, Jeremy, no. She has her own reasons for not wanting the police involved. She will tell you herself …’

Faro’s protests were ignored as Lizzie hurried him along the corridor and tapped on the door.

Clara looked relieved to see Faro with Lizzie and as she invited them to take a seat, Faro said: ‘Lizzie has told me very briefly that your life was threatened by an intruder and that you need police protection, madam—’ As Faro was about to repeat what he had said to Lizzie, Clara interrupted.

‘Not police protection, Constable. There are circumstances that require discretion.’ She paused, looked at him, sighed and shook her head.

Still mystified, Faro said: ‘Perhaps you would be so good—’

Clara straightened her shoulders and said: ‘I will begin at the beginning, Constable. As a child I had a vile stepfather who abused me. My mother died and I was at his mercy, a virtual prisoner. Then, in my teenage years, he was sent to prison for some criminal activity. I escaped from his clutches but had to make my own way in the world. My means of survival would not be entirely suitable for my husband to
hear. I had changed my name and my identity, but I was not the innocent young woman Mr Lumbleigh thought he was leading to the altar.’ She paused, sighed deeply. ‘I say no more, Constable. I leave that to your imagination. Should he learn the truth, I fear that our marriage will be at an end.’

Resisting the temptation to take out his notebook, Faro nodded sympathetically. ‘And last night? This intruder?’

‘I recognised him as my vile stepfather. He had tracked me down and come, he said, to claim me.’ And she proceeded to outline what he had said in much the same words as she had to Lizzie, and ended by saying: ‘I will never forget his words. They will be engraved on my heart for ever.’

Faro’s mind had been working quickly as he listened and there were many practical questions for which he needed answers.

‘You had no problems recognising him again?’

She shook her head. ‘Only by his voice. It was dark, and although he kept well out of the lamplight’s range, he had turned it up when he entered the room. I could see only his eyes when he wakened me. The rest of his face was hidden, by some sort of mask, but those eyes …’ She shuddered. ‘They have haunted my whole life.’

There were the usual queries about a break-in to be noted. Again Faro regretted that he could hardly produce his notebook but at least he could rely on his remarkable memory for retaining precise details.

‘How did he get in unobserved?’

Clara shuddered. ‘I have no idea. A door left unlocked or a window open? There are trees close to the house, he could have climbed one and slid along a ledge, if he is agile
enough. But I doubt that, Mrs Brown is most reliable, she checks all windows before retiring each night, and in my husband’s absence, the front and back doors as well.’

‘I see. But how did he approach the house in the first place? He must have approached through the gardens. What about the dogs, were they not alerted to an intruder’s presence?’

‘If they barked, then no one heard them and they did not scare him off.’

That was odd. Boy was one of the two dogs who were not house pets but kept in the kennels at the stable for Brown to put out at night to guard the grounds.

‘I take it that nothing was stolen, the intruder took nothing?’

‘Of course not,’ said Clara. ‘It was not his intention to steal.’

Faro sat back and considered the evidence so far. The fact that the dogs did not bark suggested that the intruder was a familiar sight, that he had got into the house and found his way upstairs in the dark unaided into Clara’s room. That he had kept his face covered also suggested that not only was the intruder Jabez Bodvale (as borne out by Clara’s confident recognition of his voice) but that he was someone known to the inhabitants of Lumbleigh Green.

His own suspicions, which had seemed so impossible, were beginning to make sense. He asked: ‘Why was your stepfather in prison?’

‘He was leading a murder gang long sought by the police.’

‘You mentioned that he escaped.’

‘Yes, there was a fire, perhaps he even started it, and
in the confusion he escaped. When he lived with us he never talked about his business activities. Even at that age I suspected it was something illegal, like smuggling. My mother told me that his father had once lost a fortune on the turn of a card. That was why he was so bitter about everything, he had lost his birthright, she said. But he always seemed to have plenty of money.’

Faro eye’s gleamed. Was this a link with the playing card at last?

He said: ‘He told you to prepare yourself to leave but first he had a score to settle – were those his exact words?’

Clara shivered. ‘They were.’

Faro thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase the question delicately. ‘May I ask you, concerned as you are regarding your own past, have you any notion of anything that was, well, discreditable in your husband’s past?’

Clara looked startled, then uncomfortable. ‘I once came across an envelope with some newspaper clippings in his desk drawer – I was looking for a pen,’ she lied, flinching at this disclosure of her curiosity. ‘I think it was about his partner’s suicide, claiming to have been ruined by him.’

‘Did you happen to notice this partner’s name?’

Faro could have found this out for himself later, but time was running out fast. Any minute now and they would be confronted by Bodvale. That shadow at the back of his mind had moved forward, taken shape. The motive, the essential presence of a carriage at these incidents, Webb and his Inverness cape, the smell of wet wool …

Clara was shaking her head, ‘There was no opportunity – I heard my husband approaching. I fled.’

‘Mrs Lumbleigh, could I ask you to go and get that envelope again?’

Clara looked confused and embarrassed. He thought she was about to refuse and put his hand on hers. ‘It is very important, believe me. I wouldn’t ask you to do this but your life may depend on it.’

Clara sighed. ‘I was ashamed of what I had done. It seemed so despicable. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to put it back. So awful if I was caught in the act. Spying on my husband, he’d never forgive me—’

Faro interrupted hastily. ‘You mean you still have it?’

Clara hung her head. ‘Yes.’

‘Please, Mrs Lumbleigh, we must see it.’

He thought she was about to refuse, but with a shrug Clara unlocked her writing desk, and silently handed the envelope to him with a grimace as if the action burnt her fingers.

‘You mean that you haven’t read it?’ Faro asked amazed.

She shook her head. ‘No, I no longer wished to pry into his past. I prefer to go on thinking of him as he is today, so good and kind.’

She did not add that she had been overcome by a bad conscience concerning matters in her own past which did not bear scrutiny. ‘I don’t want to know the contents,’ she said miserably.

Faro scanned the cuttings quickly. ‘I think you should. The name of the partner who committed suicide was Bodvale. Arthur Bodvale.’

Clara sat back, her hand to her mouth. ‘Arthur Bodvale,’ she repeated. ‘Jabez’s father?’

Faro realised that this revelation gave the answer to
many of the questions he had been wrestling with, not least providing the motive that Macfie had told him to look for: revenge, the most enduring and most cruel of all motives.

But this was no time to linger … Faro was now certain of the killer’s identity. Ten years can change a man’s physical appearance but he wondered if Bodvale’s face had been scarred during the prison fire, facial hair a perfect disguise for a coachman muffled up to the eyes, an anonymous creature in a house where servants were expected to melt into the woodwork when the master – or mistress – appeared.

Lizzie stood, a bewildered observer to this extraordinary scene and, aware of the danger, her thoughts were for her boy.

Where was Vince? He should be home from school and he would be here soon. Mist and rain, as well as the police search on the hill for the missing priest, had put an end to their target shooting. Paul had decided he’d introduce Vince to billiards and Lizzie remembered that it was today he was to come straight from school, sit in the library and wait for Paul.

Lizzie decided that Vince was outgrowing his boyhood too fast when he had produced the small pistol Paul had given him for doing so well in their target shooting.

At her cry of alarm, Vince said, ‘Don’t be silly, Ma, it isn’t loaded.’ It made him feel like a policeman, although the beat constable only carried a truncheon. He was sure that DC Faro knew all about guns, and imagined that detectives carried arms when faced with dangerous criminals.

Lizzie was not wholly convinced. As for Faro he suspected that Ida’s death had upset Paul and with good
reason. At their last meeting the week before she died, Ida had hinted to him that she might be pregnant. Horrified, Paul had recoiled at the idea and what it implied, although he knew that it was most unlikely. As a medical student who enjoyed women’s sexual favours he was well acquainted with all methods of contraception. Had he been guilty of her condition, suicide would have been deplorable and he was almost relieved that her death was murder.

Having slept with her a few times, she was seeing him in the role of her future husband, but his matrimonial intentions lay far beyond a more than willing servant with ambitions above her humble station in life.

Meanwhile in Clara’s room they were running out of time.

‘Prepare yourself to leave immediately.’ Bodvale’s words meant to Faro that careful plans of escape had been already made for imminent flight after the fatal score was settled. The grim revenge that had been corroding Bodvale’s heart for many years.

For his plan to succeed, timing was crucial. Bodvale could not risk Clara regaining her courage to tell Archie.

Faro knew he had to be planning to return this evening and no doubt Bodvale was keeping the house, the comings and goings of everyone within, under close observation, ready to seize the right moment, which meant that he had to have an accomplice.

Faro realised that Clara had no idea of what was about to happen. Had Archie been at home, warning him would be fatal. His reaction to a policeman lurking upstairs in his wife’s bedroom would be nothing short of disastrous.

There was only one grimly dangerous answer.

Archie Lumbleigh, potential victim, had to be bait in a trap set for Bodvale.

Downstairs they heard Betty leave, Mrs Brown telling her not to be late in the morning. What was the housekeeper’s role in Bodvale’s plan?

Light footsteps on the stairs and Vince, all smiles in this grim-faced gathering, looked in to see his mother. Startled by her more than usually anxious embrace, he was persuaded to wait there for the moment until Paul arrived. Unaware of the tensions all around him, or what Faro was doing here, he talked calmly to Lizzie about progress on the school football field.

A sound on the gravel drive. Faro ran to the window.

The carriage had arrived. The coachman stepped down, Archie and Paul emerged. The weather was so bad that Paul had requested he be picked up leaving Surgeons’ Hall en route home, a request which fitted admirably into Bodvale’s plan.

‘Instead of sitting here, Lizzie and I could have been safe, miles away,’ Clara, now thoroughly terrified, whispered reproachfully.

Faro shook his head. ‘No time for that.’ Trying to calm her without putting it into words, he knew the only way to capture Bodvale was to have not only Archie but Clara too as bait in the trap he had set.

Downstairs, the two men, discarding cloaks, had gone into the dining room, Mrs Brown at their heels with a tray of pre-dinner drinks.

Vince said: ‘I’ll go now. Paul will be waiting—’

‘Wait!’ Faro and Lizzie held out restraining hands. For
what was in store, Faro wanted the boy out of the way, out of danger. ‘Vince, can you do something for me – can you take an urgent message to the beat constable?’

‘PC Craig, you mean?’ Vince was mystified but guessed that there was something urgent going on that the grown-ups hadn’t told him about. A surprise perhaps as Faro added:

‘Without being seen, Vince.’

That gave the boy an idea. He went to the window. ‘Open this, please.’ Faro did so.

Vince leant out. ‘There’s a ledge and see, that tree! I’ve always wanted to climb it.’

‘Oh no,’ Lizzie groaned and ignoring her protests Faro scribbled the message while Vince looked on delighted.

‘Is it very important?’

Handing it to him Faro said: ‘Very important. Our lives, your mother and Mrs Lumbleigh, all of us depend on it.’

Vince was already astride the window sill.

‘Off you go, and take care.’

‘Oh, I will. This is super – just like one of those adventure stories in the boys’ annual,’ he grinned happily.

Lizzie was scared, reproachful even, as at Faro’s side she watched Vince edge along and then swing himself on to the overhanging tree branch. The carriage had moved out of range. There was no sign of the coachman. Vince’s exit had been just in time.

Footsteps on the stairs. Their waiting was over.