The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5) (21 page)

‘Do you want me to beat it out of him, sir?’ said Gabe eagerly.

The Foreign Secretary’s mouth twitched in amusement.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but we prefer gentler methods over here—and besides, I think he’s taken enough of a drubbing for one day, don’t you? I shall speak to him tomorrow, when he’s had a chance to recover a little, and see if I can get anything out of him.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I suppose we ought to be thinking about dressing for dinner,’ he said.

Aubrey was thoughtfully shuffling the documents that lay in front of him.

‘If Burford is telling the truth, then I wonder how his anonymous correspondent knew that Professor Klausen was coming here with the papers,’ he said. ‘Presumably that means Claude is lying about the whole thing.’

‘Unless, of course, another one of us has been passing on secrets,’ said Henry lightly.

In the drawing-room Lady Strathmerrick was suffering in a similar manner to her husband. Coming as it did on top of the shocks of the past day or two, the discovery that Claude Burford (whom she had not in truth liked much despite his ostensible suitability as a son-in-law) had been rampaging around the house, shooting her guests, had proved almost too much for her. Although she wished for nothing more than to go and lie down in her room for several hours, the ingrained manners of a lifetime prevented her from seeking that succour, and she was forced by the demands of her own upbringing to sit with the rest of the guests—although to make polite conversation was impossible. Instead she sat, pale-faced and staring straight ahead, while Miss Foster flapped about ineffectually and tried to rally her. Meanwhile Gertie, who deep down was very fond of her mother, sat by her, holding her hand and gazing at her in concern. Eventually Gertie jumped up, poured a large glass of brandy and forced the Countess to drink it.

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Lady Strathmerrick, as the colour slowly began to return to her cheeks. She looked about her as some semblance of awareness returned, and was relieved to find that nobody appeared to require her attention at that moment. Priss and Clemmie were sitting with their heads together, whispering in agitation—although in truth, Priss looked more surprised and angry than upset, while Eleanor Buchanan was talking to Mrs. Marchmont, and Mrs. Nash was clucking in concern over Freddy Pilkington-Soames, who appeared to be bleeding from one ear all over the cushions. Gus and Bobby were staring at Freddy in fascination, and Mr. Bagshawe was gazing pathetically at Gertie as usual.

‘Have some more,’ said Gertie, pouring another slug into the glass.

‘Oh, no, I mustn’t,’ said the Countess. ‘I shall never stay awake until dinner. No, I am quite recovered now, thank you.’

‘Then I shall drink it,’ said Gertie, swallowing it in one gulp. ‘I think I need some brandy too, after the events of this afternoon. I must get hold of Angela once she’s stopped talking to the Buchanan woman. I want to know exactly what happened.’

Over in the corner, Angela was listening to what Eleanor Buchanan had to say. Naturally, her husband had been shocked when she had confessed to him her secret and told him about Claude’s blackmail.

‘Was he very angry with you?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Eleanor. ‘At least, he was at first. But then he started blaming himself for having let me fall prey to a blackmailer and asked me to forgive him. That made me feel even worse, of course, because naturally he has been completely blameless throughout the whole affair. Now he is going to suffer, and all because of me. Oh, Angela, I’ve been such a coward. I ought never to have kept the secret from him—ought never to have married him, in fact,’ she added sadly. ‘He would have been much better off without me.’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Eleanor. ‘He said he still loved me and was quite determined to stand by me. But how can I live with the guilt? I can’t help thinking that the best thing I could do would be to leave.’

‘And betray him again, after he has placed his trust in you a second time?’ said Angela gently. ‘I hardly think that would be a just reward to him, do you?’

Eleanor gave her a startled glance.

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ she said after a moment. ‘Oh, Angela, all I want to do is the right thing—what’s best for Sandy.’

‘If that is the case then you must stay with him and face up to the consequences of what you have done,’ said Angela. ‘It is up to him to decide whether or not he can live with it—and from what you say, he has already made his decision.’ She smiled. ‘He obviously loves you very much.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course—why, anyone can see it,’ said Angela.

‘And I love him so very much too,’ said Eleanor. She straightened up and set her jaw. ‘You’re right again, of course. Very well, I shall stick with him for as long as he wants me, and if he should decide in the end that what I have done is unforgivable—well then, I shall accept his decision and try to live with it.’

‘I hope it will never come to that,’ said Angela. ‘At any rate, I am glad you told him the truth. To continue with the lie would have been impossible.’

‘In a funny way it was quite a relief,’ said Mrs. Buchanan. ‘Now there are no secrets between us, and if we can only get over this present difficulty then I almost feel as though we can start afresh. If only there were some way to hush up all this scandal—or at least suppress some part of the truth.’

‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if Mr. Jameson and Lord Strathmerrick manage something of the sort between them,’ said Angela. ‘All may not yet be lost.’

‘I hope so,’ said Eleanor. She glanced at the clock. ‘And now I had better go and dress for dinner. I am on my best behaviour now, so I mustn’t be late.’

She went out, and Angela was immediately joined by Gus and Bobby, who in a flurry of breathless whispers clamoured to know what exactly had been going on that afternoon, since nobody else would tell them. Angela gave them an expurgated summary of events, and they gaped at her in speechless excitement, then Bobby suppressed a whoop and tried not to caper about.

‘Serves him right,’ he said in a low voice, ‘after the telling-off he gave us yesterday. We never liked him.’

‘Yes, he was an awful sneak,’ agreed Gus. ‘If you ask me, we’re well rid of him. Now Priss can get married to someone nicer.’

‘Gabe,’ said Bobby, nodding. ‘Let’s have him. I like him. He’s jolly good at making snowmen. And I’ll bet he’s the sort who will play pick-a-back without worrying about getting shoe-marks on his clothes. Not like Claude.’

This seemed to be the summit of their wishes with regard to a prospective brother-in-law, and Angela readily admitted that in that respect at least Gabe Bradley was an eminently suitable candidate, being big and tall enough to carry either of them on his back if required. They bounced up and down in excitement, then ran off to chew over the new information among themselves.

Angela smiled, then decided to follow Eleanor’s example and dress for dinner. When she reached the top of the stairs she encountered Henry Jameson coming out of his room, frowning. He had almost walked past her before he noticed her and brought himself up short.

‘Is everything quite all right?’ said Angela, noticing his abstraction.

‘Mrs. Marchmont, perhaps I am getting old and losing my memory, but I am right in thinking that you gave me the second gun, aren’t I?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘I handed it to you in the hall when Freddy and I came in, don’t you remember?’

‘Yes, I thought you did,’ said Henry. ‘And I’m pretty sure I put it in the drawer in my room.’

‘Are you telling me you’ve lost it?’ said Angela.

‘Either that or someone has taken it,’ said Henry soberly.

They stared at each other.

‘Ought I to look and see whether it has been planted in my handbag again?’ said Angela, in a vain attempt to make light of the matter.

He did not reply, so she tried again.

‘Who could have taken it?’ she said.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘And I don’t know why, either.’

‘Who knew you had it?’

‘Why, almost everyone, I should think,’ he said. ‘The whole house has been in an uproar since we all found out what Burford had been getting up to. I don’t suppose there’s one person who doesn’t know the entire story by now.’

‘Might Claude have taken it?’

Henry shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘We questioned him then locked him in a bedroom upstairs, and it was only after that that I went and put the gun in my drawer.’

‘Perhaps someone took it as a joke,’ said Angela, although it did not sound likely, even to her. ‘At any rate,’ she went on practically, ‘surely it doesn’t matter now that you’ve caught Claude. After all, he’s the only murderer in the house—isn’t he?’

‘Not according to him,’ said Henry. ‘He says he didn’t do it.’

‘What?’ said Angela.

Henry gave her a brief summary of Claude’s version of events.

‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’

‘I hope not,’ said Henry frankly. ‘If he was, then we are not much further forward than we were before, since presumably there is another spy on the loose somewhere—one who knew about the existence of the papers and was in a position to instruct Burford to steal them. But I should hate to think that was the case.’

‘But what had Claude to gain by returning only one set of the papers once he was caught?’

‘None, as far as I can see,’ said Henry.

‘Then perhaps he is telling the truth. Perhaps someone else killed Professor Klausen and stole the documents from his dead body.’

‘I hope not,’ said Henry again. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ He went off, looking grim.

At dinner everyone was in a state of suppressed excitement, eager to talk about the events of the day but prevented by good manners from doing so—since, when all was said and done, it would have been the height of bad taste to draw attention to the fact that Lady Priscilla’s fiancé had turned out to be such a bad lot. St. John, it was true, could not resist whispering triumphantly to Angela about his presumed exoneration, but everybody else did their best to keep the conversation to unobjectionable subjects.

‘I gather the men managed to clear a path through to the village this afternoon,’ said Aubrey Nash.

‘Yes, thank goodness,’ said Lady Strathmerrick, ‘although I’m afraid it will take some time until the drive can be cleared sufficiently to allow motor-cars to pass through.’

‘Then we shall have to impose on your generous hospitality a little longer, Lady Strathmerrick,’ said Selma with her most charming smile. ‘I never thought I could enjoy being trapped in a place so much.’

‘How very kind of you to say so,’ said the Countess.

‘You’ll be able to return to the inn now, at any rate,’ said Angela to St. John.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m going tomorrow morning, but I shall be back in the afternoon as I have some things to do for the ladies. Do you have any errands you’d like me to run? I’ve promised to post Miss Foster’s latest chapter to her writers’ circle, and—’ (in a lower tone) ‘—Gertie wants me to get her some cigarettes—although you’d better not tell her Governor about that, as she’s not supposed to smoke.’

‘No, I don’t think I need anything, thank you,’ replied Angela. ‘As a matter of fact, I may take a little walk into the village myself, before it starts snowing and we get cut off again.’

‘Father says the weather is improving now,’ said Clemmie. ‘I dare say the drive will be clear in no time and we can all get back to London.’

They all talked of the snow with politeness and determination until everything had been said that could be said on the subject and a general silence fell. It was Gertie who eventually broke the embargo as the apple tart was being served.

‘I say,’ she said suddenly, ‘has anybody taken Claude up something to eat?’

Nobody had, it appeared.

‘I shall send up a maid with a tray,’ said Lady Strathmerrick.

‘Better not,’ said Sandy Buchanan. ‘We don’t want him to overpower her and escape.’

‘Bradley and I will take him something shortly,’ said Henry. ‘He won’t get the better of us.’

He then found some other observation to make about the weather that had not already been made, and they all pursued the subject energetically until dinner had ended.

The ladies soon retired to the drawing-room to whisper in corners, while the men remained behind to mutter gruffly at each other. Angela was gazing out of the window, idly wondering whether the part she had played in bringing Claude to justice meant that she was now
persona non grata
in the view of her hostess, when she noticed that the fastening of her necklace had worked loose and the article in question was about to fall to the floor. Closer examination revealed that the catch had broken. Since the dress she was wearing required a neck ornament—according to Marthe, at least—Angela left the drawing-room and went up to her room to find a suitable replacement. As she reached the top of the stairs, however, she heard voices she recognized coming from the next landing. Something about their tone arrested her attention, and she moved to the bottom of the second flight and looked upwards. The first thing that caught her eye was a wide-open door and the sight of Gabe Bradley standing in the doorway with one hand to his forehead, in an attitude of shock. Without thinking, she hurried up the stairs to join him. He heard her coming and turned.

‘Don’t,’ he said, but it was no use. Angela had already seen what lay in the room beyond. It was a small bed-chamber, simply furnished with a bed, a little table and a chest of drawers. On the chest was a tray of food. Henry Jameson was bending over the bed, on which lay a man who seemed to be asleep. It was Claude Burford.

Angela stared. She knew immediately what had happened. Henry straightened up as he saw her, and before he even opened his mouth she knew what his next words would be.

‘He’s dead,’ he said.