The Mystery at Underwood House (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) (16 page)

The sun had gone in and a chill had descended when Angela entered the wood. She picked her way carefully along the rough path. The trees were already more thickly clothed with leaves than they had been a week or two ago when she had last come along here, so she did not see the lake until she came upon it unexpectedly as she rounded a bend and saw the little cove ahead.

She walked down to the edge of the water and dipped her hand into it, letting it trickle through her fingers. It was cold and clear, and she could see that the sand and pebbles sloped gently away without any steep drop. It would certainly have made more sense from the murderer’s point of view to kill Edward here, rather than out on the lake where he would be likely to struggle and perhaps tip them both overboard. She half-closed her eyes, trying to visualize the events of that night. In her mind’s eye she saw Edward standing by the dark shore, gazing out at the water. Suddenly, he heard something and turned round to see a shadowy figure approaching. Perhaps he nodded curtly and greeted the newcomer. Was he surprised to see him? Or was the meeting prearranged?

What happened after that? Angela pictured the stiff conversation, which gradually intensified into an altercation and then a struggle that Edward Haynes could never win. She imagined him, his arms and legs thrashing in a desperate fight for life as his assailant threw him to the ground and held his head mercilessly under the water until he grew still. Angela saw the murderer rise, panting, and glance contemptuously at the body of his fallen foe before setting to work, stripping off his own things, hefting Edward over his shoulders and lowering him into the rowing-boat. She saw him pull strongly out towards the middle of the lake and then stop to grapple with his load. She could almost hear the grunt and the splash as he consigned Edward to his watery grave. Perhaps he stopped to contemplate his handiwork for a moment or two—or to make sure his victim was truly dead. Then he dived neatly from the boat, causing barely a ripple, and struck back to shore with long, powerful strokes. He must have crept back into the house as quietly as possible, so as not to draw attention to the state of his clothes. Perhaps he had run upstairs and changed into another suit, then come downstairs to rejoin the company. Had he sat in the drawing-room, chatting idly and inwardly congratulating himself on his success? Or perhaps it had all happened after everyone else had gone to bed. There was no way of knowing.

One thing was clear, however: a man had murdered Edward, not a woman. A woman might have poisoned Philippa, or might have pushed Winifred from a height, but it would certainly have taken a man’s strength to kill Edward with such violence, such brute force. But who was it?

Deep in her own reflections, Angela forgot the time and was only recalled to herself by the realization that she was getting very chilly. A stiff breeze had got up and she could smell the smoke from the bonfire as it burned elsewhere in the grounds. Her thoughts returned to the suit. As far as she could judge, it might fit any one of the men in the house—except perhaps Robin, who was more slightly built than the others. She would look at it more closely once she got home, and would keep it to give to Inspector Jameson as evidence, should it ever be needed.

She turned and made her way back towards the edge of the woods. Stella would surely be back by now, and Angela was keen to get to the bottom of the girl’s mysterious outburst of a few days ago—as well as to fulfil her promise and intercede with her on Donald’s behalf. The sky was even darker than before, and it looked as though a cloudburst threatened: there was that eerie silence that often precedes a storm. Angela tramped up the path, hearing nothing except the crunch of her own footsteps as she went. Even the birds were silent, waiting breathlessly for something, it seemed.

She suddenly felt an insect at her ear and brushed at it impatiently, then started in surprise as the air was rent by a sharp
pop!
followed by a cracking noise close by. Angela stared for a second at the pale groove which had suddenly appeared at head height along the edge of a nearby tree trunk, and knew immediately what it was. Quick as lightning, she threw herself to the ground and scrambled round to the other side of the trunk, ripping the knees of her stockings as she did so. She made it by the skin of her teeth—even one second later and she might have been dead, in fact, for immediately another two bangs sounded, followed by a
thunk
as one of the bullets hit the tree behind which she was now crouching.

Once the rushing in her ears and the beating of her heart had subsided, she froze and listened, thanking her stars that she was dressed in dun. For a few minutes the silence was complete, then came a low rumble of thunder. Angela pricked up her ears as she caught the faintest of sounds to her left, as though someone were using the peal as cover to move slowly through the trees. All was quiet again. He would have to make his move some time. Or was he waiting for her to come out? Well, he was a fool if he thought she was mad enough to stand up and reveal herself, or make a run for it. During her intrepid younger days, Angela had learned all sorts of tricks that had proved extremely convenient at the time—although she had never dreamed that she should have to put them to use again more than ten years later, when approaching staid middle-age. Nonetheless, she knew many useful things about how to hide, how to move as quietly as a mouse, and how to escape from sticky situations.

The first thing to do was to get him to show himself, or at least find out where he was. She flattened herself against the tree, keeping as low as possible, and peered round the trunk slowly, but could see nothing. She sat back and chewed her thumb. Did he intend to wait for her to emerge? Surely there was no need for him to do that—after all, he was the one with the gun. Sure enough, after a moment or two she heard someone take a cautious step or two. Then the steps became more certain. Angela grabbed a handful of pebbles and shied them as far as she could. They hit a tree some distance away with a loud rattle. The footsteps stopped and she heard whoever it was moving hurriedly in the direction of the noise. As quickly as she could, Angela wriggled over to a larger clump of trees that afforded better shelter and hid among them. She wanted to see who had attacked her and so peeped carefully through the leaves, trying to get a glimpse. But her shadowy assailant was evidently of the cautious type and there was no-one to be seen.

Angela looked about her. She did not know how good a shot he was, but had no wish to test his skills by providing an easy target for him to practise on. She had the advantage at present, since he did not know where she was hiding, so she judged the best thing to do was to try and creep as far away as possible without being spotted, and then to make a run for it.

Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself onto her stomach and inched her way forward, pausing frequently to listen and being careful to make no sound herself. Her goal was a thick shrub about five yards away, and she reached it without incident. The next move would be more difficult: she wanted to cut through the trees and reach the path further up, but there was a large area of open ground between her and the next patch of undergrowth which would give no cover at all.

There was nothing for it: she would just have to get on with it. Making no sound, she wriggled forward inch by inch. When she had gone a few yards she stopped to listen again. The silence was complete. Had he given it up and gone away? Angela waited another minute or two but heard nothing. She raised her head cautiously, then jumped as something flashed past her left ear this time and thudded into the ground just ahead of her. Throwing caution to the winds, she scrambled at all speed in the direction of the next clump of trees, but had gone barely two yards when the ground gave way beneath her and she plunged into a little gully that had been hidden from view, and where perhaps a stream had once flowed.

Angela gasped as she landed in a mess of dead leaves and cold mud, and lay there for a moment, winded. As she looked about her, she saw that the little channel wound for quite a way in both directions. Above her, the undergrowth grew across it and concealed her from view. This was a stroke of good fortune. With any luck, she could follow the watercourse along its length until she was out of sight of her attacker. As quickly as she could, she crawled in the direction in which she judged the path to lie, but her way shortly curved round and began to meander, and soon Angela had lost her bearings. She set her jaw and pressed on, as there seemed to be no other way out. Soon she was covered from head to toe in mud and filth. ‘I shall catch a terrible chill—always assuming I don’t catch a bullet in the head first, of course,’ she said to herself with grim humour.

She scrambled along the channel for some way, moving as quickly as she could, then finally heard something that filled her with hope. It was the sound of voices talking and laughing nearby. She raised her head and peered out of the ditch, and saw to her relief Briggs and his men standing a little way away, enjoying the bonfire.

Just then, one of them—young Thomas, perhaps—caught sight of her and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. The other men saw him and turned to see what he was looking at, and their eyes grew wide as they beheld the sight of Mrs. Haynes’s elegant friend kneeling in a ditch, her clothes and hair caked in mud and leaves.

‘
Hallo,’ said Angela, rather feebly under the circumstances. They continued to stare at the mad lady. ‘I’m afraid I fell into this ditch. Could someone help me out, please?’

Briggs recovered himself first and came towards her.

‘
Right you are, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Give us a hand, Tom.’

Thomas came forward and they helped her climb out.

‘
Thank you,’ said Angela with as much dignity as she could muster. She took out a handkerchief and wiped her face and hands, then removed her hat and examined it. It was quite ruined. Smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes as best she could, she bade them good day and headed towards the house, leaving them all gazing after her in silence.

It started to rain. Angela debated her next move. She needed to wash and change her clothes, but had no desire to show herself in the house looking as she did. The best thing to do would be to find Louisa and enlist her help before anybody else saw her. But where was she likely to be at this time of day?

Praying that nobody was about, Angela started towards where she knew the morning-room to be, hoping that Louisa would be there and that she could attract her attention by knocking at the window. But her efforts to remain discreet were doomed to failure, because just then she came up against Inspector Jameson as he left the house through a side door.

‘
Good God!’ he exclaimed involuntarily as he caught sight of her. He recovered himself quickly and put his hand up to his mouth as though to stifle a laugh. ‘Isn’t it a little chilly to be taking a mud bath?’ he asked.

‘
Yes, it most certainly is,’ she replied with some asperity. ‘Where is Louisa? I should like to wash.’

‘
Goodness me!’ exclaimed Mrs. Haynes, who had spied Angela through the window and now hurried out to join them. ‘What on earth have you been doing, Angela?’

‘
I shall explain shortly,’ said Angela, ‘but for now I’d like to get out of these wet things before anybody else sees me. I have already scandalized the groundsmen and expect to be the talk of the village by tomorrow. Inspector, are you going back to town?’

‘
Yes, I was just leaving,’ he said, seeing that something serious had happened. ‘May I give you a lift? I have a car.’

‘
Thank you. That would be most welcome,’ she said. ‘I shan’t be long.’ Her teeth had begun to chatter, whether from cold or from shock she could not tell.

Louisa accompanied her upstairs, where she cleaned herself up as best she could and changed into some borrowed clothes, telling her friend merely that she had lost her footing in the woods and fallen into a ditch. Mrs. Haynes pressed her to stay longer and take some time to recover from her ordeal, but Angela was anxious to get away as soon as possible and excused herself.

‘
But I can’t let you leave without even a cup of warm milk,’ exclaimed Louisa.

‘
Really, I shall be quite all right,’ said Angela. ‘A hot bath at home is all I need. Why,’ she went on to herself. ‘I do believe I’m in a blue funk. Thank goodness I have a tame policeman to take me home before I make any more of an exhibition of myself than I already have.’

‘
By the way, this is for you, from Briggs,’ said Louisa, taking a parcel from a table as they passed through the hall and handing it to Angela. ‘He said to tell you that they’re delicious served with just a dab of butter. Spring greens,’ she explained on seeing Angela’s mystified expression.

‘
Ah,’ said Angela, enlightened. ‘Tell him thank you very much.’

She took the parcel and went out to where the inspector was waiting for her by the car.

‘
Please, I’d like to go,’ she said. She was feeling a little light-headed.

Jameson looked at her and realized that something was very amiss.

‘
Why certainly,’ he said. ‘Start the car, Willis,’ he commanded the sergeant who was acting as driver.

Once they were safely on their way, Angela sagged back in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she straightened up, took a deep breath, looked the inspector directly in the eye and said, ‘Inspector Jameson, I must apologize for not heeding your advice of the other day. I’m afraid you’re going to think I’ve made the most awful fool of myself.’

‘
Why? What do you mean?’ he asked, startled by her serious tone.

‘
Somebody tried to kill me in the woods not an hour ago,’ she said.

Jameson sat up.

‘
Tell me what happened,’ he said.

‘
Someone shot at me. Not just once, but several times. I was quite fortunate to escape.’

‘
Who was it?’

‘
I couldn’t see him. He was hiding, or I was hiding, and we were never in view at one and the same time.’ She grimaced in frustration. ‘I’m very cross that I didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of him. Or her,’ she added. ‘It could have been a woman, I suppose.’

She recounted the whole story to him and he listened in great consternation.

‘
I know you’re going to tell me I should have been more careful,’ she said, forestalling him as he opened his mouth to speak, ‘and you’re right. It was silly of me, but stupidly, I didn’t believe the first attempt on my life was a serious one. Evidently I was wrong.’

Jameson shook his head in remonstrance but said nothing.

‘
But are you quite sure you are not hurt in any way?’ he asked.

‘
Apart from a blow to my pride and a few grazes to my hands and knees, I am perfectly all right,’ she replied.

‘
That is a great relief to me,’ he said. His eyes were full of genuine concern but he attempted to make a joke of it. ‘I am already in trouble with the super over the Robin Haynes fiasco, and I should hate to have to stand before him and explain the death of an amateur detective who was working on this case with my full knowledge.’

Angela smiled wanly, but inside she was furious with herself. How could she have been stupid enough to allow herself to fall into such a trap? She had known that somebody wished her harm and yet she had ignored the warnings of the police and walked into the woods in the most self-satisfied manner possible. And why had she very nearly lost her head? She would not have panicked like that in the forests of Belgium—although other lives besides her own were at stake then. Still, she could have kicked herself in vexation at her own incompetence.

Inspector Jameson was still talking.

‘
Now, Mrs. Marchmont,’ he said, ‘I really think it is time for you to withdraw from the case and let the police take over. An attempted murder gives us all the grounds we require to reopen the investigation officially, especially now that Robin has disappeared and there is some question about his financial dealings with his aunt.’

Angela narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. Oddly enough, the inspector’s words were just the tonic she needed.

‘
I shall be more than happy to relinquish the chief of the responsibility to you,’ she replied. ‘You have resources that I lack. I cannot legally search Robin’s house, for example, or arrest and question him. But you mustn’t think for a moment that I have any intention of retiring altogether. I have put myself to some inconvenience over the past week or two for my friend Louisa’s sake, and I think it is fair to say that I have made some progress in my inquiries. But there are still many things I want to find out. There are still many questions that remain unanswered and I intend to answer them. Inspector, I don’t know who it was who came after me today, but let me tell you I absolutely
refuse
to be frightened off by whoever it was.’

‘
I do believe that your mysterious antagonist has rather put your back up,’ said the inspector admiringly.

‘
Indeed he has,’ said Angela firmly. ‘I may have had a moment of weakness earlier, but I shall choose to attribute that to my dismay at the unnecessary destruction of a very expensive pair of silk stockings. However, you should be aware that, in general, I do not allow myself to be overcome by adversity.’

‘
I know it well,’ smiled Jameson. ‘I have heard it all from my brother.’

‘
Then please let me continue investigating alongside you, inspector,’ she said. ‘I should hate to have to stop just as I am starting to get somewhere.’

‘
To be perfectly truthful, Mrs. Marchmont, there’s nothing I can do within the law to stop you from continuing your inquiries if you wish it,’ replied the inspector, ‘so from that point of view you are safe from me. In addition, I have seen and heard something of your capabilities and I assure you I have as much faith in you as I should in a fellow Scotland Yard man.’

Angela was flattered, especially in view of her earlier carelessness. She blushed slightly.

‘
However,’ he went on, ‘If we are to work together I think it only fair that you tell me what you have discovered so far, otherwise I shall be working in the dark.’

‘
Yes, of course,’ said Angela. ‘Well, then, I have something for you here.’

She unwrapped the parcel on her lap and showed its contents to the inspector.

‘
What is that?’ asked Jameson.

‘
I can’t prove it, but I believe it is the dinner suit worn by the killer of Edward Haynes on the night of his murder.’

The inspector whistled.

‘
I say,’ he said, and took the jacket from her to look more closely at it. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘
It was shoved under a heap of garden waste to be burned,’ replied Mrs. Marchmont. ‘Briggs the gardener rescued it and showed it to me quite by chance.’

‘
It’s a pity he didn’t find it before the fire was lit,’ observed Jameson. ‘But why did the murderer get rid of it?’

‘
Why, if he was wearing it when he drowned Edward, then the sleeves of the jacket and the lower legs of the trousers must have got soaking wet at the very least—if not completely ruined, and the servants might have talked if anyone decided to investigate. By getting rid of the suit he avoided awkward questions about what happened to it. Difficult to explain why one’s dinner things are drenched, I imagine. I wonder why he decided to get rid of it today, of all days. I assume he has kept it hidden up to now.’

‘
Probably because you came along,’ said Jameson. ‘You have evidently put the wind up him—that’s why he tried to kill you. But what have you found out that scared him so much? Granted, the first attempt on you may well have been an afterthought as he tried to get the photograph back, but what about today? Today was deliberate.’

‘
I don’t know,’ said Angela.

‘
Who knew that you had taken the path down to the lake?’

‘
Donald saw me go,’ said Angela, ‘and so did Briggs. Perhaps one of them mentioned it to somebody—or perhaps somebody even saw me from one of the windows.’

‘
Hmm,’ said Jameson. ‘What about Donald Haynes? He seems something of a hothead from what I have seen of him. Could he be behind all this? You said he had a bee in his bonnet about Underwood House, just like his father. Didn’t you say he was spouting some kind of nonsense about the house trying to get rid of its enemies? That sounds a little unbalanced to me. Perhaps he has a monomania on the subject.’

‘
He is certainly an intense young man, but I don’t believe that his rather unusual attitude to the house is a good enough motive for murder,’ said Angela carefully.

The inspector eyed her suspiciously.

‘
You have something up your sleeve,’ he said. ‘That’s not fair play. Come on, out with it.’

Angela paused.

‘
Yes, I confess I do have the germ of an idea, but I should like to look into it first before I tell you about it. I am in something of a delicate position, as you know, and I have no wish to unleash a scandal at this stage by getting the police involved. I promise I shall tell you all as soon as I have looked into it myself,’ she went on quickly as she saw him about to protest, ‘but you must remember that Louisa is one of my oldest friends and I shouldn’t like to hurt her.’

‘
This is not a question of friendship, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Jameson. ‘It is a question of murder, and all else must give way before it.’

‘
Naturally,’ said Angela. ‘I hope you don’t believe for one second that I should put considerations of friendship above those of justice.’

‘
No,’ he replied. ‘I saw for myself in the Norfolk case that you are a woman who acts with integrity when the occasion calls for it.’

She lowered her eyes, then looked up again.

‘
Then please trust me on this occasion too. I promise I shall not withhold any secrets unnecessarily.’

‘
Very well,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But could you perhaps give me just a hint of what is on your mind?’

Angela smiled.

‘
I don’t see why not. I am still not satisfied about Philip Haynes’s will. I am almost certain that there is more to it than meets the eye, and that he intended to provide for someone who is not mentioned by name in the document, by means of a secret trust administered by Mr. Faulkner, the solicitor who drew up the will and the person who supposedly benefits from the deaths of Philip’s children. Mr. Faulkner denies all knowledge of any such trust—as of course is only to be expected given his presumed position in the matter, but if I am correct, then he must know about it. I believe, too—although I have no evidence—that Ursula Haynes also knows or suspects something about the will, but has chosen to keep that knowledge to herself at present.’