The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) (21 page)

‘But shouldn’t you like to see justice done?’ said Angela.

‘I thought it had been,’ said Mrs. Poynter.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Angela, and for the first time found she truly believed it. ‘They got the wrong man. I want to find out who really did it.’

Mrs. Poynter hesitated.

‘What use can it be after all this time?’ she said. ‘He’s dead now, I understand. He has no reputation to lose, whereas I—I have spent more than ten years pretending not to notice when people talk about me behind their hands and forget to include me in invitations. Were it not for the fact that I am as stubborn as a donkey and have determined to see it out I should have persuaded my husband to leave long ago. I dare say you have no idea what it’s like to feel the stares of people every time you leave the house, but I can assure you that the last thing I want is to resurrect it all again, just as everybody had begun to forget.’

She nodded and prepared to walk on, but Angela said quickly:

‘Oh, but I do. I know exactly what it’s like.’

‘What do you mean?’

Angela was already regretting her outburst, but there was no sense in going back now. It was time for the truth.

‘My real name’s not Wells at all,’ she said. ‘It’s Angela Marchmont. If you’ve been reading the newspapers lately I dare say you’ll have heard of me.’

‘But of course,’ said Mrs. Poynter in surprise. ‘You were put on trial for the murder of your husband.’

‘Yes. I didn’t do it, but I was only acquitted because Edgar de Lisle took the blame,’ said Angela. She hesitated. ‘He didn’t kill my husband either, though. He confessed to it to save me.’

Mrs. Poynter regarded her with increased interest. Angela held her chin up proudly.

‘I think I see,’ said Mrs. Poynter at last. A look of what might have been sympathy appeared on her face. ‘Perhaps you had better come in.’

She turned and led the way into the house. Angela followed, her heart beating fast. She had as good as admitted everything to a perfect stranger. Had it been a terrible mistake? But Mrs. Poynter would surely not have invited her in had she not done so.

The house was furnished tastefully in the English style, although here and there were little touches which indicated a foreign hand at work. Mrs. Poynter invited Angela to sit and called for Florence to bring tea.

‘You see I have adopted all the English customs,’ she said with a smile.

‘Do you like living in England?’ said Angela.

The other shrugged.

‘There was nothing for me in France,’ she said. ‘My first husband died in the war, and I had no family or money. What else could I do but take what opportunity was offered me? I should have died of hunger otherwise. It was lucky for me that I had my looks. Many other women in my position were not so fortunate.’

‘But you might have returned after the war.’

‘I might, but my home was destroyed and besides, I was comfortable here. And then I met my husband, who is the kindest and most understanding of men, and that was that. I am not stupid enough to throw good fortune away when it presents itself. And so you think I can help you prove Edgar’s innocence?’ she went on. ‘I am afraid you will be disappointed, for as you can imagine, I was not invited to Greystone very frequently. Roger found me a pretty little cottage and there I was very happy for a while.’

It was the first time Angela had ever heard the word happiness in connection with the de Lisle family, and it sounded odd to her.

‘Were you in love with Roger?’ she found herself asking.

Mrs. Poynter shook her head.

‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘He was in love with me, and that was enough for me in those days. I had lost my husband, whom I adored, and I knew I should never love again, but Roger flattered me, and gave me gifts, and told me his troubles, and I felt myself to be a lucky woman when so many others had to dig in the mud just to survive.’

‘I had heard that Roger was a difficult man,’ said Angela carefully.

‘He was,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘He was capricious and jealous, and easily driven to anger, but I knew how to soothe him, which nobody in his family did—least of all his wife.’

‘Did she know about you?’

‘I imagine so. But one didn’t mention such things, of course. We would smile and nod if we saw one another in the street—it would have looked strange not to do so, since we had been acquaintances in France—but it went no further than that. Roger relied on my discretion, and I certainly did not want to cause any upset. Anyway, he told me she did not care. Theirs was not a happy marriage, he said, and it was only right that he look elsewhere if his life at home was less than satisfactory.’

‘I don’t suppose that courtesy extended to his wife,’ Angela could not help saying.

Mrs. Poynter laughed shortly.

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘We women are not so fortunate in that respect. Society does not afford us the same licence, and Roger certainly would not have allowed such a thing. He used to fly into a rage if he heard of me even speaking to another man, and I expect he was the same with Evelyn.’

‘Did you feel sorry for her?’ said Angela.

‘Perhaps a little,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘I was fond of Roger but, as you say, he was a difficult man. Still, perhaps I was more sorry for his sons. Godfrey in particular had very little freedom. Every part of his life was laid out before him. He was to go to this college, and go into that business, and marry such a woman. He was never allowed to decide for himself.’

‘What, he was even told whom to marry?’ said Angela. ‘Do you mean Roger chose Victorine for him?’

‘No, he chose Selina,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘You know, of course, that Selina was engaged to Godfrey first?’

‘I had heard it, yes,’ said Angela. ‘Why was he so keen to have them marry?’

Mrs. Poynter did not answer at first.

‘It was a blow to my pride, of course,’ she said at length. ‘But there is no use in struggling against these things. There comes a time when a man tires of a woman; it is inevitable, I suppose, and Selina was much younger and prettier than I.’

‘Roger was in love with her,’ said Angela. So her supposition had been correct.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘As soon as he met her his affection for me began to cool—I could see it. He came to me as much as ever, but I could see that he was becoming distant and abstracted, and was not thinking about me. Of course, I had no power, no money of my own, and so I could do nothing about it. I was forced to stand by and watch, knowing that sooner or later I would be cast aside. In the end he even began to confide in me about her. Those were dark times for me, since I had no idea what I should do or where I should go without Roger’s protection.’

‘Then he brought her into the family with the intention of making her his mistress?’ said Angela. ‘If that is the case, then I don’t suppose he cared which of his sons married her, as long as one of them did.’

‘That is true,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘Still, she was cleverer than he and knew where her power lay. I don’t believe she cared a fig for him, but she was poor, and marrying into the de Lisle family would bring her wealth and standing that she should not have had otherwise. Once she was Edgar’s wife she led Roger a merry dance, and he soon found out that here was someone who would not bow to his will.’

‘Do you mean there was no affair between them?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘He was determined to have her, but she refused him continually. He was driven almost mad, but she knew just how far she could go without compromising herself. She knew that if she gave in to him then all her power would be lost. As I said, she was clever.’

‘Do you think her marriage to Edgar was genuine, then?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘She was in love with him, I’m certain of it. She must have been, or else why should she have risked offending Roger and losing everything she stood to gain by throwing away one perfectly good brother in favour of the other?’

‘Did Edgar know about Roger?’

‘I dare say he did. I imagine the whole family were aware of it. Roger was not one to hide his feelings, you see.’

‘Roger must have been very angry when he failed to win over Selina,’ observed Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Poynter. ‘He was, even as his love for her grew. Much of the time he was like a bear with a sore head, and I had much ado to calm him. But one day he came to me in a mood which frightened me. I was not afraid of his rages, but this was something different—something cold and ruthless. He would not tell me exactly what had happened, only that he had been betrayed and made a fool of. It had been there under his nose for years, he said, and he would find a way to make them both suffer for it.’

‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘Have you any idea what he was referring to?’

‘No. He said nothing more, then went away, and the next time I saw him he was his usual self.’

‘When was this?’ said Angela.

‘It was a few weeks before Selina died,’ said Mrs. Poynter.

Angela regarded her questioningly. For the first time the other woman seemed uncomfortable.

‘You want to know whether I think Roger did it?’ she said. ‘I do not know. I won’t say the idea didn’t cross my mind at the time, but I pushed it away. The police were certain it was Edgar, and I had no particular reason to disbelieve it.’ She looked Angela steadily in the eye. ‘I know nothing for certain, you understand. As far as I knew, Edgar was guilty. Had I believed him to be innocent I should have spoken up at the time.’

‘Of course,’ said Angela. She was thinking of what had been said. What a strange family the de Lisles had been! For Roger de Lisle to arrange a marriage between his son and the girl with whom he had developed an infatuation, purely in order to keep her close by him, was extraordinary behaviour indeed! And yet Selina had seemed to relish her situation—to revel in it, almost. It now struck her that this must have been what had first attracted Edgar Valencourt to Selina Lacey. Aside from her beauty she had evidently shared his love of danger and his willingness to defy convention. They must have made a wicked pair, the two of them. Had they laughed together at the knowledge that here, at least, was one sure way to thwart Roger? Roger, who had ruled over the household for so many years and cowed his dependants into weary submission, and who was now in thrall to an eighteen-year-old girl? Had Valencourt enjoyed the sight of Roger’s frustration when Selina refused to bend to his will? It would hardly have been surprising if he had. But it had turned out to be a deadly game for both of them in the end. Selina had died, and her husband had become an outlaw, driven defiantly into a life of crime and condemned to remain in hiding for the rest of his life.

Angela was now almost certain that here was their murderer. Godfrey had been cast aside by Selina, yes, but with such a life he must have been accustomed to disappointment, and while he might have harboured bad feelings towards his brother, Angela could not picture him committing such a terrible crime and allowing Edgar to hang for it. But Roger—Roger was a different prospect altogether. What could be more likely than that Selina had tested his patience once too often, and that he had finally strangled her and put the blame upon his son—his son, who had defied him, and who had won the prize which had eluded Roger for so long? It all made perfect sense.

But they were still as far away from finding proof as ever. Their one hope now lay in a dying woman named Jemima Winkworth, who could not even speak to them. Had she seen something that night? It must have been something damning, if so. But in that case, why had she allowed herself to be paid off? Somehow they must get into her room and search her things, for without that there was no hope that Edgar Valencourt would ever be exonerated.

Angela stood up.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

‘You think Roger did it?’ said Mrs. Poynter.

‘Yes, I’m afraid I do.’

Mrs. Poynter looked at the floor.

‘I shall be sorry if that is the case,’ she said. ‘But he is dead too, now, so I have not harmed him, at any rate. I was fond of him for a time, and he was always kind to me.’ She held out her hand to Angela. ‘I wish you success,’ she said. ‘It will not bring Edgar back, but perhaps you will find some kind of peace.’

‘Thank you,’ said Angela, slightly taken aback. The thought of having been read so easily made her uncomfortable, and so she took her leave quickly. The visit to Mrs. Poynter had revealed much that Angela had only suspected before, and it all led to the inescapable conclusion that Roger de Lisle had murdered his daughter-in-law and allowed his son to take the blame. Now all that remained was to prove it.

F
REDDY ANSWERED ANGELA’S summons with alacrity, and the very next day he and William came down to Denborough in the Bentley, ready for action. The police sergeant in Kent had confirmed that there had been a housemaid by the name of Jemima Winkworth at Greystone Chase at the time of the murder, and so it seemed as though they had found the person they were looking for.

‘I went out this morning in search of the Misses Winkworth,’ said Angela. ‘I was hoping I might be able to worm some information out of them by means of charm and low cunning, but I didn’t see them, which struck me as odd, since they always go out at the same time each day. However, I did see Colonel Dempster, who says the elder Miss Winkworth is unwell with a nasty cold, and has taken herself off home to recover rather than pass it on to her sister.’