She was silent for a moment.
‘For heaven’s sake, Sadie, tell me what happened.’
‘All right, I will,’ she said weakly, ‘but you must promise never to tell anyone else. Harry and I were together – in bed,’ she added awkwardly, ‘in my room here, when Uncle Godwin just stormed in. Called us all sorts of awful names. Tried to drag Harry away from me. Harry was fighting him off and they were struggling at the door. I ran after them. He was hitting Harry. I tried to stop him, they were on the landing. The next thing … the next thing I knew we were on the stairs and he … he was falling down.’
She paused, looking at me intently. ‘I didn’t push him, Rose. Honestly, I swear, it was an accident. He had been drinking – and he just lost his footing and … and fell.’
As she was speaking, I was seeing another picture, a twenty-year-old picture, of a girl and a boy struggling on another stair, in Vantry, and the boy falling to his death. And I knew that when this accident story came to light, there would be others who would remember. This was exactly how the police, who had particularly long memories assisted by carefully filed records, as well as anyone else who remembered or cared to read up on the Sarah Vantry case, would see it.
A coincidence, Sadie had called it. I remembered Pa’s words that he didn’t set store on coincidences, and this one was par excellence, especially when they learnt that the lawyer was arriving this very morning, in a few hours’ time, summoned by Wilfred Godwin just a few hours before the accident, to change his will.
While Sadie and I talked, downstairs in the hotel consternation reigned. Wilfred Godwin was taken to the hospital as a matter of routine. Dr Wills accompanied the ambulance but it was hours too late for that and arrangements of a funeral were at the forefront of his mind.
Last night Harry had told the staff that Miss Brook would be remaining at The Heights as housekeeper. I wondered what went on inside the heads of those uncommunicative servants, many of whom must have been victims of the abusive fists of the unpleasant Uncle Godwin, now deceased. They must have heard his angry voice raised in frequent argument with his young nephew as well as Mr Thorn, both men they admired and respected and who were well-liked and honest employers. They must also have been perfectly aware of what was going on between Harry Godwin and Miss Brook to establish her in her new important role on the staff, and their congratulations were doubtless mixed with cautious thought.
‘I must go to Harry,’ Sadie said. ‘He has Gerald, of course, he will stand by him. He knows about us and he approves,’ she added defiantly, as if his opinion was all that mattered.
I went downstairs with her.
And so, on that fateful morning, amid the general chaos of trying to continue the amiable smooth running of the hotel in the normal impersonal and efficient fashion, on the stroke of ten o’clock, the swing door opened to admit the Godwin lawyer. Mr Bold was his name, and as is often the case was completely inappropriate to describe the owner, in this case an elderly gentleman of smallish stature, agitated in manner and peering at the world owl-like through large spectacles.
He was suitably horrified at what had happened, stammered sincere condolences to Harry, regarded by Mr Bold and his wife almost as family I gathered later, having known Harry since Wilfred Godwin adopted him after his parents’ death in a climbing accident when he was eleven years old. The lawyer gasped out his disbelief several times over that such a dreadful thing could have happened in the few hours since he last communicated with his client.
‘I do apologise for coming at such a time and at such an early hour, Harry. I made this my first call before ten o’clock as I was summoned most urgently by Mr Godwin Senior, by telephone from here last night. He told me in his most excitable manner that he had some urgent legal business to be transacted immediately.’
Mr Bold paused. ‘He hinted that he intended to make amendments to his will. I hadn’t the slightest idea what that implied, but I did know that his health had been failing. Perhaps he realised that the end was in sight, but what a way to go,’ he ended lugubriously.
Sadie was at Harry’s side and was introduced: ‘Miss Brook has recently arrived from Edinburgh and is to be our new housekeeper. Mr Thorn and I are particularly pleased since she was born here in Bute.’ In common with most men, young or old, Sadie’s particular chemistry affected the old lawyer into a bevy of flattering comments, to which she responded gracefully that it was good to come home again.
Mr Bold smiled, but with a shrewd and thoughtful look at the new housekeeper. Although charming, the difference in their ages was not a matter for concealment and did not provide any clues to their relationship. At well past thirty, Mr Bold concluded that she was unlikely to inspire romantic notions in the young lad he still regarded as a mere boy. And without realising the significance of his words he said: ‘Your uncle always hoped that you as his only nephew would marry,’ he laughed, ‘although you’re still a little young and there’s plenty of time for that, don’t you think so, Mr Thorn?’ he added with an appeal to the older man, who had proved himself in the last two years an excellent, reliable friend with his connection to the well-respected Clovis family.
Gerald nodded vaguely and avoided looking at Harry or Sadie as Mr Bold continued: ‘Your uncle always had a dynasty in mind for the future, sad that he was not to survive long enough to see a new generation,’ and continuing swiftly: ‘He much regretted the unfortunate breakdown of his own marriage, which had produced no children of his own.’
Such sentiments painted a more benign picture of Wilfred Godwin than were known to be true by those subjected daily to his disagreeable temperament.
Mr Bold beamed at Harry. ‘Back to business now, lad.’ He shook his head and said with regret: ‘Such a misfortune that your uncle was taken from us so suddenly and we will never know the nature of those amendments that he was contemplating …’
As he warmed again to his subject and fell into legal jargon, Harry remained standing stiffly at Sadie’s side, unhappy and ill at ease, his hands clenched in desperation to judge by the whiteness of his knuckles, reminiscent of Edgar Worth.
At last Mr Bold’s papers were neatly folded, the matter concluded – Uncle Godwin’s will to remain in its original form, with his nephew the sole recipient of his estate, which included the Heights Hotel. More condolences on Harry’s grievous loss were uttered by the lawyer, with some glowing references to the deceased’s character. And then to Harry and Sadie’s almost obvious relief, he took his departure. He would attend the funeral, of course, and afterwards in the traditional manner for family lawyers, read the will.
The swing doors had hardly settled when they opened again to admit Peter Clovis. Harry had retreated into the office with Gerald and a vast quantity of urgent matters to sort out, in addition to the menus and luncheon bookings for the day.
Sadie had no desire to meet anyone at that moment. She made for the stairs and Peter rushed to my side and gasped out: ‘I have just heard. What a dreadful thing to happen. Poor Harry, commiserations are in order, although,’ he added wryly, ‘it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest: bound to happen sooner or later, the old man always drank too much. I suppose he was on his way downstairs for another illicit raid on the wine cellars again,’ he added.
As a friend of Harry, Peter was well aware of his trials and the difficult times the staff had in restraining Uncle Godwin. ‘To put it candidly, Rose, I don’t think he’ll be greatly missed. From what Gerald lets slip, too, the old devil is more than a handful.’
Then with a smile: ‘How are the bruises this morning, are you all right? You still look a bit shaken.’
‘Hardly to be wondered at, is it? I think despite the poor opinion of old Godwin, we none of us expected to find him at the foot of the stairs with a broken neck.’
He gave me a sharp look. ‘You don’t think it was deliberate, surely? For heaven’s sake don’t say that to Harry, he has enough without that kind of rumour.’
I went over and sat dow
n in one of the armchairs. I felt terrible, there had been too many revelations over the past couple of days. Not only had someone engineered an accident for me that might have been fatal, Sadie had confided at last that she was to stay at The Heights as her lover’s housekeeper and to crown it all, Uncle Godwin having said he was going to cut Harry out of his will, had a fatal accident, the exact replica of the one Sarah Vantry had been involved in.
‘How is Miss Brook today?’ Peter asked again, as if he had been reading my thoughts.
‘She’s making good progress,’ I said dully. ‘Won’t be going back to Edinburgh with me. Harry has asked her to stay on at the hotel – as housekeeper.’
‘That’s splendid,’ said Peter with a radiant smile in which I detected a gleam of hope. He had no idea of the significance of that arrangement or that Harry and Sadie were lovers: ‘You will miss her, Rose.’
I hoped that was all to be said on the subject of Sadie, when he changed the subject. ‘What I came to tell you was that we’ve had a visit from the procurator fiscal regarding Mr QVE – came over on the first ferry.’
‘And what were his conclusions?’
Peter shrugged. ‘That we had the body of an unknown man washed ashore. The sort of thing they find rather depressing. It means that the body will have to remain occupying a space in the mortuary unclaimed, until all avenues of finding an identity are explored. If there is no satisfactory answer, then his remains will be buried in an unmarked grave at the council’s expense.’
‘Is that all he had to say? What if this unknown man was a murder victim? Did you not mention that?’
He sighed. ‘Where is our proof, Rose? This is merely conjecture on our part, and hardly my place to advise the procurator on suspicion or circumstantial evidence, for let’s accept that is all we have to go on. For the procurator to be interested we would need to produce reasonable proof, witnesses would be required, or some sort of evidence.’
‘What about that bash on his head?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Dismissed as quite likely the result of falling off a boat. The procurator was reassuring, said he had no doubt that enquiries would raise some evidence of an accident – perhaps a fellow as yet unknown to the authorities who had gone out with a sailing boat from some other island or the mainland and his absence has not yet been notified.’
‘Are you satisfied with all this, Peter? Until the procurator’s visit changed your mind, you were convinced that this was murder. Are you now happy to forget the whole thing? If so, then I can return to Edinburgh.’
He rubbed his chin in that now familiar gesture. ‘It is going to be very difficult to prove.’
‘As are all murder cases at the beginning,’ I said calmly.
‘What about you, Rose. What’s in it for you?’
‘I have personal reasons, remember, reasons to believe that the Worths are involved. And that I am close enough for them to consider that I could be a danger.’
‘You mean the bicycle incident.’
‘I do indeed.’ I paused. ‘Tell me, what has changed your mind? You were very keen that I should help you solve what you were sure was going to be your first murder case.’
He sighed. ‘I was and still am. But you are right about the procurator’s visit. That gave me doubts, suggested caution. Taking a step like this, if it succeeded, would be perfect for my promotion to a higher rank.’ He shrugged and continued gloomily, ‘But if it failed and I had involved the police in what was a supreme waste of their time, I would be not only laughed at, but my whole future would be in jeopardy. We must never forget that the Vantrys are very influential people, and her ladyship a valued member of the community. I can’t imagine her—’
‘It’s not Lady Vantry I suspect,’ I interrupted impatiently. ‘I am sure whatever is going on she is innocent, but the Worths are a different matter.’
Peter was still frowning doubtfully and I went on: ‘However, I can appreciate your misgivings and quite understand that with your future at stake, it’s up to you to decide whether we proceed or not.’
And even as I said the words I knew that with or without him, I would go on alone. To return to Edinburgh with this unsolved mystery, a series of questions without answers, would continue to haunt me. I had to prove that the tiny fragments, faint clues lurking at the back of my mind, once set together would somehow solve the mystery.
Peter was watching me anxiously. He came to a decision, perhaps reluctantly as he sighed and said: ‘I can’t let you down and I want to proceed – with your help, Rose, I certainly couldn’t do it otherwise, you know that perfectly well – but where do we begin? It all hangs on the identity of Mr QVE. We’ve had posters put about; the signet ring is our only clue – we can only hope someone recognises those initials. The procurator was very approving and wished us luck. He won’t be pleased at being called back for Wilfred Godwin’s accident.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
And luck we had. Our very first clue. An old jeweller in the town remembered the ring and the initials: Quintin Vantry Elder.
I felt triumphant. My first suspicions had been right, for this from the city records was the name of Lady Adeline’s estranged husband who, from what we might now conclude was returning to Vantry hoping for a reconciliation, and died in the attempt.
With the identity established, it now remained to get in touch with any relatives so that they might identify the body and arrange burial.
Peter sighed. ‘This is great news – our step over the threshold.’
‘I presume you mean into the labyrinth, because there is still a long way to go.’
He nodded. ‘Of course, official enquiries and so forth. I’m on my way to Vantry now. Her ladyship must of course be informed and asked to come in and identify her late husband. We can only guess how painful that will be for her. I wish you could come with me, Rose.’
I wished I could and would have given much to observe not only her ladyship’s reactions but also how Edgar and Beatrice reacted to the sad news. A couple of hours later when he arrived back with his report, I was waiting eagerly.
‘Did you see her ladyship? How did she take it?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t possible, to see her personally, I mean. Edgar said his aunt was very poorly and she could not be disturbed at the moment, especially with such tragic news. He was at pains to point out that her ladyship had been aware that Quintin was to visit her and that there had been much hope, now destroyed, that after their years apart there might be a reconciliation, the chance of being reunited and sharing what remained of their lives in a few happy years together. He said it had been a severe shock for both of them, but of course it would be worse for their aunt, and hearing that Quintin had died in a fatal accident had been too much for her in her fragile condition.’
He paused. ‘Of course, she always refused to see a doctor, Edgar and Beatrice said, and they knew that all she needed was rest and peace. They both sounded so distressed. They really care about her, you know.’
I made no comment and he went on to say that they had instantly agreed to come in, formally identify him on her behalf and make all the necessary arrangements for the funeral.
I said: ‘That his widow will attend, of course.’
‘I didn’t put that to them, insistence would have seemed rather tactless in the circumstances, but I got the feeling that it was all to be handled as quietly as possible and with absolutely no fuss and avoiding any publicity.’
He thought for a moment. ‘This emphasis on Lady Adeline being much too frail made me wonder: maybe it was not just that she was physically much too frail, but they were anxious to conceal something else.’
‘Which was?’
‘Oh, isn’t it rather obvious? Her rather odd reclusive behaviour and the way they keep her out of the public gaze suggests to me that she is losing the place a bit, perhaps showing signs of the early stages of senility.’
That idea certainly fitted Lady Adeline’s conduct, although it had little
to do with my own theories regarding the Worths’ behaviour.
Peter went on: ‘She only comes into town rarely these days. And when she was at Father’s birthday party, if you remember, she just sat in a corner and seemed disinclined for any conversation. The parents noticed that and said she used to be the life and soul of the party before her accident. Mother had doubts too, said she seemed to be getting deaf as well and that the Worths must have their work cut out for them. They must be dreading what is to happen next. Small wonder they are distressed. There isn’t a cure for senility, it just gets worse and worse as it progresses.’
Peter was a good man and a good policeman: never ready to jump to conclusions and condemn or accuse, he weighed up the facts and reasoned them out with careful consideration. I, however, had less charitable thoughts: that their distress might be related to the fact that if Quintin’s visit and that reconciliation had succeeded, he had returned as a strong, fit man ready to take over the running of Vantry, and they would soon discover that their services would be no longer required.
When I put that to Peter, he said: ‘Her ladyship would doubtless have seen that they were suitably recompensed with some sort of allowance or pension for their years of taking care of her. And perhaps Quintin would have been persuaded to let them remain at Vantry.’
‘We’ll never know,’ and I shook my head. Somehow Peter’s reasonable theory didn’t fit. And most important of all, and what he was now overlooking, was how had the estranged husband come to be found washed ashore? What had he been doing out at Kames Bay, a fair distance from Vantry?
Murder Lies Waiting Page 20
