by Nicola Upson
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Josephine said, realizing that the dilemma she had been wrestling with about Harriet would now have to be resolved, one way or the other. “We were never the best of friends, but no one should die like that. Do they have any idea who did it?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. They’re chasing up the most recent stories that she was working on to see if anything controversial emerges, but there’s been nothing promising so far.”
Josephine was silent for a moment, remembering how angry she had felt after her own encounter with the journalist. It would only take a different personality or marginally higher stakes to goad someone into reacting more violently, and Charity’s stories these days carried a much higher profile. Perhaps she was wrong to link her death to a distant past; perhaps Harriet’s presence in London on the day in question had genuinely been an unfortunate coincidence. Then she remembered her friend’s hurried departure and obvious fear, and knew she would never be satisfied until she had spoken to her about it. “Can I pick your brains about something?” she asked casually, hoping that her tone was sufficiently light for Archie not to link the conversations.
“Of course.”
“You were talking about the suspension of the death penalty the other day, and it got me thinking—what will happen to anyone who’s convicted of murder during that time?”
“He’ll be granted a reprieve by the Home Secretary. We’ve just had our first one, as it happens. Nice chap. Killed his wife. Why do you ask?”
She smiled at his sarcasm. “No particular reason. I was just thinking about some ideas for a new book, and that struck me as an interesting thing to explore. If you were going to commit murder, this might be a very good time to do it.”
She heard him laugh. “It’s rather a cynical approach, and I hope it doesn’t catch on, but yes, I can see that might work in a novel.”
“And if the government changes its mind and reinstates hanging, what will happen to the people who’ve already been reprieved? Will they have their sentences changed?”
“Are you sure this is hypothetical?” he asked, sounding suddenly suspicious.
“Yes, of course.” She turned the tables on him, trying to make light of the question. “You surely don’t think I’m about to go out and kill someone, do you?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. But speaking purely hypothetically—no, the original sentence will stand, and he or she will cheat the gallows. You’d better get your story in quick, though. My money is on the Lords voting this down at the earliest opportunity.”
Josephine spent a restless night thinking about what Archie had told her and decided to travel to Lewes in the morning, before she could change her mind. She made good time, and it was just before two when she got out at the station. The part of town which greeted her was uncharacteristically devoid of charm, but the view improved as she crossed the railway bridge and saw the keep of the castle to her left, surrounded by a cluster of red roofs, sloping lawns, and trees, all facing to the southern sun. The high street was busy, but not too prosperous to lose its character; old, bow-fronted windows ranged out onto the pavement amid a mixture of houses and shops, and occasionally she caught a glimpse of peaceful walled gardens through an open front door. She liked the town immensely and wondered why fate invariably marred her visits there with trouble.
She headed for Castle Gate, aware that she was procrastinating by taking the long way round. Banks of pale primroses covered the steep mound of the keep, and she paused by a sheltered old bowling green, looking down toward the town’s ancient heart. One of those tiny cottages was Harriet’s, and she knew she could put off the visit no longer.
At the head of the narrow street, she stopped abruptly when she saw Harriet’s front door open up ahead of her. A young woman holding a baby came out, followed by Peter and Vera—a middle-aged woman now, but still trim and healthy from her outdoor life. Harriet joined them in the street to wave them off, and the small group talked for a long time in the sunshine. It was a touching scene that reminded Josephine of everything she would be taking from the family if her suspicions proved correct, and it was almost enough to make her change her mind—but she had let her heart rule her head once before, and she couldn’t do it again. As soon as Peter and his family were out of sight, she made her way to the front door and knocked.
CHAPTER 5
Harriet looked out of the window before answering the door, hoping that Vera or Peter hadn’t come back for something. She had said her goodbyes, somehow managing to fool them into thinking that this was just another day, but she didn’t trust herself to continue the charade a moment longer. To her relief, Josephine was standing outside in the lane, obliging Harriet by turning up on her doorstep earlier than she had even dared to hope. One more conversation and she would be free to go.
“I’ve been expecting you since the party,” she said, obviously unsettling Josephine with her directness. “Come in.”
Josephine did as she asked and handed over a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I’ve brought your book,” she said. “You left in too much of a hurry to take it.” She looked curiously at Harriet. “How did you know I’d come?”
“Because there’s a question you want to ask me, and I’ve been waiting to give you your answer. Somehow, I didn’t think you’d let me down. You never have.”
She showed Josephine through to the sitting room and watched as she stood in front of the painting above the fireplace, the portrait that Peter had painted of her at Charleston before going back to war. “I’d forgotten quite how good this is,” Josephine said admiringly. “It’s nice to see it again.”
“Is it? I don’t like it, if I’m honest. It reminds me of a very sad time, but it was his gift to me, and it seems ungrateful to hide it away.” She looked at the cups and half-eaten fruitcake which she hadn’t had time to clear away. “I can make a fresh pot if you’d like some tea,” she offered, but Josephine shook her head and sat down, apparently keen to get to the point. To Harriet’s surprise, bearing in mind the circumstances under which they were meeting, her visitor seemed more anxious than she was, and she was sad to have made someone she cared about the instrument of her own torment. “Ask your question, Josephine,” she said gently. “Neither of us is up to prolonging this any more than we have to.”
“Was it you who attacked Charity?”
“Yes, it was.”
“She died yesterday morning.” Harriet closed her eyes. It was the news she had been dreading, and she felt the panic and guilt well up in her; somehow she kept them under control, but not before Josephine had noticed her distress. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “You told me that our last conversation was a new start for you, so what’s different? Killing Charity can’t bring George back or change what she did, so why would you risk your life and your family to do something so senseless?”
“My life and my family don’t mean as much as I thought they did. I lost everything when I lost George—I can see that now, and Charity played her part in that.” The words were the truth and Harriet found the role she had given herself much easier to play than she had ever imagined—almost too easy, in fact; she could see that Josephine was still skeptical about her explanation. “It’s not just that,” she added. “I lied to you when you came to find me last time.”
“What about?”
“I killed Dorothy too.”
Josephine stared at her in disbelief. “But you can’t have. What about the note you showed me?”
“George wrote that to protect me,” Harriet said truthfully. “She guessed that I did it to save what we had, and she wanted to take her share of the blame, so she sacrificed her life to save me. She loved me, Josephine. Even I never really understood how much until then. I only wish I had.” She took George’s note out of her pocket and handed it over, struck by the sorrow in Josephine’s eyes as she read it. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt as bad about deceiving her as she did about any of the events that had mad
e it necessary; it was wrong to exploit a woman who had done so much to help her, who had been fair and kind and loyal from the moment they met, but she needed to make sure that Vera and her family were safe. “You once refused to take any part in ending my life, but surely now you must see—”
“And I still can’t. I could no more send you to the gallows than I can justify what you’ve done.”
“But you must,” Harriet insisted, horrified to think that everything she had planned so carefully might be for nothing. “Why are you here if not for justice? Now you know everything, you must go to the police. You’ve got the proof there in your hand, and you have to tell the truth.”
“I will, but they won’t hang you. You’ll get a reprieve and a prison sentence, and I can do that. I must do it.” To her shame, Harriet was tempted to clutch at the straw that was being offered her, but then she remembered everything that had driven George to her death. “It will look better if you give yourself up,” Josephine continued. “I’ll let you have until tonight to make your peace and talk to Peter and Vera. Then I’ll go to the police.” She slid the letter back across the table. “This is yours to give them, not mine.”
“You trust me? What if I simply destroy it and run away?”
“You won’t, though, will you?”
Harriet smiled sadly and reached down to stroke Percy as he rubbed round her legs. “No, I won’t. I’ll be here when they come for me.”
The cat jumped onto her lap and nuzzled her hand, and his reliance on her was suddenly too much. The tears took her by surprise, offering her no choice but to give in to them, and she let Josephine hold her until the crying stopped. “Do you want me to stay?” Josephine asked quietly.
For a moment, Harriet wondered if her friend knew perfectly well what she intended to do, but she shook her head. “No, you’ve done enough. Thank you, but I need to be alone now.”
Josephine nodded, accepting her answer, and Harriet stood up, feeling calmer and more certain than ever that she was doing the right thing. There were preparations to make, and she was grateful for a visitor who showed no inclination to linger. She waited on the step until Josephine was out of sight, then closed the front door behind her.
ALSO BY NICOLA UPSON
Josephine Tey Mysteries
Nine Lessons
London Rain
The Death of Lucy Kyte
Fear in the Sunlight
Two for Sorrow
Angel with Two Faces
An Expert in Murder
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Nicola Upson was born in Suffolk and read English at Downing College, Cambridge. She has worked in theatre and as a freelance journalist, and is the author of two non-fiction works and the recipient of an Escalator Award from the Arts Council England. Her debut novel, An Expert in Murder, was the first in a series of crime novels to feature Josephine Tey—one of the leading authors of Britain’s age of crime-writing. Her research for the books has included many conversations with people who lived through the period and who knew Josephine Tey well, most notably Sir John Gielgud. The book was dramatised by BBC Scotland for Woman’s Hour, and praised by PD James as marking ‘the arrival of a new and assured talent’. Nicola lives with her partner in Cambridge and Cornwall.
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organisations or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Copyright © 2019 by Nicola Upson
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-984-9
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-985-6
Cover illustration by Mick Wiggins
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2019
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