Death in the Stocks: Merely Murder

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Antonia, who had listened to this rambling speech with a good deal of impatience, ‘that you might just as well have called yourself Vereker again without coming home.’

  ‘That’s just it. It wouldn’t have been safe. Bloodsuckers, and things,’ explained Roger. ‘Besides, why shouldn’t I come home?’

  ‘Because you’re not wanted!’ Kenneth said tersely. ‘God, it makes me sick!’ He began to pace up and down, shaking his clenched fists. ‘For seven years we’ve been living in a fool’s paradise, believing you dead and buried, and you turn up now – now of all accursed moments! and ruin everything!’

  ‘Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that!’ exclaimed Antonia. ‘I must say, it is a bit thick!’

  ‘Thick! It’s damnable!’ Kenneth shot out. ‘What’s the use of Arnold’s being murdered if we’re saddled with Roger?’

  Violet, who had been sitting in a kind of frozen silence, now said, in a sharpened voice: ‘Please! Must you talk like that?’

  No one paid any attention to her; Antonia sat glowering at Roger, Kenneth continued to walk up and down, and Roger, glancing from one to the other, said cautiously: ‘What was that you said? Sometimes I think I’m getting a bit deaf. I wish you wouldn’t tramp about so; it’s a fidgeting sort of habit. Makes me giddy.’

  ‘Arnold’s dead,’ said Antonia briefly.

  He blinked at her, apparently incredulous. ‘My brother Arnold?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Do you think we know hundreds of Arnolds?’

  ‘But he can’t be dead!’

  ‘I tell you he is.’

  ‘Well, that’s a very extraordinary thing. Of course, if you say he is, I daresay you may be right, but I don’t understand it at all. What did he die of ?’

  ‘He died of a knife in the back!’ Kenneth flung over his shoulder.

  Roger looked startled and tut-tutted several times. ‘I can’t understand it at all. I call it very shocking, very shocking indeed. Who did that to the poor fellow?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ replied his sister. ‘Kenneth or I, probably.’

  ‘You shouldn’t joke about it,’ said Roger. ‘How would you like to have a knife stuck in your back? When did it all happen?’

  ‘Last Saturday,’ said Antonia.

  Roger stared at her and then looked round for a chair. He sat down. ‘Well, I’m surprised,’ he said. ‘Extremely surprised.’

  Kenneth paused in his pacing. ‘Just how long have you been in England?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ answered Roger obligingly. ‘I landed yesterday. Extraordinary coincidence. I mean, I come home expecting to see poor old Arnold, and I find he’s just been killed.’

  ‘If that was what you expected to do why didn’t you go to Eaton Place instead of coming here?’

  ‘Figure of speech,’ explained Roger. ‘When I said that I expected to see Arnold, what I meant was that I didn’t think he’d be dead.’ He drew Antonia’s attention to Leslie Rivers, who had risen from the table, and was putting on her hat before the mirror. ‘Someone’s going. Nobody need go on my account, you know.’

  ‘I think I will, though,’ Leslie said. ‘I expect you’ve got a lot to say to each other.’

  ‘Nice girl,’ observed Roger, when she had departed. ‘Who’s the other one?’

  ‘Violet Williams. She’s engaged to Kenneth,’ answered Antonia.

  ‘Oh!’ said Roger dubiously. He found that Violet was bowing slightly, and half rose to return this civil greeting. Sinking back again into his chair he became lost in thought, from which he presently emerged to say: ‘If Arnold’s dead who gets all the money?’

  ‘Oh, give me air!’ besought Kenneth, beginning to tramp up and down again.

  Antonia replied somewhat scornfully: ‘You know jolly well you get it. That’s why we’re so disgusted you’ve turned up.’

  ‘Well, I thought I did,’ said Roger. ‘I must say I could do with it. I was a bit shocked at the news at first, but I see it’s not so bad. Mind you, I quite appreciate your point of view.’

  ‘If you don’t clear out of this damned quick there’ll be another murder in the family!’ Kenneth said through his teeth.

  ‘Now, don’t get worked up,’ Roger advised him kindly. ‘You’ll soon get used to me being back. When you’ve lived as long as I have you’ll find it’s extraordinary what you can get used to. And talking of clearing out, my idea was that I’d stay with you for a day or two, till I get my bearings.’

  ‘No!’ cried his half-brother and sister in unison.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Roger, ‘but if I don’t stay here, where am I going?’

  ‘Anywhere. We don’t mind,’ replied Antonia.

  ‘Yes, but to tell you the truth,’ confided Roger, ‘I’m a bit hard-up at the moment.’

  ‘You’ve got two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,’ said Kenneth bitterly.

  ‘Is that what Arnold left? You don’t mean it! If I’d known that –’ He paused, and shook his head.

  ‘What on earth do you mean – if you’d known it?’ asked Antonia.

  He looked at her in his hazy way. ‘Forgotten what I was going to say. Trouble is, I haven’t got any clothes.’

  ‘You must have got some clothes,’ replied Antonia.

  ‘That’s just it: you might think so, and as a matter of fact I did have some, only I had to pawn my suit-case.’

  ‘Well?’ said Antonia unsympathetically.

  ‘Well, that’s the whole thing in a nutshell. It’s no use hanging on to a lot of shirts and things if you haven’t anything to carry them about in. You see my point?’

  ‘Oh, God!’ groaned Kenneth. ‘I can’t bear it!’

  ‘I call that very unreasonable,’ said Roger. ‘After all, they weren’t your clothes. If I started putting your shirts up the spout you’d have a perfect right to complain. It’s coming to something if I can’t pop my own belongings. Moreover, if I inherit all Arnold’s money I shall be able to buy a lot of new clothes, and no harm done. But don’t run away with the idea that I particularly want to stay with you, because I don’t at all mind putting up at a hotel as long as I’ve got some money. Supposing you were to lend me a few pounds – say fifty – to tide me over?’

  ‘Let’s pretend!’ said Kenneth sarcastically. ‘You’ve never paid a debt in your life!’

  ‘That’s perfectly true,’ agreed Roger, with unimpaired affability, ‘but I wouldn’t mind paying you back if I had two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Well, I won’t take the risk,’ replied Kenneth. ‘Go and touch Giles. You won’t get anything out of me.’

  At this moment the door opened to admit Murgatroyd, who came in to clear away the tea. Antonia said gloomily: ‘Look what’s happened, Murgatroyd. Isn’t it damnable?’

  Murgatroyd started to say: ‘How many times have I told you I won’t have you use such –’ Then she caught sight of Roger, and gave a scream.

  ‘Hullo, Murgatroyd!’ said Roger, with his sleepy, apologetic smile. ‘You still alive?’

  Murgatroyd seemed to find difficulty in speaking. She swallowed once or twice, and in the end said in a hollow voice: ‘I knew it. You ask Miss Leslie if I didn’t see bad news in my teacup yesterday, plain as plain. Mark my words, I said, something awful is on its way to this house.’

  ‘A lot of people scoff at reading fortunes in teacups,’ said Roger, interested. ‘I’ve always thought there was something in it myself. It just shows. You haven’t changed much. Fatter, of course, but I should have known you anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to make personal remarks about me, Mr Roger! What have you come home for, that’s what I’d like to know? Not that I need to ask. Trust you to come nosing round after pickings! Talk about hyenas!’ Wrath swelled her voice. She said strongly. ‘Just like you it is to try and take what’s Master Kenneth’s away from him! Don’t tell me! If I had my way, back you’d go to where you came from, double-quick!’

  ‘Yes,�
�� said Antonia. ‘But he hasn’t got any clothes, and he says he’s going to stay with us.’

  ‘Not in this house, he isn’t!’ said Murgatroyd.

  ‘I shan’t get in the way,’ Roger assured her. ‘You’ll hardly notice me.’

  ‘No, not once you’re the other side of the front door, I won’t,’ was the grim reply.

  Violet got up from the table, and came slowly across the room. ‘Don’t you think this is all a little undignified?’ she said in her calm way. ‘Kenneth, dear, please stop prowling, and try to be reasonable. Poor Mr Vereker can’t help not being dead, after all!’ She smiled at Roger and added prettily: ‘They’re an awful couple, aren’t they? You mustn’t pay any attention to what they say. And no one’s offered you any tea! Would you like some?’

  ‘No,’ said Roger frankly, ‘but I shouldn’t mind a whisky-and-soda if it happened to be handy.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you one – since these rude people have forgotten their manners!’

  Kenneth gazed at her in blank astonishment. ‘My good girl, do you realise what this means?’ he asked. ‘Have you by any chance grasped who he is?’

  ‘Yes, dear, perfectly,’ replied Violet, going over to the side-board and opening one of the cupboards. ‘And if I can put a decent face on it, I think you might too. Will you say when, Mr Vereker?’

  ‘If he does it’ll be a record,’ remarked Kenneth.

  ‘That’ll do, Kenneth,’ Violet said, in a tone of authority. ‘There, is that how you like it, Mr Vereker?’

  ‘I like it almost anyhow,’ replied Roger simply. ‘I’ve forgotten your name, but thank you.’

  ‘Williams,’ she said. ‘Violet Williams. A very ordinary name, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, they’re always the worst to keep in your head,’ agreed Roger. ‘Well, here’s luck, everybody! Chin-chin!’

  His relatives received this in unresponsive silence. Murgatroyd, whose indignation had been diverted by the sight of Violet doing the honours of the flat, said suddenly: ‘Well, what’s to be done, that’s what I want to know?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Roger. ‘I’m very adaptable. I don’t suppose I shall be here long either. My idea is to take a flat on my own.’

  ‘Why bother?’ said Kenneth. ‘Isn’t Arnold’s house enough for you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t like it,’ replied Roger, with more decision than he had yet shown. ‘Not my style at all. I’ll tell you what, though: I’ll give it to you and Tony.’

  ‘Thanks. We don’t want it.’

  Murgatroyd, who had been thinking, said in a somewhat mollified voice: ‘I suppose he’ll have to stay. It won’t do any good to have him trapesing round town like a regular tramp. He can have the camp-bed in the box-room.’

  ‘I shall want a pair of Kenneth’s pyjamas as well,’ said Roger helpfully.

  ‘If you stay in this flat I shall clear out of it,’ announced Kenneth.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said his sister. ‘I’m not going to be left to cope with him.’

  ‘All right, then, let’s both go. Let’s go to Sweden at once!’

  ‘I can’t. Who’d look after the dogs?’

  ‘Damn the dogs!’

  ‘Have you got a lot of dogs?’ inquired Roger, looking round for some sign of them. ‘What sort of dogs?’

  ‘Bull-terriers,’ replied Antonia briefly.

  ‘I don’t know that I like the sound of that. I got bitten by a dog once, and they told me it was a bull-terrier. Not that I wanted to know.’

  ‘Let’s have the dogs in,’ said Kenneth, brightening. ‘You never know your luck.’

  ‘Don’t be childish, Kenneth,’ interposed Violet. ‘It isn’t for me to make a suggestion, but don’t you think Mr Carrington ought to be told what’s happened?’

  ‘You don’t mean to tell me Uncle Charles isn’t dead yet?’ said Roger. ‘I don’t want to see him. The last time I set eyes on him he said a whole lot of things I’m glad I can’t remember.’

  ‘You won’t have to see him,’ replied Antonia. ‘Giles took over all our affairs years ago.’

  ‘Oh, Giles!’ said Roger. ‘Well, I don’t mind him. Do just as you like about it. Now I come to think of it, he wasn’t a bad chap at all. I was at school with him.’

  ‘Yes, till they sacked you,’ said Kenneth.

  ‘You’ve got that muddled up,’ said Roger. ‘You’re thinking of Oxford. Now, there I did get into trouble. I forget the rights of it, but there was a lot of unpleasantness one way or another. As a matter of fact, I’ve been very unlucky all my life. Not that I’m complaining.’

  Antonia, apparently thinking that Violet’s suggestion was a good one, had walked across the studio to the telephone, and was dialling her cousin’s number. He answered the call himself, and as soon as Antonia heard his voice, she said without any preamble: ‘Giles, are you doing anything? Because if not you’d better come round at once.’

  ‘Had I?’ he said. ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘Something utterly sickening. Roger’s turned up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Roger. He isn’t dead, at all. He’s here.’

  There was a moment’s startled silence; then Giles said in a voice quivering with amusement: ‘But what a disaster!’

  ‘Yes, it’s awful. We don’t in the least know what to do about it.’

  ‘My poor Tony, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you to laugh, but he says he’s going to stay with us until you advance him some money. So do you think you could bring round some at once? He wants fifty pounds, but I should think twenty would do. He hasn’t got any clothes.’

  ‘What, none at all?’

  ‘No – that is, yes, you idiot, of course he has! But no pyjamas, or things.’

  ‘How very like him!’ said Giles.

  ‘I daresay, but the point is we don’t want him here, and he won’t go unless he has some cash.’

  ‘My dear girl, I can’t possibly do anything about it at a moment’s notice!’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to lend him some money?’ Antonia said, without much hope.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ replied Giles.

  ‘No, I didn’t think you would. But it’s pretty grim if we’ve got to have him here, you know.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I keep on telling you! Here! ’

  Giles’s voice was brimful of laughter. ‘Not in the room?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Antonia impatiently.

  ‘How he must be enjoying this conversation!’

  At this point Roger, who had been listening with his usual placidity, interrupted to say: ‘Give old Giles my love.’

  ‘He wants me to give you his love. He’s just like that.’

  ‘He always was. I can’t rise to those affectionate heights, but tell him I congratulate him on not being dead. Where did he spring from?’

  ‘South America, I suppose. I didn’t ask. Anyway, he landed yesterday. Do come round!’

  ‘I can’t do any good if I do, Tony; but I’ll look in after dinner, if you like.’

  With this she had to be content. At the other end of the telephone Giles Carrington sat for a moment after he had laid down the receiver, thinking. Then, with a faint smile hovering about his mouth, he picked up the receiver again, and rang up Scotland Yard.

  Superintendent Hannasyde was still in the building, and after a few minutes Giles was put through to him.

  ‘Is that you, Hannasyde?’

  ‘It is,’ replied the Superintendent.

  ‘Do you remember, I wonder, that I prophesied something unexpected would turn up?’

  ‘I do.’ The Superintendent’s voice quickened with interest.

  ‘Well, I thought perhaps you’d like to know that it has,’ said Giles. ‘Roger Vereker has come home.’

  ‘Roger – Who’s he?’

  ‘Roger Vereker,’ said Giles, ‘is the brother who ought to have die
d seven years ago!’

  ‘Good lord!’ The Superintendent sounded startled. ‘When?’

  ‘I’m informed that he landed yesterday – I believe from South America, but I’m not certain on that point. At the moment he’s staying at the studio. I’m going round there to see him this evening.’

  ‘Do you mind if I come with you?’ asked Hannasyde.

  ‘Not in the least,’ replied Giles cheerfully.

  Fourteen

  Violet, who made a show of leaving the studio shortly before dinner, was easily persuaded to remain. Kenneth said that since she seemed to like Roger so much she had better stay and entertain him, as neither he nor Tony felt at all capable of doing it. She took this in good part, merely smiling at him in a rather aloof way, and continuing to ask Roger civil questions about his journey. Presently, when Murgatroyd, with an ill grace, came to show Roger the way to the box-room which was to be his temporary abode, she took the Verekers to task, and told them that she felt so sorry for Roger at meeting with such a reception that she felt she had to do something about it. Antonia pointed out to her that as far as Roger was concerned it was all water off a duck’s back; an observation so patently true that even Violet could not gainsay it. Antonia saw more point in her second argument, which was that by showing his disgust so plainly, Kenneth was placing himself in a very suspicious light. Antonia was inclined to agree with this, but Kenneth at once started to argue that his attitude was entirely consistent, and would be more likely to puzzle the police than to convince them that he was Arnold’s murderer. In the middle of the inevitable discussion that followed Roger came back into the room, and Kenneth, to whom, once he was embarked on an argument, all persons were alike, immediately put the case to him.

  Roger listened attentively, and without embarrassment, and said in a painstaking way: ‘You mean, if you go about saying what a damnable thing it is I’ve come home, the police will think you stuck that knife into Arnold?’

  ‘No, that’s what Violet thinks. I say that if I pretend not to mind they’d be far more likely to be suspicious.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Roger. ‘They might, of course, but you can’t be too careful with policemen. I’ve had a lot of trouble with them in my time, all sorts of policemen. Sometimes I think the English ones are the worst, but at others I’m not so sure. By the way, did you murder Arnold? I don’t want to be inquisitive, but I wondered.’