A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  This seemed to confirm Sawyer’s conclusions were as reasonable as might have been expected. Perkins also corroborated Marion Clark’s recollection, that several of the staff, himself included, were in the kitchen at the time of the third death. I double checked who was present and so was able to exclude a number of the household from any involvement.

  Then I showed him the trowel I’d found and he immediately pointed out the carved initial.

  ‘That’s Billy Sharp’s. Definitely.’

  I found Elizabeth Parry in the kitchen at a little after three. I didn’t want to talk to her with the cook listening in the background so we had a cup of tea then went through to the morning room.

  The interview began routinely enough, although I had to remind her we needed to put our previous relationship to one side.

  She gave me satisfactory answers to my questions, adding little to what I already knew and corroborating the maid’s account of the first deaths. Elizabeth hadn’t seen anything from the window, being only a step inside the doorway when Lady Isabelle crossed the lawn. She also confirmed what happened when she joined the butler and Alan Haleson outside the front door. Half a dozen witnesses had been with her in the kitchen when Jenny Bamford died but when I asked her where she was after this she pulled me up short.

  ‘Shall we go out into the garden, James? It seems such a waste of a lovely day to be cooped up in the house.’

  She looked slightly distracted so I thought she might have something to tell me which she didn’t want overheard. Despite my better judgement I couldn’t help enjoying the prospect of a walk in the pleasant late autumn sunshine with her. As we made our way through the main hall she took a quick glance at herself in the large gilded mirror hanging there. I caught a brief primping of her hair and an even briefer smile before she continued on her way. This made my head spin. Here was a woman who had deserted me without a word of explanation and now here she was, throwing her arms round me as soon as we met, then preening herself as if going in for the kill. I needed to ignore this and get back to the question I’d asked her earlier.

  ‘In the morning room you were about to tell me where you were when Jenny died.’

  There was an almost imperceptible intake of breath, and the slightest of blushes flushed her cheeks. So was she going to lie to me? Or was she simply embarrassed by my persistence? Elizabeth sighed and spread her arms, turning and drawing in our surroundings.

  ‘Look at all this, James, sunshine, a beautiful house, idyllic gardens and yet such a tragedy. Who would believe three people died here less than a week ago? I can barely think about it without shuddering.’

  ‘Murder and suicide are terrible things, Elizabeth, and it’s why we need to get to the bottom of what happened. Why I have to ask everybody, including you, these questions.’

  ‘I know, James, but you mustn’t blame me for not wanting to talk about it. I can’t say I know anything about Miss Bamford’s death, really. I was in the kitchen at the time and still terribly shaken by what I’d seen. Most of the other staff were there with me when we heard the shot from somewhere in the house. I think we’d have all escaped through the side door but for the two bodies still lying outside.’

  ‘And no-one entered or left the kitchen between you calling everyone together and Jervis arriving?’

  ‘No, I’m certain of that. There were only a few of us so I’d have noticed.’

  ‘What happened when Mr Jervis came in?’

  ‘He told us Miss Bamford had taken her own life. We were all horribly shocked. Mr Jervis himself looked really upset and young Marion was almost hysterical. Mr Jervis said the police would be arriving soon and we should all stay in our rooms until called for, so that’s what I did. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can tell you.’

  ‘And you stayed in your room until Constable Sawyer called for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m sorry I’ve had to put you through this again but I’m sure you understand it’s necessary.’

  ‘I do, James, you’re only doing your job, after all. May I go now?’

  As she walked away I wondered why she’d left so abruptly when I asked about her whereabouts after Jenny’s death.

  Peggy Shaw was small, pretty and lively, completely different to Marion Clarke. She was the kind of girl you felt you’d be friends with straight away and I was certain she’d have at least one young man from the village in tow at all times.

  We were back in the morning room and the second maid was sitting across the table from me, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She didn’t seem to be at all nervous in the situation.

  ‘Tell me, Peggy, where were you when Mr Barleigh was shot?’

  ‘Well, sir, I was just going up the back stairs from the kitchen. I remember I was only two or three steps up when I heard the first shot outside.’

  ‘You knew it was a shot then?’

  ‘Not at the time. I didn’t know what it was, just a big bang, it was only later I found out, when we were all in the kitchen.’

  ‘Why were you going upstairs?’

  ‘I knew Mr Jervis had gone up to collect the linen and though he said he’d do it I thought he might need a hand. It was my job after all. I didn’t get there though.’

  ‘What happened next, Peggy?’

  ‘Well, sir, I took another couple of steps then the second shot went off. I still didn’t know what it was for sure but was now a bit frightened. I stood on the stairs with my back to the wall for a minute, trying to decide what I should do. Then I slowly went to the landing and looked out of the window. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Mr Barleigh and her Ladyship sprawled out on the grass. There was lots of blood, I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Something in the girl’s story suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d told it and I guessed it had resulted in her being bought a drink or two over the past few days.

  ‘You had a good vantage point up there, Peggy; did you see anyone else?’

  ‘Actually, sir ... yes, I did. I saw Billy Sharp.’

  Three

  As the day drew to a close Sir Arthur still wasn’t back from his ride, so there was nothing else to be achieved at the house. I went into the village, where I’d arranged to stay at the Victory public house. It was less than twenty miles to my home in Kenilworth but I’d probably be at Grovestock House for a couple of days so the journey back and forth hardly seemed worthwhile.

  It was almost dark when I arrived outside the Victory. There was now a coldness in the air which often follows a bright autumn day, the gods telling us we shouldn’t be fooled by the sunshine because winter isn’t far off. I went inside, where I was greeted by a roaring fire and the friendly landlord, who introduced himself as Mr Terence Cudlip. We chatted for a few minutes before he took me up to my room and I was pleasantly surprised at its decor and spaciousness, even though it was a simple country pub.

  Before dinner I phoned Sawyer to pass on the news that Peggy Shaw had seen Billy Sharp climbing over the wall into the woods beyond the house shortly after the first two shots. I told him to ask around if anyone had seen Sharp in the village. Afterwards I made my way down to the bar and ordered a glass of Vimto. I hadn’t been in a pub for a while and the smell of the hops and yeast almost sucked me in but I stuck with the soft drink.

  The landlord offered me an evening newspaper which I read for a little while but the pages were full of news of Mr Chamberlain’s triumphant return from Munich. Like everyone else, I was pleased a war seemed to have been averted. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help thinking that if the price was gifting part of a country to Herr Hitler, the postponement of the conflict would only be temporary. Sudetenland may not mean a fig to most people in England but the same might have been said of Sarajevo twenty-five years ago, when events there soon led to the deaths of millions of young men across Europe.

  I remembered my time in Germany when Hitler was released from prison and was idolised by his followers, ready to do anyt
hing he asked of them for the glory of ‘the Fatherland’. I found it hard to understand how the Prime Minister could be taken in by him.

  As ever, the papers reflected the inability of people to see what was in front of their noses. Whilst an article on the front page related measures being taken against Jews in Germany and another discussed the sorry conditions of Czech refugees, correspondents on the inside pages were praising the Prime Minister to the hilt, with one person proposing a national collection to buy him a country estate so he could enjoy his treasured hobby of salmon fishing.

  I turned my thoughts back to the case. I couldn’t shake from my head the sense that something wasn’t right. With three tragic deaths, how could it be? But there was something beyond this, something I couldn’t quite reach. And it was sitting on my shoulder, casting a shadow over the entire scene. For some reason I couldn’t accept the version of events which had been taken to the coroner. There was something I wasn’t seeing and I felt in my bones I was missing something vital. All I could do for now was to examine the evidence, carry out the interviews and hope it would all become clear.

  Dinner was plain enough fare. It was clear the proprietor had been hoarding food with a view to a more negative outcome from the Prime Minister’s Germany trip. I decided to spend another hour in the bar before going to bed. I was dealing a few hands of patience and watching some locals playing darts when a young man came in and sat down on a barstool beside me. He ordered himself a drink and exchanged a few pleasantries with the landlord before turning to me.

  ‘It’s Mr Given, isn’t it?’

  I was surprised, but confirmed he was right.

  ‘I’m Alan Haleson, a friend of Tom Barleigh’s. I was told at the house I might find you here.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Haleson, I tried to speak to you earlier but was told you’d gone out for the day.’

  ‘Yes, I had to go into Birmingham urgently with everything that has been happening over the last couple of days.’

  ‘Sorry? I’m not sure I understand you.’

  ‘Oh, I assumed you knew that I’m a civil servant. I’m attached to the Foreign Office and part of the team involved in the Munich discussions. I should have been in Germany with them but for all that’s gone on here. The Prime Minister keeps an office in his constituency in Birmingham so I was able to make contact with my colleagues through there. There’s a mass of things to do now Mr Chamberlain is back so I have to leave for London first thing in the morning. Jervis said you’d been looking for me so thought I should try to catch up with you before I go.’

  Haleson went on to tell me he’d known Tom Barleigh since their first schooldays together and though after leaving school they lived some distance apart, they’d always kept in touch and visited each other regularly. So close was their friendship that he was to have been Mr Barleigh’s best man and had travelled up to Grovestock House for that reason. Following the tragedy he’d stayed on to help as best he could. I asked him to go through a few things whilst he was with me and he agreed but was adamant he had to get back to London the next day.

  ‘Was there any hint something was wrong in the household?’

  ‘Not in the household generally, although Lady Isabelle was still trying to put Tom off the marriage, so he was a bit out of sorts.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He seemed quite ... morose in the two or three days before the wedding, something not normally in his nature. Even in the days following his terrible accident he had never lost his cheerfulness. So it was a surprise to see him so fed up, but I initially put this down to the normal bridegroom jitters.’

  ‘Why was his mother opposed to him getting married?’

  ‘She was over-protective. She believed she was the only one who could look after him and that Jenny was only marrying him because she felt sorry for him. Lady Isabelle had been on about it for weeks but Tom was having none of it.’

  ‘What made you change your mind?’

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘It was something that happened on Monday night. I’d been out for quite a long walk after dinner so decided to use the lift rather than stagger up the stairs. I’m not usually quite so lazy but on this occasion I was suddenly very tired. As a result I came out in the corridor by Tom’s room and heard him choking and cursing from the other side of his door. I called to ask if he was all right but he shouted: “Get out of the house now, Alan! I don’t know how this whole affair will end but you don’t want to be here when it does!” I tried the door but it was locked and no amount of argument would get Tom to let me in.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘What could I do? I had no alternative than to leave him to it. I was worried he’d finally realised Jenny might be marrying him for the wrong reasons.’

  ‘How do you mean, the wrong reasons?’

  ‘Well — I don’t know, just not simply for love. I’m sorry, Inspector, I really don’t have time to go into it more now, and I’m not sure I could explain it properly. I have to leave early in the morning and there are papers to prepare before I go to bed. Suffice it to say it wasn’t a match made in heaven.’

  I pressed him but he stayed firm. He promised that he’d write to me as soon as possible, providing a full account of the day the shootings occurred.

  Haleson had pressing business for the Prime Minister, so I doubted I’d be able to prevent him leaving even if I tried. I’d have to trust he’d be easy enough to find if he didn’t honour his word.

  I didn’t sleep much that night. The discussion with Alan Haleson had left me disturbed and I was uncomfortable that I had let him go off without providing a full statement.

  The story of an otherwise loving mother suddenly turning on her son and killing him was troubling me. It seemed impossible that her unhappiness with his planned marriage would be enough to turn Lady Isabelle into a murderer, no matter how much Tom Barleigh was out of favour; it was paradoxical. I decided to proceed on the basis someone else was involved until I had clear evidence to the contrary.

  This early in an investigation everyone has to be treated as a possible suspect, regardless of rank or station, unless they have a cast iron alibi. I understood from the gardener that Haleson had arrived on the side lawn along with the butler and Elizabeth. It was obvious that any of them could easily have dashed from the scene of the killings and through the kitchen into the main part of the house before leaving again via the front door. I couldn’t believe Elizabeth might be involved but she needed to be considered along with the others. As for Haleson, I’d not even asked him to account for his whereabouts and now had to hope he’d tell the truth if, and when, he wrote to me.

  I was also out of sorts by being in new surroundings. The room in the Victory was comfortable enough and, God knows, I’d slept in far worse accommodation in my time. Years at sea in cramped, shared cabins, constantly rolling and echoing with engine sounds, or months on end sleeping in fruit pickers’ sheds, should have meant I could sleep anywhere, but the first night in any bed other than my own always brings on a bout of insomnia.

  About two in the morning I got up and tried to make more sense of the files Sawyer had prepared. I went through the photographs of Lady Isabelle, young Barleigh and his fiancée, examining them from every angle but, even though I was awake, my mind wasn’t functioning efficiently enough to generate any flashes of insight. So I went back to bed and continued to toss and turn throughout the night. I must have finally drifted off because I woke up with a start when Cudlip rapped on my door to let me know breakfast was almost ready. I slipped on my glasses to read the time on the bedside alarm clock and saw it was a little after eight.

  The night had left me tired and sullen, and certainly not in any mood for Cudlip’s heartiness as he served me a mountain of bacon, sausages and eggs. I tried hiding behind the newspaper I’d saved from the previous day but the landlord wasn’t going to leave me in peace.

  ‘What’s the plan today, Inspector?’

  ‘I have to go up to Grovestock
House again later but thought I’d take a stroll around the village first. Buy a newspaper and suchlike.’

  Cudlip laughed.

  ‘That’s the first ten minutes gone then. Not much to see around here.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. Still, it’s not a bad morning and the fresh air might wake me up.’

  Seemingly satisfied he’d done his duty for the time being, he left me to finish my breakfast, returning when I was halfway through my second cup of tea.

  ‘Anything else I can get you, sir? More tea? Another slice of toast perhaps?’

  I patted my increasingly tight waistcoat, protesting I was too full to touch another thing and he started to clear away the dishes.

  ‘Actually, Mr Cudlip, there is another thing you can help me with. I was wondering if there’d be anyone in the village who’d know anything about the Barleighs or Miss Bamford. Any thoughts?’

  ‘Well, I can’t think of any particular friends, the family kept pretty much to their own kind, if you get my drift, and Miss Bamford wasn’t actually from the village herself. I do know the son had spent a bit of time recently with Miss Leeming.’

  ‘And she is?’

  ‘She’d have been the schoolmistress, retired now. She taught my boys and they always thought very highly of her.’

  ‘Did she teach Tom then?’

  ‘Oh no, he was boarded out to a place up in Henley-in-Arden. A “prep school” do they call it? That’s where he’d have met the young man you were talking to last night — Mr Haleson. I can’t say why Tom Barleigh and Miss Leeming had struck up a friendship, it’s only something I picked up in the bar.’

  It was chillier outside than I’d expected and I shivered as I stepped into the morning air. I buttoned my overcoat, pulled on my leather gloves, and looked around me. It had been dark when I arrived the previous evening and I’d not seen anything of the village, there being nothing as civilised as streetlamps in this part of the world.

  The street was deserted except for one or two parked cars and a postman making his way from letterbox to letterbox. His bicycle leant against the wall of a house, suggesting he had a much larger area than Priors Allenford to cover on his daily round. He looked briefly across at me and tipped his cap before continuing with his morning’s work.