***
Elmhurst Hall was the only property down a quiet country lane and was well-concealed from prying eyes. Rafferty had made Llewellyn stop off at the public library to borrow a book on local history on their way to see Lady Evelyn, and the hall featured prominently. He was looking forward to seeing it.
The high, wrought-iron gates were open, and Llewellyn turned the car into the drive. The building was mainly early Tudor, but Rafferty's part-trained builder's eye recognised that the great hall was medieval. The old stained-glass glowed with an unearthly light, well set off by the simple black and white timber-framed walls and he stared blissfully, absorbing it all.
The man-servant who opened the door must have been warned to expect them, for after checking their names, he led them through an inner high arched door, which to Rafferty's delight, led to the original hall. It was magnificent and as he looked round him a lump formed in his throat.
The roof timbers soared fully fifty feet above the floor and looked as though they had been crafted by a giant's hand. Enormous king-posts rested on collar-beams, which, in turn, rested on moulded braces, all coated with the rich patina of centuries. His gaze took in old battle banners, swords and shields hanging from the wall, enormous serving dishes and a vast oak table, which must easily hold thirty people. Barely aware that he had stopped to stare, it was only when Llewellyn cleared his throat that he remembered why he was here.
The butler opened another door and introduced them. Lady Evelyn rose from her chair and came to greet them. 'Inspector. Won't you and your Sergeant come and sit by the fire? These large rooms grow a little chilly at this time of day.'
Rafferty was glad to sit at the vast hearth and warm himself. Llewellyn settled himself and his notebook at a short, discreet distance.
Lady Evelyn sat opposite Rafferty on the other side of the hearth. 'You'll both take coffee with me? It's all ready.'
Rafferty nodded his thanks and while she served him, he studied her. He guessed her to be around the late forties. She was tall, and although the fine skin and grey-flecked auburn hair were her only real claims to beauty, she had an indefinable quality that no cosmetic could provide. He wondered what she had seen in old Tony. Her grey, worsted skirt and high-necked white blouse were plain, the blouse adorned only with a discreet gold brooch on which there was some Latin inscription, the meaning of which Llewellyn would, no doubt, take great delight in explaining to him later.
Taking his cup, he settled back comfortably as she served Llewellyn. It was a restful room and, if the chair upon which he sat lacked cushioned modernity, its straight back and high curved arms offered repose. Even Llewellyn seemed to have relaxed, Rafferty noticed, with amusement, and looked as contented as the melancholic composition of his features would allow.
Rafferty glanced curiously around the room, at the well-worn, but presumably expensive rugs, at the many paintings of fierce-looking earlier Melvilles, each neatly labelled, the photographs that adorned the desk top and mantelpiece. He was reluctant to introduce the unpleasant topic of murder into such peace, but, he reminded himself, as he was here as a policeman and not an invited guest, he'd better get on with it.
Putting, his cup down, he began. 'As I believe my Sergeant explained on the phone, we're taking statements from everyone in any way connected with your husband's hospital, Lady Evelyn. In most cases, it's just going to be a formality, of course, but we need to eliminate as many people as possible from our enquiries.'
She nodded. 'Naturally, I'll help in any way I can.' Her eyes shadowed. 'A most distressing business. I understand her face…' Lady Evelyn paled and stumbled to a halt. It was a few moments before she was able to go on. 'Forgive me. It's all been rather a shock.' She gave a moue of distaste. 'My husband rang me earlier and revealed some of the more - unpleasant details. Her poor family—have you been able to identify her yet?'
Rafferty shook his head. 'Of course, it's early days. You've no idea who she might be, I suppose?' he asked hopefully.
Lady Evelyn shook her head. 'I rarely visit my husband's sanatorium these days, Inspector. Even the staff are mostly strangers to me now.' She gave a faint smile. 'A consequence of a busy life, I'm afraid. At one time, I used to know them all.'
'I see. I understand you and your husband were at The George at Hamborne last night?'
'That's right. A medical dinner. It's held every year.'
'It went on till 2.00 a.m. I understand?'
'Yes.' With a tinge of irony, she added, 'I found it a rather long night, but as the proceeds were in aid of the local nursery and I'm on the committee, I felt obliged to attend.' She smiled self-mockingly. 'A case of noblesse oblige, as they say.'
Rafferty nodded understandingly. How often had he felt obliged to do what he would rather not? His wife, Angie, had made any number of scenes whilst he had been studying for his sergeant's exams. Too often, for the sake of peace, he had abandoned his studies to escort her to some function or other, and they hadn't even offered the consolation of supporting a worthy cause. That was why he had failed his exams the first time. She had hated the police force and its anti-social hours of duty. "Duty, duty, it's always duty," she had often screamed at him. "What about me—my needs? Don't they count?"
A log crashed in the grate and brought Rafferty back with a start. He found he had relaxed once more and forced himself to sit more erect in the chair. 'Were you both present at The George for the entire night? Your husband—'
'Anthony?' She stared at him. 'Surely you don't suspect my husband?'
'No, no,' he reassured her. No more than anyone else, anyway, though certainly no less, either. 'As I said, it's probably only a formality, so if you can assure me that you were both there all evening we won't trouble you any further.'
'But I can't.' Lady Evelyn fingered her gold pin and gave him a bleak little smile. 'This is rather unfortunate. We weren't together the entire evening, you see, Inspector. Once the meal was over I saw little of him, so I'm afraid I can't give him an –- alibi – I suppose the term is. As you can imagine, on these occasions the medical fraternity talk shop and their partners tend to be left to their own devices.'
She spoke lightly as though it were a matter of little moment, but Rafferty had been in enough similar situations in his own marriage and knew what it was like to be ignored, left on the side-lines while one's partner joined more congenial companions.
Almost as though in defence against his silent and unasked for sympathy, Lady Evelyn brightened. 'I'm sure it will be a simple matter to prove he was there the entire night. There were enough people present, and as Anthony seemed to know most of them, someone's sure to be able to confirm what he says.'
'How did you get to The George that night, Ma'am?' asked Llewellyn. 'I understand you have a chauffeur?'
'Yes. But, as it happens, it was his long weekend off and I'd stupidly forgotten to ask him to change it—so annoying. And by the time I did remember, he'd already left. Normally, of course, for such a function, we would use the Bentley and Anthony was rather put out when we were reduced to my car.'
'But surely you could still have used the Bentley?'
'I'm afraid not, Sergeant. The Bentley is a manual and I only drive automatics. When we discovered that Anderson, our chauffeur, had left for the weekend, we both knew that I would have to drive.' She smiled faintly. 'There are usually excellent wines at dinner and on such occasions my husband likes to let his hair down with his colleagues.'
'A rather unfortunate start to the evening, Ma'am,' Rafferty commented sympathetically.
'Yes.' She sighed. 'Of course, in the way of such things, it got worse. The lights on my car had been accidentally left on and the battery was flat. Anthony rather blamed me, but both he and my son, when he's home, tend to use my car as a spare. Anyway, after some completely pointless recriminations, we used jump leads from the cook's car. By the time we finally got going, it was rather late.'
'It might have been a better idea to borrow the cook's car in the
first place,' Llewellyn commented dryly.
'I did suggest it, of course—it's an automatic like mine, but it's a little old and shabby and my husband feels he has a position to maintain. He didn't want to arrive in such an…unsuitable vehicle.' She went on. 'But as it happened, it wouldn't have mattered. By the time we got to The George, the car park was full and the attendant wouldn't let us in. We had to drive round and round the streets till we could find a parking place. Anthony wasn't very pleased. He gave the door-man rather a hard time, though, of course, it wasn't his fault, poor man.'
Rafferty could imagine how Anthony Melville-Briggs would take such an affront to his dignity. No wonder he had been so sure the door-man would remember them. The good doctor in a rage would certainly be a pretty spectacular sight. He swallowed the appreciative chuckle, and glanced over at Llewellyn. The Welshman's dark head was bent over his notebook as though its contents engrossed him and, for a moment, Rafferty wondered if it was possible that his uptight sergeant shared his amusement. Then he dismissed the possibility. Llewellyn suffered from a sense of humour failure on an epic scale and had already made it clear where his sympathies lay.
Although the day outside had turned bleak, and the old house groaned from the buffeting of the wind blowing straight off the North Sea, the winter parlour was warm. The panelled walls reflected the glowing red and gold flames from the heaped logs burning steadily in the hearth. They had Rafferty mesmerised. He felt lethargy begin to steal over him and he gave himself a mental shake. Curious to discover more than his quick perusal of the guide-book had revealed, he asked, 'Has Elmhurst Hall always belonged to your family, Ma'am?'
'No, only since the late Fifteenth Century,' replied Lady Evelyn. 'My great, great, great, etc, grandfather, a landless knight, backed Henry Tudor at the Battle of Bosworth and as you probably know, the Tudor won the day.'
'And your family were rewarded with the Hall?'
'In a roundabout way. Henry Tudor was reluctant to give rewards out of his own pocket, being a mean man by nature, but Edward Melville was given something even better – a rich heiress in marriage – Lady Cecily Aimering. It was through her that we acquired the Hall, amongst other things. At that time, of course—' she broke off and he looked enquiringly at her.
'I'm sorry.' She gave an apologetic smile. 'I didn't mean to give you a history lesson.'
Rafferty glanced slyly at Llewellyn to see if this sensitivity had penetrated. Llewellyn met his eyes with the inscrutable expression of a Merlin as Lady Evelyn continued. 'My husband tells me I bore people to death talking about the house.'
'You're not boring me,' Rafferty assured her. He managed to get a little dig in for Llewellyn's benefit. 'Give me someone who knows their stuff and can tell it without talking down to people and I'm happy. Besides, I'm a bit of a history buff myself. Houses are a hobby of mine,' he explained, 'and history tends to go with the territory.' But there was work to be done, he reminded himself. He signalled to Llewellyn as he got to his feet. 'We'd best be off. Thank you for your hospitality, Ma'am. If you could possibly pop into the station some time and sign the statement?'
'Of course. Tomorrow morning? About ten?'
He nodded. 'That'll be fine.' Rather sheepishly, he pulled the little library book about the Hall from his pocket as they headed for the door. 'I understand you occasionally open your home to the public, Ma'am? I wouldn't mind seeing it myself when this case is over.'
'Why don't you give me a ring when you're able to make it and we'll arrange a time?'
Rafferty was happy to agree and finally they left. But he couldn't help wondering if Lady Evelyn would still be willing to show him round her home if the case ended with her husband being arrested for murder. He rather doubted it. In spite of his air of confidence, Melville-Briggs's alibi wasn't nearly as sound as he'd led them to believe. If his own wife couldn't vouch for him for the whole evening, was it likely that anyone else could?
Dead Before Morning Page 10
