‘But why?’ asked Trevelyan.
Jack ran his finger round the top of his glass. ‘Because Jane Davenham and Laidlaw were married. What’s more, Mrs Rotherwell knew it. She didn’t know about his marriage to Violet Wild but she knew he was married to Jane Davenham.’
‘They were married?’ said Trevelyan incredulously.
‘That’s right,’ said Jack, leaning forward in his chair. ‘And, although Laidlaw deserves everything that’s coming to him, in a way, I can feel sorry for him.’
‘I can’t,’ ground out Trevelyan. ‘He murdered Caroline and ruined my life.’
‘So he did. But in the beginning, it mustn’t have seemed as if he’d done anything that was so very wrong. He’d married Jane Davenham in secret and they obviously stayed together. I spoke to your sister earlier on, Mr Trevelyan, and she told me that Mr Wild would have sacked him on the spot if he knew Laidlaw had married without his permission.’
‘That’s probably true,’ admitted Trevelyan grudgingly. ‘Arthur Wild was a real old tyrant. That sort of attitude was fairly common before the war. I had to ask permission from Travis and Sons before I married Caroline. But dammit, Haldean, if he was married to this Davenham woman, why on earth did he marry Violet?’
‘Because he had a huge amount to gain. Again, I owe this to your sister, Mr Trevelyan. She told me how old Mr Wild wouldn’t leave his business – his very successful business – to his daughter but would to his son-in-law. Jane Davenham obviously went along with the plan.’
Trevelyan ran a bewildered hand across his forehead. ‘Do you actually know this, or are you just guessing?’
‘We know, all right,’ said Jack. ‘We’ve got the marriage certificate. We’ve got the certificates for both marriages, as a matter of fact.’ He grinned at Bill. ‘It took some hunting, but we found them.’
‘So how did that lead to him killing poor Caroline?’
Jack lit a cigarette. ‘This is supposition, but something like it must’ve happened that morning of the 15th of July in 1907. We know Amelia Rotherwell had called to see your wife, Mr Trevelyan. Andrew Laidlaw joined the ladies for coffee. And Mrs Rotherwell, who was acquainted with Jane Davenham, was bound to remark, once they’d been introduced, that she knew his wife.’
Trevelyan looked at him sharply. ‘Are you sure? Caroline was very close to Violet. She’d have thrown Laidlaw out of the house.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Would she? Andrew Laidlaw was a quick thinker. It would be easy enough for him to say that Mrs Rotherwell had made a mistake and to cover it up that way. It’s difficult to disagree with a guest, especially when that guest is such a smooth talker as Andrew Laidlaw. However, that only bought him a couple of hours at the most. Caroline Trevelyan was bound to mention what Mrs Rotherwell said to Violet the next time they met.’
Trevelyan whistled. ‘The fat would’ve really been in the fire then. Old Arthur Wild was a very hard-headed man. If there were facts to be uncovered, he’d uncover them.’
‘And bang would go Andrew Laidlaw’s chance of inheriting the firm,’ said Jack. ‘Yes, that was the motive. Laidlaw had to act fast. He knew the builders weren’t at the house that afternoon, so he took a chance and came back. He must’ve let himself in at the side gate because none of the servants saw him. As he was dressed in motoring things, he could’ve intended to ask your wife to come for a drive, Mr Trevelyan. Maybe he did and she refused.’
‘And he killed her,’ said Trevelyan bitterly. He squeezed Jenny’s hand. ‘And you, you poor little mite, saw him.’
Jenny swallowed hard. ‘Whatever put you onto it, Jack?’
‘There were a few pointers,’ said Jack. ‘One of them was your Aunt Gwyn, Jenny. She told me how much Laidlaw had gained from his marriage to Violet Wild. That was one thing.’
He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. ‘Now when I realised that the Mrs Rotherwell who I’d met at the Criterion was a phoney, I went back over what she’d told me. Most of it was about you, Mr Trevelyan, about how she’d met you and so on.’
‘That’s a pack of lies,’ said Trevelyan. ‘I never clapped eyes on the woman.’
‘No, of course you hadn’t. What’s more, I don’t think either Andrew Laidlaw or Jane Davenham ever imagined that you, the real Michael Trevelyan, was around. What they did know though, was that I had placed an advertisement in the papers, asking for information about the Trevelyans. Jane Davenham knew Mrs Rotherwell. She’d have known Mrs Rotherwell had arranged to meet me and that meeting simply must not happen. Laidlaw murdered your wife, Trevelyan, to keep his marriage a secret. Mrs Rotherwell was murdered for exactly the same reason. If she was allowed to talk to me, the truth would’ve come out and it would be curtains for the pair of them.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Bill. ‘If Jack had met the real Mrs Rotherwell and learned that Laidlaw was married, not to Violet Wild but to Jane Davenham, then not only would he be guilty of bigamy, which is a very serious offence, but it wouldn’t take us long to look at Caroline Trevelyan’s murder in a very different light.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Jack. ‘Although they didn’t believe in you, Mr Trevelyan, they wanted us to believe that there was a Michael Trevelyan, who had murdered his wife twenty years ago and was now setting out to murder Mrs Rotherwell.’
‘That’s horrible, Jack!’ said Betty.
‘Yes, it is, but they needed a scapegoat. Now, so far, so good. But it didn’t tell me the reason why the false Mrs Rotherwell should be doing any such thing. Had she said anything else? Well, yes, she had. She talked about Violet, Andrew Laidlaw’s wife. She spoke quite a bit about her. Add to that, Laidlaw and Jane Davenham had a bad break. Bill’s old inspector had, quite by chance, gone into Jane Davenham’s flat. She had mysteriously disappeared. We made the connection between Jane Davenham and Laidlaw, and called to see him.’
‘He was fairly rattled when we turned up, Jack,’ said Bill.
‘Yes, he was, but he rallied. Again, his wife, Violet, seemed to come into the conversation quite a lot.’
‘Why did Jane Davenham disappear, Jack?’ asked Betty.
‘I don’t think that was the original idea,’ said Jack. ‘I think what should have happened is that Jane Davenham should meet me for lunch at the Criterion, chat about Andrew Laidlaw and Violet, then feed me a tale about being followed by Michael Trevelyan. After a couple of nights at the Royal Park Hotel, I imagine she intended to go back to her own flat. However, once she realised how closely I was working with the police, and, what’s more, knew about her as Jane Davenham, she had to disappear.’
‘Is that when she moved into the flat at Summer’s Court?’ asked Betty.
‘She moved in before then. I think Laidlaw took that flat for the sole purpose of getting Mrs Rotherwell – the real Amelia Rotherwell – to come and be killed. The pair of them, Jane Davenham and Laidlaw, faked some evidence to show that you, Mr Trevelyan, had lived in the flat. One of them must’ve slipped back into the flat to leave the newspaper with the date of Wednesday the 21st on it, the date the fake Mrs Rotherwell apparently vanished.’
‘That was risky,’ said Bill.
‘Not really. Laidlaw had taken the flat in disguise. He could stroll in as himself – he probably did try and avoid the porter – but even if he’d been seen, why should anyone recognise him or think anything of it?’
‘And Laidlaw made out he was me?’ growled Trevelyan.
Jack nodded. ‘That’s right. As I said, I don’t think either of them believed you were actually here. They could shovel the blame onto you with impunity, while the police chased a totally mythical Michael Trevelyan. I’m pretty sure they left the tap dripping so that the bath would overflow and the discovery made sooner rather than later. They wanted things to come to a head. It must have been tense waiting for the discovery to be made. They’d put the poor woman in the bath so that by the time she was found, neither Bill or myself would be able to say she wasn’t the woman we’d met.’
‘What did
you know about it, Mr Trevelyan?’ asked Bill curiously.
‘What I’d read in the papers,’ he said grimly. ‘Gwyn and I exchanged the occasional letter through a post office box number. She wrote to me, about the brooch I’d apparently delivered to Jenny. Naturally, I knew I’d done no such thing. I knew something beastly was being planned and I was certain Laidlaw was behind it. I didn’t know anything about Jane Davenham but I was certain Laidlaw was the man. Then, when the news about Amelia Rotherwell broke and I was blamed, I was certain. More than anything else, I wanted to get my hands on him, to make him tell me the truth. I couldn’t think how to go about it, when my old idea about taking Saunder’s Green came back to me.’
He looked at Jenny and smiled. ‘Naturally, I couldn’t turn up at Wilson and Lee, so I wrote to them as Michael Raglan and arranged it all through the post. It was strange being back there.’
He entwined his fingers together, looking down at his hands. ‘I’ve thought about Caroline an awful lot over the years, but she seemed to be there. You’ll think I’m crazy, but I could’ve sworn I even caught a glimpse of her once or twice.’
Jenny looked at him sharply. ‘Was it in the garden? Was she wearing a blue dress?’
Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He too had seen – virtually seen – the woman in the blue dress.
Trevelyan stared at his daughter. ‘That’s right. How do you know?’
‘The lady who last had the house, a Mrs Trenchard, saw her too. The housekeeper, Mrs Offord, told me so.’ Jenny took a deep breath. ‘When I was there, when I saw the monster, I’m sure it was my mother, trying to show me what had happened.’
Trevelyan drew in on his cigarette. ‘You may be right,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s no two ways about it, I became convinced that Caroline was still there. That’s what gave me the idea. I telephoned Laidlaw, giving my name as Raglan. I told him that I was the new tenant and had discovered what looked like human remains.’
‘What did he do?’ asked Bill.
‘He had the wind up, that’s for sure. He told me to keep it to myself and he’d be there as soon as possible. I telephoned Gwyn, with the idea of saying goodbye.’
He looked at them and shook his head. ‘You have to remember I was absolutely desperate. I’d long since given up hope of convincing anyone I was innocent, so I decided to have justice in my own way. Laidlaw didn’t recognise me. I think he was too on edge about the body I’d apparently discovered.’
He glanced at Jack. ‘I had no idea poor Caroline was actually there, but all I can say is, I’m not surprised. I had the rope ready in the garage. Laidlaw went into the garage and I coshed him. I strung him up, then, as he was still unconscious, went into the garden to clear my head.’
He shrugged. ‘Then you arrived. Thank God,’ he added, under his breath.
It was the following morning. The mortal remains of Caroline Trevelyan had been taken away by the police.
Jack, Betty, Bill, Jenny and Michael Trevelyan stood under the cedar tree, its leaves turning to burnished copper in the autumn sunlight. Jenny reached out and tentatively touched the rough, ridged bark. ‘She’s not here,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s at peace.’
‘It’s a nice old house,’ said Bill to Jenny as they walked back to the car. ‘I’d prefer something a bit smaller, though.’
She looked up at him with a smile. ‘So would I. I think we’ve got quite a lot in common, don’t you?’
Bill felt his heart lift. ‘I’m looking forward to finding out.’
Forgotten Murder Page 27
