by Clara Benson
‘They were indeed,’ agreed Mr. Gilverson. ‘Roger, especially, was strongly in favour of that sort of method of attaining wealth, since it had worked very well for his family in the past—although he also had a deep attachment to the de Lisle name, and was proud of his antecedents, and was especially keen for the blood-line to remain pure and unsullied by intermarriage with those of less glorious lineage. And yet he very much supported the marriage—encouraged it, even. Perhaps he had decided to move with the times—who can tell? At any rate, Edgar and Selina were married after a very short engagement, and she moved to Greystone Chase to live with the de Lisles while he went back to France.
‘Now, the de Lisles were a very particular sort of family, and it takes a particular sort of person to rub along with them. I first met Selina shortly after the wedding, and I remember feeling a certain sense of foreboding at the time. She was very young—not more than eighteen—and very pretty, as one might expect. She was tremendously gay and lively, and appeared full of genuine good humour, but when she thought nobody was looking I occasionally glimpsed a sideways look in her eye which gave me the strongest impression that here was someone who liked to make mischief.’
‘Oh? In what way?’ said Angela, interested despite herself.
‘Well, for one thing, she had a way of making a remark which seemed innocent enough on the surface, but which was evidently directed at someone in particular, for one would sense a sudden stiffening in the atmosphere, and the subject would turn. Then perhaps later on another member of the family would fail to appear at luncheon, and Selina would say that she was very much afraid she might have unwittingly offended someone by something she had said earlier. Then she would laugh, and say she would never understand the funny old ways of the family, but that she would make it up to the person later. And she was bold, too. She took liberties that would not have been allowed from anyone else in the family, and got away with them simply because she was daring enough to try them. From my observations, I had the feeling that she was a girl who was very easily bored and constantly in search of entertainment—which was understandable enough, since the de Lisles lived a quiet life.
‘Selina’s brother Henry was also staying at Greystone while I was there. I understand he had taken advantage of his sister’s marriage to impose upon the de Lisles’ hospitality as frequently as possible. I didn’t take to the fellow myself, and I gather the feeling was shared by most of the family. There was something underhanded about him. It wasn’t something one could put one’s finger on, but he always seemed to be sneaking about the house. I never caught him at it, but I shouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been the sort to listen at doors.’
‘Dear me,’ said Angela, who was not above listening at doors herself in the pursuit of justice, although of course that was quite a different thing.
‘So, Selina remained at Greystone Chase while her husband was away,’ went on Mr. Gilverson, ‘although of course he spent all his leave there with her. When he was not there things carried on as they had done before. Godfrey de Lisle married and brought his wife, Victorine, to live at Greystone Chase, but other than that little of note happened.’
‘Victorine? She was French, I take it,’ said Angela.
‘Yes. Godfrey had known her since they were children. She was a little older than he and was as unlike Selina as possible. One doesn’t wish to be unchivalrous but I am afraid she was rather plain, and her looks were not assisted by her manner, which was dour to say the least. Evelyn and she took a great liking to one another, however—perhaps united by their dislike of Selina.’
‘Evelyn disliked her son’s wife? I thought you said the de Lisles approved of the marriage.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘There I may have misled you slightly. When I refer to the de Lisles, for the most part I mean Roger de Lisle. In reality nobody else mattered. Roger was the head of the family in the most traditional sense. He ruled ruthlessly and absolutely. If he issued a decree then there was no gainsaying it. He would have his way and nobody could dissuade him without feeling his temper.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Then Edgar—Mr. de Lisle—could not have married Selina without his father’s permission.’
‘I shouldn’t say that exactly,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘Edgar was of age, after all. However, he knew his father, and knew that if he went against Roger’s wishes then either he or his mother would suffer for it—most likely his mother, for Edgar might go where he pleased, of course, while Evelyn had no choice but to stay at home.’
‘Did nobody ever go against Roger’s wishes, then?’
‘Not as a general rule. There was some dispute between Edgar and his father over Edgar’s wish to go into the bloodstock business instead of the family wine-making concern, but I don’t know how it ended. As far as I know it was still unresolved when my nephew was arrested for his wife’s murder.’
Angela was silent for a second, remembering what Valencourt had said that day in Hyde Park. He was planning to go to South America to breed horses, he said. It was what he had always meant to do.
‘Tell me about the murder,’ she said. ‘Why did they think Mr. de Lisle had done it?’
Mr. Gilverson hesitated. He seemed to be looking for the right words.
‘The marriage was a mistake, I think,’ he said at last. ‘They fell in love too quickly, and just as quickly the thing burnt itself out. They were two of a kind, he and she—both attractive, lively, charming people—but in the end they were too similar, and it led to conflict. Edgar was away much of the time and Selina was bored. She craved excitement, but there was none to be had at Greystone, and she blamed him for it. I don’t doubt she loved him, but I believe part of the reason she married him was to have the freedom she could not have had as an unmarried orphan girl. And there was no freedom at Greystone. Everyone bowed to the will of Roger de Lisle. All that was left for her to do was to create discord among the family. It is a great pity,’ he finished. ‘I didn’t especially like Selina, but I don’t believe she was a bad person. She certainly did not deserve to die the way she did.’
‘How did she die?’ said Angela, although she did not want to know the answer.
‘She was strangled,’ said Gilverson. ‘Her body was found in a little wood in the grounds of Greystone Chase. She had been expecting a child and it died with her.’
Angela looked down at the floor. It was worse than she had feared.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘It was very unpleasant. Such a violent end for such a young girl. And I’m afraid all the evidence pointed to Edgar’s having done it.’
Angela wanted to ask something but could not. Mr. Gilverson saw her questioning gaze and went on:
‘I shall tell you all the facts as I know them, since I was not there at the time. It all happened one Sunday in late April. Edgar was home on leave and was due to return to duty in the next day or two. At some time in the afternoon he and Selina were overheard by Godfrey and Victorine de Lisle engaged in a quarrel, after which Selina declared she was feeling unwell and went up to her room to lie down.’
‘What was the quarrel about?’
‘The witnesses could not say. My nephew later testified that it was nothing of any moment, and that he shortly afterwards followed her upstairs and begged her pardon, after which all was well again between them. According to Evelyn de Lisle’s maid, who had been sent to attend to her, Selina spent most of the afternoon in bed. She was certainly not seen downstairs again. Some time in the early evening, a servant came to report that Selina was still indisposed and intended to spend the rest of the evening in her room, and that she did not want dinner or to be disturbed. According to Edgar, he knocked on her door as he went up to dress, but there was no reply so he assumed she was asleep. He knocked again later that evening as he went up to bed, but again received no reply. He tried the door but found it locked, and so gave it up and thought nothing more of it.
‘The next morning, it was discovered that the door was no
w unlocked and that Selina had gone missing. At first it was thought that she had gone out early for a walk in the grounds, although she was not in the habit of doing so, but when lunch-time came and she still had not turned up a search was begun. She was found a little time later. It was Edgar himself who found her. He raised the alarm immediately, but it was too late, for she had evidently been dead for some time.
‘The police were called, of course, and at first they believed—as did everybody—that Selina had taken herself out for a walk early that morning, for some reason best known to herself, and that she had been attacked by an unknown assailant. But this was swiftly disproved by the medical evidence, which indicated that she had not died that morning at all, but the day before. Of course, that fact directed their attention towards the members of the household, since as far as anybody knew, Selina had spent the whole of the previous day in the house—and naturally, the first person to come under suspicion in cases such as these is the husband. Unfortunately, the very fact of Edgar’s having found her looked suspicious, since her body had been half-concealed in some undergrowth and was not easy to see. His story was that his eye had been caught by a glimpse of her dress, which was of a vivid pink, but the police jumped to a different conclusion, and assumed that the reason he had known where to find her was because he had killed her. It wasn’t long before the police found out about the row of the day before, and after that their investigations tended in only one direction. It was clear they believed that the dispute had continued later and that Edgar had killed Selina in a fit of anger.’
‘But his finding the body is surely not in itself enough to suggest that he did it,’ said Angela.
‘No,’ said Mr. Gilverson, ‘but other facts soon came to light which made things look very black for him. The police began a search of the house, and it was not long before they found clear evidence that Selina had been killed indoors—or at least hidden indoors for some time after her death.’
‘Oh?’ said Angela.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Gilverson. He hesitated, and then went on, ‘In Edgar’s room was a large cupboard which was rarely or never used. Inside that the police found a hair-comb which was identified as Selina’s, with one or two long, fair hairs still attached to it. They also found a tiny scrap of pink fabric caught on a loose nail, which was later shown to have come from Selina’s dress. There was no reason at all for those things to have been in the cupboard unless Selina had gone in there herself, and why should she have done that when she was alive? Furthermore, the inside of the cupboard was very dusty, but the dust had clearly been disturbed by a heavy object of some sort. When they came to examine the body, they found streaks of dust on her dress in addition to the scraps of vegetation from the bed of leaves on which she had been found. It all pointed to Edgar’s having killed Selina in the house and hidden her body in the cupboard until everybody had gone to bed, after which he took her outside and disposed of her in the wood. It was thought that he had also locked her bedroom door so that nobody would go in and discover she was missing before he had had a chance to get rid of the body. Of course, it all looked conclusive enough. The police certainly thought so, and arrested him. You know the rest.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. At that moment she wanted more than anything to leave the place immediately and refuse to hear any more. The urge was so overwhelming that she made to rise, and would certainly have been out of the room the next second, but before she could act on her impulse she happened to catch sight of Mr. Gilverson’s face as a shadow passed fleetingly across it. He had kept his sorrow well hidden up to now, but that one look was enough to convince her that he had been deeply affected by it all. Here, at least, was someone who did not believe in his nephew’s guilt—or at least, did not want to believe in it. Instead of standing up, therefore, she hesitated, and said:
‘You say he didn’t do it. Why do you think that?’
‘Because Edgar was not a violent man. It was completely out of character for him to do such a thing.’
‘But the evidence—’
‘Yes, yes, there was no denying the evidence,’ he said. ‘And yet I believed in his innocence. I still do.’
‘Was there nothing you could do then?’
‘Very little,’ said Gilverson. ‘You see, Roger and I had fallen out a few weeks earlier—or shall we say I was in his bad books, and was not welcome at Greystone. The news of Edgar’s arrest did not reach me as soon as it might have. Naturally I did what I could in the way of legal assistance, but by then the story had got out and people were already saying he had done it, and the rest of the family were maintaining what I should call a loud silence, which said as clearly as anything that they thought him guilty. Then there was the trial, which was over shamefully quickly and could have only one verdict under the circumstances, and after that there was nothing to be done.’
‘Didn’t his family have anything to say in his defence?’ said Angela.
‘Very little,’ said Gilverson. ‘In fact, his own brother testified to having overheard the row between the two of them. Naturally he could not lie in court if he had overheard it, but I’ve always wondered why he felt the need to mention it at all.’
‘And what about Roger and Evelyn de Lisle? Did they give evidence in court?’
‘I believe they did, but only as it related to the movements of everybody in the house on the day Selina died. Nothing quite as damning as the evidence of the quarrel.’
Angela pondered for a moment, then said:
‘Very well, then, if Mr. de Lisle didn’t kill his wife, who did? I don’t suppose it’s possible that someone from outside the house might have come in and done it?’
‘It’s highly unlikely,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘Naturally, inquiries were instituted in the area, but no-one reported having seen anything unusual or suspicious.’
‘Then presumably the murderer was someone in the house.’
‘Presumably, yes,’ said Mr. Gilverson.
‘But who?’ said Angela. ‘Who was in the house on the day of the murder?’
‘The family, of course: Roger and Evelyn; Godfrey and Victorine; Edgar, naturally. Henry Lacey was also staying there at the time, as was an old school-friend of his called Oliver Harrington, who was on leave and had come to visit for a day or two. I don’t know what became of him.’
‘And none of them came under suspicion at the time?’
‘Seemingly not. The police had a perfectly good suspect in front of their noses, and why should they look any more deeply into it?’
Angela fell silent, for exactly the same thing might have been said about her own arrest and trial. The case against her had seemed water-tight at the time, and yet she had been innocent. Might the same be true of Edgar Valencourt? It was an uncomfortable thought, but that, after all, was why she was here. Despite the unusual circumstances (to say the least) and her vow never to involve herself in another murder inquiry, her interest was aroused by the story Mr. Gilverson had told. There were one or two points which did not seem to fit what she had herself known of Valencourt. Despite his dubious choice of career, she had known him to be a generally good-tempered, rational, intelligent man who thought before he acted, and was certainly not prone to being thrown into a panic or acting rashly. If he really had murdered his wife, then why had he hidden her body in his room? Since he had supposedly locked her door to make it look as though she were in bed and did not wish to be disturbed, surely it would have made more sense to put her (or leave her, depending on where she had been killed) in her own room, so as not to leave any traces in his. And if he were guilty, then why had he made sure that he was the one to find her body, when he must have known it would have drawn attention upon him? None of this seemed to add up to the man she had known. That was not to say he was innocent, of course, but it certainly looked as though the matter bore further investigation. She had answered the summons unwillingly, but by turning up here at all she had as good as agreed to do it. However, there were some practical difficul
ties to be got over first, which would require a certain degree of openness between her and the solicitor. Reluctantly, she decided to lay some of her cards upon the table.
‘Mr. Gilverson,’ she said at last, ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that I’d much rather not be here now. The only reason I came is because—for various reasons—I feel bound by honour to carry out Mr. de Lisle’s wishes. I will do as he asks, as I expect he knew I would, although in truth, even if he is innocent I don’t see how I can find out anything that the police did not discover at the time—especially not after so many years. Still, I’ll do what I can. However, you must be aware that I cannot simply sweep in and start asking questions of everyone. People will certainly wonder why I am attempting to help clear the name of the man who is supposed to have killed my husband.’
She stopped uncomfortably, thinking she had perhaps said too much. Mr. Gilverson held up his hand.
‘Please do not upset yourself,’ he said. ‘I said there was no need to refer to the subject and I meant it. Of course you are right, and if you will believe me, I tried very hard to dissuade my nephew from writing to you at all. There is no helping him now, and I certainly have no wish to see you get into a scrape on his behalf.’
‘A scrape,’ repeated Angela, half-amused. ‘You might call it that, I suppose.’
Mr. Gilverson smiled.
‘You say you consider yourself honour-bound to do this,’ he said, ‘but believe me, you are quite at liberty to change your mind now if you like. Nobody will think the worse of you—I shall not, at any rate, and Edgar is no longer here to care about it one way or the other. Still, if you do decide to do it, I have been thinking that the only way to go about it will be for you to go in disguise.’
‘In disguise!’ exclaimed Angela. ‘What, do you mean in a wig and a false moustache?’
‘No, no, nothing so extreme,’ said Mr. Gilverson, laughing. ‘Perhaps disguise was the wrong word. Shall we say incognito instead? A false name.’
