by Clara Benson
‘Oh, you’ve been reading about it, have you?’ said Angela. ‘Then you knew perfectly well I wouldn’t come away.’
‘Of course I knew. But I had to try. What sort of friend should I be if I didn’t?’
Angela made no reply, but looked slightly less mutinous. Freddy sensed a thaw.
‘Come now, don’t be angry. You know my motives are always of the purest,’ he said, and attempted a winning smile which merely made him look like a dismayed sheep. Angela felt a laugh coming and suppressed it. She gave it up.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said. ‘You may consider your duty done. Now, kindly forget all this nonsense about my abandoning the thing and tell me what you’ve found out.’
‘There’s not much to tell. I spoke to someone from the Kent police, a sergeant. He was a constable ten years ago and remembered the case well. They were pretty sure he’d done it, especially since they found traces of her in the cupboard in his room. Interestingly, the sergeant said he’d never have thought Valencourt was the type, but they had a number of witnesses, including servants, who said that he and Selina had had a volatile relationship and rowed frequently—even when he’d been away and was home for only a few days. This chap said he had the impression that Selina was a woman who liked to have her own way, although the family didn’t say much on the subject.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. That seemed to bear out what Mr. Gilverson had said.
‘At any rate, the police thought Valencourt seemed honest and open enough, but they knew not to set much store by that. Some of the worst murderers in history have been very charming people.’
Angela thought back to some of her own investigations and was forced to admit it was true.
‘Did the sergeant have anything to say as to why the family left Valencourt to his fate?’ she said.
‘No, but it strikes me as rather odd. There was nothing to suggest that he didn’t get along with the rest of them, but apparently they were noticeably quiet when it came to the matter of defending him. I can only assume they must have believed he was guilty. Still, though, it looks like a poor show to me. If I’d done something beastly I’d hope my own mother would at least make an attempt to stick up for me. You know the circumstances of the murder, I take it?’
‘Yes,’ said Angela.
‘Not pleasant. Whoever did it must have been pretty wicked, don’t you think?’ he said, with a meaningful glance at her.
She ignored it and regarded him, thinking.
‘Listen,’ she said at last. ‘Did you really mean it when you said you would help?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Then perhaps I shall let you. I’ve been here two days and I’m starting to realize that I haven’t much idea of how to go about it. It all happened so long ago, and after all this time it’s going to look rather suspicious if a complete stranger comes in and starts asking questions.’
‘The family still live at the house, I take it?’
‘Some of them,’ said Angela. ‘Valencourt’s parents are dead, but his brother and sister-in-law are still there. As for the other people who were in the house at the time, I don’t know where they are now. Selina’s brother was one of them, and I think there was a friend of his too.’
‘It seems to me that the first thing to do is to think of a way to gain admittance to the house and speak to the remaining de Lisles,’ said Freddy. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any ideas about how to do it?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Angela. ‘I’ve already been invited to go and have a look around.’
‘Really? How did you manage that?’
‘Apparently I’m going to buy the place. Mr. Gilverson, who is Valencourt’s solicitor—and also, incidentally, his uncle—has arranged it all for me.’
Freddy raised his eyebrows.
‘So this is what a woman who owns half of Wall Street spends her money on,’ he said.
‘I don’t own half of Wall Street,’ said Angela. ‘And it’s certainly not the sort of place I’d want to buy in the normal way of things. As a matter of fact, I was wondering how to carry off the visit without looking like an impostor, since I have no connections to the area, and why should a woman alone want to buy such a big house? Now you’re here, though, perhaps we can pull the thing off. If you must insist on going around telling ridiculous stories about my being your mother, I suggest we use that to our advantage. We’ll say your father died and left you a pile of money and you’re looking to put it into property.’
‘Splendid,’ said Freddy. ‘I rather like the idea of pretending to be rich. I shall run my finger along the mantelpieces and complain about the smallness of the second East summer ball-room.’
‘It’s not that big a place,’ said Angela. ‘Roomy rather than palatial, I should say. By the way, have they given you time off at the paper?’
‘Just a few days,’ said Freddy. ‘I reminded them of the sterling work I did on the Camberwell poisoning story, and they had no choice but to agree.’
‘And you chose to come down here? You might have spent the time with that girl of yours, what’s her name?’
‘We shall not speak of her again,’ said Freddy stiffly.
‘Dear me,’ said Angela with some sympathy. ‘I take it things have gone badly between you.’
‘You might say that,’ said Freddy. ‘She has cast me aside for another man.’
‘Oh, what a pity. She’s obviously had some sort of brainstorm and doesn’t know what’s good for her. Still, there are much nicer girls out there, and I’m sure lots of them would be glad to take her place.’
‘That’s terribly kind of you,’ said Freddy. ‘I feel better already. Thank you, Mother.’
‘Mother, indeed,’ said Angela. ‘The very idea of it! You wretched boy, I was hoping to pass for thirty here, and now you’ve completely spoilt my plan.’
‘I’m sorry, old girl,’ said Freddy. ‘You know I can’t seem to stop my tongue from running away with me.’
‘I know, and that tongue will get you into trouble one of these days. Still, I suppose I ought to be thankful you didn’t call me Grandmother. When you start doing that I shall know it’s time to retire and start wearing shawls and knitted caps.’
‘Listen, Angela,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ve promised I’ll do everything I can to help, but you do know we’re not likely to prove him innocent, don’t you?’
‘Of course I know it,’ said Angela. ‘I’m not a complete idiot. In fact, I shall be astonished if we do.’
‘I mean to say, I’d hate to see you hurt by it.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be,’ said Angela. ‘I have a heart of stone. Nothing can touch me.’
‘Rot,’ said Freddy. ‘Your heart is the same as everybody else’s.’
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ said Angela.
Freddy saw that she would never give way, and had no wish to press the point, so they returned to the hotel, where Freddy went to see about getting a room.
IN PREPARATION FOR their visit to Greystone Chase, Angela summoned William and the Bentley down from London. The house was only a mile or so away, but she wished to look the part. William arrived looking sheepish, but Freddy had pleaded the young American’s case and Angela had not the heart to reprimand him for giving her away, for she knew he had done it out of concern for her, and so she contented herself with directing a half-exasperated look and a shake of the head at him, at which he blushed, and thus the matter dropped.
‘What’s our plan?’ said Freddy as they set forth. He was wearing a set of execrable tweeds which had caused Angela to wince, but which, he assured her, were the very thing necessary to convince everybody of his credentials as a young man of recently-acquired riches.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Angela. ‘It’s a great pity Godfrey de Lisle couldn’t show us around himself, because it’s he I really want to speak to—although, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how to approach the subject. It’s not as though I can smile brightly and say,
“I understand your brother was a murderer, Mr. de Lisle. How fascinating! Tell me, do you really think he did it?”’
‘Not the most subtle approach, no,’ agreed Freddy. ‘Still, though, when all’s said and done it might be better this way. If we’re lucky we’ll be handed over to the butler and perhaps he will gossip. You’d better send William to the kitchens to work his charms on the maids. You won’t mind, will you, William?’
William was always happy to accept any task which required him to talk to young ladies, and so readily agreed to try and find out anything he could.
‘I don’t suppose many of them were there at the time,’ said Angela, ‘but there might be someone who is still with the family and remembers what happened. At any rate, do what you can.’
‘Very well, ma’am,’ said William. ‘I’ll do my best.’
They now turned in through the gates and proceeded up the short drive. Greystone Chase was partly screened from view by two large oak trees, but through the leaves they could see the building, with its two grey turrets and its tall chimneys. As they drew closer it seemed to Angela that the house was frowning upon them, and she had the strongest impression of a place in which visitors were not welcome—or perhaps it was just her knowledge of what had happened there which made her think so. At any rate, she was feeling nervous but did her best to hide it. So this was the house in which Edgar Valencourt had supposedly murdered his wife. What would they find out?
‘What do you think, Mother? Shall we buy it?’ said Freddy.
‘Not until we’ve seen the size of the bedrooms,’ said Angela. ‘I won’t take anything less than thirty feet square. One can barely turn around in anything smaller.’
‘I shall make a note and ask pointed questions,’ said Freddy, as they drew up in front of the house.
They alighted and were immediately greeted with impeccable politeness by a smart, middle-aged woman, who had come out to meet them and who introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith. Angela presented her with a letter of introduction from Mr. Gilverson, and she glanced at it but was well-bred enough not to appear to examine it too closely.
‘Mr. de Lisle is terribly sorry he will not be able to show you around himself,’ said Mrs. Smith, ‘but he is at present in London on urgent business. Mrs. de Lisle is unfortunately indisposed, but she has instructed me to tell you that if there is anything you require you have only to ask.’
She conducted them through the front door and into a large entrance-hall.
‘We understand that at one time this hall was much more ornate,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘But one of Mr. de Lisle’s forebears on the English side was something of a puritan. He disliked too much fuss and so had a lot of it taken out, although as you can see this carved panelling escaped the destruction, and is considered by experts to be a particularly fine example of the art.’
Mrs. and Mr. Wells agreed dutifully that it was very attractive, and that it was a pity that much of the original decoration had been lost, and they moved on to a large drawing-room, and from thence to a dining-room, a music-room, a library and a smaller morning-room. From the state of the rooms, one might have supposed that the house was not inhabited, for everything was pristine, with not a thing out of place. Even the chair-cushions were smooth and undented, with no sign that anybody had ever sat in them. How could anyone live in this way, wondered Angela. There was no comfort here at all.
‘Along here is the gallery,’ said Mrs. Smith, as they emerged into the hall once more. She opened a door at the far end, and stood back to allow them to enter. ‘As you can see, it is not really a gallery as such, but the light is good and so it was considered a suitable room in which to display the various portraits of the de Lisle family.’
Angela, who had forgotten her nervousness in her genuine interest to see the house, now felt it all return in a rush, for she had no wish to be suddenly confronted by a portrait of one person in particular. Her heart beat fast and she found herself trying unsuccessfully to think of an excuse not to enter. She need not have worried, however, for a moment’s glance as they went in showed her that his face was not among the paintings here. She breathed a little sigh of relief and kicked herself inwardly for her own weakness.
‘Who is this fellow?’ said Freddy with interest. Angela came to join him. The portrait in question was of a man in late middle age, broad of shoulder and imposing of stature. He had a thick head of tawny hair and a beard of the same colour, and he frowned haughtily out at them as though demanding who it was who dared come into his house and look upon him in such a familiar way.
‘That is Roger de Lisle,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘He died about three years ago.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Freddy. ‘Did they make quite certain of it before they buried him? He doesn’t look the sort to be felled by anything short of a passing meteor.’
‘He was a very hearty man for the most part,’ agreed Mrs. Smith. ‘It was a gastric attack from a bad oyster that carried him off in the end.’
‘And this must be his son, the present Mr. de Lisle,’ said Freddy, indicating another portrait. ‘The resemblance is striking, although he doesn’t look as though he’s built on quite the same scale as his father.’
‘Yes, that is Mr. Godfrey de Lisle,’ said Mrs. Smith.
‘Wasn’t there another son?’ said Freddy. The housekeeper hesitated, and he went on confidentially, ‘We know all about the family scandal from old Gilverson, of course. He wanted to be certain that we didn’t care about that sort of thing before we came to look at the place. It’s all the same to me, but I thought Mother might be a little worried.’
‘What’s past is past,’ said Angela, who here felt called upon to say something. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts myself, but if one’s buying a place one likes to know everything beforehand, just so there are no unpleasant surprises afterwards.’
‘It must have been a terrible time for the family,’ said Freddy, adopting his most sympathetic manner—the one with which he had induced many a wronged wife to tell far more than she had intended to about her husband’s mysterious disappearance in company with a painted young woman and the week’s takings. ‘And for the servants, too. We never hear much about them in cases such as this, do we? No-one ever considers their feelings, or asks how they can be expected to get on with their work, what with people weeping in corners and the police tramping muddy footprints all over the place.’
‘No indeed,’ said Mrs. Smith, sensing a kindred spirit. ‘There are not many people who think about such things, sir. I had not long started here as a housekeeper when it all happened, and I’m sure I needn’t tell you that the household was in an uproar for many weeks afterwards. Many of the men had gone to the Front, of course, and so we were rather short-handed, and for some time it seemed impossible to get anything done without one of the girls having to be comforted. One of the maids was so upset that she left without notice.’
‘I don’t blame her,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m only surprised more of them didn’t do the same. You are obviously made of sterner stuff, though, Mrs. Smith. Are you the only one left now?’
‘Of those who were here at the time? Yes, I believe I am,’ said the housekeeper.
‘I understand there was some doubt as to whether the younger Mr. de Lisle was guilty,’ said Freddy.
‘None of the servants could believe it,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘He was very well liked, you see. We none of us believed he could have done it. We all thought some passing tramp must have got in somehow and killed her. I saw Mr. Edgar shortly after he found her, and nobody to look at him could have thought he was anything but truly shocked and grief-stricken. He seemed in a daze, the poor thing. The servants were quite moved to pity. Not like—’
Here she seemed to recollect herself, and Angela wondered whether she had been going to say, ‘Not like his family.’
‘Which of these pictures is of him?’ said Freddy.
‘None of them, sir,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘After the trial his portrait was ta
ken down on the instructions of the late Mr. de Lisle. I don’t know where it is now.’
Angela had turned to look at a picture of an elegant, dark-haired woman.
‘That is the late Mrs. de Lisle,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘The present Mr. de Lisle’s mother. Sadly, she went into a decline and died not long after the trial.’
‘And this must be the young Mrs. de Lisle,’ said Freddy.
Angela turned her head sharply and went to stand beside him. She could not help but be curious about the woman Edgar Valencourt had loved, married and supposedly murdered. Her first thought was that Selina de Lisle had been nothing like herself. The girl in the picture was slight and fair-haired, and undoubtedly a beauty. She was dressed in the height of the fashions of ten years ago, and was shown in an informal pose in a garden, standing and leaning with her elbow on a crumbling wall. She was painted in full face, but there was a tilt to the head and a knowing look in her green eyes which spoke of—what? Repressed mischief, perhaps? Angela could not tell.
‘Such a lively young lady, she was,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘All the gentleman admired her. Mr Edgar was lucky to get her for himself, as she was very young at the time, and you know how fickle the young can be.’
There seemed an under-current to her speech, and Angela longed to ask exactly what she meant by that, but Freddy was already asking another question about one of the de Lisle great-aunts, a forbidding-looking woman in widow’s weeds, and so the moment passed and could not be retrieved.
They were conducted upstairs and shown around the bedrooms—none of which was thirty feet square—and then they returned to the entrance-hall, where Mrs. Smith handed them over to a gardener, who was to show them the grounds. They thanked her profusely and went out, and Mrs. Smith was left to wonder whether she had been too indiscreet. The young man had been so charming, however, while the pale-faced lady with the sad eyes had seemed so sympathetic, that she had not been able to stop herself from telling them the story.
