Lessons for Suspicious Minds

by Charlie Cochrane

  “I’m sure you’re right. Still, we can put people under pressure, play the ‘I think you’re lying and I know just what you’re trying to hide’ card. It’s worked before.”

  They turned the corner in the drive and stopped, admiring the sweep of the house. “How could a stranger get in here? No cover with that great expanse of lawn unless it was dead of night and no moon. Ronnie would know this place well enough, one supposes.”

  “Supposition again, it’ll be the death of us.” Orlando shivered. “No, I didn’t mean that literally. I hope.” They’d been in danger before, from madmen with razors and very clever men with revolvers; it wasn’t an experience they’d care to repeat. “Certainly it would be easier for somebody who knew the family to get in here, not just because of local knowledge. Especially an Ambrosian. If they were discovered out here acting suspiciously, they could always say ‘Just pulling one of our jolly japes.’”

  “Does anyone actually say ‘jolly japes’? I suppose your dunderheads do, them being stuck fifty years behind everyone else.” Jonty edged himself out of whacking range. “Good point, though. If that group—and their hanger-onners—had a reputation for doing odd things, they could get away with all sorts of activities people might regard as suspicious from anyone else.”

  “Does anyone apart from you use mangled terms like ‘hanger-onners’?” Orlando snorted, and they carried on walking. “I don’t think the killer got in from outside, by the way. Certainly not through Reggie’s window.”

  “Based on intuition or good, hard evidence?” Jonty grinned.

  “I’d give you something good and hard if there were any chance of getting away with it,” Orlando said, sotto voce. “And the answer is both. Have you seen the shrubbery under Tuffnell’s window? There’s no evidence of old damage to the plants and no normal person could have got in through the window without mashing the bushes. They could have laid a ladder from the gravel to the sill somehow, but it would have been a feat of acrobatics.”

  “Unless they had a conspirator below stairs who let them in at the servants’ door—although they’d have to be incredibly brave to risk the wrath of Hammond.” Jonty kicked at the gravel. “All these people to talk to. How are we going to get round them all? I suppose it’ll have to be divide and conquer. You take Gray, and I take Ronnie.”

  “Then who takes Goode? Or Derek? I don’t suppose Dr. Panesar’s at last invented a machine that allows us to be in more than one place at a time.”

  Jonty made to kick the gravel again, then stopped midswipe. “You’ve forgotten the other resources at our disposal. My father could tackle Derek and maybe this chap Rodgers. He’d be more likely to get them to talk than we would. And he’d have a chance of knowing if they were lying.”

  “And he’d have a rare old time of it. He hates being left out.” Orlando smiled, fondly. “We can’t leave your mother out. Maybe she could tackle Goode?”

  “Mama?” Jonty shrieked. “But . . . but wouldn’t she be a loose cannon?”

  “Shall I tell her you said that?”

  “No. I didn’t mean it that way.” Jonty cast around for the right words. “Doesn’t it compromise her position here? Goddaughter of the dowager and friend of the family, poking her nose in?”

  “That’s exactly why she’ll be invaluable. Local connection, formidable aspect, member of the aristocracy. Would people dare keep anything from her? Maybe we should set her on Hammond, instead. She’d soon find out why he’s being so cagey.”

  “And precipitate a domestic and social crisis on the scale of the Boer War? Not likely.” Jonty put his hands in his pockets like a sulking dunderhead, and then kicked the gravel again.

  “Hayes is going to find those brogues the devil to polish.”

  “I’ll leave him an unsuitably large tip.” Jonty scuffed once more, just for luck, as they reached the end of the gravel and approached the walled garden. “Let’s leave Mama to charm young Goode. He’d certainly be too frightened of her to produce any nonsense. And it won’t be so embarrassing for her to talk about young ladies.”

  “Would she do it, though?”

  “I can’t imagine her turning down the chance of anything novel. ‘Miss Forster, would you like to join our pirate ship?’ ‘Oh yes, please.’” Jonty’s impersonation of his mother was more effective than his attempt at a pirate captain. “‘Just let me inform my mother and make sure I have enough clean bloomers.’”

  “Jonathan!” Mrs. Stewart’s voice boomed from the other side of a hedge.

  “Now you’re for it.” Orlando beamed with glee.

  “Yes, Mama?” The innocent tone of voice and facial expression, hastily adopted, soon faltered in the face of a withering maternal eye as Mrs. Stewart came round the corner with the dowager on her arm.

  “What were you talking about? Are you up to things you shouldn’t be?”

  “Unless you include in those activities asking people awkward questions in the name of elucidating the truth, no,” Jonty rallied.

  “Any further forward on this business with Reggie Tuffnell?” Alexandra fixed Jonty with the sort of look that could have reduced Lord Nelson himself to a snivelling midshipman.

  “Absolutely. Looks like it might be related to another case of suspected suicide which wasn’t. Tuffnell gave evidence at the inquest for that chap who was found washed up on Monkey Island.”

  “Two murders at the same hand? I knew I was right, Helena.” The dowager almost bounced with delight.

  “We don’t know that for certain, dear,” Mrs. Stewart relieved the boys of the onerous task of contradicting their hostess. “The lads will have to find that out.”

  “Actually, Mama”—Jonty smiled sweetly—“we were hoping you might help us on that point. We have some specialised foxes to chase so need some special hounds in the pack. Could you oblige us by asking some questions of a solicitor’s clerk?”

  “What sort of questions, dear?” Mrs. Stewart gave the impression of enthusiasm being carefully reined in.

  “About his sweetheart. And whether he might have just seen fit to clear the field by committing murder. And where Reggie Tuffnell comes into this Livingstone business.”

  “For somebody who ten minutes ago didn’t know what to ask, you’ve changed your tune.” Orlando sniffed meaningfully.

  “Not only changed his tune but lost me in the dance.” Mrs. Stewart laid her hand on her son’s arm. “I became confused after ‘sweetheart.’ Do you really think I’d be up to the task?”

  “Of course you would.” Orlando linked his arm with hers. “If only somebody took the time to explain what was required in a sensible and logical fashion. Would it be convenient to clarify everything we’ve found out so far and expound the plan of campaign which lies in front of us? Perhaps to both of you?” He inclined his head gravely.

  “I told you he could charm the birds out of the trees when he tried.” Mrs. Stewart beamed at her godmother. “Shall we let ourselves be charmed?”

  “Of course. And we’ll get Hammond to organise some sherry to oil the mental processes.”

  Jonty made an I’ll be revenged on you face at Orlando as they went. He could be as sensible and logical as the next man, except when formidable women made him feel like a child.

  They didn’t need to get Hammond to rouse out Jonty’s father; following the direction of some remarkably loud snoring quickly ran him to ground. He and Derek were both in the study having forty winks. While he was initially annoyed to be woken, the whispered magic words, “Papa. We need your help,” blew away any irritation, and he bounded out of his chair like a great puppy.

  “That’s the words I’ve been longing to hear,” he whispered, as soon as they’d tiptoed from the room so as not to wake the duke. “Please tell me it’s not about anything else but investigating? I couldn’t bear the disappointment.”

  “It isn’t. We need your quick wits. And your walking shoes. We need to be in more places than we can possibly be, so we have to call in the cavalry.” />
  The cavalry was assembled in the drawing room, the terrace being too public an arena, so Orlando quickly and efficiently got down to briefing them on the two cases. Clarifying questions came, were answered as well as they could be, then campaign roles were assigned and accepted. Those who lived far away—Gray and Rodgers—would have to wait for the next cavalry charge.

  “Excuse me if I’m sticking my oar in where it’s not needed.” The dowager’s tones suggested a steamroller trying to pretend it was a child’s perambulator. “But isn’t this slightly unfair? Both of the lads going to see Ronnie, whereas Richard and Helena have to hunt solitarily?”

  For some reason, being in Alexandra’s presence made Jonty feel the need to say stupid things and this was no exception. “Four into three doesn’t go exactly, and I refuse to be a recurring number with a dot on top.”

  Maybe because she’d fixed him with such a gimlet gaze. “Four goes into four, though. Why aren’t you—or your charming friend—going off to see this gal Livingstone was in love with? Unless she’s a silly chit of a thing, she’ll probably know more about this business than all the men combined.”

  “The lads probably had her in mind for the second wave of questioning.” Mr. Stewart leaped to his fellow investigators’ defence.

  “No, Papa, we can’t pretend that. We overlooked her.” Jonty blew out his cheeks. “I’ll tackle Ronnie, and Orlando, you take Miss Whateverhernameis. There are some details about her in our notes somewhere.”

  “Couldn’t you tackle her, and I’ll take Ronnie?” Orlando wore his why me? expression.

  “Put some poor unsuspecting young woman at Jonty’s mercy?” Alexandra rolled her eyes. “No, it has to be you. From what Janet Allender said of your successes down in Kent, I can tell you’d be the right man for the job. You’d charm her. Wouldn’t he, Helena?”

  “I’m sure he would, although Jonty isn’t without ability in that regard.” Maternal pride came bubbling up. “But I’ll defer to your suggestion. Well, four bows to be drawn at a venture, then?” Mrs. Stewart drained her sherry. “I’d better have a sit-down before I change for dinner. Need to conserve my strength for the task ahead tomorrow.”

  When the ladies had gone, and before the men went off to perform their own ablutions, Jonty took the opportunity of buttonholing his father.

  “Make sure you get the truth out of Derek. Ideally about why he and Beatrice and Hammond give off an air of being unwilling to help us, even though they’re trying their best to hide it behind a helpful façade.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, but Derek always has played his cards close to his chest. He may have been wild in his youth, but now he’s become rather a cold fish. Maybe when he’s got his dinner inside him, I can nab him over the billiard table. Always a place given to confidences, I find.” The newly conscripted investigator took his leave with great dignity and a boyishly gleeful smile plastered over his face.

  Orlando, having changed quickly for dinner, decided the best way of spending twenty minutes or so would be to go and annoy Jonty. He was less than pleased to find Hayes in attendance, supposedly helping the man to dress, but really sharing jokes and stories—at least one of which must have concerned him, given how quickly the subject changed as he entered.

  “Shall I go?” he asked pointedly.

  “Don’t be an ass. Come in and stop causing a draught.” Jonty fussed with his tie while Hayes brushed his jacket. “You have your thinking face on.”

  “Not something I often see on you.” Orlando sauntered over to the window, looking out at the grounds. “Hayes, if we talk freely in front of you, it won’t get reported back, will it? Either upstairs or downstairs?”

  “You have my word, sir.” The footman looked suitably serious.

  “He’ll have your guts for garters if you break it. Damn!” Jonty unknotted his tie. “These things play up deliberately.”

  “Only for you.” Orlando grinned, plonking his backside on the window seat better to enjoy the show. “Back to Tuffnell. I was wondering why the dowager didn’t tell us about all this farce with the wrong room? It’s the sort of suspicious incident which should have added weight to her argument.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t know. Maybe somebody thought it best that sort of thing didn’t come out at the inquest. In case the archdeacon’s name was brought into disrepute or some such nonsense. You know what people are like.” Jonty gave up with his tie. “Hayes, is there any chance you could sort this? It’s defeated me.”

  “Of course.” Hayes took the offending object, looking at it sternly; it wouldn’t be giving him any cheek. “And if you don’t mind me saying, sir, your horse doesn’t run. The story about the venerable gentleman was all over the house next day, both sides of the baize door. Mr. Hammond tried to stop all the tittle-tattling, but he can’t be everywhere at once. There, done.”

  “Thank you.” Tie now in place, Jonty slipped his jacket on.

  “So why didn’t anybody but you mention it?” Orlando shifted along the window seat so that Jonty could join him. “It feels like we have to wrestle out every bit of information. Are people here always so reticent?”

  “Not generally, sir, but not having been here before when there’s been a death in the house, I have nothing to compare it with.”

  “If only my dunderheads had such common sense.”

  Hayes looked concerned. “If I might be so bold, sir . . .”

  “Be as bold as you like,” Jonty said, earning himself a dirty look from Orlando.

  “Could you not let on that I’ve been talking about Captain Tuffnell? Mr. Hammond has asked us not to.”

  “Of course we won’t. Discretion in investigation is our middle names.” Orlando inclined his head, solemnly.

  “That must have caused a sensation at the font.” Jonty leaped off the window seat almost as soon as his bottom had landed on it. “We should ask the dowager about the business with the bells. Right now.”

  “Won’t she be in the middle of her toilette? Or whatever it is posh ladies call getting their clobber on?”

  “Clobber? Did you hear that, Hayes? I can see I’ll have to stop my friend spending so much time with gardeners and footmen if that’s the sort of language he’s going to employ. Present company excepted.” Jonty grabbed Orlando’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “We shall conduct the interview by shouting through the door, if need be. The old girl will be delighted that we’re cracking on with things. Come on.”

  If Orlando had been reluctant to take part in this activity when he’d been sitting on the window seat, he became even more so as they approached Alexandra Temple’s door. At least he could leave Jonty to handle all the negotiations—which he did with his usual aplomb—and they were soon ensconced in the dowager’s sitting room while she had the last touches put to her magnificent head of snow-white hair. The maid—not in the first flush of youth herself—didn’t seem impressed at the male presence at such a crucial moment. Alexandra didn’t bat an eyelid.

  “Of course I knew about the malarkey with the rooms,” she said, as soon as Jonty half broached the subject. “And I didn’t tell you because I was interested to know whether you’d be told the same story I was.”

  “Why shouldn’t we have been?” Orlando felt bemused by her logic.

  “Because my son owns this house, as my husband did before him, and you don’t. Because you’re men of intelligence and renown and I’m just a dotty old woman. Because I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about this and you haven’t. Do you require any more reasons?”

  “Not at present, thank you.” Orlando felt like waving a white flag.

  Jonty grinned. “I can appreciate all those factors might make somebody change their tale slightly in the telling—I know my nephews tell me an entirely different account of their doings than they do their parents and I’m not sure either is the entire truth. But I know why they choose to present a more honest and amusing picture of their accomplishments at school to their uncle. It’s called half a crown. Why sh
ould anyone here want to do the same?”

  “If they’d been told by Derek not to encourage me in my fixation with Reggie’s death, then they might have omitted all sorts of germane things. The business about the servants going to the wrong room didn’t come out at the inquest—I rather suspect Derek asked them all to keep quiet about it and the archdeacon had gone back to his diocese to archdeaconise or whatever he does, so I didn’t find out that nothing had been said until Mavis here let slip.” The dowager motioned for the maid to leave off setting her hair. “And I’m glad she did.”

  Mavis’s cheeks flushed a bright red, adding character to an already pretty face. “I said they should have told you. But Mr. Hammond insisted at the time that you weren’t to be worried unnecessarily with all the details of what went on with the coroner. I wish I’d stood my ground.”

  “As well you didn’t, my girl. Hammond’s a good butler, but he’d have had your guts for garters if you’d given him too much lip.” The dowager narrowed her eyes. “I made Derek tell me everything, after I heard they’d withheld that. Although of course he argued it away. Said it would have had no relevance to the case before the coroner, so why mention it? ‘He doesn’t want to hear about every bit of our domestic business, Mother.’ Derek can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”

  Clear who he’d inherited that trait from. Orlando put away his white flag and took to the fray once more. “And have you told your mistress anything else which had been withheld from her?"

  “Only below stairs gossip.” Mavis smiled demurely. “None of which is probably relevant to Captain Tuffnell.”

  “Any gossip about young Hayes?” Jonty asked, a bit too eagerly for Orlando’s liking.

  “Not that I’ve heard.” Mavis wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Hammond thinks he’s too bright a spark at times. Bright enough to only give the housemaids a bit of sauce when ‘his nibs’ isn’t around.”