Design for Murder

by Nancy Buckingham

  “Well yes, I do know quite a number of people.”

  The bony jaw worked as if he were chewing over some invisible problem.

  “You must miss my son, Miss Yorke,” he said, after a moment.

  “I do, Sir Robert. I looked upon Oliver as a very good friend.”

  “You and he talked a great deal, I expect?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “And not just about business matters?”

  “We chatted about all sorts of things,” I said, wondering where this was leading. “Oliver liked to talk, as you well know, and I always found what he had to say very interesting.” This was putting it as kindly as I could. There had been times when I’d longed to tell Oliver to shut up and let me get on with my work.

  Sir Robert had laid aside his walking stick and now sat with his hands in his lap. Both fists were clenched into tight balls, I noticed. There was a very long pause, while he made a business of clearing his throat.

  “I have been giving much thought to this matter,” he said at last. “As long as you remain here ... in Steeple Haslop, I mean, but particularly in this studio, there is so much to remind you ...”

  “That’s true, of course. At first I wondered if I’d ever be able to face working in this room, but I knew that I’d have to clear up the current work, and gradually I’ve come to terms with it.”

  “But it cannot be easy. Now hear what I have to say, Miss Yorke. You are young, my dear. Would it not be better to cut loose and make a new beginning elsewhere?”

  “Elsewhere?”

  “In London, perhaps. The opportunities there must be considerably greater than in a small village.”

  I felt a spurt of anger. Sir Robert’s approach had been a roundabout one, but his objective was now suddenly obvious. It occurred to me to wonder if Sebastian was behind the manoeuvre.

  “Does this mean that you are withdrawing the offer you made the other day?” I asked frostily.

  “Not at all, Miss Yorke.” He looked distressed at the suggestion. “You mustn’t think anything of the kind. My only concern is whether I have been sufficiently generous.”

  “Then I don’t understand what you are getting at, Sir Robert.”

  “Simply this, my dear child—that our little ... arrangement need not be contingent upon you carrying on at the studio here. If you prefer the wider scope that London offers, why not go there?”

  I almost gaped at him in astonishment. “You mean that if I choose to set up business in London, I could still look to you for financial help?”

  “Indeed, yes. Do you like the idea, Miss Yorke?”

  I didn’t like it one bit. The thought of leaving Steeple Haslop now was so unattractive as to be out of the question. Which indicated, though I didn’t work it out at that moment, what little credence I put in the theory that Tim might be guilty of murder.

  “I would prefer to leave matters as we have already agreed, Sir Robert,” I said decisively.

  He looked nonplussed. “But surely ... you told me yourself that you might find it difficult to run a successful business here without Oliver’s contacts.”

  “That would apply with even greater force in London,” I pointed out. “At least, around here, I have gained a certain reputation through my association with Oliver. In London I’d have to start from scratch.”

  Sir Robert fixed his gaze on the ceramic mural of abstract leaf patterns, as if seeking inspiration from it.

  “Doubtless,” he said, “I could give you a few introductions to possible clients from among my acquaintances. And you wouldn’t need to concern yourself too much about making a profit, Miss Yorke. I could see to it that you were able to draw at least the same salary that you have been receiving here.”

  I looked at him squarely. “Sir Robert, I was—and am— grateful to you for your offer to let me take over the Design Studio, and give me financial backing. I intend to work hard at it. I intend to be able to repay you eventually and, I hope, even show you a small profit. But no way is that likely in London, not in the foreseeable future.”

  Sir Robert Medway looked bewildered—more than that, a little desperate.

  “Is it because of your cottage that you are hesitating? I could make you a good offer for that. Considerably above the market value. And as for an income ... well, I recognise that it is more expensive living in London, and I wouldn’t want to stint you.”

  “Sir Robert, I just don’t want to leave Steeple Haslop.”

  “If it is still a question of money, then ...”

  “It has nothing to do with money,” I declared. “If you were to withdraw your offer completely, I would still stay on in Steeple Haslop. I’ve decided that now. Somehow or other I’d find a way to manage.”

  Sir Robert leant forward in his chair, clutching at the stainless-steel edge of my table to support himself. He stared at me wildly.

  “Why are you so insistent about staying here, Miss Yorke? What precisely is your motive?”

  “Motive? It’s more a matter of inclination. I like it here. I feel that I belong here. I have friends here ...”

  “You must have made friends when you were in London.”

  “I did, but that was different. They were mostly the sort of people who will have moved on to other places by now. Whereas most of the people around here I’ve known since I was a child. It’s a feeling of having roots, I suppose.” I was waffling, wrapping up the real reason why I wanted to stay on here—Tim Baxter. Not that I had any need to justify myself to Sir Robert, I thought angrily, so why did I feel my cheeks burning with colour?

  “I see.” He looked really at a loss now. I had a feeling that I’d only have to drop the tiniest hint to have him offer me yet more money. To forestall that, I asked, “Why are you so anxious for me to leave, Sir Robert?”

  “I am considering your interests, and yours alone. I am trying to assist in forwarding your future, that is all.”

  We looked at one another. There seemed nothing more to be said. But then Sir Robert coughed, and began hesitantly, “I want you to give me your promise, Miss Yorke.”

  “My promise?”

  “I want you to remember that you can always call on me if you are in any kind of difficulty—financial or otherwise. Problems are always best kept within the family, I am sure you will agree. And considering your close association with Oliver, we think of you almost as one of the family, my wife and I. So I want you to promise me that if anything crops up, I shall be the person to whom you will turn, and no one else.”

  He looked so agitated, so distressed, that I gave him the promise he wanted. It seemed to bring him a small degree of satisfaction, and some of the tension went out of him.

  “And how are you for money at the moment, my dear child? Is it difficult for you, with the studio’s bank account frozen for the time being?”

  “Not really. None of the bills are overdue for payment, and I’m fine personally.”

  Sir Robert nodded his head slowly. “But you will let me know if you run short? I am a wealthy man, and it would be the easiest thing in the world for me to relieve you of any financial anxiety.”

  “It’s very kind of you, Sir Robert,” I murmured, much embarrassed.

  “Not at all, not at all.” He seemed to drift off into a daydream, then pulled himself up sharply. “I had better be going. I’m preventing you from working.”

  I followed close behind as he descended the stairs, ready to grab hold of him if he stumbled. But he made it unaided. As I watched him stride off uncertainly across the courtyard, my mind was busy with speculation about the reasons behind his visit.

  Chapter 12

  “Could it be,” suggested Neil lightly, “that he fancies the idea of having an attractive young protégé set up in London?”

  “If you’re going to make silly jokes,” I said, “I wish I hadn’t told you.”

  Neil’s smile vanished. “I’m glad you did, though. This could be important.”

  I had spent most of the morni
ng since Sir Robert’s departure debating what I ought to do. Was his strange attitude something Neil should know about, or was I just being stupid? It could be that Sir Robert’s intention, his only intention, was to compensate me for being left in an awkward situation by Oliver’s death. And perhaps he had become so upset at my refusal to go along with his plans merely because he was an autocrat who didn’t care for the recipients of his patronage having minds of their own.

  Perhaps ... but I couldn’t persuade myself to believe that.

  Neil had resolved my doubts about what to do by walking in on me soon after noon, inviting me to have lunch with him. He sensed at once that something was bugging me, and it didn’t take him long to dig out what it was.

  “What’s the explanation?” I demanded, when Neil had made me go through the conversation with Sir Robert as nearly word for word as I could remember it. I wanted him to come up with a simple answer.

  “One thing’s certain,” he mused. “Despite Sir Robert’s claim to the contrary, he’s very determined to get you out of the way. Somehow your presence represents a danger to him, or to his family. This suggests there’s something you know— or something he thinks you know, or might come to know.”

  “Yes, but what? Of course, there’s that business about Sebastian being in the neighbourhood on the morning Oliver was killed.”

  Neil shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s that. When I talked to Sebastian he seemed extremely anxious to conceal the fact from his father. So if for some reason he later felt compelled to make a clean breast of it, then presumably Sir Robert is fully aware that the police already have the information.” Neil ledged himself on the back of a chair. “My hunch is that it’s something to do with Lady Medway. How much do you know about her and Oliver?”

  “Lady Medway and Oliver? You don’t mean, for heaven’s sake, that you think there was anything between them?”

  “It can’t be ruled out.” He gave me a direct look. “Weren’t you aware that Sir Robert and his wife first met one another through Oliver?”

  “Honestly? I had no idea.”

  “Maybe Sir Robert is under the impression that Oliver told you more than he in fact did.” After a brief pause, Neil went on, “This must be for your private ear alone, Tracy. Investigations concerning Oliver Medway that we’ve had made in London suggest that he and Diana Chivers—as Lady Medway was in those days—were a good deal more than friends.”

  “Come off it, Neil,” I protested. “You aren’t going to make me believe that Sir Robert is the sort of man to accept his own son’s cast-offs.”

  “Not knowingly. I doubt if Sir Robert had the faintest glimmer of what there was between those two. Diana, it appears, saw the father as the better prospect. She was approaching the age when parts are harder to find, and she probably realised that she’d never get a proposal of marriage out of Oliver. Then after she and the old boy were happily spliced, Oliver returned here to live. A very cosy and convenient little arrangement, if he had a fancy to pick up again with Diana. And from what I know about Oliver Medway’s character, it would have amused him to carry on with his father’s wife right under the parental nose.”

  I challenged Neil with a glare. “Have you got the slightest evidence that this was happening?”

  “Nothing definite. Our chaps have picked up one or two hints, though ... straws in the wind, you might say.”

  “I would have known about it,” I objected. “I’m sure I would have known if there was anything between them.”

  “Would you, Tracy?” He allowed the question to linger, then said, “You like to think that you knew the man pretty well, but just consider. There was clearly more between Medway and Mrs. Kemp than you were aware of—whatever the exact nature of their relationship. So he’d probably have been even more careful to conceal from you any goings-on with his stepmother.”

  “I suppose so,” I allowed grudgingly.

  These past few days I’d had so many surprises about Oliver that I no longer felt able to trust my instincts where he was concerned.

  “But if Oliver was so careful to keep their relationship secret,” I argued, “then his father wouldn’t have been likely to know about it, either.... Are you suggesting that Sir Robert has found out about it since?”

  Neil shook his head. “It’s more likely—if we really are on the right track—that he found out just before his son’s death. Remember that Sir Robert and Lady Medway had the very dickens of a row earlier that same morning.”

  A sudden excitement took hold of me. Desperate for a solution that would absolve Tim, I was ready to grasp at any wild theory.

  “You’re not suggesting, Neil, that Sir Robert was so enraged that he killed his own son?”

  “Possibly. It’s also possible that it was Lady Medway who killed Oliver in a jealous quarrel. Either way, Sir Robert would be frantic for his son’s murder to remain unsolved. But as long as you’re around, Tracy, you represent a threat.”

  “How could I be a threat to him?”

  “Could be, as I said, that he thinks Oliver told you more than he actually did. And that sooner or later you’ll be putting two and two together, even if you haven’t got around to it yet. When talking about Oliver to me, for instance, or other people for that matter, some forgotten fragment of knowledge might suddenly snap back into place and become significant. So, Sir Robert wants you safely out of the way—and nicely indebted to him into the bargain, so that you’ll never be tempted to talk out of turn.”

  Sir Robert had close-questioned me about how much Oliver and I had talked together. And not only had Sir Robert pressed money upon me, he’d also been insistent that he was the first person I should consider turning to if faced with any sort of financial problem. Was it his veiled way of offering a bribe for my silence?

  “But if your theory is true,” I reasoned, “then why did Sir Robert originally suggest an arrangement that would actually have prevented my leaving Steeple Haslop?”

  Neil gave me a rueful grin. “That’s the trouble with theories. They carry you just so far, but there’s always a weak point somewhere.”

  “And how does Ursula fit into all this?” I threw at him. But instead of flooring Neil completely, the question seemed to perk him up a bit.

  “We’ve already agreed, haven’t we, that there was a special closeness between Ursula Kemp and Oliver Medway. Just suppose that he really was having an affair with his stepmother, wouldn’t he have found it almost unendurable not to be able to share the joke with someone?”

  “You mean, he told Ursula about it?”

  “He might have thought she was the one person it was safe to confide in. Perhaps Mrs. Kemp felt a twisted sort of maternal pride in Oliver.”

  I thought a moment, and was forced to admit it was possible. Ursula Kemp had been an enigma, without friends or any apparent interest in Steeple Haslop’s social life.

  I looked at Neil. “You think, then, that Sir Robert somehow found out that Ursula knew about it?”

  “Might she have tried to blackmail him, Tracy?”

  “And Sir Robert killed her?”

  “He, or his wife,” said Neil. “Or both of them together.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s at all likely,” I said firmly. “They don’t seem at all close, those two. It’s something I’ve noticed particularly each time I’ve seen them together since Oliver’s death. Here in the flat that first morning, then at the inquest. And again yesterday during the funeral service and afterwards at the house.”

  “But that could even add weight to my argument. If one— or both—of them were responsible for the deaths of Oliver and Mrs. Kemp, then there would inevitably be an estrangement between them, considering the motive for the murders. Yet, however far apart the Medways might feel, they’d be chained together forever by their guilt. Chained by mutual hatred. Chained by fear. They’d each be as anxious as the other one to prevent the truth from coming to light, so they might well co-operate in taking whatever steps seem necessa
ry.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose,” I said, with a shiver.

  “The history of murder is littered with cases which prove that point.” Neil pushed himself away from the chair and started pacing restlessly around the studio. “It could be worth having another go at our young friend Sebastian.”

  “You mean Sebastian might be in it with them?”

  “I shouldn’t think so.” Neil hesitated in the way I’d come to recognise. He was, I felt sure, considering how much he should tell me. Then he continued, “For all practical purposes, we’ve eliminated Sebastian Medway from suspicion. The explanation for his presence hereabouts last Wednesday morning checks out. Although he cannot account for every single minute of his time so as to make it out of the question that he killed his stepbrother, it would need to have been with the woman’s connivance. And I somehow don’t think that’s likely.”

  “The woman?”

  “You already knew that he was with a woman. Grace Ebborn saw them together in the Volvo, remember?”

  “Yes, of course. But the way you said it, Neil, seemed to imply that she and Sebastian were ... well, having it off.”

  He turned his head and grinned. “Those two were making a late start returning to Oxford, after spending a night at her cottage over Little Edgecombe way.”

  That really did surprise me. “But, I mean ... Sebastian isn’t the sort to ...”

  Did I detect reluctant admiration in Neil’s broadening grin?

  “You’ve been fooled, Tracy, by the image he was so anxious to present to his adoptive daddy as a reassuring contrast to Oliver’s screwing around. But from the enquiries we’ve made in Oxford, young Sebastian is quite a lad, too—in his own very discreet way. About his latest exploit, he informed us himself—he had to, in order to clinch his alibi. He really is playing with fireworks this time, because the woman happens to be the wife of his professor. It would make quite a scandal at the university if it came to light, and some of the stray sparks might well reach Sir Robert.”

  “And do I take it that it’s now your intention to use what you know about Sebastian as a threat, in the hope of bulldozing him into making some sort of revelation about his father and stepmother?”