The Truth-Seeker's Wife

by Ann Granger

  ‘No, Aunt Parry, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Mrs Parry pulled the satin wrap tighter around her plump form, and leaned back on the pillows. ‘A younger man, perhaps, who’d got himself entangled in some unseemly affair; or gambled away his inheritance, well, he might overdramatise the situation and do something desperate. But not Sir Henry!’ She paused for breath. ‘To think,’ she continued resentfully, ‘that I came down here to the seaside for rest and recuperation.’

  Nugent returned, with a subdued Jessie behind her, bearing the tray. There was a pause for a restoring drink. The British widely believe tea to be a support in all emergencies. It certainly seemed to have a beneficial effect on Mrs Parry. After a few minutes of silent reflection as she sipped, she set down the teacup. She dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief and suddenly appeared much brisker and more matter-of-fact.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ she said. ‘This is a very bad business. There is a murderer about the area somewhere. You must write to Inspector Ross and tell him he is to come immediately!’

  ‘He can’t start an investigation, Aunt Parry, until it is requested of him officially,’ I protested, startled. ‘After all, we don’t know exactly what happened. In the meantime, if any investigation is to be made, the police will begin it under the direction, probably, of a senior officer at Southampton.’

  ‘I am requesting it!’ said Mrs Parry. ‘Send a telegraphed message at once to your husband. The police at Southampton will not do at all. I know nothing of them.’

  I sought for an acceptable delay to this request. ‘Perhaps, Aunt Parry, we should wait and see what Mr Beresford has to say. He is a member of Sir Henry’s family and also, we learned last night at dinner, heir to Sir Henry’s considerable estate. He will want a thorough examination of the facts. We should not, perhaps, act in any way that might suggest we are, um, interfering in a family matter.’

  To my great relief this was received with a nod of agreement. ‘Although it is still very early in the day,’ Mrs Parry decreed, ‘I shall get up and, against my usual habit, I shall come down to breakfast. Have you breakfasted yet, Elizabeth?’

  ‘No, the household routine has rather—’

  ‘The servants losing their heads, I dare say. It is always the case in any emergency,’ interrupted Mrs Parry. ‘First hint of an upset and they go to pieces. Go down and make sure they are putting out the breakfast. I shall join you shortly.’ She turned to Nugent. ‘Lay out my grey gown. What are you wearing, Elizabeth? Well, I dare say that dull shade of blue will do. People will expect us to show respect.’

  By the time she had come down, dressed and ready for to face whatever might happen next, it was nearly midday. I ventured to suggest we treat the table of cold and hot meats, set out by Mrs Dennis, as our luncheon. ‘After this, we shall not be ready to eat again until this evening. Well,’ I added hastily, ‘we can have tea and some little cakes later in the afternoon.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Parry discontentedly. ‘I am so much put out by this awful business. I doubt I shall be able to do more than pick at something. A slice of that roast ham, perhaps? What do you think those sausages contain? Are there eggs under that lid? What happened to the pork pie we brought down in the Fortnum’s hamper?’

  We finished a substantial meal and retired to sit in the garden in the arbour, where I had sat the day before to write my letter to Ben. By now, Mrs Parry was in a better mood but still fretting at the lack of any more news.

  ‘I don’t understand why we have not received any message from Mr Beresford. He is aware we dined with his uncle yesterday. He must know we are anxious to have proper information, not just something told by the coachman to that disreputable-looking fellow who drove the dogcart with our luggage on the day we arrived.’

  But I had become aware of a distant regular thud of hooves, coming ever nearer. A horseman suddenly appeared, the animal slithering down the downward slope from the road above, dislodging dirt and stones. Jacob Dennis came hobbling out to take the reins and Andrew Beresford swung down from the saddle and came towards us, hat in hand.

  ‘At last!’ exclaimed Mrs Parry. ‘My dear sir, we are dismayed to hear the tragic news. Sir Henry will be greatly missed in the county.’

  I hastened to add my own condolences on the family tragedy.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ agreed Beresford rather brusquely. ‘The news has certainly got around.’

  ‘Davy Evans came to tell us this morning,’ I informed him. ‘I believe he had met Tizard on his way to your house.’

  ‘That’s so. The doctor had to be brought, also, to certify the death.’ He paused and added briefly, ‘A single gunshot wound to the head.’

  ‘Awful,’ exclaimed Mrs Parry. ‘We were all so merry yesterday evening. I cannot believe—’

  He interrupted her. ‘If you are going to say, ma’am, that you find it hard to believe my uncle shot himself, then I have to tell you I agree with you. There is no reason at all why he should. Apart from anything else, he was a tough old fellow and it would not be in his nature.’ He paused.

  I realised he was torn between satisfying our curiosity and not saying more than might be wise.

  ‘Mr Beresford,’ I said. ‘You may be absolutely assured that neither Mrs Parry nor I will repeat anything you may tell us to anyone else hereabouts. I am a police detective’s wife and I understand the value of evidence. If you don’t want to answer, I shall understand perfectly.’ It was my turn to hesitate. ‘One thing does… I confess, there is one thing I would like to know.’

  Beresford gave a faint smile. ‘You are curious about the weapon, whether it was known to belong to my uncle.’

  I felt my cheeks redden. ‘Well, yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘A duelling pistol,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘A duelling pistol?’ cried Mrs Parry. ‘Do gentlemen fight duels any longer? In this country, I mean. When I was a girl, one heard occasionally… but it was already an unusual event. On the Continent, of course…’

  ‘As soon as I saw the pistol, I recognised it as one of a pair, as such weapons usually are.’ Beresford’s voice was grim but also a little resentful. ‘These were made in Spain; and brought from there by my uncle when he was a younger man. He was rather proud of them. They are highly decorated with damascene work. They were kept, in their case, in a locked desk in the library, together with a supply of ammunition. It occasionally amused my uncle to take one of the pistols outside and discharge it at a target, for the entertainment of visitors. Both weapons are reasonably accurate. I have, in the past, fired one myself at a target. I went at once to check that the weapon on the pillow was indeed one of the library pair. The opened case is still in the desk, and the companion pistol still in it. But the drawer appears to have been forced. If my uncle had opened it, he would certainly have used his key.’

  He might have mislaid the key, I thought, and not wanted to spend time hunting for it. But why the urgency? ‘Is it not a curious weapon to use? If, indeed, Sir Henry took his own life?’ I asked.

  ‘Very odd!’ agreed Beresford. ‘But if the weapon was loaded by my uncle, one supposes he did it in the library and took the pistol to the bedroom. He must have done this surreptitiously, because of the risk of it being seen by his valet. The man denies seeing it that evening. It is another thing that makes no sense. Did my uncle have some strange compulsion to die in his bed? If he loaded the weapon in the library, he might just as easily have shot himself there to be discovered fully dressed, rather than in a nightshirt. He had a strong sense of dignity.’

  Beresford hesitated and gave Mrs Parry an apologetic grimace. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, for distressing you.’

  But Mrs Parry was not distressed by gory detail. She gave a little wave of her hand to indicate his apology was not necessary. ‘Did no one hear the shot?’ she demanded with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Apparently not. It isn’t perhaps as surprising as might seem. My uncle’s staff, from the butler to the cook, the housemaids, and his per
sonal valet, Lynn, have nearly all been in his service for some years. None of them is particularly young, except for the skivvy who washes the dishes, and she is a little simple. If she had heard anything, she would not have done anything. She’d have waited for orders. The dinner party had made extra work for them all. All the household staff sleep on the attic floor, and last night they slept soundly, it seems. None of them heard a thing. Or, if wakened by such a noise, they might have put it down to poachers outside. Dear ladies, I cannot stay long. I am on my way to Hythe, where there is a telegraph office. I must inform my uncle’s lawyer in London, Pelham. He will want to come down.’

  I managed to quell an exclamation of surprise. Could this Pelham be the same man of law whom Ben had had reason to encounter in a couple of cases?

  Beresford was talking. ‘And after I have sent the telegram, I must take the ferry across to Southampton and inform the police there. There is a constable at Hythe but this will be beyond his remit.’

  ‘Then the coroner will be involved!’ said Mrs Parry sharply. ‘There will be an inquest. Well, it is to be expected. Sir Henry was a gentleman of some consequence locally.’

  Beresford turned to me, suddenly looking embarrassed. ‘Mrs Ross, I am also considering requesting that Scotland Yard send down a detective. I am hoping that your husband might be able to come and assist the Southampton police, as he did so competently in a previous case of murder in the district.’

  Before I could reply, Mrs Parry leaned forward and said triumphantly: ‘That is exactly what I was saying to Elizabeth before you came. Did I not, Elizabeth? We must have Mr Ross.’

  Beresford rose to take his leave. I accompanied him until we had nearly reached Jacob Dennis, who stood waiting at the horse’s head. ‘Mr Beresford,’ I said quietly, ‘when I expressed my condolences on your uncle’s death, it wasn’t just because it’s expected on occasions of loss, but because I am, truly, very sorry. Also, I know, as a police detective’s wife, how intrusive the investigations into these matters can be. I am afraid that you and your wife are going to be inconvenienced in so many ways. It is inevitable. You are very shocked now, of course, and your wife must be too. But, for a time, things may get worse.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s difficult for Agnes. She didn’t care at all for the old fellow. She didn’t tell me so, but I could see it. Now, well, our family affairs will be dragged into the limelight. We all have skeletons in the closet, don’t we? Not that I am saying we have any that should lead to murder, in the normal way of things! But it is the knowledge that privacy will be stripped away… I sincerely hope that Mr Ross will be able to come and take charge. He is acquainted with us a little, and it would be far better…’

  I had meant my words well, but they had touched on something too personal. Beresford fell silent, his manner changed abruptly. He placed his hat on his head, swung himself easily into the saddle and raised his right hand to touch his hat brim in a farewell salute. ‘We shall meet again soon, ma’am, I am sure!’ he said crisply.

  With a clatter of hooves, he was gone.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Jacob, who obviously had sharp hearing despite his general gnarled state. ‘This is a pretty puzzle, I must say.’

  ‘You must not repeat anything you may have overheard,’ I told him sharply.

  ‘Right you are, ma’am,’ he assured me.

  I was not convinced. I returned upstairs and wrote a hurried note to Ben, briefly explaining what had happened and to forewarn him. I gave it to Jacob and asked him to take it immediately to the post office in the village. I couldn’t trust Jessie not to open it and read its contents, and Mrs Dennis was busy in the kitchen. I certainly would not have given the task to Davy Evans, even if he had still been on the premises. But I hadn’t heard his voice for the past hour and it seemed he’d left, no doubt to spread the news around.

  Skeletons in the closet… I mused. Just what did Beresford fear might come to light?

  Chapter Six

  Inspector Ben Ross

  ‘This is a confounded ticklish business!’ declared Superintendent Dunn.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I agreed, standing before his desk with my hands clasped behind my back. The desk was positioned before the window. Thus I could see past him to where one of London’s numerous pigeons was sunning itself on the windowsill outside. As I watched, a second one joined it. The new arrival was showing signs of amorous interest. Spring was indeed in the air. I quelled a sigh and wondered what on earth had possessed me to urge my wife to go away with Mrs Parry, particularly as she had apparently arrived only the day before a suspicious death. The news of Sir Henry Meager’s sudden demise had reached us at the Yard later the previous afternoon, via a telegram from Inspector Hughes at Southampton. It lay on Dunn’s desk together with further correspondence on the subject. The early post that morning had confirmed it for me in a letter from Lizzie.

  ‘Pigeon fancier, Ross?’ asked Dunn sharply.

  ‘No, sir, I was just thinking. It is, as you say, a very strange and awkward business.’ It was best to calm down Dunn by agreeing with him.

  It was not the first time I’d been required to explain myself to Dunn; but this time I felt more than usually like a schoolboy, called to justify himself before an irate headmaster. I had no idea what had been going on down there in Hampshire. Lizzie wrote that she would have let me know by faster means than the penny post, had she had any way of reaching the telegraph office at Hythe. She did not know about the efficient Hughes. She went on to tell me there had been a death, a suspected suicide, but with enough unexplained detail to raise the possibility of a murder. The two ladies had dined with the victim only that evening, together with three others, including Beresford, his heir. ‘You must remember Beresford!’ wrote Lizzie. Mrs Parry was demanding my presence. Lizzie had explained to her that I had not a free hand in the matter. However, she, Lizzie, also wished dearly that I could be there. So did I. I do not like unexplained violent deaths in the vicinity of my wife. What’s more, she normally has a neat hand when it comes to writing letters; but this missive could fairly be described as scribbled, with a couple of ink blots as well.

  Dunn leaned forward, his fists clasped and resting on his desk. ‘As you will know, I have the greatest respect for Mrs Ross and her judgment.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But this would not be the first time she has involved herself in police business.’

  I attempted to defend my wife. ‘I must protest, sir. She hasn’t actually involved herself, as I understand it. It is not her fault that she was invited to dine, with a party of others, with a gentleman greatly respected in the county, and whom no one expected to, um, blow out his brains.’

  ‘If he did so!’ said Dunn tersely. ‘General opinion down there, including the Hampshire coroner’s, is that someone performed that task for him.’

  ‘Yes, sir, quite.’ I hesitated. ‘The coroner has now ruled it murder, then?’

  ‘I understand the matter was treated as urgent by the coroner; and he has, or so this telegram tells me, ruled it murder by person or persons unknown. Thus it is a criminal matter and has been placed in the hands of the police, that’s to say, this Inspector Hughes at Southampton.’

  Dunn tapped the telegraphed message lying on the desk. ‘Hughes finds himself in a fix and has requested our help. I believe you have some acquaintance with the inspector?’

  ‘I have met Inspector Hughes,’ I admitted.

  ‘And also this gentleman by the name of Beresford, who, I understand, is the deceased landowner’s nephew. He wants Scotland Yard to send an experienced man and suggests you. You were there once before. So, you know him, too, don’t you?’

  ‘Not well, sir, but I have met him.’

  ‘Sensible fellow?’

  ‘I would say very sensible and very capable, sir.’

  ‘Not the sort to panic?’

  ‘Absolutely not, sir.’ I thought it best to qualify my words. ‘That’s to say, in normal circumstances he’d be level-head
ed. But if it’s murder and as Lizzie writes, if he’s the heir, it’s a ticklish situation for him.’

  ‘To top it all, there is also a lawyer by the name of Pelham, here in London. He’s been on to us, too. He’s making representations on behalf of the estate; and the heir whom you say is Beresford.’ Dunn gave me a quizzical look. ‘All this in addition to the information you have received from your good lady. It begins to look to me as though you’re taking an interest in the case already.’

  At this I began to protest but then thought better of it.

  ‘Hm!’ Dunn glared at me as if I was in some way responsible for everything. ‘You know this fellow Pelham too, don’t you?’

  ‘Had dealings with him, sir. He handles the business of some wealthy people. I have found him a cold fish and devious.’

  Dunn leaned back in his chair and placed his stubby fingertips together. ‘Then, if you know that much about Pelham, you won’t be surprised to learn we are dealing here with what is generally called the county set.’ He pursed his lips. ‘You know what they are like in the country!’ He peered at me. ‘You appear to be smirking, Ross.’

  ‘No, sir! Absolutely not!’ I hastened to deny.

  But I had been briefly amused. Dunn, who was a Londoner by birth and had, as far as I knew, no family members in the country, always dressed like a countryman up for the day. He favoured tweed. His complexion was ruddy as if he spent most of his time outdoors, not at his desk, and his wiry hair stood up on end as if he’d just come in from tramping round his fields. ‘Sit down, Ross!’ he ordered.

  I knew immediately what that meant. I was to be sent down to Hampshire. If not, this was the point at which I would have been dismissed. But the decision had been made ‘higher up’. I was now to be given the facts of the matter. My initial reaction was one of relief. I would see Lizzie for myself; and be sure she was in no danger and remained so.

  ‘The deceased, Sir Henry Meager,’ began Dunn, speaking rapidly, ‘was aged sixty-two, born locally and residing there all his life, with absences necessitated for business reasons, and for tours to the Continent when younger. He was of an old, established family. He was wealthy and he was generally respected, if not actually liked. He was a magistrate. On the evening preceding his death, he hosted a small, private dinner party with only five guests. But you will already know all about that, Ross. You say your good lady has written to you.’