by Ann Granger
I told him I was going to the heath to walk. He directed me to a quick way to reach it and we parted.
By the time I reached the heath my annoyance with Mrs Parry had faded away. I even began to feel sympathy for her. She had planned this holiday with such confidence and, so far, little had gone right for her. I reproached myself for being such a grump. It is because Ben is so near and yet I can’t be with him or talk to him, I thought.
But now, none of this seemed to trouble me any more. Here, on the warm, almost windless day, the flat expanse of heather, gorse and occasional clumps of trees or bushes spread out as far as I could see. I appeared to be quite alone. I couldn’t even see a pony or two. I set out to walk along one of the narrow tracks, my feet making hardly any sound. After I had gone quite a way, my eye was caught by a glitter to my left. Curious, I left the path and picked my way towards it.
It was a small irregularly shaped pond, probably originating in an accumulation of rainwater in a dip in the ground. Over time, the original large puddle had grown and become this pond, surrounded by bushes and a small tree or two. The earth around the edge was soft and marked with deep narrow holes. The free-roaming ponies and cattle knew of this place and came here to drink, leaving the imprint of their hooves like calling cards. I wondered whether anything lived in the water. I was peering into its depths when the shadowy image of a face appeared in it, staring up at me.
I gave a cry of alarm, starting back and colliding with someone who was standing behind me and had been looking over my shoulder. I was so convinced that I had been completely alone that I turned in anger and not a little fear, ready to confront this intruder who had crept up on me. I found myself looking at Cora Dawlish.
‘Where did you spring from?’ I demanded. It seemed impossible that I hadn’t seen her. The landscape was open. There were few places of concealment and yet here she was, in her black clothes and jet beads, with a plaited straw bonnet on her head. It was old-fashioned in style, with a wide brim and high crown, such as might have been worn in the days of the Regency. It was tied on with faded blue ribbons. Had she been following me? She must have been doing so, I decided. The only reason I had not seen her must be because her approaching footsteps had been silent on the dusty track.
‘I walk on the heath, as you’re doing,’ she replied. ‘There are plants growing here that are of use to me.’ She indicated the pocket of a large black apron swathed around her waist. I could see various pieces of greenery in it, including sprigs of heather.
‘I wish you had called out to let me know you were near,’ I told her, still discomfited. ‘You startled me.’
‘You are from the city,’ she said, unmoved by my discomfort, ‘or you would have known. A countrywoman would know another living being was nearby. You would have heard my breath, the rustle of my skirts. In the city, folk become blind and deaf. There is noise all around them and they hear nothing. The scene is always changing and they see nothing.’
‘You have lived in the city at some time,’ I said quietly. My anger had gone and that surprised me, because I should have taken the opportunity to tell her to stop spreading superstitious rumours about me. But I had assumed she and her sister had always lived in the village. That she could ever have lived in a big town or city startled me.
‘A long time ago,’ she confirmed. ‘How does the lady’s ankle?’
‘Oh, quite well, making good progress. But she cannot walk on it yet.’
‘I can make a poultice that can help with the inflammation,’ she offered.
This also surprised me. Was she trying to make amends for her previous behaviour?
‘Thank you,’ I said awkwardly. ‘But I don’t think I could persuade her to use it.’
‘As you wish,’ she said.
‘I should be getting back,’ I told her. I turned away and was about to step briskly forward when she grabbed my arm, preventing me.
‘Stop!’ she ordered.
My former anger returned, flaring up. ‘What—?’ I began. But the protest died in my throat as something moved on the ground directly at my feet.
It was a snake, patterned with black diamonds in scaly beauty. It moved quickly, in a zigzag progress, across the narrow path I had been about to take, and slithered into the heather.
‘You must learn to use your eyes, truth-seeker’s wife,’ said Cora, the old, familiar mocking note back in her voice now. ‘It is an adder. When the day is warm they come out to bask in the sun. You almost stepped on it.’
‘I didn’t see it. Thank you,’ I said awkwardly. ‘You are right. I am a city dweller.’
She nodded. ‘If you must step on one, step on its head,’ she advised me. ‘If you step on its tail, it will turn and bite.’ A gleam entered her dark eyes. ‘The same is true for some human beings,’ she said. ‘Strike first and strike true, or you will feel their fangs.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed awkwardly. Suddenly, I wanted nothing so much as to be away from her. ‘I must go!’
I walked off, keeping my eyes on the ground now. After a few steps I looked back to see what she did, if she watched me. There was no sign of her. The open landscape was empty of any life.
Where had she gone? She had disappeared as mysteriously as she had appeared by the pond in the first place. There were precious few hiding places here, just a bush or two. The old superstitious panic seized me. I crushed it ruthlessly, as she had warned me to do with a snake. She was not far away and I must be able to see her. She could not disappear. I continued to scrutinise the scene intently, and my eye caught a faint movement a little above the ground, on the edge of the pond. Something nodded. It was the wide brim of Cora’s straw bonnet. She had found a dry, adder-free spot, and sat down, that was all. My eyes had been seeking a standing figure. Not seeing what I’d expected, I’d panicked. Yet I had only to lower my line of sight to locate her. It seemed she must always outwit me.
‘One day,’ I said aloud, but quietly, ‘I will outwit you.’
Inspector Ben Ross
‘Did you see the ruined tower while you and Mr Beresford took your walk around the house?’ Harcourt asked me unexpectedly.
I realised I had been standing in silence, staring at him, as my brain wrestled to fit his extraordinary claim to be the murdered man’s son into the pattern of what I already knew.
‘No,’ I replied automatically.
‘It’s what they called a folly. Every gentleman’s grounds had one when there was a great fancy for Gothic mysteries. It is this way. It is in a sorry state, I’m afraid, but still a good place to sit and talk.’ He gestured, stretching out his arm to point into a small clump of trees, and set off. I followed.
The trees were fewer in number than they appeared. They had been planted in a circle. At the centre was an open space in which stood a stone tower, with an open Gothic arch set into the façade, and narrow slits above for the use of archers who had never manned it. It was roofless, and appeared to have no purpose. Ivy had crept up the walls to several feet above head level. At the time it was constructed I dare say it appeared romantic. Young people would have made lovers’ trysts here. Young ladies would have been instructed by their tutors to sketch it. Picnic gatherings would have taken place in it. There would have been none of this in the Old Indestructible’s time, or in his son’s. To me, the tower now looked sad and forgotten.
‘What do you think of it?’ asked Harcourt. I suspected he was suppressing a smile. It wasn’t on his face but I could hear it in his voice.
‘It’s not to my taste,’ I told him. ‘But I’m a practical man.’
‘It is a little better inside,’ he told me, and led me under the Gothic arch.
There was no internal structure, any upper floor or stairs to the level of the arrow slits above. But there were signs that an upper floor might once have existed or been intended. The first few stone steps of a staircase clung to one wall; and overhead a stout beam ran from one side of the structure to the other, though this might have been installed a
s a brace for the outer walls. At any rate, the tower was an empty shell, the floor paved with stone flags. A marble bench ran around the walls. I looked up to the open sky and few tree branches nodding overhead, and thought it was freakish fancy; but it wasn’t unpleasant.
‘Was there ever an upper floor?’ I asked Harcourt.
He shook his head. ‘Never, to my knowledge. I don’t think one was intended. The whole thing is meant to indicate mystery. Well, now we have a real mystery, but centred on the house, not here.’ Harcourt gestured to the circular marble bench, indicating I should sit down.
When we were seated he said nothing, perhaps waiting for me to make some further comment. I decided I would take the initiative anyway, and speak first.
‘My education was also paid for by a well-wisher,’ I told him. ‘Otherwise, I should be toiling in a coalmine even now. I don’t suppose my benefactor, a local doctor, expected that I would eventually marry his daughter, but that is what happened. Although a great deal occurred between. But you claim Sir Henry was your father. Forgive me if I ask about your mother; and why you believe this to be the case.’
‘My mother was French,’ Harcourt began.
He showed no reluctance to talk about his origins. I fancied he was almost eager. That was something else I’d found in those making similar claims. They want the listener to believe it, either because they themselves believe it, or because it is part of a role they are playing.
‘Sir Henry went travelling on the Continent as a young man,’ Harcourt was saying, ‘even though the consequences of war and political upheaval had made this difficult. He was accompanied on his travels by a battle-hardened ex-seaman, known to his father, Sir Hector Meager, from his time at sea. This fellow’s duties were partly as manservant but chiefly as bodyguard. During his travels Henry met my mother. Her name was Isabelle. She had been orphaned and lived with an elderly female relative. Henry fell in love, proposed marriage and was accepted. The old lady, who was my mother’s guardian, did not object. There was a problem, however, in that my father was not yet quite twenty, so underage. He could not marry without his father’s permission. He persuaded the old lady that if he took her young charge to England, to meet his father, permission would be forthcoming and the couple would be married.’
‘What about the ex-seaman?’ I asked. ‘Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping an eye on the young man; and stepping in to prevent any embarrassing misunderstandings?’
‘The old seadog had proved efficient at protecting his charge against assault or robbery. But preventing the young gentleman from engaging himself to be married had not been part of his duties. Or not as explained to him before leaving England.’ Harcourt paused. ‘In fairness to my father, I must say he did try to keep his word to my mother and her guardian, but he was not allowed to.’
‘I imagine,’ I said, ‘and forgive me if I am anticipating you, but I suspect the problem was Sir Henry’s father, Old Indestructible. The couple turned up on his doorstep and didn’t get the reception young Henry had hoped for. Old Indestructible refused to give his consent to his son marrying anyone, other than someone his father had approved beforehand. Am I right? The old man also told him that, if Henry had any idea of waiting until he reached the age of majority, twenty-one, and then persisted in going ahead and marrying to disoblige his father, he’d cut Henry out of his inheritance. I am guessing all this, of course.’
‘I see you are a very good investigating officer and have it all worked out,’ said Harcourt drily. ‘Quite so! Old Indestructible was furious. In the first place, his son had not consulted him before he entered into a contract with my mother. Secondly, his son was not yet twenty-one, so still under the age of consent, as you so rightly pointed out. He could not marry without his father’s permission and that gave Sir Hector the whip hand. Lastly, but importantly, the old fellow had his eye on a different bride for his son. He refused outright to accept my mother, and put the matter immediately in the hands of his lawyers. They obtained a court ruling that any promises made by my father to Isabelle were without any validity in English law.
‘At this point, my mother spoke up in her own defence. She declared she had taken Henry’s word as the word of an English gentleman, and so had her elderly guardian. She expected my grandfather, also an English gentleman and a former officer, to understand that, and not oppose it.
‘It cut no ice with the old man, of course, but he admired spirit and he wished to avoid scandal. He wanted no obstacle to his son’s marriage to Miss Madeleine, the girl he’d chosen. Therefore, though he remained adamant that he would never agree to any marriage, he was prepared to settle a substantial sum on Isabelle, on the understanding that this was an act of generosity, done purely out of good will. She must sign a document acknowledging this, and declaring that she would make no further claims.
‘My mother’s first reaction was a refusal to be bought off. But my father knew Old Indestructible and his ways and realised his whole future was in jeopardy. He risked being cut off with a shilling, as the old saying went. Besides, there was a further complication in that my mother was now with child. Henry would find himself without a penny to support a young family.
‘He persuaded my mother to accept my grandfather’s offer. She realised that, now Henry had given in to his father’s wish, there was no hope of their ever being married. The money was used to purchase a small house near the harbour in Lymington for my mother, and an annuity.
‘All the same, things would have been very difficult for my mother. But a wealthy childless widower, a ship’s chandler by the name of Harcourt, saw her, fell in love, and proposed marriage. He was prepared to accept the child my mother carried and raise it as his own. She agreed. At my baptism, her husband’s name was entered in the parish register as father of the infant. So, you see, a very civilised solution was arrived at.’ The bitterness in Harcourt’s voice could not be hidden.
This was indeed an added complication. In the eyes of the public, and in law, Harcourt wasn’t illegitimate. Harcourt’s mother had been married when he was born, I thought. Her elderly husband’s name stood in the baptismal register as the father. What prompted Harcourt’s extraordinary claim? What did it achieve, other than to besmirch his mother’s reputation? There was a lot about all this that I didn’t know; and would find very difficult to discover.
‘And Sir Henry later married the girl his father had chosen?’ I guessed.
‘Oh, yes, in due course he did; and a miserable marriage it was, so I understand. Not the fault of the lady, of course. But Sir Henry resented the wife forced on him. He— he was neither a good nor a faithful husband. His own father lived another twelve years, gradually getting madder and madder.’
‘And Mr and Mrs Harcourt – and you?’
‘The arrangement worked very well, in the circumstances. But by the time Old Indestructible died, those circumstances had changed. Harcourt, my mother’s husband and – on paper – my father, had also died. He was a nice old fellow but he had speculated foolishly and left very little. My mother had been reduced to taking in paid lodgers. Worried for my future, she contacted Sir Henry to ask for his help. He was now, on the recent death of his father, in possession of his inheritance, so agreed to pay for my schooling. Also, when the time came, he promised he’d see that I entered a suitable profession. I was sent off to school and stayed there until I was old enough to earn a living. When I had only been at school for six months I was called into the headmaster’s study to be told my mother had died. She had already been buried. I had only the memory of our parting as I left for the school. I do wonder if, when she hugged me for that last time, she knew she wouldn’t see me again.’
Harcourt broke off suddenly and muttered, ‘You will excuse me!’
He stood up and hurried out of the tower. My first thought was that he had been overcome by emotion when talking of his mother. But though I couldn’t now see him, I could hear him. He was coughing, in an uncontrollable deep-seated fit, suggesting to me s
ome problem with the lungs. The sound brought back an old memory to me, from my youth in the Derbyshire coalfield. Some of the miners coughed in that way, putting it down to the coal dust getting into the lungs. They had the appearance of strong men but few reached great age.
Harcourt had returned. His face was flushed but in other ways he appeared unaffected. He retook his seat and made no further excuse for his brief absence. On my part, I made no comment.
‘As it happened,’ Harcourt picked up his story, ‘at the same time as I finished my schooling, the bursar of the school concerned found himself in need of a clerk. I took up the post; and remained there for another couple of years, book-keeping. Then Sir Henry appeared in my life again, to offer me a position assisting his then estate manager. In due course, when that agent retired, I took over. I have been here ever since. Of course, they all know who I am; because the old people hereabouts remember the drama when young Henry returned home with a French lady on his arm.’
‘But did Sir Henry ever openly acknowledge you as his son?’ I asked curiously.
‘No, never!’ Harcourt snapped. He drew a deep breath and regained his self-control. ‘In fact, I think he resented me. Perhaps he regretted he had given me the job of running the estate, which kept me so close. I reminded him of a time he now chose to forget.’ Harcourt turned to look me full in the face. ‘I did not kill him,’ he said.
‘So tell me, please, about the final argument on the evening of the dinner party. Please, don’t deny that there was a, shall we say, “lively” discussion before my wife and Mrs Parry arrived to dine. I believe there was.’
‘Does Beresford say so?’ Harcourt appeared surprised.
‘No,’ I admitted, ‘he says only estate business was discussed.’
‘So you have another informant?’ Harcourt frowned, puzzled.
‘That reply tells me I am right. There was a dispute.’
‘But you won’t tell me who that person is?’ he challenged.
