Once he was properly groomed and attired, he headed down the stairs. Coming from his own quarters, Nick caught up to him.
“You look rather done in. Anything wrong?”
Drew shrugged. “Not really. The world’s not a fit place to live in, but unfortunately there just aren’t any other viable options.”
“Cheery as always.” Nick grinned. “I understand you’ve been up to London again. Presumably it wasn’t to see the queen.”
“No, I believe Tuesdays she does the ironing and isn’t at home to visitors.”
“Pity. All that way for nothing.”
Drew stopped halfway down, turning to face his friend. “I had a rather unpleasant conversation with Mr. Russ of Whyland, Montford, Clifton and Russ, in which I learned that Russ and not Montford was involved with Miss Allen and that he did not know of her pregnancy and its subsequent termination.”
Nick blinked. “Angels and ministers of grace, defend us.”
“Amen.” Drew dredged up a smile. “Sorry to be so grim, old man. This one’s a poser, that’s for certain, and more puzzling if Montford wasn’t seeing the girl. Russ said Montford did arrange for a meeting with her, to end the thing on Russ’s behalf, but that was the only time he ever met her.”
“Perhaps she lost her temper when he said what he’d come to say. Perhaps she blamed him for convincing Russ that he shouldn’t see her again.”
Drew nodded. “Or perhaps it was Russ himself. Montford opened a letter from Miss Allen by mistake. Possibly he realized what was going on and threatened to tell Mrs. Russ if Russ didn’t end the affair immediately. Russ didn’t want to do that, couldn’t have Montford telling tales out of school, and made away with him. As good a reason as any, I’d say.”
“But he was in court in London that afternoon. Can’t get a much better alibi than a courtroom full of people sworn to speak nothing but the truth.”
Drew exhaled audibly. “Then we’re back to the girl.”
“I just don’t see it being her. She’s not the type for one thing, though she is rather tall for a girl. Whoever bashed in Montford’s skull was fairly near his height. But even if it was the girl or Russ himself, why would either of them have killed Dr. Corneau or Clarice Deschner?”
“Don’t think I haven’t clawed through every little gray cell I possess trying to figure that one out. I suppose there’s always the possibility it was neither of them.”
“Person or persons unknown?” Nick gave him a friendly swat on the shoulder and headed downstairs once more. “Well, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“You needn’t remind me.” Drew padded down the steps behind him. “If the killer is moving closer and closer to me, then the only place left is here at Farthering. That means Madeline or you or Denny or even Aunt Ruth may be targeted next.”
“Or you, don’t forget.”
“No,” Drew said, “I’d hardly forget myself, though I still have to wonder. If I am the objective in this little game, why didn’t the killer come for me directly? I’m still missing something. Something important.”
Nick stopped and turned to him. “Something as important as why?”
“Precisely. I was meeting with Montford the day he was killed so I could make arrangements to change my will in Madeline’s favor. Most of it anyway. Yes, I realize we aren’t married yet, perhaps we’ll never be, but I’d rather she have it than anyone else. At least I’d know she would never want for anything.”
“She’s rather well off from her uncle’s estate already, isn’t she?”
“True enough. Doesn’t matter. I’d want her to have it, in any case. And you and Denny and Mrs. D would be seen to either way, of course.”
“That’s good to know. I’d hate to have to go out and find a proper job.”
“Old Padgett keeps you busy enough managing the estate. Just wait till he’s retired and you have it all to do yourself. You’ll wish for a proper job, I expect.”
“At least, if your will is as you say, it proves definitively that I couldn’t be the murderer.” Nick put on an exaggerated expression of relief. “I was beginning to worry.”
“I’m happy to set your mind at ease, Nick, old boy, but I must admit I’ve long held you above suspicion in this case.”
“Really?”
“Oh, by all means. Obviously our murderer is of superior intelligence and nerve. I ruled you out from the start.”
The two of them had reached the door to the parlor by then, and Drew could hear Madeline and her aunt making small talk inside. But before he could join them, Nick tugged his arm, abruptly serious again.
“Perhaps someone didn’t like the idea of a change. Have you considered that?”
“I have. As it stands now, besides bequests to you and Denny and Mrs. D and a couple of charitable institutions, bequests I wasn’t planning to alter anyway, everything I have would go to Constance. Needless to say, since she is gone, I needed to make a change. I suppose the next to inherit, if my current will stands, are my heirs at law, whoever they may be. Some cousin four times removed or a great-aunt or someone of that ilk. Far enough off, at any rate, to know nothing about me and care even less. And if this mysterious heir did kill Montford because he didn’t want me changing my will, he’d have little reason for disposing of Dr. Corneau and even less for murdering Clarice or Bell.”
Nick looked down at his shoes and then back at Drew. “You don’t suppose your mother, I mean your real mother . . . ?”
Drew shook his head. The French shopgirl who had been his father’s mistress for a brief week? Drew didn’t even know her name. Everyone he might have asked about her was dead now. In the eyes of the world, Constance, his father’s wife, was Drew’s mother. Even now, he thought of Constance as his mother. And the French girl?
“It would be rather a roundabout way to go about things, wouldn’t it? Perhaps she’s kept up with any news about me over the years, I mean, supposing she’s still alive. But she’d have rather a rough go of it if, upon my death, she tried to claim any inheritance.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’d rather imagine she’d try touching me for a few bob before she’d resort to out and out murder. And my fortune as a motive, it’s rather imaginative to think someone would kill poor Montford just to keep me from changing my will. Even more so to connect that to Corneau or Clarice.”
“Then I suppose there’s nothing in that quarter to worry about.”
“I doubt it, Nick. Besides that, no one’s made any sort of threat against me.”
“Not yet.”
Drew laughed. “Now, how about we let all this sit for the evening and enjoy our dinner with the ladies.” He straightened his tie. “Everything shipshape?”
“Dazzling.”
They went in to the parlor, and a few minutes later Denny announced dinner. Nick escorted Aunt Ruth out of the room, while Drew merely stood there lounging against the mantel, the firelight painting shifting shapes and shadows across the hearth as he stared into the flames.
Madeline went over to him and stood a moment in companionable silence.
“They’ll be waiting for us.” She slipped her arm around his waist and nestled close. “What is it, Drew? The case?”
He sighed and told her briefly about his interview with Charles Russ. “I don’t know. I can’t help but think of poor Meggie Allen. You wouldn’t have believed old Russ even if you had witnessed the entire conversation.” He squeezed her a little closer. “I know it’s not my place to judge him or anyone, but I had to leave his office before I outright thrashed him. He fathered a child by her. Now it’s gone, and all I could see in him was relief that his own reputation wouldn’t be in jeopardy and that his wife needn’t find out anything. A colder, more callous attitude I hope I never see.”
“I suppose it’s easy, if you don’t actually see the child, not to consider what you’re really doing. But God sees his heart even if we can’t. It may grieve him more than he let on. After all, she was
the one who made the decision about the baby, not he. From what they both say, he didn’t even know about it.”
“I couldn’t help thinking . . .” He looked away, knowing she could hear the pain in his voice, even if she couldn’t read it there in his eyes.
“Drew?”
“I couldn’t help wondering if my own mother, my real mother, had thought about doing something like that with me.”
“Surely not.”
“There’s no way of knowing, I suppose. Not now. Your uncle Mason told me she was young, that she had no family. She had to have been desperate. Frightened. And I suppose it could have crossed my father’s mind just as easily. Finance ‘the procedure’ and there’s the end of it.” He gave her a brittle smile. “Nothing like paying one’s way out of an embarrassment.”
“But he didn’t, Drew. He brought you home. And from what I’ve been told, he was prouder of you than anything else in his life.”
He wrapped her in both arms, holding her close enough to feel her warmth and the steady comfort of her breathing. Close enough to feel the beating of her heart. “Bless you, darling.”
There was so much more he wanted to say, more he would have said, but he knew somehow that it wasn’t necessary.
He turned her face up to him, smiling into her eyes, knowing his smile was none too steady. “We’d better go in now. Too much treacle and I won’t want my dinner.”
“And that’s all Russ told you last night, was it?”
The chief inspector looked more world-weary than ever in his office’s harsh, unshaded electric light. It was an expression that Drew had come to realize did not always indicate suspicion.
“I didn’t press him for details, if that’s what you’re after, Inspector. But yes, that’s all he said on the matter. I am glad to know that he took his own advice and told you everything this morning.”
Birdsong frowned. “At least he told me everything he told you.”
“Looks as though Mrs. Montford was right about her husband after all. No reason you couldn’t discreetly inform the press that someone else who shall remain nameless was involved with the Allen girl, not Montford as was first suspected. That ought to clear Montford’s name without putting Russ directly in harm’s way, eh?”
“I suppose that would be all right,” Birdsong said. “Of course, what the press dig up in consequence is not something for which we at the police can be held responsible.”
Drew gave the chief inspector a nod. “That seems more than fair, given Russ’s involvement in the situation. And so that’s the end of that.”
Birdsong studied Drew, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve a feeling there is something brewing in that inquisitive head of yours. Am I right?”
Drew smiled. “If I happen to settle on any particular theory, I promise you’ll know it at once.”
“Mind you do, Mr. Farthering. Don’t let your meddling end you up alongside your mate Bell there, eh?”
“No, no,” Drew assured him, his smile tightening a bit. “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”
On his way back home, Drew stopped in Farthering St. John and parked across the street from the chemist’s. As he got out of his car, he saw Mrs. Harkness standing in front of The Running Brooks, talking to Mrs. Webster from the antique shop next door. He raised his hat. “Good morning, ladies.”
Mrs. Harkness waved. “Hello, Mr. Farthering. You’re out early this morning.”
Drew crossed the street to them. It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw the fresh scrape on Mrs. Harkness’s cheek.
“Why, Mrs. Harkness, what happened to you?”
Mrs. Harkness smiled, coloring. “It looks worse than it really is. I should have paid better attention.”
Mrs. Webster scowled. “That Mr. Llewellyn, it’s a wonder he didn’t break your neck. Or his own. Fancy a man of his years terrorizing the whole county round with his bicycle like that.”
“Now, Gladys, he was ever so apologetic.”
Mrs. Webster huffed. “Well, it sounded to me as if he was trying to put the fault of it all on you.”
“To be fair, I did step into the street when he was coming. I thought for certain he’d seen me. And with nobody about at that time of the morning, I thought he had plenty of room to go around.” Mrs. Harkness laughed. “Still, if he’d meant to turn himself black and blue, he couldn’t have done a better job of it. I don’t know how he didn’t see me in time to stop.”
Drew shook his head. “It’s nothing serious, I hope.”
“Only bumps and bruises, Mr. Farthering. I did feel bad for the old gentleman, though. Spry as he is, they get a bit fragile at that age.”
“He wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Mrs. Christopher who does for him says it’s mostly a sprained ankle, and he’s got a good lump under one eye and another on his arm. Perhaps it’s all for the best. He’ll be off his bicycle for a while now.”
“And good thing too, if you ask me.” Mrs. Webster crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Farthering St. John has grown much too rowdy these days. What’s the good of living the quiet country life when there’s goings-on that would make London blush for shame? It’s all over the village about what happened at Farthering Place two nights ago, you know. I do hope that American lady is all right now.”
Drew nodded. “Remarkably well, in fact, though I promised Madeline I’d pop round to Mr. Clarridge’s to get a little something to settle her aunt’s nerves. It was rather a shock.”
“I can imagine.” Mrs. Webster leaned closer. “Must have been terrifying for her, finding that body and having the killer spring out from the darkness.”
“Oh, Gladys, stop!” Mrs. Harkness put a trembling hand to her throat. “You make my blood run cold.”
“I don’t think you need worry,” Drew soothed. “But you ladies make sure you lock up well at night and don’t open up for anyone you don’t know.”
Mrs. Harkness’s eyes were wide. “Sounds as if it may well be someone we do know.”
Drew hadn’t any answer for that. It seemed more and more likely that the murderer was someone nearby, someone who could go about the village and not be especially noticed.
“The police will be keeping an extra close watch out until the man is caught. Just keep your eyes open and let them know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
“I doubt I’ll be able to keep my eyes closed for another week at least.” Mrs. Harkness shook her head. “That poor Mr. Bell. He seemed such a pleasant fellow.”
“Yes, it’s a tragedy. Madeline is quite upset by it. Oh, I say, we were trying to figure out a few things about what Bell may have been up to before he was killed. You don’t happen to remember when he was last in your shop, do you, Mrs. Harkness?”
“Dear me, let me think. He was in three or four times, I believe, but I’m not sure I could tell you exactly when. There was the day he and your young lady met, I remember that. He came in looking for a book on local sites, I believe. He was back that day the three of you went to the Queen Bess, as well.”
“Do you recall if he was in on the day of our dinner party?”
Mrs. Harkness thought for a moment. “No. Not that day, unless I’m mistaken. I remember your young lady and her aunt coming that day. They spent some while looking at books for some relatives in America. They said they were also going up to Winchester.”
“I see. Did they mention visiting any other shops here in the village?”
“Not that I remember, no. I can’t say, to tell the honest truth, where all they mentioned.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Harkness. I think they put down all the places they went. I just wondered if perhaps they’d forgotten one or two. It could be important.”
“Really?”
“We think perhaps Mr. Bell was at one of the places they went and that’s how Madeline got his room key.” Drew deliberately ignored the significant glance the two women exchanged. “It’s rather muddled at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“We
ll, if I remember anything more, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Mrs. Harkness said. “As it is, it’s a wonder I can think at all, scared half out of my wits as I’ve been this fortnight. I wish Annalee was still here. With her Marcus in the house, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone breaking in at night.”
Drew hadn’t much considered how it might be for a middle-aged lady living alone when there was a murderer about.
“Perhaps you should go for a holiday, Mrs. Harkness. I’m sure Annalee and the children would be pleased to have you.”
“And who would mind my shop? Not all of us have the means to do as we please day in, day out. Me being all alone in the world, as well.”
“No, no. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Mrs. Webster crossed her arms and smiled at her friend. “Must be nice, mustn’t it? Young lord of the manor with nothing to worry him but playing detective now and again.”
“I think Mr. Farthering’s been a great help to the police in all this.” Mrs. Harkness gave Drew an indulgent smile. “And if you ask me, the police need all the help they can get.”
“The case is rather a poser, isn’t it?” Drew shook his head. “Nothing quite seems to fit.”
“Go on, Bobbie.” Mrs. Webster gave Mrs. Harkness’s shoulder a playful shove. “Tell him what you told me.”
Mrs. Harkness shrugged her off. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Go on.”
Drew smiled to himself. It was really rather charming to see her blushing like a girl at her first recital.
“Yes, do go on, Mrs. Harkness. Do you have a theory about the murders?”
“Not really a theory as such, Mr. Farthering.” Mrs. Harkness glanced at her friend, who pushed her forward again. “I just couldn’t help thinking, well . . .”
“What couldn’t you help thinking?”
“Well, what if the murderer actually is someone we know? Someone from right here in our village?”
“Do you suspect anyone in particular?”
“Oh, no. It’s hard to even imagine it would actually be one of us, and if it were, why he would do such things. It’s almost as if he were killing people at random. And I’ve read enough murder mysteries to know that, unless there’s some sort of method in the crimes, there’s no solving them. Without logic, it’s good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
Death by the Book Page 23
