When Jennifer told him that the man lying upstairs in Lawrence’s bedroom was actually her father, the vicar looked at her as though she was stark, raving mad. His training clearly hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Are you sure? I can imagine how badly you wanted him to be at the christening…” The sentence was left trailing, that word “imagine” seeming to echo around the kitchen. You could almost see the thought bubble hanging over the vicar’s head – “Her mind is playing tricks on her!” He was even more perplexed when Graham and I told him what we’d just told Jennifer about the whole clothes-swap thing. “I’m sorry…” he said. “I just can’t believe it!”
“Let’s go and take a look, shall we?” I suggested. “It’s the only way to prove who’s who.”
We soon discovered that marching through a manor to take a look at a dead body isn’t the kind of thing you can do without people noticing. Jennifer was still in noisy, gulping hysterics so we hadn’t even reached the bottom of the staircase when Julian emerged from his bedroom and Gethin came hurrying through from the drawing-room demanding to know what was the matter. Graham handed Marmaduke to his father while Jennifer garbled an explanation. “It was Daddy!” she concluded.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Lydia and Lancelot had heard the uproar and come to find the source too.
The swelling on Lancelot’s face had gone down slightly, but the bruising had spread from ear to ear and he looked hideous. “What idiod’s suggesding dey swapped clodes?” he demanded.
Wordlessly Jennifer pointed at me and Graham. Sally glared at us from the midst of the crowd that had gathered to watch but she didn’t get a chance to speak. Lydia sneered witheringly. “You’re paying attention to a couple of brats? Ridiculous!”
But she followed nonetheless when the vicar led the way up to the bedroom.
It was dark in there so Jennifer pulled back the curtains. The rain was still lashing against the leaded windows.
We approached the bed. The man’s body was lying there cold and colourless in the smart suit that he’d died in. When I looked at his fingers, my heart turned right over.
One white hand was curled into a claw, as if it was clutching the air, and the nails were perfectly clean.
CLOTHES MAKETH THE MAN
“THOSE aren’t the hands of a vagrant! Are you playing some sort of silly game?” Jennifer was furious.
“We weren’t making it up,” said Graham stoutly. “His nails were filthy. And there was a smudge of ink on his palm.”
“Didn’t any of you notice?” I asked. The silence from the Strudwicks was deafening.
“What are you saying?” asked Lydia coldly. “That someone crept in here and washed his hands after he’d died?”
“No.” Graham was perfectly calm. “It’s obvious what happened.”
“Someone must have swapped the bodies,” I told them. “This is the guy we found dead in the graveyard, I’m sure of it.”
“Whad?” Lancelot nearly exploded with outrage. “You are dodally off your rockers. Why are we even lisdening to you? You’re jusd a pair of kids. Common liddle oiks ad thad. Grandfather would have had the pair of you for breakfasd.”
Reverend Bristow raised his hands placatingly and said quietly, “I think we should all calm down. I have no doubt this whole thing can be sorted out perfectly reasonably.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Lydia’s lip curled as she studied Jennifer’s blotchy face. “It was absurd even to give them the time of day. My darling cuz is clearly unbalanced. I’d get medical help if I were you, Jen.”
The vicar stepped in. “Now, now, Lydia, that will do. They’re probably just a little muddled. It’s been a very upsetting time for everyone. Children really shouldn’t be exposed to dead bodies. It’s made them imagine all kinds of things. One can hardly blame them.”
Graham was incensed at having our credibility questioned. “Someone swapped the bodies,” he asserted through gritted teeth.
“The road’s flooded,” Lydia pointed out angrily. “How do you suppose anyone could have got to the church?”
“There’s a path.” It was Julian who answered her. Through eyes that were red-rimmed and swollen he looked from Graham to me and back again. “It runs through the woods.”
“How do you know it’s passable?” asked the vicar.
“Because Joe walked that way this morning.” His voice was husky with sorrow. He took a deep breath and turned to his cousins. “We need to see the body in the church. I suggest we prepare ourselves for an outing.”
It wasn’t the most cheerful walk in the country I’ve ever experienced. The rain was as heavy as ever and the ground was so waterlogged that even the Strudwicks’ wellies couldn’t cope. Graham and I were only in our school shoes. We looked like a pair of mud wrestlers by the time we got to the church.
The tramp was lying in the vestry where we’d left him, covered in the surplice, the old hat pushed down on his head. But the skin on his hands was tanned and weatherbeaten and the nails were marbled with grime.
“Daddy! Poor, poor Daddy!” Jennifer sobbed, but Julian seemed beyond words.
“Is dis de man you saw in de graveyard yesderday?” Lancelot addressed his question to the vicar.
“I believe so. He looks the same to me. Yes.” Reverend Bristow threw us an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”
I looked down at the tramp. If you’d laid him and his brother side by side you’d have been hard put to know who was who. Both were old and grey, their faces ravaged by disease or neglect or both. It was only their clothes that differentiated them. And their nails.
Naturally the Strudwicks believed the vicar rather than us, which although not entirely surprising was extremely annoying. They obviously thought Graham and I were either a) severely delusional or b) playing a cruel prank.
We’d been outwitted. We had no proof. There was nothing concrete to demonstrate what a massive con trick had been played on the Strudwicks. Or by whom. The four cousins departed, Lancelot and Lydia in towering tempers, Jennifer and Julian subdued and grief-stricken.
Graham and I didn’t want to walk back with them, so we hung around in the vestry while the vicar saw them out of the front door. When he came back he opened a drawer and pulled out a small kettle.
“Let’s have something warm to drink before we set out again, shall we? I keep some hot chocolate in here for emergencies.”
While we waited for the kettle to boil, I sat on the stone floor beside the tramp. Who had carted the poor man’s dead body around like he was a side of bacon? Given that Lydia would probably inherit the manor, my money was on her. How could we find evidence?
I started to heave a massive sigh and as I drew in a deep breath I got a whiff of church smells. Incense. Wood polish. Dust. Old hymn books. Hot chocolate powder.
But there was something else. Something odd. Something important.
I sniffed once, twice more.
Aftershave. It was aftershave.
“Can you smell anything?” I asked Graham.
Obligingly he took a deep breath. “Only churchy stuff,” he said. “Nothing unusual. Why?”
“Sit down here,” I commanded. “Have another go.”
Graham did as he was told. He breathed in. And suddenly his eyebrows contracted. “Why would a tramp use aftershave?” he asked.
“Exactly! The man in the manor was wearing it, though, wasn’t he? It was so strong that Lydia commented on it when she took his arm. The others are bound to have noticed it too. This is concrete proof that he was the man we all saw at the manor.”
Reverend Bristow was looking at us, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Give him a sniff!” I said. “Go on.”
The vicar did as I asked. “Good heavens, I see what you mean. It’s the clincher, isn’t it? That smell. Very distinctive. You were right all along.”
I punched the air in triumph. “You’d better be the one to tell them,” I said. “They won’t b
elieve us.”
“You’re probably right. Your credibility is rather shot to pieces, isn’t it?” He grinned affably and I grinned back. It was so nice to be believed that, despite the fact that I was sitting next to a dead body, I felt quite cheerful. “But,” added the vicar, “I’m afraid I can’t risk it.”
“Risk what?”
“You’ve got to go. Both of you.”
“Go where?” asked Graham, bewildered.
Reverend Bristow didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up to a high shelf behind his desk. The sleeve of his white surplice slipped back, revealing black fabric beneath. A dark suit! And then I saw what he’d taken down – a small handgun. Which he was now pointing at me and Graham. Fear scrunched my stomach into a tight, hard lump. Beside me, Graham let out a small, astonished squeak.
“It was you!” I whispered. I cursed myself for being so stupid. We hadn’t even considered him as a suspect. It was the dog collar. That little strip of white at his neck was as good as a flashing neon sign over his head saying “Trustworthy”. We’d never given the man behind it a second thought.
But Lydia had. It all fell into place. I was now 100 per cent certain that it had been her and Lancelot we’d overheard talking. What had she said? “I simply can’t resist him. I’m quite determined. And you know I always get my own way.” She was in love with the vicar! Why hadn’t I noticed? She’d called him “Jeremy”, not “Reverend Bristow” or “vicar”, and he’d called her “Lydia”, not “Miss Strudwick”. How cosy. And now she was about to inherit everything.
“You gave money to the tramp,” I said. “You were there, in the courtyard. We saw you. What were you doing up at the manor?”
“Visiting the sick, of course. It’s part of my job.”
“You killed Lawrence!”
“Actually, no, I didn’t. The old man had a massive heart attack long before I got there. He was as stiff as a post when I arrived. Luckily for me none of his nearest and dearest had been within a mile of him all morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell them he was dead?” Graham was appalled.
“Because I happened to look out of the window. When I saw that disgusting old tramp shuffling up to the house I knew things were about to get complicated. There was something familiar about him, even from that distance. His walk, his posture were too much like Lawrence’s. And why would a vagrant approach Coldean Manor unless he had prior knowledge of the place? It’s not exactly on the beaten track, is it? I can’t say I was particularly surprised when he turned out to be James. Irritated? Yes, extremely. But not surprised. It gave me a great deal of extra work. And now you two have made matters even worse.” He put up his hand and curled his thumb and forefinger into a circle, the tips almost together. “I was this close to achieving my end and now you’ve destroyed a perfect plan. Still, I can handle it. Quick dunk in the font – hold your heads under until you drown – and then throw your bodies in the river. I’ll tell everyone you slipped. Another tragic accident… Yes, that will do nicely. Heavens, I have had a busy weekend!” The quiet, reserved vicar who wouldn’t quite look anyone full in the face had completely vanished. His eyes had now taken on a manic gleam. Delighted with his own genius, he was clearly having the time of his life.
Graham and I had met enough murderers by then to know that the clever ones like to tell you how supremely devious and cunning they’ve been. If we could only keep him talking, we might have a chance of survival.
“It was you who married Camille, wasn’t it?” I said.
“Yes, it was. I knew about the will, you see. I had to find a way of ruling Lancelot out.”
Graham was cross. “Why bring a perfectly innocent woman into it? Why not just kill him?”
“Oh, come on! That would have been way too obvious. I needed to do something subtle. It was simple enough. Camille was a student. Young. Easily dazzled. I can be very charming when I want to be. Strictly speaking, I didn’t kill her. The mosquitoes did that. I just made it easier for them.”
“And now you’re going to marry Lydia.”
An evil grin twisted Jeremy Bristow’s face. “In time, yes.”
“Does she know about any of this?”
“Good Lord, no. Lydia may be many things but ‘bright’ isn’t one of them. She’s a pawn in this game, not a player – and she finds me quite irresistible. I’m letting her reel me in slowly. She’s the kind of woman who likes to feel she’s in charge. Comforting the bereaved is part of my job too, you know, and Lydia is going to find me terribly, terribly comforting.”
“How did you get James to dress up as Lawrence?” said Graham.
“Ingenious, wasn’t it? And all dreamt up on the spur of the moment. I met him in the courtyard, as you know. He thought it was quite by accident. He was impressed by the dog collar, of course – people do love to confess everything to vicars, we’re so reliable. So honest. So trustworthy. It’s the perfect disguise. He told me who he was and said he was ill – seriously ill. He wanted to see his children before he died. Hold his grandson. He’d seen the announcement in The Times. I told him I’d smooth the way for his reintroduction to the family. I gave him some cash to ‘tide him over’, just in case anyone was watching, then I shooed him around the corner, through the tradesman’s entrance and up to Lawrence’s room.”
“Didn’t he notice his brother was dead?”
“No! That was the beauty of it! James was so drunk and disorientated, he thought Lawrence was merely sleeping. I helped James get washed and shaved and dressed in fresh clothes and of course I made sure he had plenty more to drink. He hardly knew who he was by the time he was ready to come downstairs, and the aftershave drowned out the smell of the alcohol on his breath… I knew the Strudwicks well enough to know that none of them would bother to talk to him properly. Then I dressed Lawrence’s body in James’s old clothes, popped him down to the churchyard and hid him in the corner. After the service I told Jennifer to go on ahead – that I’d give you a lift back. I waited until they’d all gone. Then I pulled him into view when I went to get my car. Poured whisky over him to make it more convincing. Waited for you to notice. Children are so much nosier than adults! I knew it wouldn’t take you long. You were very quick to spot the family resemblance – well done. I thought I was going to have to spell it out, but you two are remarkably observant.”
“And then you killed James, right there, in the middle of the party?” I asked. “How did you manage it?”
The vicar was delighted with his own cunning. “Well, he only needed to live until after you had discovered the body. I had no more use for him after that. And God forbid that he should wake up and reveal who he really was. You know, I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to manage it, but that Frenchman was a godsend! I couldn’t have achieved such a perfect diversion if I’d planned it myself. I held a cushion over James’s face while Toulouse and Lancelot were arguing. He was so frail that it didn’t take more than a few seconds.”
“Why did you swap the bodies back?” I demanded.
This time Graham answered me. “Dental records.”
“Absolutely right. There was always the possibility that someone would check them. I had to make sure all bases were covered, so to speak. So I borrowed the wheelbarrow from the shed and switched them back over in the wee small hours of this morning.”
“And Joe saw you,” I said flatly. “That’s why he died.” I looked at Graham. “When we spoke in the kitchen first thing, he said, ‘Another early riser.’ I thought he was talking about himself but he wasn’t.” I glared at Jeremy Bristow. “He’d seen you.”
“Yes, he had. Not with a body, I hasten to add. I was out covering up the wheelbarrow tracks by then, just in case. Had to think on my feet. So I told him I’d nipped out for some fresh air. I just happened to mention in passing that the blueberries in the wood had ripened. It was a stroke of genius!”
“It was murder.”
“Hardly.” The vicar shrugged it off. “I didn’t murder him and I di
dn’t murder Toulouse. It’s not my fault that the manor’s wiring is faulty. I just helped them on their way to paradise. Like I’m about to help you. It’s a clergyman’s job to assist a soul’s journey to the afterlife. Come on, kiddiewinks, off to the font.”
He was still pointing the gun at us. We didn’t have any choice.
We got up and walked through the vestry door, Jeremy Bristow following close behind. Our footsteps echoed in the empty church. My eyes darted from side to side, looking desperately for something – anything – that we could use against him. There were heavy silver candlesticks on the altar but they were too far away – we’d have been dead before either of us reached them.
We passed the pulpit. The Bible at the top looked big enough to do him an injury but there were too many steps – I’d never get to it in time.
However, there was a very attractive flower arrangement that someone had carefully placed in a recess just coming up on my right. An arrangement consisting of a dozen or so multicoloured dahlias, a few fern fronds and a couple of stems of euphorbia. My mum is for ever telling me to be careful around euphorbia plants. They’re beautiful, but their sap is an irritant. If you get it on your skin it causes very nasty blisters.
I sniffed and Graham’s eyes flicked across to meet mine. I raised an eyebrow and looked across at the flowers. As we passed the recess I struck out with my elbow and caught the head of a scarlet dahlia. The vase wobbled and then toppled, splashing water all over the vicar.
He reacted instinctively, tutting angrily and brushing off his surplice. For a brief moment his gun was pointing at the floor, and I seized the opportunity to grab a length of euphorbia and snap it in two. There wasn’t much sap inside – just a few drops, really – but I thrust the broken ends into his face.
The vase had clattered to the ground and come to rest at Graham’s feet. He picked it up and, while I was attacking the vicar with a pair of plant cuttings, Graham swung the hefty object at his head. There was a satisfying thwack! and he dropped the gun as his hands went first to his bloodied forehead and then to his eyes. His fingers brushed the milky sap that I’d daubed on his lashes, and he accidentally rubbed it right in. A fraction of a second later, he screamed. I grabbed his gun off the floor and Graham and I fled down the aisle.
The Will To Live Page 7
