by Faith Martin
‘I told you,’ Mrs Jarvis piped up, her voice as full of terrible glee as her face. ‘I told you he always kept the boys at loggerheads. Now he’ll pay.’ She all but cackled.
‘Yes, you did,’ Jenny agreed, her voice cold. ‘But I never accepted that as a reasonable explanation. If Stan had wanted to keep his sons arguing amongst themselves, he would have been all for Bill one week, then all for Bert the next. Little and often is the only way to sow real contention in a family, a fact that a man of Stan Kelton’s character would be only too well aware of. But for all of his life, Bill had been the favourite. No. This was something else. Something specific must have happened to change the way that Stan Kelton saw his sons. That was the first thing that set me thinking.’
Now that she explained it to him, it set Moulton thinking too. But, try as he might, he was damned if he could see where she was heading with all of this.
‘Then we had the surprise of Sid’s Christmas presents to the family,’ Jenny carried on. ‘And I had to ask myself, what was Sid up to?’
Stan Kelton snarled. There was no other word to describe the noise that rumbled from his throat. ‘He was up to no good, that’s what he was up to,’ he rasped.
‘He certainly had something on his mind,’ she agreed, not allowing him to rile her. ‘And the only conclusion that I could come up with was that Sid wanted Bert out, and Bill in, as much as you wanted it the other way around. Why else would he ensure Bert and Janice had a new place to live, and a new business to keep them going, if he didn’t want Bert to leave? He had already arranged for Delia to have some money to get away, and for Jeremy to have a new car. He didn’t want to leave anyone out. But the main beneficiary of Sid’s generosity was Bert, which would have put him, Sid, directly at loggerheads with Stan, his younger brother. And that worried me — because always before, Sid had let Stan have his own way, in order to live a quiet life and keep the peace in the family.’
‘But Sid didn’t give me a spectacular present,’ Bill felt compelled to point out. It was ridiculous, he thought, how much that still hurt him. Even now, amidst all of this.
‘Ah,’ Jenny said. ‘But he never intended to leave you out, Bill,’ she said softly. ‘He intended you to have the biggest prize of all. Isn’t that right, Mr Kelton?’ She turned once more to Stan, who was going an acid shade of puce.
‘The stupid old sod,’ Stan sneered. ‘As if I’d let him.’
Moulton glanced quickly at Bill, just long enough to see that the young man was as puzzled as himself.
‘Let him do what?’ It was Bert who asked the million-dollar question.
‘Why, let him have the farm, of course,’ Jenny said.
There was a long, long moment of silence, during which Stan Kelton’s eyes became murderous as he stared at the cook. Moulton moved another notch forward on his chair. Stan looked like he was getting ready to throttle her.
‘But only the oldest son can inherit the farm,’ Delia said, puzzled.
‘Yes, I know,’ Jenny Starling said. ‘Bill is the oldest.’
Bert shifted on his seat. ‘I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Miss Starling,’ he said. ‘I’m the oldest.’
‘You’re the oldest son of Stanley Kelton, yes. Or, rather I should say, you’re the only son of Stanley Kelton. Bill,’ Jenny said, and looked across at him, ‘is the only son of Sidney Kelton. And since Sid was the oldest son, Bill is the rightful heir.’
Bill stood up abruptly. He stared first at the cook, then at the man at the head of the table that he’d always called Father, opened his mouth to say something — he wasn’t sure what — and felt himself sway.
Just as abruptly, he sat back down again.
‘Just like an old woman. Coming over all wobbly,’ Stan Kelton sneered, causing a dull, ugly flush to rise up over Bill’s face. ‘Just like Sid, in fact,’ he spat, loathing and hate spewing from him like venom from a snake’s fang. ‘No damned backbone.’
‘You thought he had plenty of good stuff in him when you thought he was your son,’ Jenny shot back promptly, and didn’t so much as flinch when he turned his venomous stare on her. Instead she stared steadily back at him, completely armoured against his evil.
‘I’m not your son,’ Bill breathed, as if unable to take it in. ‘I’m not your son,’ he repeated, more strongly, and suddenly began to laugh. If there was just a little hysteria in it, nobody in that room (with the exception of Stan Kelton) begrudged it him.
He was going through the grinder, after all.
Then, suddenly, Bill stopped laughing. He said just one word: ‘Sid.’
Jenny looked at him sympathetically. ‘Yes. I’m so sorry you lost him, before you ever had the chance to understand. Sid was your father.’
Bill looked at Miss Starling, his face slack with shock, his eyes round. ‘But . . . how?’
Stan snarled and sneered again, and Moulton said sharply, ‘Shut up, you, if you know what’s good for you.’ And there was something so surprisingly sharp and hard about the inspector’s voice that Stan found himself instinctively obeying. It was probably a novel experience for him.
Jenny reached out to take Bill’s cold hand in her own, then glanced across at Bert. ‘Do you know about your mother, Eloise, and Sid being in love before she ever met Stan Kelton?’
It was Bert who nodded. ‘I heard some women gossiping once, at the church fete, oh, years ago. You were only about fifteen.’ Bert looked at his brother, who was now only his half-brother, his eyes troubled. ‘I heard them say how Mum and Sid should have been the ones to marry. That Dad had split them up on purpose.’
Bill swallowed hard. It was a lot to take in all at once.
‘Even then,’ Jenny said, ‘Stan Kelton was determined at all costs to have the farm. He was willing to do anything to get it. Including breaking his brother’s heart, stealing the girl he loved and marrying a woman that he himself felt nothing for, just to sire sons that would one day take over the farm.’
She leaned back in her chair, her smile wry. ‘I was very dim, there,’ she admitted. ‘I thought it might be interesting to find out if Sid had had any children on the wrong side of the blanket, and even asked around the village. But it should have been quite obvious to anyone with any brains,’ she grimaced at her own stupidity, ‘that no two people who were in love could live together in the same house and not turn to one another for solace. Eloise and Sid would have to have been made of stone not to have had an affair. I should have realized that fact, right from the start.’
She gave another sigh at her own dimness, and turned once more to Stan Kelton. ‘It must have been quite a blow when Sid told you that Bill was really his, and must inherit.’
Abruptly, the entire colour fled from Stan’s face.
‘I imagine you must have rallied quickly though,’ she added sadly. ‘Janice tells me that Sid asked her not to tell Bert about the antique shop until Christmas, so it gave you some leeway. What did you do?’ she asked Stan, without expecting an answer. ‘I imagine, when you realized that there would be no deterring him, that you asked Sid not to say anything to the others until after Christmas as well? Put on a bit of a production, did you? Tell him how much Bert would be upset? No doubt you asked him for some time to prepare him for all this? Time to get used to the idea of no longer inheriting? Time to get used to losing Bill as a son? And Sid . . .’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Sid would have been kind-hearted enough to agree, wouldn’t he? I can almost hear him saying it. “All right, Stan, we’ll have one last family Christmas together, just as we are. But after that . . . I’m talking to Bill.” It would have gone something like that, wouldn’t it.’
Stan Kelton was amazed at her powers of deduction. It had, in fact, gone very much like that. Sid had been a sentimental old fool. But Stan was hardly about to say so.
‘It was that stupid old magazine article that did it, you know,’ Jenny said, once again setting everyone else all at sea. ‘I don’t think Eloise ever told Sid that Bill might be his son. I think, even
then, she would have been afraid of what would happen. And she certainly wasn’t about to tell you,’ she met Stan’s eyes, doing nothing to try and hide her own contempt. ‘No, if she had told him Bill was probably his son, Sid would have made his stand a long time ago. Who knows, Eloise might have given the man she really loved one last blessing in keeping the truth from him. After all, it ensured that he lived, in relative peace at least, for another thirty years or so.’
And nobody doubted her wisdom, because nobody doubted that a younger Stan Kelton would have been any less murderous than a middle-aged Stan Kelton.
‘Old magazine article?’ Delia finally said, remembering that day they’d cleared out Sid’s room. ‘He was always reading them,’ she added wistfully. ‘He’d even liked going through really old ones people were throwing out for recycling. He was a great reader of bits and bobs, but it did mean that he wasn’t often up-to-date in what was what. But what have they got to do with all this?’
‘One of them,’ Jenny explained patiently, ‘was tucked out of sight, away from all the others, hidden under the mattress. That alone should have told me,’ she added exasperatedly, ‘that there was something that set it apart from the rest. Why else would Sid carefully hide it under the mattress? I should have immediately read it from cover to cover. As it was, luck was on my side. I read enough to make it clear to me now what must have happened.’
‘But what was in it that was so important?’ Bert asked raggedly.
Jenny shrugged. ‘An old and not up-to-date article on genetics, about the blue eye/brown eye gene, and which was dominant,’ she said drolly, and took pity on his blank stare. ‘Never mind the statistics, since they can be confusing. The upshot was, Sid got it into his head that since both Stan and his wife had brown eyes, the fact that Bill had blue eyes — like his own — meant that Bill must be his son.’
Everyone looked at Bill. Strange how they had never taken any notice of his eyes before. But Sid and Bill had been the only blue-eyed ones amongst them all. Funny, how you took things for granted, and never questioned them.
‘I remembered thinking what beautiful brown eyes Eloise had when Stan Kelton showed us all the family album,’ Jenny continued. ‘I couldn’t figure out why I kept thinking back to Sid, sat at that chair, his eyes open even in death, as if he was trying to tell me something.’
Delia shivered. ‘Oh, don’t.’
‘But he was trying to tell you something,’ Bert said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘His blue eyes were definitely trying to tell me something. To make matters worse, even that dratted song about blue eyes crying in the rain kept playing in my head. But still I was too dim to see it. But you can see why Sid thought the way he did — and why he decided he needed to act the way he did. And the real tragedy is, a simple DNA test would have proved it one way or another. But, ironically — and in a way — it doesn’t really matter which one was the father — only that both brothers believed Bill was Sid’s. And that provided ample motive for murder. Luckily for us all, Stan Kelton made mistakes.’
‘Such as?’ Moulton asked.
‘Telling Bill to pack his bags and get out was the worst. Stan was a man who liked to keep his family around him, and very much under his thumb. Giving Bill his freedom was just so out of character. And then, when he realized that I had experience in murder investigations, he tried to throw me off the scent by asking me to give him the name of the killer first, in order to exact retribution, he’d have had me believe.’
Jenny straightened and turned to give Stan Kelton a final, level gaze. ‘But I told him then that the murderer of Sid Kelton would spend the rest of his life in prison.’ Her own lovely blue eyes suddenly lost all their contempt and became, instead, rather flat. ‘And so he will,’ she added.
‘So he will,’ Moulton agreed. ‘Since you’re the only one with a motive, Mr Kelton, and we have the evidence of the kitchen floor, no jury in the world will let you off. You can—’
Bert gave a cry of warning as Stan, with shocking quickness, launched himself from the table. But he wasn’t interested in the door, or in a bolt for freedom. He only wanted to get his hands on his cook.
‘You bitch,’ he roared, knocking over his chair and grabbing her by the throat before she had a chance to rear back. Ford dropped his notebook and sprang to his feet. Bill and Bert did the same, but someone else was quicker by far.
A black and white flash shot out from under the table as the sheepdog, with a hair-raising snarl, sank his teeth firmly into Stan Kelton’s backside.
The dog had waited such a long time to do it.
In an instant Jenny was free as Stan Kelton roared in pain, and in the next instant, Moulton and Ford were all over the furiously cursing farmer, handcuffs at the ready.
‘Remind me to give that dog some of the best steak I can find,’ Jenny said, to no one in particular, as she rubbed her sore throat.
EPILOGUE
Jenny hefted her holdall out onto the landing floor, then turned for a final glance around her room. The bed was made, the fire was safely out and the fireguard was back in place. She hoped Bill would have central heating put in soon. If he didn’t, any wife he might take most definitely would!
She nodded once and shut the door firmly behind her. As she turned and bent once more to her holdall, a door further down the landing opened and Bert Kelton stepped out. She straightened up and glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock.
Moulton and Ford had taken Stan away yesterday afternoon, after cautioning him. Jenny, who had been very much aware that the remaining Keltons badly needed time, space and, above all, privacy in which to sort themselves out and do some serious talking, had pleaded tiredness and the desire for an early night.
But only after serving dinner, of course. Everything stopped for food, in Jenny Starling’s book.
Now, Bert watched her coming towards him and his eyes dropped to the holdall. ‘I didn’t realize you were going to leave today, Miss Starling,’ he said, his voice as warm as she’d ever heard it.
She was glad that the ‘real’ Bert was at last emerging from the former shadow that had been Bert Kelton when she’d first arrived. Now he walked upright and lightly, and his face had lost its haggard and haunted expression, making him look years younger.
‘I think it’s probably best,’ Jenny said primly. She had no desire to remain at the Kelton residence after delivering up one of their members to the police, even if the rest of the Kelton family were happy that she had done so. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I was only hired for the Christmas season.’
‘There’s still New Year,’ Bert said. ‘I know Bill wouldn’t mind if you stayed on a bit longer.’
Jenny smiled. ‘I think, you know, that he might. Anyway, I want to be off before it starts snowing again. Have you seen the weather outside?’
Bert had, and he agreed with her. Another blizzard seemed to be on its way, and who could blame her for not wanting to get snowed in at Kelton Farm for a second time?
‘I see. Well . . .’ He held out his hand, a little awkwardly, and Jenny promptly took it and gave it a firm shake. ‘I’m really glad you came to us, Miss Starling,’ Bert said earnestly, and even as he said it, he realized what a massive understatement it was, and laughed.
Jenny met his sincere gaze, but her own was shrewd. ‘Truly? I thought, once or twice you know, that I had you worried.’ Her eyes twinkled.
Bert had the grace to blush, even as he shrugged it all off. ‘I know. It was because of Jeremy, you see.’
‘But you never really suspected him?’
‘Oh no. No, but I thought he might have seen who had done it.’
Jenny nodded. ‘And you suspected Bill?’
Bert gaped at her. ‘How did you know?’
Jenny smiled. ‘You were rather quick, that morning when I came back with the police, to confirm both Jeremy’s and Bill’s story about the order in which you all came back. It made me wonder why.’
<
br /> Bert laughed. ‘Bill’s temper has always worried me,’ he admitted wryly. ‘There’s just no fooling you, is there?’ he said, then murmured a heartfelt, ‘Which is just as well!’ under his breath.
Jenny pretended not to hear. ‘Well, goodbye, Mr Kelton. I take it you’ll be joining your wife in Woodstock soon?’
Bert nodded happily. ‘But Jeremy’s agreed to stay on here for a few weeks, just until Bill’s had the chance to hire some more locals. That’ll be a popular move, at any rate. A good thing too. We Keltons have got some fence-mending to do. Not that anybody will care about Dad being . . . well . . . Let’s face it, nobody will care about Dad,’ he said simply.
‘Quite,’ Jenny said, briskly. Useless platitudes never had been her forte. ‘I hope you enjoy the antique business, Mr Kelton,’ she said, and smiled and turned for the stairs.
Halfway up, she met Delia. The girl gave her a beatific smile. ‘Me and Sissy are going to move into Woodstock. Bert and Janice have promised to help us find a flat. And now that I have Uncle Sid’s money to get us started, it doesn’t matter that that old bag, Cordelia, stole Sissy’s, does it?’ she chirruped happily.
Jenny smiled. Indeed it didn’t. And she approved of Delia staying well within range of her family. Some girls matured more quickly than others, after all, and she could well imagine that Janice would keep a motherly eye on her young sister-in-law — at a distance, of course.
‘I’m very glad to hear it, Delia,’ Jenny said, and moved to one side as the teenager shot past her, all restless, happy energy. How fast the young healed, the cook mused, setting down her holdall beside the front door and making her way into the kitchen. There she paused on the threshold, pensively observing Bill Kelton’s back as he stood at the sink.
She must have made a slight noise, for he turned, saw her, and hesitated. Although his look was friendly enough, it was also strained, and Jenny smiled slightly.
