Angel with Two Faces jt-2

by Nicola Upson

  There were nine birds on the fence now, he noted with satisfaction. He was good at his job, and people would do well to remember that.

  ‘Is it me, or is this trout even tastier than usual?’ asked Ronnie with a devilish twinkle in her eye. ‘Must be something we put in the water.’

  Lettice’s fork clattered to her plate as she realised what her sister was hinting at. ‘If you must say whatever comes into your head, could you at least do it before it’s too late?’ she asked sharply, looking ruefully at the head and bones which were all that remained of her fish course.

  ‘Just think what those eyes might have seen,’ Ronnie continued, warming to her theme. ‘We should have let Archie interrogate the poor thing before handing it over to the Snipe.’

  More than used to sparring with his cousin, Archie flashed the smile he reserved for her across the table and decided to drop the subject of Harry’s death. His casual efforts to find out if any rumours were circling around the estate had only earned him jibes from Ronnie about bringing the Yard with him in a suitcase, and when Josephine – in an effort to help – had asked William to describe the accident, his uncle’s reply told him nothing new. A straightforward question about suicide would, no doubt, wipe the smirk off Ronnie’s face very quickly and have them speculating for the rest of the night, but he couldn’t betray Morwenna’s confidence like that, so it was best to leave it and try again another time.

  Josephine – who was far more interested in the people round the table than she was in the mythical Harry – was much better placed to satisfy her curiosity. She liked William Motley instantly – a reaction rare for her – and responded easily to his warmth and humour. He was, she guessed, in his early sixties, which was younger than she had expected, and he had an attractive, infectious vitality about him which had been passed down to his older daughter. Lettice was generally the more like him of the two – there was something continental about Ronnie’s beauty which she must have inherited from her mother – but William seemed to have Ronnie’s mischief as well as Lettice’s kindness, and Josephine could easily understand why many people would try their luck with him – and why it would take something very special to succeed.

  ‘Of course, what was remarkable was the way they found Harry’s body,’ he said now, refilling Josephine’s glass with the last drop of an excellent Chablis. ‘Did Morveth tell you about that, Archie?’

  Archie shook his head, interested. ‘No. She just said that Morwenna was in a terrible state because of the waiting.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, so Morveth took things into her own hands. She asked to borrow one of the boats from the Lodge and made Jago row her out to the middle of the lake early one morning with some of Harry’s clothes.’

  ‘Why? In case he was cold?’ quipped Ronnie, pouring herself a generous glass of red in preparation for the next course.

  Josephine couldn’t help laughing, but thought she knew what William was getting at. ‘To find out where the body sank?’ she asked.

  ‘Exactly – you’ve heard of that before?’

  ‘Once, when I was a child. A holidaymaker went missing near the loch one summer, and his wife was convinced he’d drowned. Everybody else assumed he’d left her – we’re not a nation inclined towards the benefit of the doubt – but she insisted she could find him. Apparently, there’s an ancient belief that you can find drowned bodies by casting some of the dead person’s clothes on to the stretch of water where they died. The clothes are supposed to float on the spot where the body went down.’

  ‘Gosh – did it work?’ Lettice asked, fascinated.

  ‘Well, they found the man’s body about half a mile out from the shore at Foyers, so I suppose in a way it did. I couldn’t swear to you that any strange powers were involved, though. Personally, I think she did him in – but perhaps that’s just the Scot in me talking.’

  ‘And you say you haven’t got a criminal mind?’ Archie said, amused. ‘How old were you when this Loch Ness murder went undetected?’

  ‘About six,’ she admitted, ‘but I didn’t say I hadn’t got a criminal mind; I said I was too logical to be another Edgar Wallace. Readers seem to expect characters in fiction to do the most preposterous things, and I’m happy to oblige, but if I wanted to commit a real murder, I genuinely think I’d be very good at it.’

  Archie held up his hands in defeat. ‘Just make sure you are,’ he laughed, ‘because I don’t want to have to arrest you. Bill would never forgive me.’

  ‘Perhaps Morveth bumped Harry off, then?’ Ronnie suggested helpfully.

  ‘That would certainly be the Scottish way of looking at things,’ Josephine said, ‘and I might bear it in mind for the book. If it’s good enough for Mr Wallace…’

  They chatted inconsequentially for a while as a pretty young girl from the village came in to clear the plates away. ‘Mrs Snipe says I’m to apologise for the state of the lamb,’ she said earnestly, ‘but apparently things aren’t quite up to scratch in the kitchen. Half the stuff she expected to find is missing, she says, so I’m to tell you she’s done her best but she can’t perform miracles. She says she don’t know what sort of house we run here, and it wasn’t like that in her day. Honestly, sir, I’ve never heard of most of the things she was grumbling about – I think the city must have gone to her head.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sheila,’ William said with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Things will be back to normal soon, and I’m sure the lamb will be perfect. Just tell her I’m sorry and that we all appreciate her efforts.’

  Sheila smiled, winked back, and left to deliver her message. Lettice watched with relief as the trout bones were removed from the room, but the door had barely closed before Archie returned to the lake. ‘You’re not honestly telling me that Morveth conjured Harry’s body up with a pair of trousers are you?’ he asked William incredulously.

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but there’s no denying that the body came to the surface soon afterwards. Not quite where Morveth laid the clothes, but not far off. Jago spotted it later that day, under those low-hanging branches along the western side by Bar Walk plantation.’

  ‘But that’s a coincidence, surely?’

  ‘I know what you mean – I suppose I’m sceptical about it, too, but there’s a part of me that is inclined to give Morveth the benefit of the doubt.’ He smiled at Josephine. ‘The English part, probably. Don’t ask me why, Archie, but you know how people round here trust her and believe in her – you included, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘I believe she’s a good person, yes. I’ll even go as far as to say that I believe she has the wisdom and the power to heal in ways that aren’t open to doctors and ordinary medicine. But I can’t stretch to magic tricks – not even from Morveth.’

  ‘What’s the difference? In the sense that finding Harry’s body brought comfort to Morwenna, don’t you think that what she did – if she did it – was a kind of healing? Your mother…’ He hesitated for a second, and Josephine got the impression that he had changed his mind about the rest of the sentence. ‘Your mother always said that Morveth could work miracles,’ he finished more gently. ‘Don’t be too dismissive.’

  Archie seemed to relent a little. ‘You’re right,’ he said to William. ‘Where Morveth’s concerned, I’m happy to accept more things than any self-respecting policeman should. I just think that in this case there’s a more rational explanation. The body must have got caught in the weeds on the bed of the lake. The longer it was down there, the more it’ll have been eaten away at by fish and God knows what. It’ll have floated to the surface quite naturally sooner or later.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Archie, not during dinner,’ Lettice pleaded, and even Ronnie lost her colour for a moment.

  ‘All right, I’m sorry – but just one more thing. You say that Kestrel Jacks was the only person who actually saw the accident?’

  William nodded. ‘That’s right. It was early morning, and he was coming back by Lower Pentire at the time. We’
ve had some trouble with gypsies out that way, and he’d been over to check the pheasants.’ ‘And did he see what startled the horse?’

  ‘No. He wasn’t watching them, particularly. He saw Harry riding along parallel with the bank, and the next time he looked up, Shilling had changed direction completely and was heading towards the lake.’

  ‘How is Shilling now?’ Josephine asked.

  ‘Better, but still not himself. It’s a terrible shame – he’s a magnificent animal. I’ve had him brought to our stables for the time being – it didn’t seem fair on Morwenna to have him at Loe Cottage as a constant reminder of the accident. You must go and see him when you’re passing – him and the others. The girls told me how fond of horses you are, and you’d be most welcome to take one out any time you like.’

  ‘Was there anyone else about that morning?’ Archie asked, keen to return to the accident. From Jacks’s account, it seemed that Harry could have guided the horse towards the Loe himself.

  ‘No. It was still early,’ William said. ‘But Lettice is right – this is all too gloomy for the first night of a holiday. We should change the subject. Archie – have you told Josephine about our Minack performance?’

  ‘From one funeral to another,’ Ronnie muttered under her breath.

  ‘I just hope they’ve sorted out some of the problems we had with the theatre last year,’ Lettice added, helping Josephine and herself to generous portions. ‘I was speaking to Hephzibah the other day, and she’s told Rowena straight – she’s not performing there again until they make the stage a little safer.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ Josephine asked, intrigued. ‘You never mentioned it.’

  ‘They were doing the Dream,’ Ronnie explained, ‘and Rowena decided to put it to music. The dancing fairies kept falling over the forest of Athens, and they kicked up so much dust that the front three rows were either blinded or choked or both.’

  ‘But how was that Hephzibah’s fault?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. We can forgive her the dust – although she’s never been light on her feet – but it didn’t stop there. The audience sits on a very steep slope, and a woman was on her way back to her seat during the sandstorm. She couldn’t see where she was going, missed her footing on one of the steps and started to roll perilously towards the cliff edge, picking up speed as she went.’

  ‘It was so very nearly heroic,’ Lettice added. ‘Hephzibah was on stage at the time and saw what was happening, and she ran over…’

  ‘Thundered over,’ corrected Ronnie.

  ‘All right – thundered over to the woman and fielded her into a gorse bush.’

  ‘It sounds like she saved a life,’ Josephine said. ‘Surely that is heroic?’

  ‘Hardly,’ countered Ronnie. ‘There was a perfectly good pillar that would have saved her quite gently. Hephzibah broke the woman’s hip.’

  ‘She was quite elderly,’ Lettice admitted, as the rest of the table dissolved into laughter, ‘and her family threatened to sue Rowena. She was lucky not to have the whole place closed down. As it was, they had to cancel the rest of the run. Now, they won’t even acknowledge the Dream of ’34 at all.’

  ‘You’d better be careful, Archie,’ said William, wiping his eyes while Sheila cleared away the main course. ‘Keep away from the edge of the stage, and watch out for any unexpected entrances from the audience.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Josephine looked questioningly at Archie, who blushed slightly.

  ‘Hasn’t he told you?’ Ronnie jumped in wickedly. ‘He’s starring in The Jackdaw of Rheims this week.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know you were in it.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s my fault,’ William admitted. ‘We were one short because of poor Harry, and everyone else was either involved already or too busy on the estate, so I volunteered Archie and we’ve swapped a couple of parts round – Archie’s going to narrate, which leaves Nathaniel – our young curate – free to be the Jackdaw.’ He topped up his nephew’s glass by way of apology. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘You mean you knew I could hardly refuse,’ said Archie drily. ‘Just don’t expect me to do it every year.’ He pointed his fork at Ronnie. ‘And if you even think of trying anything amusing while I’m on stage, I’ll make sure you pay for it afterwards.’

  Ronnie held up her hands in a passable impression of innocence and William smiled at Josephine, who was beginning to understand how he had run the estate so successfully for all these years. If Sheila was anything to go by, his staff obviously loved him and she had very little doubt that, in spite of his protestations, Archie would now be persuaded to take part in any Loe estate venture that took place while he was south of the Tamar.

  ‘They might have chosen something with a bit more potential for costumes,’ Lettice grumbled through a mouthful of lemon tart. ‘There’s nothing very challenging about a monk’s habit and a few old feathers.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, dear. If it means we have more time for sunbathing, then bring on the cowls – that’s what I say. And we’ll have to get you measured up after dinner,’ she said to Archie, smiling sweetly. ‘We need to make sure that Nathaniel’s old costume will fit you.’

  ‘I expect it’s a busman’s holiday for you, Josephine,’ William said, ‘but if you’d like to go, you’d be more than welcome to come with me. No obligation, though – see how you feel.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it now I know about the casting,’ she said, surprised to find that she meant it, ‘and it’ll be a joy to go to a play and have absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens.’

  ‘Splendid. I’ll ask the Snipe to do us a picnic.’ He jumped up from the table. ‘Now, shall we try some of those strong waters you brought down from Scotland with you? We’ll have coffee in the library, Sheila. You don’t mind somewhere a bit less formal, do you?’ he asked Josephine, while the other three excused themselves briefly. ‘The sitting room’s in better nick, but it’s nowhere near as comfortable. We only use it to get rid of people we didn’t want to invite in the first place.’

  The library was a large, beautiful room, and Josephine could easily see why William would choose to spend most of his time there. The once fine plasterwork on the ceiling needed some attention, and the enormous chocolate-coloured carpet – covered in shells, palm fronds and garlands of flowers – was worn right through to the floor in places, but there was nothing tired about the browns and golds that shone out from the bookshelves, giving the room a warm, autumnal feel that was belied only by several vases of bright pink tulips. William pulled some well-used armchairs up to the fire, and threw another couple of logs into the grate. ‘It was supposed to be Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades,’ he said, pointing towards an animal’s face which had been cast into the black iron of the fire surround, ‘but my wife had it modelled on her favourite dog of the time – a spaniel without an ounce of aggression in him – so the overall effect is rather tamer than I’d hoped for. Still – that’s probably no bad thing. Make yourself at home and I’ll get us some drinks.’

  While he busied himself with opening the whisky, Josephine walked over to the bay window. The dark-green shutters were still folded back against the wall, and she could just make out the edge of the lake in the darkness.

  ‘Do you take anything with it?’ William waved a generous inch of Dalwhinnie at her.

  ‘Just a drop of water,’ she said. He nodded approvingly and brought three glasses over to the window, leaving brandies by the fire for Ronnie and Lettice. ‘It’s nice to have you with us,’ he said, raising his glass to her, ‘but I’m sorry that your first day was clouded with a death. It’s not what anyone needs on a holiday, and I gather from the girls that last year was difficult for you.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t want another one like it,’ she said, touched by his concern. ‘People still tell me what a memorable play Richard was, and I suppose I should be pleased, but my memories are so different from theirs that I’d really rather forget the whole t
hing ever happened. In fact, I wish it hadn’t happened – no matter how much satisfaction it’s given me or anybody else.’

  ‘Yes, it’s hard to be proud of something when it’s bound up with sadness,’ William said, ‘and I suppose you’re utterly sick of people telling you those deaths weren’t your fault.’ She nodded, glad not to have to repeat a conversation which she had had many times in the last year. ‘You know that the girls had a brother who was killed in the war? Well, I spent a lot of time in London after Teddy’s death – threw myself into the war effort because I couldn’t get over the guilt of having encouraged him to join the navy in the first place.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was in with the Room 40 lot – cryptography, you know? We did the Zimmermann telegram, among other things.’

  ‘A lot of people say that turned the war.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s my point. People expect me to be proud of my involvement with it, but all I know is that while I was engrossed in that, my wife was here alone, dying of grief for our son. I’ll never forgive myself for that, no matter what I achieved elsewhere and how many lives it saved, and of course I’d change it if I could – doing something for the greater good has never been much of a consolation for her loss. Personal sorrow – it’s a very selfish thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I sometimes think that’s the danger of our age, you know – we’ve become far too abstract about the things that matter, particularly death. We read the newspapers and shake our heads at the numbers, but we’ve lost sight of the horror of it – the horror and the permanence.’ She took a sip of her whisky and thought for a moment. ‘I remember during the last war – and I don’t suppose the one they’re threatening now will be any different – it got to the point where we were almost embarrassed to be angry about our own dead. Perhaps it was a British thing – we instinctively look for someone worse off, don’t we? – but with everyone suffering so much, it was as if we were being selfish to focus on a personal grief rather than a collective one. That always seemed to me to be a betrayal of the people we’d lost. Surely they deserved to be mourned – no, not just mourned, remembered – for who they were rather than why they died? So I don’t blame you for being selfish or for valuing one person more than thousands – if we all did that, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.’