Angel with Two Faces jt-2

by Nicola Upson

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘Nathaniel seemed troubled of late. He wouldn’t talk about it, and I suppose it’s arrogant of me to think that I could have helped if he had. But I wish he’d come to me, and now it’s too late.’ She turned back to Josephine, and the anxiety in her eyes was infectious. ‘Whatever happened here tonight, I don’t believe it was an accident. It’s too much of a coincidence, coming so soon after Harry.’

  It seemed to Josephine that the time to keep silent out of loyalty to Archie’s confidences was long gone, and this cloud of secrecy was beginning to irritate her. In any case, she had no doubt that Morveth would see right through any pretence that Archie had not discussed people on the estate with her. ‘Do you mean it was suicide or murder?’ she asked bluntly, and then, exasperated by Morveth’s reluctance to continue the conversation she had started: ‘Look, if you know something about Harry’s death or Nathaniel’s, you must tell Archie, even if it affects someone he cares for. Does it have something to do with Morwenna? Or Kestrel Jacks? Or your vicar?’

  The older woman looked genuinely startled. ‘Why should it have anything to do with them?’

  ‘Well, Morwenna’s taken against Nathaniel for some reason, I doubt there’s a woman on the estate who doesn’t know what Beth Jacks goes through behind closed doors, and I can hardly believe that Jasper Motley is particularly well disposed to his curate after that little stunt with the coins. And that’s just what I know about after two days here.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What stunt?’

  ‘During the play – didn’t you see it?’

  ‘No. I had to go back to the bus for something.’

  Morveth listened quietly while Josephine described the improvised scene which had taken place in her absence. ‘You’ve no idea what that man is capable of,’ she said at last.

  ‘The obvious inference is that he’s defrauding the Church of funds, but Loveday told me that much. She also said that Nathaniel had found out about something more serious. Perhaps that’s earned him more than he bargained for – more than a book off your shelf, at least.’

  Morveth looked at Josephine with a growing respect. ‘You’ve met Loveday, then? What do you think of her?’

  ‘I like her very much. She says what she means, and so far she’s the only person I’ve met here who does anything of the sort.’

  Her honesty seemed to defuse the tension and drew a reluctant smile from Morveth. ‘I don’t know a better way of finding out what someone’s really like than through their reaction to Loveday,’ she said. ‘Most dismiss her instantly; some feel sorry for her; only a handful are wise enough to listen to her.’ She held out her hand again, and Josephine sensed a fresh start between them. ‘I can see why Archie trusts you,’ Morveth continued, ‘and I’ll ask something from you, if I may. The past is dead and buried now. Don’t let Archie unsettle it if there’s anything you can do to stop him.’

  Was Harry the past, Josephine wondered, or was Morveth speaking metaphorically? She didn’t seem the type to deal in clichés. ‘Archie’s a policeman,’ she said, more gently this time because the request had been a plea rather than a threat. ‘I can’t stop him doing his job if that’s what it comes to, and I wouldn’t try.’

  ‘He’s a policeman in London, yes, and a good one I’ve no doubt. Here, he’s vulnerable because he cares too much. He could so easily lose himself again, just like he did when his parents died – like he did when he came back from the war. You and I both know how close to despair he’s come in the past, and how distant he can be.’

  Josephine was disconcerted by how much Morveth obviously knew about her shared past with Archie, but she, for her part, knew that his commitment to the truth was more than a professional obligation. ‘If you’re telling me that Archie is the last person to ask for help when he really needs it, then I couldn’t agree with you more, and I’ll always support him if he’ll let me – but I can’t ask him to turn his back on something that matters to him, particularly when I don’t even understand what it is I’m asking.’

  ‘Not even if there are things he’s better off not knowing?’

  ‘You see? That’s exactly what I mean. If you stopped talking in these ridiculous riddles for a moment, I might have a better idea of what I’m supposed to help you protect Archie from. What sort of things is he better off not knowing?’

  Morveth turned to her, and it occurred to Josephine that she had rarely seen a face with more strength in it. ‘Archie’s mother, Lizzie, was my closest friend,’ the older woman said quietly. ‘In the days leading up to her wedding, I could see something was bothering her, and we took a boat out on the lake to talk. It took her a while to tell me, but she was worrying about whether or not to tell her new husband that her brother, Jasper, had taken advantage of her.’

  ‘The vicar?’ asked Josephine, shocked.

  Morveth laughed bitterly. ‘Yes, the Reverend Motley. It began when she was ten and he was thirteen, and continued on and off for three years. By that time, getting pregnant frightened her more than he did, so she had the courage to defy him and lock her bedroom door at night so that he couldn’t come and go as he pleased.’

  Her words echoed Loveday’s description of Morwenna’s behaviour with Harry, and Josephine was more convinced than ever that she had been right about the violence in their relationship, but it was Archie’s family which concerned her more at the moment. ‘Did William know?’ she asked.

  ‘No. She didn’t tell anyone while it was happening because Jasper had convinced her that it was her fault for leading him on, and that she would be the one to be punished if they were caught. And afterwards, when her parents had died and William inherited, she couldn’t tell him because she knew he’d force Jasper to leave and she was afraid of the scandal. Shame is a powerful emotion, isn’t it? Much more powerful than love or even jealousy. She told her husband, James, though, and her marriage was the stronger for it, but it was her worst fear that her son would find out. She never wanted him to think of his mother as frightened and ashamed, you see. It was obvious to everyone that she despised her brother, because she rarely set foot inside that church from the day he was ordained, and she left him a pinch of salt in her will. No one really knew why she hated him so much, though, except Archie’s father, and he was a good man – wise enough to see that loving Lizzie was much more important than punishing Jasper.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what Nathaniel knew?’

  ‘I doubt it. I don’t see how he could have found out. There are only two people left alive who do know; one of them certainly won’t want it talked about, and I’ve only ever told you. But that’s what I mean – it’s all very well to say truth must out, but it’s not always best; sometimes the braver thing is to keep silent. There’s a darkness in most households if you look hard enough; you just have to do the best you can with the knowledge you have.’

  Josephine doubted that Morveth would trust her with any knowledge of the Pinching family, but she needed to ask the question. Before she could think of the best way to phrase it, however, there was a murmur of relief from the stage as the powerful headlights of two police cars and an ambulance appeared at the top of the slope. Morveth walked over to stand with Nathaniel’s parents while William greeted the officers, and the opportunity, for now, was gone.

  Penrose waited with Nathaniel’s body while the police made their way across the rocks. The senior officer introduced himself and Penrose gave a succinct account of what had happened, then left the team to its work and retraced his footsteps wearily round to the outcrop, where a more secure method of access had now been put in place.

  William and Rowena Cade were standing on the backstage path with a distinguished-looking man who was familiar to Penrose but whose name he did not know. ‘This is Chief Constable Stephens, Inspector,’ explained Miss Cade. ‘He’s always been a great friend to the Minack and to me, and I wanted him to know what had happened straight away.’ And to find out what it means f
or your theatre, Penrose added mentally, but he could not blame Rowena Cade for her concern; the Minack was her vision and, by all accounts she had created it virtually single-handed and spent a considerable amount of her own money on it. In her position, his priorities would have been exactly the same.

  ‘Penrose – good to meet you at last, but I wish it had been under happier circumstances. Terrible thing to happen. Rowena tells me you’ve had everything under control, though. Thank God you were here.’

  Right at this moment, Penrose could hardly agree but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took the chief constable tactfully to one side and explained again what he had seen from the stage. ‘I’m afraid there’s no doubt that it’s murder, Sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll obviously give your investigating officer a full statement as soon as he’s ready,’ he added diplomatically, knowing that county forces were loath to call in Scotland Yard, even when a major crime occurred in their area. ‘And it goes without saying that if there’s any help London can give, you only need to ask.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Stephens asked. ‘You’ll take it on, surely? I can call the Yard and clear it with them tonight. Who’s your superior officer?’

  ‘Superintendent Goodman, Sir, but don’t you want your own force to investigate?’

  ‘The best man’s a local one, you mean? Well, there’s something to be said for that, I suppose, but you are local, Penrose, and I’ve heard excellent things about you. What’s more, you’re the only witness and it’s not often the police have the advantage of seeing the crime as well as investigating it. We’re not too arrogant to accept help, particularly when it’s the best we can get, and I’d be happy to think that my boys can learn from you. There’ll be no arguments from anybody, believe me, and all the resources you’ll need will be yours. You will do it?’

  Penrose hesitated, knowing that he was effectively being asked to tear apart some of the lives he cared about most, and resenting the reduction of the process to an exercise in model policing. ‘There might be a conflict of interest, Sir,’ he said. ‘It involves my uncle’s estate, after all.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ve proved yourself to be above all that. If that’s your only objection, we’ll have the body taken to Minack House in the first instance and I’ll notify the coroner.’ Penrose nodded his agreement, realising that he really had no choice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wednesday was the first morning since her arrival that Josephine had not awoken to sunlight on the lake, but more than the weather had changed overnight. When William telephoned early to make sure she was all right, he was understandably in sombre mood and even his daughters were uncharacteristically lethargic about their plans for the day. Josephine refused the half-hearted offer of a run into Penzance for some shopping and settled down at the desk in the sitting room’s large bay window, full of good intentions to do something about the woeful lack of progress she had made with her book – but it was not to be: the bland, grey cloud which hung motionless over the water – mocking any celebrations promised by the half-decorated boat – seemed to recognise the futility of a glorious morning after such a senseless waste of life the night before, and she felt much the same. Every sentence she wrote was contrived and artificial, and her mind refused to engage with William Potticary’s progress along an imaginary cliff-top; instead, she kept mulling over her conversation with Morveth and the uncomfortable knowledge with which it had left her. She had no idea what, if anything, to say to Archie, but at least while he was busy with Nathaniel’s death she would have plenty of time to think about it.

  She looked around the room, knowing that it was much as it had been when Archie’s parents were at the Lodge and intrigued to see what it might tell her about them. Like William’s library, it was spacious and comfortable, and had clearly been designed for living in rather than effect. A warm Brussels carpet ran the length of the floor, rich in reds and blues, but otherwise the space was divided in character: the area in which she was sitting had two tall windows, one looking out over the lake and the other along a private road that led to Helston, and its pale-green walls and drapes gave it a light, airy feel and an affinity to summer; the half which contained the fireplace was lined with dark oak bookshelves, possibly made from the wood on the estate, and would make a cosy retreat on a winter’s afternoon. She walked over to look at the books, smiling as she noticed that both the fireside chairs and the footstool had been frayed at the edges by Motley Penrose. The shelves held an eclectic selection of fiction and non-fiction, and there was a predominance of volumes on natural history, botany and gardening. Someone was fond of the Victorians, and there was a complete set of Trollope which must, she thought, have belonged to Archie’s father – she couldn’t see Lizzie Penrose having a taste for chronicles of clerical life. All the books were fine editions, but that had not stopped them being read and loved, none more so than a collection of battered children’s books which sat next to a shelf of novels and plays that Archie had added in adult life. She recognised his tastes and was amused to see that her own books – particularly The Man in the Queue – looked a little out of place alongside Waugh, Forster and Bowen, but were just as dog-eared; at least she hadn’t had to suffer the indignity of finding them pristine and unread.

  Her eye fell on a volume of Tennyson’s poetry and she took it down, remembering the empty blanket and the book that Morwenna and Loveday had left behind last night. Where had they gone? she wondered, turning to ‘The Passing of Arthur’ and looking for the reference which Archie had mentioned. Before she could read much, she heard a car draw up outside and went back to the window. Archie got out, looking tired and worried, and Josephine found it hard to believe that he even owned cricket whites, let alone had worn them just the day before yesterday.

  ‘I’m sorry not to have spoken to you properly last night,’ he said as she met him at the back door, ‘but there was no chance of getting away.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I knew I wouldn’t see you as soon as William told us what had happened.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him last night,’ Archie said, giving her a hug. ‘He was wonderful with Nathaniel’s parents.’

  ‘Yes – he’s going over to see them again today.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘What a dreadful way to lose a son.’ She looked at the suit and the frown, and gave Archie a resigned smile. ‘You’ve obviously accepted the case. Maybe we should have gone for that weekend in Brighton after all?’

  ‘It’s certainly not the holiday I had planned,’ he agreed. ‘A nightcap with the chief constable doesn’t have quite the same appeal, somehow.’

  ‘I bet his single malt isn’t a patch on mine, either. It’s a bit early for that now, but I could manage bacon and eggs. Have you time?’

  Archie looked at his watch. ‘Just about. I’ve got to call the Yard, but I can do that from here. After last night, it’s vital that we find out what’s happened to Christopher Snipe and Bill can help with that up there – he’s got all the resources at his fingertips.’ He left Josephine in the kitchen and went through to the hall to let his sergeant know what was happening. As he was waiting to be put through, he had time to notice things he occasionally took for granted, and found a comfort in their familiarity which he did not often experience. He had always admired the painting that hung over the stairs, an oil by Stanhope Forbes which his father had bought for his mother shortly before the war. The picture showed a team of horses pulling a quarry cart through the Cornish landscape, and he loved it as much for the slash in the bottom right-hand corner of the canvas as for the quality of the brushwork. It was one of several works of art damaged by suffragettes in order to draw attention to their cause, and had met with a particularly militant umbrella while on display at the Royal Academy. The tear, and the spirit which it represented, was what made his father buy it in the first place, and his mother had resolutely refused to have the canvas repaired. Archie remembered how united they had always seemed. He was trying not
to think too deeply about the consequences of this investigation on his relationship with the estate but – amid the doubts and suspicions that now surrounded some of his oldest friends – he knew that he desperately needed to find something in his past of which he could be confident, and the uncomplicated strength of his parents’ marriage took on a new resonance.

  ‘Can’t let you out of my sight for a minute, Sir, can I?’ Bill Fallowfield’s voice cut in on his thoughts, as cheerful and reassuring as ever. ‘I did try to tell you that theatre in the open air was a daft idea, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  Archie laughed. ‘News travels fast, Sergeant – have you also heard that I’m forfeiting my holiday as penance for not listening to you?’

  ‘They did mention something of the sort. A bit selfish of you, Sir, if you don’t mind me saying. A fortnight with Inspector Rogers in charge is more than enough for anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you could get everything cleared up down there as soon as possible – for my sake, if nothing else.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Bill, but I could do with a bit of help. We’ve got a missing person down here – could be in the frame for the killing, could be a victim himself, or could simply have disappeared up country to get away from a bit of trouble. Could you put a note in the Gazette for me and see if anything turns up?’

  ‘Must be something in the air down there,’ Fallowfield said after Penrose had given him the details. ‘That’s the third disappearance we’ve had word of in a month – a lighthouse keeper from Penzance, a clerk in Cornwall on holiday and now an undertaker’s son. Are you sure you don’t want me to throw a few things in a bag and come down to sort them out for you? I’d go a long way for a sniff of the sea and some of Mrs Snipe’s cooking.’