Death at Wentwater Court

by Carola Dunn

  ‘I shall take your opinion into consideration, ma’am,’ Alec assured her. Damn! he thought. People read too many detective novels these days.

  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector,’ said Sir Hugh with a mocking smile, ‘even my wife has worked out that you think Astwick’s death was no accident.’

  The keen-eyed baronet was going to be a worthy opponent, if opponent he proved to be. However, he was the one who had called in the Met, Alec reminded himself.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, sir,’ he said. ‘Will you tell me about Astwick’s business dealings?’

  ‘Stephen Astwick was a swindler, Mr. Fletcher. He never did anything straight if he could make a penny more by doing it crooked. I could give you particulars of dud investments, the names of many men he cheated, a few ruined, but I won’t, unless you really need them.’

  ‘Not at present, thank you, sir, except that I’d like to know if he ever cheated you.’

  ‘I cut my eyeteeth long before he arrived in the City. And before you classify that as an evasive answer – no, he never attempted to embroil me in his fraudulent schemes, and I have no investments in any of his companies.’

  ‘Anyone else here now?’

  ‘I’ve wondered about young Petrie. He’s been nosing about the latest nonexistent South American silver mine, but if he’s been bitten I don’t believe he’s aware of it yet.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Alec noncommittally.

  ‘I ought to tell you, perhaps,’ Sir Hugh continued, ‘that in my opinion Astwick’s holding company is a hollow sham which will collapse in shards when news of his death breaks. It couldn’t have lasted much longer anyway.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ Alec drew in a long breath and thanked heaven he’d never had the money to invest in stocks and shares.

  ‘That, of course, is a secondary reason why I asked your Commissioner to send down a discreet man, the first being my concern for my wife’s family.’

  ‘Lady Josephine’s description of Astwick as an utter cad seems scarcely adequate.’

  ‘Adequate to his social misdeeds, I dare say, which is all that concerns my wife.’

  ‘May I ask, do you and Lady Josephine share a bedroom?’ Seeing Sir Hugh stiffen, he added, ‘I should prefer not to have to ask the servants.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘I understand you went down early to breakfast.’

  ‘I like to read The Financial Times in peace, so I am often the first to arrive in the breakfast-room. The footman on duty gave me to understand such was the case this morning.’

  ‘You saw nothing of Astwick?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then I think that’s all I need ask you for now. Thank you for your patience, Sir Hugh.’

  He nodded acknowledgement of Alec’s thanks and started to leave the room. Like Lady Josephine, he turned halfway to the door. ‘It’s my turn for a parting word. My wife is as at home in society as I am in the City, Chief Inspector. What she has told you may be hearsay, but she’d not have repeated it had she not been convinced of its truth.’

  ‘Whew!’ Miss Dalrymple exclaimed as the door closed behind him. ‘I suppose it must have been someone in residence here who chopped that hole? It sounds as if there are countless deceived husbands and swindled businessmen all over the country with excellent reasons to be out for Lord Stephen’s blood!’

  CHAPTER 6

  Alec sent the footman for Lord Beddowe before responding to Miss Dalrymple. ‘It certainly would appear that Astwick was heading for a sticky end sooner or later. We’ll check with the lodge-keeper whether he admitted anyone last night. However, I’m pretty sure someone in this house reached him first.’

  ‘Then why were you so interested in the names Lady Jo gave you?’

  ‘You never miss a trick, do you? It’s probably just an odd coincidence, but eight out of ten of those names are connected with the other case I’m working on.’

  She flipped through her notes. ‘She only remembered nine.’

  ‘Seven out of nine, then. A significant proportion, you’ll allow.’

  ‘Yes, but connected how? What is your other case?’ She stood up and stretched, then moved to the fire and held out her hands to its warmth. ‘Come on, Mr. Fletcher,’ she said when he didn’t answer, turning her head to look back at him. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but you can’t leave me dangling.’

  Alec shrugged. ‘A big jewel robbery. I’m sure you must have read about it in the papers.’

  ‘I saw a headline in the train yesterday, but I didn’t have time to read any further.’

  ‘It looks like one of a series of burglaries of country houses, all over the south of England. In each case, the thieves have taken a huge haul of jewellery, chiefly from house-party guests, while ignoring other valuables.’

  ‘As if they knew what to look for.’

  ‘Exactly. We’ve recovered a lot of the smaller pieces from fences, but none of the major stones has turned up.’

  ‘Those seven women who were involved with Lord Stephen are all guests who were robbed at one time or another? The latest burglary was near here? And Lord Stephen turned up in the neighbourhood, having practically invited himself? It does sound vaguely fishy.’

  ‘Only vaguely, I’m afraid. But I would like to know his manservant’s whereabouts.’

  ‘Isn’t he back yet? I saw him drive off yesterday, before lunch. Perhaps he came back last night and chopped that hole in the ice, only you’d think he could come up with an easier and more certain way to dispose of his master if he wanted to.’

  ‘He might have wanted merely to inconvenience him.’

  ‘There must be a hundred thousand easier ways for a servant to inconvenience his employer!’

  ‘True,’ he admitted.

  ‘Lord Stephen might have met someone else there, though, by arrangement,’ Daisy suggested. ‘Someone who biffed him on the head and happened to have an axe in his motor-car.’

  ‘Interesting that he went down to meet this mysterious someone wearing his skates.’

  She grinned. ‘Well, perhaps not. No, a rendezvous with an outsider is out, and anyone in the house would have found somewhere inconspicuous to meet him indoors.’

  ‘Unless it was a moonlight tryst, a romantic skating party for two.’

  Daisy didn’t care for that line of thinking. ‘It was far too cold to be romantic, and . . . Wait, he wouldn’t have walked down there with skates on in the morning, either. What happened to his ordinary boots?’

  ‘Now that is a very good . . . ’ Alec paused as the door opened. ‘Ah, Lord Beddowe.’

  ‘What’s all this about?’ the young man demanded aggressively. ‘I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘I find further enquiries are necessary. Lord Wentwater was good enough to assure me of his family’s cooperation.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Crossing the room towards the sofa Alec indicated, he suddenly stopped. ‘What the deuce are you doing in here, Daisy?’

  She had slipped back to her window seat. With a reproachful glance at Beddowe, she picked up her pad and pencil, leaving Alec to answer.

  ‘Miss Dalrymple is my stenographer.’

  ‘You can’t expect me to answer your bally questions in the presence of a young lady.’

  ‘I admit that it is somewhat irregular. If you strongly object, we can go to the local police station to find an officer able to take down your statement.’

  ‘Good Lord, no! I suppose a Chief Inspector considers himself too important to take shorthand,’ he sneered.

  ‘You need not write that down, Miss Dalrymple,’ Alec said dispassionately.

  Beddowe noticed her shocked stare and had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. Taunting one’s inferiors was not part of the code of a gentleman. He didn’t apologize, however, and he showed no sign of shame when he started talking about Astwick and his stepmother.

  ‘It’s too obvious for words,’ he said contemptuously.

  ‘Like a cheap, sordid melo
drama. They were lovers in Italy, and then my father comes along, a wealthy peer infatuated enough to offer marriage, and she drops Astwick like a hot coal. Here she is, living on velvet, when who turns up but her lover, threatening to reveal all and wreck the cosy nest if she doesn’t jump back into bed with him.’

  ‘Have you evidence that Astwick and Lady Wentwater were lovers?’ Alec regretted that Miss Dalrymple had to hear such an outpouring of venom. Like the others, Beddowe appeared to have forgotten her presence.

  ‘Not exactly evidence, but anyone could tell he had a hold over her, knew some nasty secret from her past. She had every reason to get rid of the bounder.’

  Alec couldn’t resist a dig. ‘Naturally, for your father’s sake, you did all you could to prevent Astwick’s persecution of your stepmother.’

  ‘Protect that scheming adventuress, after she wheedled her way into my father’s confidence! Of course, I’m sorry he’s going to be disillusioned, but divorce isn’t such a ghastly business nowadays, is it? As the guilty party, she wouldn’t get a penny out of him. Oh yes, she hadn’t much choice but to dispose of Astwick.’

  He seemed prepared to carry on endlessly in a similar vein. Alec stopped him with a question about Astwick’s boots.

  ‘Boots? I haven’t the foggiest. They must have been by the bench at the bottom of the path, where we sit down to change, but I can’t say I noticed them. I was carrying my own skating boots, and Miss Petrie’s and Miss Dalrymple’s.’

  ‘Who carried everything back up to the house?’

  ‘I told the under-gardeners who moved the body to the boathouse to clear everything up. I suppose they put away the boathook and gaff and brought the rest back to the house. I wouldn’t put it past them to swipe Astwick’s boots. After all, he didn’t need them any longer.’

  Much as he disliked Beddowe’s attitude towards his servants, Alec silently agreed that the theft was possible, and if that was the case, the boots might very well remain unaccounted for. Miss Dalrymple hadn’t seen them, or she wouldn’t have raised the point. Miss Petrie might have, though he’d think twice about believing anything she said with her overbearing guardians beside her. He’d have Tring question the under-gardeners, but it looked like another dead end.

  He asked for the names of the gardeners, put a few more questions to Lord Beddowe, then let him go.

  ‘What an absolute beast!’ Daisy burst out as Mr. Fletcher rang the bell. ‘I know James egged Lord Stephen on, but I never would have guessed he had such a foul mind. And so frightfully vulgar! Annabel isn’t at all . . . ’ She broke off as the footman came in.

  ‘Mr. Wilfred, please,’ the detective requested.

  ‘Mr. Geoffrey’s come home, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll see him first. By the way, is Lady Marjorie still out of circulation?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Having abandoned disdain in favour of obedience, the footman now became communicative. ‘Cora, that’s Lady Marjorie’s maid, said as how Lady Josephine had her take another dose of that stuff the doctor left. Crying and carrying on something awful, she was.’

  ‘Mr. Geoffrey, then.’ He waited until the servant left before saying to Daisy, ‘You see what I mean about the servants discussing every sneeze! Dash it, I must see Lady Marjorie some time. What was it I wanted to ask Geoffrey?’

  ‘Whether he saw Lord Stephen on his way to or at the lake,’ she told him, pleased that she remembered. She was glad she had taken on the job. It was fascinating, though she’d just as soon not have heard James’s diatribe. ‘I can understand James resenting his father’s second wife,’ she said with a frown, hunting through a drawer of the writing table for a pencil sharpener. ‘Annabel has taken his mother’s place and diverted his father’s attention from him. But why should he loathe her so bitterly?’

  ‘In a word, money.’ He took the sharpener and her three pencils from her.

  ‘Money? I don’t believe she’s at all an extravagant sort of person. She cares more for flowers than for fashion.’

  ‘Nonetheless,’ he explained, ‘she represents a drain on the estate that’s liable to continue as long as Lord Beddowe lives. Also, there’s always the possibility of children who would, I presume, be provided for out of his inheritance. He has motive enough to wish to break up the marriage.’

  ‘Enough to risk someone else’s life in order to blame Annabel for it?’ Daisy demanded, sceptical yet hopeful. As a villain, James was greatly to be preferred to Annabel.

  ‘It’s conceivable. On the other hand, a mere wetting would hardly have suited his purpose. I can’t imagine Lord Wentwater divorcing his wife for playing a trick on the man who was trying to seduce her.’

  ‘No, but if James made Lord Stephen believe Annabel was responsible, he might well have been angry enough to tell Lord Wentwater whatever his nasty secret was. Thank you.’ She took the three perfectly sharpened pencils he held out. ‘You won’t let James influence your view of Annabel, will you?’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ he promised, adding gently, ‘but you must be aware that it’s difficult to blackmail someone who has led a blameless life.’

  ‘I know.’ Daisy’s despondency was quickly overcome by curiosity. ‘I wonder what Wilfred did to give Lord Stephen a hold over him?’

  ‘I hope to discover very shortly. Nothing, I trust, to shock a young lady.’

  ‘Nothing could possibly shock me as much as James’s malevolence. I wonder if I ought to warn Phillip that he’s not at all a suitable husband for Fenella.’

  ‘I shouldn’t interfere, if I were you.’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it. I expect Wilfred’s misdeeds are innocent in comparison, gambling debts and borrowed money probably. He’s that sort. Here he is,’ she said as the door opened. ‘Oh no, I forgot, Geoffrey first.’

  The large, stolid youth entered, still in riding breeches, his colour high from cold air and exercise. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ he enquired, in the apprehensive tone of a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s study.

  ‘I shan’t keep you a moment. What time did you leave this morning?’

  ‘Eightish. Maybe a bit earlier.’

  ‘After breakfasting?’

  ‘No, there’s a farmhouse on the way to Freddy’s that does a jolly decent spread. That’s Freddy Venables. I was at school with him.’

  ‘I assume you’ve been told by now what has happened. Did you see Astwick this morning, either in the house or out-of-doors?’

  ‘No, sir. The stables are at the back of the house and I went off that way, nowhere near the . . . the lake.’

  Daisy was surprised by the tremor in his voice. She wouldn’t have thought he was so sensitive as to be shaken by the drowning he had not witnessed of a man he did not care about. Though possibly he was just disappointed to have missed all the excitement, she thought with sympathy. Finding a body would have been a ripping story with which to regale his pals at Cambridge.

  ‘Chief?’ A shining pink dome appeared around the door, its pristine glory set off by the luxuriant grey walrus moustache below. A massive body followed, clad in a regrettable suit of large yellow and tan checks. Stunned by this apparition, Daisy scarcely spared a glance for the wiry young man in modest brown serge who entered after him.

  ‘Sergeant! I was beginning to think you lost in a snowdrift. Thank you, Mr. Beddowe, that will be all for now.’

  Geoffrey departed, and Mr. Fletcher introduced Detective Sergeant Tring and Detective Constable Piper to Daisy.

  ‘Miss Dalrymple has been helping me,’ he explained. ‘I’d intended to have one of you take her place when you arrived, but I’ve other things for you to do. Piper, you’d better get down to the lake right away before it starts getting dark. Have a hunt around, for anything out of the way but especially for a pair of boots. I didn’t see anything, but you never know. Have a word with the lodge-keeper. Ask if he opened the gates to anyone between dusk and dawn. And if not, see if you can find footprints approaching the lake from any direction other t
han the house.’

  ‘Sir!’ The constable saluted and went out.

  ‘Tom, let me explain what’s going on. Miss Dalrymple, I count on you to interrupt if I leave anything out.’

  Mr. Fletcher’s précis was rapid but comprehensive. Daisy admired his ability to bring all the necessary information together in a clear and concise account.

  ‘Ah,’ said Sergeant Tring ruminatively when he finished.

  ‘So I want you to tackle the staff. You’re good at that.’

  ‘Ah.’ The sergeant winked at Daisy and preened his moustache. She gathered he had a way with female servants. Extraordinary, though no more extraordinary than the slimy Lord Stephen’s conquests. ‘It’s a rum thing,’ Tring elaborated on his monosyllable in a rumbling bass, ‘that there man of Lord Stephen’s being missing. I’ve a notion he’s the one could blow the gaff. You see, Chief, there’s been developments.’ He glanced sideways at Daisy.

  ‘You can speak before Miss Dalrymple, Tom. She knows about that case, too.’

  ‘Well, ’tain’t much to go on, but we’ve picked up a fellow driving a motor that’s been seen lurking about near the Flatford place on and off the last few days. Rang a bell, it did, and I went through the reports of the other jobs. Seems there’s been a grey Lanchester spotted in three out of four.’

  ‘A grey Lanchester!’ Daisy exclaimed. ‘Lord Stephen’s car was a grey Lanchester.’

  ‘Is that so, miss. Don’t happen to know the number-plate, do you?’

  ‘I was too far away to read it, and I don’t suppose I’d remember if I had. Jones, Lord Wentwater’s chauffeur, is certain to know.’

  ‘Very true, miss. The one we’ve got is a London number, Chief. Inspector Gillett wired for identification. Obscured by mud, it was – a right laugh, that, with the paintwork gleaming, the brass bright as gold, and no mud this side of the Channel that’s not froze solid. We’re holding chummie on that and on not having no driving license on him. The inspector sent his dabs up to the Yard, too.’

  ‘Dabs?’ Daisy queried.

  ‘His fingerprints, miss. To find out if he’s got a record.’