Frobisher’s estate, small as it was compared to the tontine, went to his valet. Denison’s estate didn’t warrant a mention in any of their sources, although the redoubtable Mrs. Stewart produced an interesting tale of events a couple of months after his death. Through her charitable contacts she had come across—at the time—an account of a young woman who’d been accommodated at His Majesty’s Pleasure in Holloway prison as a result of indulging in a profession that no doubt dated back to when men offered women a nice slice of mammoth in return for their sexual favours. When released, this woman found that the man she’d been living with previously was dead and buried, leaving her destitute and having to apply for charitable aid rather than return to her former trade.
Mrs. Stewart’s memory had been jogged because the woman had subsequently received a small but very welcome donation from a retired violinist who was related to her paramour. She checked her facts and—as she suspected—the woman, Mary Beck, had been living with Paul Denison.
“So that could well be the woman who was seen castigating Denison,” Jonty said, as he and Orlando assessed what they’d learned over a well-earned pot of tea. “Somerset reckoned her name was May or Marie, which is close enough to Mary.”
“Come to demand more money from her lover’s only relative?” Orlando nodded. “That makes more sense than seeking revenge for Paul Denison’s dastardly death.”
“Well alliterated.”
Orlando favoured the quip with nothing more than a roll of the eyes. “It would also rob her of a motive to kill the man, alas. She’d want to keep him alive if she felt she could get more money from him.”
“True.” Jonty took a deep draught of tea. “So, we return to the only substantial motive for his death. The money. Did Mrs. Evans—I must remember she’s actually a miss—slip a little something into her master’s morning coffee to hasten his end? A touch of digitalis to work on a weakened heart while she conveniently took herself off. They have foxgloves in that garden, by the way.”
“I noticed. We have foxgloves, too, so it signifies very little. The trouble is every time she spoke about Denison she seemed genuinely affectionate and genuinely moved at his no longer being there. Is she that good an actress?”
Jonty shrugged. “Why don’t we nip down there now and try to find out? All other avenues seem to be dead ends.”
Which is exactly what Orlando had come to believe.
***
Miss Evans took a while to answer their knock at the door and then she appeared somewhat flustered to see them. “Oh! You caught me off guard. I feel quite guilty.”
“Hiding the evidence?” Jonty said, with a flash of his smile.
“What? Oh, oh, bless you, sir. You young gentlemen will have your japes.” The housekeeper stepped back and ushered them in. “It was your visit that did it, you know. Brought me to my senses.”
Orlando and Jonty shared a bemused look, then entered the music room, which showed much change since they’d last been there.
“I’ve decided it’s just silly to keep everything like it’s a museum,” Miss Evans explained. “Mr. Denison wouldn’t have wanted it. I’ll just keep one instrument for old time’s sake and then find the rest a good home at one of the local schools.”
“Very wise,” Jonty said, but his voice couldn’t hide his surprise at the volte face. “We’re the cause of this?”
“You and Dr. Kane. You’ve made me realise it’s time to sell up here and move back to London. I’ll be near my sister, then.” She threw up her hands. “Listen to me prattling on and I’ve not even offered you a cup of tea.”
“We’re not in need of refreshments, although we appreciate the offer,” Orlando said. “We’ve just a few questions to ask and then we’ll be out of your way. Did you know about the tontine Mr. Denison set up?”
“I did, although I was rather cross about it. I don’t believe in those things, but he was insistent. Said he’d done it for me, so that he’d be able to keep on employing me no matter what.” She dabbed at her eyes with her apron.
“But he couldn’t have known he’d get the money,” Jonty pointed out.
“No, although he thought it was a pretty safe strategy, given the other men involved. Not the fittest of creatures, he said, if that isn’t speaking ill of the dead. He felt it worth taking the chance.”
“A strong move to make early in the game?” Jonty suggested.
Miss Evans frowned. “Sorry?”
“Like chess. He enjoyed playing, we believe.”
“Oh, yes, I see.” Miss Evans shook her head. “I’m not at my brightest today.”
Certainly not as authoritative as she’d been previously. Something had happened—maybe involving this mysterious Dr. Kane—to shake her. Before Orlando could ask about him, Jonty posed another question.
“Mr. Denison had a relative turn up out of nowhere, we believe.”
“That’s right. Paul Denison. Nice gentleman if a bit of a rogue.” Miss Evans rolled her eyes. “He tried to inveigle himself into my master’s affections, though he saw through him. I’m sad the man died in such a horrible way, and I’m glad everything was done properly by him in terms of the funeral, but I’d be a liar if I said I felt his loss the way I felt my Mr. Denison’s.”
“What about Mary Beck?” Orlando asked, immediately surprised at the thunderous look that crossed the housekeeper’s face.
“Her? No better than she should be. Contacted us for money when she had no right to any.”
Orlando noted the us but let it ride. “But Mr. Denison helped her?”
“He did, which was more than generous.” Miss Evans remained in tight-lipped disapproval.
“Yet she came back to ask him for more?”
Miss Evans gave Orlando a sharp look. “What do you know about that?”
“Enough. She tracked him to Oxford and confronted him. His chess partner, Dr. Somerset, witnessed the confrontation and thought, from snatches of conversation he heard, that she was accusing him of having done something. He told Somerset that he didn’t know the woman and that she’d mistaken him for someone else, but we don’t think that’s true.”
“You’re quite right. Deni—Mr. Denison—was trying to protect her, being a gentleman. He didn’t want the truth of her past and her being in prison being discussed willy-nilly. They’re awful gossips, those academic gentlemen,” she added, with another roll of the eyes. “As you’ve found out with Professor Lewis-Duckworth. He was wrong about my master’s death being suspicious, as was I.”
Jonty shot Orlando a look of alarm before asking, “What do you mean?”
“Dr. Kane is a colleague of Dr. Bundy. They share a practice. I hadn’t realised he’d treated Mr. Denison, but he had, and he confirmed how weak his heart was.” Miss Evans glanced towards the garden. “Dr. Kane inspected the body the day he died, when Dr. Bundy had sent me to bed to rest. He tells me he was positive it was simply due to natural causes.”
***
Neither Jonty nor Orlando uttered a word from when they’d made their final pleasantries and set off once more for the Randolph to when they were half way along the road.
“Well, what do we make of all that?” Jonty asked at last.
“I’m still trying to process it all. I need to sleep on things.”
“On the principle that when we wake in the morning today will have been a bad dream and we’ll still have two mysteries to investigate?”
Orlando snorted. “We don’t know that this Kane chap is any more reliable than his partner. He might have heard that the man was being denigrated and is trying to restore his reputation.”
“Hm. That’s a job for tomorrow, then. I can’t put any thoughts together until I’ve had my dinner.”
A pretty young lady came along the street, singing happily to herself. Jonty raised his hat and smiled as she passed.
“Who’s that?” Orlando hissed once she was out of earshot.
“The Hamiltons’s maid. Next door to Denison.” Jonty grinne
d. “She who reckoned his playing was nothing special. What a lovely voice she has. Quite wasted scrubbing steps and blackleading the grate.”
“Perhaps Denison would have left her a legacy to develop her singing if she hadn’t been so derogatory about his violin playing.”
“She wouldn’t have been derogatory to his face, but word does tend to get around.” Jonty passed at the kerb, waiting for a cart to pass before crossing. “I wish we’d brought the car. The stroll here seemed most pleasant earlier but the return journey feels like a cross-continental trek.”
Orlando wasn’t going to admit it, but he wished the same.
Jonty’s usual high spirits had returned by the time they reached the hotel, although they received a knock when they found another note from the warden of Gabriel—even more abjectly apologetic—awaiting them. Lewis-Duckworth explained that not only had he misled them about the violin, he’d now discovered he’d misled them about Denison’s supposed murder. Dr. Kane, who served the college as physician and whose medical judgement was to be trusted on all counts, had informed him that it was he who’d been treating Denison for his heart condition, the patient not trusting Dr. Bundy to deal with anything but the man’s arthritis. Kane was prepared to swear that there was nothing suspicious about the death, in fact he’d half been expecting it, having seen similar cases.
“So why didn’t he mention this earlier?” Jonty flicked the paper with his fingernail. “I don’t remember seeing his name in any of the information we were sent.”
“That’s because it wasn’t there. As you said earlier, this is a problem for tomorrow. Kane will be calling here to see us, so you can have your thumbscrews ready.”
Jonty’s brow wrinkled. “You seem remarkably chipper(w) given that you’ve just suffered a major setback.”
“That’s because I’ve got an idea. And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is until I’ve slept on it.” Orlando gave his partner what he hoped would be an enigmatic smile. “All I’ll say is, if I’m right, then we still have a case to investigate but it’s not the one we thought it was.”
Chapter Nine
Orlando was still in a good mood the next morning, although he refused to elucidate on his idea. There was something he wanted to ask Kane about and until he had the answer to that he was keeping his powder dry.
Jonty didn’t have long to wait. Kane arrived punctually at half past nine, apologising for having been party to sending them on a wild goose chase.
“I’ve not been in Oxford these last few weeks,” he explained, as they sat in a quiet corner, awaiting the arrival of a pot of coffee. “My father has been desperately ill and I’ve been attending him. As a son, not a physician. I thank God he appears to be making a good recovery.”
“We’re pleased to hear that.” Jonty could say that in all honesty. He’d rush to his papa’s bedside in similar circumstances. “We’d wondered why you’d not told Professor Lewis-Duckworth earlier.”
“I wish I had, believe me. I didn’t realise he’d be airing his suspicions quite so volubly. Or airing any suspicions at all.” Kane paused at the arrival of a waiter with coffee. Once it was poured he continued. “I tell you this believing you will respect my confidentiality. Bundy used to be an excellent physician, but he no longer has some of the mental acumen he once possessed.”
Jonty wondered if that meant he was suffering some form of dementia, although he wouldn’t force Kane into answering the question.
“He was correct about Denison’s heart condition, though?” Orlando asked.
“Yes. I confess I try to keep a discreet eye on some of his cases, especially where a mistake might prove fatal.” Kane glanced about him, then lowered his voice. “I suspect he won’t be able to practice much longer. There was an error made at Gabriel.”
“So we heard.” The sooner he was gently put out to pasture the better, by the sound of it.
Orlando, eyes bright, said, “Would you trust Dr. Bundy’s medical judgement on other, less serious matters? Arthritis, for example?”
“Ah.” Kane laid down his cup. “A perceptive question. Let me make it plain. Dr. Bundy is a good man and—what’s more unusual—a good listener. That’s why so many of his patients have stuck by him, despite his failing abilities. One has to admit that the medical profession is not as all conquering as some of its practitioners would like to pretend. Despite many advances, a number of diseases are neither curable nor treatable and sometimes all one can offer is understanding or make suggestions for palliative care. Bundy is good at both of those. Whether he diagnosed Denison correctly regarding the arthritis I couldn’t say as I was not consulted regarding that, just his heart.”
“Can you offer us no opinion, though, from your observation of the man?” Orlando pressed him.
“So long as you don’t expect me to back up the opinion with hard evidence or state it elsewhere.” Kane leaned forward. “I had doubts about whether Denison was as badly afflicted as he made out.”
Orlando sat back, almost purring with pleasure. “Thank you, Dr. Kane. Thank you very much indeed.”
***
“I will not budge from this chair until you tell me what notion you’ve dreamed up about this case.” Jonty folded his arms and looked daggers at his lover. “Nor will I enter into any other conversation.”
Kane had been gone a good ten minutes, a segment of time which Orlando had filled with ordering more coffee, using the toilet and attempting to start up a discussion about how confident patients could be in their physician’s capabilities.
“But it’s such fun to tease you,” Orlando said, eyes bright. “It’s so rare that I come up with a possible solution and you’ve not even got an inkling about it.”
Jonty had to admit that had the situation been reversed he’d have taken as much pleasure in it. “I suppose I am being ridiculously obtuse, for which you can blame the pernicious atmosphere of this city. If I bow to your superior judgment—in this case only, I hasten to add—will you please put me out of my misery?”
“I will. Eventually,” Orlando added, still milking the situation. “Consider this aspect of Denison’s behaviour to start with. Why tell such awful tales when you risked people finding out the truth of things and simply ended up with a reputation for exaggeration, if not downright lies? And why risk telling one person one story and somebody else another when there was every chance they could compare notes? He doesn’t appear to have been a very good liar, for somebody who alleges he’d been involved in espionage. One could say he wanted folk to know he was telling stories.”
“Overweening arrogance? Madness? A mixture of both?”
“Maybe.” Orlando sipped his coffee. “Or maybe something else entirely. Remember the little boy who cried wolf?”
“Not personally, as he predates me, but I’m aware of the tale. He kept pretending a wolf was threatening the flock, so when one of the lupine creatures did come along nobody believed him.” Jonty cradled his cup. “I don’t quite see the connection. Denison doesn’t strike me as being so stupid he’d do the same.”
“Indeed. He strikes me as being very clever.” Orlando smirked again. If he pulled that face a third time, Jonty might have to refuse any sexual favours until he was sufficiently penitent. “The boy had told so many lies that the truth appeared to be just another one. Turn that through ninety degrees and consider this. The best place to hide a flower would be in a bouquet, so the best place to hide a lie would be among many others. If you had a reputation for embroidering the truth nobody would notice a little dropped stitch in the tapestry of your life.”
“Oh, I see. I must be rising above the miasma of dullness and mental stifling this place produces.” Jonty smirked at Orlando’s disapproval of the jibes at his alma mater. The man deserved it. “Let’s imagine that someone’s whole life is based on a lie. As Somerset observed, it would be terribly exhausting to keep up such a pretence. If people knew that you were a bit of a liar then the odd discrepancy here and there would be ignored. O
h, he’s telling one of his tales again. Can’t even keep up a consistent story.”
“Exactly.” Orlando took a long draught then laid down his cup. “Very nice. Why can’t more places serve proper coffee?”
“Don’t change the subject, now that I’ve pinned you down. Carry on with the eighty per cent of the theory you’ve yet to tell me.”
“Remember that discussion with Drs. Panesar and Langer? About provenance?”
“Of course I do. The whisky bores and all that. How you couldn’t always tell the real thing from a lesser version whether it was a drink or a musical instrument. But we’ve eliminated the issue of the violin. What’s the rel—” Jonty paused, a light having dawned near the road to Woodstock. “You’re not referring to the violin at all, are you?”
“No. I’m referring to Denison himself.”
“Of course you are.” Jonty slapped the arm of his chair. “And do you know what? I think you had the key in your hands quite early in the investigation. Just after we first visited Denison’s house, in fact.”
“Now it’s my turn to plead ignorance.”
“Good.” Although Jonty wasn’t going to tease Orlando as he’d been teased. He’d a host of things that had just buzzed into his noddle on the back of this latest thought. “I bet your sub-conscious brain picked up on it. Your theory on Moriarty.”
Lessons in Playing a Murderous Tune: A Cambridge Fellows Mystery novella (Cambridge Fellows Mysteries) Page 10
