by James R Benn
“Thank you for coming in this way,” Williams said as he slowly rose to his feet. “Less noise to disturb the family.”
“Please sit,” Kaz said. “We do not wish to disturb you. It has been a difficult night.”
“Indeed,” Williams said, twirling his wineglass.
“A sad thing,” Mrs. Dudley said. “Sir Rupert was such a kind man.”
“We talked with Michael Withers tonight,” I said. “I’d like to thank Alice for suggesting we meet. Is she still up?”
“No, she went to bed a while ago,” Mrs. Dudley said. “Is there anything I can get for you gentlemen?”
“No, thank you,” Kaz said. “Are any of the family about?”
“I heard footsteps a few minutes ago, but no one has rung for assistance,” Williams said. “I assume someone wished for a nightcap in solitude.”
“Enjoy yours,” I said, and we wished them goodnight.
“Did you find that odd?” Kaz asked in a whisper after we left the room.
“The two of them having a drink? No, why should I?”
“Because it was a 1934 Chateau Mouton Rothschild,” Kaz said. “Not a vintage for the downstairs staff, even in a house such as Ashcroft. And certainly not a bottle to be shared with a young kitchen maid.”
“Maybe they were taking advantage of the situation,” I said. “Who’s to know?”
“As you have observed, the staff are loyal to the Pemberton family, who may now have come back into possession of Ashcroft. Whatever their married name, Helen and Meredith are Pembertons to the bone. I doubt Williams would pilfer a fine wine from the Pemberton cellars.”
“Then it would be interesting to know who the third drinker was,” I said, only out of a mild curiosity. If it didn’t help me figure out whether Peter Wiley was Sir Rupert’s son, I couldn’t get too excited about the help tippling a pricey wine. It may well have been their salute to Sir Rupert, after all.
We entered the main foyer, and as we headed to the staircase I noticed a faint glow coming from the library. It looked like candlelight, and I would have bet on Edgar raiding the brandy. But the low voices were women’s, hushed and insistent.
“What did you do?” That sounded like Helen. Worried, anxious.
“Nothing at all. How could you ever think such a thing?” Meredith. Appalled. Horrified.
“I know you, Meredith. And I know what I heard.”
“Helen, darling, you have suffered a great shock today. Grief is playing tricks on your mind.”
“What about you, for God’s sake?” Helen’s voice rose, then fell to a whisper. “You found him. Didn’t that shock you? Or did you hate him so much you felt nothing?”
“My shock came a long time ago, dear sister. But I did feel something when I found him. Relief. For both of us.”
“You’re horrible!” Helen said. From the silence, it was obvious that Meredith wasn’t horrible enough for Helen to leave.
“No, I’m honest, Helen. At least now I won’t have to be dependent upon Edgar to provide for me and the children. And David won’t have to worry about facing the world with half a face.”
“Meredith! What a terrible thing to say.”
“But it’s true, you idiot!” I could tell Meredith was working hard to keep her voice low. “You can’t bear to look at him, you, his own wife! How much confidence do you think that inspires?”
The next sound was sobbing. Kaz nudged me, and we walked up the carpeted staircase as quietly as we could.
“What do you think they were talking about?” Kaz asked me as we stopped at his door.
“Meredith was holding a letter when she came out of Sir Rupert’s study,” I said.
“But she said Helen must have been mistaken,” Kaz said. “That implies something other than Sir Rupert’s death, don’t you think?”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Maybe we should tell the doctor to check for poison.”
“Because of two distraught sisters having a private late-night talk?” Kaz said. “Helen could have been referring to a number of things. Perhaps Meredith stole something of Sir Rupert’s. It seems likely she has before.”
“Yeah, could be,” I said. “Plus, everything Meredith said is true. David stated much the same to me earlier.”
“The truth hurts. Especially when it has been twisted and hidden for so long. And what of your promise to Sir Rupert?” Kaz asked, his voice hushed. “It was obviously important to him. A son, even an illegitimate one, might have some right to a share of the inheritance.”
“I’ll poke around some more,” I said. “But there’s little chance of finding proof after all this time, and I have no idea what the English laws are about a bastard son inheriting, especially if he was never acknowledged.”
“Surely Sir Rupert would have acknowledged him if he had turned out to be his son. Why else would he have wanted to know?”
“There’s no proof of that, logical as it sounds,” I whispered. “I wish he’d never asked me about it, to tell you the truth. I almost wish we’d never come here, but the food and the accommodations are well worth it.” I smiled to show Kaz that I was joking. Half joking.
We heard footsteps and hushed ourselves, looking a bit foolish standing in the hallway saying nothing. It was Peter. He said he was wide-awake and going for a drink to bring to his room. He seemed jumpy, or excited, I couldn’t tell which. In truth, I didn’t care. We said goodnight.
In my room, I searched for something to read. The library downstairs was full of volumes on history, science, and all sorts of great literature. But the bedrooms each had a small bookshelf of the stuff regular people actually read all the way through. Mysteries and other popular novels. I grabbed an Agatha Christie. Lord Edgware Dies. What’s that they say about life imitating art?
I took off my shirt, noticing that one of the cuts on my arm had bled through the bandage. I’d have to see Alice in the morning about that. I changed the dressing and eased myself into bed, but I didn’t get far with Lord Edgware before I nodded off. During the night I thought I heard hushed voices and rushed footsteps in the hallway, or maybe it was part of my dream. Lord Edgware and Sir Rupert were being buried, but no one seemed sad at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“THANK YOU, ALICE,” I said, finding her in the kitchen. She’d done another spit and washsoap job on my shirt and gotten the recent bloodstains out. My arm had stopped bleeding too, so it was good news all around. “I met your father last night at the pub. Did he tell you?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him, what with everything going on here. Was he a help?”
“Yes, he was. I’m sure Peter will enjoy speaking to him, even though he didn’t seem to stay close with Ted Wiley after the war,” I said.
“What, those two?” Alice said. “From the stories Dad told me, they were thick as thieves.”
“I must have misunderstood what he meant. Something about how they had different interests when they came home from the trenches.”
“Oh, I really wouldn’t know. I never met him,” Alice said, turning to the dishes piled in the sink. “But you tell Peter the next time you see him I’d be glad to take him around to meet Dad.”
“He’s not here?” I asked.
“No, he left early this morning, is what I heard,” she said as she began scrubbing away. I wondered why Peter had gone, what with one more day of leave, and a gorgeous day for painting at that. Maybe we’d get some answers when we took David to Greenway House today.
“I trust you are well, Captain Boyle,” Great Aunt Sylvia said as I walked gingerly into the library, where the family was gathering for breakfast. “Have your injuries fully healed? I meant to ask yesterday.”
“I’m fine, Lady Pemberton. Thank you.”
“Did you enjoy the pub?” Edgar asked as he piled bacon on his plate. “They have a fine local ale.”
“So says the expert,” Meredith said as she entered the room. “Good morning, Captain Boyle. Edgar, some coffee please.”
She used the tone you might with a long-time family retainer. Edgar, perhaps sensing how the roles had changed during the last twenty-four hours, complied, delivering her china coffee cup and saucer as she lounged on the couch, lighting a cigarette.
“I heard Peter left?” I asked into the chilled atmosphere.
“Yes, and without a word to anyone,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “Most impolite, unless we receive a note with the afternoon post.”
“He might have been called away suddenly,” I offered.
“There have been no telephone calls,” Meredith said. “He simply vanished this morning. All he left behind was an unfinished painting.”
I downed some coffee and excused myself, feeling an interloper, especially without Kaz to smooth things over. I found him, along with David, already making their way to the jeep.
“Ah, there you are Billy,” David said. “I couldn’t face them this morning, sorry to have almost left you behind.”
“I understand,” I said, feeling more sorry for David Martindale than ever before. Not the burns, but the loneliness amidst a house full of people.
AT GREENWAY HOUSE, we delivered David to Colonel Harding’s office. He was nervous but eager, and we wished him luck. “Let’s find Peter,” I said.
No luck. Not in his office, according to the guard at the door. Same for his room. The officer of the day said he hadn’t signed in from his leave and still had a day left, so why should he be here?
Sensible guy.
We checked the mess hall and walked the corridors until we saw a name we recognized. Lieutenant James Siebert had his own office with a nameplate on the door. I knocked and entered, only to find it was a nice-sized broom closet. Kaz could barely follow me in.
“What can I do for you, Captain?” Siebert glanced at my rank, deciding on the level of politeness necessary for one rank above him. He got it about right.
“Have you seen Peter Wiley today?”
“Keep that kid away from me,” Siebert said. “He’s got a one-track mind, and I’ve got a mind to take another crack at him.” Siebert’s khakis were rumpled, and he looked like he might have shaved in the dark. Papers and binders were strewn across his desk and stacked up in the tiny room. He made me think of a monk in his cell.
“One-track in terms of getting on a ship?” I asked.
“Captain, it’s probably none of your business,” Siebert said. “So let’s not get into details. But if he says he needs perspective one more time, I’ll deck him again.”
“We all could use some perspective, Lieutenant,” I said.
“What I could use is another pair of hands and ten extra hours in the day,” Siebert said. “Will that be all, sir?”
It was. It was clear he didn’t like Peter, and that he hadn’t seen him. Neither meant much. We went to the mess and had coffee, then walked out to the jeep, where we found David.
“How did it go?” Kaz asked. Given the dark look on David’s face, the question wasn’t even necessary.
DAVID SAID HARDING had been gracious, but it had become obvious he was not up to the task. His eyesight was worse than he’d thought, and he couldn’t make out many of the photographs even with a magnifying glass. After that he sat in silence for the ride back, and we let him be.
“Best to get it over with,” he said as we approached the front door of Ashcroft House. “They’re probably in the morning room.” We dutifully followed.
“David, is it really too much to ask that you let someone know where you go off to?” Helen said as soon as he entered the room. She blushed, as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud and had been thinking far worse. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the rest of us. “I was worried, that’s all.”
“My fault, really,” David said, taking Helen by the hand and leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. She leaned away and sat next to her sister. “I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise, but it turned out not to be.”
“We could have used a pleasant surprise around here, David,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “Please do entertain us with what might have been.”
“You know I held little hope for any assignment with the RAF,” David said. “But Billy convinced his colonel to let me have a go at a photographic interpretation job. Would have been perfect, too, at a place called Greenway House, right across the river, where Peter is stationed.”
“Did you see him?” Meredith asked.
“No. I didn’t. Too busy with Colonel Harding,” David said. “Well, no matter. I washed out. Seems my one good eye is not as good as I thought. Couldn’t make out fine details. It’s very precise work, and I simply missed too much.”
“Tough luck,” Edgar said. “You’re sure about the RAF?”
“Fairly certain, yes,” David said, his eyes on Helen, who remained silent, her ankles crossed demurely, lips compressed as if she was working at keeping in another unseemly outburst.
“Perhaps another opportunity will come along,” Kaz said as he sat down. “It’s a matter of finding the right one.”
“Oh, come on, Piotr,” David said, loudly, his self-control at the breaking point. “It’s not like looking for the right flat. No one needs a one-eyed ex-pilot, certainly not one as grotesque as I am.”
“Self-pity does not become you, David,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “It is not how this family behaves.”
“Quite right. My apologies to you all,” David said, taking a deep breath. “I must admit, I was taken aback by this business about my vision. I can read a newspaper as well as I used to, or at least I thought I could. But to find out that in fact I see more poorly now is a bit of a shock.”
“Quite understandable,” Meredith said. “Don’t you agree, Helen?”
“Of course,” Helen said. “And we shall have plenty to keep ourselves busy here, no matter what the RAF decides.”
“Here?” David said.
“Of course,” Meredith said. “Who else would Father have left Ashcroft to? There are so many things he left untended during his years in India. There will be much work to do, and Edgar will be busy writing his book, won’t you, dear?”
“Indeed I will,” Edgar piped up. “A monograph on life and death in the last moments of Hamlet. I have been researching it for years. I plan to begin as soon as the funeral is over. Baron, perhaps we could discuss the play later. I’d be interested in hearing your perspective.”
“Kaz,” I said, recalling that the old king’s wife had at least waited a couple of months before moving on to other endeavors, “what was that quote you wanted to ask Edgar about?”
“Oh yes, I had forgotten,” Kaz said. “ ‘He that dies pays all debts.’ Which play is it from?”
“The Tempest,” Edgar said instantly. “Act three, scene two. How did that one come up? Not a well-known line.”
Great Aunt Sylvia turned to look at Meredith. Was she thinking of Rupert Sutcliffe, and the debts his death had paid?
“Oh, it popped into my mind yesterday and I meant to ask you about it. I’d be quite interested in hearing about your work, Edgar,” Kaz said, wisely not mentioning the fact that we’d been discussing Tom Quick and his lust for revenge.
“My thesis is a bit esoteric,” Edgar began. “It’s about the last lines of Hamlet, when he says with his dying voice, ‘the rest is silence.’ Quite final on the subject of heaven and life after death. But in the 1623 Folio, there is a different final line. ‘The rest is silence. O, o, o, o.’ As if the poor lad had caught a glimpse of something grand, a thing beyond silence.”
“You plan to write an entire book about four os?” I asked.
“It may not mean much to the average person, especially in the midst of war, I admit,” Edgar said. “But to an Elizabethan scholar, it is very important. I believe this was Shakespeare’s own revision, his last statement on the emptiness that lies beyond the grave. Hamlet is suffused with guilt and death, perhaps reflecting the Bard’s own view of the world. But later in life, I think he saw a greater possibility—the potential for resurrection—a
nd added those exclamations as an antidote to the finality of the preceding line.”
“Fascinating,” Kaz said. “I had not known of that revision.”
“It also appears in a 1603 Folio, so we know it predates Shakespeare’s death. I’ll show you a copy later,” Edgar said, retreating to his chair, looking mildly embarrassed about his brief speech.
David pulled a chair closer to Helen. “What do you think of a future here at Ashcroft House?”
“I’m glad Edgar will finally have a chance to write his book,” Helen said with indifference, staring straight ahead.
“You know I mean about staying on here,” David said in a low voice, his eyes zeroing in on Helen as if she were a Me-109 in his sights. I could almost feel his teeth clench.
“Where else would we go, dear?” Helen said, turning to face him. “What else can we do?” She said it calmly. Perhaps it was her idea. Or Meredith’s. Either way, it had a ring of certainty to it. There was meaning in how she looked at David, without flinching or averting of her eyes. The signaling of a truce? A partnership? I hoped for David’s sake it was sincere. But she’d been upset about something a minute ago. What had that been all about? Maybe it wasn’t a truce. Resignation, perhaps. To her new life and David’s ruined face.
Williams entered to announce a call on the telephone for Lady Pemberton from Doctor Phillips.
“He knows I do not speak through that machine,” Great Aunt Sylvia said emphatically. “Meredith, would you?”
Meredith nodded somberly and went to do her duty.
“Doctor Phillips has released the body,” she said a few minutes later, standing in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her, as if giving a lecture. “The cause of death was definitely a heart attack. We are apparently free to proceed with the funeral.” It was interesting that she used the word “definitely.” Had anyone else but me suspected foul play? Not that I’d taken the idea seriously, but perhaps someone else had. The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm, the disdain of the upper class for the procedures of mere officialdom. Meredith had tried on the role of lady of the manor and found it fit her well.
