False Pride

by Veronica Heley

  Bea took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Tarring, why did you come here this morning?’

  Her two guests looked at her in astonishment. ‘Why …?’ said Mrs Tarring. ‘Well … I thought you might have some idea about … and I thought Magda ought to know that …’

  Bea said, ‘The two of you could solve this matter quite easily if you were only honest about what you know. Mrs Tarring, you came because you really know what this is all about but are afraid to admit it.’

  ‘What! No, I don’t! How could I?’

  ‘And you, Magda,’ said Bea, ‘may not have been privy to what Lucas has been up to, but you know him well enough to say what he would or would not have done in different circumstances. Together you two could sort this. Alone, you are wasting time weeping and wailing. I could bash your heads together, I really could.’

  The two women gaped. Bea told herself that she must not take out her problems on others. She wasn’t angry with them, but with her wretched ward, Bernice. Letting loose her anger on these two helpless women would do no good. She said, ‘Sorry. Got out of bed the wrong way this morning.’

  Two pairs of eyes rounded. They’d thought of Bea as being Mother Hen, and Mother Hen had turned into a bad-tempered Eagle and snapped at them.

  Bea took a deep breath. A very deep breath. Forget Bernice for the moment. Deal with the Rycrofts and their stupid, stupid play-acting. ‘Mrs Tarring, you know perfectly well what all this is about.’

  Mrs Tarring shook her head over and over. ‘No, I don’t. I swear I don’t.’

  Bea counted on her fingers. ‘Lord Rycroft: a car accident. His son Kent: bashed over the head. His second son, Owen: killed and left in Magda’s bed; his grandson Ellis: killed in a hit and run; his brother Lucas: disappeared. The twins: doped with a bottle of some drink left in their car. Six or seven mysteries over a weekend. What are the odds of that happening?’

  ‘I don’t know! Do you think I haven’t thought and thought …?’

  Bea said, ‘It’s quite simple. Who benefits?’

  Mrs Tarring licked her lips. ‘What? But … no one! The death duties are going to be … whoever died first: Owen, I suppose?’

  ‘No,’ said Magda, frowning. ‘If Mrs Abbot is right, then it was Kent’s son, Ellis, who died first. But that was a traffic accident, wasn’t it? The same with Lord Rycroft’s death. That witness must be wrong, saying that the car’s brakes failed, and even if they did …’ She thought about it. ‘It’s just an accident, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Mrs Tarring. ‘And, in any case, nobody benefits from their deaths. Not really. Because none of them owned anything. Their accommodation and living expenses are paid by the trust fund. That was done to reduce death duties.’

  Bea reflected that however clever the trust’s solicitors might have been, there would be some way that death duties would be demanded. First Ellis, next Owen, then Lord Rycroft. Oh yes, there’d be death duties all right. And what about the rest of them – the twins, and Kent? And Lucas? Sorting this lot out was going to keep the accountants happy for years.

  Mrs Tarring sniffed. ‘No individual benefits from what’s happened. I can’t believe what you’re saying, Mrs Abbot. It’s not true.’

  Magda said, ‘Surely, it’s just a series of tragedies? I can quite see why Lord Rycroft’s housekeeper thinks the Rycrofts are jinxed. Not that I believe it, of course.’

  But she’s not ruled it out, has she?

  ‘Mrs Tarring knows what’s behind all this,’ said Bea, ‘but she doesn’t want to admit it. Follow the money trail. Who benefits if six members of the family are knocked out of the running? Magda, if Mrs Tarring won’t tell me, you can, right?’

  Magda frowned. ‘Well, I suppose each of the remaining members of the family would be better off because there’ll be a smaller number of people sharing the same pot of money. But Lucas isn’t bothered by money. He really isn’t.’

  Bea said, ‘I wasn’t thinking of Lucas. Who else is left? Mrs Tarring, you made a reference to the Rycrofts having an extended family. Is Shirley one of them?’

  ‘Well, yes. But her brother Hilary … I mean, he’s not exactly … and they’re from a junior branch of the family. Lord Rycroft’s uncle had a son who produced three children. All three of them work for the firm in one capacity or another, but they’re not important.’

  ‘Three of them? Their names?’

  ‘Shirley, whom you met yesterday, and Hilary. But you can count Hilary out.’

  ‘That’s two. Who’s the third?’

  ‘Ferdy. Short for Ferdinand.’

  ‘So Shirley, Hilary and Ferdy are all minor members of the family, who have become major players with the deaths of senior members, right?’

  ‘Well, yes. I suppose you could put it that way.’

  Bea turned to Magda. ‘What do you know about them?’

  ‘It’s true that someone called Shirley rang Lucas a couple of times, wanting him to do something about the family’s problems, but I never met her before yesterday. Hilary? Is it a man or a woman? I’ve heard it can be either, but … Did I ever take a call from someone of that name? I don’t think so. Ferdy?’ She tested the name out, and shook her head. ‘No.’ Yet a slight frown remained on her forehead.

  ‘What did Lucas say about them?’

  A shrug. ‘Why, nothing much. He read the messages, screwed them up and threw them in the waste-paper basket.’

  Bea said, ‘Mrs Tarring, what’s wrong with Hilary?’

  ‘He’s, I don’t know, but if I say he’s retarded, then the thought police will come down on me, won’t they? But that’s what he is. He’s got some kind of personality problem. I don’t know that they’ve ever worked out exactly what it is. Down’s syndrome, perhaps? He’s a big lad, well grown, but he’s not up to taking any kind of job. He gets into terrible rages sometimes. It’s the frustration, I suppose. He knows he’s different from everyone else, but he’s stuck where he is. His sister – that’s Shirley – looks after him at home. Poor girl, she hasn’t had much of a life, has she? That’s why she’s only part-time in the office. He used to come into the office with her. We kept some boxes of games for him to play with while she attended to this and that, but nowadays he refuses to come. Kent was talking of some residential accommodation for him but Shirley didn’t like the idea and it came to nothing. The trust pays all expenses, of course.’

  ‘What about Shirley? Is she on the payroll, too?’

  ‘Well, yes. She helps manage some of the rented accommodation for us, arranging and checking on maintenance jobs.’

  ‘She has access to the keys and any paperwork that passes through the office?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. But it’s ridiculous to suggest that she could be involved in anything untoward.’

  ‘How did Owen get on with Hilary?’

  ‘All right, I suppose.’

  ‘I very much doubt it. Mrs Tarring, you really have to tell us what you know, or the killings will continue. You tell me Owen was not a nice man. How did he behave to a relative who had Down’s syndrome?’

  Mrs Tarring threw up her hands. ‘You’re right, of course. Owen wasn’t kind to Hilary. Perhaps because he hadn’t been brought up in this country and taught how to behave to people less able than himself, he objected to Hilary’s occasional presence in the office. Owen made fun of him. Shirley tried to talk to him about it, but that was like a red rag to a bull. Owen couldn’t bear criticism. He blew up and shouted, raved … said some horrid things. And because she’d defended her brother, he also threatened her with the sack. But of course Kent wouldn’t have let her go, or cut off her allowance. I mean, no way! Owen was out of order there.’

  ‘No love lost?’

  Mrs Tarring fidgeted. ‘You’re trying to make out that Shirley could have been trying to get rid of all the other Rycrofts? That’s ridiculous. It’s far more likely that Lucas might have wanted the title, but that’s ridiculous, too. He wouldn’t.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’
Magda puffed herself up. ‘How dare you! Lucas wouldn’t!’

  ‘No, I don’t think he would. Not really.’ Mrs Tarring was conciliatory.

  Bea thought about it. ‘Mrs Tarring, you mentioned another brother. Ferdinand. Called Ferdy. What’s he like?’

  Mrs Tarring shrugged. ‘Ferdy’s all right. It’s ridiculous to think that he could have had a hand in what’s been going on. There are more Rycrofts in the background. I’ve been told it’s quite a big family. In Victorian times they thought nothing of having ten or twelve children, you know.’

  ‘How many more Rycrofts are being supported by the trust fund?’

  Mrs Tarring reddened. ‘How should I know? Several, I suppose.’

  ‘You of all people should know.’

  Mrs Tarring shook her head. She was not going to play Bea’s game.

  Bea thought there were more ways than one of skinning a cat. She turned to Magda. ‘You remember telling me about a man who came to your place one day when Lucas was out. He had some papers for Lucas to sign. You took him into Lucas’s study, and he caused a diversion by dropping his papers, which is probably when he planted a bug under Lucas’s desk. He made a phone call, told you he’d mistaken the date or the day or the address or something, and left. Can you describe him?’

  Magda said, ‘But why …? Oh, if you think it’s important.’ She closed her eyes, an upright line forming between her eyebrows. ‘He was in his early or mid-forties, perhaps? He wasn’t fair-haired, like the other Rycrofts I’ve seen. He didn’t look like Kent, or Tweedledum and Tweedledee, or Shirley. He’d not be any taller than me, and he wasn’t very big.’

  ‘Were his manners good?’

  ‘Oh yes. He was courteous, perhaps a bit old-fashioned.’

  ‘A leader or a foot soldier?’

  A tiny smile. ‘Well, not a captain of industry. That air of success is unmistakable. The man I saw was not accustomed to giving orders, but competent in what he did.’

  Mrs Tarring looked down at her hands. Did this description mean something to her?

  Magda concentrated. ‘He gave an overall impression of being brown. I don’t mean that he had a tan.’ She gestured helplessly. ‘What I mean is that his hair was brown and smooth, and brushed straight back. His suit was brown and his shoes were brown. He had a red waistcoat, though. A very dark red; perhaps you’d call it maroon?’

  Bea was watching Mrs Tarring and saw her eyes stretch wide. Yes! She knew him.

  Magda screwed up her face in an effort to remember. ‘I suppose he gave me his name, but if he did, I didn’t take it in. He said he’d come from the Rycroft office with some papers for Lucas to sign. I saw the Rycroft crest and name on the folder he was holding, so I assumed he was who he said he was. No, I’m sure he didn’t give me his name. I’m so stupid! I ought to have asked, but I was in the middle of cooking something and it didn’t seem to matter because he said it was a mistake and left straight away.’

  Bea said, ‘Mrs Tarring, you know him.’ She didn’t make it a question.

  Lips thinned. ‘No. How could I?’

  Bea said, ‘Mrs Tarring, was that your “Ferdy”?’

  A shrug. ‘I don’t know. It could be anyone.’ A lie.

  ‘Why are you protecting him?’

  ‘Because … because he’s a decent man, and if Owen hears that he made a silly mistake and went to the wrong place …’ She caught herself up. ‘But Owen’s dead and can’t do any more harm, can he? Well, yes. I suppose the man that Magda is describing might be Ferdinand Rycroft. He’s been in the office for years, keeps everything going. Never minds staying late, or dealing with the most tiresome jobs. I’m really surprised that he made a mistake by going to Lucas’s place instead of … wherever it was he was supposed to be. But I’m absolutely convinced he didn’t do anything wrong.’

  Magda gave Mrs Tarring an old-fashioned look. Had the almost-perfect Mrs Tarring a tender spot for Ferdy? It rather sounded like it.

  Bea, however, tried to be reassuring. ‘Of course. So what relation is Ferdy to the rest of the family?’

  Mrs Tarring relaxed now her favourite was not under attack. ‘He’s Shirley and Hilary’s much older brother. It’s a junior branch of the family, descended from the old lord’s uncle. Ferdy has his own little house out in the suburbs, out Ealing way, to the west. He’s a widower. His wife died a couple of years ago, and there were no children, all very sad. But he’s the one we can always rely on to turn up on time, and he’s usually the last to leave the office in the evenings.’

  Bea asked, ‘How did he get on with Owen?’

  Mrs Tarring raised both hands. ‘Owen really was very naughty. He called poor Ferdy “Robin Redbreast” because he likes red waistcoats. Owen used to tweak Ferdy’s red hankie out of his breast pocket and wave it around. Poor Ferdy didn’t know what to do. I thought one day he was going to cry, but he didn’t, of course. I told Owen how good Ferdy was, and that he ought not to tease him, but …’ A shrug. ‘That was Owen, and no one dared stand up to him because the old lord made such a pet of him.’

  Bea said, ‘Can we take it that the Rycrofts were one big, happy family until Owen arrived and started to upset everyone?’

  ‘Well, yes … and no. I mean, the twins – the ones you call Tweedledum and Tweedledee – they were always getting into debt and there was talk about them having beaten someone up, and Lord Rycroft kept saying that this was the very last time he’d help them out. No one thought he meant it, though, because he always gave in, in the end.’

  ‘How did Owen react to that?’

  ‘He said there was no point throwing good money after bad. He was trying to stiffen the old lord’s resolve to stop supporting the twins. He said the money could have been better spent, by which I suppose he meant that he could do with it himself.’

  ‘Owen didn’t make himself popular, did he?’

  Mrs Tarring compressed her lips, and shook her head. ‘Well, he’s gone now. Don’t let’s speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘No, let’s talk about the living. If I’m right, the Rycroft family has been decimated over the last few days. Who’s still on the active list?’

  ‘Lucas,’ sighed Magda. ‘Wherever he may be.’

  ‘Kent, if he survives,’ said Bea. ‘Also Tweedledum and Tweedledee – ditto. If they survive. Also Shirley, Hilary and Ferdy. Anyone else lurking in the shadows?’

  Mrs Tarring shook her head. ‘There are some distant cousins somewhere, but you’re right, there’s no one else that the trust is supporting.’

  Bea’s phone rang. She excused herself and shot out to the kitchen to take the call. Would this be Bernice? Hopefully …

  FOURTEEN

  Sunday morning

  Bea snatched up the phone.

  ‘Is that you?’ A small voice, restrained in tone. Angry?

  It was Bernice! At last! ‘Bernice? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right.’ Definitely cross. ‘There’s absolutely no need to go ballistic just because I didn’t want to go sailing again. It made me sick to my stomach.’

  Bea held onto her temper. ‘But you mustn’t just rush off like that. Anything could happen to you.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right. I’m on the ferry and I’m sitting with some new friends and then I’ll take the train to—’

  ‘What new friends? Bernice, where did you meet—’

  ‘I’ll pass you over to them.’

  Noises off. Then an older woman spoke into Bernice’s phone. ‘Mrs Abbot? Is that right? My name is Tinker. My daughter and I are returning home after a few days away on the Isle of Wight, and Bernice has attached herself to us. I asked her why she’s travelling alone and she said there was some emergency and the people she was staying with couldn’t spare the time to see her safely home. I said I didn’t understand why not, and she said I’d better speak to you about it.’

  The woman sounded sensible. Good. Bea told herself not to explode with rage. She modified her voice accordingly. ‘Mrs Tinker, I
don’t understand why she’s been left to travel alone, either. The people she was staying with rang me to say she was starting back by herself. As you can imagine, I’ve been worried sick about her. I’m so grateful that you can keep an eye on her on the ferry.’

  ‘She says she’s getting the train back into London and will take a taxi from the station to you. Is that right? I’ve checked, and she has enough money for the journey. We could see her onto the train if you like, but after that we’re going east.’

  Bernice was supposed to be going back to school that evening. Well, Bea would have to ring the school and explain. ‘You are an answer to a prayer. If you could see her onto the train, that would be wonderful. I’ll be waiting in for her this evening.’

  ‘We’ll do that then.’ A pause. ‘I’m not sure what exactly went wrong for the child this weekend. It’s not always easy to tell, is it?’

  ‘No, Mrs Tinker. It isn’t. I shall have to find out. Would you let me have your phone number and address? I would like to write and thank you for looking after her. I am very grateful that Bernice found you.’

  Numbers were exchanged, and then Bernice came back on the line.

  ‘It’s quite all right, you know. I chose Mrs Tinker because she looks like you.’

  Bea stifled a scream. How dare Bernice! Before Bea could say anything else, the girl ended the call.

  Bea controlled her fury and frustration. She must let William know the child was safe. She pressed buttons for William’s phone. It went to voicemail. She left a message, ‘Bernice has been in touch. She’s on her way back to London. I’ll let you know when she arrives.’