Bea went up the stairs and was passing the door to the living room, when her landline rang. She saw Magda elbow deep in salad stuffs. When she heard the phone, Magda dropped her knife and dived to wash her hands at the sink … which meant that Bea got to the landline first. She answered with her number.
‘May I ask, do you have a password for me?’ A deep voice. A man’s. Lucas?
‘Lapis lazuli,’ said Bea. ‘Are you all right?’ Silly question!
‘Perfectly. Is Miss Summerleys with you, and is she safe?’
‘Yes, to both.’ He’s going to ask about the jewellery next.
‘Good. I was concerned. May I ask who I am speaking to?’
‘Bea Abbot. The head of the agency that arranged Mrs Tarring’s and Miss Summerleys’s jobs with the Rycroft Foundation. They are both here with me, and we are trying to work out what’s been happening. Would you care to join us?’
His formality was beginning to affect her.
‘If it would not be too much trouble. I would like to assure myself that Miss Summerleys has not suffered unduly from recent events.’
If Bea had a weakness, it was a desire to laugh hysterically at inappropriate moments. Lucas was too Old School for words! How Piers would appreciate the man! She suppressed her giggles as she gave her address, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘You are welcome to join us for a light luncheon, if you wish.’
‘Thank you. That would be delightful.’
He rang off.
Magda hovered in the doorway, eyes shining with hope. ‘Was that …?’
‘It was. And he was most concerned about you. What’s more, he didn’t even ask about the jewellery.’
‘No, well; he’d know I would look after it for him.’ She ran her fingers back through her hair, coaxing it into a becoming frame for her face. ‘I must look a sight.’
‘You look great.’ And indeed, with a little colour in her cheeks and her hair loose, Magda did indeed look fine. A little hope and a little lipstick had transformed her.
Magda went into housekeeper mode. ‘He’ll be hungry. Shall I make some soup for lunch as well? Or a fresh fruit salad for afters?’
‘As you please,’ said Bea. ‘But while you’re doing that, can you go over the timings for yesterday morning with me again? Starting with the interruption at breakfast time.’
Magda threw the ingredients for a mushroom soup together while she recapped on everything she could remember. Bea made notes. When she’d finished, Bea stroked her cheek with her pen.
‘Mm. Magda, how did the twins know that Lucas was going to be at the studio?’
‘I don’t know. From the bug they’d placed under Lucas’s desk? Except that we thought it must be the man from the office – Ferdy – who did that, didn’t we? I don’t think the twins had ever been to Lucas’s place at all. I mean, he didn’t care for them.’
‘It’s clear that anyone who had access to the office could get hold of keys to all the Rycroft homes, but the twins didn’t, did they?’
‘I really don’t know. I was only there that once for my interview.’
‘Do you think the twins took the jade?’
Magda thought about it. And shook her head. ‘Now why don’t I think they did? They’ve stolen other stuff, according to Mrs Tarring.’ She paused while stirring the soup. ‘I think, maybe … the twins smash and bash everywhere they go, don’t they? But though I know someone searched Lucas’s place, they didn’t do any real damage, did they? Does that make sense?’
‘Yes, my dear; it does. So who stole the jade?’
‘I really don’t know.’
Bea could see that she really didn’t.
Mrs Tarring knew, didn’t she? Or guessed.
And didn’t want to say.
Why?
Bea went back down the stairs, to hear Piers muttering to himself, ‘There’s not enough time. Not nearly enough time.’
Bea gave them the new timings she’d got from Magda, and Piers conscientiously wrote them down. It was a case of five minutes here or there. There wasn’t much in it.
Piers’s frown was pronounced. He threw his pen down. ‘Look, I don’t care what you think. I’m convinced there’s more than one person at work here. One person can’t have been responsible for so many deaths, poisonings and assaults, all so close together. The first one – Owen’s – was on Friday. All right. But there were three more on Saturday morning; Lord Rycroft and his son Kent, plus one of the twins. You can say that Lord Rycroft’s death was an accident and perhaps it was. Let’s take that death out of the equation. That leaves two more deaths – Kent’s and one of the twins – to be explained away. Plus, Owen’s body had to be disposed of during Saturday morning. It’s just not possible that one person could have done all that. The only question is, was it two people acting together, or three?’
‘What a ridiculous idea!’ Mrs Tarring glared at Piers. Mrs Tarring sounded so sure. Mrs Tarring knew something that they didn’t.
Following that train of thought, Bea said again, ‘Who profits from these deaths?’
Mrs Tarring lifted her hands in helpless fashion. ‘No one does, really. Death duties will be paid by the trust. All the accommodation was held in the name of the Rycroft Trust and allocated to each Rycroft at a peppercorn rent. Yes, each one was given a hefty allowance for living expenses and yes, there’s more in the pot to share out now that some members have died, but … surely this is not about money!’
Bea said, ‘Is it about revenge? I can understand why Owen might have been killed. He was an obnoxious little toad, according to everything I’ve heard. And the Terrible Twins may well have made some enemies, the way they carry on, but … Kent? And Lord Rycroft? Why were they killed?’
‘I am sure that Lord Rycroft’s death was an accident,’ said Mrs Tarring, ‘and perhaps whoever hit Kent didn’t mean to kill him, but just to knock him out—’
‘With my iron cockerel doorstop?’ said Piers. ‘You don’t use a weapon if you’re accustomed to using your fists. One of the twins knocked me out with a single blow from his right fist, but the cockerel was a weapon picked up and used by a different sort of person, don’t you think?’
Bea drew a box in one corner, and entered three names in it. ‘Any advance on those three for Villain of the Week?’
Piers looked over her shoulder. ‘Shirley, Hilary and Ferdinand?’
‘Ridiculous!’ said Mrs Tarring, showing signs of temper. ‘Ferdy wouldn’t! That is just so …’
Piers put the point of his pen on Hilary’s name. ‘Who is he, then? Or is it a she?’
‘A he,’ said Bea. ‘A distant cousin who has a bad temper. And was threatened with all sorts by Owen. And yes, I think he’s been caught up in the family feud. Don’t you think so, Mrs Tarring?’
Mrs Tarring was distracted. ‘Impossible! I wish we could all go back in time and find that none of this has happened.’
Bea was gentle. ‘You don’t really wish that Owen was still alive, do you? Remember how he threatened your job?’
‘Yes, but … Lord Rycroft wouldn’t have allowed him to … it wouldn’t have come to anything.’
‘Lord Rycroft thought the sun shone out of Owen’s behind, didn’t he? Lord Rycroft didn’t lift a finger when Owen wanted the girl in the office sacked, did he? And I think Owen is the likeliest candidate to have arranged the removal of the jewellery from the bank. That way he’d be getting back at other members of the family as well, wouldn’t he? He meant to tangle Kent and Lucas in his scheme … right?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know!’
Bea sank back in her chair. ‘I agree, nothing can be proved. We can only guess about all sorts of things. We know that people have died, but we don’t know why or who killed them. We don’t even know whether one or two of the deaths were accidents. We have pieces of information here and there, but we don’t know how to join them together.’
‘A patchwork quilt,’ said Piers, looking pleased with himself. ‘It’s made of all d
ifferent shapes and sizes and pieces of material but, when stitched together, it can keep you beautifully warm at night. I had one once, years ago. I wonder what became of it.’
Bea ignored that. ‘Mrs Tarring, I know all this is very painful for you. You’ve worked for the family for so long, and you have strong feelings of loyalty to them. But I have a horrid feeling that if we don’t work together, there will be yet more deaths. What is it you know that you are not telling us?’
Mrs Tarring looked as if she were on the verge of tears. ‘Nothing!’
The doorbell sounded on the floor above.
Mrs Tarring started. ‘Who is that?’
Bea said, ‘Enter Lucas Rycroft, stage left. At least, I hope so.’
SIXTEEN
Sunday lunchtime
Bea ran up the stairs, expecting that Magda would get to the front door first, but the girl was still fussing in the kitchen by the time Bea let Lucas into the hall.
He was not what she’d expected.
For one thing, he was a big man; not fat, but big-boned, well over six foot tall and broad-shouldered. He was a striking-looking Viking type, not young but in his prime. He was not handsome, for he had an eagle’s beak of a nose. He was clean-shaven, with plentiful long fair hair going grey, well-brushed and swept back into an elastic band at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a caramel-coloured suit of some light material over a good white shirt, no tie. Pricey, and becoming, even if not entirely appropriate under present circumstances. Bea had somehow expected him to be wearing some kind of mourning, until she realized he’d probably not been able to change his clothes since he’d left home yesterday morning.
And, he had a presence.
He inclined his head to Bea. ‘Mrs Abbot, I presume?’
He extended his hand, and she shook it.
‘Oh, Lucas! Are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you!’ Magda flew into the hall from the kitchen, arms reaching up to touch him … until she remembered just in time that she was only his housekeeper. She stopped short within six feet of him. And blushed, painfully. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Rycroft, I mean.’
Startled, Lucas’s eyes widened … and then narrowed. He had heavy-lidded eyes, which were steel grey.
Oh. So Magda didn’t usually call her employer by his Christian name? And he thinks of her as ‘Miss Summerleys’.
Bea, who liked Magda, covered the girl’s confusion, saying, ‘As you can see, Magda’s been badly shaken. The bruises the Terrible Twins inflicted on her are awful. They tortured her but she didn’t tell them anything. She’s a brave girl, and hasn’t let them prevent her from preparing a nice lunch for us all.’
‘Tortured her?’ He looked from Bea to Magda. ‘They hurt you?’
Magda put her arms behind her and blushed. ‘It was nothing, Mr Rycroft. And they got nothing out of me.’
Lucas switched his eyes back to Bea. And nodded. He was a man of some intelligence, for he had received and understood Bea’s message. He said, ‘I am so sorry, Miss Summerleys. Or, under the circumstances, may I now call you “Magda”?’
Mrs Tarring appeared at the head of the stairs. ‘Not “Mr Rycroft”, Magda.’
‘Not …?’ said Bea.
Mrs Tarring’s eyes were on Lucas. ‘I am so sorry for your losses, my lord.’
Everyone switched eyes to Lucas, who inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Tarring. I fear it will take me some time to get used to my new name.’
‘What …?’ said Magda.
Piers appeared behind Mrs Tarring. Grinning. He said, ‘I’ve got it. Lucas’s elder brother was Lord Rycroft. When he died, the title would normally have passed to his sons or his grandson, but they’re dead, too. So, as Lucas is the next eldest, he becomes Lord Rycroft.’
‘Oh!’ cried Magda, and reached out for the wall to steady herself.
Lord Rycroft said, ‘Under present circumstances, I think we can dispense with formality, don’t you? “Lucas” it is. Thank you, Mrs Tarring. And,’ to Piers, ‘you are the artist I was supposed to meet yesterday? I see you’ve suffered some bruising, too. Was that also at the hands of my cousins?’
‘Yes, it was,’ said Bea. ‘This is Piers, who happens to be my ex-husband. The twins wrecked his studio so he’s had to find other accommodation. He’s been trying to help us sort out who’s behind the deaths in your family.’
Piers extended his hand to Lucas, giving him the once-over as he did so. ‘Yes, I shall enjoy painting you.’
‘When this is over.’ Lucas had his priorities right.
Mrs Tarring was on edge. ‘May I ask where you’ve been, my lord? We haven’t known what to do, or where to turn. So many deaths! So many decisions have to be made! If you’d only kept in touch …!’
‘Lunch is ready, I believe,’ said Bea. ‘Let’s eat first and catch up afterwards.’
Magda was carefully not looking at Lucas. ‘I haven’t had time to lay the table for us in the big room.’
Bea was quick to scotch the notion of such formality. ‘Let’s grab a knife and fork each, take everything into the big room, and help ourselves. I’m dying to find out what’s been going on.’
‘Splendid,’ said Lucas. ‘Show me what to do.’ He’d probably never had to set a table in his life before, but he was giving it a good try.
Bea rolled her eyes at Piers and he rolled his back. Mrs Tarring fussed about washing her hands before she ate, while Magda took her blushes to the stove to serve up bowls of her home-made soup.
Bea removed Winston the cat from the central unit, and set him down outside the back door before transferring bowls of soup to a tray. ‘Don’t let that cat fool you. He’s been well fed already today but can’t resist trying his charms on newcomers.’ She grabbed salt and pepper and a bundle of cutlery to take through to the big room.
‘I like cats,’ said Lucas, to the surprise of all concerned. He took the tray off Magda. ‘This way, is it? My brother Nicholas was allergic to cats, so we couldn’t have them at home. I’ve always thought I’d like one to sit on my lap in my old age.’
As a conversation stopper, it scored high. Mrs Tarring and Magda gaped. Piers’s eyebrows rose.
Bea threw some place mats on the table as she suppressed a giggle. She realized Lucas was trying to be sociable, and said hastily, ‘Winston adopted me, rather than the other way round. He knows a sucker when he sees one. Now, grab a chair, everyone, and let’s get down to it.’
‘Excellent,’ said Lucas, taking the carver and automatically becoming the Head of the Table. Magda hovered, holding a dish of hot rolls. Lucas pulled out a chair for her to sit at his right-hand side. Mrs Tarring inserted herself into a chair opposite Lucas. Bea thought the woman was being unusually quiet. Perhaps she was only too happy to have someone make decisions again?
Bea dispensed paper napkins, wondering where on earth her linen ones had gone. She hadn’t thought of using the good linen ones for years, not since her dear second husband had passed away. She noticed with some amusement that Piers had pushed aside his plate of soup, and was busying himself sketching Lucas in his notebook.
She reached over to Piers and lifted the pencil out of his hand. ‘Eat first. Indulge yourself afterwards.’ She checked that everyone was into their soup, which they were. ‘And now, my lord? What has been happening to you?’
‘Where do you want me to start? I suspect with Owen. In case you’ve heard that there were doubts on the matter, he was indeed my elder brother George’s son. When he first arrived in this country, he amused himself trying to set my brother George and me at odds.’
Bea prompted him. ‘And …?’
He focused on her, then looked at everyone around the table. ‘I suppose that now is as good a time as any to speak about it. There was a long gap between my elder brother George and myself. Our mother had several miscarriages before producing me and, finally, Nicholas. George fulfilled his duties to the family by marrying young and producing a son while I was still at school. I was slow-witted, a daydreamer, an int
rovert, hiding behind books while my younger brother, Nicholas, grew up like George, enjoying life; he was athletic and popular. Nicholas married a girl from a suitable family and produced twin boys by the time that George’s first marriage met a tragic end; she contracted diphtheria and died young. Eventually George met Melisande and there was a whirlwind romance. She was exquisite. Pictures of her don’t do her justice. And she seemed to find my company agreeable. I was flattered. And yes, I fell for her. I’d never met anyone like her before. Never will again.’
Magda’s head drooped.
Did he notice? Yes, perhaps he did.
He said, ‘She was ambitious. Amoral. I couldn’t see it at the time, but …’ A heavy sigh. ‘After a while she began to confide in me how unhappy she was with my brother. She said he didn’t understand her. She loved to have men competing for her attention. She used me to make George jealous. She told me, she swore to me … well, it was all lies, of course, but I believed her when she said she was going to divorce George and marry me. And so, yes, we ended up in bed for the whole of one weekend. George found us there and there was a terrible row. I was ashamed of myself, and yet I still wanted her … it was a bad situation.
‘George took her away with him. I didn’t speak to him for months afterwards, but we made up after she left George and moved in with Nicholas. She only stayed with him for a short time though, until his wife threw her out. And then, it was one humiliation after another. She went off with another man, he was found dead; there was a trial, all very messy. George paid her off in return for a divorce and she left for Australia with her baby. It was a dreadful time. Every day there was another story in the press. Mostly inaccurate, but hurtful.’
He sighed. ‘We survived, but the episode left its mark. George became paranoid about gossip, I dedicated my life to art and Nicholas went to the dogs. Quite literally. He spent all his days at one racecourse or another. Nothing much changed over the years till Owen arrived, claiming his right to a seat in the sun. Like his mother, he tried playing us all off against one another, declaring one week that George was his father, and the next that I or Nicholas had sired him. I refused to play his little game so he turned on me, vowing all sorts of nonsense to which I paid no attention at the time. Afterwards, I thought over what he’d said and began to think he was right, and that I had turned into a human fossil. He did me a favour because he jolted me out of the rut I’d been in.’
False Pride Page 20
