The Archdeacon emptied his glass and put it on the table.
‘Do I take it, Myra, that this fascination and good looks you’re speaking of has somehow got Joss Varran in trouble with your own family?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘This tête-à-tête which you’ve engineered with me instead of with the police, Myra, must concern some confidential information and, as you seem to be excusing your own sex by enumerating Joss’s powers over them, it might be that you were leading to a confession of importance in this murder business. I’ve always known you as a steady woman and unlikely to go off the rails yourself. Can it be that Beulah is involved?’
Without any warning Myra Candell burst into tears.
‘I’m at my wits’ end. I must tell somebody and you were the only one I could confide in. When I saw you arrive, I knew what I must do. I hope it isn’t so, but I’m afraid that one of my family might be concerned with this crime.’
‘Take another glass of your own ginger wine, Myra, and then calm down and tell me all about it. My friend Chief Superintendent Littlejohn, from London, is staying with me. He will surely be of help if you need him.’
She forgot her tears in her indignation.
‘If you’re going to go to the police with what I tell you, I might as well go to them myself and save you the trouble. What I had to say was for your ears alone and I wanted your advice, not for you to go to the police.’
‘Tell me what’s troubling you and I will advise you what to do. It shall all be in confidence unless you tell me I may pass it on to the proper quarter.’
‘You are a good man and I trust you. I’ve been worried out of my wits since the murder of Joss Varran and I must trust somebody to help me. It’s this. Our Baz . . . his name’s Basil, but we call him that for short . . . our Baz hated Joss Varran. Baz is usually a quiet, good-natured, inoffensive lad and I’ve never known him hate anybody in his life before.’
The parson could believe it. He had known Baz from childhood. A good-tempered giant, always smiling, always ready to do anybody a good turn. Perhaps not very well endowed with brains and general intelligence, but a well-mannered, gentle type and a steady worker.
‘How old is Baz? In his middle thirties?’
‘Thirty-two. He’s the eldest. He had a quarrel with Joss and they had a fight. It was Baz who started it. He admitted that, and knowing him and his strength, you’d have thought he’d have killed Joss Varran. Instead, Joss half-killed our Baz. Joss had been in the commandos in the war and it seems he’d learned that sort of fighting you see on the television. He gave Baz an awful beating; he even kicked him in the face. Baz was in a terrible mess . . .’
She wrung her hands at the thought of it.
‘Our Joe wanted to go with Baz and the two of them thrash Varran together, but Baz wouldn’t. He said he’d deal with Joss in his own good time. None of us would have known what it was all about. Baz said he’d been kicked by one of the cows. We knew it wasn’t true. It would have taken a mad horse to make him like he was; all bruised and bleeding and knocked about. I don’t know how he managed to crawl home in the condition he was in. No; it was Joss Varran who told everybody what happened. He got drunk and started boasting in a public house.’
‘And Baz has nursed his grievance ever since. When did this happen?’
‘Not long before Joss left on the trip when he got arrested. Don’t you see? It might look as though Baz was waiting and took the first opportunity.’
‘Did he ever mention Varran again?’
‘Not a word. He’s not been the same man since that night. And now that Varran has been killed, suspicion is sure to fall on our Baz, because everybody in the neighbourhood knows about the bad blood between them. The police are certain to hear of it and question him, or even arrest him if he doesn’t answer properly the questions they ask him.’
‘Why shouldn’t he answer questions properly?’
She hesitated.
‘To tell you the truth, he never was very clever with his brains. He’s a good worker with his hands. None better. But he’s not a good talker. Gets his ideas mixed up if there’s any complications being discussed. The police could easily trap him if they talked a lot to him . . .’
‘No, Myra. They won’t do that. If they ask him any questions at all, they’ll give him a fair chance to answer them. They’ll even help him with them, knowing him to be a decent, well-meaning man.’
‘I hope so. I can say this, too. Baz was nowhere near Close Dhoo when all that was going on. He was here with us, looking in at the telly till about ten and then he went to bed. Joe and Baz sleep in the same room. Baz has only the family to support him. What do you call it . . .?’
‘Give him an alibi.’
‘That’s it. And I’m frightened the police will think we’ve all arranged together to shield him. But I swear . . . He’s a truthful man is our Baz.’
‘Don’t worry, Myra. If Baz tells the truth, they’ll believe him. What was the quarrel about?’
Her mouth tightened.
‘I don’t want that bringing in the matter. It doesn’t concern the police.’
‘But it does . . .’
And the Archdeacon recollected Myra Candell’s bitter words about Joss Varran as a woman chaser, a sort of country Don Juan, and he remembered, too, the daughter of the Candell house, the girl whose breathtaking beauty was the talk of the locality and made men want to fight for her. She always dressed in her finery as though she was going to a garden-party or a hunt ball, but she possessed a lot less in the way of good sense and wits than her elder brother, Baz, whose defects were tempered by his innocence.
‘But it does. Was it something concerning Beulah?’
Mrs. Candell was undecided whether or not to end the conversation or continue it and disclose the truth.
‘I wouldn’t have told anybody else this, because, although I’m sure there’s been gossip about it, nobody but the family knew what really happened. I told you Joss Varran had a bad reputation where women were concerned. Well, it seems he took a fancy to our Beulah. They met at the Ramsey Show and after that he was seen hanging about here and wherever she went. As I said, when he was dressed up to please, Joss Varran was a good-looking man and Beulah seems to have found him so. They got to meeting secretly. Beulah used to go visiting friends in the vicinity and I found out that often when she said she was going to a certain one of them, she never went there at all.’
‘She was meeting Varran?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t find it out myself. They kept it very dark. She told me after he’d jilted her. I was terribly upset. You see, she’s not a woman of the world and wouldn’t be up to the tricks of a man like Joss Varran, who had no principles at all. She’s developed into a good-looking girl, although I say it myself, but she was weakly as a child and spent a lot of time at home and her schooling was neglected. Also, with her being the only girl in the family of her generation, her grandfather has spoiled her. Nothing is too much for her where he’s concerned. You understand?’
The Archdeacon understood perfectly what her mother was trying to express in a roundabout way. Beulah Candell was locally known as somewhat of a simpleton in spite of her looks.
‘How old is Beulah?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘And, just when did this affair with Joss Varran occur?’
‘The year before he was sent to prison. Thank God it didn’t go any further. It was obvious that Varran tired of her; she wasn’t his sort. But she took it badly. Wouldn’t eat and kept weeping for no apparent reason. She wouldn’t tell any of us what had happened or why she took on so. It was her grandfather who got it out of her in the end. He and Beulah have always been fond of one another and he has a way with him in weedling things out of her. Sheds tears and says he won’t be with us long and he’s a poor old man who nobody wants or cares for. I suppose he kept on and on at her. In the end she told him. He nearly went off his head. I’m sure if he’d been younger and cou
ld get about, he’d have killed Joss Varran himself. As it was, he kicked up an awful family row and went for me and my husband for not taking proper care of Beulah. It seemed to act like a tonic to Beulah, having the whole family in an uproar about her. She was soon herself again.’
‘And what about Baz?’
‘Baz and Beulah have always been close, too. They’re a bit alike. Never did much at school, never very sociable with other people, because other people talked a lot about all sorts of things and Baz and Beulah couldn’t keep up with them. They understood one another and our Baz looked after Beulah and was always on her side.’
‘And he took this matter with Varran to heart?’
‘He did; but the rest of us didn’t know it. He understood what had been happening, but he never said a word. Never a threat or a reproach about Joss Varran, but he must have thought and brooded a lot and finally made up his mind what to do and have a showdown with Joss. I told you what happened. Baz came out very badly.’
‘And you fear the police might get to know about it and think Baz murdered Joss Varran?’
‘I don’t know, but I wanted you to know what happened and perhaps you’ll put in a good word for Baz if he is suspected. Tell the police he’s a good man and how he was at home all that night when the crime was committed. In fact, he was in bed when Isabel Varran came here for help and he went with his father and our Joe to see what it was all about. There’s no guile or craft in Baz’s nature and I’m sure if he had done anything to Varran he’d have said so.’
‘I’ll remember what you have told me, Myra, Chief Superintendent Littlejohn is an old friend of mine and I can trust him implicitly. I’m sure you ought to agree to my telling him what you’ve just said to me. Don’t take on about it. If Baz did commit the crime, and I’m sure he didn’t, the truth will come out. It would be far better for the police to know beforehand what happened between the two men than to find it out later.’
She sighed and shook her head.
‘You’d better tell him then, if that’s your advice. It’s stupid to ask for a wise man’s advice and then not take it. Very well, then. Tell him and ask him what we’d better do.’
‘That’s better. I’ll see that Baz comes to no harm through it.’
‘As for who committed the crime, there are plenty of people hereabouts who’ll be glad to know he’s dead. Beulah wasn’t the first girl he’d let down. And this isn’t the first family that’s had trouble and commotions through his fancying their girls.’
‘Is that so? Did he desert Beulah for another girl?’
‘From what I hear he’d been seen hanging about Ballakee Manor before he left here for the last time.’
‘That’s almost at the back door of his own home, Close Dhoo?’
‘Yes. The Duffys live there. A retired colonel and his niece, Sarah. Sarah’s Joss Varran’s sort without any doubt, although she’s far above his class. I guess with her kind it’s come-day go-day with the men. If a man takes her fancy, nothing else matters.’
‘I’ve never met the Duffys. Ballakee Manor was empty when last I heard of it. Who are they?’
‘They arrived from England and bought the place and tidied it up about three years ago. As you know, it’s a house with a poor reputation, and it’s damp and surrounded by bog land. People have always been coming and going there; one tenant after another. Some call him Colonel Duffy; others plain Mister. He doesn’t mix much with people and I’ve heard of him snubbing those who tried to be neighbourly. They tell me he drinks heavily. I’ve only seen him at a distance, so I couldn’t say for certain anything about him. She’s different. Rides about the countryside on a horse and drives a fast car. She’s talkative enough, especially with the men. She frequents the public houses in the locality and there’s always some man or other hanging round her. I’ve never seen her close to, either, but that’s what I’m told. One has to be careful what one says about people when one can’t prove it. It might land one in trouble for slander. So, I’ll ask you not to repeat what is just gossip, Archdeacon. It’s also said that she’s not the Colonel’s niece, but just a woman who’s living with him. If that’s the case, he’s good reason to be jealous of her . . .’
‘And she and Joss Varran were intimate?’
‘I won’t go so far as to say that. Joss was seen hanging round the manor and as he was hardly likely to get much of a welcome from the Colonel, it must have been the woman he was after. Perhaps the Colonel got mad at him and grew jealous and killed him . . .’
‘I haven’t given it a thought, but it’s obvious that the police will have to turn their attentions to Ballakee if Joss Varran had some connection with the Duffys. Why should they be interested in a layabout like Joss?’
‘As I said, he could be quite presentable when he was spruced up and clean in his best clothes.’
‘We’ll have to investigate that. Is there anything else, Myra?’
‘No, I don’t think so just at present. If grandfather had been in his prime, it might have been him who was mixed up with Joss. He and Beulah are as thick as thieves and she’s the apple of his eye. She tells him everything, too, and they spend a lot of time together. He was in such a rage about Joss and Beulah that I thought he’d have a stroke.’
‘But he soon got over it apparently.’
‘Beulah soon forgot it and he calmed down and they got on better than ever. He gives her anything she asks for. Buys her clothes and all sorts of presents. If she asked for the moon, he’d do his best to get it for her.’
Outside the party seemed to be breaking up. They had talked themselves out and the fat man, Joseph Candell, had flown in a violent rage and driven his family to work. Syd Handy, too, was receiving short shrift and departed gesticulating and protesting to get on with his belated delivery of milk and to receive the abuse of his customers as well for his tardy appearance. In the distance E. D. Cojeen and his donkey were visible trundling along one of the dilapidated curragh roads. He was talking to her as was his custom and they seemed the happiest pair alive on that lamentable morning.
Knell had gathered very little useful information. The brothers Joe and Baz could add nothing to the account their father had given about the night of the crime. The family, it seemed, had assembled for the evening meal after the finish of the day’s work and none of them had stirred from the house for the rest of the night. All of them, except old Junius and Beulah, had watched television until they had either fallen asleep in their chairs or retired pop-eyed to bed. The old man and his granddaughter had spent their time perusing a large mail order catalogue which had come by post earlier in the day and in the course of a detailed scrutiny and critical assessment, had decided what would suit Beulah to wear and old Junius to buy for her.
Littlejohn smoked his pipe and enjoyed the general atmosphere of the farmyard which seemed to have assumed the features of a small market day, farmers and their hangers on talking craftily about their affairs, but now mainly about the crime and its results. This was Littlejohn’s first experience of the peculiar nature of curragh farming. The surrounding silence which made the voices of the talkative ones sound louder. The flat fields, broken here and there by placid little gleaming pools and stretches of bogland. The low, thick-growing bushes which divided the fields. The lush growths of bog myrtle, gorse, willow and hawthorn. The sturdy, healthy cattle which, after the draining of the marshes, had taken the place of the poor stock which waded for food among the sloppy meadows.
Joseph Candell, having at last disposed of most of his visitors, looked around for his wife and found her missing.
‘What’s happened to my missus?’ he asked Knell aggressively, as though the Inspector had carried her off as a principal suspect.
‘She went indoors with the Archdeacon . . .’
Although he was a man of small imagination, Joseph Candell was jealous of any relations his wife ever had with the opposite sex, whatever his age or condition. This was a mental kink dating from the day when he first saw his da
ughter with the slanting eyes . . . He need not have worried. He did not know, although his father did and kept it secret, that far back in their family tree, one of his ancestors, Captain Vitus Candell, master of the Ramsey Town, had returned to the Isle of Man with a Chinese bride. She had been regarded as a heathen in those days and least said, soonest mended . . .
Joseph Candell’s shouts echoed round the farmyard.
‘Myra! Myra!’
She appeared at once, followed by the parson and met her husband at the door. He eyed the pair of them suspiciously.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere . . .’
‘Minding my own business.’
Her husband was taken aback by this unusual curtness. She knew all about his philanderings in the days when he was ‘Alfonso’, but had never once flung them in his teeth.
‘You’ve been getting on with the dinner, I hope. Although I must say where work is concerned, nobody’s earned any dinner today. They’ve wasted hours talking . . . Where’s Isabel Varran? Inspector Knell wants to see her.’
Hitherto, Knell had been unable to elude the crowd of chattering, quarrelling men who had seemed to fill the farmyard and overwhelmed him with their useless information and theories about the murder. They had even involved him in their arguments about the funeral and where it should take place, and Mr. Handy, through marriage the nearest relative of the victim, had even threatened to go to see the bishop about it all. Nobody except Knell had given Isabel Varran a thought. That was the way everybody treated Isabel. She was a cipher, a woman everybody walked past without even noticing.
‘She’s gone back to Close Dhoo. I couldn’t stop her. She said she’d things to attend to.’
Knell intervened.
‘When did she go, Mrs. Candell? I’ve got the key.’
‘Just before you got here. There’s a spare key hidden in the shed.’
‘We’d better be off then and find out what this is all about. I’ve some questions I want to ask her.’
The Night They Killed Joss Varran (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery) Page 5
