Diamonds of Death

by Vivian Conroy

  Alkmene shrugged. ‘If you want to break something, just do it when I am not here.’

  George sat in place, dangling his legs beside the ladder. ‘Fair enough.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Why did you really come here? So soon after Father died. Want money? Maybe marriage to an eligible man?’

  Alkmene held his gaze. ‘What eligible man? Your brother is already taken, and I’d never marry a man who drinks himself half blind every night.’

  George’s face turned red. ‘My brother is much worse than me. You ask Helena. He beats her, the bastard, and she does not even leave. She cannot, for he made a deal with her.’

  Alkmene stood, the horse beside her nibbling on her sleeve. She let him, focusing fully on the conversation. ‘What deal?’

  George shrugged. ‘They made some deal in India. I think that she’d bear him an heir and then he could divorce her. She’d have money and her freedom; he’d have his son.’

  Alkmene tilted her head. ‘I thought he was in love with her.’

  ‘Albert is in love with nobody but himself. Sure, he coveted her, like he covets stones. He sees something he wants and then he burns ’til he has got it. He wanted her, mostly because Father wanted her too.’

  George laughed softly, a menacing sound in the quiet stables. ‘Don’t you think I saw how Father wanted Helena? He killed Mother for it.’

  The words came unexpectedly, and Alkmene jerked upright. ‘Your father killed your mother?’

  George nodded. ‘It is no secret. All the servants knew it. His friends knew it. But they all covered up for him. He has friends in high places, you know. The army and the government. Then you can do what you want and nobody can touch you.’

  ‘He killed your mother,’ Alkmene repeated incredulously, ‘and they let him get away with it?’

  George stared at nothing. His eyes were red-rimmed from his drinking, but his voice was steady as he said, ‘He was too powerful for them to touch. Besides, how could they have a foreign police force, a native judge, decide about one of their own? They let him go back home, and that was the end of it. The only good thing is he could not have Helena. That was what he had wanted all along. But she married Albert for the sake of their deal. Then Father was left with nothing. He had killed for nothing.’

  George looked at her, his eyes suddenly focusing again, with a hate-filled intent. ‘I am glad his head was bashed in with one of my polo trophies. He deserved it.’

  He turned to the ladder, grabbing it to lower himself down.

  On impulse Alkmene grabbed the lower part of it to steady it. It moved as George lowered his weight, but she kept on holding it, gritting her teeth against the pain of the wood biting into her flesh. Then he stood beside her, looking her in the eye. His liquor-laced breath caressed her face as he said, ‘If you came to catch yourself a man, dear cousin, you have come to the wrong place. You don’t want any of the men here. My father was a covetous murderer, and my brother is no better.’

  ‘And you?’ Alkmene asked, holding his gaze without blinking. ‘What are you?’

  George’s expression pulled tight in pain. ‘A failure.’

  Alkmene exhaled in a snort of half laughter. ‘That is a bit weak to say of yourself when you are foremost to blame for it.’ She meant his drinking and the bad impression he made because of it, but to her consternation he grabbed her upper arms and pinched, his fingers digging deep into her flesh and muscle.

  ‘You need not tell me I failed,’ he growled at her. ‘I loved my mother and I vowed to protect her from that brute, but I could not. She died because he killed her. I failed that night and I will forever carry the guilt of my failure with me. It cannot be erased. I believed it could be, but it cannot. Not even by blood.’

  Alkmene held his gaze, the fanaticism in his bloodshot eyes. For a moment she was sure he had killed his father to erase the guilt he mentioned, only to find it had not brought his mother back to him. It had not changed anything, not set it straight.

  ‘What is happening here?’ Jake Dubois’s voice resounded, and George let go so abruptly Alkmene staggered back. George pushed past Jake, swaying on his legs and muttering something she could not understand. He disappeared outside.

  Jake took hold of her arm. ‘You all right?’ In an angry tone he continued, ‘You should know better than risk being alone with that cad. He is soaked in liquor from dawn to dusk. He can’t be trusted around women.’

  ‘He was not trying to assault me. He thought I was insulting him, or rather his bond with his mother, and he had a right to defend himself.’

  Jake let go with a huff. ‘You are actually trying to turn this around? I know what I saw.’

  Alkmene shook her head. ‘No, you do not. Nothing of what we see here is clear. It is like everybody is playing a part. Is Helena a siren who lured father and son to destruction, or is she merely an unstable woman who depended on the wrong man to turn her life around for her? When she came to the Winters family, she was just a dance girl. The dress Anne mentioned, that got ruined by the deer, might really have been the only good one she had. She might have been desperate to improve her position. Was she just looking for security with someone who could never provide it to her? A deal, yes, why not? A way out of India, of poverty and shame. A mere agreement for mutual gain. It would explain why the father considered it betrayal. Betrayal of feelings, for the sake of security.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘And George. Does he really drink because he is a callous young man with nothing better to do? Or is he bitter and even hurt inside because of what happened far away in India, his mother’s death and his inability to prevent it? I don’t believe he was play-acting just now when he talked to me about it. Perhaps he even confided in me because he wants his bitter suspicions to come out. Maybe he is not as drunk and silly all of the time as everybody believes. But is his conclusion about his mother’s death right? Was she really killed? Or is that just George’s version of events? Maybe a version he clings to because he won’t acknowledge the real truth.’

  That his mother had lost her mind?

  Alkmene shook her head in irritation. ‘I wish my father had plainly told me what she died of. He only mentioned once it had involved diamonds. That she died in front of an empty safe. Just like her husband did.’

  Jake tilted his head. ‘George must know how she died. He hired Mac to break in and steal the stones. He might have killed his father and arranged for Mac to be there to take the blame. He let his father die in front of an empty safe. Just like his mother. Perfect revenge.’

  Alkmene shook her head. ‘George was not here that night. He left drunk, to sleep it off at the local inn. Seems to happen quite often.’

  ‘You just said nothing is as it seems around here. The death of his mother provides the motive. I should find out if he was really at the inn that night. I bet the police never bothered to check. They were sure they had their man.’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘So now you acknowledge that there is a relation between my aunt’s death in India and Lord Winters’ murder. Earlier you said the two were unrelated.’

  Jake made a dismissive gesture. ‘So I was wrong. I just wanted to remind you we are here to clear Mac. Not to dive into family history. Such things can be dangerous. You might discover things you had rather not know.’

  Alkmene bit her lip. Jake had bitter experience with that. Finding out who his father had really been – not an honourable man who had died but a lecher who had seduced his mother with sweet promises only to leave her again for his fiancée at home – had changed his life for ever. Perhaps he had warned her because he was worried about her. Because he actually cared.

  Still it seemed her family history played a crucial part in this case. ‘Maybe clearing Mac is only possible if we dive into my family history.’ She thought of her aunt’s letters in the box in her room. Could they hold a vital clue? Should she give them to Jake to read, not mentioning her aunt’s mental condition, but just for the sake of the investigation?

  Ja
ke exhaled slowly. ‘I could ask my editor if there are any records on your aunt’s death. I don’t mean reports from people who were there at the time, but actual records. We need some facts if we want to get out of this swamp of speculation.’

  ‘Excellent idea.’ Alkmene nodded at him. ‘Telegraph him for information. Better even: call him so nobody knows what you are doing. I think we should keep it all very quiet if we want to get anywhere. People do seem to turn rather vicious when the conversation hits on India.’

  Jake looked her over. ‘Are you sure that drunken idiot did not hurt you?’

  ‘My arms might be bruised, but that doesn’t matter. George was so insistent that I think he really believes what he said – that his mother was killed by his father. He believes it was all his fault because he could not prevent it and he has never been able to erase the fault, not even by blood.’

  Alkmene felt a momentary pang of sympathy for George Winters, whose drinking might not make him very likable, but whose pain over the past was real. Did he deserve to end up in jail, even to swing for the life he had taken? If his brother Albert was a measure to go by, his father might have been a cruel violent man who had…

  Deserved to die?

  No, Alkmene did not really believe anybody deserved to die. If people did wrong things, they had to be punished legally, not by taking the law into your own hands and ending somebody’s life as if you were entitled to decide whether he should walk the earth or not.

  If George had indeed killed his father that night in the study, it was an unlawful act. But there had been reasons for his feelings, his anger, and…

  Alkmene could still feel George’s insistence, how he had tried to pinch his pain into her. That was a reality she could not deny.

  She said slowly, ‘The night his father died, George shouted abuse at him. He was drunk again, and the friends who were over, the guests, did not take it very seriously, I gathered from the general at the Grange. Still I feel like it’s important we find out what exactly he said that night, why he started saying it then and there.’

  Jake looked her over, his brows drawing together. ‘How do you mean “then and there”?’

  ‘Well, it is like this. If George considered his father guilty of his mother’s death, he has felt that way ever since she died. Now that was not yesterday, or last week. If he killed his father to avenge his mother, why wait so long? Why suddenly out of the blue decide to kill him now?’

  Jake held her gaze, his eyes lighting. ‘You are so right. That is very odd. George could have killed him in India, on the trip back. He could have set up a horse riding accident or put a scorpion in his bed…whatever he wanted. Why kill him all of a sudden, here, in his own house, where suspicion would naturally fall on one of the inhabitants? Sure, he hired Mac to steal the diamonds, but why, if the burglary had to look real, were the diamonds not there in the room? Why was the safe empty?’

  ‘And why was Helena up and about?’ Alkmene asked.

  Jake frowned. ‘As a witness, I suppose. If George was not in the house, he needed someone to catch the burglar red-handed. Helena claimed to have been up to get a book, she saw light… We know she lied about that because there was no light. So she went to the door on purpose, knowing she’d find the burglar inside. That could have been Helena’s part in the murder. If she wanted to become Lady Winters, her father-in-law had to die.’

  ‘But…’ Alkmene said. ‘If George was really not in the house, but at the inn like everybody assumes, then who killed Lord Winters? Helena?’

  Jake pursed his lips. ‘She is tall so she would probably be physically able to do it. But would a man leave a murder to a woman? There is a risk of it going wrong. The victim resisting, a struggle in which the woman is not powerful enough to get the upper hand.’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘And if George is really in love with Helena, as it would seem when you see them together, he would never have asked her to commit a murder for him. He would have done it himself. But how, if he really was at the local inn, miles away from here?’

  Jake held her gaze and sighed. ‘We will have to break George’s alibi or we don’t stand a chance of tying him into the crime.’ He stared up into the dimness overhead. ‘We still have a long way ahead of us.’

  Chapter Eleven

  A rider on a black horse followed her across the moor. She ran and ran, as the hoof beats behind her increased in sound, pounding in her ears and reverberating through the earth underneath her feet.

  In fact, the earth seemed to show cracks, and then it split open, and she fell into an abyss, falling and falling into darkness, clawing around her with arms and legs until she struck something so hard her bones jangled and her head hurt.

  She screamed and snapped her eyes open.

  For moments she lay, heart pumping under her chest bone, the images crowding her mind. She hoped she had not really screamed, or someone might come rushing in to see if she had been murdered by an intruder as well.

  By an intruder?

  No. By somebody within these walls.

  Alkmene suppressed the chattering of her teeth and pushed herself up on the pillows a bit. She took a few deep, steadying breaths. Then just as she was about to tell herself she should catch some more sleep before morning, she heard a sound at the door.

  The very soft turning of the doorknob.

  Obviously she had not awoken from her dream just yet. The horror was continuing.

  But she should not scream again, lest she make a complete fool out of herself. She imagined Jake’s smirk as he heard about it, so she was determined to keep a hold of herself.

  The door opened in a creak.

  Alkmene reached for the light switch on the night stand. Her fingers found it and took a hold of it. It did feel surprisingly real. But if this was a dream, she’d try to switch it and it would not work. The intruder would just come at her anyway. Maybe wearing some bizarre mask.

  In a dream you could see that clearly even though it was dark. It made no sense, but then dreams never did.

  Shuffling indicated the person was now well into the room and trying to do something.

  Alkmene threw the switch.

  The light came on, casting a soft yellow glow onto a person standing at the boxes. Dressed in white, she looked thinner than usual. Her long dark hair flowed freely over her back. Her eyes widened as she stared right into Alkmene’s face.

  ‘Lady Winters,’ Alkmene said. This dream was somehow more realistic than others she had had before. The light had come on, and the intruder was not wearing a mask, but looked like a very real, now embarrassed person. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I just wanted uh…’ Helena faltered. Her face became even paler, and she felt around her as if for a hold. Stumbling to the bed, she collapsed on the edge of it, hiding her face in both of her hands. Sobs rang out in the silence.

  Alkmene sat up and reached out, touching the woman’s shoulder. It felt soft and warm, quite real.

  She looked around the room and saw the door standing ajar, her clothes as she had put them last night.

  She flexed her toes and even pinched her wrist. Ouch, that hurt.

  Yes, she seemed to be fully awake.

  Lady Winters had really sneaked into her room in the dead of night. Wanting what?

  More puzzled now than by any nightmare, Alkmene said, ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’

  Helena looked up. ‘I made a mistake.’ Her voice was but a hoarse whisper; her eyes seemed larger because of the brimming tears. ‘I should never have given you this room. I thought you would appreciate it, as it had been your aunt’s. But it was a grave mistake. My husband made me see that.’

  She looked down. The sleeves of the white nightgown were a little short, and on her left wrist a dark bruise was showing.

  Alkmene swallowed. ‘Does he beat you often?’ she asked slowly.

  The woman’s lips wobbled. ‘Only when I deserve it.’

  ‘Nonsense. Nobody deserves to be beaten.’ Al
kmene sat up straighter. ‘I saw him slap you across the face right after I had arrived. What had you done wrong then?’

  Helena shook her head. ‘I do not remember.’ Her expression was concentrated as if she was trying to go back to the moment and fill in the details that eluded her now. Then she shrugged. ‘But it does not matter. If something displeases him, he beats me. And that I put you in this room displeased him a great deal.’

  Alkmene made a gesture. ‘I can move into another room.’ She did not want to, but she would not let this poor woman be beaten over something as insignificant as a room for a guest.

  ‘I only wanted to get the letters back.’ Helena’s voice was barely audible. ‘I thought if I could just tell him I had those, it would not be so bad.’

  ‘The letters?’ Alkmene frowned. ‘You mean, the letters my aunt wrote to my mother?’

  Helena stared at her. ‘You found them? You read them? Oh, I am lost. Now Albert will surely beat me to death.’

  She buried her face in her hands again and sobbed. The rich, dark hair trembled on her shaking shoulders.

  Alkmene said, ‘I only glanced at the top one of the pile. I have not read them.’

  She had not dared and had wanted to discuss it with Jake in the morning. It had seemed a cowardly thing to do, an act of sheer avoidance, but right now her reluctance might turn out to be useful.

  ‘The letters should never have been left in the box.’ Helena spoke in a toneless voice as if she was reciting a lesson. ‘The letters should never have come here from India. They should have been destroyed. I should have destroyed them, he said, for I packed up all of her things. He made me pack up her things, while he knew how she hated me and wished me dead. It was a heartless thing to do, but then he is a heartless bastard of a man. If only I had seen that sooner…’

  She burst into new tears.

  Alkmene asked, ‘Your mother-in-law hated you? I mean, at the time of…’

  Helena nodded violently. ‘She hated me because I was pretty and men looked at me. Her husband, her sons. They all looked at me like that. I knew it was so; it had been that way all of my life. I could not help it.’ She stared at Alkmene through her tears. ‘I could really not help it at all. But she said it was my fault. That I was born to seduce men and lead them astray.’