Alkmene tilted her head. ‘But we still have no idea where the jewels are. If George killed his father and had invited a burglar to break in to make it look like robbery gone wrong, he would have made sure the safe was full of valuables. Why on earth was it empty?’
She nodded in the direction of the flower bed Jake had found and studied earlier. ‘We should try digging in there.’
Jake guffawed. ‘You are welcome to it, but I for me don’t intend to make myself look ridiculous. What if somebody sees you? You can’t just go digging up another’s garden. Not without proof something is really there.’
‘You are probably right,’ Alkmene agreed. ‘I should ask Anne more questions about that man of hers, our dismissed gardener-architect, and whether he knew about the stones her father owned and whether he wanted them. But I expect I will be getting another temper tantrum if I try. She doesn’t want to hear one bad word about him.’
Jake waved the stack of letters. ‘I will keep these on me until I can send them to London. They are important proof so we should keep them away from somebody who might destroy them. Helena seemed keen on you reading them, but we can’t trust her husband.’
Alkmene hitched a brow at him. ‘What do you really think of Helena? We have heard from all sides she is such a luring beauty. Do you think she is pretty?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Not natural enough for me.’
He rose energetically. ‘If we want to create a watertight case against George, we have to prove he came back to the house. I’ll go ask at the inn if George really stayed the night or whether anyone can declare he had a chance to go back to the house. Oh, and I will try and find out where the trophy is that was used to bash the old man’s head in. Maybe they can get fingerprints off it. As soon as I learn something vital, I will come to remind you of your appointment with the countess of Veveine. That will be your excuse for getting away with me so we can discuss the next step.’
‘Perfect. I heard from Lady Winters that people are gathering here to pay respects to the deceased, this afternoon. I will mingle among them and see what I can overhear. On such occasions people do tend to share memories of the old days.’
She kicked against the dead log a moment. ‘I do feel a bit sorry for George. I mean, he may be the most likely killer, but he is not the worst of the lot. I’d rather see Albert arrested for his father’s murder, you know. He is an arrogant cad and the way he treats Helena… I suppose she is not a saint either, but there is never any excuse for physical violence in a marriage.’
‘Right.’ Jake pursed his lips. ‘Albert has enough of a temper to bash somebody’s brains in. But I have not found a clear motive there yet. I don’t think he blamed his father for his mother’s death or that he felt the need to speed him out of this temporal existence for gain. You?’
‘Well, we can’t be sure of that. Maybe he was just dying to be Lord Winters.’ Alkmene stared up to discern the tits hopping happily from branch to branch. ‘I wish we could figure out where those stones from the safe disappeared to. I have a feeling they are very important in solving this case.’
Chapter Thirteen
One of the servants – Alkmene wasn’t sure who – had cleaned her skirt of the tea spill on the afternoon of her arrival and so she was able to wear her black ensemble again when the guests arrived to pay their respects to the family of the deceased.
Downstairs several rooms were open, with a long table in one of them holding sandwiches and fruit punch, a maid standing at the large bowl to fill glasses for the guests.
The front door stood open as well as the double doors leading from the dining room into the garden at the back. People were filing in and out, meeting with acquaintances and chatting.
The house seemed alive and breathing, which was very odd considering the occasion.
Alkmene knew nobody here so she was relieved when she spied the general from the Grange, standing stiffly, a glass in his hand, a friendly looking woman with a wonderful hat by his side. She went over and said, ‘So nice to see you again, General. Mrs DeBurgh, I don’t think we met before. Lady Alkmene. From London. Oh, what a lovely hat you have there. You must tell me where you bought it. I have tried several hat makers in London, but for some reason they never deliver what I like.’
Mrs DeBurgh smiled at her. ‘I bought this one in Brighton. Lovely little atelier there, run by a lady whose father even delivered to the royal family. I could write down the address for you.’
‘That would be very kind,’ Alkmene said. She glanced round her and lowered her voice. ‘So many people in attendance. I assume Lord Winters was very well liked here. I heard he had these marvellous dinner parties after which his daughter-in-law sang while playing the piano.’
‘She was quite the attraction even in India,’ Mrs DeBurgh said. Her tone was neutral, so it could be meant as a compliment or a reproach.
Alkmene said, ‘I have never heard her sing, but I did hear her play the piano the day I arrived here. Very unusual choice of music.’
‘Well,’ the general’s wife leaned over to her, ‘what can you expect from a foreigner? I was very surprised at the time that Lord Winters let his son marry such a wild exotic creature. Coming all the way from South America.’
‘Nonsense, my dear,’ the general said. ‘Helena never came from South America.’ He looked at the door through which a couple entered. ‘There is Jenkins. Excuse me a moment.’ He nodded at Alkmene and walked off.
‘She did come from South America,’ the general’s wife insisted. ‘Why, when we first met her, her English was terrible; I could not make out a word. Such a heavy accent, you know.’
‘I had heard she was a governess for a family there? Would that not have been somewhat problematic if she spoke such poor English?’
Mrs DeBurgh shrugged. ‘Perhaps she was a governess for a family who spoke Spanish themselves? All kinds of people were living there at the time. Yes, I think I recall she was with a Spanish family. They had two children. The girl was nice enough, but the little boy was terribly naughty. And Helena never did anything about it. She would look at his antics with this strange smile on her face, like she actually approved of them.’
The general’s wife took a sip of her fruit punch. ‘So you are a distant family relation?’
‘Yes. The late Lady Winters, who died in India, was my aunt.’
The woman’s expression changed at once. She seemed to inch back a little. ‘I see. Yes, well… She was never very strong, was she?’
She seemed to hesitate as to whether to proceed, then added with a careful look from under her long lashes, ‘A bit odd too. I suppose living in relative seclusion in a foreign country does make one a bit odd.’
‘You yourself lived there for years, I think?’ Alkmene said. She could not help it that she wanted to defend her poor dead aunt a little.
The general’s wife waved it off. ‘Oh, yes, but that was different. We brought our own staff and we had a household organized just like we would have had we lived here. We never ate that local food. So terribly full of spices, you know. We just had all the things we would have had here. Plum pudding, cross buns. And we only associated with Europeans. Never with natives. Well, I suppose my husband did have to see local dignitaries once in a while. But I never accompanied him then. I did not need to meet the wives. Such odd customs they had there. I read about it once and had nightmares afterwards.’
She shuddered. ‘I think those people would have thrown their children to the crocodiles if they believed it could bring a good harvest. I didn’t want to hear one thing about it. But the late Lady Winters was very different in that respect. She had native servants and she positively doted on them. Was always asking them everything about where they came from, how they lived, what they ate and did. She wore native dress too when in the house, such a…type of garb that you wrap around you. Very colourful, much like a parrot. She tried local food all of the time. I warned her she’d get herself poisoned some day. I mean, in such a hot curry you will
never taste any poison, will you?’
Alkmene didn’t respond. What if Jake’s research into her aunt’s death turned up that she had been poisoned? It would be quite hard to find out after so many years who had been responsible for that.
The general’s wife continued in the meantime, ‘She took in all kinds of animals and when she received visitors, she showed them off. You always had to come with her into this secluded yard and look at all those cages. She encouraged you to feed grapes to the monkeys or grass to the deer. I didn’t want to. I was worried they’d bite me and I’d die of rabies or another horrible disease. Animals are really not that clean, you know. Horses are perhaps. My husband is fond of his horses, but I never ride. I got thrown once as a girl and I have never been near a horse again.’
‘Do you think my aunt was happy there?’
The general’s wife stared at Alkmene over the rim of her punch glass. Then she said, ‘Well, I suppose you could say she appeared to be happy, with her animals and her dresses and her servants who followed her around to do her every bidding. She was sort of an…oriental princess in a palace of her own. I think she fitted in very well there. She did not like this cold climate here, she used to say, and the people who all stared at her and judged her.’
‘I thought she had been born and raised in India. How would she know about life here in England?’
The general’s wife shrugged. ‘I had the impression she had been here. That she had even been to this house. I think she once mentioned she had a room here that was all blue. As cold as the ocean she said.’
Alkmene shivered a moment. So her aunt had been in this house, had lived here for a while and been unhappy. Because people had judged her. Merely because she had been eccentric?
Or because she had been…unstable, imagining things?
The general’s wife said, ‘It was sad for the children when she died. Not that they were very young any more, but so dependent on her. Not Albert, I guess. He was away a lot and shortly after she died, he married that South American girl and had his own life. But Anne was always running after her mother, helping her with all of those horrible animals. And George worshiped the ground on which she walked. He would never ever hear one bad word about her.’
‘Do you think he blamed anyone when she died?’
The general’s wife stiffened. ‘I would not really know. We were never that close.’
‘But you were here the night when Lord Winters was murdered in his room. You had dined here and left, and… George was having a fit over something? Screaming at his father.’
The general’s wife sighed. ‘George had a little too much to drink. It is unfortunate, but it does happen. We tried not to give too much attention to it.’ The implication of the statement seemed clear. Alkmene should not refer to it either.
But Alkmene knew people could often be quite double-hearted when it came to gossip. On the one hand they considered tales about others distasteful; on the other hand it was difficult to resist sharing a tidbit here and there. Especially after a murder had occurred.
So Alkmene pushed on, ‘George left after the argument?’
The general’s wife spied round as if to ascertain nobody was listening in on the conversation. Then she said in a low voice, ‘Often after he had fought with his father he left and went to some inn in the neighbourhood. There he would spend the night and in the morning, well, closer to noon, I dare say, he would come home again. If he could ride or walk. If he could not, they would take him home on a cart. I have never seen it myself, but my servants gossip about it.’
She nodded firmly, then said, ‘Not that I encourage gossiping among the servants, but you know what it is like. They want to talk while doing some chore and out comes all this nonsense about the families around the estate. But the thing with George is true unfortunately. He likes to drink too much. One should stop it. But with his mother dead, nobody had much influence over him. He never listened to his father. And he will not listen to Albert now. He never forgave him for marrying that South American girl.’
Alkmene waited with a curious expression on her face. She knew that the general’s wife would sense her interest and accommodate her.
Indeed Mrs DeBurgh said, ‘It was common knowledge at the time that George was infatuated with her as well. In fact, some whisper he still is. They think it is quite inappropriate that he lives here, in the same house with her. I do not say anything is going on between them, but… Albert does leave at times, for days on end to do business in London, and she stays here, with George. I do not see how Albert can tolerate it. I mean, he must sense that…’
Alkmene nodded. ‘Perhaps he trusts his wife implicitly.’ He probably believed she was so afraid of him and his beating that she wouldn’t do anything, even if he was not there at the moment.
The general’s wife sighed. ‘It is sad to see friends die so young. Excuse me, my husband is gesturing for me to come over. It has been very pleasant talking to you.’
‘Likewise.’ Alkmene emptied her punch glass and put it in the windowsill beside which she was standing. Outside she saw Anne walking on the lawn. In her dark clothes, with her head down, she looked extra sad and alone.
Alkmene glanced around her and not discerning anyone she wished to talk to, she slipped outside and went over to the girl. ‘Shouldn’t you be inside, playing hostess? Lady Winters may be the lady of the house now, but she is only an in-law, not a blood relative of your father, the deceased.’
Anne laughed softly. ‘She should not hear you say that. She believes she has in fact more rights than anybody else.’
Alkmene lifted her face to the sunshine a moment. ‘It is stuffy in there. You are smart walking out here.’
‘I just don’t want to hear them talk about Mother.’ Anne looked at her. ‘It is odd because we are here to remember Father, but everybody is talking about Mother. About India and how odd it was when she died so young.’
She wrapped her arms around her and closed her eyes a moment. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I was ill when she died, and Father never wanted to tell me much about it. In fact, I know he lied about it, supposedly to protect me. I found out. I should have confronted him about it, asked him why he lied.’
Alkmene looked at the girl with the pale face, the tight lines around her mouth. So she had learned some truth about her mother’s death, some time before her father had died in his room.
Had Anne confronted him and hit him with the polo trophy? Was she physically capable of dealing a deadly blow?
She wasn’t as tall as her brothers, but she was a horsewoman, a sporty girl with well-muscled arms.
And raw anger could give people terrible strength.
Alkmene swallowed. She had never liked for George to be the killer, and she liked the idea that it could be Anne even less. But her deal with Jake to clear his friend Mac obliged her to see this through ’til the end.
She asked, ‘What did you learn then about your mother’s death? What had your father kept from you all that time?’
Anne snapped her eyes open. She stared straight at her, with an intensity as if she was trying to read Alkmene’s thoughts. ‘It is none of your business. You come here and interfere in our family like you have a right to. But you do not. You are just like Helena. A perfect stranger.’
Alkmene shook her head. ‘Helena is not related to you at all. But I am the daughter of your mother’s sister. The same blood is in our veins.’
Anne held her gaze a moment. ‘I don’t know if you should be happy about that.’
Her voice became low. ‘All those people in there are not speaking about Father, but about Mother. How odd she was in India. None of them is saying it, but they are all thinking it. That she was mad. And they are all looking at us, her children, to see if the madness is in us too. They think it is in George because he is drinking all of the time. And me…’
She made a strange, half strangled sound in her throat. ‘If that same blood of ours runs in your veins, Alkmene, you sho
uld be careful. You never know how much of the madness is in you too.’
Anne turned away and walked off, her shoulders slumped, her arms still wrapped around her.
Alkmene followed Anne’s sad figure with her eyes until she vanished around the stable building. She exhaled slowly. It was true that on a day where respects were supposed to be paid to the late Lord Winters, the discussion was mainly about his late wife and India. She supposed a funeral made people’s minds dwell on the past and remember colourful details, things that had been out of the ordinary at the time. Perhaps there was no sinister truth behind it all, but just normal human psychology.
Still, she was a little cold as she went back inside.
Chapter Fourteen
After the guests had left, Alkmene went to her room to change out of her uncomfortable black clothes. The first thing she did every time she went up was check behind the painting for a note from Jake. He had promised he’d go to the inn to check whether George had really spent the night there after the row with his father on the night that he was killed.
Her seeking fingers found something and with a gasp she extracted an envelope. She opened it and pulled out a sheet of paper. Jake’s strong handwriting filled a few lines. ‘The innkeeper says George was there that night; he took a room. He can’t be sure though that George didn’t leave again. The room was on the ground floor and has a large window, big enough to creep through and vanish in the night. Because George had been drinking, they didn’t try to wake him ’til late in the morning and only when a messenger had come from the estate that his father was dead and the police were there. Nobody can vouch for him in those hours in between.’
So George’s supposed alibi was really no alibi at all. He could have come back to the house easily, if he had wanted it.
She read on, ‘You mentioned to me that the housekeeper knew your aunt in India. Try and get from her whatever you can. I hope to have the cause of her death soon.’
Diamonds of Death Page 11
