by Nicola Upson
‘Thank you.’
Marlene spoke next, repeating everything that she had told them earlier. ‘Did he say something or someone from his past?’ Archie asked when she had finished.
‘I don’t know that he was specific. If he was, I don’t remember.’
‘Did you bring any Christmas decorations here with you?’ The change of subject came from nowhere, and Marlene looked at him curiously. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Not even something small and sentimental? A toy you’ve had for a long time, or something to remind you of your daughter?’
Most of the people round the table were looking at Archie as if he had lost his wits. ‘No, nothing like that,’ Marlene insisted. ‘I have a lucky doll called Zola, and she travels with me everywhere, but she is not a Christmas decoration.’
Archie nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. ‘I need to talk to all of you now about last night, and please be as detailed as you can in the information you give me, even if it seems irrelevant to Reverend Hartley’s death.’ Josephine half expected him to lead them off into separate rooms, just like the dull middle section of a country house murder mystery, but either he was pressed for time or he wanted to see how the guests would react to each other’s evidence. She answered his questions like everyone else, telling him about her late-night encounter with Mrs Hartley but omitting to mention that she had been on her way to Marta’s room at the time; she could come clean privately later, she thought, justifying the deception by telling herself that it could hardly be of importance and that he probably knew already. Marta was next on Archie’s list, declaring truthfully that she had not strayed from her bed all night.
After the content of their very first conversation, Josephine expected Gerald Lancaster to be in his element while taking part in a real life criminal investigation, and she wondered if he would offer Archie the same sort of guidance and criticism that he had bestowed on her own Inspector Grant, but Lancaster seemed increasingly nervous as the questioning went on, and looked at Archie with barely disguised hostility when his own turn came. ‘You left the party early last night, Mr Lancaster,’ Archie said. ‘You didn’t come with us to the drawing room when we went to join the ladies, and I didn’t see you again. Where did you go?’
‘To find my wife,’ Lancaster said, and Josephine couldn’t decide if his tone was suspicious or simply cautious. ‘She’d had a fair amount to drink, as I’m sure you noticed, and I wanted to make sure she was all right.’
‘So you went back to your room to look for her?’
He hesitated. ‘I found Rachel in that long corridor with all the paintings. We went back to our room together.’
‘That’s a lie, Gerry.’
Everyone turned to stare at Rachel Lancaster, including her husband. For a moment, Josephine thought he was going to get up and reach across the table to her, but Lancaster clenched his fists in his lap and struggled to keep his tone even. ‘You don’t remember, darling, because you were a bit worse for wear. I had to practically carry you back to our room because you were feeling so ill.’
She stared defiantly at him, and Josephine could only admire her courage. ‘I remember last night very clearly, darling,’ she said, ‘and the only place you carried me – well, carried, pushed, kicked if we’re going to be strictly accurate – is up that tower.’
‘What?’ Archie looked first at one of them, and then the other. ‘You were both in the church last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s lying, Penrose. Don’t trust a word she says.’
‘Be quiet please, Mr Lancaster. I’d like to hear what your wife’s got to say.’ He turned to her and spoke more gently. ‘Is that how you got the bruise on your face, Mrs Lancaster? By being forced up to the tower against your will?’
Lancaster banged the table with his fist. ‘That’s none of your damned business.’
‘Go on, Mrs Lancaster. Take your time.’
Josephine hoped fervently that Archie had a plan to keep husband and wife apart after he had finished his questions; Lancaster’s rage was enough to bring on a second murder, regardless of whether he had had anything to do with the first. ‘I went out onto the terrace after dinner,’ Rachel said. ‘Gerry’s right about that – I did have too much to drink, and I was feeling unwell so I went outside for some air. He found me there, and he was angry.’ She laughed to herself, but there was no humour in it. ‘He gets angry very easily, always has, and he wanted to pay me back.’
‘For what?’
‘For what I said at dinner about that chair. Gerry doesn’t like to think of a woman getting one over on him, or anyone else, come to that, so he thought he’d show me who’s boss – didn’t you, darling?’
‘What time was this?’ Archie asked.
‘I couldn’t say exactly, but not long after we left the dinner table. You were still in the smoking room with the vicar and Mr Fielding – I could see you through the window from the terrace and I thought Gerry was with you, but he took me by surprise.’
‘And he forced you into the church?’
‘That’s right.’ She looked directly at her husband, and Josephine saw sadness in her eyes rather than fear. ‘I honestly thought he’d gone mad, but it was just hatred, pure and simple. Our marriage has been heading that way for a long time.’
‘Did you go right to the top of the tower?’
‘Yes. He made me climb out onto the chair.’ There was a collective intake of breath around the room and Josephine exchanged a look of horror with Marta; even Archie seemed temporarily thrown from his questioning. ‘It doesn’t seem to have changed much between us, though,’ Rachel continued. ‘I’m still the one with the bruises.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Gerry helped me back down. To be fair, I think he’d frightened himself as much as he frightened me. I nearly slipped at one point, and that was going further than he had intended, so he left me alone after that. I came back down when I was feeling strong enough, and went straight to my room, hoping not to bump into anyone, but I think you’d all turned in by then. There were no lights on in our corridor.’
‘And your husband?’
It was the question she seemed to have been waiting for, and she didn’t hesitate in giving her answer. ‘I left him on his knees in the snow, and I didn’t see him again until much later.’
‘That’s a fucking lie!’ Lancaster launched himself across the table, but Fielding – seated next to him – forced him back to his chair. ‘She’s trying to set me up, Penrose. Isn’t that obvious?’
‘So you deny being in the church last night?’
He hesitated. ‘No, that bit’s true, but—’
‘And yet you lied about it, so why should I believe you now?’
‘Because we went back to our room together. I swear it. For Christ’s sake, Rachel – tell them. Do you even know what you’re saying? They’ll have me down for murder.’
‘Do you stand by what you said, Mrs Lancaster?’ Archie asked. ‘Did you leave the church alone?’ She nodded. ‘And did you see anybody else on your way back?’
‘No. As I said, everyone seemed to have gone to bed by then. It was just before midnight – I know that, because I heard a clock striking the hour shortly after I got back to my room. I remember thinking that it was a strange way to start Christmas.’
‘How much later did your husband come back?’
‘I can’t say exactly. I know I heard the clock strike one, but after that I must have fallen asleep. When I woke again, he was there beside me.’
‘I was there beside you all the time, damn it, and you know I was.’
Archie ignored the interruption. ‘Did you notice the snow outside the church? Had anybody crossed the terrace before you and your husband?’
She thought for a moment before answering. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember.’
‘What about on top of the tower?’
‘Definitely not. The snow was untouched up there. It would have been
beautiful if I hadn’t been so frightened.’
‘Mrs Lancaster, why did you come here this weekend?’ For the first time, she didn’t hold his eye, and Josephine wondered if Archie already knew the answer to his question. ‘Does either of you have a connection to anyone else here, guest or resident?’
‘Oh no, nothing like that – at least …’ She left the sentence unfinished, and Archie looked questioningly at her. ‘It was something Gerry said yesterday, as we were crossing the causeway. He told us that he came here as a child with his grandmother – you remember that, don’t you?’ She turned to Marta and Josephine, and Marta nodded. ‘That was the first I’d heard of it. Gerry doesn’t usually mention his family.’
‘So I came here as a boy – what of it? Lots of people do.’
‘Did you have any connection to Reverend Hartley before you met him yesterday?’ Archie asked. ‘He would have been living here in Cornwall when you were a child, so your paths might well have crossed. And I would advise you to think very carefully before you answer. There’s a lot at stake.’
Lancaster began to look genuinely frightened now, as the pattern of the questioning became clear to him. ‘I’ve never set eyes on the man,’ he said, a note of panic creeping into his voice. ‘Honest to God, I haven’t.’
‘Or anyone else here?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you come? I know it had nothing to do with giving to a worthy cause.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to be one of them for a change,’ Lancaster said, jabbing with his finger at the coat of arms above the fireplace. ‘Maybe I’m sick of bowing and scraping to people all year round. I saw the advertisement in the paper, and I remembered how deferential my grandparents used to be.’
‘Deferential to whom?’
Lancaster hesitated. ‘To the St Aubyn family. My grandfather was a fisherman here years ago, and my grandmother worked as a housemaid at the castle. They lived in one of those houses behind the harbour – until he retired, that is, and they had to give the house up and move back to the mainland.’
‘And they resented that?’
He scoffed. ‘No, not at all. They wouldn’t have a bad word said about the family – that was just the way things were, according to my grandmother. There was no sentiment about it, and they were loyal to the day they died – but I resented it. I loved it here as a kid. Those holidays were the only happy times I knew, and suddenly we couldn’t come anymore. We didn’t belong. So when I saw the paper, I jumped at the chance to come back here and be what my grandparents could never have dreamed of being, even for a couple of days.’
‘It’s a funny sort of tribute – to con your way into a home that your grandparents had such respect for, and cheat the family they served so devotedly. I can’t see them being proud of that, can you? Did you really know nothing about this, Mrs Lancaster?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Rachel said, and Josephine believed her. ‘As far as I was concerned, the reason we’re here is in our wardrobe, all packed up in Gerry’s suitcase and ready for a swift departure.’
‘Rachel! For God’s sake!’
‘Tell me what you mean.’
‘My husband’s a thief, Mr Penrose, no matter who his grandparents were – a conman and a petty thief, and I’m the one who should be ashamed. If she looks carefully around the castle, I’m afraid that Miss St Aubyn will find some of her most precious belongings missing.’
Josephine saw the relief pass across Archie’s face. Gerald Lancaster seemed to have no alibi for Richard Hartley’s murder, but the only evidence to that was his wife’s word against his; if the accusations of theft proved to be true, at least there would be something to charge him with and an excuse to keep him away from Rachel for the time being. Archie rang the service bell, and the butler appeared so quickly from the staircase down to the kitchens that Josephine could have believed he was waiting there to be called. ‘Lee, I’d like you to come with me and Mr Lancaster while I search his room. Get one of your staff to join us, will you?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
He did as Archie asked and the four men left the room together. ‘Bloody hell,’ Fielding said, as their footsteps drifted away. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.’
Marta got up and went to sit by Rachel Lancaster. ‘That was very brave,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. I’m just glad that he’s gone – for now, at least.’
She started to cry, and although Josephine felt every sympathy for her, she couldn’t help but recall how well Rachel seemed to know Angela Hartley; it was overly suspicious, perhaps, but the thought crossed her mind that if Lancaster genuinely didn’t have an alibi for the early hours of Christmas morning, then neither did his wife.
4
Violet slept later than she had planned, soothed subconsciously by the rhythm of the sea outside the window. When she finally came to, it took her a moment to make sense of the unfamiliar ceiling and oddly matched furniture, then she remembered the storm and the hotel, and the expression on Johnny’s face when he had learned that they would have to share a room. She turned over, enjoying the simple luxury of being warm on a cold winter’s day, and looked at her fiancé in the next bed. Johnny was every bit as dead to the world as she had been, and it was nice to have him at her mercy for once, unselfconscious and without the distraction of trying to please her. He looked so young in his sleep, with a lock of fair hair fallen forward over his eyes and his arm outstretched on the pillow, but it was a strong face as well as a handsome one, she thought – definitely a view she could get used to, and not a bad start to Christmas Day.
A smell of bacon and toast from downstairs tempted her out of bed, and she pulled on her dressing gown and tiptoed across the floor, hoping that they hadn’t missed breakfast. Her handbag was by the dressing table, and she sat down in front of the mirror to redo her hair and put some lipstick on before Johnny woke up. The fire that had been so welcome the night before had long died down, but she had remembered to hang the wet clothes they had arrived in by the grate when it was at its fiercest and now she was pleased to find them nearly dry. After supper, they had undressed shyly in the dark, and Johnny’s shirt and trousers were thrown untidily over a chair: he could knock that on the head, she thought, going over to pick them up; his mother might have been happy to run round after him, but she wasn’t. To her surprise, the clothes were wet through, soaking the arm of the chair and dripping water onto the carpet. Bewildered, she went over to his bed and shook him roughly awake. ‘Have you been out in that storm again?’ she demanded, giving him no time to register what was happening. ‘I told you not to do anything of the sort. You’re a bloody idiot, Johnny Soper. You could have been killed.’
‘I wasn’t, though, was I?’ He grinned at her, but she wasn’t in the mood to be charmed. ‘I’m sorry, Vi. I was worried and I couldn’t sleep, so I walked down to the jetty to see for myself if there was any chance of getting a boat across there safely. I wouldn’t have done anything stupid, I promise. Why would I? I’ve got you to think of now.’ He smiled again, and this time she thawed a little. ‘Do I get a Christmas kiss?’
‘Yes, but you can dry your own trousers. Now look the other way – I’m getting dressed.’
‘Spoil-sport.’
He did as she asked, burrowing back under the sheets while she hurriedly chose clothes that might make a good impression on his mother. ‘All right, I’m decent now. Your turn.’ While he was dressing, she walked over to the window and drew the curtains back, pleased to see that the weather was greatly improved from the night before, even if the sea still looked threatening. She picked up the binoculars and trained them on the Mount, hoping to see a cheerful plume of smoke rising from Mrs Soper’s chimney, but there was nothing, and suddenly she began to share some of Johnny’s anxiety. ‘It’s much brighter now,’ she said cheerfully, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the artificial tone in her voice. ‘Surely those waves will die down soon.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ He came to join her, and reluctantly she passed him the binoculars. ‘Oh no,’ he said after a second or two, and the dread in the words was even worse than she had expected. ‘Oh God, Vi, I knew it. Something’s wrong – look at the church tower.’
She snatched the glasses back and looked again, and saw instantly that the flag which marked the highest point of the island was flying at half-mast. ‘But Johnny, that doesn’t mean …’
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘We need to get packed up and downstairs. Perhaps someone here knows what’s going on.’
In a panic, he started piling wet clothes into his suitcase, and she went over and took his hands, forcing him to stop and look at her. ‘Calm down, love, and let’s think this through. I’m not being funny, but why would they lower the flag for your mum? She’s not one of the toffs, is she? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’ Johnny smiled at her, as the logic of what she said sank in. ‘That’s probably why she wasn’t at home last night. If there’s been a death at the castle, it’ll be all hands to the pump, especially if it’s the old man. They all love him over there.’ He held her tight, and she could feel the relief pass through his whole body. ‘I wouldn’t wish ill on anyone, Vi, but thank God it’s not Mum.’
5
The clutch of stolen items was in Lancaster’s suitcase, just as his wife had described. It was mostly silverware – a sugar vase and an Elizabethan chalice, several elaborately decorated ladles, all easily pocketed – but Penrose also recognised a circular snuff box that had been on the side table in the smoking room, and several miniatures, including one of Charles I which he knew to be valuable. Lancaster seemed visibly to shrink under the disapproving stare of the other three men in the room. ‘I can only begin to imagine how ashamed your grandparents would be if they could see you now, Mr Lancaster,’ Penrose said. ‘What was their name?’
‘Pascoe. Frederick and Joan Pascoe.’
