The Missing Diamond Murder

by Diane Janes

  ‘Fair enough. The key thing is that no one admits to being the person who was walking through the woods that day.’

  ‘No. Miss Billington was looking for Imogen, but I’ve double checked with her and she says she didn’t go into the woods.’

  ‘Which sounds reasonable,’ said Tom. ‘From what I saw the other day, it’s a regular rabbit warren. There would have been no point trying to follow the kid in there.’

  ‘The trouble is that almost everyone appears to have an alibi. Though there’s no one to verify that Miss Billington didn’t go into the woods, or that Lady Louisa was really resting in her room. We don’t know how long Charles had on his own before he met up with Connie and Dolly seems to have had quite a long period unaccounted for. I suppose it’s even possible that Mellie took advantage of Miss Billington’s absence to slip away from the beach for a while. I haven’t interviewed any of the children apart from Imogen, so I have nothing to confirm that Mellie stayed down there the whole time.’

  ‘There’s also this business about the diamond actually being held in trust for someone else,’ said Tom. ‘What did the Edgertons make of that, d’you think?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know. They probably weren’t too bothered. Although the diamond is obviously valuable, they’re not exactly hard up.’

  ‘They didn’t much like the idea of losing it. I mean, isn’t that why they called us in, or rather called you in, in the first place?’

  ‘I think that may have been as much because the disappearance of the diamond threw doubt on the way their grandfather had died as because the thing had been lost. If someone had stolen the diamond from the old man’s room, while everyone else was out enjoying themselves at the beach, and old Mr Edgerton had been found at the bottom of the cliffs that evening, that would have suggested foul play, but that scenario doesn’t work so obviously if someone only hid the diamond in the grounds.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Tom mused. ‘The person who hid the diamond wouldn’t have anticipated Imogen’s finding and removing it that same afternoon.’

  ‘But why would you do that? Only hide the diamond in the grounds, rather than making off with it altogether, I mean?’

  ‘Goodness only knows.’

  ‘I suppose there could be reasons …’ Fran began to answer her own question. ‘What if you shared a room with someone else and you didn’t want them to accidentally come across the stone? By hiding it out in the woods, you could choose your own time to come back and fetch it.’

  ‘So going back to this question of the actual ownership of the stone …’ Tom nudged her back on track.

  ‘The news that Mrs Headingham claims to have been told that it actually belonged to someone else didn’t exactly cause a furore. Mellie did question whether anyone would have anything in writing to prove ownership, but I expect they probably all thought deep down, as I did myself, that if no one has come forward to claim the diamond by now, then they’re probably never going to.’

  ‘How long had old Edgerton been in possession of it?’

  ‘More than fifty years, I think.’

  ‘His friend probably didn’t make it back home from Africa, or wherever they met up. I don’t suppose anyone else even knows about Edgerton having the diamond. And you haven’t been able to make anything of the French connection?’

  ‘Well, there is one tiny thing. Imogen’s governess, Miss Billington, speaks noticeably good French and when I asked her where she’d learned, she told me it was in France.’

  ‘And she’s one of the people who hasn’t got a solid alibi for the whole afternoon.’

  They both fell silent for a moment, as a woman wearing a white wrap-around overall cleared away their tea cups and rather officiously wiped a couple of invisible spots from the wooden table.

  ‘I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,’ said Tom with a smile. ‘Unless of course, you’d like another cup?’

  ‘No, thanks; my train is due quite soon. There is one more thing I thought I ought to tell you.’ Fran hesitated. It wasn’t exactly part of the investigation, but somehow, it had to be said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Eddie Edgerton has asked me to marry him.’

  She had expected Tom to express surprise or remark that it was all rather sudden, but after a brief, excruciating silence, he attempted a smile and said, ‘And are congratulations in order?’

  ‘Of course not. I … I hardly know him.’

  ‘But you haven’t turned him down?’

  ‘He asked me not to give him an immediate answer, so I’ve promised that I’ll think about it.’

  Tom momentarily looked down as if he had just discovered something of immense interest on the empty table. ‘His brother seems a jolly decent chap,’ he said, looking up again and meeting her eyes. ‘So I’m sure Eddie is too. You were dealt a rotten hand first time around and you deserve to find someone you can be happy with. He’s a very lucky man, if you’ll have him.’

  Fran was about to say something else, but Tom stood up and lifted her suitcase. ‘Let me see you to the gate of your platform. You don’t want to be late for your train.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  There was quite a pile of letters awaiting Fran’s return home. Ada had left the fire laid and after Fran had put a match to the kindling, hung up her coat and hat, unsuccessfully attempted to mollify Mrs Sneglington, who was sulking as she always did after one of Fran’s absences, and poured herself a large gin and tonic, she sat down to read through all her correspondence, saving the envelope addressed in Mo’s handwriting to the end.

  Mr Long, her solicitor, had written to inform her that he was in possession of the information that the named party in her divorce petition had recently given birth to a daughter. The paternity of the child, he wrote, was not in dispute and the court had been informed. In the meantime, he had also received notice that her decree nisi had been issued. She was part way there. If everything went smoothly, then according to what Mr Long had said of the process, the divorce would be made absolute in a matter of months, leaving Michael free to make an honest woman of Winnie the Ninny, while she would be … free … and alone.

  There was a bill from the grocer to be settled and an advertisement for a horticultural suppliers from whom she had once purchased some rose bushes for the back garden. Of considerably more interest was a note from Miss Roche, one-time nurse to Mr Edgerton, saying that she would be pleased to meet Fran at a mutually convenient time, if she would care to suggest a date when she was likely to be in London, where Miss Roche now lived. Bother! London was an awfully long way to go, just to interview someone who hadn’t even been on the premises at the relevant time. The address Roly’s mother had originally provided was in Stoke-on-Trent, which was considerably more convenient. Her letter must have been forwarded to Miss Roche’s latest abode. Of course, Charles and Dolly Edgerton lived in London too, according to Eddie, but without an introduction, she could hardly just call on them and start asking questions.

  Her godmother had sent a letter from Clitheroe, bringing her up to date with various family news, a charity was soliciting her support for a Manchester orphanage (how on earth did they obtain one’s name and address, she wondered) and finally there was the pale blue envelope, which she had immediately singled out by Mo’s distinctive sloping hand.

  Mo had feigned reluctance over the trip out to Malaya, but from the contents of her letter it was perfectly obvious that she was having a jolly good time, now that she had actually arrived. Mo was naturally sociable, Fran reflected, so she would enjoy the round of parties and get-togethers which seemed to be a feature of colonial life. It was a lively letter, filled with hilarious (and not always kind) descriptions of the various people Mo had met, all written in her own irrepressible style, which made Fran smile unconsciously as she read it. It was the contents of the final paragraph however, which stopped Fran in her tracks.

  Absolutely between ourselves, though it may be too early to tell, I feel as sure as I can be that my mother
-in-law’s determination that the family line doesn’t end with Terence, is going to be satisfied by the outcome of the trip.

  Fran remembered now that it had been Terence’s mother, more than anyone, who had urged that Mo should go out on a visit. Mo and Terence had such an odd relationship really, one might almost have called it a marriage of convenience. But in spite of that there was going to be a baby. Fran let the hand holding the sheets of notepaper droop into her lap. Everyone – even the utterly unmaternal Mo – seemed to be producing infants, left right and centre. The bedroom which faced east at Innominate House would make such a lovely nursery. She sighed and leaned her head against the back of the armchair. It had been such a long day. So many hours on the train that her head was still ringing with the rhythm of the wheels on the rails.

  The telephone at her side began to ring.

  She reached over with a weary hand to lift it. ‘Hello? Newby Bridge 87.’

  ‘Ah, Frances.’ It was her mother’s voice. ‘You are home, I see. I thought I would save you the trouble of ringing to ask me how I am.’

  ‘I have been home barely an hour, Mummy. I fully intended to telephone later this evening.’ As usual, Fran found herself apologizing for some filial failure, real or imagined.

  ‘Well, I have saved you the trouble.’ The tone was unrelenting. ‘I trust you have been enjoying yourself with your new friends in Devon. I did think that you might have sent me a postcard.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mummy. Yes, of course, I should have done.’

  ‘I have not heard a single word from you. And anything might have happened to me in the meantime.’ Her mother sniffed.

  ‘Now really, Mummy, dear, I’m sure that if there had been the least sign of anything happening to you, someone would have contacted me immediately.’

  Her mother sniffed audibly again. ‘Well, now that you are back from your junketing, I’m the bearer of bad tidings, I’m afraid. Cousin Alice has died. The funeral is in the parish church at ten o’clock on Wednesday. I trust you will be available to accompany me.’

  Fran suppressed the desire to say that naturally she would not miss the fun of a family funeral for anything. (It was hard to feel sad about her mother’s cousin, Aunt Alice, who had been ninety if she was a day and had spent the past thirty years bullying her two much younger sisters without mercy.) Instead she said, ‘I have some news for you too. I have heard that my divorce seems to be going through and that Michael and the … the other woman have had a daughter.’

  ‘Frances! Have you no sensibility for my feelings at all? Can you imagine how dreadful it is to have such news conveyed over an instrument? I thought that I had made it very clear to you that I have no wish to know what is occurring with regard to these terrible divorce proceedings. I fear to think what your father would have had to say if he had lived to see such goings-on.’

  For once, something inside Fran snapped. ‘If a telephone is a suitable vehicle to inform someone of a death, then it must be equally suitable for news of a birth. I assume we are meeting at the house and I will see you at nine thirty on Wednesday.’ Fran did not trouble to keep the asperity from her voice.

  ‘Frances! Frances!’

  Taking up a torn envelope from beside the phone, Fran crumpled it in her free hand, so that it rustled and crackled into the receiver. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, keeping her mouth at a distance. ‘I think we’re being cut off.’ She placed her finger across the rest and held it there until she was sure it had had the desired effect and then replaced the receiver, experiencing a rather satisfying sense of wickedness as she did so.

  When the telephone rang again a few moments later, she was very tempted to ignore it, but trying to take a stand against her mother always ended up being more trouble than it was worth, so she lifted the receiver and said reluctantly, ‘Hello, Mummy.’

  ‘Hello? Is that Mrs Black?’ It was a male voice, definitely familiar and evidently surprised by the greeting.

  ‘Oh, yes, it is. I’m so sorry, I was expecting someone else.’

  ‘Fran? It’s Roland Edgerton here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fran had placed the voice now and thereby felt doubly foolish. ‘Yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry, you rather caught me unawares.’

  ‘Did you have a good journey?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Fran, the family have been talking things over and, first of all, we feel most awfully remiss in not offering you any kind of reward for the recovery of the diamond. Fees were never really discussed, but naturally—’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t charge a fee,’ Fran broke in. ‘I have been amply repaid with your friendship and hospitality, and besides, I did nothing very much to find the diamond. It was only a question of asking the right thing of the right person, because in the end, it wasn’t really lost at all.’

  ‘Come now, you are being far too modest. Thanks to you, the family has recovered a valuable piece of lost property and you most surely deserve a reward of some kind.’

  ‘No, really, there isn’t any need. And anyway, the whole of the mystery isn’t solved yet, is it? There is still the question of your grandfather’s death.’

  ‘We have been discussing that too.’ Roland paused, as if deciding how to frame his words. ‘The coroner’s jury decided that it was an accident, and there has always been the strongest possibility that they were right.’

  Fran said nothing. She had not shared most of her discoveries with the Edgertons. Ought she to do that now? Suppose she told Roland about the footsteps that Imogen had heard in the woods that afternoon? Was it overdramatic to imagine that such information could endanger the child, if the person who actually made those sounds on the path got to hear about it?

  ‘It has always been a delicate matter.’ Roland was speaking again. ‘Mother was most concerned that rumours of a private investigation might begin to circulate, but now that the diamond has been found, any speculation regarding your mission here would be easily accounted for. Something had been mislaid and you managed to recover it, as simple as that.’

  ‘So you don’t wish me to continue making enquiries on your behalf?’ Fran said aloud. The voice in her head whispered: We don’t give up, do we?

  ‘The general consensus is that it’s best to accept the coroner’s verdict. It’s time to put aside the past, look forward and embrace the future – especially with Mellie’s wonderful news. However, we do hope that you will come down and stay with us again very soon, as a family friend, rather than a lady detective.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fran. ‘I shall look forward to it very much.’

  ‘And you are absolutely sure that there is nothing we can do by way of a reward?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  It would have been rather embarrassing and sordid, Fran thought, to have named a price for her services. She was suitably gratified, however, when a delivery van arrived at the gate next day, bearing an enormous basket of spring flowers and an attached card, which read, With sincere thanks from all at Sunnyside House.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It did feel somewhat underhand to carry on making enquiries about the Edgerton family without their knowledge and against their wishes, but Fran recalled that she and Tom had not always enjoyed the blessing of those closely associated with their previous cases, in which their persistence had undoubtedly paid off and ultimately brought to book some very dangerous individuals, who might otherwise have gone on to do even more harm.

  While, on the one hand, it was not terribly convenient that Miss Roche lived in London, on the other it provided a jolly good excuse for a trip down to the capital and a stay in that little hotel just off Trafalgar Square, which she and Mo had liked so much on a previous visit. What a pity Mo wasn’t around to accompany her. They could have gone to the theatre together in the evening – one could hardly go alone. Instead Fran contented herself with a couple of hours in the Victoria and Albert Museum on the afternoon of her arrival, followed by a quiet supper in her hotel.

  She occupi
ed the first part of the following morning with a little window shopping. She had a couple of hours to fill, because Miss Roche had named eleven o’clock as a convenient time and nominated the portico of St Martin-in-the-Fields as their meeting place. Fran arrived a few minutes early for the rendezvous, whereas Monica Roche approached at precisely the nominated hour. ‘Mrs Black?’ She extended a hand and gave a firm handshake. She was a tall, strong woman, Fran noted, qualities which were presumably extremely useful in a nurse. She was somewhat older than Fran had expected, with iron grey hair, cut in a short, modern style, which would again have been extremely practical when undertaking her professional duties.

  ‘My apologies for not inviting you to my home,’ said Miss Roche. ‘My mother is somewhat frail and finds visitors a trial. There is a very pleasant tea room just round the corner, and I thought we could talk in there.’

  ‘Please don’t apologize,’ said Fran. ‘It is very kind of you to see me at all.’

  ‘I have to own to a certain amount of self-interest,’ Miss Roche said, as she led the way briskly across the road. ‘Lady Edgerton was somewhat vague in her letter, merely saying that you were looking into a matter which concerned the family and would be most appreciative if I could spare some time. I simply cannot imagine what this matter might be and curiosity forced me to acquiesce.’

  Fran had not intended to approach the purpose of the meeting until they were sitting down somewhere, face-to-face, but the clear note of enquiry in her companion’s voice forced her to come clean immediately. ‘I trust that we can speak confidentially, Miss Roche?’

  ‘I am a trained nurse, Mrs Black. Confidentiality is my watch word.’

  ‘Very well then. The thing is that after Mr Frederick Edgerton died, the family were faced with rather a puzzle. A valuable item appeared to have gone missing and coupled with that, the circumstances of Mr Edgerton’s death were, shall we say, a little bit strange. The family hoped that I might be able to recover the item which had been lost and at the same time reassure them that Mr Edgerton’s death had been nothing more than a tragic accident.’