Isabelle had mixed feelings about the gem. It was, she said, not to put too fine a point on it, a ruin. Yes, there were walls and a roof, but that was about all. A period of some seriously hard work followed, much to the benefit of the local builders, and, like a phoenix from the ashes, the house of Arthur’s dreams, and to Isabelle’s satisfaction, emerged.
Arthur was, thought Jack, a very happy man. He was also, as they sat in the dining room together, a worried one.
‘I’m afraid it’s a scratch meal,’ he said, as they sat down to chicken casserole. ‘Poor Isabelle was completely skittled out this morning and it never occurred to me to think about meals, so Mrs Jarvis, the cook, and Mabel, the girl, took over.’
‘It just seemed to knock all the stuffing out of me,’ said Isabelle apologetically. ‘I do hope everything’s all right, Jack.’
‘It’s all absolutely fine,’ said Jack, ‘and this casserole is delicious. Granted the circumstances, I was going to stay at the local pub, Belle, but Arthur insisted I came here.’
‘How did you get on today?’ asked Arthur. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got a killer – a deranged killer – in our midst. Do you know when the poor bloke was killed?’
‘We think it happened on Tuesday. Those ghastly lilies were taken from Mrs Dyson’s garden on Tuesday night.’
‘Don’t,’ pleaded Isabelle. ‘Those flowers were horrible. I could virtually hear the murderer laughing at us.’
‘It seems that way, doesn’t it?’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘Ashley’s convinced that the killer’s off his rocker. He might be right.’
He crumbled a piece of bread. ‘We did find something odd. When we moved the body, we found a black knight from a chess set. It was carved out of black marble with crystal eyes. It was far too expensive to be from a set belonging to the church. Mrs Dyson confirmed that. All the church board games are kept in the parish hall and the pieces are made of plain old boxwood, not elaborately carved marble. It has to have been left there deliberately. I think it’s a message from the murderer.’
‘But what’s the message?’ demanded Isabelle. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Games,’ said Arthur softly. ‘The killer’s playing games.’ He gave a long breath. ‘What else did you turn up?’
‘It looks as if the body was brought along Coppenhall Lane. We found tartan threads from the rug snagged along the bushes. Ashley found a silver matchbox with the initials E.C. engraved on it by the lichgate where the body had evidently been put down for a time …’
He broke off at the sight of Isabelle’s expression. ‘E.C.?’ she repeated softly. ‘Oh my God, Arthur. Edward Castradon.’
Arthur put down his knife and fork and gazed at her. ‘Isabelle, you can’t honestly suspect Ned Castradon.’
She looked stricken. ‘But the chess piece, Arthur! He’s a real chess fiend.’
‘So what if he is?’ He turned to Jack. ‘There’s a thriving chess club in the village and Ned Castradon is one of their leading lights. They meet in the Red Lion once a week, but you can’t base anything on the fact that a man plays chess.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Jack. ‘But Edward Castradon’s known for his rocky temper, isn’t he?’
‘He’s dreadfully moody,’ said Isabelle.
Arthur shot her a warning look. ‘Isabelle …’
‘He is moody,’ persisted Isabelle. ‘I know, just as well as you do, Arthur, that’s very different from being nuts, but he’s got a shocking temper.’ She turned to Jack. ‘You heard about the fight he had with Ryle, the Vardons’ chauffeur?’ Jack nodded. ‘That’s just one incident. He had a dreadful row with Sue this morning. When she arrived at the church this morning, she was terribly upset. Ned’s been in a foul mood all week. He’s hardly spoken to her.’
Arthur looked profoundly uncomfortable. ‘I don’t think we should gossip about our neighbours,’ he began, but Jack disagreed.
‘I’d rather hear it from you and Belle than anyone else, Arthur. I know you’ll be as fair as possible.’
Arthur was unconvinced. ‘I don’t see what the Castradons’ private affairs have to do with the body in the church, no matter how upset Sue Castradon was.’
‘Neither do I,’ agreed Jack amicably, ‘but it’s good background knowledge and you can bet your boots I’ll hear it from someone sooner or later.’
He very much did want to hear about it. Ned Castradon had a fight with Ryle on Sunday, a fight which was interrupted forcibly by the vicar. Castradon had resented Mr Dyson’s interference. On Tuesday the body was put in the church, garlanded with lilies from the Vicarage garden. That really could be seen as an insult or even a threat to Mr Dyson. And Ned Castradon had been in a foul mood all week? Yes, despite Arthur’s qualms, he wanted to know the reason for Castradon’s bad temper.
‘It’s so unfair,’ said Isabelle. ‘It’s all about Simon Vardon.’ She launched into an account of how village tongues had wagged about Simon Vardon’s obvious admiration for Sue at Sir Matthew’s funeral. ‘The trouble is,’ she finished, ‘is that Sue’s lovely. I honestly doubt if any man could avoid noticing her.’
Arthur nodded vigorously in whole-hearted if rather tactless agreement.
‘And Ned,’ she continued, ‘was badly shot up in the war. I know it’s not his fault but especially with Sue being so … well, striking, I suppose you could say, it’s all a bit like Beauty and the Beast. Ned’s quite horribly jealous. It’s rotten for Sue. It’s so unfair.’
‘It sounds it,’ said Jack. ‘But what brought matters to a head this week?’
‘It could’ve been Castradon’s fight with Ryle,’ suggested Arthur. ‘If Ryle taunted him with the village gossip, that could account for it.’
‘Yes, it could,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘Tell me more about the Vardons.’
‘I don’t know much,’ said Arthur with a shrug, ‘but Sir Matthew Vardon was a nasty piece of work altogether, in my opinion. He died of apoplexy about five weeks ago.’
‘I never liked him,’ said Isabelle. ‘Did you hear the rumour going the rounds that his illness wasn’t natural?’
‘I did hear something,’ admitted Arthur. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if someone did want to bump him off, but Dr Lucas would’ve known if there was anything dodgy going on.’
‘Apparently it was Dr Lucas who was under suspicion. The nurse, Nurse Pargetter, said Dr Lucas was a bit too happy that Sir Matthew showed no signs of a recovery.’
Arthur shook his head vigorously. ‘Old Lucas wouldn’t do anything to harm a patient.’
Isabelle pulled a face. ‘Put as starkly as that, I didn’t think he would, either. To be fair, he called for a second opinion, and a doctor from Harley Street came. That proves he’s innocent, doesn’t it?’
‘To play devil’s advocate for a moment, it doesn’t prove anything of the sort,’ said Jack. ‘He could’ve called for a second opinion as a blind.’
Isabelle wriggled impatiently. ‘Of course he could, but I don’t believe it. I think it’s as Arthur said. Because nobody liked Sir Matthew much, when he died, the rumours started. Aunt Catherine warned us to be careful of him. Sir Matthew’s son, Thomas – he’s the son of Sir Matthew’s first wife – will inherit the place. If he’s expecting quiet village life, he’s got a nasty shock coming, with a murderer on the loose. Mind you, he must be used to excitement. He’s worked in Hollywood since the war.’
‘Hollywood? Gosh. I bet that’s caused some gossip.’
‘We’ve been talking about nothing else for weeks,’ said Arthur with a grin.
‘It’s interesting, Jack,’ said Isabelle, ‘even though Arthur’s bored to death with it all.’
Arthur sighed meaningfully and turned his attention to his dinner as Isabelle launched into an account of what had been gleaned in the village about Thomas Vardon’s life and career to date. As even that repository of knowledge about all things Hollywood, Winifred Charteris, actually knew very little, there was a mountain of speculation to a molehill of fa
ct.
‘And,’ concluded Isabelle, after a monologue in which the words film, Hollywood, picture and studio had featured heavily, ‘Mrs Dyson told us that the poor man should arrive today.’
‘Why is he a poor man?’ enquired Jack, finishing his chicken and putting his knife and fork on the plate.
‘Lady Vardon resented Thomas bitterly because he gets the title. He married a film star.’
‘A film star?’ said Jack with gratifying interest.
‘Well, I don’t think she’s exactly a star. I suppose she’s a starlet. Or a starling.’
‘Ruddy pests,’ muttered Arthur. ‘I need to get a shotgun to them.’ He glanced up at Jack’s snort of laughter. ‘Starlings, I mean,’ he explained.
‘Why don’t you tell me all about this star, Belle?’ asked Jack. ‘Or starling, if you’d rather. You’re obviously dying to meet her.’
‘Well, I am,’ agreed Isabelle. ‘Her name’s Esmé Duclair. I want to know what Hollywood’s really like.’
Jack laughed. He couldn’t help it. ‘You’re star-struck.’
‘It’s all right for you, living in London,’ said Isabelle with dignity, ‘but we’re positively moss-bound here. You wouldn’t credit how the smallest piece of gossip becomes news and how satisfying it is to pass it on. If there’s some genuine news, we’re all agog. Why, the morning after Lady Vardon’s diamonds were stolen, Sue Castradon came and told us about it at breakfast.’
Jack’s eyebrows crawled upwards. ‘It doesn’t sound as if you’ve been lacking for interest recently, village or no village.’
Explanations followed. ‘And,’ said Arthur, ‘what you make of it all, I don’t know. Could it possibly be connected with the murder?’
‘On the face of it, no,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘They’re two remarkable events, though, and I’d count Castradon’s fight with Ryle as a third. A professional man is usually more careful of his reputation. Who is Ryle, anyway? I know he was the Vardon’s chauffeur, but apart from that, I mean?’
‘The person to ask is our cook, Mrs Jarvis,’ said Isabelle. ‘She’ll be able to tell you more than we can. Not that she liked him, particularly. I don’t think anyone did much.’
‘All right. Apart from Edward Castradon, is there anyone else you can think of who strikes you as a little bit odd? This is just between the three of us,’ he added hastily to cut short Arthur’s protests.
‘I can’t think of anyone who strikes me as that crazy,’ said Arthur.
‘Sir Matthew Vardon’s grandfather had to be locked up,’ said Isabelle. ‘He was as nutty as a fruit cake, by all accounts.’
‘Yes, darling, but he’s been dead for about fifty years,’ said Arthur patiently.
‘I know. I was just thinking out loud.’ Isabelle frowned. ‘Jerry Lucas – that’s Dr Lucas’s son – has seemed very nervy lately. He used to be such a pleasant man but he’s been terribly broody for ages. Twitchy, you know?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Jerry Lucas wouldn’t be involved in anything like this, poor chap. He’s a bag of nerves.’
‘Have there been any other odd events? Particularly anything to do with Ryle. I’m trying to work out possible connections.’
‘There is something,’ said Arthur after a few moments’ thought. ‘Aunt Catherine never liked the Vardons, as I said, but she always kept on good terms with them.’
‘She told me about Sir Matthew’s grandfather,’ put in Isabelle. ‘He was dangerous.’
‘And dead,’ said Arthur with an impatient sigh. ‘When Aunt Catherine heard of Sir Matthew’s condition, she asked me to deliver her good wishes to Lady Vardon. When I called at the house, Dr Lucas was with Sir Matthew and Lady Vardon and I was shown into the morning room to wait. The window looks over the back of the house. I heard Dr Lucas leave, so I was surprised to see him walk past. He’d gone out of the front door, you see, and so must have deliberately gone round to the back. He stopped by the outbuildings and waited. Ryle came out of the garage. They were friendly enough at first, then Ryle flared up and started shouting. I don’t know what was said, but I did catch something about the war. Lucas was really jumpy and kept looking around as if he were nervous about being seen. He was obviously unhappy, but seemed to give in. Ryle calmed down and looked very pleased with himself. I couldn’t understand it.’
Jack whistled slowly. ‘Dr Lucas and Ryle, eh? That’s a link I’d have never suspected. What happened then?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know,’ said Arthur with a shrug. ‘Lady Vardon came into the morning room, so I had to speak to her.’
‘Ryle was shouting about the war?’ asked Jack with a frown. ‘Dr Lucas wasn’t in the war, was he?’
‘No, he wasn’t. He’s been in practice here for a good few years. I like old Lucas. He’s a bit pompous but I like him. You haven’t met him yet, have you?’
‘Not yet. Ryle’s name seems to keep cropping up, doesn’t it? I’ll have a word with your Mrs Jarvis before I meet Ashley.’
‘Are you driving to the village, Jack?’ asked Isabelle. ‘You can give me a lift if you are. There’s a Ladies’ Aid meeting in the Vicarage.’
‘Mrs Dyson won’t expect you, surely, Isabelle?’ asked Arthur.
‘I’d like to go. I’d like to feel that everything was as normal as it possibly can be.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Arthur dubiously. ‘Do you want me to come?’
‘It’s ladies only,’ she said with a smile. ‘You’d be very out of place.’
After the meal was over, Isabelle took Jack into the kitchen. Mrs Jarvis was sitting down, keeping a watchful eye on Mabel who was washing up. Mabel was obviously not sorry to have this break in their routine.
‘Major Haldean wants to know about Ryle,’ said Isabelle. ‘I’ll leave you to it, Jack. I want to get ready to go out.’
‘I think the mistress is doing too much,’ said Mrs Jarvis, when Isabelle had left the kitchen. ‘There’s not many who’d be up and about after a nasty shock like she had this morning.’
Mabel turned away from the sink and dried her hands on a roller towel. ‘You told her, didn’t you, Mrs Jarvis? You said she should be resting and the doctor sent for, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘I did,’ agreed Mrs Jarvis repressively. ‘Not that it’s any concern of yours, girl. All the mistress was really concerned about,’ she added with a reproving glare at Jack, ‘was seeing everything was shipshape for you coming, sir. I told her she shouldn’t be thinking of guests, not after what she’s been through.’
‘It’s very kind of her,’ said Jack in mild embarrassment. ‘I’m very grateful for the trouble everyone’s taken,’ he added tactfully, including Mrs Jarvis and Mabel with a smile.
His evident sincerity had its effect. ‘I’m sure I like to oblige when I can,’ said Mrs Jarvis, mollified. ‘Excuse me, sir, did the mistress say you wanted to know about Jonathan Ryle?’
‘That’s right. I keep on hearing various stories about him, such as his fight on Sunday night, and I wanted to find out more.’
Mrs Jarvis pursed her lips disapprovingly. ‘In my opinion he’s a wrong ’un, if ever there was. He worked for Mr and Mrs Castradon when he first came to the village, but that didn’t last long. Everyone’s saying as how Mr Castradon shouldn’t have been fighting with him on Sunday, but what I say is, what about Ryle? You mark my words, he started it.’
‘He started a lot of trouble, Ryle did,’ put in Mabel, a sharp-looking girl of about sixteen. ‘My mum told me to be careful of him.’
‘Your mum told you right, my girl,’ agreed Mrs Jarvis. ‘I won’t hear a word against Mr Castradon, for all everyone was saying he was to blame. He’s a good man, Mr Castradon is. He was that kind to our Albert, when Albert had a bit of trouble with the police over those roofing tiles and he said he didn’t do it and Mr Castradon knew he didn’t do it, and wouldn’t charge him a penny piece for proving he didn’t do it, and Albert was that grateful. He’s been good to a few like that, has Mr Castrad
on.’
‘He’s got a right temper, though,’ said Mabel dubiously. ‘I’ve heard stories.’
‘True,’ agreed Mrs Jarvis, with pursed lips. ‘But there’s worse things.’
‘What stories?’ asked Jack curiously.
‘Well, sir,’ said Mabel, with a glance at Mrs Jarvis for support. ‘It was all round the village earlier this week about the set-to he had with Mr Vardon when Mr Vardon came into his office, wasn’t it?’
Mrs Jarvis took over. ‘Bessie Quinn – she’s the office girl – couldn’t think how Mr Vardon had got in there. It was a mystery, that was, and, even though he had good cause, Mr Castradon took on dreadful, both with Mr Vardon and the staff. Him and Mr Vardon had words. It worried Bessie. “Get out and never darken my door again!” shouted Mr Castradon, at the top of his voice.’
Jack grinned. ‘Was that exactly what he said?’
‘Well, something like that,’ amended Mrs Jarvis.
‘Have you any idea where Ryle is now?’ asked Jack.
Mrs Jarvis and Mabel looked at each other and shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone’s seen him for a good few days,’ said Mrs Jarvis. ‘Mind you, he’s probably lying low after that leathering that Mr Castradon gave him, but I’d have expected to have seen something of him.’
‘Would you recognize him?’ asked Jack, ‘If you couldn’t see his face, I mean?’
Mrs Jarvis gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘I don’t see how I could, sir, do you? It sounds a right old guessing game, that does.’
‘Did Ryle have any special friends?’ continued Jack. ‘Any particular cronies?’
‘Not him,’ put in Mabel. ‘He thought himself above the likes of us.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Jarvis, put out by Mabel’s interruption. ‘Not that it’s your place to say it, young lady. He was always so hoity-toity, very proud of himself he was, working for Sir Matthew Vardon. He thought himself a cut above everyone round here. Country bumpkins he used to call us.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘Downright cheek, I call it. He came from London and gave himself no end of airs and graces on the strength of it. As I said, it was Mr Castradon who brought him here. You could ask him about Ryle.’
The Chessman Page 8
