by Carola Dunn
“It was just like that poem, the one they make you learn by heart at school. ‘If,’ it’s called. Kipling, I think. ‘If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you . . .’ Not that we did blame Mrs. Fletcher, of course.”
Unlike Superintendent Crane and the AC, Alec thought. “How long were you inside the pub on that first foray?”
“Just a minute or two. I glanced around to see if the others were there, said hello to the fellows at the bar, and told the chaps waiting for Babs that she was on her way. Let’s see . . . Oh, then I asked Dawson, the landlord, if he would build up the fire a bit because of the ladies coming in from the cold. That’s about it, as far as I remember.”
“Did you speak to the Gooches?”
“Not then. I can’t say I even really noticed them, just saw in a vague sort of way that a couple of strangers were having dinner at the other end of the room. The Ravens doesn’t have a separate dining room.”
“You didn’t recognize either of them, I take it.”
“No, how should I? It was his first trip to England, and she told me she hadn’t been home since she went out in ’03, when I was a mere babe in arms. Even Babs was only ten or eleven. I don’t suppose I’d ever have given them a second thought if Mr. Gooch hadn’t spoken to me when I was at the bar getting drinks.”
“He spoke first? What did he say?”
“Something on the lines of ‘Am I right in thinking you’re a Tyndall of Edge Manor, mate?’ I’ve met Australians, at Cambridge, and I knew at once that was where he was from.”
“Can you describe his manner?”
“ ‘His manner’?” Jack said blankly.
Alec racked his tired brain to come up with adjectives that might describe a con man or a blackmailer making first contact with a prospective victim. “Hearty, smooth, furtive, confidential, uh . . .”
“Bright and breezy,” Piper put in, “or reserved, mysterious, ominous, menacing.” He must have been studying a dictionary, determined to match Tom Tring’s unexpectedly erudite vocabulary, Alec guessed, amused.
“Good Lord, no. Nothing like that. He seemed embarrassed. Nervous and apologetic, and as if he’d rather be somewhere else. He said his wife used to live in Evesham and had heard of our Guy Fawkes fireworks; would we mind if they went to the meadow to watch. That’s down below, where the village and farm people go to watch the show and the bonfire.”
“He didn’t push for an invitation to the house?”
“On the contrary. He said his wife would be very grateful. They weren’t ‘flash’ folk, he said, and they didn’t want to push in where they weren’t wanted. Of course, after that, I felt I ought personally to assure Mrs. Gooch it was perfectly all right.”
Which was exactly the result a confidence trickster would hope for, but it didn’t sound like a blackmailer’s approach.
Jack, hitherto a model of apparent frankness, appeared to be awaiting the next question with some uneasiness. Alec remembered that both Miller and Gwen had hesitated over this part of the evening’s events. But Jack’s discomfort could be caused by a gentlemanly reluctance to disclose Daisy’s part in furthering the Gooches’ acquaintance with the Tyndalls. Alec decided to wait until he had heard Daisy’s side of the story before pressing the issue.
“Tell me what was said when you went to the Gooches’ table.”
Relieved, Jack said, “I told Mrs. Gooch they were very welcome to watch the fireworks, and she thanked me. I asked if they’d care to come and have a drink with us. She said that was a ‘bonzer’ idea. Then she laughed and added, ‘as Jimmy would say.’ ”
“She laughed? She wasn’t ‘embarrassed, nervous, and apologetic,’ like her husband?”
“On the contrary, she was happy and excited.” Jack seemed puzzled. “More as if she were going to Buckingham Palace to hobnob with royalty than across the taproom of a country inn to hobnob with the offspring of a country baronet.”
“And Gooch?”
“Was not happy. Thought it wasn’t a good idea. Didn’t want to intrude. But she persuaded him and they came over. As far as I could see, Mrs. Fletcher and Gwen and Miller pretty much put him at his ease. Mrs. Gooch was mostly talking to me.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“Actually, mostly I was blathering on to her. She said she had three sons at school in Perth and she’d like to take them stories of life at an English school, if I wouldn’t mind telling her about my school days. And she asked if I’d been to university, as her eldest is considering attending the college in Perth. And now—Oh God!—she’s dead and they’ll never see her again!” He dropped his forehead on his folded arms on the table, taking deep breaths as though to fight back tears.
If it was a performance, it was a very convincing performance. All the same, Jack had to top the list of suspects, if only because he stood to inherit from his father the title and presumably the estate.
With a last shuddering gasp, Jack sat up. “Sorry. I’m all right now. It’s just that I liked her awfully. It’s too horrible!”
“Murder is always horrible.” Alec was sure he sounded sententious, but it was true nevertheless. “Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes. What happened next? Babs finished her business and came over, and Dawson called for last orders. I can’t remember which happened first, but we all decided to have one last drink. Oh, I know—Babs said it was time to go, and I said no hurry, we could all squeeze into my bus to drive home. It’s a two-seater but there’s a dickey. My sisters are on the skinny side and Gw—one of them could have sat on Miller’s knees. But Mrs. Gooch said her husband could run the ladies up in their hire car.”
“Did he object?”
“Not at all. It was jolly decent of them. That was when I had what seemed a brilliant idea at the time,” Jack said bitterly. “I hadn’t had all that much to drink, but Dawson’s home-brewed draught is pretty potent stuff, and I suppose I must have been a bit tiddly.”
“You invited the Gooches up to the house for the fireworks party.”
“Precisely. He didn’t want to accept, but she begged him and he gave in. And she went upstairs smiling. Smiling!”
12
Piper sighed. “D’you reckon it’s even worth checking all these people he says he spoke to, Chief? If they remember at all, they won’t none of them know exactly what time it was, in the dark and all. Half an hour’s long enough for him to have a word or two with a lot of people and still follow his dad upstairs and shoot him.”
“And then go back to the terrace, speak to Daisy, dash down several flights of stairs to check on the missing rockets, dash up again, and quarrel with his sister before ostensibly going in search of his father. A bit tight, but he might have managed it.”
“Or maybe he shot them when he went looking?”
“I doubt it. Wookleigh said the doctor thought they’d been dead twenty minutes to half an hour when he saw them. And several people knew where young Tyndall was going, remember. We’ll have to find out how long he was gone.”
“Mrs. Fletcher’ll know.”
“No doubt,” Alec said dryly. “I wonder whether shots in the study could be heard in the dining room. We may have to . . . Hello, Miss Tyndall.”
“Jack says you’ve finished with him.” Babs’s manner was as abrupt as her entrance.
Jack had left barely a couple of minutes ago. Alec suspected he had gone straight to Gwen’s room and found Babs there already. In a situation like this, it was virtually impossible to keep suspects from talking to one another before they talked to the police. At least telling Babs to take her time had allowed him to interview Jack alone, for all the good it had done him. Unfortunately, Jack would have told his sisters that their father had not shot himself.
“Thank you for coming. Do sit down, won’t you? I hope you left Lady Tyndall resting comfortably.”
“Her maid is caring for her. Mendicott has been with Mother for twenty years and knows what’s best
for her. What do you want to know?”
Alec took her through the visit to the Three Ravens, learning nothing new. She had spent only a few minutes with the Gooches and had paid them little attention after discovering they knew nothing of farming in Western Australia. She thought it stupid of Jack to invite them to the house, knowing he was bound to set their father’s back up.
“I understand you’re keen on farming, Miss Tyndall. In fact, you went to the pub to meet a couple of farmers on business, correct?”
“What of it?”
“I just wondered,” Alec said mildly, “why you didn’t have them come up to the house.”
“I can’t see that it has anything to do with your investigation.” Babs’s voice was cold. “But as it happens, we were discussing planting a new variety of pear trees, and my father was not only uninterested in innovation, he did not care for what he called my ‘meddling’ on the estate. Now he’s gone, Jack will let me run things as I think best.”
“So, you see, my question had everything to do with my investigation.”
“My dear Mr. Fletcher, I hardly think murdering my father would be an appropriate method of saving myself the inconvenience of his tantrums. I haven’t paid them any heed since . . .” A shadow crossed her face. “For a number of years. In fact, he was not particularly interested in improving the estate; he just disapproved of a mere female taking charge. He’d have liked to hand the whole thing over to Jack.”
“If not the estate, what was Sir Harold interested in?”
“Guns and fireworks, and being Squire in a line of squires unbroken for centuries, with all the peasants tugging their forelocks and the County coming to call. I don’t say he didn’t run the place well enough before the War, but then he lost interest.”
“Guns.” Alec let the word hang heavily between them.
Babs grimaced. “Hoist with his own petard, I take it. Which . . .? One of the Webleys, I imagine. He kept a couple loaded.”
“Why?”
“Every now and then, he’d have a sudden urge to go and take a few potshots at a target, and he never did like waiting.”
“And why did he have the Webley & Scott automatic pistols? Half a dozen of them! That’s normally a military or police weapon.”
“He was convinced the Jerries were going to invade by sending submarines up the Severn to Gloucester and marching on the Midlands. He joined the Volunteer Force, wangled automatics for all of us, and insisted on teaching us to use them. Odd, isn’t it, that he considered his daughters should be able to shoot to kill but he refused to believe that I’m capable of competently managing the estate. But then, consistency—like patience—was never one of his virtues.”
“You’re very frank about your differences with your father, Miss Tyndall.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she asked indifferently. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Have you any suggestions to offer as to who might have?”
“Frankly, I’d say you’re looking in the wrong direction. Isn’t it more likely that the Australian wanted to get rid of his wife and found the perfect opportunity to make it look as if someone else had shot her?”
“It’s possible, certainly. But it wouldn’t explain the biggest mystery: why Mrs. Gooch was with Sir Harold in his study in the first place. Any ideas on that?”
“No.”
To Alec, the uncompromising monosyllable suggested its opposite, but this was not the time to delve into any theories she might be persuaded to offer. He took her through her version of the evening’s events.
She had reluctantly shared the duties of hostess with Gwen and Lady Tyndall. Parties were not much to her taste, but she had spoken to a great many guests, making sure they were well fed and supplied with such warm clothing as they had foolishly failed to bring with them for the fireworks. She hadn’t noticed the Gooches’ arrival. Later, she had been surprised to notice her father speaking briefly to Mrs. Gooch. He would certainly not have said anything inflammatory to a guest, however unwelcome, but she had been too far away to have any idea what he did say. Nor had she noted who was near them at the time, and Sir Harold’s back had been to her, so she hadn’t observed his expression.
“Though he wouldn’t have been outright rude, I doubt it was friendly,” she said. “He called Mr. Miller, who is infinitely more comme il faut, a counter jumper.”
Alec wondered briefly what Piper was making of the French phrase—and just where on the comme-il-faut scale he himself rated.
Miss Tyndall had not seen her father, Mrs. Gooch, or anyone else leave the terrace during the show to enter the house. Having decided that in the dark no one would notice if she took a rest from the duties of hospitality, she made no effort to talk to people.
“I watched the fireworks, a particularly good show this year, thanks, doubtless, to the redoubtable Mr. Miller. There was a set of coloured fountains—quite early on. I glanced around to see the effect of blue light on people’s faces, and I saw my nephews, looking like two veritable imps of hell, sneaking towards the terrace steps. I collared ’em. Had to bribe them with a promise of sparklers not to go down. They seem not to have kept their side of the bargain, unless they pinched the rockets earlier.”
“Didn’t the ‘collaring’ attract any attention?”
“Daisy was standing near the top of the steps. I had a word with her. Then I went to find the sparklers. Jack had left a box of them by the French windows to the drawing room. We always hope the children will forget about them, because it’s a beastly nuisance. Someone has to stay outside to supervise them when their parents have gone in for supper, and then shepherd them upstairs for their own supper.”
“Who did that?”
“My job this year. Anyway, I found the damn things and came back out to watch the rest of the show. Then at the end I stood at the French windows with Gwen to hand them out. She went in. I stayed out to make sure the children didn’t brand one another, or themselves. Then I brought them in.”
“You shooed them up here, up the main stairs? Did you come into the schoolroom?”
“No, their nannies were waiting to keep order, and by then, they were all eager to get their grubby little paws on the feast.”
“And then you went back, down the main stairs into the entrance hall?”
“That’s right. Most people had already collected their plates of food and were settling down. I was hungry, so I just dashed through to the dining room.”
“Where you found . . .”
“Jack and Addie at it hammer and tongs over Reggie and Adrian’s misdeeds. Being pretty fed up with the brats, I’m afraid I joined in. Then Mother came in and pointed out that we were behaving as badly as the boys. I went through to the drawing room to do my duty by our guests. After a bit, Jack and Addie came and asked if I’d seen Father, which I hadn’t. Jack went off, but I made Addie stay and help me show the flag. She spends so much time here, I don’t see why she shouldn’t pull her weight as a daughter of the house.”
“Your father taught Mrs.—Yarborough, isn’t it?—to shoot also?”
“Mrs. Stephen Yarborough. Yes, but she was hopeless and dropped it as soon as she married Stephen. I expect you know he was killed in the War?” Her lips pressed together as if in remembered pain.
Her sister’s or her own? Alec wondered. It seemed irrelevant to the case, but he made a mental note. “I gathered she’s a widow. I’ll have to see her tomorrow, and talk to her sons, too.”
“Good luck! You’ll need it.”
“Thank you. If you wouldn’t mind telling me what happened this evening, what you did and saw and heard, after your brother left you?”
Babs complied. Jack had returned after a while, with Gwen, both looking frightful. They told her what had happened. Acting on Daisy’s advice, they had scattered to explain quietly to the guests that an accident had occurred and the police had been sent for. They had apologized for cutting short the party. As they knew everyone and Gwen had the guest list, they hadn’t cons
idered it necessary to take names and addresses.
Having seen off the last inquisitive guest, Babs had gone with Gwen and Jack to break the news to her mother. At that point, Babs clammed up.
After an unpromising start, she had turned out to be a cooperative witness. Alec didn’t want to press her, not at this stage. “Mrs. Stephen Yarborough had already left?” he asked.
“Addie? Yes. We have her mama-in-law to thank for that. We didn’t tell her what had actually happened—what we thought had happened—but she started to get hysterical anyway. Mrs. Yarborough simply swept her and the brats off home, bless the woman. Gwen’s going to have to tell Addie the news. I’ll be damned if I’m going to.”
“That’s something I can do for you,” Alec said, making it sound like a favour, not a normal, if unpleasant, part of his job.
“Will you?”
“I’ll have to see Mrs. Stephen Yarborough first thing tomorrow anyway.”
“Depends what you call first thing.” Babs gave a sour laugh. “It’s no good going before eleven o’clock. She won’t be up.”
Alec let her go. He and Piper headed downstairs.
“Didn’t like her pa much, did she, Chief? And she didn’t seem to care one way or t’other for Mrs. Gooch. Blount said she’s a good shot and don’t think twice about popping off at birds and such. You reckon she did it?”
“The boy’s motive is much stronger. Miss Tyndall may get to control the estate, but he’ll own it. At least, I assume so. Tom didn’t mention seeing a will in the study. Not that he had a chance to search the desk, what with the body sitting at it. In any case, we’ll have to find his lawyer.”
“If the local doctor was here last night, maybe—”
“Hush!”
They had reached the top of the stairs to the hall and Alec heard a murmur of voices below. Looking over the balustrade, he saw Tom Tring talking to Miller. They were both smoking and seemed to be getting on together all right. The engineer so disparagingly described by Sir Harold as a “counter jumper” might talk more freely to the big detective sergeant than to Alec. If not, all they’d lose would be a little time.
