The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile

by Clara Benson

  ‘I’m not making much of a fist of it at the moment, am I?’ he said.

  ‘I’m happy to have found you at last, and that is all that matters at present,’ she said. She reached out and took the revolver from his unresisting hand, then gave it to Freddy. ‘Now,’ she went on, ‘there’s no room in Freddy’s car so you must come back with me on Castana. I shall take you home to Blakeney and then tomorrow we will go into Littlechurch together.’

  She held out her hand, and he took it and got to his feet.

  ‘I’d offer to take the horse and give you my car, but I’m afraid we’re not exactly dressed for riding,’ said Freddy.

  Lucy smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We shall be back in no time.’

  ‘Might I suggest that you go and see Lady Alice as soon as you return?’ said Angela. ‘I fear she thinks that you are plotting to keep her son away from her, and she made me promise to let her know when Gil was found.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lucy serenely. She had won the battle with Lady Alice, and she knew it and was prepared to be generous.

  Gil mounted the chestnut mare with some difficulty, since he was weak from lack of food. Lucy climbed up in front of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to Angela and Freddy. ‘I shan’t forget this.’

  She nudged Castana and they set off slowly along the beach.

  ‘How did she know to come here?’ said Angela.

  ‘I telephoned her just before we set off,’ said Freddy. ‘I—er—thought she might be able to do something with him. It appears I was right.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘I’m glad she gave you the gun, though.’

  ‘Why, do you think he might have got it back off her and done something stupid?’

  ‘Not exactly. I was thinking more on the lines of her putting him out of his misery, as she might a sick horse,’ she replied. Freddy gazed at her in astonishment, and she went on hurriedly, ‘I know, it’s a ridiculous idea. Why on earth should she have persuaded him not to kill himself in that case?’

  ‘Well, quite.’

  ‘All the same,’ said Angela. ‘I’m glad we have the gun and not them.’

  They watched as the horse with its two riders disappeared into the mist, then Freddy shivered.

  ‘I’m drenched, and it’s starting to get dark,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home and have some hot chocolate.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Why, darlings, wherever have you been?’ exclaimed Marguerite when they returned, cold and damp. ‘You look freezing. Go and change, and then you can come and warm yourselves by the fire and I shall get you hot drinks.’

  Shortly afterwards, dry and warm and fortified with hot chocolate, Angela and Freddy recounted the events of that afternoon, much to the astonishment of Miles and Marguerite.

  ‘Do you mean he was at the old cottage all the time?’ said Miles. ‘Why, that’s where we used to go years ago when Herbert and I used to visit Gil at the Park. It never occurred to me that he might be there.’ Freddy looked disbelieving, but said nothing, and Miles said, ‘It’s true, Freddy—I swear it. Perhaps I ought to have known, but it never crossed my mind.’

  ‘What will happen now?’ said Marguerite fearfully.

  ‘Lucy has promised to take him in tomorrow, after he’s had a square meal and a good night’s sleep,’ said Freddy.

  ‘But do you think she will? Mightn’t she spirit him away somewhere else?’

  ‘Where could she take him, without getting herself into trouble too? No,’ said Freddy, ‘I think she’ll do it all right. You didn’t see him, Marguerite. He looked in a bad way, and anyone with a heart would have done the same—taken him home and fed him up, I mean. I’m sure she’ll do as she promised, though.’

  ‘I almost wish you hadn’t found him,’ said Miles soberly. ‘Perhaps it would have been better had he been allowed to do what he wanted to do without interference. It might have been easier for everybody.’

  ‘That’s what Gil said,’ said Angela, ‘but Lucy wouldn’t hear of it.’

  ‘But now there will have to be a trial, and he’s bound to be found guilty,’ said Miles. ‘Perhaps he may be able to plead temporary insanity and avoid the hangman, but he will still have to spend many years in prison. No,’ he went on, ‘the more I think about it, the more I see that it would have been better for everybody had he ended it all today.’

  ‘I am not sure I agree with you,’ said Angela. ‘First of all, you must remember that you yourself have a charge laid against you, which must be dealt with. Perhaps things will go easier for you if Gil is there to explain himself in person. I don’t suppose you particularly want to go to prison for ten years, do you? You wouldn’t have done what you did had Gil not asked you to, so it seems only reasonable that he should be there to help you get out of the scrape if he can. I’m sure he never intended to get you into trouble.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ conceded Miles.

  ‘And quite apart from that,’ said Angela, ‘Lucy seems to think she can get him off the murder charge. I’ve seen enough of her to know that if anybody can arrange that, then she can.’

  ‘Get him off?’ said Miles, staring. ‘How in heaven’s name is she going to do that?’

  ‘She says she knows he didn’t do it,’ said Angela. ‘Perhaps that is true.’

  ‘But you forget, Angela, I was there that day. I helped him hide Lita’s body. Why, he’s even confessed to the thing. Of course he did it.’

  ‘Oh yes, he certainly believes he did it,’ said Angela. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

  Miles looked at her oddly.

  ‘I believe there’s something you’re not telling us,’ he said. ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘I just have great faith in Lucy, that’s all,’ said Angela. ‘I think that if she is determined to do something, then it shall be done. And she has promised to get Gil off.’

  Miles shook his head.

  ‘I am going to telephone the Park,’ he said.

  ‘Do,’ said Freddy. ‘And make sure you speak to Gil in person if Lucy will let you. We—er—had some doubts as to whether he would reach home safely. He wasn’t well, and they were doubled up on a horse, which can be slow going,’ he said in explanation to Miles’s inquiring look.

  Miles went out and returned a few minutes later to say that he had managed to snatch a few moments’ conversation with Gil, and that he sounded very tired and confused.

  ‘They are going to the police station in Littlechurch tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I offered to go along with him but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said he was sorry that I’d got into trouble, and that he’d do his best to clear me as far as possible. Poor chap—how I wish none of this had ever happened.’

  Angela could not help but agree with him.

  The next day, they received word that Gil had, true to his promise, handed himself in to the police in Littlechurch, who had arrested him on suspicion of the murder of Lily Markham, also known as Lita de Marquez. Lucy had said goodbye to him and then gone back to Blakeney to see to Lady Alice and to summon the family’s London solicitor, who had already started to prepare a defence.

  They heard nothing more until Monday, when Angela happened to run into Inspector Jameson in Littlechurch. He was peering through the window of an antique shop, apparently admiring a pair of decorative silver-handled duelling pistols that were on display there.

  ‘Good morning, inspector,’ she said. ‘Do your superiors at the Yard expect you to buy your own weapons these days? I’m not sure those will be much use to you.’

  He laughed.

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘but they are rather splendid, don’t you think? I was just wondering whether to buy them and put them on my wall at home, but I see the shop is shut at present.’

  ‘So it is. You shall have to come back later,’ said Angela. She prepared to pass on. ‘Anyway, I won’t stop you, as I’m sure you’re very busy at present.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I
had just come out for a little fresh air,’ he said. ‘Suppose we walk for a few minutes. I should like to stretch my legs—and, furthermore, I still haven’t thanked you for finding Gilbert Blakeney for us.’

  ‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ said Angela. ‘I had very little to do with it. It’s Freddy you ought to thank for finding him, and it was Lucy who persuaded him to give himself up. I just stood there and nodded in the right places.’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector. ‘Young Freddy was mixed up in it, was he? I can’t say I’m surprised.’

  ‘Is Gil all right?’ she said anxiously. ‘He was in rather a bad way when we found him.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jameson. ‘We have been very gentle with him—for practical reasons more than anything else, since we’d never get anything out of him if we were too hard, given the state of him.’

  ‘Have you actually charged him with the murder?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes. He has a solicitor with him now—some young whizz from London, who will no doubt find all kinds of reasons why we ought to let him off with a hand-shake and a pat on the back, and then send him on his way with a rousing chorus of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”.’

  Angela laughed.

  ‘I imagine Lucy was responsible for that,’ she said. ‘She is rather a remarkable young woman.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘She certainly seems to have great strength of character.’

  Angela looked down.

  ‘She believes he is innocent, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Of course she does,’ said Jameson. ‘I should think the less of her if she didn’t.’

  She stopped, and looked him directly in the eye.

  ‘What do you believe?’ she said.

  He returned her gaze steadily.

  ‘It’s not my job to believe anything,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to deal with the evidence we have—and the evidence we have says he is guilty. We certainly have enough of it to proceed with a trial, at any rate.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Angela.

  He regarded her suspiciously.

  ‘What are you plotting?’ he said. ‘I know that wicked look of yours.’

  ‘Do I have a wicked look?’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Only when you have something up your sleeve.’

  ‘Good gracious! I had no idea of it. But to answer your rather ungenerous question,’ she went on, ‘I am not plotting anything.’

  ‘Then what do you know?’ he said. ‘Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. As a matter of fact, I prefer to deal with solid evidence too,’ she said. ‘Let us just say I have the feeling that something is going to happen soon.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. But whatever it is, we won’t have to wait long.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Jameson.

  ‘Why, because Gil is in prison, of course,’ said Angela.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Something did indeed happen soon, although it was not exactly what Angela had foreseen, for the very next day Lady Alice Blakeney died. She drew her last breath on Tuesday evening, with Gil by her side—since Lucy had sent an urgent summons to Littlechurch police station to say that the old lady was not expected to last until morning, and he had therefore been granted special permission to visit her bedside. Two burly policemen accompanied him, and stood in stolid embarrassment at the side of the room as Gil wept over his mother’s body and kissed her hand. After a decent interval, they coughed and took him away again.

  ‘At least she won’t have the pain of seeing her poor son put on trial,’ said Marguerite, when she heard the news after breakfast on Wednesday. ‘Now there’s just Lucy left to take care of him. Why, Angela, darling, what’s wrong? You look worried.’

  Angela hesitated.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Lady Alice’s death caught me by surprise, that’s all. I had thought perhaps—’ she stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ murmured Angela. ‘I’m just a little concerned about Gil.’

  She stood up and went out of the room to begin packing her things. She was planning to return to London that day, since Miles was home now and Marguerite did not need her any longer. In the hall she ran into Miles himself.

  ‘Letter for you, Angela,’ he said. He handed her an envelope and went off, frowning absently over his own post.

  ‘A letter? For me?’ said Angela in surprise. She looked at the envelope. It was made of thick, creamy paper and was closed with a rather ornate seal bearing the initial B. Her heart began to beat rapidly. Devoured with curiosity, she went into the empty parlour, sat down and ripped it open. The letter was written in a faint, shaky hand which was difficult to decipher, but as far as Angela could make out, it read as follows:

  Blakeney Park

  Friday, 28th October

  Dear Mrs. Marchmont,

  You will no doubt wonder why I am writing to you, given that we have met only once or twice and can hardly be said to be close acquaintances. Indeed, I am not entirely sure of the answer myself. I can only say that, having met you, I believe that you are the most suitable person to entrust with this confidence—not, you understand, because I feel any particular sympathy between us, but because from objective observation, you strike me as reasonably sensible and trustworthy—two qualities which are, unfortunately, not often found together in a woman. Lucy, for example, while being eminently practical and intelligent, I consider to be underhanded and duplicitous (as you know), while Mrs. Harrison, whom I believe to be a most honest and truthful woman, can hardly be described as wholly rational by any right-thinking person. In addition, I understand that you are well thought of at Scotland Yard, having helped them solve a number of difficult cases in recent times. I have no doubt, therefore, that you will know how to act when you receive this. I do not send it to the police directly, since they are men and I do not expect them to understand my motive in doing what I have done. As a woman you, perhaps, will be able to explain it to them.

  Very well, then, since circumstances appear to have forced me to explain myself, I shall begin. You know, of course, that Gilbert is my only son, and that, following the death of his father some years ago he inherited the Blakeney estate in its entirety. In addition, you cannot have failed to observe that Gilbert, while a decent and honourable man in many respects, is not gifted by nature with an abundance of intellectual capacity. Delightful though he is (and please believe that as his mother, I am exceedingly fond of him), he is undoubtedly somewhat weak in the head. As such, he was admirably suited to a life in the army, which he embraced with great enthusiasm when given the opportunity, but much less so to the responsibility of running a great estate such as Blakeney Park. I had seen and understood this when he was quite a child, and so I always intended that when he grew up, he should marry a woman who would be capable of compensating for his mental failings with a first-rate brain of her own, since the future of the estate was at stake.

  I knew Lucy Syms from a girl, and suspected that she might have the qualities I required, so I watched her progress closely as she grew up, and she did not disappoint me in that respect, since she grew up to be a most capable young woman. I disliked her personally, but never saw anyone else who seemed to possess the particular abilities that were necessary, and so I swallowed my antipathy and encouraged the friendship between her and my son as far as possible. Fortunately, they had known each other since childhood—although she is a few years younger than he—so there was no awkwardness between them to overcome, and I had no doubt that they would do as I wished and marry once she was old enough, since Lucy could hardly object to a man of his position and wealth.

  Then the war came, and Gilbert went off to fight. I feared that in the meantime Lucy might be tempted by one of the other young men who passed through the area, but I need not have worried: she knew what she wanted and was prepared to wait for it. Sure enough, when Gilbert returned, they became reacquainted�
�but much to my annoyance, it seemed only a friendly feeling on Gilbert’s part. The situation was not helped by the fact that my son had a series of nervous episodes in the first few years after his return, but eventually he seemed to recover, and he and Lucy began to grow closer.

  Eventually, after some prompting on my part, he acceded to my wishes and asked Lucy to marry him. (Please do not suppose, by the way, that I forced him into an engagement against his inclination: I knew he was very fond of her and that they would be happy together, but suspected that without a little encouragement nothing would ever come of it.) All that was left for me to do then was to swallow my dislike of Lucy and wish them well, although that proved a little more difficult than I expected, given that I was forced to spend more time in company with her than I liked. Nonetheless, I regarded the arrangement with satisfaction and firmly believed that the Blakeney estate was now in safe hands.

  You will, therefore, readily comprehend my shock and dismay when I received a letter last August from a woman calling herself Lily Blakeney, who claimed to be Gilbert’s wife. She hoped I would forgive the intrusion, but she had no choice, she said, since she had written to Gilbert twice without receiving a reply, and so, as the matter was an urgent one, she was taking the liberty of writing to me instead. She explained the circumstances of the marriage, and said that they had parted shortly afterwards. A month or two later, she had discovered herself to be in a delicate condition and had tried to find him, but without success, and in some way or other had got the impression that he had died. She therefore returned to her family to bring up her son alone, and had done so until July of this year, when she happened to read the announcement of Gilbert’s engagement in the Times and discovered to her surprise that her husband was still alive. At first, she did not believe that Gilbert was deliberately contemplating bigamy; rather, she supposed that he had thought her dead too and therefore considered himself free to marry again. However, after having written to him twice without receiving a reply, she was now wondering whether it might not be a deliberate act, since it was hardly likely that both the letters she sent to Blakeney Park had gone astray, and if Gilbert had read them there was no excuse at all for ignoring them.