by Kate Charles
‘I’m glad, Emily. I mean that. You deserve all the happiness . . .’
‘Thank you, David. I know what it must cost you to say that.’
They walked towards the church together. ‘You’re going to the funeral?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Yes. I thought I really should go.’
‘The children?’ he inquired.
‘We fetched them yesterday morning, first thing. Oh, it was good to see them again! For us all to be together again, as a family!’
‘Where are they now?’
‘They’re too young for an ordeal like this. I’ve taken them to Lucy’s for an hour or so.’ She looked at his profile closely as she said the name. He kept his face impassive. How much had Lucy told her of what had passed between them? Very little, if he knew Lucy – she was always disinclined to talk about herself. He didn’t want to think about Lucy now.
Venerable Bead was at the back of the church, solemnly passing out hymn books and prayer books. He regarded this particular funeral as his personal property, by virtue of his role in finding the body; ordinarily, he would have been among the first to condemn Gabriel’s decision to allow a church funeral for an apparent suicide, but he wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Cyril Fitzjames, as the surviving churchwarden, assisted him; he would have contrived to give a set of books to Emily, and possibly have a word with her, but Venerable Bead was too quick for him.
Emily and David sat together near the back; it was early yet and the church was just beginning to fill up. At the front of the nave, in front of the rood screen, was a bier, ready to receive the coffin. ‘So they didn’t bring her in last night?’ David whispered.
‘No. Craig didn’t want it, and Gabriel wasn’t very keen either, under the circumstances.’
They watched the other mourners arrive. Teresa Dawson led her parents as far towards the front as she dared. Cecily Framlingham, in a black pill-box hat, seemed genuinely grieved, leaning on Arthur’s arm. Miles Taylor began playing soothing chords on the organ and Mary Hughes nodded approvingly as she entered and found a seat. Not surprisingly, Tony Kent was nowhere to be seen. Just before the appointed hour, Lady Constance, holding herself very erect and looking straight ahead, walked slowly down the centre aisle and sat near the front; David thought that she appeared very frail indeed. Then Craig slouched in, looking thoroughly bored. The people with him, leading him to the front row, were apparently aunts and uncles, siblings of Mavis. And at the very last minute, Beryl Ball hobbled down the aisle, sheathed in rusty black from head to toe. She smiled and nodded to the assembled congregation, and took a seat in the front row, on the opposite side from the family.
There was a hush, then Gabriel’s resonant voice sounded from the back of the church. ‘I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’ He swept solemnly up the aisle, majestic in a cope of rich black brocade, followed by the sombre men with the coffin on their shoulders. ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth . . .’ They rested the coffin on the bier and Gabriel turned to face the congregation. ‘We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out . . .’
He read the psalm.
‘I said, I will take heed to my ways: that I offend not in my tongue.
I will keep my mouth as it were with a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight.
I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me.’
David and Emily exchanged a look; nothing could have been less applicable to the dead woman.
‘For man walketh in a vain shadow . . .’
After the service, Craig was nowhere to be seen among the family, gathered in the north porch to greet the mourners. David caught a glimpse of him lurking around the corner outside the church, smoking a furtive cigarette; on impulse he made a hurried excuse to Emily and strolled up to him.
‘Hello, Craig,’ he greeted him. ‘May I offer my condolences on this very sad occasion?’ The words were perfectly straightforward, but his voice held a hint of irony as he observed the sullen young man.
Craig eyed him suspiciously. ‘Who are you? I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’
‘I was at the inquest yesterday. I saw your mother a few minutes before her . . . death. My name is Middleton-Brown.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Craig took a drag of his cigarette and observed David through the smoke as he exhaled.
David’s expression never altered. ‘Why didn’t you tell the coroner that you were in the church that afternoon? In the sacristy, in fact?’
Craig went white, and choked on the cigarette smoke; David waited patiently while he prolonged his coughing to cover his agitation. ‘I wasn’t,’ he said finally, belligerently.
David decided to bluff a little. ‘I saw you,’ he said calmly. ‘You came in that side door, and you went into the sacristy. The door wasn’t locked – I’d just left there myself. I saw you. So did Beryl Ball. You know she did – you saw her, too.’
‘You mean that crazy old bag in the funny hat?’ Craig said without thinking.
David smiled and Craig blanched. ‘That’s right, Craig. You saw her, all right. Why did you kill your mother? Was it just for the money? I know that you took the money. And you took the ledger sheet, because you thought that without it no one would know that any money was missing.’
Craig no longer looked defiant. His hand, as he raised the cigarette to his lips, was trembling. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, I was there.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t know how you know so much, man, but I was there. And I – I took the money. And the piece of paper. But I didn’t kill her – you have to believe me!’ His voice had become a high-pitched whine. ‘She was a miserable old cow, but I didn’t kill her! She was still alive when I left that room! She locked the door behind me, and then she . . . she hung herself. I know she did! I didn’t kill my mother! Please don’t go to the cops, man! They’ll think I did it! That’s why I couldn’t tell them I’d been there. Please, man! I’ll give the money back, if that’s what you’re after, only please don’t tell the cops!’
David went to the sacristy then, and found Daphne putting away the funeral cope. ‘How did you manage to keep Venerable Bead from doing it for you?’ he asked.
‘With great difficulty,’ she chuckled. ‘But I think he’s followed them to the crematorium.’
David told her, as succinctly as possible, about his confrontation with Craig.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘I really don’t know. The police will have to be told eventually, of course, whether he gives the money back or not. But I’m not sure I believe him – I still think there’s a good chance that the little sneak killed her.’
‘Then why would he admit he’d been here?’
‘He had to. He thinks I saw him, and he knows that Beryl Ball did. But of course he wouldn’t admit killing her, even if he’d done it.’
‘You’ll have to go to the police.’
‘Yes, but not today. We’ve only got another day to get this blackmail problem solved. Then it will be time enough to deal with Craig Conwell.’
It was late that evening when the phone rang. Daphne answered it. ‘David, for you. Graham Crawford.’
He took the receiver. ‘Hello, Graham.’
‘Hello, David, old chap. Sorry to be so late ringing – I had to take Denise out to dinner. Quid pro quo, you know. You owe me.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get your own reward, if you haven’t had it already.’
Graham laughed. ‘Fair enough. But she came through with the inquest transcript that you wanted. Even made me a photocopy, the angel. I’ve put it in the post to you already. First class. No expense spared for you, old boy.’
‘You’re wonderful, Graham. I knew you could do it.’
‘
Can you at least tell me what it’s all about?’ he asked plaintively.
‘Sorry, Graham. Too secret.’
‘Oh, well.’ Graham was philosophical. ‘I’m sure it’s all in a good cause.’
‘Can you tell me the answer to the specific question? Maitland’s room-mate testified that there was no suicide note?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And the room-mate was named in the transcript.’
‘Yes, of course. The room-mate’s name was . . . just a second, I’ve got it written down here somewhere. The room-mate’s name was Dominic Dawson.’
‘I got the idea yesterday that the transcript of the Maitland inquest would tell us his room-mate’s name. I thought that might shed some light, give us a lead. But I don’t understand. Dominic Dawson,’ said David slowly, trying to make sense of it. ‘Peter Maitland’s room-mate was Dominic . . . Dawson.’
‘Do you mean Julia and Roger’s son Dominic?’ Daphne asked, puzzled.
‘They have a son Dominic? I know Francis, of course, but I thought the others were Nicholas and Benedict. Nick . . .’
‘Oh, Nick’s not Nicholas, he’s Dominic.’
David stared at her. ‘Dominic. I just assumed that Nick was short for Nicholas.’
‘As I said last night, you never know about nicknames, do you?’
‘But . . . Nick! Daphne, I’ve been so stupid! Of course it had to be Dominic!’
‘You should have known,’ she agreed bluntly. ‘Dominic, Benedict, Bridget, Clare, Francis, Teresa.’
‘They’re not just saints’ names, are they?’ He shook his head at his own failure. ‘They’re all founders of religious orders. Only the Dawsons could name their children like that . . . Even the bloody dog, Daphne! Ignatius! But I should have known! Nicholas just doesn’t fit with the rest.’
‘But how did you know the Dominic part of his room-mate’s name?’
‘Gabriel told me. He said that Peter’s room-mate was named Dominic.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Nick Dawson went to university in Brighton, to the University of Sussex, like Francis. I knew that – Roger told me.’
‘Nick’s about the right age, isn’t he?’
‘Tony Kent said that Nick was around his age. We’ve already decided that Tony was about the same age as Peter.’
David went for the whisky bottle. ‘This really does explain everything, Daphne.’ Suddenly a picture flashed across his brain, a clear image of a good-looking young man with dark eyes, and he stopped in his tracks. ‘My God, Daphne, I’ve seen his photo!’
‘What?’
‘Peter Maitland’s photo! That interminable evening at the Dawsons’! I saw his photo. It was one among hundreds – it seemed more like thousands. Nick and his room-mate, they said. And Teresa said . . . he’s dead. They were all dead, Daphne. How was I to know?’
She shook her head. ‘The question is, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?’
‘Tell Gabriel, of course. First thing in the morning. Then he can deal with it. I don’t know what he ever intended to do, if and when I found the blackmailer – go and talk to them, I suppose. Try to convince them not to go ahead with their threats. Well, it will be up to him now.’
‘Which Dawson do you suppose it is?’ Daphne asked. ‘Roger?’
‘Probably. I don’t think Julia would have the nerve. And I doubt that Francis would have the brains.’
‘Why now, do you suppose? After all these years?’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe the Norman Newsome affair triggered it off. Or maybe the possibility of his promotion to Archdeacon. Or maybe they hadn’t put everything together before now, and Francis found something out in Brighton . . .’
‘Well, congratulations, David. You may have waited until the eleventh hour, but Gabriel’s confidence in your abilities was well placed.’
‘With a lot of help from you,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘But I must admit, I am pleased. I’ve been down a few blind alleys, but this is finally one that takes us somewhere.’
CHAPTER 43
For thou, O God, hast proved us: thou also hast tried us, like as silver is tried.
Psalm 66.9
‘I should have cleaned the silver yesterday,’ Daphne admitted over toast and tea on Wednesday morning. ‘But with the funeral, and all the excitement – I’m afraid I just didn’t get round to it. I’d better get an early start on it this morning.’
‘Would you like a hand?’ David offered. ‘I have a few hours free before my lunch with Lady Constance.’
She smiled her gratitude. ‘I usually don’t let anyone else touch the silver . . . but in your case, I’m prepared to make an exception.’
‘I’m honoured.’ He raised his eyebrows ironically.
‘You haven’t really seen the silver, have you? We have some rather nice pieces.’
‘I’ll look forward to seeing it. With everything else going on, it hasn’t exactly been on the top of my list, but now that things are falling into place . . . well, I shall enjoy looking at some silver,’ he said with real anticipation.
‘And cleaning it, don’t forget.’
‘And cleaning it,’ David grimaced. ‘But on the way, I’d better stop at the vicarage and have a word with Gabriel.’
‘Oh, David, I’m sorry, but you’ve missed him,’ Emily said with a frown. ‘He’s gone to Brighton, of all places.’
‘Brighton? Whatever for?’
‘To preach at the noon Assumption Day Mass at St Dunstan’s.’
‘St Dunstan’s?’ David repeated stupidly. ‘He never told me he was going to St Dunstan’s.’
‘No, he didn’t know it himself until yesterday,’ Emily explained. ‘They had a last-minute problem, and thought of their old curate as a final resort. The churchwarden rang yesterday afternoon.’
‘But what happened?’
She laughed. ‘Apparently a certain Area Bishop of the London diocese – I need mention no names – was scheduled to do it, but he discovered at the last minute that he was double-booked. He couldn’t be at Walsingham and in Brighton at the same time, so poor old St Dunstan’s drew the short straw, and got Gabriel instead.’
‘I dare say they’ve got the best of it,’ David responded. ‘Gabriel’s a much better preacher than the Bishop of . . .’
‘But Gabriel doesn’t have a mitre, and that’s what they all come to see. Or am I being cynical?’
‘Give him time,’ smiled David. ‘Your husband will wear a mitre one day. But when is he coming back? I need to see him.’
Emily looked at him searchingly. ‘You have good news for him, don’t you? Oh, David! I knew you could do it! He’ll be so relieved! He was in such a state this morning – it was all I could do to get him to go, in the end, with this thing hanging over his head.’
‘When will he be back?’ he repeated.
‘Probably not much before the Mass here – it’s at half past six. He’s gone in the car, and you never know what the traffic will be like. But as soon as he comes in, I’ll tell him to ring you.’
‘If he doesn’t catch me, tell him I’ll see him before the service. Or after.’
‘You can’t tell me who it is, can you?’ she asked curiously. ‘No . . . I don’t really want to know. Not yet.’
At that moment they were interrupted by a small body hurling itself at Emily’s legs. ‘Mummy! Viola’s taken my teddy – again! Can’t you make her stop?’
‘Sebastian, darling. We’ll deal with that in a moment. But now, won’t you say hello to your Uncle David?’
The boy looked up at him with frank curiosity. Looked at him with Gabriel’s dark-lashed blue eyes: it was a most extraordinary sensation for David, who had not really been prepared for it. ‘How do you do, Uncle David,’ said the little boy solemnly, extending his hand. Sebastian clearly had also inherited his father’s self-assurance.
David took his hand, recovering himself quickly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you at last, Sebastian.’ Instinctively he bent down on
a level with the boy. ‘May I meet your sister, too?’
Sebastian looked scornful. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t want to meet her. She’s just a girl.’
‘Girls do have their uses, Sebastian,’ Emily said fondly, her hand on his tousled dark head.
Daphne opened the safe with her own key; David waited in anticipation as the items of silver came out on to the table, one by one. ‘It’s a shame we can’t leave the candlesticks on the altar all the time,’ Daphne commented. ‘But that would be asking for trouble. So many London churches have lost their best pieces that way.’
‘How sad. Country churches, too, from what I hear. They have to be so careful these days. So many churches are locked all the time now.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘Remember the good old days, Daphne? When we used to travel the countryside, and never find a locked church in a whole week?’
She nodded briskly, not looking at him. ‘We saw some lovely churches.’
He caught her hand impulsively. ‘Daphne, what do you say? Let’s do it again! That trip to the West Country that we never took – do you fancy giving it another go?’
She stopped. ‘Well, I don’t know. At my age . . .’
‘Your age! You’re only twenty years older than I am – you’re in the prime of your life!’
Only twenty years, she thought. ‘I suppose I could get away from this place for a few days.’
‘Of course you could. Venerable Bead would be more than happy to fill in for you, I’m sure. Oh, let’s, Daphne.’
‘I never could say no to you, David. Almost never, anyway.’ At last she smiled at him. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
‘Great. We’ll set a date before I leave.’
She put her head in the safe before she asked, ‘And when are you leaving?’
‘Maybe tomorrow. I’ll have a word with the police about Craig, then . . . well, there’s nothing to keep me here after that. I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough.’
‘You know I’ve enjoyed having you,’ she said, her head still hidden in the safe.
