by Hazel Holt
‘It’s a bit tedious, going through all the census entries, but I’m getting the hang of it.’
‘Well do keep up the good work, it means a lot to Mrs Dudley.’
‘I try to report back to her,’ he said ‘I think it helps her, just talking about them all. Not that she knows much about Eva’s immediate family, but she’s got quite a lot to say about some of the more distant relations on her husband’s side of the family.’
I laughed. ‘I bet she has!’
‘Actually,’ Patrick went on ‘there’s quite a lot of Eva’s things still at the cottage. Rosemary more or less left things as they were when Dan came down and I’m not sure what she wants done with them. I haven’t really liked to ask her …’
‘No, of course you haven’t. I’ll have a word with her, shall I?’
‘Thank you. That would be best.’ There was a silence for a minute then he said, ‘I believe Donald Webster has gone away. Do you know if he’s coming back?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. Why do you ask?’
‘Just the other day I came across a book of his – at least it had his name written in it – and I ought to get it back to him.’
‘I suppose he must have lent it to Eva,’ I said. ‘What was the book?’
‘Some sort of travel book, about South America. What shall I do with it?’
‘Oh, put it with the other books, I don’t think anyone knows where he’s gone, so you can’t return it.’
Donald Webster’s sudden departure was something of a nine days’ wonder but was swiftly overtaken by an escalation of the disagreement between Anthea and Derek over the rewiring, sides were being taken (and umbrage) and such an atmosphere of hostility that several of the more sensitive members avoided Brunswick Lodge altogether.
‘I wonder where he’s gone?’ Rosemary said. ‘Putting his house on the market was pretty final.’
‘The general opinion favours abroad,’ I replied, ‘and I expect that’s the most likely – not back to South America, though. Anyway, the main thing is he’s gone and I know you feel he shouldn’t have got away with things, but I think it’s better in the end.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Oh, by the way, Patrick was wondering what you wanted to do about Eva’s things at the cottage. He didn’t like to approach you directly; I think he felt it might be painful for you to decide.’
‘Well, I did rather put things off after she died and then it seemed all right to leave things as they were when Daniel was there. But now – I don’t know. I suppose I must do something now that Daniel’s left the cottage to Patrick. He did ask me about the laptop, and of course I did say go on using it, but there’s a lot of other stuff, even though we took Alan’s papers away. Oh dear, I really don’t know what to do.’
‘I don’t think Patrick’s in any hurry,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’s happy to leave things as they are until you’ve had a little think.’
‘It’s all been such a mess, one thing after another – first Alan, then Eva, then Daniel! I suppose I really ought to ask Mother what she thinks, but I expect she won’t want me to do anything that might upset Patrick and make him go away.’
Rosemary’s words about one thing after another stayed with me and somehow nagged away until I confronted them. It was an unusual set of circumstances, the three of them going so suddenly and in such a short space of time. Alan’s death, I accepted, was simply from natural causes and so, in a way was Eva’s. And yet there was something different about that. She died suddenly and alone and, although there appeared to be a perfectly understandable medical reason for it, I still felt uneasy. Possibly it was guilt, because I hadn’t been able to do anything at the time, but somehow I felt it wasn’t just that. Not with Daniel’s unexplained death coming so soon after. That was not a tragic accident, but something deliberate, and if that was deliberate, what about Eva’s death? Could that, somehow, have been arranged? But how and why?
I tried to put it out of my mind and didn’t even tell Rosemary what I was thinking. I was quite busy just then, because Thea had a gastric upset and I was taking Alice back and forth to school and feeding her and making the odd casserole for Michael and I had enough to do just keeping up with things, not to mention the animals who, as usual, resented my attention given to anyone but them. However, when I was in the chemist collecting a prescription for Thea, something occurred to me. It was a very tentative idea and I put it to one side until I could examine it properly.
When I got home I sat down with a cup of tea and tried to concentrate. Being in the chemist had reminded me of an occasion when I’d been given the wrong prescription. That had been at a very busy time when there was a long queue of people waiting and too few assistants to deal with them. They’d been short-staffed for quite a while and things did sometimes get a bit chaotic. I’d taken back the wrong prescription and got the right one, but they were too busy to do more than give me a hasty apology. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, just accepting, as you do, that things were difficult for them. But now it occurred to me that, for someone with something more sinister in mind, it might have been the perfect opportunity to tamper with someone else’s medication.
If that person had gone in at a busy time (and it was perfectly possible to calculate when things would be at their worst) and said they were collecting Eva’s prescription for her, as I’d just collected one for Thea, it wouldn’t have been queried but they would have simply handed it over. Then that person could have taken it home, very carefully undone the packaging, opened the box of syringes and tampered with them in some way, perhaps substituting sterile water for the insulin. Then doing up the packaging, the person could have taken it back (at an equally busy time) and exchanged it for his or her own prescription with no questions asked. It was most unlikely that any of the assistants would have remembered an incident that happened only too frequently. When Eva collected her prescription, she would have had no idea that the contents had been interfered with.
It was possible. Certain things would have been necessary. The person must have known Eva well enough to know when she collected her prescription (usually monthly, like me), would have to have had a prescription themselves or to have been in the habit of collecting one for someone else, and had to have known about the possibility of confusion at certain times of day. It could have been done.
Eva would have used the syringes, expecting them to contain insulin, then, when she got that virus, even if she’d been in a state to go on using them, they would have had no effect. The fact of the virus giving a reason for her not to take her insulin was a piece of luck for the killer. It all fitted in. It was all very complicated and, even, far-fetched and what reason would anyone have for killing Eva? The only person who had anything like a motive was Donald Webster. He was away at the time of her death and if he’d tampered with the medication he had the opportunity to give himself the perfect alibi. Would he really have gone that far? If Rosemary had been right in accusing him of putting Eva’s life in danger when (if) he set fire to the garage, then I suppose the idea of killing Eva by some other means might have been possible. But it seemed a terrible step to take to get his hands on some papers that just might have contained references to his actions in South America.
Then there was Daniel’s death. Donald Webster must, of course, have known of the existence of Daniel, but he may not have known much about his lifestyle. Eva may have given him the impression that Daniel was wholly tied up with his life and work in London; he wouldn’t have considered the possibility of his actually living in the cottage. When he did so and with the papers still there, he too was a threat. Certainly I could make out a case of sorts against Donald Webster but was I just getting carried away with what was, after all, a pretty unlikely idea? Then I remembered that on the day I was given the wrong prescription I’d run into him on my way out of the chemist and told him what had happened. And then, I also remembered, that when I’d launched into a description of what had happened, he’d chang
ed the subject quite abruptly.
Unlikely as it might seem, it was possible that he had killed both Eva and Daniel. Certainly I could think of no one else with any sort of motive for doing so. And Rosemary and I had sent him away, nobody knew where, so, if he was the killer there was probably no way of finding him.
Chapter Seventeen
I didn’t tell Rosemary or Patrick about my theory. Whether it was right or wrong it would upset them, and if I told Bob Morris he would give me one of his quizzical looks and say that it was an interesting idea. I got on with my life, only occasionally taking the theory out and thinking about it, but coming to no conclusion. Finally I decided that, even if it was true, there was nothing anyone could do about it now.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere at Brunswick Lodge had simmered down enough for us to have a reasonably peaceful discussion about the forthcoming bring-and-buy sale. Anthea had won the battle, of course, by her usual method of simply tanking over the opposition and taking it for granted that everything had been settled to her satisfaction.
‘So, Sheila, what can we expect from you?’ she asked me briskly, pen poised over the notebook she had taken to using on such occasions, obviously feeling that if the promises had been actually written down there was less likelihood of backsliding.
‘Oh,’ I said firmly, ‘I can’t manage to bring anything this time, but I’ll come and buy, of course.’
Naturally I wasn’t getting away with that. Anthea questioned me closely, but for once I stayed firm. ‘Well, if you can’t,’ she said grudgingly, ‘I suppose we must manage as best we can.’ She turned to Alison Shelby who’d just come in. ‘Now then, what shall I put you down for?’
‘Oh dear, I really don’t know if I can manage anything this time. Maurice has to be away for a few days and there’s always such a lot to do when he’s not here to help.’
Having been baulked of one victim, Anthea was not going to allow another to escape. She assumed the wheedling tone that sometimes produced results. ‘I’m sure you could whip up a batch of those splendid scones, or one of your sponges, they always go well.’
Flattered by this attention, Alison hesitated for a fatal moment. ‘Well, I suppose I could just make a sponge and I suppose the scones – though those ought to be made on the day unless I make them earlier and freeze them …’
I slipped away while Anthea was occupied and took refuge in the Buttery, where I was joined by Rosemary who was looking harassed.
‘I’m absolutely exhausted,’ she said, putting down her tray with some violence. ‘I’ve been trying to find some Gentleman’s Relish for Mother. Apparently Patrick has never heard of it and Mother’s determined that he shall try some. Of course, none of the supermarkets have any, nor the farm shop, nor the deli. It looks as if I’ll have to go to Taunton for it.’
‘I suppose you could make some,’ I suggested, ‘with anchovies and butter.’
‘No use, it has to be in one of those special jars with Patum Peperium on the label. Nothing else will do.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Of course I’m delighted that she’s taken to Patrick, it’s helped so much since Daniel died. But I’m really nervous – suppose he suddenly takes it into his head to go off somewhere.’
‘I think he’s pretty well settled, at least for the moment,’ I said consolingly.
‘So he says, but you never know with the young, and, as we’ve always said, we really know nothing about him.’
‘I’m sure it will be all right.’
‘Oh well,’ Rosemary said resignedly, ‘I suppose I’d better enjoy it while it lasts, even if it does mean combing Taunton for a jar of Gentleman’s Relish.’
Patrick came to coffee a few mornings later. To my surprise he’d taken to accepting my invitations – just coming for coffee to keep it casual, though I was hoping to work up to tea or even supper. This time he’d brought with him some of the genealogical stuff he’d got off the Internet.
‘I think I’m getting the hang of it,’ he said, ‘making some progress, and working backwards. I’m concentrating on Eva’s family – that’s the one Mrs Dudley’s interested in, of course – I’ve got as far as her parents. It’s tricky getting the Australian stuff, but, as he died in England I got enough from the death certificate to help me. He was a Benson and her maiden name was Castel, which is unusual and should help.’
‘Yes, I remember Eva mentioning it – I think she said that family came from the other side of the county.’
‘You don’t remember where, do you? It would help with the census things.’
‘She said nearly in Dorset, but that’s not a lot of use, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh well, I’ll try all the possible larger towns and see if I can come up with something. This is what I’ve got so far.’ He took a lot of papers from a folder and I stared at them dutifully but, really, couldn’t make much sense of any of it, finding the printouts of the various census returns extremely difficult to read. However, I made encouraging noises and he gathered them up, promising to let me know how he’d got on.
‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I’d like to get a bit more done – I’ve been invited to tea with Mrs Dudley this afternoon. I had hoped to carry on with this but she seemed particularly anxious for me to go today.’
‘Ah, yes. Do you like anchovies?’ I asked.
He looked at me enquiringly. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ I said.
Reluctantly I decided that I was due to put the anti-flea stuff on Tris and Foss. It’s something you really need two people for – one to hold the animal still and one to open the awkward little phial and actually apply it. Cautiously I tempted Tris into the kitchen and shut the door, knowing that if Foss knew what I was doing he would disappear. Fortunately Tris is mostly cooperative and I held him steady with one hand and tried to part the long fur on his neck so that I could put the lotion on the actual skin but, as usual, most of it went onto the fur. Hoping that would be enough I let him go and went in search of Foss. He was in the sitting room on the sofa and I thought I’d got him cornered, but, just at that moment, Tris came in shaking himself so that it was very obvious to an intelligent Siamese what was going on. Foss was off the sofa and up the stairs before I realised what was happening, and I knew that he would already be making himself inaccessible under the spare room bed. I was just deciding whether it was worthwhile making an attempt to fetch him when the phone rang. It was Bob Morris.
‘I thought you’d like to know that I think we’ve found the place the Defender came from. It’s in Bristol and I’m going to check it out myself in case I can get a description of the person who hired it.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I exclaimed. ‘And the dates fit?’
‘Yes. It looks promising. I’ll go down there tomorrow and let you know what I find out.’
‘Can I tell Patrick?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t – if it turns out not to be anything to do with the case, then there are privacy considerations.’
‘Of course. I quite understand. Well – good luck!’
I put the phone down and wandered around the house in a state of excitement. It seemed almost too good to be true. Bob had done a splendid job and it looked as though we were at least one step nearer finding out who had killed Daniel. Foss, erroneously thinking it was safe to reappear, strolled downstairs. Still buoyant from the excitement of the telephone call, I scooped him up, put him on the worktop in the kitchen and put the flea stuff on him all in one moment of triumph.
I’d promised Thea that I’d collect Alice’s new school blazer from the shop in Taunton, and I thought I’d better get it done while I actually had a free day. It was a tiresome drive – the inadequate road from Taviscombe to Taunton was cluttered up with heavy lorries and, since there are virtually no passing places, there were endless queues, and the rain made it all the more frustrating. When I finally got there I had to wait, anxiously and illegally parked on a yellow line, while
they sorted through the newly arrived stock to find what I wanted. By then it was past lunchtime so I went, as I usually do, to find something to eat in the tea shop in the precinct. I’d just relaxed with coffee and a toasted sandwich when, to my horror, I saw Alison Shelby surveying the tables. I hastily turned my head away, but I was too late.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she said, putting her tray down and sitting down comfortably opposite to me. ‘What a nice surprise.’
I gave her a wintry smile. ‘I like to come here when I’m in Taunton,’ I said. ‘It’s usually nice and peaceful.’
‘Yes, isn’t it!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Maurice comes here sometimes – it’s quite near his office – and he always speaks so well of it. So what are you doing so far from home?’
Swallowing my irritation at this form of address, I explained the purpose of my errand, which, alas, set her off on the wicked expense of school uniforms and how many ‘extras’ private schools expected the parents to buy. I tried to let the flow of language wash over me.
‘Unfortunately the girls went to different schools, boarding schools of course – there’s nothing suitable round here. Lydia was always the brainy one so she needed somewhere academic, while Charlotte was a very practical girl, so we found a very nice place in Switzerland, more of a finishing school, really. Of course, it cost the earth, but you do like to do the best you can for your children, don’t you?’
I agreed that you did.
‘But unfortunately it doesn’t stop there, not with girls.’ She poured herself another cup of tea. ‘They both married well, I’m glad to say – such a relief when you see the sort of young person some parents are faced with. Both professional men and both doing very well. But weddings are so expensive – at least, if they’re done properly. I said to Maurice that we owed it to the girls to put on a good show, especially since their husbands’ families were – well, you know, of a certain class.’
