by Hazel Holt
‘No!’ the word burst from him. ‘No, it has all been too much. I never meant – I had no choice!’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh God, what have I done!’ After a short while he said more calmly, ‘Perhaps this is a suitable place for a confession. Since you seem to know so much, please sit down and I will try to explain.’
I couldn’t bear to sit beside him so I sat sideways in the pew in front of him.
‘There is, as you seem to know,’ he began, now in his usual formal manner, ‘a connection between our two families. My great-grandfather, William Benson, had a daughter, Martha, as well as his son James. She married a John Shelby, who was a local farmer and they had one son, my father, Arthur Shelby, who became a solicitor. I studied law because of him.
‘Meanwhile James had quarrelled with his father and gone away. The family had no idea where he was and he never got in touch. William Benson’s wife, who had predeceased him, had been very upset at the loss of her son and he, too, came to regret the quarrel, and when he died it was found that he had left his property to be equally divided between his son and his daughter. As is customary in such cases, James was advertised for in the London Gazette and elsewhere, but since he had severed all links, he never came to claim his inheritance.’
He paused, presumably to give me an opportunity to take in all he had said. I made no comment and he went on, ‘William Benson lived on into his nineties and outlived his daughter and her husband so that the inheritance came to my parents. There was a sum of money, the house and a five-acre field adjoining it, which he had purchased some years back. It was a handsome house and my parents moved into it but did nothing about the field. I believe they sold the hay to a local farmer. The house was on the edge of the village and gradually further houses were built, all substantial and expensive, and one day they were made an offer for the field by a developer. It was a very considerable sum and my father felt it would be foolish to refuse it. He used part of it to set me up in my own practice in Taunton.’
‘I see,’ I said.
‘You will have seen the implications of this. After my parents died, I inherited the remaining money – a small fortune, even in those days. I took a partner, a good friend of mine, and between us we built up the practice and made it a great success. As I have said, I had always known that my grandmother had a brother, who had gone away and had never reappeared. I also checked that he had been advertised for – though, not as thoroughly as I would have wished. Then I made a mistake; I thought that after all this time there would be no one to make a claim so I omitted to take out beneficiary insurance, which would have indemnified me in the case of another claimant.’ He paused.
‘Yes, I see,’ I repeated.
He nodded. ‘A foolish mistake. It was about this time that I became interested in genealogy. It was then that I discovered there was a line which had descended from the son who had gone away and, furthermore, that one of his descendants was actually here, living near Taviscombe. I decided to keep quiet about the connection in the hope that Eva Jackson would never find out about it. But there was some talk of her looking up her family on the Internet and I began to feel uneasy. Then, when she died, I felt safe again.’ I moved my head in revulsion, not being able to look at him. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘I had no idea that she had a son.’
He leant forward and spoke earnestly, ‘I would willingly have paid back the money if that had been possible; but it was not just the sum itself, but interest on it over the years. There was no way I could have raised that sum of money. It was all gone. Not all in extravagance, though our standard of living, with the girls and so forth, was high, but I had been obliged to pay out a very large sum of money. I can tell you about it now, since the person involved is dead. I discovered that my partner, who was also my best friend, had been embezzling money from several estates of elderly clients.’ He paused again but I made no comment so he continued, ‘Fortunately, I was able to put the money back without it being discovered. My partner went abroad. I gave him a small sum of money to help him get started – as I said, he was my best friend. But then I had to run the practice on my own and, now things have changed so much in the profession, I am not able to make the sort of money that would allow me to save even a fraction of what I would owe. This discovery, about Eva Jackson and her son, would have meant they could have made a claim on the estate. I couldn’t risk that. I would have been forced into bankruptcy – the shame for Alison and the girls. I had to put a stop to things and so – I did what I had to do – what I thought I had to do …’ His voice died away and I could find nothing to say. The sound of that voice, going on and on, describing things in such a calm, matter-of-fact way, made me feel sick.
He said nothing for a moment, then he said, ‘I imagine you will communicate all that I have told you to the police?’ I remained silent. ‘Naturally, you will do so.’ He stood up and I turned to look at him. ‘So,’ he said, ‘if you will excuse me, I have things to do.’ He inclined his head in a sort of bow, turned and went out of the church.
I don’t know how long I sat there. When, eventually, I tried to get up I was very stiff from having sat so long in the hard pew. I went to the open door of the church and stood looking down at the view, trying to come to terms with what I’d heard.
Envoi
‘Bob Morris gave me a very stern lecture,’ I said to Rosemary, ‘and I suppose it was foolish and dangerous, but, honestly, when I saw him there, something snapped and I couldn’t help myself.’
‘He could have killed you!’ Rosemary said. ‘I do wish you’d think before you plunge into things.’
‘I know, it was foolish,’ I agreed, ‘but I don’t think he was in a state to kill anyone, he was more or less broken.’
‘It was still foolish,’ Rosemary said sternly.
‘I felt so bad about not telling you what was happening, but Bob made me promise.’
‘That’s fine, I do understand. So what has happened?’
I was silent for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. ‘When he left me,’ I said slowly, ‘he went into his office and wrote a long and detailed confession and took it to the police station.’ I paused again. ‘Then,’ I went on, ‘he went home, got his shotgun, drove up onto the moor and shot himself, trying to make it look like an accident.’
‘Good God.’
‘I know. I feel very responsible.’
‘That’s rubbish! Of course you weren’t to blame.’
‘I know that really, but I can’t help feeling – well, responsible.’
‘Think of Daniel.’
‘Yes, I do, of course I do. But it seems wrong to sum up something so terrible just like that.’
‘What else is there to say?’ Rosemary said. ‘Well, I for one am glad he’s dead and you should be too.’
‘Yes, I know, it is right; justice has been done and all that – but poor Alison. I hope her daughters will look after her.’
Patrick came to see me.
‘Now all this has been sorted, I’m going away,’ he said.
‘Oh no! Mrs Dudley will miss you dreadfully – we all will!’
‘I’m coming back, I like it here and I like all the people.’ He gave me a rare smile. ‘No, I’m going home. To Ireland. My father has died, so now I can.’
I looked at him enquiringly. ‘Years ago,’ he said, ‘when I “came out” my father disowned me, threw me out. My mother and sisters were too afraid of him to stand up for me and my brother was too young to understand what was happening. The only person who did stand up for me was my grandmother. She was a very difficult old woman, but she was, surprisingly enough, fond of me. Mrs Dudley reminds me of her. But even she couldn’t change his mind.’
‘But now you can go back,’ I said. ‘I hope she’s still alive.’
‘Oh yes. I kept in touch with her and she let me know about my father.’
‘That’s marvellous.’
‘All this – seeing you all, happy and at ease with your families – even
Mrs Dudley – has made me realise how much I want my own family. Do you understand?’
‘Yes I do,’ I said warmly, ‘and I’m delighted that we’ve helped you to feel like that. Good luck!’
And for the first, and possibly the last, time I gave him a hug.
The next night there was a violent storm. Tris, who is afraid of thunder, and Foss, who never misses an opportunity, were both on my bed. With the noise of wind and the rain outside and with the many, confused thoughts running through my head, I didn’t sleep well. I woke from a doze just before dawn. There was a splatter of rain against the window and I moved restlessly. Tris gave a little whine while Foss shifted to make himself more comfortable on my feet. I stretched out my hand and switched on the radio. The room was filled with a calm, steady voice:
The general synopsis at midnight. Low Faeroes 955 expected Norway 970 by midnight tonight. New low expected Rockall 984 by the same time. Forties, Cromarty, Forth, south-west veering west later 7 to severe gale 8, occasionally high in north Forties. Squally showers … Moderate to poor …
I settled back on my pillow and let the familiar words wash over me.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Do you want to know about our other great reads, download free extracts and enter competitions?
If so, visit our website www.allisonandbusby.com.
Sign up to our monthly newsletter (www.allisonandbusby.com/newsletter) for exclusive content and offers, news of our brand new releases, upcoming events with your favourite authors and much more.
And why not click to follow us on Facebook (AllisonandBusbyBooks)
and Twitter (@AllisonandBusby)?
We’d love to hear from you!
About the Author
HAZEL HOLT was born in Birmingham and was educated at King Edward VI High School and Newnham College, Cambridge. She worked as an editor, reviewer and feature writer before turning to fiction in an attempt to keep up with her son, the novelist Tom Holt. She currently lives in Somerset, and her life is divided between writing, cooking and trying to cope with the demands of her Siamese cat, Flip.
By Hazel Holt
Death in Practice
The Silent Killer
No Cure for Death
A Death in the Family
A Time to Die
Any Man’s Death
A Necessary End
Death is a Word
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
12 Fitzroy Mews
London W1T 6DW
www.allisonandbusby.com
First published in 2014.
This ebook edition first published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2014.
Copyright © 2014 by HAZEL HOLT
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1792–7
