‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I met Penhaligon several times while I was completing the purchase of this place. I hope he described me in flattering terms.’
‘He described you in enough detail to make me quite certain that you were Edgar Valencourt, at any rate,’ said Angela. ‘I congratulate you on a very cleverly-thought-out plan. It really required very little effort on your part. Why, all you had to do was to keep an eye on the house and make sure nobody found the necklace before the fifth of August, then you could step in as rightful owner and search the place at your leisure.’
‘It certainly seemed worth the trifling expense required to buy the freehold of Poldarrow Point,’ he agreed. ‘I thought Ma Rosie and Clifford were highly unlikely to find the necklace—although of course, I didn’t know that Wally was still alive until today. It was rather a shock to me, I can tell you. Had he chosen to reveal all, he would have spoilt everything.’
‘What should you have done then? I mean, if Ma Rosie had found the necklace?’
‘Why, I should have taken other steps to get it,’ he said. He saw her expression and said simply, ‘I am rather fond of diamonds, you see.’
‘So I understand,’ said Angela. She dropped the necklace into one hand and then into her pocket. ‘That is unfortunate for you.’
There was a short silence.
‘I do hope you’re not going to be difficult,’ he said. ‘I have, in spite of what you say, put myself to some trouble to get my hands on that necklace, and I should hate to be thwarted at the last minute—even by you, pleasant as our association has been.’
Angela felt the anger rise within her. Her eyes flashed and she took a step towards him.
‘Listen to me, Mr. Valencourt,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t like being made a fool of. If you think I am just going to hand it over like a lamb, you are very much mistaken.’
‘I never meant to make a fool of you,’ he snapped back. ‘As a matter of fact, I nearly abandoned the thing altogether because of you. You were never part of my plans. You caught me completely by surprise. You—well, if you must know, you rather bowled me over. I never expected something like this to happen.’
She was by no means mollified.
‘But you didn’t abandon it, did you?’ she said. ‘You kept on deceiving me—deceiving us all. Why, there was no end to the lies you told. And I fell for them hook, line and sinker! What an idiot I was to believe your stories! I went along to Poldarrow Point like a good little girl and spied on the Hoppers for you, convinced I was helping the police—but all the time I was doing nothing but furthering the ends of a common thief!’
‘Don’t call me that!’ he said fiercely. They were very close now, glaring furiously at each other.
‘Then what are you, if not that?’ she said.
He clenched his fists and breathed heavily, but said nothing as he tried to master his anger. At length he succeeded. He closed his eyes briefly, then sighed and spoke more calmly.
‘I want that necklace, Angela,’ he said. ‘What does it matter to you if I get it? It’s been missing for thirty years. The Duke of Bampton has claimed the insurance-money and bought other trinkets for his daughter since then. Nobody cares about it any more.’
‘I care about it,’ said Angela.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘It’s just your pride that’s hurt.’
‘Whatever my reasons, I am still not going to give you the necklace!’
Her breath was coming rapidly. He moved still closer until they were almost touching.
‘I could take it from you, you know,’ he said meaningfully.
‘You could,’ said Angela, ‘but you won’t. You’re not that sort.’
The appeal to his better nature seemed to startle him. He looked down into her upturned face, his eyes searching hers.
‘Shall I tell you exactly how much of a fool I’ve been?’ went on Angela. ‘I could have told Donati who you are, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell Inspector Jameson either. Nobody knows except me. You’re free to leave whenever you choose. No-one will stop you. Tell me, then—will you take the necklace from me by force?’
Her voice held a challenge. He caught his breath and stepped back.
‘Put it on,’ he commanded suddenly.
‘What?’
‘The necklace. Put it on. I want to see you in it.’
Angela stared at him for a long second, then slowly put her hand into her pocket and brought out the necklace. She lifted it up and fastened it around her neck, her heart thumping in her breast. The sun reflected off the hundreds of stones and lit up her face and hair as she stood there, splendid and defiant. He gazed at her, drinking in the sight, then stepped forward and, before she could stop him, caught up her hand and kissed it.
‘You ought to wear jewels, Mrs. Marchmont,’ he said, and then he was gone, leaving Angela standing alone in the sunlight.
THIRTY-SIX
‘But why didn’t you come and fetch me?’ wailed Barbara for perhaps the twentieth time. She was sitting on the sofa, having refused to remain in bed a second longer.
‘I’ve already told you,’ said Angela. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
Barbara pouted.
‘You could have waited for me,’ she said. ‘After all I’ve done, I didn’t even get to help dig up the treasure!’
‘No,’ said Angela. ‘It was just your hard luck and I’m very sorry. But at least you got to try it on.’
Barbara’s eyes gleamed.
‘Wasn’t it simply gorgeous, though?’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I never used to understand all those women who think of nothing but jewels, but now I’ve seen the necklace I think I could quite easily become one of them.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Angela.
‘I wonder you didn’t try it on yourself,’ said Barbara.
Angela examined her fingers.
‘I didn’t care to,’ she said. ‘It looked dreadfully scratchy.’
‘And so Mr. Simpson wasn’t a detective at all, but was really Edgar Valencourt all along!’ said Barbara. ‘I must say, he fooled us all rather neatly—and you, especially.’
‘Yes, thank you, there’s no need to rub it in,’ said Angela crossly.
‘Mr. Donati must have been furious when Ma Rosie told him that Valencourt had been there under his nose all the time,’ said Barbara. ‘I only wish I’d seen his face when he went to Mr. Simpson’s hotel room and found that he’d skipped. Although he did catch Wally instead. I suppose it was a fair exchange—one jewel-thief for another. I wonder what will happen to Wally now. They can’t keep the poor old thing in prison, can they?’
‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ said Angela. ‘I know he’s a dreadful old reprobate, but he’s hardly in his right mind. They couldn’t possibly try him now. I expect they’ll put him in an institution of some kind.’
‘Well, you’re not the only person who was fooled,’ said Barbara glumly. ‘I really believed Miss Trout—Ma Rosie—was a sweet old lady who needed our help.’
‘Don’t feel too bad,’ said Angela. ‘She was very convincing.’
‘But what made you suspect her in the first place?’
‘Why, I’m not sure. But I must say the whole story did seem to get more and more complicated, until eventually I thought that someone must be telling lies. Miss Trout seemed such a sharp old lady that I didn’t see how Clifford could possibly have pulled the wool over her eyes so effectively. It was obvious, therefore, that if there were any funny business going on, then she must be up to her neck in it too. And I caught her out in one or two lies—for example, her story that she knew Mrs. Uppingham well, which was not true. There was also the fact that she said she had never been into the tunnel, because she was too old—but if Poldarrow were really her family home, then surely she would have explored it in her younger days, even if she were no longer capable of doing so now? And where had she been living for the past thirty years if, as she claimed, she had only come to live wit
h her brother a few months ago? These things were all fairly innocuous in themselves, but they seemed to add up to something rather more suspicious.’
‘And then you found out the story of Marie Antoinette’s necklace was a lie,’ said Barbara. ‘I wonder we didn’t think of checking the history books earlier. That would have told us that the Queen’s necklace was broken up and sold.’
‘I don’t know that it would have helped,’ said Angela. ‘After all, the history books don’t prove whether or not a legend about the necklace exists in the Warrener family.’
‘True,’ said Barbara. ‘When did you start to doubt it yourself?’
‘It was the missing page in the memoirs,’ said Angela. ‘Someone had clearly torn it out recently, and who else was likely to have done that but Clifford or Ma Rosie? Mr. Simpson—Valencourt, I should say, pointed me in the right direction when he said that presumably the page contained proof that the necklace existed. That made me wonder: what if, in fact, it contained proof that the necklace didn’t exist? The memoirs break off just before they reveal the contents of the parcel that the dying man left with Richard Warrener. I imagine that if we could read the next page, we should find that it mentions something that is not a necklace at all!’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Barbara, considering.
‘But if Ma Rosie could make us believe in the story of the Queen’s necklace, then it would be all the easier to persuade us to help her find the real object of her search: that is, the necklace stolen from the Duke of Bampton.’
‘So that was why the Dorseys were searching Jeremiah’s—Wally’s writing-desk,’ said Barbara. ‘They knew Wally himself had brought the necklace to the house, and so it was quite as likely to be hidden in a new desk as it was to be stuffed behind a secret panel. How did they find him here in Cornwall after all these years, by the way?’
Angela began to laugh.
‘Poor Wally,’ she said. ‘His love of gardening proved his undoing. Last year he won a trophy for “Most Beautiful Garden In Cornwall,” or some such nonsense, and his photograph appeared in the Times. Ma Rosie happened to see it, recognized her missing husband immediately, and set off for Tregarrion to claim her share of the loot. I don’t know how Valencourt got wind of it, but he knew Ma Rosie—she recognized him when she saw him with me—so I imagine that some rumour or other must have got abroad, and he saw his chance to steal the necklace from under their noses.’
‘Did he really buy the freehold of Poldarrow Point? That seems an awful lot of trouble to go to.’
‘Not really, when you consider the possible reward,’ said Angela. ‘The house is falling into the sea and so was virtually worthless. I imagine he snapped it up for a song.’
‘Well, it’s no use to him any more, is it?’ said Barbara. ‘It’s a shame to think that it will be allowed to go to rack and ruin now.’ She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘Oh, do let’s go into the garden,’ she said. ‘I feel as fit as a fiddle now, truly I do!’
‘Very well,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t see why not. I suppose the doctor was only being cautious.’
Barbara jumped to her feet with alacrity and threw open the French windows. The tabby cat immediately ran towards her and started winding in and out of her ankles.
‘Have you missed me, Puss?’ she said, bending down to scratch under its chin.
‘Hallo, Barbara,’ called a voice. ‘Are you feeling better now?’
Barbara looked up and saw Helen Walters and Mr. Donati passing the gate. They had evidently just returned from a walk along the beach. Barbara approached them.
‘Hallo,’ she returned. ‘Yes, I’m much better now, thank you.’ She blushed a little. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of being Edgar Valencourt, Mr. Donati,’ she said, all in a rush. ‘I didn’t realize you were actually a policeman.’
Donati bowed and smiled. He looked much less eccentric now that he was no longer wearing his absurd scientist’s outfit.
‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘You could not have known.’
‘I’m sorry he got away from you,’ said Barbara.
Donati waved a hand.
‘I will catch him one day,’ he said, ‘but in the meantime, I have caught myself a much greater prize.’
He looked fondly at Helen. Barbara wanted to laugh at his quaint way of expressing himself, but saw that Helen was blushing with pleasure, and so merely smiled politely instead.
‘Have you told your mother?’ asked Barbara, lowering her voice lest Mrs. Walters hear her from next door.
Helen nodded.
‘How did she take it?’
‘Badly, at first,’ replied Helen, ‘but I told her that she would simply have to accept it. I’m sure she’ll come round at last. Pierre has determined to win her over, and I should hate for us to fall out permanently. I am very fond of her, you know.’
‘Helen!’ came a voice from next door. Helen looked at Donati, then at Barbara, and then grinned.
‘Coming, Mother!’ she called. She grasped Donati’s arm and pulled him towards the gate of Shearwater Cottage. He followed with a bemused air and they walked up the path to the house together.
‘What was all that about?’ said Angela, who had just come into the garden.
‘The worm has turned, I believe,’ said Barbara.
‘Oh, I am glad,’ said Angela.
‘I think Mrs. Walters is upset,’ said Barbara. ‘You will have to comfort her. You can comfort each other, in fact.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t need comforting,’ said Angela with dignity. She sat down and buried herself pointedly in her book. Barbara smiled to herself and began playing with the cat.
A short while later, Marthe came into the garden bearing an enormous bouquet of red and pink roses.
‘I say!’ said Barbara, impressed.
‘These have just arrived for you, madame,’ announced Marthe. ‘Is it that you have an admirer?’
Angela looked taken aback. She read the card that came with the flowers, then put it in her pocket without saying a word.
‘What does it say?’ said Barbara eagerly.
‘Nothing,’ said Angela.
‘You’re blushing!’ said Barbara.
‘Nonsense.’
‘They’re from Edgar Valencourt, aren’t they? I knew it! He’s in love with you, isn’t he? Oh, Angela, you’ll simply have to marry him!’
‘Don’t be absurd!’ said Angela, laughing.
‘Well if you don’t, then perhaps I shall when I’m old enough. He’s awfully good-looking, isn’t he? And nice, too.’
‘Hardly a catch, though,’ said Angela dryly.
‘I shall be a bridesmaid at the wedding,’ said Barbara. ‘I should like a pink dress.’
‘I admire your romantic notions,’ said Angela, ‘however little they may be grounded in reality. Let me remind you that Edgar Valencourt is a wanted man, who is on the run from the police. I dare say I’ll never see him again.’
Barbara snorted.
‘Oh yes you will,’ she said. ‘He’ll be back. I’d bet my life on it!’
Mrs. Marchmont shook her head and went back to her book.
***
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About the Author
Clara Benson was born in 1890 and as a young woman wrote several novels featuring Angela Marchmont. She was unpublished in her lifetime, preferring to describe her writing as a hobby, and it was not until many years after her death in 1965 that her family rediscovered her work and decided to introduce it to a wider audience.
Also by Clara Benson
THE MURDER AT SISSINGHAM HALL
On his return from South Africa, Charles Knox is invited to spend the weekend at the country home of Sir Ne
ville Strickland, whose beautiful wife Rosamund was once Knox's fiancée. But in the dead of night Sir Neville is murdered. Who did it? As suspicion falls on each of the house guests in turn, Knox finds himself faced with deception and betrayal on all sides, and only the enigmatic Angela Marchmont seems to offer a solution to the mystery.
This 1920s whodunit in the vein of Agatha Christie will delight all fans of traditional country house murder stories.
THE MYSTERY AT UNDERWOOD HOUSE
Old Philip Haynes was never happier than when his family were at each other's throats. Even after his death the terms of his will ensured they would keep on feuding. But now three people are dead and the accusations are flying. Can there really be a murderer in the family? Torn between friendship and duty, Angela Marchmont must find out the truth before the killer can strike again.
The Treasure at Poldarrow Point (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) Page 24
