Act? Wait?
Theodora’s hand was shaking as she put the teacup down. This choice could be the most important of her life. She had to get it right.
* * *
“Anna!” Kenneth ran up to the figure in white who was cutting a few roses at the back of the garden. “I didn’t see you at breakfast. I was worried that you had left anyway.”
She didn’t look at him as she reached out for another soft yellow rose, resting it in the palm of her hand a moment, before cutting it and putting it with the others in the basket on her arm.
“Anna?” Kenneth studied her tight profile. “Is something wrong?”
“Of course not. I had breakfast in the kitchen earlier with the other servants. I was only at dinner last night because Mr Bryce-Rutherford wanted to make his revelation.”
“He can’t let you eat with the servants. You’re not like them.”
“How would you know?” Anna asked, but he saw the smile tugging at her lips.
Encouraged, he continued, “I’ll ask Uncle Malcolm if you can eat with us every day. I bet he’ll think it’s a great idea. He must like you. He doesn’t have any people around him who are…” Young, fresh, breathtaking. “Who can cheer him up. I think he needs that. He thinks he’s dying. But perhaps he isn’t. Perhaps he’s only depressed because everything is so sad here and everybody treats him like an invalid. We could make things different for him.”
“You honestly think he isn’t dying?” Anna asked. A frown hovered over her eyes.
Kenneth shrugged. “I would feel ill if everybody treated me like I was ill all of the time. Theodora with her things that he has to eat because they are good for him. And that darkened room. He needs to do something fun.”
Anna held his gaze. “Can we take him on our boat trip?”
Kenneth suddenly saw his whole boat trip where he would impress Anna with his skills and his strength ruined by the presence of a nagging old man. Or worse even, an old man who would look at him with knowing eyes, smirking at the schoolboy trying to win a woman of the world.
He said quickly, “I think that would be too dangerous. The sea could be rough and rock the boat. What if he fell out of the boat and drowned?”
Anna’s eyes were a deep endless blue. “Yes,” she said slowly, “what if…”
Here outside the house her smooth skin didn’t seem so porcelain-like but had more of a tan, a healthy glow, blending out her freckles. Her hands moved with quick determination as she chose just the right rose to snip off and put in her basket.
One threatened to slip off from the top of the bunch and she grabbed it. “Ouch!” She retracted her hand and a drop of blood sat on her fingertip. She stared at it with a pained expression.
Kenneth pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She used it to dab at the blood, leaving a bright red stain on the handkerchief. She smiled at him as she handed it back to him. “Thank you. How clumsy of me.”
Kenneth put the handkerchief back in his pocket and studied the blue skies above. “We could go boating now. Uncle Malcolm doesn’t need you right away.” He said it in a blunt, confident tone.
Anna looked doubtful. “I promised to bring in these roses and arrange them for him in a vase.”
“Theodora can do it. There she is.” Kenneth pointed at the drab figure in grey which had come out of the house and stood on the terrace.
“She doesn’t like me,” Anna said. “I don’t know why. I take good care of my patient.”
Kenneth shrugged. “Some people think they can do everything better. That’s just the way they are. Let me take the basket to her. You go get a cardigan or something. It can be chilly on the water.”
Anna suddenly laughed out loud. She handed him the basket and the cutting tool and then threw her arms up in the air and cheered. “Ken, you’re a doll.” She ran off around the house to where the kitchen entrance was.
Kenneth stood motionless, his cheek burning as if she had leaned in and kissed him there and then. He thought she might have wanted to do that if Theodora hadn’t been watching them.
He turned to the woman with resentment clawing at his stomach. That ugly old witch had to ruin everything for everyone. If anybody ought to die here, it ought to be her.
He carried the basket to her, holding the tool out like a weapon.
Theodora was studying the view and only noticed him at the last moment. She yelped and clutched her hands together. “Kenneth! What are you doing?”
“Here are some roses for Uncle Malcolm. I thought you would like to arrange them in a vase and take them up to him.” Kenneth held the tool and basket out to her. “He’ll appreciate all the trouble you go through for him.”
Something lit in those dull eyes over the long, forever sniffing nose. She said in a surprised tone, “That’s very kind of you, Kenneth.”
He shrugged. Her eyes made him uncomfortable as if she could see right through him. “I think you care very much for him. And he needs that.”
The eyes lit even more. “Yes, he needs that.” Theodora ran a finger over the soft petals of one of the roses. “Even if he will never admit it.”
Kenneth pulled back his shoulders and repeated something he had heard his mother say to her friends, “A man will never admit he needs a woman.”
Theodora nodded. “How true. You’re extremely intelligent for your age.” She cast a long loving look at the roses and then turned away. Before she entered the house, she called to him, “Remember one thing though: Anna can’t swim.”
* * *
Hugh Bryce-Rutherford stood in the back of the garden, near the little structure that was some kind of folly or tea chapel or whatever it was called. As he was supposed to be an artist, people expected him to know such things, but he was a writer and a sculptor, not an architect. The homo universalis was a fantasy from the humanists, not something a man of flesh and blood could ever achieve.
Especially not if his flesh was as weak as Hugh’s was. He groaned as he reached for his pounding head. He was used to drinking, and still the late-night intake of his uncle’s whiskey had left him with a haze in front of his eyes and a weight in his neck. Fresh air was supposed to help, but Hugh felt like the bright sunshine pierced right through his eyes into the back of his brain, making him long to crawl back into bed again.
But he suspected that the staff were watching him, ready to report to his uncle, and he didn’t want to look like a weakling who didn’t deserve the inheritance. Who knew what ridiculous motivations led the old man as he sat at his desk each night, at the stroke of midnight, to choose his new sole heir?
Who could be it today?
Today, day one, the first of a trying set of days waiting for something to happen, yet being afraid of what it might be. Could it be true that one of them would kill the old man? Or that one of them would be accused of killing the old man regardless of whether he or she had or had not?
Hugh leaned his shoulder against the folly’s white wood and sighed. Even that made his head ache. He needed another drink, but his hip flask was empty and he had forgotten to refill it before wandering out to avoid the scent of scrambled eggs and Cecily Jones’ attempts to draw him out about getting his work into some gallery. She had no idea how hard the life of an artist was. People simply believed you could turn out masterpieces like clockwork, like a baker baked bread or a carpenter made cupboards. But there was no mould, no set design, nothing to recreate time and time again. Each creation was unique, the only one there’d ever be in the entire world. The idea was wondrous and intimidating at the same time.
When he picked up his pen or his chisel, his head was so full of all the expectations resting on him he could barely hold it without shaking. Not the expectations of a public, of buyers or patrons. No, the expectations of the works of art themselves. He was their creator; he had to give life to them. He had to make them into what they were supposed to be. And he always felt like he couldn’t do them justice. Like they were more beautiful and grander than he
could ever make them.
Hugh sighed sadly. He fingered his damp forehead, cringing as even that slight touch beat into his brain. His mouth was so dry he could hardly swallow. He’d better get back to the house for water or coffee. Or whiskey, which he felt he needed more. But his legs were too wobbly to move. He just stood there letting the structure hold him upright as tears of desolation and failure filled his eyes.
“Here.” A hand held a glass under his nose.
Hugh breathed the invigorating scent of alcohol. It sharpened his wits like nothing else could. Surprised, he grabbed the glass and raised it to his mouth. The liquid rushed across his tongue, dripping into his throat like honey. He stared up in a haze at Howard Jones, who eyed him with a mixture of disgust and pity. Hugh wanted to straighten up and look better, but he couldn’t, so he just drank from the glass again, deeply, savouring the burn of the alcohol into his empty stomach.
“Patty wouldn’t like this,” Howard said.
“Patty can go…” Hugh bit back the rest of the words. He gestured with the glass. “She doesn’t understand me.”
“Women rarely do,” Howard said. He kept his gaze on the view, the endless blue sea as it rolled towards the horizon. He didn’t seem to notice the sun beams were like arrows. Then again, Howard was probably a moderate man. Logically, as he didn’t have to create. He could just sit and fill in paperwork and put numbers together. He had it easy.
Howard said, “What do you think of this crazy idea of Malcolm’s?”
Hugh closed his eyes. “Right now I try not to think at all.”
“Would you want to inherit, knowing there was going to be a police investigation? Knowing you could find yourself arrested for murder?”
“Malcolm said that if he died a natural death, everything would be fine.”
“Yes, but what is a natural death? Even a heart attack can be provoked by medication.”
Hugh turned his head slowly to look at Howard’s tight profile. “You seem to have thought about this long and hard.”
Howard said, “I lay awake all night. I’m not worried for my own sake, but for Cecily and Kenneth. I think we should leave.”
“Malcolm said you could.” Hugh took another sip of whiskey. His head was getting clearer now and he suddenly saw a chance to reduce the number of possible heirs considerably. If Howard left with his wife and son… That meant three less. Three out of…
He closed his eyes again to count quickly. Patty, himself, Theodora, Howard, Cecily, Kenneth, Anna, the butler and the chauffeur. Nine. Koning couldn’t inherit as he was the lawyer taking care of things. He could not benefit from a will he had helped draw up. So if three out of nine people left the scene, chances went up by…
A lot.
Let’s just keep it at “a lot.”
He said to Howard, “I think personally that chances are slim Malcolm will leave anything to Cecily. What he said about her last night at dinner proves how much he still hates her for spending too much money and then leaving him.” Marrying you, he kept to himself. “I think he only enjoys the idea she might be accused by the police. I think it would be very smart of you to leave with her and Kenneth.”
“Malcolm doesn’t like you any better than he likes Cecily. He has no appreciation for your artistic talent and he doesn’t like your new wife either. Why would he leave anything to you?”
Hugh wanted to protest that he was Malcolm’s nephew and thereby his closest blood relation and that Malcolm valued such things, but after the snide comments made over dinner last night he could hardly deny how Malcolm felt about Hugh’s vocation in life and his marital choices.
Howard said, “If you leave as well, with Patty, his little game is over. He won’t leave anything to staff. He is too greedy for that.”
“But what about Theodora? You can’t convince her to leave. Do you really want to run the risk of letting that sour broomstick get it all?”
Hugh felt better discussing this out loud with Howard.
Howard made a scoffing sound. “You know how I feel about Theodora. I’d have fired her much sooner, but Malcolm had decided such things.”
Hugh suppressed a laugh. Malcolm had decided everything within the firm and Howard had just been his servant. They all knew that. Still Cecily had chosen Howard over Malcolm. That was rather odd.
Howard said, “I don’t want Theodora to get anything, but if we all leave, she won’t get anything. Don’t you see? If she’s left and she becomes heir and Malcolm dies, she will be suspected at once. She will be hung for murder.”
Howard’s face beamed. Was it just the Mediterranean sunshine or also a wicked glee at the prospect of seeing his former secretary executed?
“Theodora would be too smart to incriminate herself,” Hugh said. “She would let the nurse hang or the butler. She’d get away with the fortune.”
“We could make sure before we leave that some clues point in her direction.”
Hugh, still puzzling over the problem of leaving Theodora to get what she had always wanted, didn’t understand the meaning of his words.
Howard turned to look at him and repeated, “We could make sure, before we go, to leave clues that lead the police straight to her.”
“What kind of clues?” Hugh asked, confused.
“A medicine bottle in her bag, a letter among some paperwork. Something to show she wanted Malcolm dead and actively conspired to kill him. Together with her being named sole heir it would be an easy case for a jury.”
Hugh opened his mouth to say something, but Howard already continued, “She’s a busybody, and juries don’t like that. They all have such a person in their own lives. The neighbour who reported to their boss that they had called in sick while not being sick at all and were seen leaving the house dressed up for a party. Or the friend of the wife’s who saw them with the secretary and told the wife, leading to an expensive divorce. Nosiness is such an ugly trait. They’d gladly condemn Theodora to death believing that they’re sending their neighbour or wife’s friend up instead.”
Hugh was stunned at the simple logic or perhaps even the idea that a man like Howard would think that far. He suddenly wondered if Howard had ever betrayed Cecily and been afraid that some kind of busybody would make his secret known.
Howard pressed, “What do you think?”
Hugh grimaced. “We have no way of knowing when Malcolm will put Theodora in the will. And besides, if he doesn’t die on that day…”
He fell silent, confused. Was Howard suggesting helping death so Malcolm would die on the right day? But how, if they were not around to make it work?
Howard said, “Are you willing to leave?”
Hugh clutched the glass. Staring into it, he suddenly had a bitter taste left on his tongue. He had never been close to Howard. Why had he come out to him, so kindly, so considerately with the drink and his story?
Probably because he believed Hugh was dumb.
Anger flared inside of him as he realized how many people in his life had taken him for dumb. How they had tried to use him and take advantage of him. Howard’s kindness now had a hidden meaning too. Howard wanted him and Patty to leave so he could somehow get the inheritance. By incriminating others or by whatever means his devious mind could come up with. He had lain awake all night, right? Well, not to consider escape. To consider how he could get it all.
Hugh tried to control his voice as he spoke, “I don’t think I can convince Patty to leave. She really looked forward to her stay here. Poor girl. Didn’t like it very much in Cornwall.”
Howard said, “Can’t you take her to Cannes or Monte Carlo? What on earth is there to do for her here? You can think of something. Make a promise. A new hat, some jewellery.”
“I can’t afford any,” Hugh said. “I came here to uh… hope Uncle Malcolm could give me a loan.”
“I’ll give you money.” Howard reached in his pocket. “I can write you a cheque for any amount you need. To get away from here, spend some time at a nice hotel with Patty,
buy her presents, make her happy again. She doesn’t look like she is very happy right now.”
“Don’t you tell me whether my wife is happy or not,” Hugh said, raising a hand and the glass slipped from his grasp and fell. As the folly was built on a concrete base the glass broke into a hundred pieces as it hit the ground. Fragments danced everywhere, shooting sparks in the sunshine.
“Fool!” Howard spat, stepping back as shards glanced off his trouser legs. He threw Hugh a disgusted look.
Hugh said, “I’m not taking any of your money. I understand perfectly what you’re trying to do. You want me to leave, me and Patty, so you can inherit it all. But if anyone doesn’t deserve it, it’s you. You betrayed Malcolm in the worst possible way. You took his wife.”
Howard laughed softly. “Malcolm had tired of Cecily long before that. He told me he was glad to be rid of her.”
Hugh blinked.
Howard said, “You have to make up your own mind whether you are leaving or not. But I can tell you it’s dangerous to stay.”
“So you leave first and then I’ll leave as well.” Hugh rubbed his clammy hands together. “Besides, even if I see you leaving, how do I know you won’t come back? No.”
As he said it, he felt determination rise inside of him. “I have to stay. I have no choice. Whatever may be next, I have to wait it out and… take it on the chin.”
Howard looked him over. He shook his head. “You’re a fool,” he said, not angry this time, but bitter and with a strange undertone of… sadness?
Hugh watched the tall man walk away, back to the house. I did the right thing, he told himself. I’m not leaving. Let Howard leave. If he is really afraid of what can happen here, let him prove it to me by leaving first. But even then…
No, the stakes are too high. I must stay.
A Testament to Murder Page 6
