by Issy Brooke
“What? Oh, no,” she replied in such a blithe way that he was somewhat shocked.
“You must long for them – it’s only natural and you must not be ashamed of that need. You are a woman, after all.”
She blinked at him and looked as if she was trying to say something that he wasn’t going to understand at all. She chewed on her lip and half-turned away again, saying in the end, “Oh, well, I have Sibyl’s boys to occupy me, and that is enough.”
“I am pleased that you are finding some outlet for your maternal energies.” He could tell there was something else but what could it possibly be? He hated to think the worst. “And Cecil is the very best of husbands, is he not...?”
“Oh! He is. I adore him completely, papa.”
“Yet this sleepwalking...” He tailed off.
She turned back and leaned against the window frame, looking at him with curiosity. “Yes?”
“When did it start again?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A few months, perhaps? Cecil would know. I hardly take notice of it, being as I am asleep while it happens.”
He looked closely at her. She squirmed under his scrutiny. “Papa? What’s the matter?”
“Have you ever woken up while sleepwalking?” he asked at last.
Her eyes skidded past him, and she looked as if she was trying to work out what the correct answer was. He was growing to understand some of the root of Adelia’s suspicions.
But Mary was released from his interrogation by two more people entering the room. Theodore was concerned and delighted in equal measure when he saw his mother was now up and about, and resting on the arm of Sibyl, who looked thoroughly displeased to be assisting the Dowager Countess. Sibyl led Grace to a spare chair and lowered the older lady carefully to the seat. Grace nodded in acknowledgement and waited until Sibyl was just about to take her own seat before she barked out, “A whisky with lemon in it, too, if you could possibly be so kind...”
“I shall ring,” Sibyl said stiffly.
Grace smiled as if Sibyl had said something amusing.
Theodore had no idea what power games were occurring between the women in the room and now he felt hopelessly out of his depth. Someone didn’t like someone else but why that was, he could not tell.
So he changed the subject completely. “Mrs Ramsgreave, Mary; as local residents perhaps you can offer me some insight into the situation at the racing stables once owned by Lord Beaconberg and Sir Arthur jointly. As you may have already heard, the full ownership has now passed to Sir Arthur.”
Sibyl gasped. “It has not gone to Lady Beaconberg?”
“She has no part in it. I do not yet know what might still be apportioned to her in the will; the funeral is delayed due to the questions over the death, and that has also delayed the reading of the will.”
“So, Sir Arthur inherits the business. Well, well, well,” said Grace, as if she knew all about it, though she certainly did not.
“He does, and he has appointed an heir of his own. A young man called Douglas Mackie.” He looked at everyone in turn, hunting for reactions.
No one gave him any clue that the appointment was unusual or odd.
He said, “I wonder if anyone has any idea about the young man’s parentage...”
Sibyl Ramsgreave went pink and tensed up. “It is not a subject for polite conversation and that is all we need to know.”
Grace laughed. “You mean, he’s a bastard? Must be Sir Arthur’s by-blow, then, for him to name him as heir. Good chap. I can respect a man who acknowledges his mistakes. Don’t you all think?”
Mary nodded and Sibyl was rigid with indignation.
“Which naturally leads suspicion surrounding the circumstances of Lord Beaconberg’s death to fall upon Sir Arthur,” Theodore went on. “Those of you who know him well, does that sound at all likely? Could he have somehow instigated this carriage accident?”
Mary shook her head vehemently. “Sir Arthur is a gentleman, a true gentleman, and has always been an absolute rock to me.”
Grace raised her eyebrows and said, “How often do you find yourself washing up on this rock?” Her phrasing made Sibyl’s blush deepen even further, which was exactly what Grace had calculated would happen.
“Oh, he is always around the stables and I ... visit there from time to time. I do not keep it secret but I don’t make a great shout about it ... well, I don’t wish to worry people. But you all know that I love horses.”
“Yet it sets your chest off, all that dust and horsehair,” Sibyl snapped. “Why would you put yourself in danger?”
“It does but must I remain completely closeted in this house?” Mary said, a note of utter despair creeping into her voice.
“Life is full of choices and risks,” Grace said. “Every decision is a balance, is it not?”
Theodore felt as if he had missed out a chunk of the conversation and was about to ask for an explanation when there was a tap at the door. He expected it to be the whisky for his mother, which had not yet appeared, but it was a maid announcing someone completely unexpected.
Adelia had returned from Dovewood, but she was not alone. She was with Lady Beaconberg.
And Lady Beaconberg was utterly distraught.
HER PRESENCE FILLED the room in a way that rivalled even the Dowager Countess’s personality. Her face was streaked with tears, though her clothing was impeccable and her hair only slightly and artfully in disarray – just enough to convey her complete desolation but without making her look shabby or unkempt. She clung to Adelia’s arm, and announced, “They are turning my house upside down! Me! A poor and lonely widow, unprotected and alone, and they choose this moment to strike! What can I do? Lord Calaway, you must help me!”
Theodore could not help but look to his wife for some clue. Adelia’s face was blankly sympathetic but showed no sign of the panic that was consuming Lady Beaconberg. From that, he assumed that the scene was one of drama but had no real urgency. “Lady Beaconberg, please do sit down and tell us everything.”
“I’ve told you,” she wailed, remaining on her feet. “They are in my house and hunting through every inch of it – are they allowed to do that? I know people. I shall speak to the authorities. I told them that, but they said that they were the authorities. I feel violated, utterly violated! What has England become when the mere police force can simply enter the home of a well-bred woman such as myself? Are they not supposed to be the protectors of society, our servants in fact? Oh! Oh! Oh! What can I possibly do?”
“The police?” Theodore said, and Mary went to Lady Beaconberg’s side. She sat down and took the woman’s hand gently. Sibyl kept her face impassive, her knees tightly together and her hands clasped in her lap as if she were somehow above such displays of emotion. Grace was leaning forward, occasionally suppressing a cough, determined to soak up every moment of the situation.
“Yes, the police!”
“Did they say what they were looking for?”
Lady Beaconberg crumpled, her head sagging. “I simply cannot bear it. I cannot! They suggested that ... they wondered if ... oh!”
Adelia said in a low voice, “They are simply looking into all relevant aspects of Lord Beaconberg’s business dealings and hoped to find some paperwork that might not have been at the stables.”
“Then why did they insist on access to my bedroom?”
Sibyl hissed in astonishment. Adelia said, “It is often the case that people keep important documents in a safe in their bedroom, is it not?”
“They only needed to ask if that were the case! I would have told them no, there is no safe in there – but they insisted on seeing with their own eyes, as if I am a liar! Me! I am Lady Beaconberg!”
Theodore wondered if the police were looking for far more than mere business paperwork. After all, the Inspector himself had alluded to the possibility that Lady Beaconberg needed investigating. He wanted to ask her so much more but it was impossible in such company and with the lady in such a state of emotion. He w
as glad, however, that she was now under the same roof as he was. He could perhaps push his own investigations further on.
Then his mother could suppress her cough no longer, and the whisky still hadn’t arrived, and Mary wanted to take the matter up with the servants, and Lady Beaconberg needed something to calm her nerves, and all the women got up and began to flutter around and Theodore retreated to the library to calm with own nerves with a cigar and the quieter company of Cecil.
Fourteen
Adelia found Theodore as soon as she could once everyone else had calmed down. Lady Beaconberg had finally acceded to Mary’s insistence that she stay with them at the Grey House for dinner that night, which had Sibyl tutting about the extra work for the servants as if one more mouth was a great burden; both Mary and Sibyl went off together to speak to the housekeeper about matters, which Adelia thought was a bad idea. It was Mary’s duty to oversee things, she thought, and Sibyl needed to take herself off and do something else. But what was she to do? It was the perennial problem facing the empty, dead hours of the typical middle-class lady, whether she was of means or not. Sibyl could hardly go out and work. Charitable organisations and voluntary positions were the last resort open to her. Surely, Adelia said to Theodore as they settled themselves in their own rooms in the chilly wing, some religious group or another would be glad of Sibyl’s help.
He laughed. “They might like the idea of her until they meet her, but don’t you find her a little dour?”
“Only because of her situation. Anyway, let us move on ... you have asked me to spy on Lady Beaconberg for the police which I was happy enough to do, and then all of a sudden they turned up in force anyway! What was the point of asking me to be there when they had that planned all along?”
“I rather think they must have made some other discoveries which have precipitated this action,” he replied.
“But what have they discovered?” she asked. “I thought you were working with them. Don’t you know what they are doing?”
She could see annoyance on his face. “I know nothing, and I am as surprised as you are. But they obviously wanted to rattle Lady Beaconberg. They must suspect her of more involvement that they are letting on. And by turning up in force, they must have hoped to provoke a reaction otherwise they would have simply requested a quiet word with her.”
“Well, we cannot go back to Dovewood to look at things while Lady Beaconberg seeks refuge here with us. Right now, however, I think we should go to the stables,” Adelia said. “I have not been and I should like to speak to the staff there myself.” She thought she could see something that Theodore might have missed.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “Let’s stay here and await what happens next.”
She jumped to her feet. “Humbug to that, Theodore! Are you not supposed to be investigating?”
“True.”
“And are you not curious?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us find some decent walking gear and see what we can see. To hell with the rain! I need to be active and so do you. You think better when moving, and I think better when talking. So let’s go!”
She overrode all his feeble excuses and within half an hour they were on their way to the stables.
But they were not the only ones with that idea.
“I THOUGHT THE POLICE were at Dovewood?” Theodore said as they approached.
“That was three hours ago. It seems they have moved on,” Adelia replied. “Perhaps we ought to turn around and head back to the Grey House after all.” She spoke with reluctance and hoped he would not agree with her half-hearted suggestion.
“No,” Theodore said decisively. “This is an opportunity for us to find out what’s going on.” He strode on and Adelia found that she was happy enough to go along with it. Theodore headed towards one of the men who was ordering everyone else about. He was not dressed in uniform and she quickly guessed that this was Inspector Benn. He was talking to two of the grooms. She wondered if one of them was Douglas Mackie.
It transpired that Sir Arthur was out in a far field exercising a horse, which surprised her, as she hadn’t expected him to be so hands-on. Word was sent to him that he was needed back at the stables but while they waited, Theodore took his chance to speak to the Inspector. He managed to winkle the man away from the others. Adelia slipped alongside and tried to look unobtrusive as the two men spoke together.
“I must say, I am rather surprised to hear of this day’s alarums and excitements,” Theodore said to Inspector Benn. “Lady Beaconberg has come to us in something of a fluster.”
“Well, as to that, she may well be flustered,” Inspector Benn said. And then, because Adelia could not very well hide herself effectively behind her husband, he looked straight at her and said, “Madam, we are about to discuss a somewhat delicate matter, that is to say, unsuitable for ladies.”
“Oh, good,” she told him, staying put.
She felt Theodore twitch slightly, which she hoped was a suppressed giggle and not a shudder of shame at her rude reply. The Inspector pursed his lips and decided to retreat before even considering a further challenge. “Very well.” He spoke again to Theodore, as if Adelia were not there, which was his way of coping with the impropriety of it all. He seemed, to Adelia’s eyes, to be a fussy sort of man, impeccably clean and somewhat uncomfortable, jerking his left eyelid slightly every time a nearby horse blew out a noisy snort. “Lord Beaconberg has some secrets from his past which have unfortunately emerged while we were engaged in our enquiries which have led us to believe that there is more to this business here than we had first thought.”
Sir Arthur is a suspect, Adelia thought, with a sinking feeling in her heart. What a shame. Yet it fits; he has motive enough.
Theodore nodded and encouraged the Inspector to continue.
“One of the grooms here is connected to Lord Beaconberg in a, um, well, a delicate way,” the Inspector went on.
Adelia could not help herself. “Douglas Mackie!” That made the poor lad a suspect, she thought. Not Sir Arthur himself.
And then she stopped. Had she heard that correctly?
“Wait,” she said, though neither of the men were speaking. “Lord Beaconberg and Mackie?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” They had assumed the wrong paternity. Lord Beaconberg was Mackie’s father, not Sir Arthur.
The same connection was made by Theodore. He hit his own forehead in an overly dramatic fashion. “I remember his name as he was first introduced to us now. Douglas Parr Mackie. Parr.”
“Yes, something of a conceit from the mother, I understand, using Lord Beaconberg’s surname. A common enough trick, as it happens.”
“But if this is true, then why on earth would Sir Arthur name Lord Beaconberg’s unacknowledged son as the heir to the racing stables?” Adelia said in wonderment. Nothing made sense now. “Why did Lord Beaconberg leave the stables entirely to Sir Arthur and not his own wife or daughter or even to his illegitimate son directly? Has the will been formally read yet? Lady Beaconberg has not mentioned it.” Though how could Lady Beaconberg have spoken of any of this without great pain?
“It has not been read but its contents are known, at least to me,” the Inspector said. “Lady Beaconberg is aware that the stables have been passed to Sir Arthur, of course. Everyone has heard that by now.”
“And what about the rest of the will?”
Inspector Benn cleared his throat. “What remains, what little that remains, does indeed pass as expected to Lady Beaconberg as there is no actual legitimate male heir and Lord Beaconberg expressly passes the house and assets, in trust of course, for the use of Lady Beaconberg and for their daughter.” Mackie could never inherit Lord Beaconberg’s title; he could never be a true heir.
“You say what little remains,” Adelia said.
“I do indeed. I rather fear that Lady Beaconberg is in for an unwelcome surprise when she discovers that the situation is somewhat ... ahh ... parlous. The finan
cial situation will need very astute and careful advice. There are significant debts. She has not inherited a positive balance, one might say.”
“But if she had also inherited the stables, could her share of it have paid off those debts?”
“Possibly at least in part. But I am no accountant and I understand the problem to be a large one.”
“Goodness. These debts must be huge indeed.”
Inspector Benn nodded sadly. “They have been run up over many years, and now the creditors are circling, as they always do after a death, all hoping to be the first to be paid out of very limited funds.”
“This is going to come as a dreadful shock to Lady Beaconberg!” Adelia said, feeling an unexpected wave of sympathy for the woman.
The Inspector finally looked her directly in the eye. “Will it?” he asked in a curiously insistent tone.
“Yes, it will.”
“So she expected to inherit and be in a financially stable position after his death, did she?”
“Why – yes, I think that she did. She still does. What are you suggesting, sir?”
“Simply that if she thought that she’d inherit, there is a motive for her to commit murder, do you see? If she did not know about the debt, she could have thought she’d inherit a lot of money. And now she won’t. We must watch her carefully now. As the truth emerges, her reactions will either condemn her or prove her innocence.”
Adelia had to defend her. “This has been mooted before as a possibility but her grief when the news broke was absolutely genuine.”
“Yes,” replied Inspector Benn. “No doubt she was indeed filled with remorse.”
“No, it was then and continues to be genuine distress.”
“She is known for her wild displays of emotion.”
“She is, but ...” And Adelia had to stop because there was a small part of her that did question Lady Beaconberg’s actions and reactions in the aftermath of her husband’s death. She was sad but she was not quite as devastated as she claimed to be; her grief was related to the disruption in her life, not the actual loss of her husband.
