Oxford Blood

by Antonia Fraser

  'It's the professor! Professor Mossbanker. Fred - I think we'd better get an ambulance. Quick. There's this syringe!'

  'OK, right then. You go and telephone for an ambulance. That's the second time this morning. Well, we once had three after a Commem. I ask you. And they call it fun.'

  'This is serious, Fred. I think he's dead!'

  To some of the revellers walking unsteadily in the streets of Oxford, on their way to the river, on their way back from it, the wail of the ambulance passing down the Broad, bearing Proffy's lifeless body on its ride to the hospital, was like the last music of the long night.

  21

  Purple for the Rich Man

  Afterwards, back in London safely reunited with Cass, Jemima still shivered at the thought of what followed. But it was the thought of Proffy's strange mild calm which caused the revulsion.

  'He seemed quite fatalistic about everything. Oddly dispassionate. All he really wanted to do was get it over - my questions - and then as we now know, go outside and kill himself. I got the impression that he was hardly interested in me; I certainly don't think I was ever in any danger.'

  'I'm glad of that.' Cass put his arm around her shoulders.

  'You see, for him the game was over: the party was over. He answered my questions, almost with a shrug. Said that he'd drugged Saffron when he came to drink the champagne.' Jemima forbore to mention to Cass the question of the green dress. How ironic, she reflected privately, that Proffy the cool murderer, the former secret agent, the chemist who knew how to kill, should have failed to deduce from the presence of a ball dress hanging up in the sitting room that Saffron was entertaining its former occupant in the bedroom ... she thought of his formidable mixture of jealousy, ruthlessness and absentmindedness which had defeated her investigation for so long and turned her in the direction of the Iverstones, more especially the ever-decent Jack. Or perhaps Proffy was so used to female clothing draped round Saffron's rooms and even his car (she remembered the Maserati at Saffron Ivy bestrewn with white frilly underclothing) that he paid no special attention to one dress. It was after all part of his picture of Saffron, the careless sexuality of arrogant youth, the picture which he had determined to destroy.

  'And now he was coming back to finish off the job. Just as he killed Tiggie,' Jemima said aloud.

  'Envy!' exclaimed Cass. 'All that in the name of envy!'

  'Envy after all can kill,' said Jemima. 'Can be destructive as well as

  self-destructive. He warned me, and that was his own piece of arrogance, on the night of the Chimneysweepers' Dinner. He was talking about the parable of Dives and Lazarus. What makes you think Dives wasn't happy? he said. Purple and fine linen: who wouldn't want to be dressed in purple and fine linen? What makes you think Lazarus didn't envy Dives his lot? That gave me the clue to the attacks on Saffron - a killing hatred based on envy was at the bottom of them. But I was obsessed by the hereditary element in it all, the fact that the Iverstone family were bound to envy Saffron and, if anyone, would want him removed. That tension I felt at the tennis match - the tension which was really between Proffy and Lord St Ives: I was determined to put it down to Andrew Iverstone's jealousy of his cousin. Andrew Iverstone, Daphne, Fanny, even the ever-decent Jack - they were all present at the various attacks and had an opportunity—' 'But Jack wasn't present at the Chimneysweepers' Dinner,' objected Cass.

  'Yes, but he too could have canoed up river, as did Rufus Pember and Nigel Copley. That wouldn't have been impossible. What I knew all along, but failed to connect, was that Proffy had the best opportunity of all. Saffron's car, for example, the original attack, parked outside Rochester and in various car parks near the college; who had better opportunity than Proffy to fix it? And then the death of Bim Marcus: Proffy was even able to report finding the body with perfect impunity. No one needed to enter Rochester and lurk till the small hours, when the murderer actually lived there - right on the same staircase, Staircase Thirteen.'

  Cass frowned: 'Why the washing machine? That always struck me as being so odd. If it was Proffy, why didn't he just do the deed and retreat back into his rooms? Why set the machine on and alert everybody to his presence?'

  'Of course I should have realized all along the importance of that clue,' agreed Jemima. 'I felt instinctively at the time as you know; thought the police were a little too easy about it all - the machine was on, with Bim's prints on it; ergo he set it off. No, that was Proffy's cunning way of distracting our attention from his presence. The machine was put on deliberately to give him the perfect excuse to discover the body. Any prints or awkward traces he might have left - all taken care of.'

  'In view of his feelings about youth - by the way, who said he liked the idea of children and hated the young?'

  'Tiggie,' said Jemima.

  'Perceptive. In view of these feelings it must have given him sardonic pleasure to use the legend of his own intolerance concerning the machine. Everyone knew he hated being woken up by it. But let's go on. Saffron Ivy, yes, I see he had every opportunity there. You said that he never shared Eugenia Jones' bedroom.' Cass frowned again. 'But the Chimneysweepers' Dinner! Didn't he take a risk there? You mean he just went from your side, attacked Saffron, and returned. A cool customer, indeed. Not only at the end.'

  'Till the very end. He encouraged me to telephone for a doctor from his room. Outside we still heard the music playing, and the sun must have been coming up, except the shadow of that huge tent blocked the light. I saw the photographs: Eleanor Mossbanker and all those tow-headed children and a huge photograph of Eugenia Jones. Those dramatic looks she handed on to her children - to Tiggie, and to Saffron.'

  'Why did the attacks start then7. Surely he had always known about Saffron and Tiggie—'

  'No, no that's the whole point. He never knew. It was the Nurse's story which gave it away.'

  'Nurse Elsie strikes again.'

  'She did indeed. She told Eugenia about Saffron's - her baby's - actual whereabouts, Eugenia having believed for twenty years that the baby died shortly after birth. That was such a shock that Eugenia confided in Proffy simply for the sake of sharing the shock with somebody. But of course at the same time she had to tell him about Lord St Ives being the father of Saffron. Otherwise none of it made any sense - the switch of the babies I mean. Proffy's a very jealous man you know, was a very jealous man. Up till Nurse Elsie's revelation he'd always imagined that the baby which died was his child, because it was conceived just at the start of their relationship. Eugenia, knowing his feelings on the subject, let him believe it.'

  'What about Tiggie?'

  'Oh that was before he knew Eugenia. Proffy went along with the original story concerning the mysterious Jones. And now, with one fell swoop he learnt that his mistress had betrayed him sexually at the very beginning of their affair. What was more, she had in effect lied to him for twenty years. Worse still, it was clear that she must have always preferred Lord St Ives. You see, it was Eugenia who had refused to marry Proffy, not - as I'd always imagined - the other way round. Lord St Ives was the great love of Eugenia Jones' life; or the perfect masochistic emotional situation if you prefer it, the one man she could never hope to marry, the man who would never leave his wife ...'

  'So now Proffy found that this boy, this arrogant rich privileged boy, where his own children were poor and numerous, was not only the son of his mistress, but also the son of his mistress and her lover.'

  'Exactly. Instead of hating Eugenia, as might have been logical, he transferred his hatred to the boy. So that it was easy for him. And he decided to kill him. Eliminate him from Eugenia's life.'

  'Purple and fine linen - and death - for the rich man,' commented Cass. 'With the compliments of Dives.'

  'Except that poor little Tiggie was the one who got killed, Tiggie and the wretched innocent Bim Marcus, killed for the coincidence of one wasted day of high life. Tiggie did for herself when she got engaged to Saffron. I suppose the spectacle of Tiggie, Eugenia's daughter, about to become
rich and famous, as she herself boasted, to enjoy all that wealth, that house, those possessions, everything that belonged to the man Eugenia had preferred, was too much for him. Proffy reckoned he could make that death look like suicide, knowing the amount of drugs that Tiggie took. As with Saffron. Who would seriously question it? A death from drink and an overdose of drugs on the night of a Commem Ball - all too probable, especially with Saffron's reputation.'

  'The hatred of the old for the young. Must be all too easily encouraged by life at Oxford. If it's there in the first place.' Cass shivered.

  'Don't forget that the Kerry Barbers of this world, who are also to be found at Oxford, are a much larger part of it in fact,' Jemima pointed out. But Cass, for the time being, was not thinking of the Kerry Barbers of this world.

  'Finally he killed himself. And you let him do that. You got a doctor for Saffron, but you didn't get the police for Proffy. Was it to save the scandal? Was it for Saffron? Or did you think you wouldn't be able to convince the police?'

  Jemima took Cass's hand. 'No, not for Saffron. Nor even for the St Ives family. As for the police, I would have tried my best, although it might have been difficult. No, it was for her, Eugenia Jones. She'd made a mistake, if you call love a mistake, twenty years earlier. And that mistake came to cost two lives, three if you count Proffy himself, and it nearly cost the life of another, Saffron. She had to live with the knowledge that her lover had killed her daughter and tried to kill the man she now knew to be her son.'

  'Did she suspect anything, anything at all before it happened?'

  'There were a good deal of strong emotions floating about at Saffron Ivy that weekend, which fooled me at the time,' admitted Jemima ruefully. 'That is, I picked up the emotions and attributed them to the wrong people. Not only at the tennis match. Eugenia Jones is another example: that night when the butler was singing, I felt fear in the room, fear very strongly present. I thought it was Lady St Ives but that must have been Eugenia's fear for her daughter.'

  'So she knew?' asked Cass.

  'Maybe she didn't know. But she feared. It was the thought of what she must have feared, as well as what she endured later, which made me think that she had the right now to come to terms with it all in secret. To recover her peace of mind, if she ever can, outside the baleful light of public scandal.'

  'The peace of mind Nurse Elsie sacrificed at her death.'

  'Peace of mind is for God to give: that's what Sister Imelda told me originally. I'm beginning to think she was right. I'm not sure who else but

  God, about whose existence I remain anxiously doubtful, will give it to poor Eugenia Jones. Whatever she may have suspected before, she now knows the full truth about Proffy. It's been hushed up for the rest of the world, a simple suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed etc. There's no proof of what happened, after all, and of the various parties concerned, including Saffron, none of them want the truth to be exhibited to the world. Then there's poor Eleanor Mossbanker and those wretched children to be considered: suicide is better for them to live with than murder.'

  'You saw Eugenia Jones?' asked Cass.

  'In Oxford. Briefly. She asked to see me. Said it wouldn't take long and that she wanted to ask me a question. She came to the Martyrs.'

  Jemima thought of that last interview. Eugenia Jones looked quite haggard. She also seemed to have shrunk in height. In her black clothes - official mourning for Proffy? - she resembled a middle-aged Greek peasant woman more than a distinguished academic.

  'Did I do wrong?' asked Eugenia Jones abruptly. She refused to accept a drink or even coffee, and sat quite stiffly on the edge of her chair in the hotel suite. 'It began with love. Was that wrong?'

  'Why do you ask me? Of all people.'

  Eugenia Jones smiled faintly. She had a charming smile; Jemima had noticed before how it lit up her slightly heavy features.

  'You know all the facts. There's no one else I can talk to. Besides, you seem remote from love. I thought you might have a detached view.'

  'I can't and won't judge anyone in all this,' said Jemima Shore honestly. 'Except Proffy, and he's beyond all our judgements. Certainly not you.'

  Eugenia Jones stood up. 'No absolution then.'

  'No need for it, as I can see it.'

  'Wise girl,' commented Cass, when Jemima related this (although she chose to omit for some reason that comment on her remoteness from love). 'So now Saffron goes forward to be the next Lord St Ives.'

  'And that's right too,' said Jemima staunchly. 'That's justice. He is his father's son after all. And his mother's son too - at least that's the line he's taking. I mean Lady St Ives. He doesn't want to see Eugenia Jones and she doesn't want to see him. I daresay he'll be reconciled to his father in time, if only for Lady St Ives' sake. It's over: the past will be left in peace, or at any rate that bit of it.'

  'How are they all? Your suspects. Your former suspects, I should say.'

  'I haven't seen Jack Iverstone since his father's death; I still feel guilty at having wondered at the end whether a jealous murderer's nature lay beneath that decent exterior.'

  'Jack - I wonder if he's glad or sorry that he finally revolted on that last night and chose to demo with Kerry Barber when it must have been fairly clear that his father was dying,' mused Cass.

  'Being Jack, he'd be sorry, very sorry. No, correction, the new Jack is probably deep down rather glad. Otherwise his father would have died and Jack would never have proved to himself that he could revolt. Except publicly, of course. But being a member of the SDP was nothing compared to his inability to speak up when his father was actually present. Think of that tennis match, for example. Now that Andrew Iverstone's off the scene, he can happily pursue that moderate political career for which he is so eminently suited. But Fanny, believe it or not -I'm taking Fanny into Megalith Television. As a secretary in the first instance; I'm sure she'll rise rapidly. I'm determined to save her from the twin curses of a right-wing background and an inadequate education.'

  'And Saffron?'

  Jemima smiled. 'Recovered. He has nine lives, like Midnight here, even if Proffy has used up a good few of them. He swears he's going to work next term. No more Oxford Bloodiness.' She bent to stroke the cat, feeling for some reason that it was necessary to add: 'I haven't seen him recently you know.' She was aware that she was very slightly embarrassed.

  At the same moment, Cass was producing a sentence, which exhibited a similar awkwardness; nonetheless Jemima got the impression he had been rehearsing it for some time. 'Jemima, I've got something to say to you. First I think you should know, I don't know quite why I think this, but I do - that Tiggie and I, once or twice, you know, while you were in Oxford - she was so wild, sweet but crazy, it meant nothing. Not to either of us.

  'Cherry must have guessed,' he added, 'or at least suspected. Because I had to ask her for Tiggie's telephone number. I take it she didn't tell you?'

  Jemima thought of Cherry's slightly odd, even strained reaction to Tiggie's engagement, one of those things she had filed away at the back of her mind to be explained one day. Now she must either reward Cherry with flowers for her discretion or - that too was something which could be filed away for a later decision; on the whole Jemima thought she would probably send Cherry flowers.

  Cass seemed to have nothing more to say.

  There was a long silence while Jemima, her head bent, continued to stroke Midnight as though his life depended on it; after a bit his heavy raucous purr filled the silence. As a matter of fact, during the silence Jemima was not thinking of Midnight at all but was reminding herself of fairness, justice, equality of opportunity, personal freedom, individual liberty, possessiveness-is-theft, and many other fine concepts, all in an effort to prevent an enormous wave of furious indignation and jealousy sweeping over her and knocking her right off her elegant perch on a rock, as she saw it, way above such horrible human passions.

  To break the tension, Jemima jumped up and pressed the button of her cassette play
er. The melody from Arabella filled the room: 'Aber der Richtige ... The one who's right for me ...' Jemima switched it off again.

  Finally she said as lightly as she could manage: 'Investigating the past is not always a good thing. As witness all the fearful troubles caused by Nurse Elsie's efforts to bring it to rights.'

  'Jemima, leave that damn cat alone,' said Cass, putting his arm round her. 'That's only the first thing I have to say to you. The second thing is: if the past is best left alone, and I agree, how about, as you might put it, investigating the future? Our future, to be precise. I am proposing a new arrangement.'

  'Had you in mind some legal arrangement?' enquired Jemima cautiously. She still gazed steadily in the direction of Midnight, but allowed herself to rest against Cass.

  'Why not? I am a lawyer,' replied Cass.

  'Then I shall investigate it.'

  'Is that a promise?'

  'No promises at the beginning of an investigation,' said Jemima Shore.