Murder at Standing Stone Manor

by Eric Brown

  ‘By someone who obviously knew about the affair and was making him pay.’

  ‘No, he said nothing. He was his usual, affable, joking self.’

  He made a note of this. ‘There was something that struck me as odd about the first blackmail demand he received. It stated that if he failed to pay up, then Nancy – his niece – would “find out”. Now, what struck me as strange is that the blackmailer assumed that the professor should care about his niece knowing he was having an affair.’

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowed in mystification. ‘Yes, I agree. It does seem strange, doesn’t it?’

  The cat leapt from her lap and trotted to the door. Pointedly, the woman glanced at a carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘I’ll intrude upon your time no longer, Mrs Creighton,’ he said.

  He closed his notebook, thanked her for her time and said that he might be in contact in due course.

  ‘And again,’ he said as she escorted him to the door, ‘I’m sorry about the professor.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘It seems strange to think that I shall never see Edwin again,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Mr Langham.’

  In the car, he brushed cat hairs from his trousers, then glanced back at the house. Deirdre Creighton was standing by the window, fingertips placed against her cheek as she stared out at him. He raised his hand in farewell and drove from the village.

  FIFTEEN

  The Willows was an imposing four-square Victorian building hemmed in on either side by redbrick semi-detached villas dating from the thirties.

  There were no cars in the gravelled area outside the house, and the waiting room was empty when Langham entered. It was just after three o’clock and a thriving town practice should have had at least one or two patients on a Wednesday afternoon, he thought, especially in the middle of winter.

  A grey-haired receptionist smiled from behind a sliding glass panel. ‘Do you have an appointment, sir?’ she asked, scanning a ledger doubtfully.

  ‘I’m here to see Doctor Robertshaw on a personal matter.’

  She began to say that the doctor was very busy, but Langham ignored her and pointed down a corridor at the end of which was a white door with Dr Robertshaw etched on a brass plate. ‘This way, I take it?’

  ‘But—’ the receptionist began. As he paced down the corridor, he heard her speaking hurriedly into an intercom.

  He tapped on the door, waited for a second, then stepped into a spacious consulting room with a high ceiling and mahogany wall panels.

  A small man was turning from a sink in the corner, quickly rolling down his shirtsleeves. An adenoid-pinching chemical reek filled the room, along with the tinny sound of the receptionist’s voice from the intercom.

  Robertshaw leaned over his desk and spoke into the microphone in a high-pitched voice, ‘That’s quite all right, Mrs Greaves.’ He flipped a switch to silence her, then looked up at Langham. ‘And you are?’

  Dr Spencer Robertshaw was no taller than his brother but much thinner both in face and frame. Whereas the professor’s chin and forehead had been pronounced, the doctor’s head tapered away from the prominent nose in the fashion of a rather attenuated egg.

  Langham showed his accreditation, and the doctor slumped into his chair behind the desk. ‘Your colleagues have already informed me—’ he began.

  ‘I work as a private investigator,’ Langham interrupted. ‘In this instance, I’m conducting an investigation on behalf of the Robertshaw family.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Just a few routine questions, Doctor. I don’t know how much the police told you about the incident.’

  ‘The bare facts, Mr Langham. That my brother Edwin had been murdered – shot with a revolver, I understand, some time yesterday evening.’

  ‘He would have died instantly, if that’s any consolation. He would have experienced no pain.’

  Robertshaw smiled thinly. ‘I am a doctor, Mr Langham. I am fully aware that death from a gunshot to the temple at close range would have been instantaneous and painless.’

  Langham withdrew his notebook and wrote, A prickly customer, while letting the silence stretch. He looked up.

  ‘How often did you see your brother?’

  ‘Perhaps once a month, when I called to see his wife, Xandra.’

  ‘And other than on these occasions?’

  ‘Very rarely.’

  ‘Would you say you were close to Edwin?’

  ‘Not especially. Not that we were at all antagonistic.’

  ‘What kind of person was he, in your opinion?’

  The doctor lifted his thin shoulders in a prolonged shrug. ‘On the minus side: stubborn, opinionated, egotistical. On the plus: charismatic, generous, loyal.’

  ‘Was he the kind of person to attract enemies?’

  ‘Not enemies, no. His brusqueness could be said to rub people up the wrong way, and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. I am aware that individuals certainly disliked him. But enemies? No; at any rate, he never mentioned any.’

  ‘Did you know that Edwin was conducting an extra-marital affair?’

  The doctor held his gaze. ‘I didn’t know that categorically, but I’m not in the least surprised. He was a persistent and incorrigible womanizer.’

  ‘Were you acquainted with his first wife, Deirdre?’

  ‘Of course. We met quite often in the early years of their marriage.’

  ‘What did you make of her?’

  ‘I thought her insecure, perhaps even neurotic, with pretensions above her station. I tolerated her because she was married to my brother. That said, I did feel somewhat sorry for her.’

  ‘You were aware, even back then, that your brother was unfaithful?’

  ‘My brother was never faithful, Mr Langham.’

  ‘Yet you said he was loyal?’

  ‘To his male friends, yes, he was.’

  ‘Did you know that Deirdre had returned to the area?’

  ‘I had no idea—’

  ‘Nor that it was with Deirdre that Edwin was having an affair?’

  It was evident, from his surprised expression, that this was news to the doctor. He shook his head. ‘No, no idea at all. I find that highly unlikely.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Well, they parted on such acrimonious terms, Mr Langham. Deirdre threw him out when she discovered he was having an affair. I recall that she was on the verge of a breakdown at the time.’

  ‘So you find it surprising that she would have him back, even after more than twenty years?’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Of course, people can and do change over the years.’ He stopped. ‘You don’t think that this might have any bearing on my brother’s death, do you?’

  Langham shrugged. ‘One can never be sure. However …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did Edwin mention the fact that he was being blackmailed?’

  The doctor winced. ‘Blackmailed?’

  ‘He received the first letter a little over a week ago.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Edwin for over three weeks.’ He thought about it. ‘Blackmailed because of the affair?’

  ‘That’s what I assume,’ Langham said. ‘However, there is one curious aspect of the threat.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The first blackmail note stated that if Edwin didn’t pay up, then Nancy would get to know.’ He spread his hands. ‘But why should the blackmailer assume that this might force Edwin to agree to his demands? Why would Edwin care one way or the other if Nancy knew he was having an affair with his ex-wife?’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I honestly can’t begin to guess.’

  Langham read through his notes, then looked up. His attention was caught by the doctor’s left shirtsleeve, at the crook of the elbow. He looked away quickly, so that Robertshaw would not be aware that he had noticed the specks of blood on the material.

  ‘Now, Xandra … Everyone I’ve spoken to appears to be of the opinion that she’s d
ying.’

  ‘The treatment she received to combat her tuberculosis, six years ago, resulted in severe and permanent kidney damage. The drug, streptomycin, occasionally had deleterious side effects. There is nothing that can be done for her, other than ease her pain and attempt to make her as comfortable as possible.’

  ‘So she is dying?’

  ‘Her condition is incurable, though it is impossible to state with any certainty just when she might suffer catastrophic renal failure.’

  ‘Does she take medication for her condition?’

  Dr Robertshaw nodded. ‘I prescribe her with a mild painkiller every month, along with sleeping pills.’

  Langham referred to his notes. ‘I understand that Edwin’s son, Randall, visited you yesterday evening.’

  ‘He did, yes.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Until recently, I employed a manager to oversee the financial side of the practice. He left, and Randall, having worked in a bank, seemed to me to be admirably suited to the post. He came over to discuss the possibility of my employing him.’

  ‘I understand he dined with you?’

  ‘In the apartment here, yes.’

  ‘What time did he arrive?’

  ‘That would be … let me think … perhaps six o’clock, maybe a little later.’

  ‘And he stayed until …?’

  ‘We discussed the practice over dinner and afterwards, then the talk turned general over drinks. It would have been well after midnight when he left. Perhaps half past twelve.’

  ‘Not before?’

  ‘Definitely not, as I recall noting that it was well after twelve when I poured what proved to be our final drink.’

  ‘Was Randall driving?’

  ‘Yes, but he curbed his drinking after dinner. I recall that the last drink I fixed was a very weak gin and tonic. He was perfectly capable when he left the premises.’

  Langham nodded and closed his notebook.

  ‘I think that rounds everything up, for the time being, Doctor. Thank you for your time and cooperation.’ He slipped his notebook into his breast pocket. ‘If I need anything further, I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’ll be more than happy to oblige.’

  He thanked Dr Robertshaw again and made his way from the surgery. On the threshold, he turned his collar up against the wind and the driving snow, then hurried across to his car.

  All things considered, it had been an instructive afternoon.

  SIXTEEN

  Later that afternoon, as dusk fell over the village of Ingoldby, Maria stood at the sink peeling potatoes and carrots. She looked across the stream at the standing stone rising like a pewter blade in the twilight. The police vans and cars had packed up and moved off. Presumably, the body had been removed. The scene was eerily still.

  Maria considered Professor Robertshaw, his affair with his ex-wife and the enmities the old man had fomented over the years. It seemed that there were few people with a good word to say about him; certainly, there were many with a reason to hate the professor.

  She was about to place the pan of potatoes on the Rayburn when she saw movement at the far end of the garden.

  The gate opened and a lolloping shape bounded through, followed by a slight, hooded figure. Maria moved to the kitchen door and opened it before Nancy had time to knock.

  The girl stood forlornly on the threshold, her eyes red and swollen in the light spilling from the kitchen. She stared at Maria, tears tracking down her cheeks. Bill, sensing his owner’s distress, stood at her side, his tail tucked timorously between his legs and his head lowered.

  Maria took Nancy in her arms and the girl sobbed.

  ‘It’s all so awful!’ she wailed.

  Maria eased her into the kitchen, sat her at the table and put the kettle on. Bill curled at Nancy’s feet, looking up at the girl with a doleful expression.

  Maria drew up a chair and took Nancy’s hands in hers. ‘Tell me …’

  ‘Randall … He’s thrown me out! He said … he said the last thing he wanted at this time was a tearful little bitch under his … under his feet!’ Her words came in fits and starts, punctuated by sobbing gulps. ‘I … I didn’t know where to go … I don’t know many people in the village that well. I knocked on Roy’s caravan, but he wasn’t there. So … so I came here. I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘The first thing we’ll do,’ Maria said, ‘is get you out of your coat and make you a nice cup of tea.’

  The girl sat there sniffing while Maria unfastened the wooden toggles down the front of her coat. Nancy shrugged it off, and Maria took the coat into the hall and hung it on the coat stand. When she returned, Nancy was stroking Bill’s head, saying, ‘It’ll be OK, boy. Things will work out.’

  ‘Of course they will,’ Maria said, pouring two mugs of strong tea.

  Nancy took the drink, smiled her thanks, then broke down again. It was all she could do to place the mug on the tabletop as sobs racked her. ‘And it’s all my fault! It is! If I … if I hadn’t done what I did … my uncle would still be alive.’

  Maria squeezed the girl’s cold fingers. ‘Nancy, Nancy. What on earth—?’

  ‘But don’t you see! The other day … the snowman … those sticks I poked into its tummy! I cursed him, Maria! I really did. It’s all my fault!’

  ‘It’s nothing of the kind. The world doesn’t work like that, you know? It’s a coincidence. Your uncle was unkind to you, and quite naturally you reacted.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘It was someone else who was responsible for what happened to him, and it had nothing at all to do with you.’

  ‘But I feel so … so terrible. Everything is so awful. Xandra is ill and unhappy, and she really hated Unc, didn’t she? I thought – I thought when I came to live at the manor … I thought that everything would be fine, just like it’d been at home, with Mum and Dad loving each other. And then I found out that it wasn’t like that at all, that Unc wasn’t the man I thought he was, and my cousin, Randall … He was nice and friendly when we were little, but he’s turned into a self-centred monster. And now he’s thrown me out!’

  She wailed again, her mouth pulled into such a mask of tragedy that it looked almost comical.

  Maria felt tearful herself at the girl’s pathetic outburst. She picked up both mugs. ‘Come on, into the living room where it’s nice and warm. We’ll sit in front of the fire and talk it over.’

  She led Nancy into the next room. Bill trotted after them and curled on the rug before the blazing fire. They sat side by side on the sofa, and Nancy sipped her tea between taking giant, calming sniffs.

  ‘After I’d been interviewed,’ Nancy said, ‘I went upstairs with Roy and … and we just lay on the bed and held each other. He was frozen … I don’t mean cold. He was terrified by what had happened. The violence. He can’t take violence, Maria. It does something to him – brings back terrible memories, I think. He just held me and told me everything would be fine … and then he said he had to get back to the farm …’

  She took a deep breath and went on. ‘And later, I went downstairs to find Randall. I … I wanted to know who might have murdered my uncle. He was in the study, looking for something in the drawers. He was drunk and angry, and … and when I asked him who might have hated Unc enough to have killed him, he just exploded. I thought he was going to attack me, I really did. He grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me across the room and into an armchair, then … then he said a load of beastly things about me … how he’d always hated me, and thought me shallow and thoughtless, and other nasty things. Then he told me to get out – pack my things and get out.’ The girl shook her head, her eyes wide as she relived the incident. ‘I said what about Xandra? I need to be around to look after her.’ She fell silent, shaking her head.

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘He laughed. He seemed to think that that was funny. Then he leaned very close to me and said that Xandra was fine, that all she needed was to stop feeling sorry for herself, to stop being such a
… such a hypochondriac, and stand on her own two feet.’ Nancy waved a forlorn hand. ‘Then he accused me of thinking I was indispensable here – but it’s not true, I’ve never thought of myself like that! – and he said that the only reason my uncle took me in was to look after Xandra, and that my uncle had felt nothing for me at all … and lots and lots of hurtful things like that!’

  Maria stroked the girl’s hand. ‘That’s not true,’ Maria murmured, soothing. ‘I’m sure your uncle loved you, in his own way.’

  Nancy sniffed, staring into the flames. ‘Then I ran from the room and went upstairs. I was too upset to talk to Xandra, tell her what had happened. I should have gone to see her! She’ll be expecting me. She’ll be so angry!’

  ‘She’ll be nothing of the kind,’ Maria said. ‘I’m sure she can look after herself for a day or two.’

  ‘But her medication. She must take her painkillers.’

  ‘I’m sure she can take them herself,’ Maria said.

  Nancy nodded to herself, then indicated the bag at her feet. ‘So I just packed a few things and left the house. But Roy wasn’t in his caravan. I thought of going to the Wellbournes. They’re nice people, the way they look after Roy. But I couldn’t burden them with me and Bill. Then I thought of you.’ She smiled pathetically through her tears. ‘Oh, Maria, what am I going to do?’

  ‘You’re going to stay here until we’ve sorted everything out,’ Maria said. ‘We have a spare bedroom, and you’ll be more than welcome.’

  ‘But Donald! He won’t want me under his feet!’

  ‘What nonsense! He’ll be delighted to have you here. You’ll be our very first house guest. He should be back pretty soon, and I have a casserole cooking. We can sit down to a nice meal and talk things over, all right?’

  Nancy sniffed and smiled bleakly.

  ‘But …’ the girl said, ‘but I really should go back to the manor. I need a few things. I packed so quickly I forgot my toothbrush, and I need more clothes – and Xandra! I really need to see that Xandra takes her medication. You see, I always gave Xandra her pills at night, until a few months ago. Then her medication changed, and she had to take her painkillers in the morning, and Unc … he said he’d see to that as he was up earlier than me – I always slept in, especially if I’d had a bad night with Xandra.’ She shook her head. ‘So she wouldn’t have had her medication this morning.’