by Issy Brooke
Tea was brought.
By this point, everything about Mrs Smith and her attitude was annoying Adelia. She knew that she ought to rise above it all, and remain perfectly polite and pleasant, but Mrs Smith’s uncaring attitude towards her staff was the final straw. Adelia decided she had nothing to gain by being nice. It went against everything she had been taught as a well-bred woman, but she gave up trying to be agreeable.
She pulled out the handkerchief and spread it out on her knee.
“This is yours,” she said, maintaining a steady eye contact with Mrs Smith.
Mrs Smith glanced down at it, and blinked just a little too rapidly though her face remained impassive.
This is like poker, Adelia thought. I’m watching her for any tells. The fact that she is trying not to react is rather revealing.
“I suppose that it might be,” Mrs Smith said. She didn’t make any move to take it. “Where did you find it?” she asked, lightly.
“In the belfry of the church.”
“In the – oh!” Her eyebrows shot up and she could not disguise a moment of involuntary surprise. She quickly got control of herself again and smiled, holding out her hand. “Thank you so much for bringing it back to me.” She held it between her finger and thumb. “It shall have to be thoroughly laundered. Hardly any point in keeping it, really. But thank you anyway. I do wonder, Lady Calaway, what you were doing in the belfry?”
There was little point in subterfuge. Adelia said, “Oh, I wanted to see the place from where Sir Phileas fell.”
Mrs Smith’s mouth twisted in distaste. “How perfectly ghoulish.”
“Yes, well, I am no longer young and quite frankly I am allowed to be interested in death as it is the next big thing looming in my future.”
Mrs Smith sat in mute astonishment for a moment, utterly stymied. Adelia was rather enjoying herself now. Who knew that plain speaking was such fun? She realised that she was looking forward to getting very old – once she was into her sixties and seventies, if she was lucky enough to live so long – then she would be able to say anything, just as Theodore’s mother did.
“So now I am wondering the same thing as you just wondered,” Adelia went on. “What were you doing in the belfry before me? How did your handkerchief come to be up there?”
“I – confess to having the same ghoulish impulse as yourself. I went to see the scene of the fateful accident.”
“Yet the tower has been locked ever since, and the key in the keeping of Reverend Shale.”
“He gave it to me to allow me to look.”
“I fear you must be mistaken,” Adelia said, in the same tone of voice she had often used to admonish her daughters as they passed through the more rebellious phases of girlhood. It was a pleasant tone, her words spoken with a smile, but there was a certain firmness behind the levity.
Mrs Smith was now struggling to contain her anger. Fear made people react in all sorts of ways, and fury was a common one. “Well, how else did it come to be in the tower? Oh – no, now I have it, and I am very surprised that you did not think of this. Very surprised. I thought you were a clever woman, Lady Calaway, used to rooting out murderers and the like? Not clever enough, it seems. Did I not tell you about my husband?” She dropped her voice to a menacing hiss. “I told you of my suspicions, did I not? And here, then, is proof of his guilt! It is the very proof that you were seeking! He often borrows my things – taking a handkerchief is nothing to him – what husband has not grabbed the nearest thing when leaving a room, paying no heed to the owner of that thing? He took it, and he dropped it, Lady Calaway.” She sat back after her breathless rush of accusations. “And there you have it.” She flung the handkerchief back at Adelia as she stood up. “Take it to the police and tell them everything – do it! Do it now! Let them arrest him and let him hang for all I care. Good day, Lady Calaway.”
Adelia was left sitting alone in stunned silence.
She sipped at the tea. She finished the cup, and replaced it with a loud clink.
No one came to clear things away.
Mrs Selina Smith had been at the top of the tower with Sir Phileas. There was only one reason why a woman might have been there privately with a man who was not her husband.
They had been having an affair.
There was more to discover – what had led to the argument? Why had she pushed him off? Had he been trying to kill her, perhaps?
But still, the basics were now clear to Adelia. The death of Sir Phileas was nothing to do with the bell and the subscriptions.
It was all tied up with those age-old motives of love, passion and jealousy.
She smiled to herself, and showed herself out.
THEODORE HAD SPENT the morning fruitlessly trying to get to know Vice Admiral Frankhaus. He made another visit to Pever House to apologise for his ungentlemanly behaviour the previous day, hoping that he could make the excuse of his advanced age, but Frankhaus was having none of it. After all, he was a similar age to Theodore. He bellowed at him to get off his property, shouting that he “didn’t give a damn for your title, sir! Not a damn! Stand next to me in battle and then I’ll give you the respect you deserve! Now leave before I fetch my pistols, ha!”
Theodore found that he was rather shaken up by the direct threats. He wasn’t used to it at all. He wasn’t sure how to react. He hadn’t mixed in pugilistic circles even while at school or university and had never been one of those lads who were keen to settle scores with their fists. He didn’t want to go back to the vicarage, so he wandered instead into Peverham and found that the coaching inn there was respectable enough to give him food and, more importantly, a drink.
Frankhaus’s behaviour made Theodore seriously suspect if he had killed Sir Phileas. Certainly it seemed very plausible. The Admiral’s hot-headedness, his willingness to turn almost immediately to violence, his fiery temper and his refusal to make amends or listen to please for reconciliation all counted against him. It might have only been a small argument or disagreement between Sir Phileas and Frankhaus but it could have easily led to some large consequences. Theodore could well imagine the two men going to the tower to discuss the bell, arguing about who was to pay for it, and it all ending with Frankhaus simply tipping Sir Phileas over the wall in frustration.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Frankhaus had no alibi that he was prepared to speak about, and he had a motive to kill Sir Phileas. He had the means, too – he was tall, and strong.
There was no reason to not consider him the main suspect.
Except that his wife was equally convinced that Mrs Smith was somehow involved, and she had demonstrably lied about her own alibi.
Theodore drank the ale slowly. It was good stuff. In his opinion, Mrs Smith was engaged in some nefarious activity that she wished to keep a secret, but he doubted that it ran to murder. Her guilt came from the way she was trying to hide something – but it wasn’t that she had killed Sir Phileas. She had a different guilt in her heart.
He was still thinking about her, oddly enough, later that afternoon. He had spent around three hours in the inn, in the end, having bought a newspaper. He found a sunny spot to read and simply relax for a little while. When he could put off returning to the vicarage no longer, he folded the paper and paid the innkeeper before heading out into the golden sunlight. He took his time in walking back.
He caught sight of a female figure far ahead of him. She seemed to look behind and then speed up, so that when he reached the curve in the road, she had gone. He didn’t think anything of it. He had not recognised her at the distance, and Adelia had patiently explained to him why lone women on isolated country roads would not feel very comfortable if he hailed them and tried to talk to them. Apparently, this was not always the best way to make them feel safe and at ease, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly offended at the insinuation. I don’t look like one of those ruffians, he thought to himself. But maybe the vanishing woman had just been in a hurry.
&n
bsp; He passed the church door which was standing ajar and he heard a giggling sound coming from within. The giggler was trying to be quiet but the cavernous stone building seemed to amplify sounds while adding a strange hush to them. He wondered why, then he realised he ought to actually be wondering who was in there.
Cautiously, he crept to the door and peered inside. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. He could see through the six-inch gap and by flattening himself along the door, he was able to see the back of a woman in a fine walking gown. She had flame-red hair that was pinned up in a loose bun, with curling tendrils artfully escaping from the pins.
And two black-clad male arms were snaked around her waist. A tall man was embracing her, his head bent to her neck, but Theodore didn’t need to see his face to know it was Reverend Shale.
He slid away immediately but he thought he saw the woman’s head turn as he left.
Had she seen him? He wasn’t sure. He hurried away in silence and half ran to the vicarage, and as soon as he found Adelia, he hustled her into their room and closed the door firmly.
“Sit down,” he said, commandingly. “I have solved it all.”
Nine
Adelia couldn’t help herself. She could see that Theodore was bubbling with the excitement of bringing fresh news and she blurted out, “Selina Smith’s affair?”
He deflated a little but rallied, seizing the chance to say, “Yes! I can’t believe she’s still so brazen as to carry it on.”
Adelia gasped in horror. “How can she possibly be carrying it on ... the man’s dead!”
“No, he’s not – I’ve just seen him in the church.”
He stared at her. She stared back, and said carefully, “With whom do you think Mrs Smith is having an affair?”
Theodore rushed over to where Adelia was sitting, and perched on the end of the bed, leaning forward. He spoke in a low voice. “I have just seen her embracing Bertie Shale, the reverend himself, in the church! Actually in the church! You know I’m no God-fearing man myself but even to me, avowed atheist as I am, that seems to be a step too far.”
Adelia shook her head. “Shale? No. I cannot believe it.”
“I saw them.”
“Was it definitely her?”
“Red hair and a mauve gown.”
“Definitely her,” said Adelia. Only Mrs Smith would be as audacious as to carry that colour combination off. It probably looked very well on her, too, whereas on anyone else, they would look as if they’d escaped from a travelling fair. “This is strange. For I believed she was having an affair with Sir Phileas. All the gossip points that way, and they would have been far better matched. Furthermore, I have evidence that Mrs Smith was in the belfry. I found her handkerchief, and she didn’t deny that it was hers.”
“Then what explanation did she give for it?”
“She is trying to throw all the blame on her husband.” Adelia settled herself more comfortably in her chair as she thought the matter through.
“Is it possible that both Shale and Mrs Smith are working together?” Theodore said, slowly. “No,” he then said, answering his own question. “For it was Shale who insisted we come here to investigate. If he were involved then why would he do that?”
Adelia held up her hand to stop Theodore from talking. A possible explanation was forming. After a few moments, she said, “How about this. If we accept that Shale and Mrs Smith are engaged in this criminal conversation and it has been going on for a while, perhaps they would like to get rid of Mr Smith so that they can get married. Shale is desperate to marry. She can hardly get divorced very easily, and even if by some miracle she did, can he marry her? I am unsure of the rules but it would not look good. So, they need to dispose of Mr Smith.”
“Why did they not tumble him off the tower then?”
“For all we know, they may have tried. It is a somewhat opportunistic crime, after all. But if they failed at that, then throwing Sir Phileas off is the next best thing, because Mr Smith can then be framed for the murder. In fact, if we imagine that Sir Phileas knew of this affair perhaps they needed to get rid of him.”
“What a horrible and sordid tale,” Theodore said.
“But it fits, does it not? So when the police closed the case, Shale and Mrs Smith were stymied. Their plan to frame Mr Smith and have him hanged for murder fell apart. Therefore they called us in. We were supposed to find the evidence to frame Mr Smith.”
Theodore glowered. He stood up and went to his travelling trunk, pulling out a small hip flask which was already primed with whisky. He sat back on the bed heavily, spinning the silver flask in his hands as he thought about what had been said. “I hate the idea that we might have been used.”
“Have you discovered if Shale has any alibi for the time of the murder?”
“Not yet but I now consider it to be of the utmost importance.”
“I agree.”
“There is another thing. Could Mrs Smith have been having an affair with both Sir Phileas and Shale? She could have lured Sir Phileas up there, pushed him off, and thereby got rid of him, freeing her up even more to pursue her affair with the reverend. She is tall and young and strong.”
Adelia shuddered. She still struggled to understand what Mrs Smith could see in the reverend. He hardly seemed to offer her the chance of high society in London. Would she not have been more likely to have killed the reverend and continued her affair with Sir Phileas? “I must confess that even I, as a woman of the world, am somewhat startled by all of this. Perhaps there is yet more for me to learn about the ways of men and women.”
“Undoubtedly,” Theodore said. “But there are things that you would not enjoy learning about.”
“This is one of them,” she said, grimly. “I shall not have an attack of the vapours about it all. That is not my inclination, as you know. But I should appreciate a small tot of whisky my dear, on a preventative basis all the same.”
He passed her the flask and she threw back her head to drink the fiery liquor in one swift gulp.
THE QUESTION NOW BECAME: Where had Reverend Albert Shale been on Thursday morning? He had said that he was in Peverham all morning and that he had found the body at midday as he walked past the church. The police accounts in the newspapers had said the body had been there for at least a few hours, so Shale’s movements throughout all that morning needed to be accounted for.
“John Farthingale,” said Theodore. “He mentioned that name as part of his long rambling. I shall go into Peverham immediately and discover the truth behind Shale’s whereabouts.”
Adelia nodded. “I am not sure what I ought to do.”
“I think perhaps you ought to lay low. I am not suggesting that you withdraw from the investigation, but we know who we are looking at most closely, and it seems that Mrs Smith is aware of our interest.”
“I agree,” Adelia said sadly. “I do not want to cause her to react in an unpredictable way. I shall spend the afternoon here. I have some books to read and plenty of letters to write.”
Theodore kissed her and left.
She sipped the final dregs of the whisky and a pleasant heaviness began to come over her. A day of pure leisure in the warm sunshine was sounding very appealing, in truth.
PEACEFUL LEISURE TIME and gentle rest were not to be her fate, however.
Her maid and the vicarage cook carried a round ironwork table out to a shady spot underneath an apple tree, and they set out a smaller table alongside with a jug of iced lemon-water. There were some dainty pastries under a cotton cloth weighted down at the corners to stop the breeze lifting it away. She sat in a chair at the iron table and set up her small portable writing box. She went everywhere with it, feeling that she was still somehow connected to her family and friends if she had the means of writing to them at any point. The polished teak with its brass fittings was a family heirloom and always made her think of her own mother.
Now she had seven grown up daughters of her own, all married, and life continued. She decided to write to ea
ch of them in turn, starting with the eldest, Mary.
She had got as far as daughter number six, Charlotte, who was always so very difficult to communicate with, when a visitor was announced to her. She was told it was Mrs Selina Smith.
“Bring her out here, if she doesn’t mind the garden, and another chair, if you please.”
The maid disappeared and Adelia immediately had second thoughts. She was supposed to be lying low. She looked around and entertained a brief idea of leaping into a shrubbery to avoid the encounter.
It was too late. Mrs Smith emerged from the house. She was dressed in a fine walking dress, trimming with dark blue ruffles and wide strips of satin. The blue would have ordinarily been garish against her hair but it was toned down by the deep brown of the gown and Mrs Smith walked with such a confident stride that she could have worn anything she pleased.
Mrs Smith sighed as she had to wait a few seconds for the maid to place the chair on the flattest piece of the lawn. She arranged her skirts, looking down.
Adelia watched her closely. It was as if Mrs Smith was setting herself up for a performance, and Adelia’s guess was confirmed when Mrs Smith raised her head. There were tears in her eyes, and her lip wobbled artfully. “Oh, Lady Calaway, forgive me this intrusion...”
“Not at all.” Adelia wiped her pen nib and placed it in the box, signalling that she was ready to listen. “You are not intruding at all. I was merely whiling away a few hours in indolence. But my dear, you look distressed. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
Adelia nodded at the waiting maid, who melted away.
“What is the matter, Mrs Smith?”
Mrs Smith drew in a few shuddering breaths. She blinked, and dabbed at her eyes. It was a tedious performance of calculated despair. “Oh, Lady Calaway, I can hardly bear to tell you! I am so shocked and so ashamed. I know this was not my fault but I also know that all of society’s blame and opprobrium will come to rest at my feet – yes, mine! I am the innocent party, the injured one, yet ... yet I am here to beg for your help to protect me against the slings and arrows that polite society is surely going to fling my way!”
