A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) (14 page)

I bowed politely and, as I did, the door of the room closed quietly behind the ladies. I didn’t know if Jonathan stood behind it in the hall, or Harris, the butler.

‘I am sorry to have disturbed your evening,’ I said by way of opening the conversation. It seemed I would have to start. Neither woman showed signs of speaking. I had not been invited to sit down so I took it upon myself to do so.

Maria Tapley answered, her voice as expressionless as her face. ‘I dare say it cannot be helped, Inspector.’

She might just as well have said, ‘I dare say you know no better,’ because that was what she meant.

I turned to the younger lady. Because her head was tipped forward, my eyes looked at the centre parting in her light brown hair. It fell in straight shiny wings either side of her face before it was twisted into a small knot at the back of her head. A black ribbon had been tied round the knot and the ends dangled to rest on the nape of her neck. A disturbing image came into my head: one of Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn I believe, putting her head on the block and telling the executioner that her neck was very small.

‘I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Tapley. Your father was briefly a neighbour of ours, of my wife’s and mine.’

At that Mrs Tapley narrowed her eyes and the young woman looked up, surprised.

‘But I can’t say I knew him at all, really,’ I confessed. ‘I only saw him a few times in the street. I believe my wife exchanged a few words with him from time to time.’

She smiled uncertainly. She had a rounded chin and wide-spaced brown eyes beneath straight dark brows. When she was older she would be called handsome. Now she was striking, rather than beautiful, and had I been an artist, I would have wished to sketch her.

‘Thank you for your sympathy, Inspector Ross,’ she said.

There was little point in talking to Maria Tapley. She was there in the role of duenna and her husband’s spy. I concentrated on Flora. I sensed she was now well disposed towards me. There was none of the hostility that flowed from her aunt. I might just as well think of the Tapleys as uncle and aunt to Flora, since the girl herself did. After all, Lizzie called Mrs Parry ‘Aunt’ though the lady was no blood relative. It was a convenient term. I ought not to have suggested to Jonathan Tapley that he and his wife had sought to blur the relationship with the young girl they’d taken in.

‘I am sorry if what I have to ask you causes you any pain,’ I said. ‘But it is the way of police investigations that questions must be asked and answered. You didn’t know your father very well, I understand?’

She gave a sad little smile and fell silent. I thought about these words of Thomas’s. Had he meant that one day, when he was dead, she would be rich? He had only drawn a small amount in living expenses all those years. Jonathan had suggested it was because he had wanted to leave Flora a decent inheritance. Had he wanted to leave her seriously wealthy? I must contact those solicitors in Harrogate, I thought. Just how much was Thomas Tapley worth? Money is one of the oldest motives for murder.

‘Did he give any hint that he might be going away? Do you recall anything?’ I asked as gently as I could.

‘I remember everything he said,’ she returned simply.

I heard a rustle of taffeta as Maria Tapley shifted a little beside her on the bench.

‘He said he would be going away soon. He hoped I would be a good girl and mind my kind relatives who had taken me into their home. Also that I’d say my prayers before I went to bed and remember him in them.’

I saw the glitter of a tear in her eyes. She looked down again, blinking.

‘Is this quite necessary?’ Maria Tapley said harshly. ‘The events of a child’s tenth birthday? What relevance can they have to the dreadful thing that has happened now?’

Her ‘uncle and aunt’ have trained her well, I thought. She has been taught it is bad form to show emotion. Poor child. Perhaps Lizzie is right. Thomas should have stayed here, tried to avoid being caught up in scandal, and brought up his child himself with the help of a governess. Perhaps Jonathan and Maria had persuaded him too easily that he was doing best by his daughter in abandoning her. Thomas had been newly bereaved and vulnerable. I couldn’t help but remember that they, a childless couple, had also served their own interest in getting him to surrender Flora.

‘Did your father ever write to you after he left for the Continent?’

‘No,’ she said.

She had control of herself now and if the fact was hurtful, she didn’t show it or let it echo in her voice. But I did wish I could discuss it with her more.

Why had he not written? I wondered. Why had he not visited more often before that sad tenth birthday parting? Jonathan had declared to me that Thomas had found the visits ‘difficult’. How did he know? Had they been rare because Jonathan had persuaded him that ‘a clean break’ would be best? That the little girl would settle more easily with her new parents if the original one made no contact? Of course, this was supposition on my part. It had been a tragic and difficult situation for Thomas and for the child. All the adults concerned had probably believed they had acted for the best. Perhaps they had? Who was I to criticise?

And what of Flora’s feelings in all this? Had the child looked forward to his rare visits? From the few words she had spoken I had the distinct impression she had loved her absent papa, or at least loved the idea that she did have a real flesh and blood father somewhere.

I had no wish to distress the poor girl any longer. I got to my feet. For the first time some emotion showed on Maria Tapley’s marble features. She looked relieved.

‘Thank you both, ladies, for your forbearance,’ I said.

Maria jerked at the bell pull before Flora could answer.

‘Harris will see you out,’ she said crisply. ‘Come, Flora.’

In a swirl of black taffeta and glitter of jet she swept from the room. Flora gave me an apologetic look and hurried after her.

I was left alone in the room but not for many minutes. Harris arrived to show me out. He first held out a silver tray on which lay a white envelope inscribed with my name.

I opened it. It was the list of names promised me by Jonathan, individuals who’d seen him on the day of the murder. It was a very long roll call. I returned the sheet to the envelope and put it in my pocket.

‘This way, sir,’ invited Harris.

I followed his rigid back to the front door and was ejected with as much courtesy as was absolutely necessary and no more.

However, I had not gone many steps when I was conscious that the door, behind me, had been opened again. A female voice called my name.

I turned as light footsteps pattered towards me and beheld, to my amazement, Miss Flora Tapley, holding up her black silk skirts and running in a way her Aunt Maria would not approve.

‘Inspector!’ she gasped as she reached me.

‘Take time to catch your breath, Miss Tapley,’ I urged her. ‘I can wait.’

She took a deep breath and scrutinised my face. I tried to look encouraging but obviously failed.

‘I only wanted to say, before you go, that you must find the man who killed my father,’ she blurted.

‘That’s my intention,’ I returned mildly. ‘That’s why I called tonight.’

‘You will not find the killer in our house!’ she retorted fiercely. Her cheeks glowed a deep pink, the smooth wings of hair had become a little dishevelled and she looked younger than her nineteen years. ‘I don’t know where you will find him, but you
must
! You must promise it!’

I didn’t reply at once but stared at her thoughtfully, which seemed to disconcert her.

‘Why won’t you?’ she demanded. She put up a hand and began nervously to tuck the straying strands of hair back into place.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand. I am sorry if our family appears unhelpful to you. We – we are very distressed.’

‘That’s natural.’

‘Natural . . .’ she repeated the word as if seeking out some inner meaning to it. ‘Inspector, I would not wish you to think my father had abandoned me, in going to France to live as he did.’

‘Of course not. He left you in a comfortable home, with relatives who cared for you and clearly still care for you deeply.’

‘I particularly don’t want you to think badly of him,’ she urged, staring at me intently.

‘Nor do I. I wonder, Miss Tapley, if there is something else you would like to say to me. Something, perhaps, you felt you could not say in front of your Aunt Maria?’ Again I tried to sound encouraging.

‘No!’ she snapped. Then, glancing behind her, ‘I must go back. I’ll be missed.’

A swirl of silk and she was running back to the front door that opened at her approach. Harris had been waiting. I wondered if he would tell his master about this little escapade. But the staff here would have seen Flora grow up. It was likely they’d protect her now as they probably shielded her from censure when she’d been naughty as a child.

I also wondered just what she had intended to tell me when she came running after me as she had done; and why she had changed her mind at the last minute.

‘Well,’ I said to Lizzie when I reached home at last to find my wife seated comfortably before the glowing embers of our parlour fire. A dish of cold cuts had been awaiting me in the kitchen. I’d carried it through and sat down opposite her setting my tray on an occasional table. ‘I bearded Jonathan Tapley in his den, or in the bosom of his family, and I’ve survived.’

‘I dare say,’ returned Lizzie with a grin, ‘he wasn’t dining on cold cuts when you found him.’

‘He was at dinner, or just finishing, so not best pleased – as you foresaw. On the other hand he wasn’t entirely surprised. Neither, I fancy, were the two women. I told you they wouldn’t be. They are a family at bay, Lizzie, and constantly on the alert.’

‘What is Flora like?’ Lizzie asked immediately.

‘She’s not a beauty, but nevertheless a very attractive young lady. Her face shows character, suggests depth. She would stand out in a group of girls of only conventional prettiness. I think she’s probably intelligent and resourceful. But she’s a young woman with something on her mind.’ I related how Flora had run after me in the street.

Lizzie looked thoughtful. ‘How much do you think she really knows about her papa?’

‘About his scandalous past, you mean? Perhaps a little more than her uncle and aunt, as she calls them, imagine. Her Aunt Maria, Mrs Jonathan Tapley, is somewhat fierce or would be, if roused.’

‘And she would be roused if anything or anyone appeared to threaten Flora or Flora’s marriage prospects?’ Lizzie asked shrewdly.

‘Oh, yes,’ I replied, probably a little indistinctly as I was chewing. ‘She would, indeed, and she wouldn’t be a woman to flinch at taking any steps she thought necessary.’

‘So, she is a suspect as well as her husband?’ Lizzie asked eagerly.

‘I don’t know that I have any suspects,’ I told her. ‘But some interesting possibilities are beginning to emerge. Lizzie, I need to go to Harrogate and speak to someone at the solicitors’ firm, Newman and Thorpe, there. They handled all Thomas Tapley’s affairs – and since they presumably have his will – still do. Flora is supposed by everyone to be his sole heir. But is she? No one has mentioned that. In any case, Thomas lived in Harrogate before leaving for the Continent. He married there and Flora was born there. If I travel up tomorrow on the first available train I should be able to arrange a meeting at the offices of Newman and Thorpe. They may, in turn, be able to suggest some other persons I could profitably speak to. I fancy I’ll have to stay overnight if I’m to complete all my enquiries. I’ll have to persuade Superintendent Dunn that the expense is necessary.’

And that might be the most difficult part of the whole exercise.

‘How did you find your Aunt Parry?’ I remembered to ask.

‘Oh, very well. She has a new companion, Miss Laetitia Bunn.’

‘Think she’ll last?’