Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (15 page)

“No. Inspector Morris—He’s a friend of my uncle Chris; they both used to be on the skittles team for the Stag’s Head out at Roadwater—he says the inquiry is ongoing, whatever that means. I suppose they’re still trying to find out what happened. He’s been back and forth several times—well, it was a dreadful thing to happen.”

“Indeed it was and I’m sure he wants to get to the bottom of it. Liz didn’t seem to know much about how things are going.”

“She’s still in a state. If you think about it, she found Charlie and then she was the one to find poor Jo. It’s no wonder it’s all got to her. She gets through the work—works all the hours God sends, but it’s all about the horses and the stables. I don’t think she’s taken in half of what’s happening.”

“Poor girl. She’s very lucky to have you to support her.”

“We all support each other, the kids as well, because it’s what Jo and Charlie would want.”

“I’m sure it is,” I agreed.

We both stood for a while in silence, looking out across the fields to where a small group of riders were emerging from the woods beyond.

“There’s the four o’clock ride,” Peggy said. “I’d better go and open the gates for them.”

I watched while they came in and to my surprise I saw that one of the riders was Vicky. When they got back into the yard, Vicky dismounted and handed the reins to Peggy with a cursory word of thanks and turned to me.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Sheila. Are you
still
riding?”

I wasn’t terribly keen on the “still,” but I smiled and explained that I was collecting Alice.

“I thought I’d get back in the saddle,” she said, “though I know I’ll be hellish stiff tomorrow. Still, now it’s all in the family, it’s free! Trust Simon to get all this—but he always was Jo’s favorite.”

“He’s putting in a lot of work,” I said repressively. “He’s up here all hours.”

“Well, he knows he’s got to keep the business going if he wants to get anything for it.”

“Oh no, I’m sure he wouldn’t dream of selling it.”

“Maybe you’re right. Daddy always said that for an accountant, he had absolutely no business sense.”

“How long are you down here for?” I asked.

“Just until the weekend. I’ve got a lot on my plate with this program and now that Jo’s gone, I’ll have to find someone else to cover that period.”

“But she didn’t agree, did she? I thought she had reservations about it.”

“I was working on her,” Vicky said. “Actually, I came up here to see her the day before she died and I think she was beginning to change her mind. Pity.”

“It was a tragic accident,” I said, “absolutely tragic.”

“Yes, terrible,” she said absently, “but I would have thought it was perfectly obvious how it happened—that whole office was chaotic—so I can’t see why the police are questioning everybody like this.”

“Are they?”

“Simon, of course, because he was always up here, but why should they want to talk to me? I don’t know anything about the wiring, or whatever it was. And coming and bothering Mother like that! I mean, she’s been right out of it since Daddy died, and I don’t know if she’s really taken in what’s happened to Jo. She’s been very upset.”

“Poor Esther, I’m so sorry,” I said, “but I suppose they do have to make inquiries where there are unusual circumstances.”

“Unusual?” Vicky said sharply. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, but there has to be an inquest.”

“A lot of nonsense. Well, I hope they don’t expect me to stay down here for that. I’m up to my eyes at the moment. Not only this theater program, but I’ve scheduled one about women Victorian novelists. There’s been a lot of interest ever since that TV
Jane Eyre
, and what was that Gaskell one?”

“That’s it.” She eyed me speculatively. “You know about these people—you’ve written books and stuff about them. How would you like to take part in the program?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said firmly. “It’s not my sort of thing at all.”

“It would be good for the sales of your books,” Vicky said, “all good publicity.”

“My books are mostly bought by libraries, so I don’t think. . .”

“Well, give it some thought. I wouldn’t be able to get down here to record anything, but you could easily go to the Bristol studios.”

“No, really,” I said, starting to move away. “I’d better go and retrieve Alice or she’ll be here all night.”

 

Michael got back just as I’d finished having tea with Thea and Alice and saw me out to my car.

“When did you last check the oil and tires?” he asked.

“I don’t know—a while back.”

“Give me the keys. I’ll do it for you now.”

“Thank you, darling. I would be grateful. I rather wanted to have a word with you,” I went on as he opened the bonnet, “that’s if it isn’t all still confidential.”

“All what?”

“About Jo’s will. I had a chat with Liz today and she told me that Jo had left her the house and a share in the stables.”

“Yes, that’s right. Everything else goes to Simon—the rest of the share of the stables and all the land.”

“Nothing to Esther or Vicky?”

“No. Jo never did get on with Vicky and I suppose she thought Esther would be looked after by Gordon. She made a new will quite recently, just after Charlie died. But no surprises really.”

“Liz was surprised about the house, and a bit upset.”

“Why on earth was she upset?”

“Well, she felt she shouldn’t have had it. She said it was too much and Simon ought to have had everything—that sort of thing. She was very emotional.”

Michael wiped the dipstick on a tissue I handed him and shut the bonnet. “I’ll never understand women,” he said. “Why can’t they ever accept things as they are instead of agonizing over them!”

“Well, poor Liz is in a bit of a state just now. I mean, Charlie gone and then Jo, and, although
she’d
thought of them as her family, the fact that they weren’t really made her feel the house should have gone to Jo’s actual relations.”

“It wouldn’t have been in the will if Jo hadn’t wanted her to have it.” He opened the boot and took out the foot pump.

“I know, and that’s what I told her, of course, but I suppose people don’t think logically at times like this. And it won’t be any easier if Bob Morris decides to make it a murder inquiry.”

“Yes, Thea told me what Steve said about the wiring. But the thought that anyone would want to murder Jo is, well, ridiculous.”

“That’s what I thought, but Roger says they’re treating it as a suspicious death, so
someone
must think it’s a possibility.”

“I still think it’s rubbish. This front tire’s a bit down. I’ll just pump it up.”

 

When I got back I let the animals out into the garden to give myself a little peace to get my supper. I’d eaten rather too much of Thea’s gorgeous Victoria sponge to be really hungry and I’d just decided that a plain boiled egg was all I wanted, when the phone rang. It was Rosemary.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” she said, “but Mother asked—no
told
—me to ask you to go to tea there next Friday.”

I laughed. “I promise not to shoot the messenger,” I said, “and of course I’d love to go to tea. I’ve been feeling a bit guilty about not having seen her for a long time. Has she got over that nasty cold?”

“It did pull her down quite a bit, but she won a great battle with Dr. Macdonald and that set her up wonderfully.”

“Battle?”

“Yes, she said she wanted an antibiotic and he said, quite rightly, that they don’t do anything for colds.”

“But?”

“But Mother did the usual—weak chest, threat of pleurisy if not pneumonia, appalling state of the Health Service, so much for patient choice, criminal lack of government spending on the elderly, et cetera, et cetera.”

“So?”

“So, of course, he gave her the mildest possible tablets and she made a splendid recovery, which she, of course, attributed to the antibiotic, but was really her triumph over him!”

I laughed. “She’s an example to us all! I’ll look forward to hearing all about it next Friday.”

“I think,” Rosemary said, “she wants to question you about Jo.”

“What has she heard?”

“Something about the wiring and it not being an accident.”

“How on earth did she hear about that?” I asked.

“You know Mother’s system of intelligence gathering. But really, Sheila, is it true? Is there some doubt about it?”

“I think so; no, I’m sure. Steve Webber—you know, the electrician—told me he thought the wire in the office had been cut deliberately, and he’s very reliable. I mean, he wouldn’t have said anything unless he was certain. And I had a word with Roger when I met him dog walking and he said they were treating it as a suspicious death.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting Jo dead,” Rosemary said.

“That’s what we all feel,” I said, “but, if what Steve says is true—and Roger said the forensic people have checked as well—then I suppose we simply have to consider the possibility, however unlikely.”

Chapter Thirteen

I was flicking through the program pages of the
Radio Times
when I saw that one of the satellite stations was doing a rerun of the
Inspector Ivor
series, with my old friend David Beaumont. David’s a childhood friend who became an actor and is now running a sort of Shakespeare institute in Stratford-upon-Avon. We’ve always stayed in touch, and sometimes I go and stay with him in his lovely little cottage opposite the Memorial Theatre to catch up on the gossip. On an impulse I rang him.

“Hello, darling,” the deep, familiar voice greeted me. “I was just thinking about you. Well, you and poor Jo Howard. I heard it on the news and there was a nice obit in the
Guardian
. What a ghastly thing to happen. You must all have been devastated.”

“We were. Still are, really. You played with her, didn’t you?” I said, giving him the cue that would, I knew, produce the anecdotes I wanted.

“Yes, of course I did, my first proper part: Osric in the Carlyle
Hamlet
, here at Stratford. Her Ophelia was quite wonderful—technically perfect with that little extra something,
so
rare to combine the two. Ellen could, of course, but hardly anybody now—perhaps Vanessa. She was just coming to that point—enough experience, all the big roles, but hadn’t lost the freshness—when she could do no wrong. Everything she touched was magic. The critics
adored
her and her name could sell any production.”

“Was that the only time you played with her?”

“Well, yes, she gave it all up, absolutely mad. None of us could believe it at the time.”

“When she married Charlie Hamilton?”

“Oh no, before that.”

“Really?”

“About a year before.”

“Do you know why?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Well, darling, there
were
rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“About her and John Carlyle.”

“Oh?”

“Just greenroom gossip. You know what it’s like with a permanent company. Jane wasn’t around; she was abroad filming. Do you remember her, Jane Neville? I believe she’s practically gaga now, living at Denville Hall anyway. She had absolutely
scathing
notices for her Lady Macbeth, even worse than Tynan on Vivien Leigh, total madness, of course. I mean, she was splendid in
School for Scandal
and a lovely Gwendolen in
The Importance
. She did that mannered stuff very well, but to think she could play Shakespeare, let alone Lady Macbeth . . . Well, think of Marie Tempest playing Goneril!”

“So did they?” I asked, trying to bring him back to the point. “Have an affair—Jo and John Carlyle?”

“Oh yes.”

“But surely that wasn’t enough to make her give up acting!”

“It was a bit more than that, though I believe Jane had her suspicions. John wasn’t the best of husbands, and she did all she could to wreck Jo’s career. Jane had a lot of influence. Her father, Arthur Neville, was in management, you see.”

“So what was it? You said it was a bit more than the affair.”

Another pause. “Well, they’re all dead or as good as, so I suppose it won’t matter if I tell you. It was after a performance. I found John had left his watch in the greenroom. It was a
very
expensive one—given him by Jane and very lovingly inscribed—so I thought I’d better take it to him in his dressing room. The door was a bit ajar and I heard voices, so I was about to go away, but then I heard Jo’s voice. She sounded absolutely distraught. I knew I
ought
to go away. It was unforgivable to listen, but, well, I was young and curious, so I stayed where I was.”

“And?”

“I heard John telling her to control herself—his voice was really unpleasant—and after a while she was quiet. Then he said, quite coldly, ‘I’ve told you, you’ll have to get rid of it.’ He could really be a swine if something upset him. A lot of directors found him very difficult. I know for a fact that after that production of
Winter’s Tale
, Guthrie swore he’d never work with him again.”

“So what happened? What did Jo say?”

“I couldn’t hear her words. Her voice was very muffled as if she was crying, but then I heard him say, ‘There’s no other way. You know that; you’re not a fool. I know of a clinic and I’ll pay for it, so if you’re sensible and discreet, no one need ever find out. You know it makes sense, for both our careers. ’ His voice was softer then. He was obviously trying to persuade her—he
could
be very persuasive when he wanted.”

“So what did she say?”

“I don’t know. I heard someone coming. so I had to go, but it was perfectly obvious what was going on.”

“You mean she was pregnant and he wanted her to get rid of it?”

“What else?”