Promise Made (30 page)

‘Apparently, I'm in the clear,' Daniel said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the kitchen door was shut. ‘It seems that Sam took his own life . . .'

‘Sam is dead?' Emily was shocked. ‘When did you hear this?'

‘Just this morning. Alice thought the police might blame it on the fight, because it happened later that day – but apparently they think he killed himself while under strain.'

‘Because it was all going to come out?'

‘That is what they seem to believe.' His voice was measured, controlled.

‘But you don't,' Emily said. ‘Why?'

‘His wife rang me. She was odd, Emily. I can't tell you why – but I think . . .' Daniel hesitated. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't say it . . .'

‘You think she might have done it? How – why?'

‘Mary told Alice that he treated her shamefully. He is supposed to have made himself a drink and put rat poison in it. He bought the poison through his agricultural contacts and he took the drink upstairs himself – at least that is the tale going round. Alice heard it at the village shop first, but when we spoke to him, her father had heard it from someone else and it seems to be the accepted explanation.'

‘Then I should keep your theory to yourself,' Emily told him. ‘It is much better for everyone that way, Dan. I've been afraid he might try to harm Frances again. If his wife did somehow get him to drink rat poison . . . well, as awful as it sounds, she did us all a favour. I hope she gets away with it.'

‘Yes, on reflection, I think that's how I feel,' Daniel said, ‘but it has been on my mind. I had to tell someone – and I couldn't lay that on Alice.'

‘She doesn't need to know and nor does Frances,' Emily said. ‘Whatever the truth, I'm glad he is dead.'

‘Yeah, that's what his wife seemed to feel,' Daniel said. ‘She thanked me – and I think she meant for thrashing him.'

Emily gave a harsh laugh. ‘She had probably wanted it to happen for years. I'm not sure what the truth is about the rat poison, Dan – but if she did it I take my hat off to her. That takes guts – regardless of the moral issues. I suppose murder can never be justified, but in this case it is a close run thing.'

‘I suppose a good many might feel that way,' Daniel agreed, though he was frowning, because in an odd sort of way he had liked Sam – at least until he'd discovered what he'd done to Frances. ‘Anyway, how is Frances? Is she settling in with you?'

‘Yes, I think so,' Emily said. ‘She is very quiet, and I think she cries when she is in bed, but that is to be expected.' She turned her head as her name was called. ‘Oh, Vane wants me – I'll ring you tomorrow.'

‘Fine,' Daniel said. He replaced the receiver and Emily headed for the sitting room. She had applauded the sentiments behind what Daniel had suggested, but it made her feel a bit shivery. Had Rosalind Danby really murdered her husband in cold blood? It was something that they might never know for certain.

Rosalind sat looking at the copy of her husband's will that she had found in his bureau drawer. He had left the property in London and his haulage business to Marcus or his wife and heirs. Everything else came to Rosalind. Obviously, he hadn't got around to changing it after Marcus died. She smiled her satisfaction. Most of the money was in land, this house and various other properties that Sam had bought in the area. She would be a wealthy woman and she didn't grudge Frances what was coming to her. She deserved it for what Sam had done to her life.

Rosalind had no illusions about her late husband. She had suffered from his insults and his cruelty for years, and she knew that he had never been faithful to her. He had treated her as if she were one of his possessions with no thought or will of her own, but he had underestimated her.

She got up and looked at his picture in the silver frame that had always stood on the sideboard. It had been taken at his son's wedding, and she had seen the lust in his eyes when he'd looked at Frances then. It had made her keep her distance from her new daughter-in-law, but she had soon discovered that Frances couldn't stand him, and that had drawn her towards her son's wife – the feeling that they had something in common. Sam had disgusted her in so many ways, but for a long time she had felt trapped, unable to think of a way to free herself from his tyranny.

Normally, Sam was so strong minded, so careless of her feelings that he ignored anything she tried to do for him. To see him vulnerable after Daniel Searles had thrashed him had given her the idea. She had offered the hot toddy out of a desire to help, but then almost immediately she had realized the opportunity it gave her. She had known that she might never get another chance.

After she'd taken the drink up to Sam she had been sick with fear. She had not dared to go near the bedroom for hours in case he was still alive and accused her of trying to poison him, but he must have died quite quickly. She had no idea of what was in the rat poison that Sam had bought, but the police officer who had rung to tell her the results of the autopsy had told her that it contained cyanide. It was of a type that had been banned for general use, because it was too dangerous. Sam had got hold of it illegally and the police had taken that as a sign of his intent to commit suicide.

She had never expected it to be so easy. If she had known she might have done it years ago, Rosalind thought – but perhaps it was a combination of things that had led the police to their conclusion. It had all come together nicely, the police investigation into Sam's shady affairs, the fight and the rat poison being there, almost as if she had been meant to do it. She wasn't sure that Daniel Searles had believed her, but he would keep his suspicions to himself because it suited him. All in all, things couldn't have been better.

‘You deserved it, you know,' Rosalind said to the photograph. ‘I really loved you once, Sam, but you killed any tender feelings I had for you. I've hated you for a long time . . .' She shuddered as she opened the sideboard drawer and slid his picture inside. She didn't like to feel his eyes watching her, because it reminded her of the awful look of agony on his face when she'd found him. ‘You did deserve it,' she said again. ‘It was your own fault.'

‘Did you call me?' Mary Searles said coming in at that moment. ‘I just came to tell you that I'm leaving now. I shall come in tomorrow to get things nice for the funeral.'

‘Oh, you needn't bother,' Rosalind said. ‘It is going to be a very private ceremony and I'm not going to invite anyone here.'

‘Surely . . .' Mary stopped. ‘Well, that is your choice, Mrs Danby.'

‘I've decided to sell this house,' Rosalind said. ‘I'm going to travel I think, perhaps live abroad somewhere. I always wanted to travel when I was younger but Sam never would – so now I am going to do what I want with the rest of my life.' She smiled at Mary. ‘While I'm away, would you come in now and then to look over the house – just until it is sold?'

‘Yes, of course I would be pleased to do that for you, Mrs Danby.'

‘Thank you. Don't go for a moment, Mary.' She got up and went across to Sam's bureau, opening the top drawer where he kept his cash box. She took out two hundred pounds in crisp white five-pound notes and went back to where Mary was standing. ‘This is for you, to say thank you for all you've done for me these past few months – and for looking after the house when I'm away.'

Mary looked at the money. ‘I can't take all this, Mrs Danby. I've had my wages, and I've not done much.'

‘You have been a friend, especially when Marcus and then dear little Charlie died,' Rosalind said. ‘Please take it. I would like you to have it. I've never been able to do anything like this before and it feels good. Besides, Sam was bragging about all the stuff he got for nothing from your husband's farm sale. I think we owe it to you.'

Mary hesitated, but it was a lot of money to her and she wouldn't find another job as good as this easily. ‘Thank you very much. When were you intending to leave, Mrs Danby?'

‘Oh, the day after tomorrow, I think,' Rosalind said. ‘I shall go up to London and do some shopping – and after that I'll book a nice cruise to get me started.'

‘Well, I hope you enjoy your trip,' Mary said and smiled at her. ‘You deserve a little happiness, Mrs Danby.'

‘Oh, do call me Rosalind. I don't like the name Danby. I think I shall revert to my maiden name. Yes, I'll call myself by father's name – Rathbone. Sam always laughed at my father for being a gentleman, but I remember him as kind and gentle. I don't think that is a bad thing to be, do you?'

‘Oh no,' Mary said. ‘Not at all . . .' She smiled and nodded. ‘I'll get off then if there's nothing you want?'

‘No, nothing more, thank you.'

Rosalind looked at herself in the mirror above the fireplace after Mary had gone. Did she look like a murderess? Her hand crept to her throat as she wondered what it felt like to hang, but then she checked herself. She had got away with it. The police officer had told her the inquest would be an open-and-shut case; it would be recorded as suicide, because only Sam's fingerprints were on the glass and it was clearly his intent to end his life. He had even bought the rat poison himself, because he hadn't trusted her to do it.

She had got away with it, but she couldn't bear being in this house where everything reminded her of Sam. She had to get away, to leave the past behind her and hope that in time she would be able to forget.

‘Nothing lasts forever,' she told herself as she went through to the kitchen. Happiness was fleeting, pain faded eventually and so would her feeling of guilt. She had money and the freedom to do whatever she wished with her life.

‘Sam killed himself?' Frances looked at Emily in disbelief as they were walking together in the gardens at Vanbrough the next morning. ‘How – why? It doesn't seem like something he would do, Emily.'

‘Rosalind told Daniel that the police were satisfied he had committed suicide because he was afraid of the consequences when the extent of his criminal activities were brought to light. It would have ruined him, Frances. Once people started talking . . . he would have been off the council for a start and . . . well, you know what folk are like in a village.'

‘Yes, I do know,' Frances said and pulled a wry face. ‘Some of them thought that I had neglected Charlie.'

‘No one who really knows you would think that, Frances.'

‘Perhaps not.' Frances caught back a sob. ‘I've told myself I'm not going to think about that anymore. I loved Charlie and I think he was happy most of the time. I'm going to think about the good things.'

‘Yes, I'm sure he was a happy little boy.' Emily put a comforting arm about her waist. ‘Don't doubt yourself, Frances. You were a good mother.'

‘I didn't want him to have that wretched dog,' Frances said, a little choke in her voice. ‘Sam insisted on giving it to him and now I'm glad he did. Charlie loved Toffee and that was a good thing. I think that Sam really cared about Charlie so he couldn't have been all bad, I suppose.'

‘Everyone has their good points,' Emily said. ‘But I shouldn't start to feel sorry for Sam, if I were you. Just remember what he tried to do to you, Frances.'

‘Oh, I don't feel sorry for him,' Frances said and shivered as she recalled his threats. ‘I couldn't – he was selfish and overbearing and I disliked him even before he had me committed to that dreadful place.'

‘Don't think about it, love. It's over now. You're here with me and quite safe. Vane says you're welcome to make your home here if you want?'

‘I'm not sure yet,' Frances said. ‘Don't think me ungrateful, Emily. I am glad to be here – but I don't think I could live in a house like this for the rest of my life. It's too big, too old and overpowering. I like Vane very much and Amelia seems better with you than she was the last time I was here – but it wouldn't suit me.'

‘No, I daresay it might not,' Emily admitted and laughed. ‘When I first came here I thought the same. I had expected a home of my own and when Simon told me he thought he would live here I was devastated – but then I started running the convalescent home and I was too busy to think about it. Somehow this house became my home without my realizing it – and now I love it almost as much as Vane does.'

‘You're very fond of Vane, aren't you?' Frances looked at her oddly. ‘I think he is a little in love with you – perhaps more than a little.'

‘Vane loves Amelia.' Emily frowned, because Frances was voicing thoughts that must never be admitted. ‘You mustn't start imagining things, Frances. Amelia is his wife.'

‘Yes, I know that, but I still think he feels something for you.' Frances sighed. ‘Life is so complicated, isn't it? You married Simon before you knew him and were unhappy. I married the man I had loved for most of my life and everything went wrong . . .'

‘I always thought you were the lucky one,' Emily said with a rueful smile. ‘Out of all of us you seemed to get everything you wanted.'

‘Yes, I did,' Frances said, ‘but I lost it all. Marcus was never the same after the war . . .' She sighed. ‘I had a letter from the lawyer this morning. It seems that Sam left quite a lot of property, including the haulage business to Marcus or his wife and heirs – that means it comes to me. It sounds as if I'll have a fair amount of money when it is all sold. I shall tell them to sell for whatever they can get. I don't want any of the property in London, and I couldn't run the haulage business. Besides, I don't want to go back there.'

‘Dan could run the lorries for you,' Emily suggested. ‘You could make him a partner. Change the name to Searles Yard and let Dan have a chance to get on. He lost everything when the land was sold, you know. He doesn't say anything but I think he finds it a struggle to manage on what he earns.'