Something Wicked (26 page)

Edward was touched that, even when she was still recovering from her brush with death and he was hobbling around on crutches, Verity thought of them as an investigative team. How inadequate, he thought. Why not leave it to the professionals? That was what he ought to do but a nagging demon was telling him that he could do better than the police – that he could see what they had missed. He was certain the solution to the murders lay in a Norfolk churchyard but how could he prove it? He touched his knee absent-mindedly and winced. He swore he would find out the truth before the pain went. Stille might be dead but an equally ruthless killer was still out there who, though he did not say as much to Verity, might be just as dangerous.

An hour or so after Edward had left, Kay put her head round Verity’s door. Thoroughly chastened and far from her usual breezy self, she greeted Verity with a hug which almost squashed her. ‘Will you ever forgive me?’

‘Of course! I mean, what is there to forgive?’ Verity replied, gently disengaging herself. ‘It wasn’t your fault. In fact, it is I who should ask you to forgive me. According to Edward, Major Stille was out to kill me and you sort of got in the way. Do you know how he did it yet?’

‘Bert says someone must have interfered with the rudder between his getting the old girl ready and us turning up at the aerodrome. She would have been left unobserved for at least an hour which was plenty long enough for someone who knew what they were doing.’

‘No one saw anyone acting suspiciously?’

‘No, that would have been too easy! If you put on overalls and look as though you know where you’re going and what you’re doing, no one would challenge you. Although they would now. Security has been tightened up – after the event.’

Kay knelt beside her chair. ‘I don’t think you understand how I feel about you. You see, Verity, you’re just the sort of person I want to be but I’d never have the courage or moral purpose to do what you’ve done.’

‘Oh, but that’s nonsense! You’ve achieved so much . . .’ Verity began but Kay placed her finger to her lips.

‘No, hear me out. I can play tennis a bit but so what? You show the world what is happening and what needs to be done. When you’re better, will you take me with you – to the battle front, I mean?’ She saw Verity’s look. ‘No, of course you can’t. What am I saying? You can’t take tourists to the front line.’

‘Dear Kay, there’s no front line any more – or, rather, we are all in the front line now. War’s going to come to all of us sooner rather than later. There’s no shame in enjoying these last days of peace. And you know,’ she hesitated, ‘that moment when I thought we were going to die – I was happier then than I have ever been. Isn’t that terrible of me? I’m not suicidal but I wasn’t frightened in those few seconds when we were spiralling out of control. I just thought here, at last, is death and it has come to me cleanly, in the air, not while I was rotting away in a hospital bed with some horrible disease.’

‘Verity, can I ask you something? If we don’t believe in an afterlife, shouldn’t we be more frightened of death?’

‘I don’t think so. Anyway, what can we do? We can’t
pretend
to believe. In my view, death hides no secret. It opens no door. It’s the end of us. What survives is what we have given to other people, what stays in their memory. For me, that’s enough.’

‘Verity!’ Kay whispered. ‘We are alike. That’s what I believe too but I would never have found the words to say it. Can I kiss you?’

‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean
that
way but . . .’

Verity blushed. ‘I didn’t think you did. I’ve always loved men – so far as I have loved at all. I just meant that no one is allowed to kiss me – not on the lips – in case they catch something.’

Kay got up and paced about the room. ‘I don’t care a toss about that. But kissing isn’t what I meant now I think of it. You know how schoolboys have secret societies and passwords and so on? I’d like to cut myself and mingle our blood and swear to be friends for ever.’

Verity laughed. ‘Kay, you are a romantic! I’d never have believed it. If I do get better, it will be mostly due to you – and Edward, of course. You encourage me and give me something to aim for. With you around, I won’t despair.’ She hesitated. ‘You won’t get into trouble about the accident? They won’t try to stop you flying, will they?’

‘They might do,’ Kay replied, trying to sound unconcerned. ‘It depends what they find. There has to be a formal investigation but, if they find the plane was tampered with, they won’t be able to blame me. But they will want to know who did the tampering and why.’

‘We’re sure it was Major Stille. You heard that Edward killed him on Temple Island?’ Verity looked at Kay with wide eyes.

‘Of course I did! The whole of Henley’s talking about it. You haven’t seen the papers? I thought you might not have so I brought you some of the cheap rags – and the
New Gazette
of course. They have a picture of you and Edward looking quite dashing on the front page. Even
The Times
has the story.’

‘Yes, I’m suddenly popular with Lord Weaver again. He rang me himself and I promised to write my account of it all for him – an exclusive, they call it. Dr Bladon is keeping the rest of the pack off my back.’

‘I know. When I asked to see you, he looked at me as though I was a murderess and made me promise not to tire you. He told me his phone hasn’t stopped ringing with reporters wanting to talk to you and they’ve even been banging on his front door.’ Kay grinned. ‘I think Edward’s so brave. If you don’t marry him soon, I think I’ll have to. I say,’ she added shyly, ‘will you mention me in your article?’

‘Of course! I’ll tell the world how you saved my life.’

‘I wasn’t a hero but . . . Well, you’re alive and that’s what matters. I wonder if Edward will ever forgive me?’

They hugged and then Kay was gone. Verity was left feeling sad. She tried to get a grip on herself but, whenever she said goodbye to a friend, she always had a feeling that she might never see them again. Something to do with her time covering the war in Spain, she supposed. Once, when she had mentioned it to Edward, he said it was the same feeling he had when his parents left him at prep school after the holidays.

She picked up the
Express
and began to read a lurid and highly inaccurate account of Edward’s fight to the death with Major Stille – a ‘ruthless Nazi agent’ as the reporter had labelled him. She put out a hand to the box of violet creams which Kay had bought her but hesitated when she remembered Edward warning her not to eat or drink anything which might have been poisoned. ‘And don’t dig into chocolates or fruit if you don’t know who gave them to you. Remember what happened to Snow White,’ he had said.

Verity had giggled but had promised not to take any risks. But she
did
know who had given her these chocolates – someone who loved her perhaps rather more than she was comfortable with – but still . . . She popped a violet cream in her mouth and picked up the
Daily Mail
. What a rag, she thought, as she read about Lord Edward’s love for ‘Communist war correspondent, now at death’s door in exclusive TB clinic’.

General Lowther had lived in a pleasant house on the outskirts of Hambledon, a small village with a rather splendid church half an hour’s drive from Henley. Miss Tiverton, the village schoolmistress, lived in a quaint flint cottage near the church. It was a great relief to be out in the country and, as far as Edward could see, free from reporters eager for an interview. Miss Tiverton had a telephone so he had been able to make an appointment but had not prepared her for his strapped-up leg and crutches.

‘Oh, my!’ she cried, opening the door to him. ‘Have you had an accident, Lord Edward? Be careful of the step and . . . Too late, I was going to warn you about the low ceilings. You’re not hurt, I trust? Please, sit over here.’

Edward was relieved to find that she knew nothing of the circumstances of his injury. She obviously did not read the newspapers and for that he was grateful. Twittering away like one of the small birds on the bird table in her garden, Miss Tiverton tried to make him comfortable in the largest of the armchairs but her house was that of a single woman – every surface was covered with knick-knacks and he hardly dared move for fear of upsetting a small regiment of ornaments and keepsakes. On the narrow mantelpiece a bone china St Bernard dog complete with brandy barrel round his neck was bracketed by the Lord’s Prayer in a small frame and a photograph of a severe-looking couple in Victorian dress – Miss Tiverton’s parents, he assumed.

‘Forgive me for barging in on you like this but, as I explained on the telephone, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about General Lowther. I believe you were one of his few friends.’

‘Oh, I would hardly call myself a friend, Lord Edward.’ She smiled shyly but with a little pride, Edward thought, that she might be taken as the General’s friend and social equal. ‘There are not very many educated people around here and the General enjoyed our little chats.’

‘You dined with him on a regular basis?’

‘On a regular basis?’ She sounded shocked. ‘Once a month, certainly not more. He was a very kind gentleman.’

‘Did he ever come here?’

Miss Tiverton looked even more shocked. ‘Never! I could hardly have entertained a single gentleman in my house.’

Edward forbore to ask why not. Miss Tiverton was about fifty-five, he guessed, very short-sighted to judge from her pebble-lensed spectacles and thin as a garden rake. Only a very over-imaginative gossip would have seen anything improper in her inviting the General to her house, though she was a maiden lady.

‘I gather from Mrs Venables that you and the vicar were the General’s only visitors.’

‘Well, if you put it like that, I suppose we were. There are other gentlemen in the neighbourhood but he did not accept any invitations.’

‘Why was that, do you think?’

‘He said to me once, Sylvia – that’s my name and the General was the only man I allowed to call me by it . . .’

‘Not even the vicar?’ Edward teased.

‘No, James is much younger than I, Lord Edward. It would hardly be . . .’ she thought for a moment, ‘appropriate to let him call me by my Christian name even though he is a man of God.’

‘I’m sorry, you were saying . . .?’

‘The General said to me, “Sylvia, seclusion is part of the price I pay for my mistakes.”’

‘What did he mean by that, do you think, Miss Tiverton?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You did not ask him?’

‘That would have been vulgar,’ she said reprovingly.

‘You must have been very shocked and upset when he died so suddenly.’

‘I was, of course, but he had warned me something like that might happen.’

‘He warned you?’

‘Yes, he mentioned on two or three occasions. The very last time I saw him he said, “Sylvia, they are out for my blood and they will come soon.” Of course, I refused to believe him but he said, “Don’t be alarmed. It is God’s will. An eye for an eye . . .”’

‘Surely you must have asked him what he meant by that?’

‘I did, Lord Edward, and he replied, “The kindly ones.”’

‘Good heavens! The kindly ones! Was he referring to the Furies, do you think?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘Did you tell Inspector Treacher this?’

‘Mr Treacher?’ She sounded genuinely shocked at the suggestion. ‘No, I never would but he didn’t ask me.’

Edward wondered once again why the Inspector had been so lax in his investigation of the General’s sudden death. Why had he been so ready to accept the doctor’s opinion that it was a heart attack? Was it because it was the easiest way of proceeding or was there a more sinister reason? Treacher seemed honest, but was he?

‘I understand that the General left you all his money. Did that surprise you?’

‘No, he told me he would,’ she said, quite unruffled.

‘Did he say why? I mean, was it because he liked you and had no close relatives?’

‘Not at all. He wanted to do something for the children in the village and trusted me to use the money for that purpose.’

‘I see. Are you . . .?’

‘We’re building a new school. There’s no secret about it. The old one is quite inadequate. We’ll name it after the General, of course.’

Edward decided to ask one more leading question. ‘Did it ever cross your mind that the General might have been murdered?’

‘Indeed, I was certain of it,’ was Miss Tiverton’s unexpected reply.

‘You ought to have made your suspicions known to the coroner.’

‘I don’t think so, Lord Edward. Although the General warned me that he was expecting to be killed, the doctor said he had died of a heart attack. What was my word against the doctor’s? In any case, the General wanted to die. He was an old man. He had no relatives, no friends, nothing to live for. I believe he welcomed death.’

Edward was beginning to realize that behind Miss Tiverton’s thick spectacles there lurked a sharp-eyed, hard-headed judge of human nature.

‘What sort of a man was he? I know nothing about him except what I read in the
Times
obituary. He was a VC – the first Battle of Ypres, if I remember correctly – so it goes without saying that he was a brave soldier.’

‘He was a gentleman. He never discussed his VC. I think his view was that he had done his duty like so many of our other brave boys – nothing more.’ There was a wistfulness in her voice that made Edward wonder if one of those ‘brave boys’ had been the love of her life.

‘Had he made any enemies? I mean, perhaps there was someone who thought less well of him than you.’

‘If he had any enemies, he never mentioned them to me.’

Edward sighed. ‘So you have no idea who it was he feared?’

‘I don’t think he feared anyone.’

‘But you said he expected to be killed.’

‘That’s true but, as I told you, he did not fear death. I never asked him why he
expected
to die. It was his business and, if he had wanted to confide in me, I’m sure he would have done so.’

‘But you might have saved his life if you had warned the police that he was in danger.’

She looked at him scornfully. ‘Do you really think I would have winkled out his secret and then gone to see Inspector Treacher?’