Something Wicked (7 page)

Good though it was to share such memories, Edward was all the time aware that he was breaking bread with a murderer. On his own admission, Harry had killed an African servant and a German who had caught him tupping his wife. Could he kill again?
Had
he killed again?

‘Do you remember the day Jami came to you?’ Edward asked dreamily, recalling Harry’s Somali servant.

‘As noble a savage as I ever hope to meet,’ Harry said.

‘Memory plays such tricks. Why should I remember Jami when I haven’t thought of him for goodness knows how many years?’

The conversation turned to motor cars and Edward asked his friend what he was driving now. ‘You’ve not still got the Bugatti, I suppose? You remember when we raced from Nairobi to Nakuru and the Bugatti beat my Hudson by twenty minutes? Of course, now I would never drive anything but my Lagonda. I was saying to Verity . . .’

‘I don’t drive now, old boy. Not in England, anyway.’

‘But you were mad about . . .’

‘You’re really going to marry her?’ Harry interrupted, as if he could hardly believe anyone would voluntarily surrender their freedom for the bonds of matrimony.

‘As I told you earlier, we’re engaged but it’s not official,’ Edward replied stiffly.

‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ Harry said, a touch ironically. ‘After all, I don’t know anyone. So why does it have to be such a big secret?’

‘It’s hard to explain. She’s an independent spirit and it took a good deal of effort on my part to persuade her to accept me. She thinks marriage might interfere with her career.’

‘“’Tis just like a summer birdcage in a garden: the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear that they shall never get out.”’

Edward didn’t like the reference to consumption but was impressed. ‘Who wrote that?’

‘John Webster in
The White Devil
. I’ve rather taken to reading Revenge Tragedies. They are so expressive. “We are merely the stars’ tennis balls, struck and bandied which way please them.” Rather good, eh? Tennis balls!’ Harry laughed.

‘Webster’s too violent for me,’ Edward responded.

‘Did you say she’s a journalist?’

‘A foreign correspondent. She was in Prague when she fell ill.’

‘Of course, I read her reports from Spain. But forgive me, Edward – why choose someone who does not want to marry you when there are so many women who would give everything to . . .? Stop me, if I’m being impertinent.’

‘It’s just one of those things.’ Edward waved a hand. ‘You don’t choose who to love. She never bores me for one thing,’ he added and then gave up trying to explain. ‘Wait till you meet her, then you’ll understand. But come to that, why aren’t you married?’ He hesitated, wondering if he was probing too deeply. ‘You said you loved Lady Redfern – Christobel!’ The name suddenly came to him. ‘But after . . .’

‘There was a girl – she was in the car when the crash happened, as a matter of fact. She was very good to me but it didn’t work out.’ Harry got up and walked towards the French windows which opened out on to the lawn.

‘I ought not to have asked.’

‘No, I’ll tell you all about it sometime but here’s Ransome. I expect he wants to clear the table.’ The butler said nothing but raised an eyebrow questioningly at his employer. ‘Let’s take the port and the cigars into the library. Shelves of books. I’ve begun to sort through them. Then I find something like
Leaves of Grass
, settle down to read and that’s the day gone.’

They didn’t go to bed until late but Edward slept well and at nine the following morning he strolled round to the police station. Henley was a pretty enough town of some six thousand inhabitants – hardly more than an oversized village – with a medieval church complete with fifteenth-century tower and an even earlier chantry house, a charming theatre and a suitably picturesque bridge – dated 1786 – over the river. There were pleasant pubs and tea-shops for the tourists who flocked to the town – not just during the regatta but throughout the summer – and the Brakspear brewery supplied good ale to the Red Lion and the Angel on the Bridge. Near the bridge, on the Berkshire bank, was the headquarters of Leander, the premier rowing club in the country. On the other bank was Phyllis Court, the fashionable country club.

Henley, Edward supposed, was a sleepy place and he imagined there was very little crime for the local police to investigate. He took it for granted that in Inspector Treacher he would find what his American friends called a hayseed, sucking on the end of a straw. In fact, when he pushed through the swing doors of the small police station and was shown into a sparsely furnished office, the man who got up to shake his hand was small, bright-eyed, yellow-haired, about thirty years of age with a pleasant smile parenthesized by bushy sideburns. He had the look of an agricultural sales representative or a dealer in cars or horses. He was shrewd, quite confident of his own authority and ready to meet this aristocrat in his perfectly cut suit with an open mind. Chief Inspector Pride had warned him not to underestimate Lord Edward Corinth and he had no intention of doing so.

When each man had finished eyeing up the other, the Inspector offered tea and Edward accepted. Nothing was said until a young woman had brought in not just a cup of tea but a teapot and milk jug with ginger biscuits on a separate plate.

‘You do yourself well, Inspector,’ Edward smiled.

‘I think better with a cup of tea in my hand,’ he said, offering Edward the sugar bowl. ‘I gather you have some doubts about the deaths of three of our local worthies,’ he added without further ado.

Edward, appreciating his directness, nodded his head. ‘Chief Inspector Pride will have mentioned to you that they were all patients of Eric Silver, my dentist. Silver told me that he suspected all three deaths were not the accidents they were taken to be at the time but murder. I was inclined to think there was nothing in it but, after I left him, Mr Silver was himself murdered.’

‘Definitely murdered?’

‘In the most barbaric and sadistic manner. His drill was used to penetrate his ear . . . quite disgusting. I can hardly bear to think about it. Chief Inspector Pride is investigating the killing and I have every confidence in his thoroughness and professionalism. I have known him for several years. He investigated the death of General Craig who was poisoned at my brother’s dinner table,’ he added, in case Treacher thought he was presuming to judge where he ought not to.

‘Pride said there was an entomological connection between the deaths.’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ and Edward proceeded to outline it.

‘
Mouches
– flies!’ Treacher chuckled. ‘I grant you that completely passed me by.’

‘Flies, yes, although I believe that in the area in which the wine is made
mouches
also means bees.’

‘Bees . . . flies . . . fascinating!’ The Inspector sounded unconvinced.

‘As I said, in the cold light of day it all seems rather tenuous but I wondered if – purely to satisfy my own curiosity – you would permit me to look at your case notes or, if that is not possible, to talk to those who discovered the bodies.’ He saw the look in Treacher’s face and hurried on. ‘I just want to see if there was anyone or anything they had in common – someone they all knew, for instance. You weren’t looking for a connection – there was no reason why you should – but Silver gives us that initial link.’

Treacher hesitated. ‘It’s most irregular, Lord Edward, but as a favour to Chief Inspector Pride for whom, like you, I have considerable respect, I will permit it though, as you will understand, this has to be on the basis of absolute confidence. If the press were to get hold of it . . .’

‘I promise, Inspector. As it happens, I have a valid reason for being down here. I am staying with an old friend, Lord Lestern. And furthermore . . .’ he felt a cad for using Verity but thought she would understand, ‘my fiancée is recuperating from a bout of TB at Leonard Bladon’s sanatorium. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, I’ve met Dr Bladon. A very pleasant gentleman. I am sorry to hear about Miss Browne.’ Edward was startled. ‘Chief Inspector Pride apprised me of the situation,’ Treacher explained, sounding momentarily embarrassed.

‘There was another thing I wanted to ask you, Inspector. As you know, when Mr Herold was found by his wife she also found a sheet of paper on his body on which someone – presumably the murderer – had written “buzz, buzz” – possibly a taunting reference to the way he died. When Mr Silver was found there was a similar taunt that seemed to refer directly to me.’

‘Yes, so Chief Inspector Pride informed me. It’s the motto on your family’s coat of arms, I understand.’

‘Which can be roughly translated as “eagles don’t catch flies”. Was there anything similar found on the bodies of Miss Totteridge or General Lowther?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Treacher said, stroking his chin. ‘As it happens, a piece of paper was found on Miss Totteridge. I’m afraid I took no notice of it at the time. It was a quotation from Shakespeare, so my wife told me when I mentioned it to her – from a sonnet, I think she said, “So shall thou feed on Death”.’

‘“. . . that feeds on men, and Death once dead, there’s no more dying then,”’ Edward murmured. ‘You found just those first six words – not the rest of it?’

‘No, just that first bit on a page torn out of her horticultural diary. She kept a day-by-day record of what she did in the garden – what she planted, what died, what needed attention . . . I’m a bit of a gardener myself and I found it very interesting. There’s no doubt she had a remarkable knowledge . . .’

‘So how did she manage to poison herself?’

‘You’ll see from my notes. She was testing out a new insecticide for a chemical company.’

‘A new insecticide? What kind exactly?’

‘It’s called DDT. Here . . .’ He riffled through his notebook. ‘Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane – a proper mouthful and I don’t know how to pronounce it. Anyway, it’s going to be the new wonder drug, apparently. It’ll kill everything from malaria-carrying mosquitoes to greenfly.’

‘And human beings.’

‘Only if they drink it in their tea.’

‘In their tea?’

‘Yes, we found traces in the bottom of her cup.’

Edward carefully replaced his cup in the saucer. ‘Didn’t that make you think it could be murder?’

‘I discounted the idea. Who would want to kill the old lady? I assumed she’d just made a mistake and dropped some in her tea.’

‘But you found the paper with the quotation about feeding on death?’

‘Not until after the inquest, I’m afraid.’ Treacher looked uncomfortable. ‘Miss Totteridge’s sister, Mrs Booth, was clearing out the house. It’s going to be sold which is a shame as her garden is so well known. Anyway, she was sorting out Miss Totteridge’s clothes for a jumble sale. She decided to burn her gardening clothes which were too dirty to be of use to anyone. That’s when she found the piece of paper in a pocket.’

‘In a pocket of . . .?’

‘The boiler suit she always wore to garden in.’

Edward bit back a question as to why Miss Totteridge’s clothes had not been thoroughly searched when her body was found. He did not want to antagonize Treacher if he could help it. ‘What about the General? Was any note found on his body?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ the Inspector said, sounding distinctly unhappy. ‘No, that’s not quite correct now I come to think of it. I believe the housekeeper did show me something. I’m afraid I . . .’

Edward did his best to save Treacher’s blushes by not appearing to attach much importance to his oversight. Instead, he said lightly, ‘Would you mind if I nosed around, Inspector, and talked to his housekeeper? I’m sure you did a very thorough job but now this connection has turned up . . .’

‘By all means, Lord Edward, if you think you might find something I missed.’

Hearing the tone of his voice, Edward decided not to ask any more questions for the moment. He knew only too well that if Treacher felt he was out to make him look a fool or, worse still, incompetent, he would do everything he could to prevent him finding out anything.

‘I am most grateful, Inspector,’ was all he said.

When had finished telling Verity about his interview with Inspector Treacher and what he had discovered from a preliminary examination of his case notes, he saw that she was eyeing him speculatively.

‘What is it, V? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘I was just thinking what a bore it must be for you to have to waste time with me when you could be investigating. I know I’d hate it.’

‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ he joked. ‘In the first place, I love you and would rather be here than anywhere else and, in the second place, I find it clears my brain to tell you everything. Anyway, you’re my partner in sleuthing – you always have been and always will be.’

‘Good answer. I can’t fault it but still . . .’

‘I know you’re bored and . . .’

‘The truth is I’m more angry than bored. There’s so much I want to do . . . to report. Oh God, I’m sorry. I mustn’t be pathetic. I’ve no reason to be sorry for myself beyond the obvious one.’

‘You’re not lonely, are you?’

‘No! The girls I share with are nice. Jill’s a bit of a goose but Mary Black’s intelligent. I can talk to her about politics and the international situation though she’s a great supporter of Chamberlain so we argue like anything. Lots of people have promised to come and see me. Adrian and Charlotte are coming later this week as a matter of fact. You know Charlotte’s new novel is a bestseller?’

‘I didn’t. What’s it called? I’ve forgotten.’

‘
Secret Relations
. She said she’ll bring me a copy. We missed the launch party, don’t you remember? I thought about sending for Basil but apparently Bladon won’t have dogs here so that’s no good.’

She looked so gloomy for a moment that Edward longed to take her in his arms but he didn’t want to make her cry. Instead he said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me for the moment.’

Over the next few days, Edward went through Inspector Treacher’s case notes and, when not doing that, he sat beside Verity willing her to get better. Harry was a perfect host, allowing him to treat Turton House as an hotel and come and go as he pleased. Edward observed Verity closely and was encouraged to see how quickly she regained some colour in her cheeks. The dark shadows round her eyes began to fade and the sharp bones in her face softened. To him, she looked more beautiful than ever, her eyes so huge and black against the pallor of her skin, but it was a beauty which frightened him. And she was gentler – less ready to snap at him. She had always seemed so strong – indomitable was the word that came to mind whenever he thought of her – that finding her biddable, even resigned, made him uneasy. Bladon encouraged him to ‘take Verity out of herself’ as he put it. Edward had the impression that he too was worried that she might lose the will to fight her disease.