A Dangerous Deceit (15 page)

Both young officers had shown bravery in battle, Osbert in particular. He was recovering in Cape Town from internal wounds received at the Battle of Colenso, and his brother was spending as much of his leave there as possible in order to be with him; they were very close. Personable Hamer had something of a reputation with the ladies – though he was adroit at avoiding undue consequences – but it was Osbert, a young captain of a quieter and more serious nature, still pale and looking rather ill, but invested with glamour from his exploits, who was surrounded by feminine hero-worshippers. He did what was expected of him, flirted and danced with them as soon as he was able, made them laugh with his unexpected, somewhat sardonic humour, but he was restless in Cape Town, determined to get well enough to rejoin the fighting. Eventually he was declared fit for duty and sent up-country to Mafeking in Bechuanaland, a beleaguered garrison which had been under siege since the very first day of the war, in command of a small company with orders to cross enemy lines into the small township and thus supplement the handful of officers already there under Colonel Baden-Powell. The daring escapade was successful and he remained there, promoted to major, until at last the seven-month siege was raised.

Maude, however, never saw him again. Long before the end of the war, she was dispatched home, and on her return, the dry, common-sense part of her nature that was to become her ruling trait took over. She had had a fling, which was more than most girls of her age had, and must put it behind her. She had not found the romance once denied her and was now unlikely to, and she made up her mind that if she couldn't have her sailor, it didn't matter whom they gave her to. So she had allowed herself to be pushed into marriage with Sir Lancelot Scroope, at heart little more than a bluff country squire, with nothing on his mind other than the custodianship of Maxstead Court, his estate, his horses and dogs and the welfare of his tenants. He in his turn had seen the advantages of a marriage with the only daughter of the Earl of Linsdale. It was not the fairy-tale she had once dreamed of, but it had proved to be a good, sound marriage with true affection on both sides, which just showed that the wisdom of the young when in love was not to be trusted.

Because really, she could now admit, she was too practical and down-to-earth, not the stuff fairy-tale princesses are made of, and Scroope had turned out to be a kindly if unimaginative husband and a good father. He cared not a jot for society and little more for politics. He harrumphed over the newspapers and grumbled that the country was going to the dogs; nevertheless, during the late war, he had done his bit and carried out his duties as Lord Lieutenant for the county in an exemplary and untiring way. Maude missed him more than she could say.

And now, the wheel had come full circle and a quarter of a century later, Symon was going to marry the daughter of Osbert Rees-Talbot. Which, in view of what had recently happened, could put the cat well and truly in amongst the pigeons.

Folbury and its town centre wasn't yet familiar territory to Reardon. He was walking through its old part and taking what he hoped might be a short cut to Town Hall Square and the police station, to stretch his legs after his half-hour lunch break and incidentally get the feel of the place where he was presently working.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, he hadn't noticed how very narrow the pavement had become, here where the road, barely wide enough for modern traffic, snaked alongside the ancient timbered Moot Hall – a hazard currently the subject of much heated controversy. On the pavement, Reardon barely avoided collision with the elderly woman much hung about with scarves and assorted parcels who was walking towards him. Just in time, he drew himself against the wall, tipping his hat. She smiled as she passed, but after a few steps she turned round.

‘Excuse me, but I believe you're a police officer, are you not?' she asked, peering at him from under a large hat of the type he had not seen women wearing since before the war. ‘The gentleman in charge of that dreadful occurrence in Henrietta Street? My niece, Dr Dysart, pointed you out the other day. I am Deborah Rees-Talbot.' She redistributed her parcels and held out her hand.

‘Herbert Reardon. Inspector.'

‘I would very much like a word with you, Inspector. Come with me, if you will. Just a few minutes, I promise.'

Still slightly bemused by being called a gentleman and a police officer in the same breath, he meekly obeyed. He followed where she led, just around the corner, down a few steps into a small hidden courtyard that was walled on three of its sides, its fourth flanked by the windowless side of a large building.

‘Isn't this a pleasant little spot?' she beamed, relieving herself of her parcels and perching unselfconsciously on one of the steps. ‘I often come to sit here on my way home from shopping. Not many people remember now what was here behind these walls, you know. There used to be a row of cottages several years ago, very picturesque but frightful slums really. All gone now, thank goodness, except for what's left of their gardens.' She plucked a spike of purplish willow herb that was growing by the step on which she sat and waved it around. ‘Charming, don't you agree?'

He saw that indeed there were still a few remnants of a former existence: flowers here and there that he didn't think were weeds – though he was no expert – as well as plenty that were, grass and dandelions especially, bright splashes of colour springing up through the cracks between the paved slabs and along the bottom of the walls. Against the faceless brick side wall of whatever that big building was, supported by a tumbledown trellis, an old-fashioned Dorothy Perkins still ramped, thick clusters of frilled rose pink flowers wafting their scent across the yard. A buddleia sprouted improbably from a crack in a wall. It was very quiet, this hidden little corner, warmed at this time of day by the trapped heat of the sun. He saw what she meant by its charm.

‘It won't stay like this for long, of course. There's some talk of a parade of shops … which brings me to what I want to talk to you about.' She paused and then said, ‘Osbert Rees-Talbot was my brother.'

He had of course marked her down several minutes ago as being the aunt Gilmour had spoken of, who'd been so good to his Maisie when she first went to work at Alma House, as well as being the doctor, Kay Dysart's, aunt. Maisie apparently had a great respect and liking for Aunt Deborah, Gilmour had said. Aware of her watching him from under the brim of that peculiar hat, he could understand why she was said to be eccentric – not mad, but a little fey perhaps. He decided to humour her.

‘Forgive me, but what has a parade of shops here to do with your brother?'

‘Oh, Osbert had nothing to do with this place – that was just an association of ideas. Though Arthur Aston, as far as I know, might well have been amongst those who are wanting to buy it, for the same reason he was wanting to buy Hadley Piece from us – to make a profit.' She paused and plucked another of the weeds growing near the step on which she was sitting, while looking at him with guileless brown eyes.

‘Oh.' He had a feeling this was going to take more than the few minutes she had suggested if he was to make any sense of it. She made him feel large and awkward, looming in front of her as she perched on the steps, so he seated himself at the far end of the one she occupied. ‘What or where is Hadley Piece?'

‘I thought you might not know,' she said, nodding her satisfaction, and then went on to explain with admirable succinctness, ‘It's a run-down, tumbledown old factory. Arthur Aston had been hankering after buying it for ages. It was originally bought by my grandfather, and eventually came to the three of us jointly, to my brothers Hamer and Osbert, and myself. When Mr Aston approached us to buy it, Hamer was quite willing to sell his share. He lives in Malvern, you see,' she added, as if residence in the spa-town was quite enough to explain everything, ‘and has no idea what goes on around here – but Osbert and I were dead against it. I'm afraid Mr Aston made rather a nuisance of himself, pestering us to sell, despite our refusals.'

‘A tumbledown building? I'm tempted to ask why you refused.'

‘He said he wanted it to expand his business, but that was nonsense. The place is practically derelict, goodness knows what it would have cost him to make it usable again. No, he wanted to buy cheap and sell dear. I'm afraid he was not a nice man, Inspector.'

‘Ah. But who would want to buy it from him?'

‘The council, eventually. Not the building, but the land. They need land to build more homes, and it's in my mind Hadley Piece should be given to them for that purpose.' At his raised eyebrows, she smiled. ‘We all – myself, Hamer and Osbert's children, to whom his share has now passed – have more than enough money for our own needs without the necessity for extracting that bit more from what the sale of a white elephant like that would bring. I shall do my best to persuade the others.'

He thought with amusement that her ‘persuasions' might well be irresistible. ‘Why are you telling me this, Miss Rees-Talbot?'

‘None of it matters any more now, of course, unless …' She paused. ‘I have to confess, I am concerned why Osbert, just before he died, for some reason gave in to Aston's pestering to sell to him, so that in actual fact I was the only one who was holding out at the end.'

She was not an old woman – in her mid-fifties, he judged – but that odd, old fashioned get-up made her seem so, until you looked at her face, which was still youthful. But now, suddenly, she did look older, and very sad as she sat on the steps, the willowherb in her hand. Suddenly she asked, ‘How many accidental drownings in the bath have you known, Inspector?'

He met her clear gaze gravely. ‘Personally, I have never come across any. The human instinct for survival is very strong. One would struggle, unless …'

‘Unless one were handicapped, unable to struggle. Yes, yes. But you see, Inspector, Osbert was well able to cope with the loss of an arm. You would have been amazed at what he could do. I do not believe for one moment that his disability would have prevented him from saving himself.'

‘I understand that his general health wasn't good. It might have caused him temporarily to lose consciousness.'

‘That's possible. He was often in a great deal of pain. But I don't believe that, either. Let's not beat about the bush … it's clear that when you spoke to my niece and nephew, they didn't mention this Hadley Piece business to you – probably because they didn't think it important. But when Margaret told me about the other – transactions – with Arthur Aston that Mr Lazenby has discovered … well, put together, it seems to me very much like a case of what I believe is known as blackmail.'

She kept her eyes on him as he thought about what she'd said. ‘You are a very astute lady, Miss Rees-Talbot. So you must realize there has to be some cause for blackmail.'

‘Well,' she said quite sharply, ‘Osbert's life, since he was wounded and came back to live in Folbury, didn't lead to opportunities for the sort of activities I imagine would give rise to blackmail. At the same time,' she added sadly, ‘I have to admit there was always something reserved, secretive even, about my brother. He never revealed himself, not entirely, even as a boy.'

She stopped, for so long he thought she might be having second thoughts about approaching him with all this.

‘Miss Rees-Talbot, is there something more you feel you should tell me?'

‘I'm afraid there is. It pains me to say my brother was not a man who would face up to things. He was not a physical coward – far from it, and his military record will prove that. But he would not always face facts. He preferred to walk away, to shut his eyes. I've thought very hard about this … maybe he was being made to pay, not for something he did, but something he did not do. A sin of omission, Inspector.'

‘I'm not sure I understand.'

She sighed. ‘Well, I don't understand either. Have they told you he was writing a book about his army experiences in South Africa – which he abandoned when it was nearly complete? No? It might be a good idea if you asked my niece for a look at it. He must have witnessed many injustices when he was out there fighting – in fact I know that he did, though he would say little about it – and in the end perhaps he was unwilling to acknowledge certain things, until he saw them put down in black and white. Perhaps he was being blackmailed not to mention them? Perhaps Aston was involved in the same thing, and he was being blackmailed, too? Otherwise, why has he been killed?'

The sonorous boom of the parish church clock reminded Reardon he'd planned to be back at the station twenty minutes since. He stood up and shook her hand, dry and papery in his grasp. ‘Miss Rees-Talbot, thank you for bringing this to our notice. I won't forget what you've said.' He smiled. ‘We could do with someone with your intuition on the Force.'

‘It's only common sense.' She too stood up and picked up her parcels. They were numerous but not heavy and she shook her head when he offered to help her with them. ‘I'll just leave you with this, Inspector … If Osbert did take his own life, it must have been under the greatest provocation. I believe in the end, despite everything, he would never have done that had it not been to protect his family. He would not have committed the ultimate sin, otherwise.'

I could get used to this, better than Shanks's pony any day, Joe was thinking as he stepped out of the police car on the opposite side of the road to Aston's workshop on Henrietta Street – though not if it meant being driven by Stringer, the young constable who had come with the car to act as driver. Joe had taken an instant dislike to him, a moaning minnie with a permanent grievance and a constant gripe about why, when he was so keen, had been to grammar school and had a gift for sniffing out suspects, he'd been unaccountably passed over for selection into the ranks of the detectives. Joe could have told him why.