A Death in the Family (13 page)

‘So it seems.’

‘Mind you, I’ve always said – money doesn’t buy happiness.’ She picked up the small silver bell from the small table beside her and rang it. ‘I think we might have tea now.’

Elsie brought in the tea and, as usual, I ate far too much, tempted on this occasion by Elsie’s egg and cress sandwiches (tiny ones, so that one ate an enormous number without really noticing how many) and her heavenly apple cake. Mrs Dudley ‘managed’ two scones (with cream and jam), an éclair and a large slice of cake.

As I was surreptitiously loosening the belt of my dress, Mrs Dudley said, ‘Of course it was lucky for George and the others that Walter had vanished from the scene so completely. There would have been considerably less for the rest of them if they’d had to share the fortune with him. But there, Walter was always a ne’er-do-well; he would have simply squandered his share, so it was probably a mercy that he never had it.’

We talked of other things after that, or rather Mrs Dudley did, which was how she liked conversation to be, and when I rose to go she was in a mellow mood.

‘It was so kind of you to spare the time to call on an old friend,’ she said, inclining her cheek to be kissed. ‘You know I am always happy to see you.’ She looked at me critically. ‘Sheila, are you quite well? You are looking very flushed.’

Outside I got into the car and drove down to the seafront. As I stood looking at the sea, breathing in the blessed fresh air and relaxing from the strain of the afternoon, I considered what Mrs Dudley had told me. The whole situation of that branch of the family was much more complicated than I’d realised. All that money. Surely that might very well be a motive for murder. Roger always said it was the first thing he thought of in a murder case. The sale of the land was obviously the key and what that generation had done seems to have had repercussions down to the present day. In fact it was more important to Richard and his cousins than to their parents, because that inheritance had been the foundation of their present fortunes. They would be most anxious that nothing might call the inheritance into question.

I stared out across the Channel to where the coastline of Wales was illuminated by sunshine lacking here. The sea was still and grey with hardly any movement of the waters. A solitary crow pushed its way onto the rail where several seagulls were perched and they turned on the intruder with hoarse cries and angry open beaks. That, I thought, would be how Richard and the others would see off any other claimant to what they considered theirs. Walter and his descendants, for instance. If Bernard might have somehow roused that particular sleeping dog then he would have been very dangerous to them indeed.

Richard and Rebecca now lived in what had been an old rectory in the Quantocks. They’d bought it fairly recently so I’d never visited them there before and it took me quite a while to find it. Previously they’d lived in one of the large Georgian houses on the outskirts of Taunton. I hadn’t visited them there very often since Peter had died, as Rebecca had apparently felt that her dinner parties should consist only of couples. Not that I minded – I always found the formality of those occasions (people chosen, it seemed to me, for their usefulness rather than their entertainment value) rather wearing.

The house still preserved its identity – The Old Rectory it proclaimed – on the nameplate attached to one of the imposing stone pillars that guarded the drive. The pleasant cream stucco of the house was set off by formal flowerbeds and a lawn shaded by an immense ancient cedar, the whole thing so perfect as to seem almost unreal. The large iron bell set off sonorous echoes in the house when I pulled
it and I half expected some sort of butler or majordomo to open the door. But it was only Rebecca, looking elegant in shades of beige, doubtless some designer label I’d never heard of. I wished momentarily that I’d worn something more worthy than the tweed jacket and skirt and polo-necked jumper I’d considered adequate for morning coffee with a relative.

‘I’m sorry I’m a bit late,’ I said apologetically, ‘but I must have taken the wrong turning at Stogumber – I’m hopeless with maps!’

‘We are a little remote here,’ Rebecca said, ‘but we do like the peace and quiet. Do come in. I thought we’d have coffee in the library.’

She led the way through the hall with its enormous chandelier, past the elegantly curving staircase, past a large handsome room, apparently the drawing room, past a smaller handsome room with chairs set round a long dining table and an immense amount of silver on display, and opened a heavy mahogany door into the library. The bookcases lining the walls were of mahogany too, heavy, with carved pilasters dividing them into sections. There was a massive marble fireplace with an antique mirror above it and on either side hung portraits of eighteenth-century gentlemen set against a landscape background, one carrying a scroll and one resting his hand on a globe. Ancestors. Though whose ancestors I couldn’t say, since the Prior family certainly hadn’t produced
them and I knew for a fact that Rebecca’s family had been shoe manufacturers from Leicester and were unlikely descendants of the two assured gentlemen thus immortalised on canvas. Presumably one could buy them by the yard as I was sure Richard had bought the handsome leather-bound books that stood in complacent rows along the shelves.

Rebecca motioned me to a chair beside the fireplace. There was a real coal fire there, as there had been at Mrs Dudley’s, but here the heat given out, even though presumably supplemented by some sort of concealed heating system, was not adequate to warm the large room, such heat as there was having ascended into the recesses of the ceiling. Rebecca sat opposite to me where a tray of coffee things had been set out on a small Pembroke table.

‘Black or white?’ she asked.

‘Oh, white please.’

Rebecca had hers black with no sugar so I defiantly put two cubes of brown coffee sugar as well as cream into my cup.

‘Richard’s just had to go down to the village – arrangements about a fundraising event for the village hall. It’s so important to do what one can for the community, don’t you agree? But he’ll be back soon. I know he’s very anxious to see you.’

We made desultory conversation. At least, Rebecca made statements about various subjects
and paused briefly for me to agree with her. I was forcibly reminded of Mrs Dudley. After about ten minutes Richard came in. A small man, he nevertheless gave the impression of energy and importance by his bustling movements and forceful manner of speech.

‘Well, well, Sheila. Splendid to see you – been far too long. Can’t think where the time goes.’ He accepted a cup of coffee from Rebecca and sat down beside me. ‘So what’s all this about Bernard being dead? Quite a shock. He seemed perfectly well when he called on us.
That
was a surprise I can tell you – hardly knew the man, but we were in when he rang up and couldn’t very well get out of seeing him.’

‘He died of a heart attack,’ I said.

‘A heart attack?’ Richard looked puzzled. ‘He never said he had a heart condition – just about the only thing he didn’t tell us. I’ve never known a man go
on
in such a way, thought we’d never get rid of him. Tedious.’ He shook his head. ‘Shouldn’t say that, I suppose when the man’s dead.’

‘I don’t think he knew he had a heart condition,’ I said. ‘Certainly his wife didn’t know.’

‘I always say everyone should have a proper check up. Rebecca and I go every year – a good private clinic in Bristol – we call it our MOT.’ He laughed and I smiled politely.

‘Actually it’s a bit more complicated than that,’ I said, ‘the heart attack, I mean. The fact is someone
broke in and tried to kill him – not knowing that he was already dead.’

They stared at me in silence and then Richard said slowly, ‘What exactly do you mean?’

I explained the circumstances of Bernard’s death and they were silent again. After a moment Rebecca said, ‘How perfectly disgusting,’ and Richard said, ‘And
you
actually found him?’

‘Yes. I’d taken Janet, his wife, back after she’d been spending an evening with me.’

‘How ghastly for you,’ Rebecca said.

Richard put down his coffee cup and leant forward. ‘You say there was a break-in – it was a burglary then?’

‘From what I’ve gathered the police aren’t sure.’

‘It sounds like an open and shut case to me,’ Richard said, ‘unless they’ve got any evidence to the contrary.’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Well, it’s all very sad. A tiresome man, though, as I said, one mustn’t speak ill of the dead. The thing is I had a look at the family tree and the notes he gave us – really quite interesting – and there are a couple of things I wanted to speak to him about.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, a few things I’d like to pursue further. Did he do all the research himself, do you happen to know? Some of the writing was in another hand.’

‘Oh, that would be Janet. She took down a lot of the material for him.’

‘I see. And I suppose she has the notes and things now?’

For some reason I felt I didn’t want Richard to know that I had them at home.

‘Yes, I imagine they belong to her now,’ I said.

‘Is she still in Taviscombe? They were renting some sort of holiday cottage, weren’t they? I think that’s what Bernard said. He gave me the telephone number – I’ve got it somewhere.’

‘She went to Bristol for a couple of days,’ I said. ‘But I think she’s back now. There are still arrangements to make, of course.’

‘Of course.’

There was another silence, but this time it was the silence that a hostess employs to indicate to her guest that the visit should be drawing to a close. I got up.

‘It’s been so nice seeing you,’ I said.

They both saw me to the door and I had the feeling that they couldn’t wait to get rid of me so they could discuss what I’d told them.

‘We must have lunch sometime,’ Rebecca said. ‘That pub is really excellent.’

‘Do come again soon,’ Richard said heartily, ‘don’t be a stranger!’

They were inside the house and had shut the door even before I’d started the car, making me quite sure that they’d found my information about Bernard in some way very disturbing.

‘I must say,’ I said to Rosemary when I was telling her about my visit, ‘I’m very glad they’re only
remote
relatives and I don’t have to see them more than once in a blue moon.’

‘We all have some of those,’ Rosemary said with some feeling. ‘Jack more than most. He’s got this ghastly cousin Molly. No, not a proper cousin even – she’s his Uncle Frank’s wife’s daughter from
her
first marriage. Anyway, she, Molly that is, was married to a diplomat and she’s lived all round the world at embassies in unimaginable splendour and – well – condescending isn’t the word! Now that he’s retired they live in “a
tiny
flat near Harrods”.’ Rosemary’s voice took on a sharper edge. ‘Tiny! It’s a vast apartment in Hans Place, crammed with antiques. All the carpets are inches thick and
white
. They have a grand party once a year that Jack makes us go to – you know what he’s like about
family
– and I absolutely dread it. Dreadful woman! She always makes me feel like a clumsy, ill-dressed
peasant
!’

‘Well,’ I said fairly, ‘I don’t think Rebecca’s as bad as that, but she’s pretty annoying all the same. Anyway, I’m sure there’s something sinister about the way they’ve reacted to Bernard poking around in the family archive. Richard seemed jolly keen to get his hands on Bernard’s notes. Not, actually, that there’s anything specific in them, though Richard isn’t to know that.’

‘Long lost heirs?’ Rosemary asked. ‘Like in Victorian novels or Australian soaps?’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact there is something a bit like that. Richard’s father had two brothers and a sister and one of the brothers went to America and doesn’t seem to have been heard of again. Apparently he went off in rather dubious circumstances, so your mother says.’

‘Mother would know,’ Rosemary said.

‘Anyway, Richard’s father, George, and the other two inherited some land from their father that they were able to sell for a fabulous sum which is the foundation of all their fortunes. I haven’t seen the will of course, but I bet Bernard did, and if their father simply left his property equally to all his children, then Walter should have had a share of that money. The question is, did they try to find him, or not? If they conveniently forgot all about him, or genuinely believed that he was dead, then they wouldn’t be too happy to have Bernard uncovering things they’d rather have forgotten.’

‘You think Richard might have killed him?’

‘Richard or his cousins. The other uncle is dead and the sister’s in a home, but all three of
them
would have a motive.’

‘Where do the others live?’

‘According to your mother (again), Vernon lives in Surrey and Emma is in London.’

‘So really Richard is the most likely one to have done something, being on the spot, you might say.’

‘That’s right. Now I come to think of it, he was a bit odd when I told him about Bernard having been
dead already.
And
he was very quick to say that he thought it must have been a burglary.’

‘Well,’ Rosemary said, ‘if there is all that money involved, it does seem to be a pretty hefty motive.’

‘Exactly. Mind you,’ I went on, ‘it’s possible that if Walter went off to America in disgrace, then his father might have cut him out of his will altogether.’

‘Actually,’ Rosemary said, ‘if there was a will, the solicitor would have known about this Walter, wouldn’t he? And surely he’d be obliged to advertise for him and all that – you know, you see notices in the paper in those legal columns that nobody ever reads. Perhaps they did all that and never got a reply so they assumed he was dead.’

‘And then,’ I broke in, ‘Bernard may have found an entry for him on one of these websites – they’re full of Americans trying to find their roots – something, anyway, that would prove that he’d been alive at the time of his father’s death and may even have descendants who’d have a claim on all that money!’

‘It’s quite possible,’ Rosemary said. ‘The question is, what are you going to do about it?’

‘What I ought to do, I suppose, is try and find out if Richard has an alibi for the night Bernard died. But I can’t imagine how I’m going to do that, short of asking him straight out.’

‘I expect something will occur to you,’ Rosemary said, getting up. ‘I must go. I promised Mother I’d get one of those knee support things for her from
Boots – I should have done it yesterday but I didn’t get round to it so my name will be mud. And she’ll go on again about what we’re going to do about our Ruby Wedding. I suppose we’ll have to have some sort of a “do” – Mother seems to envisage something on the lines of the Jubilee celebration – and it’s hopeless trying to talk to Jack about it, because all he says is, “Do whatever you think fit”, which is no help at all.’

‘Have you thought where?’

‘Mother says it has to be The Castle in Taunton, but I really don’t want everyone to have to go all that way, especially in the evening, and if they’ve got to drive (which is the only way of getting there) then no one will be able to have anything to drink – or at least the wives won’t. Honestly, it’s all getting to be too much trouble!’

‘I’m sure we can find somewhere local,’ I said, ‘if we put our minds to it.’

‘Well, have a think then. I
must
go. Let me know how you get on with Richard.’

When Rosemary had gone I had a go at trying to find Walter Prior on some of the genealogy websites, but it was obviously going to take so long to get anywhere and I became dreadfully confused with the variety of entries and the possible entries, and the dates all seemed wrong and, after a while, I began to get a headache (which always happens when I try to find anything on the Internet) so I gave the whole thing up.

While all this was in my mind I rang the cottage to see if Janet was back from Bristol.

‘I stayed
much
longer than I meant to,’ she said, ‘but the boys were so kind and welcoming and everything was so marvellous that the time simply flew.’

It took me a moment to adjust to this new, bubbly Janet.

‘I’m so glad it was a success,’ I said.

‘Oh, it was wonderful and it’ll be so good to be able to go and see them when I get back.’

‘When are you going?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ she paused, ‘Christine wants the funeral in Bristol next week. She’s making the arrangements – she wanted to do it and I’m sure she’ll manage better than I could. I don’t know the exact day yet but I’ll let you know when I do. I know it’s rather a journey for you but I do hope you’ll be able to come.’

‘Yes, of course I will and I’m glad you’re here for a few more days because I hope you might feel like coming to supper tomorrow – you can tell me all about Luke and the restaurant.’