Deadly Inheritance (51 page)

He took a deep breath. ‘So Max’s horse was seen below the belvedere shortly before my brother died.’

‘I came across Mr Russell the morning before the fête,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘He was fishing. After I left him I saw the Earl riding in that direction. They might well have made some arrangement to meet the following evening.’

‘Or they might not have met at all. None of that is evidence of intent to murder.’

‘Revenge is a powerful motive,’ said Jackman.

‘Revenge for what?’

‘For being done out of the style of living the Earl and yourself have enjoyed, sir. Indeed, I understand Mr Russell was older than your brother?’

Charles nodded. ‘By no more than a few months.’

‘So, if his mother had been married to your father, on his death, Mr Russell would have been the Earl. Jealousy can do terrible things to a person, sir.’

‘You were very dismissive of him when we met on that picnic, Colonel.’ Another quiet interjection from Miss Grandison.

‘Was I? I don’t remember.’ But he did. The sight of Maximilian Russell had destroyed for him what had been, up to that point, a delightful outing; brought home to him how much of what went on at Mountstanton he found repugnant. He and Richard had been so close as boys; when had they started to grow apart?

‘The revenge motive that Mr Jackman mentioned,’ Miss Grandison continued, ‘could have included revenge on behalf of his mother. The Stanhopes had ruined her life. Forced her to be married to a man she would, I suggest, not ordinarily have chosen as a husband, then damaged her social acceptability when she returned to this area.’

Charles said nothing but he was seeing a certain logic to the argument being put before him.

‘Then,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘there is the matter of the horse and rider Miss Ranner saw outside Mr Snell’s house the night he died. She identified it as your brother’s because it was a grey. I believe it is the only grey in the immediate neighbourhood. However, in the moonlight, would not a pale gold horse seem to be white, the same colour as a grey? And Mr Russell’s figure is very like your brother’s. It could have been Mr Russell that Miss Ranner saw that night.’

‘But what would he have been doing there?’

‘Was it possible that Mr Russell was the father of Polly’s child? And that Mr Snell had seen them together some time?’

Charles felt a chill go through him. ‘But that would have been …’ he could not bring himself to say the actual words.

‘He would not have known the details of Polly’s parentage,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘that they were half-sister and brother. You did not know who her father was before seeing Mr Gray’s letter to her, did you?’

No, that at least was true. He wished he had. He shook his head, then looked across at the investigator. ‘Do you go along with this theory, Jackman?’

‘It fits a number of the facts, sir. Mr Russell would seem to have had the opportunity and the means – he would have known where the gun was kept and been able to help himself while the company was otherwise engaged with the fête. And Miss Grandison has come up with a viable motive.’

‘I find it difficult to believe that Max would have become involved with Polly.’ Yet was it difficult? He could easily have met her in or around Mountstanton, or going through that damn wood. Max had all their father’s charm, probably had his propensity for seducing women as well. ‘I think it much more likely Mr Warburton was responsible for her condition.’

‘He strongly denies it,’ said Jackman. ‘As he denies killing her.’ He paused for a moment then said thoughtfully, ‘His denials carry a certain amount of weight but it is possible he is a particularly good liar.’

Charles looked at the investigator he had chosen for the mission of discovering what had brought about Polly’s death, and at the American woman who had shown such courage and common sense. Both of them appeared to think that Max Russell had been capable of killing his brother.

He walked over to the window, stood looking out on the parterre garden and tried to bring the man into focus. It was difficult because he had spent so much time trying to deny his very existence. Had he not, though, considered that Richard treated Max’s unexpected presence with far too much ease? ‘I don’t trust him,’ he’d told his brother. ‘There’s something in his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking at him which is …’

‘What?’ Richard had asked impatiently, sounding as though any such suggestion was ridiculous.

Charles had shrugged and let the matter go. What he had seen, or imagined he had seen, in Max’s eyes was hatred. Was it just possible that the malevolence towards his half-brothers had festered and grown to the point when, about to depart for America and reckoning he could get away with it, he had shot Richard? The man who, if Jackman and Miss Grandison were to be believed, he reckoned had stolen his rightful heritage?

Charles swung round to face the room. ‘The fact that Mr Russell did not make his presence at the fête known to anyone, other than perhaps my brother, could have been because he wished to spare my mother the pain of his presence there.’ Even as he said this, Charles decided Max was unlikely to show such consideration. ‘You have, though, convinced me enough to believe Mr Russell should be questioned about his presence at Mountstanton on that day.’ What would the man’s reaction be? Charles wondered if he was opening his family up to more scandal, scandal that almost certainly could not be controlled. But what alternative was there? Allow Max to sail away to New York without the possibility he was a murderer being properly investigated? No, that was not an option.

‘If the information given to Miss Grandison is correct, he is now on his way to Liverpool to board a boat for America. What was the name you were given, Miss Grandison?’

‘The SS
Majestic
, Colonel.’

‘Do we know when it sails?’

‘Mrs Sutton said she thought it was to be in a week’s time. He was going to visit a friend on the way to Liverpool with the intention of selling his horse.’

‘I would suggest I go into Salisbury this afternoon and ascertain the line which operates that vessel and its schedule, sir.’

‘Excellent, Jackman. I’ll get my driver to take you in my motor vehicle. That will be faster than the dog-cart.’

A look almost of panic came over the investigator’s face. ‘A motor vehicle? I seen them in London, sir, and highly dangerous they seem to be. They never should have lifted the speed limit on them. Man with a red flag walking in front was just the ticket.’

Charles laughed, and realised it was the first time he had done so since his brother died. ‘Jackman, I am sorry, but you sum up the reactionary view of so many to the advance of technology. Take the ride and see if you don’t think the motorised vehicle will revolutionise travel.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Eat luncheon before you go. We would seem to have a few days in hand.’

Jackman raised a hand in acknowledgement and left the room.

‘Miss Grandison,’ Charles said as she moved to follow the investigator. ‘I would appreciate a few words with you.’

She stopped. ‘Certainly, Colonel.’

He realised he didn’t know what the words were. When he had arrived at that woodman’s cottage last night, she had been waiting outside and the look on her face had been more than relief – surely it had been delight that it was he who had arrived and not Jem or the coachman? If that footman had not been following right behind, he would have jumped down, taken her in his arms and told her everything was going to be all right. Just as well, perhaps, that John had been there. That would have been no way to try and release himself from the chains that bound him. Now he fought an inclination to smooth away the worried line between her dark, questioning eyebrows.

‘How do you find Jackman to work with?’

She gave him her open, frank smile. ‘We have arrived, I think, at a
modus operandi
, Colonel.’

‘You did not seem very willing at first, I think?’

She nodded gravely. ‘You are right, sir. But I think I underestimated both Mr Jackman’s capabilities and my own ability to adapt.’

How he appreciated that straightforwardness. How much he wanted to hear about her experiences in California, and for this horrorific scenario to be over when they could take another picnic.

He remembered her confusion over suspecting him of being involved with Polly. It was bright of her to make the connection between his ordering of the motor vehicle and availability to dally with the nursemaid at the critical time. He’d been puzzled over the change in her attitude when he returned from London. Now he could understand. With all they had shared over Polly and the inquest, he should have let her know why he had gone to London and why he wasn’t able to return as soon as he’d hoped.

‘When Mr Russell came up at our picnic, he appeared to have met you before.’

‘He was my partner at the dinner the Countess gave just after Belle and I arrived at Mountstanton.’

For a moment Charles could hardly believe he had heard aright. Max invited to dinner?

‘He was very charming and a great help when Mr Warburton disappeared with Belle into the shrubbery.’

‘Indeed!’

‘Yes, very understanding.’

‘And yet you’re willing to believe he could be a murderer?’

She paused. Charles leaned back against the side table and enjoyed watching her think about his question.

‘At the time I sensed that he resented the restrictions his position in society made on his activities. He was ironic about the paucity of opportunities in England for younger sons or gentlemen with little income. He didn’t say so, but I assumed that his own income was not large. It seemed a reason why he would want to travel to America. Now I think his resentment was deeper seated.’

Charles smiled. ‘I can see why Jackman is very happy to work with you.’

‘I am glad to hear that is his opinion, Colonel. When did he say that?’

‘It is not necessary for him to say anything; I know when men are happy working with the partners they have been assigned. I am not so conversant with women.’

There was a silence but a comfortable one.

‘Has the inquest into your brother’s death taken place?’

Charles’s tension returned and he felt an involuntary tightening of his innards. He did not like to think of the number of irregularities that were taking place. ‘Not yet but I understand it is a formality.’

‘Have you scheduled a date for the funeral?’

‘There are some details still to be settled.’ Chief amongst them was Helen’s insistence that no date could be decided until she had heard from her father. ‘I am sure he will want to come,’ she had said this morning. ‘Oh, Charles, I don’t know how I am going to tell him about Belle.’ He had laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her, the feel of that fragile shoulder sending a familiar jolt through him. ‘And there is the matter of Mr Warburton. Papa is certain to hear about him.’ He wondered if she meant the matter of Warburton’s pursuit of herself or of his seduction of her sister. How could Richard have employed the wastrel?

Then she had looked up at him, her huge blue eyes pleading. ‘You will be my support, won’t you, Charles?’

The strands of the web still held him. ‘Of course, you can count on me.’

At that moment Helen entered the study. She held a telegram.

‘Charles, my father has wired to say he arrives in a few days on the
Oceanic
.’ She turned to Ursula. ‘I am glad you are here for Papa says you are to meet him at Liverpool.’

The SS
Majestic
lay alongside the landing stage, awaiting its passengers for New York, its single funnel bearing the White Star Line’s distinctive livery of beige topped with black.

Thomas Jackman and Miss Grandison were waiting in an empty office, supplied by the company. It did not look much used. A bare desk was set against a wall, with a poster of the latest White Star Line ship hanging above. There were a couple of chairs, one of which, tucked away in a corner, Miss Grandison was sitting on; and a plain piece of carpet in the centre of the floor. Standing against a wall was a member of the harbour police.

Thomas stood looking out of the window.

Already passengers had started to walk along the wide, bleak stretch of the stage, with boarding papers ready to be presented at the gangway that would sweep them into the liner’s interior. He hoped it would not be too long before Mr Maximilian Russell appeared.

Jackman had had a busy few days. He’d obtained all the necessary details regarding the
Majestic’s
sailing. Then, after a discussion with the Colonel on how to tackle the interview with Mr Russell, he had gone to London armed with letters of authority and two appointments. One was with his old boss, the Chief Constable, the other with the White Star Line. When he reached the shipping company, Mr Seldon’s name had seemed to carry more weight than the Mountstanton connection.

Afterwards, he’d spent the evening in his own house, mulling over evidence and theories. The next day he had met Miss Grandison’s train from Salisbury at Paddington station.

‘It’s very good of you, Mr Jackman,’ she’d said as he lifted down her small case. ‘I told the Colonel that I am well able to travel on my own to Liverpool should you have needed to make other arrangements. However,’ she’d added quickly, ‘it is very pleasant to have your company.’

Jackman had been surprised at how comfortable he had felt in her company as they took the train to Liverpool, discussing the case and exchanging travel experiences. He enjoyed her quick mind and ability to conduct a conversation without fluttering her eyelashes or producing coy comments intended to demonstrate female susceptibilities.

In Liverpool they had visited the offices of the White Star Line, followed by an appointment with the harbour police. On both occasions, Miss Grandison had comported herself with the utmost discretion. Introduced as the bereaved Countess’s representative, in her severely tailored black travelling costume she had seemed to melt into the background. Afterwards they had checked into the Adelphi Hotel. Jackman appreciated its grandeur and the air of smart efficiency. Miss Grandison suggested they make use of the luxurious dining room for their evening meal.