The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) Page 13

  ‘Enough for him to wish them dead, do you think?’ said Angela.

  Mr. Gilverson considered.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘He is very like his father in many respects, and has a tendency to hold a grudge. Yes, I can see why one might be suspicious of him.’

  ‘And it seems he may have no alibi,’ said Angela. ‘He or his wife, in fact. According to Victorine, he spent much of the evening alone in the study, while she went to bed early as she was coming down with a cold. Either of them might have done it some time after dinner and hidden Selina’s body in the cupboard.’

  ‘Oh, you suspect Victorine too, do you?’

  ‘She disliked Selina,’ said Angela, ‘and she certainly looks as though she has the physical strength to have done it, although I can’t think of a reason why she would want to pin the blame deliberately on her brother-in-law, as she didn’t seem to have any particular animosity towards him. I think Godfrey is the more likely of the two, but I shouldn’t rule out his wife. Then there is the matter of Henry Lacey.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilverson. ‘Now that is a surprise to me, since the possibility of murder was never suggested at the time, as far as I know. Do you think the visitor Harrington heard might have been someone Lacey knew from Kent?’

  ‘It’s possible. Freddy certainly thinks it might have been. He is going to speak to the police and see what they have to say about it. Of course, even if it turns out that there is some doubt, then we are in the same position as with the murder of Selina, since we have no proof. Henry Lacey certainly died of an overdose of morphine, but there is no way of finding out whether he took it himself or whether it was administered deliberately by someone else. It’s all very well having suspicions, but I’m afraid that simply won’t be good enough for the Home Office, which is not going to reopen an investigation on such flimsy grounds.’

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ said Mr. Gilverson.

  ‘So I’m afraid this is where it ends,’ said Angela, and with those words felt a sudden rush of relief. ‘Unless Freddy gets another lead from Henry’s death then there’s nothing more I can do. It’s all been quite unsatisfactory, to tell the truth. I feel as though I’ve been chasing around in circles and have nothing much to show for it except suspicions. On this occasion I think I must admit defeat.’

  ‘You’ve proved nothing, true,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘But please answer me frankly, Mrs. Marchmont: from what you have learned so far, do you believe he did it?’

  Angela hesitated.

  ‘I think there’s a good chance he didn’t,’ she said slowly at last. ‘But if you want my honest opinion I’d say it would be better to leave it now, after all this time. There’s simply no way of proving what happened. I suppose I could try and track down every single servant who was in the house eleven years ago, but even then what good would it do? The police spoke to them at the time. None of them was in that part of the house when Selina died—or at least, none of them saw anything.’

  Here she frowned, as an errant thought flitted into her head. What was it? Something Colonel Dempster had said, perhaps?

  ‘No,’ said Gilverson. ‘I agree that would be a waste of your time, and I shouldn’t dream of asking you to do it.’ Here he paused, and seemed to be thinking. ‘It has, however, just occurred to me that there is a person I forgot to mention when we spoke initially about the case. She was a friend of the family, and was living in Denborough at the time, and I wonder whether she might be able to tell you something—always assuming she is still there.’

  Angela looked up and found him gazing at her speculatively. It was an expression she had often seen on the face of Edgar Valencourt, and it had invariably meant he was up to something. A wave of suspicion washed over her.

  ‘Who is she?’ she said.

  ‘She is a French lady by the name of Mme. Charbonnet,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘She was a young widow who had been a friend of the de Lisles in Rheims. When they came to Kent she followed them not long afterwards and moved into a cottage in the area.’

  There was a pause as they regarded one another.

  ‘A friend of the family, you say?’ said Angela. ‘The whole family, do you mean?’

  ‘Well, perhaps more a particular friend of Roger’s,’ said Mr. Gilverson carefully.

  ‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘And you believe she may know something about the murder?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘I cannot tell. She was not in the house at the time, but it might be worth asking her, don’t you think?’

  Angela was becoming increasingly wary. She could not quite say why, but she sensed deception.

  ‘Why did you not mention this Mme. Charbonnet before?’ she said. ‘Had I known about her I might have tried to find her when I went to Denborough.’

  ‘To be perfectly truthful, I had forgotten all about her until now,’ said Mr. Gilverson.

  ‘Was she questioned after the murder?’ said Angela.

  ‘I do not believe so,’ said Mr. Gilverson. He coughed. ‘She was not exactly on visiting terms at Greystone, and indeed her presence in Denborough was not officially acknowledged by the family, if you understand my meaning.’

  ‘I believe I do,’ said Angela.

  ‘Since she was not in the house at the time, there was no reason for her to be brought into the thing at all, but as I say, she knew the family, and if she is still living in the town it is possible that she may be able to tell you something that the police missed.’

  Angela was beginning to feel some irritation, for she was almost certain she had not been told the whole truth. She did not believe for a second Mr. Gilverson’s story that he had only now remembered the existence of Mme. Charbonnet. She was intimately connected with the de Lisles, so why had he not mentioned her before? The relief Angela had felt only moments earlier at the idea of retiring from the case now dissipated, and her heart sank at the prospect of another trip to Denborough in search of this woman, who had presumably been Roger de Lisle’s mistress. But what could Mme. Charbonnet tell her? Since she had evidently been maintained discreetly in a separate establishment she would not have been present at Greystone Chase when Selina de Lisle died, so could not be counted as a witness. What, then, was the use in speaking to her? And how was Angela meant to approach her? It was a distasteful task altogether.

  She was about to ask something else when she again caught sight of Mr. Gilverson looking at her, and at that moment he reminded her so much of Valencourt that the irritation intensified into something like anger, and she suddenly saw the absurdity of the whole situation. Why was she doing this? Why was she punishing herself in this way by investigating a murder on behalf of a man who was dead and could never appreciate it or benefit from it? It was too much, and at that moment she decided that she wanted no more of it. She lifted her chin.

  ‘Mr. Gilverson,’ she said frostily. ‘I have done what you asked of me, and looked into this matter to the best of my ability. I did this on the tacit understanding that you would deal with me fairly and honourably, but it is now becoming clear to me that you have not kept your side of the bargain. You have withheld information from me and produced it only now, when I had begun to feel myself justifiably released from my obligations. So you want to send me scurrying down to Kent in search of a dead man’s mistress, is that it? And if I speak to her, what next? Is there someone else you have forgotten to mention? I cannot help but feel that I am being drawn in—that there is some ulterior motive behind your request, or something you are not telling me.’

  ‘I am sorry you feel this way,’ said Mr. Gilverson, ‘but I assure you I have kept nothing from you that will help our case. From the start we have been concerned with finding evidence that will stand up in court, and for that it is vital we employ someone who can approach the investigation with an open mind, rather than burdened with preconceived ideas.’

  ‘“We?”’ said Angela. ‘I understood you were acting alone.’

  ‘Yes, I beg your pardon—of course
I meant I.’

  ‘Are you quite sure of that?’ said Angela, who was now working herself up into a fine temper which inclined towards the irrational. ‘Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say Edgar was still alive and doing this to make a fool of me yet again. Supposing I do find some evidence and prove him not guilty, what then? Will I receive yet another letter from beyond the grave asking me to absolve him of all his other crimes too? Does he want me to make reparation for all those things he stole? What else did he leave undone? Are there any library books he needs me to return? Perhaps a tailor’s bill left unpaid? So convenient to have someone to hand to clear up all the mess one leaves behind, don’t you think? And it seems I’m that someone. Well, I’ve done all I can and I have precious little to show for it, so there’s no use at all in my carrying on. You may speak to this woman if you like, but I see no point in it myself, so I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I decline to do it and withdraw from the case. Goodbye, Mr. Gilverson.’

  And with that, she stood up and sailed out before Mr. Gilverson could say a word.

  AFTER ANGELA HAD left, Mr. Gilverson sat for a minute or two rubbing his chin, then rose and opened a door.

  ‘You can come out now,’ he said.

  Edgar Valencourt came out of the little side-office to which he had retreated on Angela’s arrival.

  ‘You might have said you were expecting her,’ he said.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ said Gilverson. ‘She turned up unannounced. Well, that, as they say, has gone and done it. I take it you heard it all. If you’ll pardon my saying so, she seems somewhat annoyed at you. Is that a customary state of affairs?’

  ‘More or less,’ admitted Valencourt.

  ‘Interesting,’ said Gilverson. ‘She struck me as a cool one, but that’s the first sign of any emotion I’ve seen in her. Perhaps she’s not as unfeeling as she appears. Still, it’s a pity you didn’t think to mention this woman of Roger’s earlier. It did rather look as though I’d been withholding the information.’

  ‘I’d forgotten all about her until the other day,’ said Valencourt. ‘She was meant to be discreetly ignored, just like everything else in our family. I don’t even know if she still lives in Denborough. I dare say she returned to France long ago.’

  ‘Well, it looks as though you’ll have to speak to her yourself, now that your Angela has taken herself off in a huff.’

  ‘She’ll be back,’ said Valencourt, although there was a trace of doubt in his expression.

  ‘Are you quite certain of that?’ said his uncle. ‘She was angry enough. And she has every reason to keep away. As she said herself, her helping you at all looks suspicious, and I don’t suppose she wants to be tried for perjury, as she will be if anybody puts two and two together. Even if she knew you were still alive I expect she’d be far too concerned with saving her own skin to care about saving yours.’

  ‘Angela’s not like that,’ said Valencourt. ‘I’d bet my life on it.’

  ‘I rather thought you already had,’ said Gilverson. He regarded his nephew with something like fond exasperation. ‘You and your tendency to lose your head over women. You really ought to keep well away from them. Look what happened when you lost your head over Selina.’

  ‘I assure you it hadn’t escaped my attention,’ said Valencourt dryly.

  ‘And now this one. She killed her husband and made you confess to it.’

  ‘She didn’t make me confess. And I have it on good authority that she didn’t kill him either.’

  ‘Oh? I must say, she didn’t strike me as the type, but one never knows. Still, I must say it was something of a gesture on your part. I can’t quite decide whether you’re a hero or a fool.’

  ‘I rather wonder myself,’ said Valencourt. ‘It was an idiotic thing to do, I know.’

  Gilverson smiled.

  ‘You saved her life,’ he said. ‘You’re a better man than you think you are, my boy, but you really ought to stay away from women. They’ve always been your downfall.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ said Valencourt. ‘Still, I’d like to be sure Angela’s all right.’

  Perhaps there was a particular note to his voice, for Gilverson darted a sharp glance at him.

  ‘I do hope you’re not planning on giving yourself away,’ he said. ‘It was just your bad luck that young fellow happened to see you, but the more people who know the more likely it is you’ll be caught, and that would be such a pity now that you have the opportunity to start again. Are you quite sure he won’t tell, incidentally?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Valencourt. ‘He knows well enough what’s at stake.’

  ‘Quite apart from anything else, I’d be in trouble myself if they found you, since I’m the one who supposedly identified your body,’ said Gilverson. ‘Convenient for you that so many people seem to end up in the Seine, of course, but I’m an old man now and the last thing I want is to spend my declining years in gaol if somebody realizes the truth.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t,’ said Valencourt, with the ghost of his old smile. ‘If it comes to the worst you can come abroad with me.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Gilverson. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like less. If you have any care for me at all, you’ll stay well hidden.’

  ‘I intend to,’ said Valencourt. ‘As you say, this is the perfect opportunity to begin again far away from here. It would be ridiculous to throw that away for the sake of a woman, even supposing she could stand the sight of me.’

  ‘Silly creatures, women,’ said Gilverson. ‘Although I must say this one of yours seems to have something about her. She didn’t give you away in court, which demonstrates some sense of loyalty, at least.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Valencourt. He looked as though he were about to say something else, but then thought better of it.

  ‘By the way, she seems to think it was Godfrey who did it,’ said Gilverson.

  ‘Does she? Perhaps it was.’

  The two men looked at one another.

  ‘What if there is no proof?’ said Gilverson at last. ‘It’s all been guess-work up to now, but what if nothing can be found?’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite resigned to that,’ said Valencourt. ‘I’ll go to South America as I always meant to, and that will be that.’

  ‘That will be that,’ repeated the other. ‘It will be a pity, though. Shouldn’t you like to clear your name at last?’

  ‘Of course I should,’ said Valencourt. ‘That’s what this is all about, after all. But there are certain advantages to remaining guilty in the eyes of the law.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Why, the fact that it prevents me from doing anything rash. If I were in no danger of hanging then I might be tempted to—’ He stopped, then went on hurriedly. ‘I might become careless, that’s all.’

  ‘I do hope you’re not going to lose your head again,’ said Gilverson.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Valencourt. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘She’s gone, anyway,’ said Gilverson, ‘and if she has any sense she won’t come back.’

  ‘She will,’ said Valencourt, even as the look of doubt flickered across his face again. ‘You’ll see.’

  BY THE TIME Angela arrived home her anger had cooled considerably, and she was feeling not a little foolish after her outburst in Mr. Gilverson’s office. She could not remember exactly what she had said to him, but one or two of her more ridiculous remarks remained fresh and clear in her mind, and she blushed at the thought of them. She felt particularly idiotic at having voiced the suspicion that Edgar Valencourt was still alive. It had been nothing but a wild accusation which she did not believe in the slightest, but it was odd that the thought had crossed her mind at all. It must have been the uncanny resemblance between him and his uncle, which had made her feel quite uncomfortable from the start. Still, even if she had made a fool of herself, there was no need to see Mr. Gilverson again now that she had withdrawn from the case. And it really was time, she told herself. She h
ad done what she promised, looked into all the clues and arrived at nothing but a series of dead ends. Gilverson’s sudden mention of this Mme. Charbonnet had been nothing but an attempt to keep her pursuing the investigation, but it must have been futile, as what could the woman possibly have to say? Why, Angela might as well question the grocer’s boy, or Mrs. Hudd, or anyone else in Denborough, for all she was likely to know. No; she had been perfectly justified in stepping down. The stain on Valencourt’s character would simply have to remain, whether he had done it or not; and in any case, it was not as though he had been a good man in other respects—far from it, in fact. He had blemished his own reputation, and what was one extra crime to his name on top of everything else he had done?

  So Angela told herself as she sat by the window in her flat, gazing unseeing out onto the street below. She had been absolutely in the right to do as she did. She had tried to pay off her debt to Edgar Valencourt, but the investigation had achieved nothing except to disturb her fragile peace of mind, and it was high time to retire. Of course, in order to convince herself that her conscience was now clear, she had to ignore certain inconvenient facts—one of which was that she knew perfectly well from Marthe that there was a French lady living in Denborough, who would presumably be fairly easy to trace. Another was the arrival on the scene of a definite suspect in the shape of Godfrey de Lisle, who had had the strongest of motives for killing Selina and blaming the murder on his brother. And there were many questions still unanswered, too. Colonel Dempster had said he believed someone in the house had evidence of Valencourt’s guilt, but that Roger had initially kept it from his wife in order to protect her from the knowledge that her favourite son was a murderer. However, from what Angela had heard of Roger, that was not like him at all. On the contrary, given his jealous temperament she would have thought him more likely to torment Evelyn with the information in revenge for the fact—real or imagined—that her love for her younger son was greater than her love for her husband. But what if the colonel were wrong? What if Roger had not withheld evidence of his younger son’s guilt at all? What if it was Godfrey, the favourite elder son, he was protecting? Had Roger known or guessed that the dutiful Godfrey was the murderer, and allowed the blame to be transferred to Edgar? Perhaps he had led Evelyn to believe that Edgar was guilty. That would explain why he had told her to keep quiet, and why she had obeyed. And where did Henry Lacey come in? Had he been blackmailing Godfrey until the de Lisles tired of the burden and disposed of him?