The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) Read online

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Angela. ‘Yes, of course, that would be the only way. But even then I still can’t simply turn up and begin asking questions of complete strangers. Do the family still live at Greystone Chase?’

  ‘Godfrey and Victorine de Lisle spend part of the year there, but not the others,’ said Mr. Gilverson.

  ‘Oh? Did they return to France?’

  ‘No. Evelyn de Lisle died shortly after Edgar’s trial—some said of a broken heart, since Edgar was her favourite son, although I think that is fanciful, myself. Roger died some three years ago. I propose you commence your investigations by speaking to Godfrey and Victorine.’

  ‘But how?’

  Mr. Gilverson smiled.

  ‘Nothing easier,’ he said. ‘Greystone Chase is at present up for sale. I shall write you a letter of introduction and tell them you are interested in buying the place. I shall tell them some cock and bull story about how I know you, and that will get you their acquaintance.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Angela, thinking. ‘Yes, that is a plan, certainly. I wonder, though: will a visit or two to the house be enough to find out what I want to know? It seems to me it would be better if I went down there and scouted about a bit first. Where is Greystone Chase, exactly? Perhaps there are people still living nearby who remember what happened and can tell me more.’

  ‘I dare say there are,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘Greystone is situated on the outskirts of Denborough, so perhaps you might begin your inquiries there, as the family are very well known in the area. Do you know Denborough at all? It’s a small seaside resort which is popular with elderly and retired gentlefolk, although at this time of year I expect it will be fairly quiet.’

  ‘Elderly and retired gentlefolk?’ said Angela. ‘Then I had better pack my flannel petticoats and most comfortable shoes. One doesn’t wish to stand out.’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Mr. Gilverson, with an amused look. ‘Then you have definitely decided to do it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Angela resignedly.

  Mr. Gilverson seemed pleased.

  ‘But I can’t promise anything,’ she went on quickly. ‘It was all such a long time ago that people are bound to have forgotten things. Are you quite sure you’ve told me everything you know?’

  ‘Not everything,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘I should like you to approach the case with an open mind and make your own deductions, and if I told you all I know I should inevitably put my own interpretation on the facts, which is hardly conducive to your reaching a fair conclusion. Go to Denborough and speak to the people there. You will bring a new pair of eyes and ears to the case, and perhaps will find out something that was missed eleven years ago.’

  ‘Well, I shall try,’ said Angela.

  So it was agreed, and Angela rose to take her leave, promising to keep the solicitor apprised of developments. After she had gone, Gilverson sat for a few moments, as though considering what had just passed.

  ‘Skittish,’ he said to himself at last. ‘Understandable, of course. She doesn’t want to do it, and I expect she’ll be frightened off easily. Still, it’s worth a try. Who knows whether she mightn’t come up with something useful?’

  THE REGENT HOTEL in Denborough was a grand relic of former glories. Fifty years earlier the little town had been a thriving holiday resort, welcoming the fashionable end of London society as well as the more discerning members of the affluent middle classes. Times change, however, and in recent years the haut monde had moved on to Juan-les-Pins and the Riviera, while those in the lower tier had discovered that Devon was both prettier and warmer. These days, therefore, the Regent attracted mainly elderly people who had come to the place every year in their youth and saw no reason to change their habits now.

  ‘It is so pleasant to see a new face here,’ said Mrs. Hudd, inclining her head graciously towards the new guest by whom she was seated. ‘The Regent is a delightful hotel, but I fear one tends to see the same people year after year. Shall you be staying here long, Mrs. Wells?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ replied Angela. ‘This place was recommended to me quite by chance, but I must say it is very pretty. The sea air is very bracing, too.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Miss Atkinson, who sat to Mrs. Hudd’s other side. ‘I know some people call it chilly, but I always think too much warm weather can be quite stifling, and heat isn’t at all good for the lungs, you know. I don’t understand why anyone would prefer to go abroad when we have everything we need here at home.’

  ‘Oh, quite,’ said Angela, who was wearing two layers of clothing more than she liked for the time of year, and who would have been quite happy to sacrifice her lungs in exchange for some warm sunshine.

  They were sitting in the elegant lounge of the hotel, the most stately of the grand buildings in a faded Crescent which some enterprising local business-man had built on the sea front in the early years of the town’s prosperity. The Crescent was situated in the finest part of Denborough, and the Regent was in the finest part of the Crescent—at the very centre, which gave it a direct and unobstructed view of Denborough Bay. Other, lesser hotels, nearer the outer edges of the Crescent, had inferior views and a correspondingly inferior clientele. Angela had arrived at the Regent the day before and had been swiftly pounced upon by Mrs. Hudd (Mrs. Beatrice Hudd of the Staffordshire Hudds, as she hastened to mention—not the ironmongery people, oh dear, no!) and Miss Atkinson, who lived in Surrey but had been a Kentish girl. The two ladies came at the same time every year and feasted upon such social glory as remained in the town these days. The arrival of Mrs. Wells was a cause of great excitement to them both, and was tempered by only a little initial reserve at the newcomer’s relative youth and high social standing, as evidenced by the fact that she brought with her a lady’s maid. Angela’s easy manner and lack of self-importance soon dissipated any doubts they may have had, however, and in less than twenty-four hours she had been welcomed into their little circle and was fast becoming privy to their thoughts on everybody and everything.

  ‘If you are not familiar with the area, let me assure you that there are many beauties hereabouts,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘Besides the bay itself, I mean. Fallow Hill, for example, is a noted landmark which you would be wise not to miss. There are also a number of country parks, although some of the finest ones are private and not open to visitors.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Atkinson. ‘Brancome Hall is simply delightful. I visit it every year and it never disappoints.’

  ‘Brancome Hall? Is that the large house one passes shortly before turning onto the Denborough road?’ said Angela, although she knew very well that it was not.

  ‘No, Brancome is quite in the other direction—farther along the coast towards Ramsgate,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘I believe the house to which you are referring is Greystone Chase.’ She drew herself up disapprovingly. ‘A very odd place. It belongs to the French.’

  ‘What, all of them?’ said Angela.

  Miss Atkinson tittered behind her hand.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘Mrs. Hudd means they are a family from France.’

  ‘I am not fond of the French,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘They cheated the late Mr. Hudd in the matter of a painting many years ago. He was given quite unequivocally to understand that it was by one of the Masters, but it turned out to be a forgery—although they called it a copy. Five pounds is not a sum to throw away lightly. The experience distressed him greatly, and he was still talking of it during his final illness.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Angela.

  ‘At any rate,’ went on Mrs. Hudd, ‘Greystone Chase is a private house and not open to the public.’

  ‘There were some terrible goings-on there a few years ago,’ said Miss Atkinson. ‘It was quite a scandal, and I don’t believe they ever got over it.’

  ‘Oh? What happened?’ said Angela.

  Miss Atkinson adopted a suitably solemn expression.

  ‘I’m afraid it was all quite dreadful,’ she said. ‘One of the sons of the hou
se killed his young wife.’

  ‘Dear me!’ said Angela.

  ‘Foreigners,’ said Mrs. Hudd, with a shake of the head.

  ‘He was caught, of course,’ said Miss Atkinson. ‘Such a disgrace for the rest of the family to have to live down.’

  Angela was about to question Miss Atkinson further, when Mrs. Hudd sat up and said:

  ‘Oh, it is Colonel Dempster! Good afternoon, colonel!’

  The newcomer to whom she referred was a gentleman of stiff moustache and upright bearing, who had evidently expanded outwards in recent years, for it appeared that some violence had been employed to force the buttons of his tweed suit through the button-holes. He was still a fine man, however, and it quickly became clear that he had at least two female admirers in the shape of Mrs. Hudd and Miss Atkinson, for the former seemed to soften a little in his presence, while the latter sat up and somehow became less self-effacing. Colonel Dempster was introduced to Mrs. Wells, who declared herself charmed with the area. At that, the colonel puffed up in satisfaction, putting an alarming strain on his middle button. He was a local man himself, he said—lived just a short distance away in a modest little cottage close to the sea—quite enough for him and Betsy (here he indicated a black spaniel which had flopped at his feet when he sat down)—was always happy to see his friends Mrs. Hudd and Miss Atkinson—and how long was Mrs. Wells thinking of staying?

  Angela said what was proper, but was a little vexed that the colonel had arrived just as she had been about to find out something about the subject of most interest to her. She was wondering how to turn the conversation back in that direction, when Miss Atkinson said, most conveniently:

  ‘We have just been telling Mrs. Wells about the dreadful events at Greystone Chase, colonel. I believe you knew the family.’

  Colonel Dempster coughed and gave something that might have been a little shudder.

  ‘I did indeed,’ he said. ‘Terrible thing, it was. Terrible. Never thought I should see such wickedness in a fellow officer. Never should have thought it of him. A bad apple, he was. A very bad apple.’

  He shook his head and subsided into silence.

  ‘I was telling you of Miss Lacey,’ said Miss Atkinson. ‘She was a local girl who married the younger son of the family. I am very much afraid to say that he killed her in a fit of rage.’

  ‘The blackguard strangled her!’ roared the colonel suddenly. ‘No way to treat a woman. He brought shame upon his family.’

  ‘What can one expect of the French?’ said Mrs. Hudd, who had no personal connection with the matter but did not intend to let that prevent her from pronouncing judgment.

  ‘They weren’t wholly French,’ said the colonel. Mrs. de Lisle was an Englishwoman through and through. I knew her when she was a girl. I called her Evelyn and she called me Bertie. Delightful woman, delightful. She died of a broken heart after it all happened.’

  Miss Atkinson nodded soberly.

  ‘I am afraid she did,’ she said. ‘Of course, they didn’t call it that, but it all comes down to the same thing in the end.’

  ‘Will you have tea, colonel?’ said Mrs. Hudd, who liked to return the attention of the company to herself at regular intervals.

  There was some little bustle as tea was arranged, then Angela returned to the original subject.

  ‘I seem to remember hearing something about the case, once,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t there some doubt as to the guilt of Mr. de Lisle?’

  ‘None at all, as far as I know,’ said the colonel. ‘He killed her and then shoved her body in a cupboard as though it were a pair of old shoes. The evidence was quite clear. They found the fellow guilty, but he escaped and went on the run for years, and only reappeared a few months ago when it turned out he’d killed someone else too. You probably read about it in the newspapers.’

  ‘I think I did,’ said Angela vaguely.

  ‘So you see, he was most definitely the murderous sort,’ said the colonel. ‘There’s no doubt he did it. He’s dead now, of course.’

  ‘I suppose the family must have left Greystone Chase after it all happened,’ said Angela.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs. Hudd, thankful for an opportunity to take part in the conversation once again. ‘They are still here. One sees Mrs. de Lisle in particular out and about in the town.’

  ‘Another Mrs. de Lisle?’ said Angela. ‘How many are there?’

  ‘Only one,’ said the colonel. ‘Wife of the eldest son, Godfrey. There’s only the two of them left. He and she.’

  ‘Now, she is most definitely French,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘We have exchanged greetings and she has a quite pronounced accent.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ conceded the colonel. ‘A good lady, by all accounts.’

  He spoke of her with some reserve. It occurred to Angela that he did not admire Victorine de Lisle, and she remembered what Mr. Gilverson had said about her being plain. The conversation had now turned to other matters and Angela took the opportunity to reflect on her good fortune. She had come to Denborough with the intention of picking up local gossip without looking too suspicious, and had thought that a hotel might be a good place to start, but she had never dreamed that she would be so successful so soon. To have been introduced to Colonel Dempster, who had actually known the de Lisles personally at the time of the murder, was a stroke of luck indeed. It seemed almost too much of a coincidence, but Angela supposed that in a small place such as Denborough it was only to be expected that many of the residents knew or had known the de Lisles. She resolved to make the colonel’s closer acquaintance if she could. Perhaps he could give her more information than she had had so far, for at present there was nothing at all to suggest that a mistake had been made, or that Edgar Valencourt had not murdered his wife.

  THE NEXT MORNING dawned fine, although to judge from the movement of the grass on the cliff top, there was still a brisk breeze blowing. Angela looked out of her bedroom window and gave a little shiver.

  ‘Blessed are we who bring with us warm underthings,’ she remarked to Marthe.

  ‘I do not understand why anyone should want to go to the English seaside at this time of year,’ said Marthe, who was tidying up the dressing-table. ‘Why do all these elderly ladies insist on coming here to take walks in the freezing cold in the morning and in the afternoon and in the evening? And then they complain about the stiffness in their bones and seem surprised that they can no longer bend down. It makes no sense. Me, I think they are mad. It is much pleasanter and warmer on the Continent.’

  ‘I dare say it is,’ said Angela. ‘But then they would have to speak to the natives and eat the food, and that might kill them. Or at the very least scare them into fits.’

  ‘It would be pleasanter for you too, madame,’ said Marthe, who did not approve of this latest adventure. ‘You should not be here.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Angela, ‘but I promised I’d do it, so onward I must go.’

  ‘But what kind of person would hold you to your word?’ said Marthe. ‘This solicitor ought not to have written to you in the first place. It was an inelegant thing to do.’

  ‘Inelegant?’ said Angela, amused.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marthe. ‘It is not kind to put a lady in such a position, and nobody will think the worse of you if you change your mind. Write to him and tell him you no longer wish to do it. You will never hear from him again, and you can leave this place and forget everything.’

  Since Angela had been trying for months to forget everything with little success, this was hardly useful advice. She made no comment, however, but merely said:

  ‘I gave my word and I mean to keep it. I dare say I won’t find anything out, but nobody will be able to say that I didn’t try.’

  Marthe saw that her mistress’s mind was made up, and shook her head sadly.

  ‘It pains me to see you so restless, madame,’ she said. ‘You travel here and you travel there, and never do you stop.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Angela. ‘One gets terribly bored staying in
the same place all the time.’

  As a matter of fact, she had begun to toy with the idea of returning to America within the next few months. During her time in England she had neglected her business rather, and although she trusted absolutely the man she had left in charge, she felt that she had been gone too long and had forgotten too much. Now she had received a letter from someone who had expressed an interest in buying the company, and the thought tempted her more than she had expected. After so many years of hard work it would be pleasant to hand everything over to someone else, she thought. She could return to the States and negotiate the thing personally. Perhaps she would even stay a while. There she would be anonymous once more—no longer the notorious Mrs. Marchmont who had been tried for murder, but plain old Mrs. Marchmont who could walk down the street without feeling that everybody was staring and whispering as she passed. America had been her home for fifteen years and lately she had found herself missing the place—its free-and-easiness; its lack of pretence; the belief, shared by all, that anyone might be successful if only they worked hard enough. Such a contrast to the formality and stuffiness of England, where family and connections counted for everything. Of course, now there was Barbara to consider she could not simply move back without a second thought, but perhaps Barbara would like to come with her. There were many excellent colleges there, and perhaps the place would be more suited to her daughter’s temperament and independent nature. Still, that was a matter for the future. For now she had other things to think about and a murder to investigate.

  ‘I think I had better put on a warm scarf,’ she said to Marthe. ‘The green one will do.’

  ‘What are you going to do this morning?’ said Marthe.

  ‘I am going to attempt to charm an elderly gentleman,’ said Angela. ‘If I can find him, that is.’

  Putting on her scarf and hat, she left her room and went down in the rickety old lift to the hotel lobby. From there she emerged onto the Crescent, which overlooked a large patch of green on the cliff top. One or two people were walking their dogs there, but Colonel Dempster was not among them, so Angela set forth towards the edge of the cliff, where a steep flight of steps descended onto the beach. She paused at the top and looked about her. The place was certainly very fine when the sun was shining and the wind had dropped, although the stubbornly stiff breeze and the large clouds that blew frequently across the sun prevented the day from being really warm.