Ann Granger (13 page)

The arrival of all these people, especially another dog, had an immediate effect on Brennan’s ratter. It jumped up and rolled back its upper lip in a snarl revealing its sharp yellow teeth; then took up a protective stance before the body of its fallen master and began to utter hideous growls.

Mrs Williams ran straight to us and wrested Lucy from my arms.

‘There, there, my precious,’ she crooned, smoothing Lucy’s hair, ‘Williams will take care of you. Williams will take care of everything. Only come indoors with me and I’ll get you to your bed. Come along, Miss Lucy…’

Lucy Craven seemed to respond to the familiar voice. She whimpered and made an effort to stand up. Supported by Williams, she allowed herself to be led away towards the house.

‘What the devil’s happened here?’ demanded Beresford of me.

‘I know no more than you! Only that Brennan there is dead and I found Lucy by the body.’

‘Damn it!’ he shouted, advancing on me, his face red with fury. ‘You’re not suggesting
Lucy
had anything to do with this? That’s outrageous!’

My frayed nerves snapped. ‘I’m saying nothing of the sort. I’m only telling you what I saw.’

We faced up to one another like a pair of fighting cockerels until the gardener spoke, drawing our attention.

‘His little dog will have been digging that out,’ he said.

Both Beresford and I turned to look and saw the man standing a little way off pointing downwards to where the roots of the rhododendron bush reached into a bank of soft, sandy soil. Natural erosion had led to the roots being partly exposed, forming a twisting net. Busy paws had further excavated the earth and it was strewn all around. Revealed by the terrier’s efforts was a rat’s nest, tucked in among the cat’s cradle of roots. In it huddled the rat babies, pale white, blind and bloated. They looked disgusting and I turned away, my gorge rising, as the gardener raised his spade. From behind me came a sickening
thump.

‘What are you doing here, sir?’

The new voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. We all spun round.

Miss Roche had arrived. She was glaring at Beresford in fury. ‘Be so good as to leave this property, sir!’

‘I came because I heard Mrs Craven cry out…’ he began.

Miss Roche’s face whitened. ‘I’ve forbidden you this house and its grounds, as you very well know. Mrs Craven is my niece and in my care and any matter concerning her will be dealt with by me without your assistance, sir.’

Beresford, I was glad to see, stood his ground. He indicated the body. ‘That fellow’s dead. With the greatest respect, I suggest this isn’t a matter with which you can deal, ma’am. It’s one for the competent authorities, that’s to say the police. I suggest that I—’

He was not allowed to continue.

‘
At once!
Do you hear me? Neither you nor your help is needed here. You shall go at once or Callow there will throw you out!’

It seemed Callow was the gardener and he looked distinctly alarmed at the prospect of wrestling with a healthy muscular fellow like Beresford. Nor, I fancy, did he like the idea of threatening a local landowner with a spade.

This time Beresford accepted his dismissal, albeit reluctantly. ‘I’ll go at once, Miss Roche, since you ask me to. But I hope you won’t hesitate to call on me if you find, after all, there is some way I can help.’

‘That is unlikely,’ he was informed.

Beresford, hat in hand, bowed politely and strode towards the shore gate with his little dog at his heels. Brennan’s dog continued to growl fiercely. The gardener, Callow, had turned his attention to the animal.

He raised his spade again and I cried out, ‘No!’ so fiercely he stopped with it high in the air and stared at me in surprise.

‘No more killing.’ My voice shook with emotion but they all knew I meant it.

Callow lowered his spade and for a brief moment even Miss Roche looked at me almost with respect. Then she twitched an eyebrow in the familiar way.

‘Take the dog away, Callow,’ she ordered.

This order discomfited the gardener almost as much as her previous one. ‘We’ll have to get a net, ma’am, to throw over him. There will be no getting near him like he is. Nasty savage little beast, that is, at the best of times. I got some netting in my shed, over in the kitchen garden. I’ll go and fetch it. But don’t either of you ladies try and get near Brennan there or the dog will have you. You had better go in the house, ma’am, and the other lady. This ain’t no sight for you.’ He hesitated. ‘Shall us fetch Constable Gosling? Likely this
is
his business.’

‘Whatever for?’ asked Miss Roche.

‘This is murder, ma’am,’ I whispered to her.

‘Well, it’s nothing to do with us. Someone got into the garden, probably someone with a grudge against Brennan.’

‘But the constable must be sent for, Miss Roche,’ I insisted. ‘Mr Beresford may well inform him himself and if we haven’t, it will look odd.’ I played my trump card. ‘People will talk.’

That threat, as I suspected, weighed with her. Gossip would be furious anyway once the news got out. But she would want to be seen to have done the right thing.

‘Oh, very well,’ she said crossly. ‘If you will have it so. Callow, tell Greenaway to ride for the constable.’

‘I fancy Lye Greenaway is out riding with the gentleman,’ said Callow.

‘Then send him when he gets back. Whatever is the matter with everyone?’ Miss Roche whirled round and set off briskly back to the house.

I had no wish to linger here any longer with corpse, snarling dog or rat’s nest. I followed her quickly. Besides, there was something I needed to do.

Miss Roche was in the house ahead of me and by the sound of distraught wails coming from the drawing room was telling Miss Phoebe what had happened. I hurried to the hall table and looked among the objects there. Earlier that morning when I had put my letter to Ben in the postbox, the ornamental dagger had still been lying by the silver tray. I would swear to it. But it was not there now.

I turned at the rustle of a woman’s skirts. Mrs Williams was coming down the stairs. Bundled in her arms was Lucy’s bloodstained dress. She paused in her descent to treat me to an accusing stare.

‘I asked you particularly, Miss Martin, not to let Mrs Craven come back while the rat-catcher was here.’

‘I couldn’t prevent her,’ I returned sharply. ‘She didn’t return to the house where we thought Brennan was at work, anyway, but to the garden. Why was Brennan in the garden? I understood his business was indoors.’

‘The dog couldn’t pick up any scent of a rat here.’ Mrs Williams indicated the hall and general downstairs area with a jerk of her chin. ‘Brennan thought one might have come in from the stables. To flush it out he’d need both dogs and would have to return to his camp to fetch the other one. So first he thought he’d look in the garden. His other guess was that a rat had made a nest out there and the parent rat had crept into the house seeking food.’

‘There is a rat’s nest,’ I said. ‘It’s near the body. Have you put Mrs Craven to bed?’

‘I have – and dosed her with a little laudanum I had by. She’s fallen asleep. The poor lamb was in a dreadful state.’

That meant that when Constable Gosling arrived he wouldn’t be able to question her. I wondered whether in dosing Lucy with the opiate, Mrs Williams had been thinking of that. I indicated the bundled stained gown in her arms.

‘It would be better if you didn’t order that washed before the constable comes. He’ll want to see it.’

Williams darted down the remaining stairs, her face working alarmingly. ‘Miss Lucy, poor dear, had nothing to do with this. That’s a wicked thing to suggest!’

‘I am not suggesting it, Mrs Williams. But the gown is what’s called evidence and should be preserved as it is until the representative of the law arrives.’ I held out my arms. ‘Shall I keep it safe?’

‘I shall take my instructions from Miss Roche,’ Williams retorted. ‘Not from you, miss! You’re the companion here and no more or less. As I see it, it’s no part of a companion’s duties to allow this sort of thing to happen.’

She hurried away with the bloody clothing in her arms and I very much feared that Constable Gosling would never see it.

I realised at this point that my own gown was blood smeared from my attempts to get Lucy to her feet. I hurried upstairs to change it. I’d only just done so, and put the stained patch to soak in some cold water left in the jug on the washstand, when there was a tap at my bedroom door.

I opened it to discover Dr Lefebre, still in riding attire, standing outside. He raised a hand to his lips to enjoin me to silence.

‘Miss Martin,’ he whispered. ‘It’s vitally important you tell me privately what happened; before the constable gets here.’

When I hesitated, he took matters into his own hands and stepped briskly into my room, closing the door behind him.

‘Dr Lefebre—’ I began in protest.

‘Don’t turn into a simpering miss on me,’ he interrupted sharply. ‘You’re a young woman of sense and believe me, you need to speak up plainly now and tell me every single thing you know about this.’

I’d already decided the doctor was better as a friend than an enemy.

‘All right,’ I said, ‘it’s better you hear it from me.’

As far as I knew the sisters were downstairs and he was a shrewd enough man not to have let a servant see him coming into my room. I told him all I felt I could without compromising Lucy any further. So I omitted my meeting and conversation with Andrew Beresford. But I explained I had gone to the shore hoping to find Lucy there and, failing, had begun to seek her in the garden. I had heard strange sounds which led me to the grisly discovery.

‘I really don’t believe she could have done this,’ I added earnestly. ‘She is such a little thing and Brennan a strong fellow. Besides, why should she?’

‘Where is she now?’ Lefebre demanded, ignoring my protests. He’d listened closely to every word I’d said, occasionally muttering into his beard but making no other comment.

I told him she was sleeping, having been given a mix of laudanum and water by the housekeeper on her own initiative.

‘Well,’ he observed in a sour tone, ‘that effectively removes her from examination either by the constable or by me. I would have preferred to have spoken to her before the constable arrived and made some judgement as to her state of mind.’

‘State of mind? She was hysterical,’ I told him indignantly. ‘What can you expect? She gave birth only months ago and is herself nothing but a child.’

He was unsympathetic to this argument. ‘She may well have been squawking and wailing; but the condition popularly described as “hysterical” is a complicated matter. The once-held belief that it originates in female disorders, if I may call them so to spare your blushes, is now widely doubted. It can indicate a variety of things to a trained observer.’

‘That she is guilty?’ I cried angrily.

‘Or that she is innocent,’ came the cool reply. ‘Now I’ve no way of judging. Williams may have thought she was doing Mrs Craven a favour but take it from me, she’s done her a disservice.’

‘Williams has also taken Lucy’s bloodstained gown,’ I admitted. ‘I told her it was evidence and shouldn’t be washed before the constable arrives, but I’m afraid it’s steeping in cold water at this very moment.’ I indicated the basin, and the garment draped over it, on my washstand with some embarrassment. ‘As is mine. Perhaps I should have left mine, too, as it was. Incidentally, Mrs Williams is laying the blame for all this at my feet. Or, at least, she blames me for Lucy finding the body. Perhaps she’s right and I should have kept closer to Lucy, and not stood chatting to you at the front gate.’

‘Confound it! That housekeeper is meddling. No doubt in her own mind it’s for the best, but it is not. Williams must be made to see that this is a matter for the authorities, however innocently Mrs Craven is involved. As for your actions, there’s not the slightest reason for you to shoulder any blame. You’re the young woman’s companion and not her shadow.’

I was grateful for his support though I still hesitated to tell him the thing that troubled me. But he was right. It was a matter for the authorities and nothing must be hidden. I came to a decision.

‘Dr Lefebre, there is one more thing…’ I told him about the knife missing from the hall table.

‘You think it was the same as protruded from Brennan’s neck?’ His eyes watched mine closely.

‘I couldn’t swear to it without seeing it again … but the hilt was very similar and the knife in the hall isn’t there now. It was there on the table by the postbox before breakfast; I could swear to that.’

‘Hm,’ said Lefebre, smoothing his moustache with thumb and forefinger. ‘This is not a matter for a village constable or even for a provincial detective from Southampton. We shall have to send to Scotland Yard.’

‘To Scotland Yard!’ I gasped.

‘Yes, this is not a matter to be dealt with locally, some tavern brawl or armed footpad. If the knife used was taken from the hall here then Brennan was not killed by an intruder in the garden.’

‘Someone in this house?’ I shook my head. ‘Dr Lefebre, Miss Roche will never countenance such an idea.’

‘My dear girl, it’s not for Miss Roche to say. But I agree she’ll refuse to entertain any such a scandalous suggestion. In the circumstances, a local man couldn’t hope to deal with her. She won’t be without influence hereabouts, may even have the ear of the chief constable, certainly of every local magistrate and circuit judge. A local investigator would be impeded at every turn. Someone must come down from the Yard.’

He paused and then went on, half to himself, ‘Besides, Roche must be informed. He must hear it from me. Yes, I’ll travel up to London today and tell Charles about it before I do anything else.’

He hissed in exasperation. ‘But I’ll have to wait until the village constable has been before I leave; and I’ll need to go through the formality of persuading Miss Roche to agree. While she can’t dictate events, she must still be convinced of the necessity of bringing in someone from outside or she’ll be difficult and unhelpful. I doubt I’ll get to the Yard today; indeed it must be impossible. I’ll leave tomorrow, first thing. Pah!’