Authors: David Roberts
The meeting was called to order and Verity spoke lucidly and passionately about the war in Spain which she called ‘the first battle in the war against Fascism’. Edward was impressed
but he was unable to concentrate fully because he was watching his nephew and John Devon. There was the odd glance of complicity between them and it crossed his mind that there might be something
sexual. He thrust the idea from him but it remained in the back of his mind to irritate and alarm him.
The boys were courteous and two or three of them were knowledgeable and committed anti-Fascists. Frank had recently joined the Young Communists and Edward knew from Connie that the Duke blamed
Verity for his son’s politics. It was true that she had encouraged his left-wing views and, on a visit to Eton the year before, had light-heartedly suggested he might like to join the Party,
but his burning fervour for the cause was all his own.
They had dinner with Mr Chandler and Devon was also a guest. Edward was unable to ask the housemaster about him but he made a mental note to write to Chandler, if only to ease his fears of the
man’s influence over his nephew. He did, however, when Frank and Verity were deep in conversation with Devon, ask him about
Beyond Bounds
.
‘I was worried, but now I think it was nothing but the usual youthful need to rebel,’ the master said comfortably. ‘Of course, it wasn’t possible to let him write
articles demanding Eton’s abolition on the grounds it encouraged class war, but it was harmless enough. Frank wants a cause and he thinks he’s found it. That’s all.’
Before Edward could pursue the subject, he was swept up by Verity and Frank in a debate on the rights and wrongs of capital punishment. Edward was well aware there was that in his nephew which
struck a spark in Verity he could never strike. It wasn’t anything to do with love though there was, he thought, an erotic element there – and that was natural given they were two
handsome young people with a shared enthusiasm. However, in the end, it wasn’t about sex. It was that Frank’s certainty, his passionate commitment to Communism, bolstered Verity’s
own commitment and that was particularly welcome at moments like this, when she had been badly shaken by events in Spain. Her belief that there was only one right way of viewing the world, and that
was through red spectacles, was sometimes difficult to maintain in the face of Edward’s gentle scepticism. He had been aware that, since her return from Spain, she had been far less certain
of the rightness of the cause and Frank was giving her an injection of adrenalin which was restoring her belief in herself.
Edward assumed it was all for the best but, secretly, he had been hoping that Verity would begin to see Communism more – well, he would say realistically. In his view, the slogans, the
glib generalizations, the parroted opinions of Comrade Stalin were symptoms of the Party’s disregard for individual liberty and frightening contempt for old-fashioned democracy. He sighed and
reached for a cigarette but, intercepting a glance of disapproval from Devon, remembered he was not supposed to smoke in boys’ houses.
It was fortunate that the Duke was away in London – or rather Edward had gone to some trouble to ascertain that his brother
would
be away – when he and
Verity drove down to Mersham Castle on Friday, with a view to borrowing bikes and dropping in on Haling. In the Lagonda Verity had said, ‘You’re sure he won’t be there? I promise
you, the Duke frightens me more than Franco.’
‘But not Connie?’
‘Oh no, she’s a dear but she can make me feel a little guilty, even when I don’t know what I might have done wrong.’
Edward chuckled. ‘She’s a good woman – too good for the likes of us. By the way, talking of Franco, try and make her understand that Frank is just a normal boy kicking against
the sticks. She’s got it into her head that he’s really serious about this Communism thing.’
Verity looked at him doubtfully but, for once, he had his eyes on the road and did not notice. She was going to offer a word of warning but he was already talking about something else.
‘Going back to what you were telling me about Daphne Hepple-Keen, V, I really can’t believe it. I mean, Molly told me quite without my prompting that she was
“fancy-free”. And even if she were lying for some reason, I would never have put money on Hepple-Keen being the one. Carstairs, possibly, but H-K! I doubt it.’
‘Well, I heard he was a bit of a womanizer. On the other hand, Daphne did sound a bit hysterical. It’s possible she’s one of those women who
imagine
their husbands have
lovers.’
As they came to a halt in a shower of gravel in front of Mersham Castle, Verity felt a slight sinking in her stomach. She hoped it was all going to be all right but, just at that moment, she had
a premonition that some unimagined disaster was about to strike them. She made an effort to throw off her fears which she knew were completely illogical and the warmth of Connie’s welcome
quickly put her at her ease. She remembered how well she always slept at Mersham.
The next morning, Edward took a reluctant Verity on a tour of the Mersham stables. She thought he was going to present her with an aged bicycle, awkward to ride and unsuited
to a girl with not very long legs. She was therefore thrilled when Edward produced not a bicycle but a motor bicycle.
‘Gerald’s a friend of Jack Sangster. Know who I mean? He gave him two of these little beauties but my dear brother couldn’t ride a motor bike to save his life. Look! This
one’s pristine, not a speck on it.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Verity said, stroking the shiny leather seat and running her hand down the handlebars and on to the gleaming metal headlight. ‘So, who is this Mr
Sangster, anyway? Father Christmas?’
‘He’s the owner of Triumph and this is his latest masterpiece – the 500cc Speed Twin. Like her? Air-cooled 4-valve OHV pushrod parallel twin. 600rpm and a top speed of . . .
Sangster says ninety, if you can believe it.’
‘Golly, yes I can. It puts the heap of scrap I had to ride in Spain in its place.’
‘Well, I thought I’d take you to Haling on it.’ He patted the machine proprietorially. ‘Connie says it’s all right to borrow it.’
Verity raised her head from her examination of the glittering beauty. ‘You thought what?’
‘I said I thought I’d take you to Haling on this. What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?’
‘I love it but, if you think I’m riding pillion with you, you’re mistaken. I think you said there are two machines. I’ll ride this one and you can ride the other. That is
unless you want to sit behind me.’
‘Oh, I say, V! Gerald wouldn’t like it, don’t y’know. He’d say it ain’t done, dash it.’
Five minutes later, Edward was filling the tanks of both machines, grumbling to himself as he did so.
‘Oh, do stop moaning,’ Verity said crossly. ‘I can’t think what you’re on about. You know, I’m planning to have flying lessons. Now that will be
interesting.’
Edward looked up aghast. The idea of Verity piloting an aeroplane filled him with what he had heard described as a ‘nameless dread’.
As they were ready to depart, Verity suddenly took off her goggles and said, ‘I know! I’m going to take your photograph. You said I should bring my Kodak.’
‘That was to take photos of the evidence,’ Edward said weakly.
‘Bah! What evidence? No, I’m going to take your photograph, so look happy about it.’ She went to the back of her motor cycle and took the camera out of the saddlebag.
At that moment Fenton appeared carrying a parcel of sandwiches and a flask of ginger beer. Seeing what Verity was doing, he stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, miss. Might I . . . ?’
‘Thank you, Fenton.’
‘Oh no, please Verity! I was just thinking how boring I look.’
‘What do you mean, “boring”? You look rather dashing in your leathers. Those boots are very Cecil B. de Mille. You remind me of Mussolini. Doesn’t he you,
Fenton?’
‘Possibly Colonel Lindbergh, miss?’
She examined Edward judiciously. ‘Mmm, I’d say Musso. I mean, look at that jawline . . . ’
‘Verity, stop taking the mickey.’
‘And both of you together?’ Fenton said, having snapped Edward and then Verity leaning nonchalantly against her machine.
‘Why not?’ she agreed and, before Edward could demur, went round and stood with her arms about him as he sat astride his bicycle. Edward started to say something but she stopped him.
‘Do shut up and don’t smile. I always think photographs of people smiling make them look idiotic . . . There, that’ll make your grandchildren laugh.’
‘If I have any! That reminds me: you said you’d show me that photograph of you in Spain, that one your friend took. You were on your motor bike, weren’t you?’
‘That? Oh, I’ll look it out for you. I’ve probably lost it. When you haven’t got a home you tend to lose things.’
He looked at her meditatively. ‘Well, why don’t we . . . ?’
‘Thanks for the sandwiches, Fenton,’ she broke in. ‘Sleuthing can be hungry work. Why did you tell me to bring the Kodak, anyway?’ she said, turning back to Edward.
‘Well, I wanted us to look like tourists and, you never know, we might find something worth photographing at Haling.’
‘Footprints, murder weapons – that sort of thing?’
‘Hardly. Scannon’s been dead a few days now and the police will have found anything of interest. Pride is thorough – one must give him that.’
‘He just doesn’t know how to use the evidence he finds.’
‘Apart from wanting to question Miss Conway, I want to have another look at Molly’s room inside and out.’
‘The Virginia creeper?’
‘Yes. Perhaps I’ve been wrong in assuming Molly was killed by one of the house guests. And I want to ask Pickering to recall in detail what happened that night and see if he will
talk about his master’s death. It must have been a great shock for him.’
‘You are sure he’s still there? I mean, they haven’t closed up the house?’
‘Not yet. You don’t think I would have planned this little expedition without having checked, do you? I got Connie to telephone on the excuse of asking about the funeral. She and
Gerald saw quite a lot of Scannon at one time. Anyway, for the moment at least, the house is still occupied by Ruth Conway and, I suppose, Mrs Scannon. Miss Conway told Connie that none of the
servants have been turned off.’
‘There weren’t very many in the first place.’
‘That’s right. Scannon was tight with his money, no question. The house needs a lot doing to it but, much as he loved the place, he wouldn’t spend the money. Even Connie
remembers hearing that he was letting the house fall into disrepair and we noticed it ourselves.’
‘So who’s the lucky person who gets their hands on the house?’
‘That’s one of the things I want to find out –
cui bono
?’
‘Um, Cui . . . ?’
‘Who benefits. Scannon was rich and I have no idea who his heirs might be.’
For the first time since she had come back from Spain, Verity was totally, mindlessly happy. Between her legs the powerful motor bicycle seemed alive, begging her to open the
throttle and take it beyond the limits of earthbound machines. She accelerated past Edward, ignoring his shouts of protest and alarm, her long scarf streaming out behind her like a pennant.
Crouching low over the handlebars, she watched out of the corner of her eye as the needle on the speedometer flickered around the forty mark and then, in a burst of reckless energy, spun past fifty
towards sixty. The lanes were narrow and the surface uneven but she felt as though the machine was part of her, as much in her contol as her arms and legs. The wind pulled her face into a grin and
suddenly she found herself laughing and then screaming in joy and defiance. She was young, she was alive, she was capable of anything. But then the thought came unbidden into her mind – why
not die like this? Why not hurl herself into that ancient oak beside the road as one of her heroes, Lawrence of Arabia, had died a couple of years before? And then she caught herself. It was
madness. All her doubts and frustrations were making her mad. She must stop, she must think, she must decide – it was not her way to abdicate her responsibilities, her duty. With a wrench,
she slowed her motor bike and then halted altogether. In a moment of disgust with herself, she thrust it from her into the ditch, removed her goggles and stood akimbo waiting for Edward.
At that moment a large car – a Wolseley, she thought – passed her going fast in the opposite direction and taking up most of the road. In a moment of frightening calm she recognized
that had something – some premonition – not made her stop her wild career she would almost certainly have smashed into the car and been killed. What had made her pull back? What power
had checked her? She could not answer. She did not believe in the supernatural but instinctively she knew that she had been spared because she still had work to do. She hugged her secret to herself
in fierce embrace. Then she suddenly thought of Edward again. Where was he? What was taking him so long? Had
he
met the car at speed, perhaps while trying to catch up with her? An icy hand
seemed to grip her heart. She would never forgive herself if she had been responsible for the death of the one man she . . . . Just as she was putting her thoughts into words, Edward came steaming
into view. He stopped beside her, took off his goggles and opened his mouth to speak.
‘Don’t say anything!’ she commanded him. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him with a passion she could not begin to understand. Then, when she took her mouth from
his, still clasping him in her arms, she stared at him, searching his face for some answer to the questions she had been asking herself, unaware of the tears which made channels in the dust that
caked her cheeks.
‘Hey, Verity, what’s all this about?’ Edward said gently. ‘Let me put the bike down. It’s not very comfortable kissing you at this angle.’
‘Damn you, I thought you were dead,’ she said, releasing him.
‘Dead? Oh, you mean that car. It was rather hogging the road but there was plenty of room. I was worried about you though. You were going like the clappers. I say, V, I forgot to ask, do
you have a licence?’