“Nearly.” Jonty smiled, his humour a bit better now than the night before and his wits in no way
dimmed. He knew when attention was being deflected. “We can pick your wonderful new outfit up on the
twenty-seventh, en route to Mama’s. That’s the Wednesday in Holy Week, isn’t it?”
“Put your spectacles on if you can’t see the writing.” Orlando dodged out of the way of the slap which always followed a
glasses
remark.
“I shall stick my spectacles up your backside if you continue to make fun of them. You’ll need them
too one day and then the boot will be well and truly on the other foot. I knew all along about the dates, I was making polite conversation—unlike some people who are satisfied with a grunt and a harrumph.”
Jonty tapped the calendar, as if to prove he could see it perfectly well. He wasn’t going to admit to the fact that it was slightly blurry round the edges. “What I mean is that we’ll only have two and a bit weeks to get ourselves into a reasonable state. There’s precious little time between Easter and the start of next term. Less than we’d counted on.”
“Then we need to have this affair pretty well cracked before we go down to Sussex.” Orlando marked
the days off with his finger. “Seems awful to say it, but for once I won’t be looking forward to seeing your dear mama. Not if it means that we get behind on this case and can’t help Matthew’s friend.”
The use of Ainslie’s Christian name was a novelty—Jonty studied his lover. “Are we softening a bit
in re
Mr. Ainslie? You were noticeably friendlier when we met for lunch that Sunday.”
Charlie Cochrane
“Matthew is a fine man, and now I’m certain that he won’t try any funny business with either of us
I’m quite happy to oblige him. And there’s the thrill of the chase, of course.” Orlando grinned.
Jonty did the same, recognising how much his lover appreciated the challenge of solving a problem
where the outcome really mattered. The higher mathematics was all well and good, but here a man’s life was at stake and that was much more important.
Later, when he thought back on things, Jonty was sure this was the point at which their luck in the
case changed. Maybe the angels were looking down and being kind. Maybe the imminent departure of the
dunderheads to their homes, where they could be feted and spoiled by their mothers and not have to think too hard, allowed the wheels of the universe to move more rapidly. Whatever the cause, the inhabitants of Forsythia Cottage went from having frustratingly little information to receiving a glut of it.
The first item came two days after the police had visited, and was in the form of a letter, written in a bold hand—the postmark suggested Mr. Cartwright. Jonty opened it over breakfast, immediately beginning to read aloud. “
Dear Dr. Coppersmith and Dr. Stewart
—”
“He obviously recognises whom he should address as the superior. Ow!”
“
I am delighted to try to assist you in this case. My wife tells me that you were most gracious to her
when you visited Dorking and that she would be proud for us to be of service to what, you assure her, is an
innocent man.
She was charmed by us, Orlando. It was probably the way I complimented those sponge cakes
. I only wish that our local peelers, if you will excuse so gross a term, were more polite or interested
in what a common man has to say. I’m confident that you’ll find it of interest.
”
“Of course we will—get on with it, Jonty.”
“
I’m glad to have had a while to think things through. When I first considered that night, I believed
that I saw one man visiting; now I remember that there were two
.”
“Well there’s something to get our teeth into at last.”
“
Let me be as plain as I can. At about eleven o’clock I’d got up to let our old spaniel out for a few
minutes to do what was necessary, if you’ll excuse the expression. There was a young man coming down
the drive, walking very briskly. He passed me by without a word and set off towards the town. I thought
little of it at the time, being used to all sorts of comings and goings at the House and having been sure I
heard this man arrive earlier, when I was finishing my pipe. That gravel path is very useful for keeping you
abreast of who’s around
.”
“Can’t you read a bit faster? Shall I fetch your strongest spectacles?”
“I’ll go slower now.
I. Went. Back. To. Bed
. Oof! That was unfair. In boxing you’d forfeit the round for a low blow.
And I now recall that I’d heard someone else coming up the drive about an hour before this
man I saw; it was when I was reading the newspaper, although I only was aware of one of them leaving. I’d
forgotten all about the first man, me being such a chump, if you’ll excuse my coarseness. It sounded like he
had a limp. There was something halt about the way he crunched over the gravel, anyway
.”
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Lessons in Power
“This is more like it, Jonty. Something positive to go on.”
“
I didn’t hear him return, but it might have happened when I was asleep of course. I have no idea
whether this is related to the murder. You’re more learned than I am and I’m sure you can work it out
. And that’s all there is. Apart from some good wishes, an offer of further help and the usual pleasantries.” Jonty laid the letter down on the table, disappointed.
“It’s good stuff as far as it goes.” Orlando picked up the correspondence to peruse it. “There seems
nothing hole-and-corner about the people who are coming and going, walking bold as brass past that lodge rather than inching through the shrubbery. Which possibly fits in with the victim knowing, or at least being at ease with, his murderer. You don’t let your enemy round the back of you with a poker.”
“You might let Angela Stafford get close, though.” Jonty hated to say it, but there was something to
be said for Orlando’s pet theory.
“No, I’ve been thinking about that some more. Jardine would have likely as not mistrusted her. He’d
have suspected she was out for revenge. Unless she tried to, um—” Orlando fiddled with the letter, “—
butter him up.”
“Is ‘butter him up’ a euphemism for ‘seduce’? Still, it’s a good point. Unless he was overpowered in
some other way first, and then the poker applied.”
Orlando shrugged, eloquently. They didn’t know enough and there was no point speculating. “I’m
sure this must work in Stafford’s favour. I don’t think that he has a limp—Matthew will be able to tell us.”
“Irrespective of whether Stafford possesses a gammy leg, I can think of someone who has, or did
have.”
“Not that chap your mother invited to dinner? I won’t believe in such a coincidence.”
“No, chump. Anyway, I shan’t play the three guesses game, as my heart’s not in it. If you want
someone a bit halt in one leg, look no further than my old housemaster, Rhodes. Seeing Rex limping that evening triggered my memory and got me all upset. On top of the thunder and all…” Jonty’s voice trailed away.
Orlando turned the subject to Mr. Cartwright’s unique writing style.
The second piece of enlightenment came in the form of a telephone call from Collingwood, returning
one he’d had from Coppersmith in the wake of Cartwright’s letter. The harsh ringing of the bell found the fellows busily trying to tie up all the loose ends of the Lent term and preparing for the Easter, especially Orlando, who had a potential Senior Wrangler among his usual dimwits.
According to the solicitor, Alistair Stafford was still assuring all and sundry that he’d not gone to Dorking the night of the murder. He’d pointed out that if he’d taken his horse, as he would have been obliged to do in order to cover the distance, he’d not have needed to walk up the drive. And, of course, he’d been incapable of killing Taylor—of whom he vowed he had no knowledge—being incarcerated at the
time.
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Charlie Cochrane
“Collingwood also said that Angela Stafford has no alibi for the second murder, although no motive
either.” There was a note of glee in Orlando’s voice, as he related the conversation to his lover. “Her alibi for the first one is apparently unshakable, so I suppose she has to be eliminated from all sensible enquiry.”
“Unless we find ourselves in the midst of some farfetched shilling shocker where the most unlikely
chain of events occur.” Jonty raised his hand to end the debate. “And please don’t remind me that I’m the one who doesn’t trust alibis. I wish I’d never confessed to it. Is there any more about Taylor?”
“Collingwood’s contacts say the man went out the night before he was killed, although no one seems
to know where.”
“I only hope he was meeting someone with a ruddy limp.”
Jonty rang his father during the evening, when Orlando was out at his bridge club. He’d been mulling
things over all day and had come to a momentous decision—although he didn’t want his lover involved,
just yet.
Once the case was fully explained, Richard Stewart was quite clear about what was required, not least in terms of the delicacy which surrounded things. Jonty swore his father not to reveal to anyone else the names he’d been given, although now, with two of the men dead, he supposed there was little point in
keeping the identities of his abusers hidden.
After making his papa swear he wouldn’t go in pursuit of Rhodes, Jonty came to the crux of his call.
“Do you think there might be any evidence that other boys suffered at the hands of this evil triumvirate? It would probably be before my time, or maybe concurrent with it. Aren’t you all pally with the present
Headmaster?”
“He’s a good man. Do you want me to question him?” The excitement in Mr. Stewart’s voice was
evident, even down the crackling phone line.
“If you would. You could find out whether he had any lingering suspicions about what went on under
his predecessor. Wasn’t he a master when I was there? I vaguely remember the name.”
“Dr. Barrington? He was. He’s probably got an inkling or two to be shared. As long, no doubt, as no
cloud gets spread over the present day school.” Old bloodhound Stewart was delighted to be given such an important assignment. “Give me a day or two and I’ll report back.”
The call came, full of juicy information, to the cottage the day before Orlando’s departure for his
supposed conclave. “Jonty?” Mr. Stewart’s voice boomed down the line.
“No need to shout, Papa, it’s a telephone, not a megaphone.”
“Safe to talk?”
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Lessons in Power
“Yes.
He’s
had to go to Bride’s to see Dr. Peters about one of the students. What’s the news?”
“The news is that you were quite right. Dr. Barrington says there were several boys he’d been
concerned about, and one of them was indeed the lad who was killed in that so-called accident. Barrington was only a young master at the time, yet he’d been deeply troubled. The other teachers and the Headmaster had fobbed him off with the usual nonsense.
Nothing suspicious in it at all. Such a terrible tragedy,
Nicholls falling onto such a sharp blade
, but he’d not been convinced. He’d guessed the lad in question might have been intensely unhappy and something had driven him to take his own life.”
“Could he put a name to it?” Jonty slid into the small chair they kept in the hall. He felt cold, colder than he’d have been outside in the brisk East Anglian wind.
“Not at the time. Later he understood what could go on at boarding schools and then the penny
dropped. However, as you know, Jardine and Taylor weren’t at the school at the time of Nicholls’ alleged suicide, so they couldn’t have been to blame. That beast Rhodes was there, though, and the boy was in his house. He was said to be friendly with the lad’s family.”
“Did you…” The knot in Jonty’s throat made every word agony.
“No. I just said I was concerned with events which might have sullied what, after all, was
my
old school too. If Barrington knew about what happened to you he didn’t show any sign of it. He did talk about a second boy, though, another one in Rhodes’s house. He’d been withdrawn by his mother with much
shouting in the Head’s study and letters to the governing body, apparently. I think you must have been at the school then, although the boy’s name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Did Barrington do anything on that occasion?” Jonty wanted to rail against anyone who stood by and
let the innocent suffer. All hell’s demons were not enough for them.
“He told me he wanted to, and I believe him. But he came down with bloody—don’t you dare tell
your mother I swore—appendicitis, had an operation, ended up with complications and was in
convalescence for over a year. By the time he returned, everything had been smoothed over and none of it had been made public. After you left, he was appointed Headmaster by a radicalised governing body who wanted a younger man at the helm. One who would sweep the rats from the deepest decks of this once
noble ship. It was then he found out that a payment had been made to this second lad’s family, a bribe to ensure they kept silent, no doubt, though the source of the money hadn’t been school coffers.”
“Whew.” Jonty whistled down the phone, almost deafening his father in the process.
“Manners, Jonty! What would your mama say? Anyway Barrington swept away the rats, including
Rhodes. More importantly for your investigation, he gave me that other lad’s name. Simon Kermode.”
“Papa, you’re a marvel.”
He was better than that. Mr. Stewart had even, and how he’d managed it his son never fathomed,
obtained an address for Kermode in Norwich, which was a nice easy run from Cambridge. Jonty felt