The Murders of Richard III (23 page)

“The jokes were not the only unusual factors in this meeting of the society. There was also the famous letter. It was possible that the letter and the jokes were not connected; but I felt justified in assuming, as a working hypothesis, that one had led to the other.

“Whether the letter was false or genuine, it was valuable. We discussed that angle before.” She looked at Strangways, who nodded. “The motive of the criminal joker, in that case, was profit. He meant to steal the letter and hold it for ransom.

“But surely, if that was the case, the jokes defeated
the thief's aim. It would have been comparatively simple to sneak up on an unsuspecting Sir Richard while he was gloating over the letter, bang him on the head, and take the prize. The preliminary jokes made all of us, especially Sir Richard, wary and suspicious.

“The letter might have instigated the jokes in another way. If the criminal was a fanatical anti-Ricardian, he might wish to destroy evidence favorable to Richard. I know it seems incredible that anyone would go to such lengths for such a trivial purpose, but believe me, scholars are capable of insanities much more peculiar than that one. However, it was virtually certain that the joker was a member of the house party, and the only guest who opposed Richard was Mr. Strangways.”

“Well?” Thomas said belligerently. “Why not Strangways?”

The maligned American grinned broadly. Jacqueline shook her head.

“Mr. Strangways is perfectly capable of playing nasty tricks,” she said sweetly. “But he is not stupid. If he had wanted to steal the letter, he would not have played the tricks, for he would have seen the objection I raised in the first case. He certainly is too intelligent to continue a career of crime after being unmasked. If the letter disappeared, he would be the prime suspect.

“No; I could not believe that the tricks were perpetrated by a criminal who wanted to steal the letter, for whatever reason. They were senseless. A thief would have a better chance of success without them.

“I felt from the first that the appearance of the letter was suspiciously fortuitous. Suppose the letter was a forgery. What did it accomplish? First, it brought the members of the committee here, into a setting appropriate for the staging of the jokes. Then letter and jokes might both be elements in a complex plot.

“What plot? What was its aim, and what was its planned culmination? One answer—to discredit Richard and Ricardians. A fake letter and a series of embarrassing incidents would certainly do that. But again we return to the fact that only a confirmed anti-Ricardian would plan such strategy, and that the joker had to be a member of the house party.”

Thomas cleared his throat. Jacqueline followed his glance. This time she gave the grinning Strangways a faint smile.

“You forget, Thomas, that by this time I was reasonably certain of the criminal's identity. Moreover, Mr. Strangways is the only guest who had no control over the arrangements for the meeting. The complexity of the jokes meant that
they had to be planned well in advance. It wouldn't be hard for a member of the committee to unobtrusively manipulate his fellow members into accepting the idea of costumes and role playing; other amateur historical societies do it all the time. The comedian had to know, not only what roles you were playing, but your personal idiosyncracies. I couldn't imagine an outsider managing the business.

“So,” Jacqueline continued, “I was left, finally, with a possibility that had haunted my low cynical mind from the first—that the jokes were misdirection, planned to distract witnesses from an act of violence against one of the persons here.

“I loved the idea,” Jacqueline said dreamily. “It was beautiful. You are all familiar with the classic mystery-novel ploy of a series of murders designed to conceal the motive for one particular killing. But really, it is not a very practical method of committing a crime. As soon as the first murder occurs…”

She indicated the constable at the door, who promptly blushed—and with reason, for he had forgotten official dignity as he got interested in her lecture, and was leaning over the back of the nearest chair.

“As soon as a murder is committed, the police are called in,” Jacqueline said. “The whole sophisticated
apparatus of crime detection comes into play. Not even a madman would keep on committing murders when the house is swarming with police. If our criminal planned to kill, he couldn't hope to conceal his crime among a series of killings; the first murder would be the last. But he could carry out a series of nonfatal jokes and be sure, knowing his fellow Ricardians as he did, that official interference would not be tolerated so long as no one was seriously hurt. When someone was hurt or killed, the police would be summoned and the jokes would end; but the fatality would seem to be only a joke gone wrong, one of a series of baffling incidents rather than a cold-blooded murder. I knew then that the crime would be the last of the jokes—”

“Wait a minute,” Strangways said. “Your theory, if I may say so, has so many holes, it leaks like a colander. To begin with, Philip was seriously hurt. If he had insisted on calling the police…”

Jacqueline inspected him coldly over the rims of her glasses. “But he wouldn't do that,” she said. “Would you, Philip?”

“No,” the actor said wryly. “Apparently my little foibles are no secret.”

“Frank didn't mean to hit you so hard,” Jacqueline
said consolingly. “He got carried away. You must admit you had been irritating.”

“So you decided that the murder—if there was to be a murder—would be the last of the jokes,” Strangways said. “So what? You couldn't know ahead of time where the comedian meant to stop.”

“It is true that that particular deduction told me very little,” Jacqueline said with freezing dignity. “But I had already decided that Sir Richard might be the intended victim. For in a sense, Richard the Third was the last of this cast of characters to die a violent death. The others all survived into the next act. Shakespeare never wrote that play.”

Strangways muttered something that sounded like “fanciful.” But he didn't say it aloud, and Jacqueline did not take up the gauntlet.

“Now I'm going to anticipate Thomas's objection,” she said briskly. “I can see it smoldering in his eagle eye. ‘The best-laid plans of murderers go oft a-gley'—whatever that means. Perhaps one of the jokes was meant to be a fatal one, but it misfired. Is that what you were thinking, Thomas?”

“Forget it. I can see the counterarguments. The comedian had plenty of time to correct a mistake. He must have known I was still breathing when he put me in the barrel. Percy had a mild dose of
the drug, and Rawdon's emetic couldn't possibly kill him. Furthermore, the plaster heads show that the joker had planned to continue through the ‘deaths' of Hastings and Buckingham. He wouldn't have bothered with the heads if he planned to commit a murder before that. Murder would mean the police, and a thorough search of the house and grounds.”

“It seems to me you are still on shaky ground,” Strangways said. “You have postulated a murder—on somewhat vague evidence—and decided that none of the victims of the jokes was the potential murderee. That still leaves a number of possibilities—all the women, Mr. Ellis—and me.”

“Oh, I considered you,” Jacqueline murmured. “You'd be a splendid murderee.”

“Hmmm. Then—”

“No one knew your identity until Saturday night,” Jacqueline pointed out, in the mildest of voices. “How could anyone plan to kill you when they didn't know you would be here?”

Strangways did not reply.

“Of course the others were potential victims. But—Frank as the villain and Sir Richard as the victim—why, the motive practically hit me in the face. Not paranoia or historical mania, but two of the most comprehensible, commonplace motives
for murder. Lust,” said Jacqueline with relish. “Lust and greed.

“As Thomas has reiterated, Sir Richard is an extremely rich man. The Ponsonby-Joneses are his only relatives. Who else would inherit his fortune? And who would know the contents of his will better than a member of the firm of solicitors Sir Richard employs?

“True, for all I knew, Sir Richard might have left his millions to animal shelters, or to a foundation perpetuating the memory of King Richard the Third. He doesn't think much of young Percy. But his kindness and patience toward Percy's mother are manifest. He wouldn't leave her in need after his death. His feelings for Liz—”

Jacqueline paused, glancing at the girl. Liz rose.

“You'll be able to discuss it more comfortably if I'm not here,” she said. “No, it's quite all right; I was about to go in any case. I'm going to Richard.”

She walked slowly to the door and went out.

Thomas was struck rather painfully by the change in the girl. Even in old-fashioned robes she had been alert and alive, vibrant with health. The events of the past days might explain some of her pallor and her new air of fragility; but Thomas felt as if a ghost had passed. When the door closed, he turned to Jacqueline.

“Is she in love with Weldon, or with the reincarnation of Richard the Third? I'm not sure I like this.”

“I'm sure I don't like it,” Philip murmured. “But there's nothing I can do about it. Never mind, Thomas; they will always be united by their mutual passion for a dead man.”

The rector made a little sound of distress.

“They'll do as well as most couples,” Kent said callously. “Ridiculous business, marriage…At least young Frank had wits enough to fall in love with a girl who had expectations.”

“Oh, he's a practical fellow,” Jacqueline agreed. “He loves her—if you can call it love—but I'm sure her attractions were not lessened by Frank's discovery that Liz would inherit a sizable fortune. I don't suppose he thought of murder immediately. As Liz's husband he could expect to profit, financially and professionally, from Sir Richard's fondness for the girl.

“Then, at your last meeting, he realized that fondness was not the right word. The villagers are gossiping now about Sir Richard and Liz. Frank could hardly have missed seeing how Sir Richard felt, or the fact that Liz was beginning to reciprocate. He realized that he stood to lose, not
only the girl he wanted, but the money he hoped to get with her.

“Liz and Sir Richard would have come to an understanding much earlier if it had not been for Sir Richard's modesty and the determined pushing of Liz's mother. Liz would violently resent her mother's attempts to promote a ‘good' marriage. Oh, yes,” she added, smiling at Thomas. “You thought Mrs. P.-J. was after Sir Richard for herself, didn't you? She's stupid, but she's not that stupid. Her hostility toward Lady Isobel—who was unfortunately naive enough to think she had a chance with Sir Richard—was on Liz's behalf. My dear man, the signs were plain to see! Do you remember our discussion about the dress Elizabeth of York wore to the Christmas party? Women know the importance of clothes. Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones supplies her daughter's wardrobe. And the costumes Liz wore were lovely, not cheap, ill-fitting things from a costumer's stock, but made for her out of expensive fabric, by her mother.

“Liz is Sir Richard's second cousin once removed, or something of the sort; the relationship is not close enough to matter. Mrs. P.-J. must have been ecstatic when she realized Sir Richard loved her daughter. Even if she had approved of Frank, she would have dumped him ruthlessly in favor
of a match with a titled millionaire. What mum wouldn't? And maybe there is something to the baloney about maternal instinct. There are a few unsavory stories about young Frank's habits with money….”

Thomas glanced at Philip. The actor didn't look at him; he continued to watch Jacqueline, with an amused smile on his long mobile lips.

“When Frank realized the position, he must have considered alternatives,” Jacqueline continued. “He might have talked Liz into a hasty marriage. But that wouldn't solve his problem. Marriages are easily dissolved these days. Sir Richard might marry and produce children…. Frank saw there was only one sure way of getting the two things he wanted—Liz and a fortune. The death of Sir Richard seemed a ludicrously easy solution.

“As a lawyer, Frank knew quite well that if Sir Richard died by violence, the first people the police would investigate were Sir Richard's heirs. The murder had to be very carefully planned. As the enthusiastic Ricardian debate raged around him, Frank began to see the outlines of his plot.

“He forged the famous letter. It is not as difficult as you might suppose to produce a convincing fake. Genuine parchment can be obtained, from specialty shops, and the method of aging it
is described in several books. I can give you the references if you—”

“Never mind,” Thomas said resignedly. “I believe you.”

“As for the content of the letter, that was equally simple. Buck gives a summary of it in his book, and we have genuine letters of the period, including letters written by Richard himself. These provided Frank with models for the correct phrasing, spelling, and so on. He found everything he needed right here, in Sir Richard's library, including technical volumes of manuscript authentication, and a copy of the rare Kennett
History of England,
which includes Buck's work. As Liz's fiancé and a loyal Ricardian, Frank could work in the library whenever he liked.

“Remember that the letter was never intended to pass expert scrutiny. In this case Sir Richard was not an expert; his critical sense was dulled by his desire to believe in the letter, and the sentences Frank added exculpating Richard—probably on a second sheet of parchment, so that Weldon would believe it had been overlooked by Buck—made Weldon's acceptance virtually certain. Frank never meant an outsider to see the letter. It would be destroyed at the time of the murder, not only to eliminate any possibility of its
being traced back to him, but also to confuse the motive.”