The Mystery at Underwood House (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) (5 page)

The house in which Ursula Haynes lived was at the end of a quiet lane not far from the railway station. A gleaming white construction with a modern, featureless aspect, it perched uncomfortably among the lush shrubbery and well-tended lawns that sloped gently down to the river some hundred or so yards away.

Mrs. Marchmont was admitted by an unsmiling parlourmaid into a stark, pale entrance hall that gave little indication of its owner’s personality, since it contained almost no furniture and no knick-knacks or ornaments of any kind. Angela was eyeing a spindly tubular chair doubtfully and pondering whether or not to risk sitting on it, when she heard footsteps approaching from above.

‘
Mrs. Marchmont,’ said an imperious voice. ‘I am Ursula Haynes.’

Angela squinted upwards, but the bright sunlight shining in through a window on the half-landing prevented her from seeing anything but a straight, slim shadow. There was a long silence, then the figure descended and its face came into view. Angela’s first impression was one of absolute rigidity. Ursula Haynes was of only average height, yet she carried herself so upright that she seemed rather taller than she really was. Her figure was spare and her face cold and unsmiling. Her short hair, which was black with streaks of iron-grey, was in perfect order, and her dress, although elegant, was similarly severe in its tailoring. Altogether, it looked as though not one molecule had been wasted in her construction.

Mrs. Haynes scrutinized her visitor for a second, then held out her hand and unbent so far as to permit herself a small smile.

‘
So John and Louisa have finally admitted that this affair requires investigation,’ she said. ‘But of course it would have appeared most odd had they refused to cooperate. That must be why they have asked a friend to look into it, rather than engaging a detective with no connection to the family.’

In spite of her expressed dislike of being described as a detective, Angela was stung.

‘
I assure you that I have not been asked to take sides, if that is what you mean,’ she said. ‘I am approaching the inquiry as objectively as anyone can do in my position. I have no wish to protect the guilty party—if indeed there
is
a guilty party.’

Ursula clicked her tongue impatiently.

‘
Of course there is a guilty party,’ she said. ‘Only a fool could imagine that three deaths in similar circumstances in the space of a year were mere unfortunate accidents. But Louisa was always—well, never mind. Please come this way.’ She turned and led the way into a large, square drawing-room that was as sparsely furnished as the hall. ‘Do sit.’

Angela, feeling rather as though she were back at school and being examined on her French grammar by a particularly dour mistress, sat gingerly on the edge of the least delicate-looking chair she could find. It had a sloping seat and a slippery cover, and some effort was required to avoid sliding off it and onto the floor. The room had large windows that looked out onto the garden and the river, and again Angela was struck by the contrast between the house and its situation.

Ursula sat bolt upright with her hands folded neatly in her lap, and looked at her visitor expectantly. She was clearly waiting for Angela to begin, and offered no opening.

‘
Is she intending to make me feel at a disadvantage?’ said Angela to herself. ‘If so, she’s making a jolly good job of it.’ Determined not to admit defeat, she said out loud, ‘Tell me why you believe your husband’s death was not an accident.’

‘
Of course it wasn’t an accident,’ said Ursula. ‘There’s no “believe” about it. Mrs. Marchmont, my husband was a milksop. He hated the outdoors and would never have dreamed of getting into a boat, least of all on a winter’s night while wearing his evening things.’

Angela raised her eyebrows at the description.

‘
I see,’ she said. ‘Then what do you think happened?’

‘
It’s perfectly obvious what happened. Somebody knocked him out, then bundled him into the rowing-boat and tipped him overboard in the middle of the lake. He couldn’t swim, and so he  drowned. Whether or not he regained consciousness before he died I cannot say. I can only hope he was unaware of what was happening to him.’

She might have been placing an order with the butcher, so dispassionate was her manner as she spoke.

‘
You communicated your suspicions to the police, I believe,’ said Angela.

Ursula bristled.

‘
I did, but I might as well have saved myself the time and trouble. Simpletons, every one of them—incapable of seeing the obvious even when it is dangled in front of their noses.’

‘
But I understood they looked into the matter. Surely they must have thought there was something in your theory, in that case?’

‘
Not at all. I have no doubt that they would much rather I had gone away and forgotten all about it. But I had no intention of doing so.’ A thin smile played briefly about her lips. ‘Let us say that the inquiry had to do less with conviction on their part than with the fact that I made myself somewhat objectionable until they did as I wished.’

It was the first glimpse of humour Angela had seen in her, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Ursula went on:

‘
I imagine you are aware that the inquest returned an open verdict. I should advise you to disregard that. A lack of evidence does not mean that there is nothing to find.’

Angela acknowledged the point.

‘
When did you first suspect that the deaths of Philippa and Winifred may not have been all they seemed?’ she asked. ‘Was it before your husband died?’

‘
Oh, I make no claims to cleverness in that regard. Like everyone else, I thought that Philippa’s death was perfectly natural and that Winifred had met with an unfortunate accident—which was, moreover, quite in character. It was only when my husband was killed that I started to look with suspicion on the events of the previous two gatherings.’

‘
What is your theory, then?’

‘
I am not an expert, of course, but I do know that Philippa had been taking digitalin for her heart for many years, and that she was very careless in leaving bottles of the stuff lying about all over the house—she was always complaining that she could not find it. Now, everybody knows that it is necessary to be extremely careful with digitalin, since when taken to excess it is a deadly poison. What could be more simple, then, than for a person of malicious intent to procure some of her medicine and put it in her food or drink?’

‘
But I seem to remember hearing that digitalin has a very bitter flavour. Wouldn’t she have tasted it?’ Angela stopped as she dimly remembered something that Louisa had said. What was it? Something about Philippa’s having complained about the dinner that night.

‘
I have no idea,’ said Ursula. ‘As I said, I am not an expert.’

‘
So presumably you are also of the view that Winifred did not fall over the balustrade accidentally, but was pushed.’

Ursula bowed her head.

‘
Winifred was a very silly creature,’ she said, ‘but having reflected, I have come to the conclusion that even she was not such a fool as to lean out far enough to topple over.’

‘
But I tried it myself, and was worried that I might fall.’

‘
You are a tall woman,’ said Ursula. ‘Winifred was not more than five feet one or two. She would have to have been balancing precariously on her stomach with her feet off the floor in order to fall accidentally.’

This was a point that Angela had not considered.

‘
Then you think that someone pushed her while she was reaching out?’ she said.

‘
Or, more likely, that they grabbed her by the ankles and simply tipped her over. Nothing could be easier. She wouldn’t necessarily even have seen who did it.’

‘
Who
did
do it, in your opinion?’

Ursula rose suddenly to her feet and thrust her face malevolently towards Angela.

‘
Look for the motive,’ she hissed.

‘
I—,’ began Angela, taken aback.

‘
Who had the most reason to kill them? Not I—Edward’s death was to my disadvantage and my son’s, as we lost five thousand pounds by it. The same goes for Susan, since her mother left her nothing. Who benefits? Who? Mrs. Marchmont, go back to Underwood House and find out:
what is John Haynes hiding
?’

A dumbfounded Angela was saved the necessity of replying by the entrance of a young man with a sulky expression, who stopped short when he saw her.

‘
I beg your pardon,’ he said, and looked questioningly towards Ursula.

‘
Robin,’ said Ursula, ‘this is Mrs. Marchmont. She is a friend of Louisa’s. You will remember I told you about her. Mrs. Marchmont, this is my son, Robin.’ She had regained her normal frigid poise, as though nothing had happened.

Robin Haynes held out his hand and narrowed his eyes warily. Angela had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being examined and classified like an unfamiliar species of moth or beetle. Apparently the result of the study was satisfactory, for his face lengthened into something akin to a smile.

‘
Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘the lady detective. We shall all have to be very careful not to incriminate ourselves.’

Despite his joking manner, there was something forced in his tone and Angela studied the young man, curious to see what kind of son Ursula had produced. Robin Haynes had a puny, under-nourished look about him and a mouth that turned down at the corners, as though a complaint hovered perpetually on the tip of his tongue. With a head of sleek, dark hair which as yet had no silver in it, he bore a striking physical resemblance to his mother, but unlike Ursula, who easily dominated the room with her presence, he seemed to cultivate a deliberate shrinking insignificance that would make him easy to overlook if he wished it.

‘
I shall leave you to question my son alone,’ said Ursula, and departed. Robin cast a glance after her as she left and relaxed visibly.

‘
What has she been saying to you?’ he asked abruptly.

‘
Your mother has been telling me about her suspicions,’ replied Angela. ‘She believes that your father’s death was murder. What do you think?’

Robin bridled at the direct question.

‘
Well, really,’ he said, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Mother is usually right in these things, though, so I dare say she has good reason for saying it.’

‘
Do you agree that it was out of character for him to go out on the lake?’

‘
How should I know? If everyone says so then it must be true. I haven’t given the matter much thought.’

‘
I understand he was unable to swim.’

‘
That’s what Mother said. I dare say she’s right.’

‘
Does he have an opinion of his own?’ said Angela to herself. Aloud, she went on: ‘Did you see him go out that night?’

‘
Yes, of course. We all did.’

‘
Did you know he had left the house?’

‘
No, I hadn’t the slightest idea of it.’

‘
Did you go outside yourself that evening?’

‘
Go outdoors in the middle of the night in February? Not I!’

‘
Very well,’ said Angela, seeing that he could not or would not say anything about his father’s death, ‘I am also trying to find out what happened to Philippa and Winifred. According to Louisa, when Winifred fell over the balustrade and everybody rushed into the hall, you and Donald Haynes arrived on the scene first—indeed, you were found bending over the body.’

Robin inhaled sharply and glared at her.

‘
And if I was? What are you suggesting? She was my aunt. Why shouldn’t I tend to her when she had just suffered a terrible accident? Anyone would have done the same.’

‘
Oh dear, I seem to have started off rather badly,’ thought Angela. ‘Forgive me,’ she said to Robin. ‘I expressed myself clumsily just then. I merely wanted to know whether you saw what happened.’

‘
No, I didn’t see what happened. Nobody did, as far as I know.’

‘
Where were you when she fell?’

He waved a hand.

‘
Somewhere about. I can’t remember.’

‘
Are you sure of that? Presumably you heard her fall, or you would not have run to her as quickly as you did. Try and think, Mr. Haynes.’

‘
Well then, I suppose I was in the library. Yes—yes, that’s where I was.’

‘
And you heard a cry and the sound of something landing heavily?’

He winced and nodded.

‘
Yes. She was lying on the floor. When I knelt over her I saw that her head was at a funny angle. I could see immediately that there was nothing to be done. I have delicate nerves, and I’m afraid I was rather sick.’