The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) (22 page)

The judge’s luncheon must have been a good one, for when proceedings resumed, after some consultation among all the parties involved, he announced that having reflected on the particularities of the case from all sides, he had concluded that there was quite evidently no need to continue, and without further ado directed the jury to acquit. At that the public gallery burst into cheers, and Freddy and Kathie clutched at one another in relief. There would be various formalities to complete, of course, but Angela was a free woman, acquitted of all charges against her. When the excitement had died down Freddy ran off to submit a triumphant thousand words to the
Clarion
in time for the evening edition, while Kathie hurried to find a telephone box to tell her husband the good news. Sir Benjamin and Mr. Travers shook hands and perhaps exchanged knowing glances, while the public straggled out slowly, all agreeing that the whole thing had been marvellously thrilling and much better than going to the theatre.

Only Angela, standing dazed in the dock, appeared anything less than happy at what had just happened. She had heard the judge’s words and knew she ought to be enormously relieved. In reality she felt nothing, for it seemed to her now that her troubles had only just begun and that she was as much alone as ever. On this last point she was wrong, however, for when she finally emerged into the street some time later, expecting to have to seek a taxi, she stopped short as she found William and Marthe waiting patiently with the Bentley to take her home. William opened the door as soon as he saw her and she stepped in. The journey took place in silence, since they all knew it was hardly a moment for celebration—although Angela still had no idea of the part the others had played in her release. There was, of course, no further mention of their dismissal, nor would there be at any other time, for there was no question of their leaving her alone.

When they arrived at Mount Street Angela said nothing but shut herself immediately in her bedroom, got into bed and curled up as tightly as she could under the bedclothes, in a vain attempt to shut out the grief and the pain and the guilt and the self-reproach, which all seemed to scream in her ears at once and threatened to overwhelm her completely.
What had she done?
The thought tormented her, would not let her alone. This was perhaps her lowest moment since the whole thing had begun, and she knew not how to overcome the despair. Sleep: that was what she needed. She had slept little since her arrest, and she knew it had affected her ability to think. She lay quietly, willing sleep to come and take her away from the world, but it was many hours before she at last drifted off, and when she dreamed her dreams were dark ones.

Angela remained in bed all that day and half the next. After that, in perhaps as great a feat of strength as she would ever manage, she rose and dressed herself, for she knew she could not hide from the world forever—and besides, there were things to be done. She then emerged from her bedroom and demanded her post, for all the world as though nothing had happened. Marthe had been wringing her hands outside the door since they had got home, and now she fussed about her mistress and urged Madame to eat something, for she must look after herself. Angela was not at all hungry, but she accepted some tea and toast to satisfy Marthe. After she had dealt with the most urgent letters, she summoned Freddy, who presented himself speedily. She waved away his inquiries, and said:

‘I understand from Marthe that I have the three of you to thank for my acquittal.’

‘Oh, I say,’ said Freddy uncomfortably, for he was by no means sure that he had done the right thing, given how it had all turned out.

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t seem particularly joyful about it,’ said Angela. ‘All things considered, I think I should have preferred to rely on the goodwill of the jury rather than engage in bare-faced perjury, but please don’t suppose for a moment that I’m not grateful for what you did.’

‘They’d have found you guilty,’ said Freddy. ‘You know they would. And we wouldn’t be here talking now.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘Of course I realize that. I only wish—’

She seemed to want to go on, but could not find the words, could not bring herself to mention his name.

‘I’m so terribly sorry, Angela,’ said Freddy in a rush. ‘I had no idea he was going to say what he did. He said you were right not to rely on him for an alibi, but I thought he might have some other evidence he wasn’t telling us about. I didn’t realize he was going to confess to the whole thing.’

‘No, and that is what I wanted to talk to you about. We must find out who killed Davie.’

‘What do you mean? We know who killed him.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Freddy,’ said Angela. ‘Of course he didn’t do it. It was all a lie.’

Freddy stared at her in dismay.

‘But the gun—’

‘I gave him the gun myself on the night of Davie’s death. He said he was in danger so I insisted he take it for his own protection. We came back here at a quarter to seven that morning, I gave him the gun and he went away and then I found Davie.’

‘But he said he killed Davie at about ten o’clock. He might have done it and then come to the White Rabbit Ball afterwards. It was after eleven when I saw you together.’

‘No,’ said Angela. ‘He didn’t know where the gun was kept. He said twice in court that the gun was in the top drawer. But I always kept it in the second drawer. He said it was in the top one because that’s where I found it when I gave it to him. I didn’t notice at the time, but somebody had obviously put it there by mistake—presumably the killer. Edgar didn’t do it, Freddy, I’d swear to it.’

‘But then why did he say he did?’

‘To save me,’ she said.

Freddy regarded her pityingly.

‘He’s not a good man, Angela,’ he said at last.

She turned her head away, but her voice was as steady as ever.

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I always knew it, although I didn’t know quite how bad he was. You don’t need to tell me how stupid I’ve been, because I’m perfectly aware of it. But now that I know everything, I won’t be under an obligation to him. We must find out who really killed Davie and bring him to justice.’

‘But then they’ll know that you lied in court and put you back in prison.’

‘That can’t be helped,’ said Angela. ‘My reputation can’t get any worse, but at any rate I’m still alive. I have that to thank him for, at least. You will help me, won’t you?’

Freddy agreed, and marvelled at Angela’s self-possession in the face of what must have been a devastating blow. As for Angela, she had never needed that self-possession more than she did now. She had summoned up all her strength and forced herself to remember that things might have been so much worse, for she might easily have been sent to the gallows for a crime she had not committed. Now she was free. There still remained a wrong that had to be righted, however, and since the law had no interest in doing it she would have to do it herself. There was no hope for Edgar Valencourt; he had committed a dreadful crime and would hang for it, but that had nothing to do with her, and she would not allow him to take another crime upon himself and die in her name. She would find the person who had really killed her husband, inform the police and then retire somewhere to lick her wounds in private—if they would let her. Now she turned her mind to practicalities.

‘How did you get on at the White Star offices?’ she said.

In all the excitement Freddy had almost completely forgotten his investigations of two weeks earlier. He felt in his pocket for his notebook.

‘I did manage to get a list of names out of them,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you see anyone you recognize?’

Angela looked at the list and shook her head.

‘Davie didn’t usually introduce his women to me,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, it rather looks as though we’re back where we started.’

‘Never say die,’ said Freddy. ‘And that’s never been truer than now. The
Homeric
is due to dock in three days. I shall go back and speak to my White Star friend and ask him for the address of the first-class steward. If he remembers Davie he might also be able to tell us something of the people he spoke to on board. But Angela,
you’re
more likely than anyone else to hold the clue to all this, don’t you think? You spoke to him several times before he died. Didn’t he say anything to you that seemed odd?’

Angela thought back to the day on which Davie had turned up on her doorstep while she was with Edgar Valencourt. Their conversation had swiftly turned into a row, for even two years apart had not been enough to wear away her resentment at all those years she had wasted as his wife. The argument had followed the same old lines, for after all that time they had nothing new to say to one another. He had brought up the story of Barbara, as he always did, and she had been cowardly enough to cave in to him, as she always did. She frowned. But what else had he said? Something about their not having had children. This was new, surely. It had never seemed to bother him before. Yes—that was it. He had accused her of being frozen, and had said that not all women were like that.

‘Were there any women with children on that list?’ she said suddenly.

‘Not as far as I know,’ said Freddy. ‘Not unmarried women, at any rate. What is it? You look as though you’d just had a clever idea.’

‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Angela. ‘I just wonder from something Davie said whether there mightn’t have been a baby or a child in the picture.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘I’m probably imagining things. I dare say he didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘Well, you knew Davie better than anyone,’ said Freddy. ‘I shall take your word for it.’

‘Still, though,’ she said, frowning.

Freddy waited, but she showed no sign of continuing.

‘Very well, then,’ he said at last. ‘I shall root out this mysterious woman—if indeed she exists—and if she knows anything at all about what happened that night you may be sure I’ll find it out.’

‘Thank you, Freddy,’ she said. ‘I knew I should be able to rely on you. You’ve been a good friend to me; don’t think I don’t know it.’

‘Oh, well,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Damsels in distress and all that. Mind, I don’t say I’ll be able to come up with the goods immediately. It might be a while before I can speak to the steward in question—and even then he might not remember much, since it was so long ago.’

‘I know you’ll do your best,’ she said. ‘I’d do it myself, but I think I’ve drawn quite enough attention to myself lately and I should prefer to stay indoors for a while.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Freddy sympathetically, and took his leave.

Angela sat for a little while, staring into space. Outside, the snow had begun to fall thickly, covering the streets of London with a carpet of white. It would be cold in prison, she thought, and looked towards the crackling fire that Marthe had been tending carefully ever since her return. After a few minutes she found her thoughts drifting in an unwelcome direction, and since she was determined at all costs to suppress her feelings on the subject, she jumped up and began rifling impatiently through cupboards and drawers, in an attempt to keep herself busy and forget what she wanted to forget. She was scrabbling in a little jewellery-box, looking for a missing earring, when she suddenly saw a flash of green and drew in her breath sharply. Heart thumping, she brought out a pretty silver bracelet inlaid with green glass. She stared at it for a long moment. He had given it to her in Venice—to thank her for helping him after he had been shot, he said. She had been reluctant to accept it at first, but after all it was an inexpensive trinket and laid her under no obligation, and so in the end she took it and had worn it for longer than she cared to admit. Now, however, it was nothing but a reminder of terrible things. Her face darkened, and she turned her head and gazed out into the snow.

The next morning, when Marthe came to sweep out the ashes from the fire and lay a new one, she found a twisted lump of blackened metal and glass lying in the grate, and recognized it immediately. Throughout the past few weeks she had remained calm and composed as her mistress stood in the dock, but at the sight of the little bracelet, charred and destroyed, she was overcome and began to weep. As she knelt there sobbing before the fire she felt a hand on her shoulder, almost like a caress, and she turned to see Angela looking down at her, cool and dry-eyed.

‘You cry for me, Marthe,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’

She then went away, and Marthe was left to cry all the harder.

The snow lay on the ground for more than a week, and so there was no question of venturing outdoors. Angela was glad of it, for she knew she ought to make the effort to get out, but she had been dreading the idea of it, convinced that people would stop and point at her in the street. Far better, she thought, to remain inside where it was warm, and where nobody could see or judge her. The green sofa had been pushed back towards the window, covering the spot where Davie Marchmont had lain, but apart from that, no-one would ever have known that someone had died violently there. Angela was not hypocrite enough to pretend to be sorry at his death, and so the only disturbance she felt at having to remain in the flat was the fact that the new position of the sofa spoilt the symmetry of the room.

On Thursday morning, ten days after her release, Freddy turned up at the Mount Street flat to find Angela reading a newspaper with great attention.

‘You’ve seen it, then,’ he said, looking at her carefully.

‘If you are referring to the news about Edgar Valencourt, then yes I have,’ said Angela, with no more emotion than if they were talking about some new show they had seen.

‘Escaped, eh?’ said Freddy. ‘They ought to have been more careful. They already knew he was a slippery fellow. I don’t know why they thought it necessary to move him to another prison. They ought to have known he would make some attempt or other.’

Angela looked up sharply.

‘It says here it was an accident—that the prison-van skidded on some ice.’