Charles Dymoke had produced a small cigar and was blowing smoke rings all round the fireplace. Constable Merrick was leaning forward to help his concentration.
‘The key to the events of the night of the storm and the morning of the hunt meeting is a girl.’ A ripple of astonishment ran round the room. Many of those present had never heard of a girl in the case until today.
‘I am going to call her Helen for today, in memory of Helen of Troy with her intoxicating beauty. Our Helen lives in Candlesby village with her parents and her brothers and sisters. She is eighteen years old and extremely beautiful, more than beautiful enough for men to lust after her. I do not know if Lord Candlesby had ordered up young women from the village before, as if he were ordering extra loaves from the bakery. I think he probably had.’ Lady Lucy was making a face at him now. ‘I feel sure that he regarded the women of the village, married or single, young or middle-aged, as his property to be taken when he wanted. You can imagine how the request would have been put. If the victim did not agree, the parent would lose their position, the family would be thrown out of their home, their relations would be hounded. This behaviour explains why there were no women under the age of fifty working in this house. Nobody was prepared to take the risk.’
In view of the presence of the Chief Constable and his acolyte, Powerscourt had decided on the spot to conceal the name of Lucy Carter in case a posse of policemen was despatched to arrest her before he even sat down.
‘Sometime before the murder, Candlesby will have sent his ultimatum. The girl was to meet him at the windmill near the sea late in the evening. She had no choice. Candlesby rides out in his scarlet coat, rather odd, you might think, for a seduction scene. But he intends to spend the night with Helen of Candlesby. Undoubtedly he intends to have his way with her again in the morning before he returns home to the hunt and the stirrup cup. So he has to be wearing the clothes he will need in the morning.’
‘She’s your secret source, isn’t she, by God, Powerscourt!’ The Chief Constable was slapping his thigh. ‘She’ll look very pretty in the witness box, I’m sure!’
Powerscourt ignored him. ‘I do not know what roused the village that night. They must have endured similar maltreatment before. Maybe Helen’s father was able to lead the resistance. For Helen did not go to the rendezvous alone. A group of her father’s friends from the village went too, literally like a guard of honour. There may have been half a dozen, there may have been ten or more, I cannot be sure. But they were there. I am sure that they had decided to kill Candlesby before they set out. Maybe they hadn’t given much thought to how they would do it.
‘So, the Earl reaches the windmill. The girl is waiting on her own, I suspect, like live bait, an act of great bravery. The honour guard give Candlesby a minute or so in the little sitting room to become excited at the prospect ahead in the bed on the next floor. Then they rush in and take him. Maybe they beat him up a bit. All this time, remember, the storm is raging outside with tremendous force. Somebody suggests unlocking the sails and fixing him to a chair on a table which will mean that one side of his face is continually exposed to the blows of the sails as they shoot by, a truly terrible way to die. The old Mr Lawrence told me on the day his possessions were being packed up for his move that he had employed a number of men from Candlesby village to help. They were, he assured me, very good at loading things onto carts. They were very good with their hands. Part of the appeal for the villagers was that their victim would be able to see the other sails approaching even as the one in front of him crashed into his face. Maybe they took it in turns to beat the side of his face with a strangely shaped instrument like a spade found in the basement of the windmill, the villagers queuing up for revenge as the tempest raged and the sails sped by. I don’t know if the girl stayed to watch. Probably not. One of the men took Candlesby’s horse and brought Helen home, safe and sound, to her mother. As far as I know, they have kept the horse, or sold it.’
Edward Dymoke had fallen asleep, overcome by adulterated claret at lunchtime. He was snoring slightly until his brother prodded him awake.
‘I think the villagers decided to leave the body as far away from the windmill as they could so people would not suspect how the dead man had been killed. One of them took a couple of blankets from the bed upstairs – there are only sheets on it now – and wrapped them round the corpse. They carried it to the place where Jack Hayward was told to find it some hours later. Walter Savage, the steward, thought he heard a sound like cheering in the village around one o’clock in the morning. That could have been the men returning from their night’s work, and being applauded by the rest of the village who would have stayed up for news.’
The Chief Constable had slapped his monocle in his left eye and was inspecting a bundle of documents in his hand. Charles Dymoke was looking very serious by his fireplace. Lady Lucy was watching her husband.
‘I turn now to the other murder,’ Powerscourt went on, taking care never to look at the Chief Constable or his assistant. ‘I have reason to believe that Helen was again involved. Maybe the son decided to avail himself of the pleasures denied to his father. I believe he too rode out from Candlesby Hall on the night of the first murder. Maybe he was going to watch. Maybe he was going to avail himself of her too. But for some reason he turned back. Maybe the storm was too much for him, comfort winning out over lust. More likely his father told him to clear off. He, Candlesby, was going to enjoy the prize on his own. Charles Dymoke reported the servants hearing somebody coming back to the house around midnight. That must have been Richard with his red hair. Anyway, another invitation was issued to the girl to a meeting at the windmill the day after Richard was meant to be installed in the House of Lords. Members of the House of Lords of all people have rights they can enjoy. Richard would not have known his father was killed at the windmill. Many of the villagers work on the railway. Two of their number were selected, or perhaps they volunteered, for the next killing. When you’d killed one Candlesby, maybe it was easier to kill another, I don’t know. Once in their uniform they could pass through the station more or less unnoticed. The GNR regalia rendered them virtually invisible. The two of them boarded the special train. Nobody suspected anything. They killed Richard. Then they jumped off the train and went home. I should point out that a large number of Inspector Blunden’s men raided the village of Candlesby at six thirty this morning. Every single adult male in the place was questioned about their whereabouts on the night of the first murder. You will not be surprised to hear that they were all asleep in their beds, every last one of them. Their wives would vouch for them, their children too, if necessary, since many of them had only one room for the whole family to sleep in. They looked, in the words of Constable Andrew Merrick who was one of the police party, as innocent as newborn lambs.’
The Chief Constable jumped to his feet. ‘That’s it then. All the villagers were obviously lying this morning. Not questioned with sufficient vigour, I expect. The case is solved. All we have to do is to get from the girl the names of those who went with her to kill Lord Candlesby and then we’ve got it! The villains can receive a good dose of English justice!’