‘I had hoped that Dame Beatrice, who has such a reputation for finding out the truth of these matters, would have come up with something by now. As she has not, I think we must conclude that Denham is guilty.’
‘I wish I could come to that conclusion. The trouble is, as we’ve said before, if it wasn’t Denham it must have been one of us, and that’s unthinkable.’
‘But is it so unthinkable? The charge against the girl rests only on two things: she had been dismissed from this house and the poison plant was dug up in her sister’s garden. I could make out an equally viable case against Diana, Rupert, Gamaliel and Parsifal.’
‘Gamaliel?’ said Maria, surprised.
‘He knew he had found favour with madre and he must have heard a great deal of speculation about the terms of her Will. He may have thought he would be mentioned in it and decided to benefit himself sooner rather than later.’
‘He would not have hit upon the method used. He would simply have set about her and killed her.’
‘What about the other three, then?’
‘Neither Diana nor Rupert had any expectations from her. Rupert’s only motive would have been revenge for her unkindness with regard to his parentage, and I simply do not believe that would have carried him as far as murder. Rupert is not a man of strong passions. If he were, he would have divorced Diana long ago and married you.’
‘Well, that leaves Diana and Parsifal.’
‘Oh, my dear Fiona, if that is the choice, there can be no doubt which of them it would be. Diana had nothing to gain. Parsifal had every expectation, now realised, that both Blue and Gamaliel—oh, and, of course, Garnet— would come in for something. He had everything to gain from my mother’s death. He was like the woman in Tagore’s story. He had his coffer and his store in all of their houses.’
‘Well, I suppose there is nothing we can do about it.’
‘No, it must be left as it is. We have nothing but suspicion to go on and there is the family to consider.’
Bluebell was packing up her painting things when Dame Beatrice and Laura got back to the hotel. They were chatting with her—Dame Beatrice meanwhile turning over in her mind the various ways in which the impulsive Gamaliel would break the news of Parsifal’s confessed guilt to his mother—when the youth himself, damp-haired but now wearing a track-suit, came cantering across the courtyard.
‘Ah’ he said to Bluebell, ‘you must come home at once. There is to be a great contest of gladiators, two against one. I am the one. This great spectacle is to be staged on our small beach while the tide is going out. I am taking on Parsifal and Garnie. You shall see how well I have learned to defend myself. It will be two men against a sixteen-year-old youth. I shall be giving away many stones in weight, not to speak of fighting against four arms and two bodies.’
‘I don’t like the idea of it,’ said Bluebell, ‘but if the men have agreed I suppose there is nothing I can do. Incidentally, it is not respectful to refer to your father as Parsifal.’
‘It is not respectful, no. The question is whether I respect him. I search my heart and I find that I do not.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Bluebell, with an edge to her voice which was the result of anxiety and not indignation.
Gamaliel shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘You do not respect him, either,’ he said. He turned to Dame Beatrice. ‘And you, dear old lady, must come along, too, and help to judge the contest.’
‘No,’ said Dame Beatrice decidedly. ‘On this occasion the four of you at Seawards must form your own jury, but I am prepared to come and watch.’
Gamaliel looked thoughtful. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘The four of us must be our own jury. It is a trial, of course; a trial of strength. The others are waiting. Shall we go?’
The three of them took the smugglers’ old trackway along the back of the hotel. Laura, who had given Dame Beatrice a questioning look and had received an emphatic shake of the head in answer to it, had gone into the hotel. At the top of the smugglers’ steps Gamaliel leapt ahead and by the time Dame Beatrice and Bluebell reached the stepping-stones they saw that the three contestants were already on the scrap of beach left by the retreating tide.
Gamaliel was in his track-suit trousers, Parsifal was wearing the khaki shorts he kept for his exploration of the countryside and Garnet had on a pair of grey flannel trousers. All three were bare-chested and bare-foot and Gamaliel was dancing back and forth around the other two in imitation of his hero’s tactics in the ring.
Bluebell crossed the stream on the stepping stones and turned to offer a hand to Dame Beatrice, but it was not needed, so she led the way along the side of the garden to the steps which led up to the lower of the two terraces.
‘I suppose Gamaliel knows,’ she said abruptly, as they seated themselves. Dame Beatrice liked and respected her too much to hedge by asking what it was that Gamaliel was supposed to know.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘He knows now. I take it that you yourself have known for some time.’
‘Guessed, at any rate. If that poor girl is convicted, I shall have to speak out. They cannot compel me in court to testify against my husband, but if I speak to the police they will find some evidence they can use.’
‘He has confessed; my evidence is in the post.’
‘It will be hard for the rest of us to sustain the agony of having Parsifal in prison, and hard for him, too. He was not intended to be shut away.’
‘I doubt whether anybody is.’
‘It is not as though he would ever do such a thing again. He hated her, you know, because she was so wealthy and we are poor. She never was reconciled to his marrying me and he resented that, too. I cannot forgive him though, for the manner of her death. It would have been better—even kinder, perhaps—to have pushed her over the cliff, as Diana rather half-heartedly tried to do.’
‘Oh, you knew about that, did you?’
‘The kind of life I lead gives me plenty of time to think. Besides, families as close-knit as we are know, without being told, what goes on.’
‘The three-sided contest has begun,’ said Dame Beatrice, indicating the strip of grey beach with its out-croppings of rock.
‘It is hardly three-sided,’ said Bluebell, following her gaze. ‘The two men have taken sides against Gamaliel. I don’t care for the spot they have hit upon to stage the contest. If one of them were to fall, he might injure himself quite seriously on a sharp rock.’
The two men were standing back to back while Gamaliel skirmished around them, jabbing at their faces and bodies with his bare hands as he danced and circled. Suddenly he gripped Garnet, of whom he was both taller and heavier, and wrestled with him, urging him nearer and nearer the water.
Soon they were ankle-deep and then knee-deep in the sea. The combat lasted less than a minute. Gamaliel, with a throw, a beautifully executed ‘flying mare’, catapulted Garnet into the deep water beyond the shelving fringe of the beach. Garnet, falling spread-eagled, was completely submerged. He came up, spluttering and spitting out sea-water and the retreating tide carried him a little further out to sea before he could recover his breath and begin to swim ashore.
As he stood at the brink and began to wring the water out of his trousers, Gamaliel, who had been sparring, apparently playfully, with Parsifal, suddenly shouted, ‘Now!’ On the word he hit him with all his force over the heart, leapt forward, clutched him as Parsifal staggered back, and flung him down on to an outcrop of rock.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Dame Beatrice, in answer to a query from Laura. ‘It will be brought in as accidental death. There were three witnesses, if you count Mr Porthcawl, who was certainly on the spot, although I doubt very much whether he saw exactly what happened.’
‘And Gamaliel intended to kill Parsifal?’
‘Oh, I am sure he did. It was a mercy killing according to Gamaliel’s logic. The magistrates, at their last remand interview with Margaret Denham, have declared that she has no case to answer. Parsifal Leek could never have endured life imprisonment. Bluebell will now move house, accompanied by Gamaliel and their well-beloved Garnet, and the incident and Mrs Leyden’s death will soon be forgotten except, perhaps, in this small village.’