When I told Father I was pregnant, he fainted. It was an extraordinary example of craven cowardice. Gerald, by contrast, was rather pleased. "Is it mine, Matty?" he asked. Perhaps I should have been offended, but I wasn't. I found his delight in what he'd achieved rather touching.
Father is all for an abortion, of course, and not just because of the potential scandal. He says the baby will be even more of an imbecile than Gerald. I have refused. Nothing will induce me to go near a backstreet abortionist which is all Father is offering me. He says he knows of somebody in London who will do it for a small fee, but I don't trust him an inch and will not entrust my life to some incompetent woman with knitting needles and gin. In any case, if the child's as defective as Father's suggesting, then it will not survive long. Gerald is only with us in all conscience because his silly mother nursed him devotedly for years.
Every cloud has its silver lining. Gerald has never been easier to manage than he is at the moment. The knowledge that I am carrying his baby has wiped all memories of Grace from his mind. It means I shall have to marry to give the baby legitimacy, but James Gillespie is tiresome in his approaches, and will marry me tomorrow if I agree. Father says James is homosexual and needs a wife to give himself respectability, but as I need a husband for the same reason, I can no doubt tolerate him for the few months till the baby's born.
I have told Father to put a brave face on it, something the silly man is incapable of doing, and to let me and James have the use of his flat in London. Once the baby is born I shall return home. Father will stay at his club on the rare-now, very rare-occasions when he is sober enough to attend a debate at the House. He wept his drunken tears this evening and said I was unnatural, claiming all he had ever wanted me to do was be sweet to Gerald and keep him happy.
But it was Grace who introduced Gerald to sex, not I, and Father knows it. And how was I
supposed
to keep a sexually active imbecile happy? By playing bridge? By discussing Plato? Dear God, but I have such contempt for men. Perhaps I am unnatural...
*18*
Jones drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "You told the Sergeant you were with an actress in Stratford the night Mrs. Gillespie was murdered. You weren't. We've checked. Miss Bennedict said"-he consulted a piece of paper-"she'd see you in hell before she allowed you near her again."
"True." He gave an amiable grin. "She didn't like the portrait I did of her. She's had it in for me ever since."
"Then why give her as your alibi?"
"Because I'd already told Sarah that's where I was, and she was listening when the Sergeant asked me."
Charlie frowned but let this pass. "Where were you then, if you weren't in Stratford?"
"Cheltenham." He linked his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes." He reeled off a phone number. "Sarah's father's house. He will confirm that I was there from six o'clock on the Friday evening until midday on the Sunday." He flicked a lazy glance at the Inspector. "He's a JP, so you can be fairly sure he won't be lying."
"What were you doing there?"
"I went on the off-chance that he had something I could show Mathilda that would prove Sarah wasn't her daughter. I knew I could talk fairly freely without him blabbing about it. If I'd approached her mother, she'd have been on the phone to Sarah like a shot and then the cat would have been out of the bag with Sarah demanding to know why I wanted proof she wasn't adopted. By the same token, she'd have asked me why I was going to see her father, so I told her I was staying with Sally to put her off the scent." He looked suddenly pensive. "Not the most intelligent thing I've ever done."
Charlie ignored this. "Did her father give you proof?"
"No. He said he hadn't got anything and that I'd have to talk to her mother. I was planning to bite the bullet and go the next weekend, but, by the Monday, Mathilda was dead and it didn't matter any more."
"And you still haven't told your wife?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I promised Mathilda I wouldn't," he said evenly. "If she'd wanted Sarah to know what she believed, she'd have told her herself on the video."
"Any idea why she didn't?"
Jack shrugged. "Because she wasn't going to tell her in life either, I suppose. She had too many secrets which she thought would be exposed if she claimed Sarah as her own-and let's face it, she was right. Look what Tommy's unearthed already."
"It would have been unearthed anyway. People were bound to ask questions the minute they heard she'd left her money to her doctor."
"But she wouldn't have expected the police to be asking them because she didn't know she was going to be murdered. And, as far as I can make out, from what Sarah has told me of the video, she did the best she could to warn Joanna and Ruth off putting in a counterclaim by dropping enough heavy hints about their lifestyles to give Sarah's barrister a field day if the thing ever went to court." He shrugged again. "The only reason either of them feels confident about challenging it now is because Mathilda was murdered. Whatever they've done pales into insignificance beside that."
Cooper rumbled into life behind him. "But the video is full of lies, particularly in relation to her uncle and her husband. Mrs. Gillespie implies she was the victim of them both, but Mrs. Marriott tells a very different story. She describes a woman who was ruthless enough to use blackmail and murder when it suited her. So which is true?"
Jack swung round to look at him. "I don't know. Both probably. She wouldn't be the first victim to strike back."
"What about this business of her uncle's feeble-mindedness? She described him on the video as a drunken brute who raped her when she was thirteen, yet Mrs. Marriott says he was rather pathetic. Explain that."
"I can't. Mathilda never talked to me about it. All I know is that she was deeply scarred by her inability to love and when I showed her the portrait with the scarring represented by the scold's bridle, she burst into tears and said I was the first person to show her any compassion. I chose to interpret that as meaning that I was the first person to see her as a victim, but I could have been wrong. You'll have to make up your own mind."
"We wouldn't have to if we could find her diaries," said Cooper.
Jack didn't say anything and the room fell silent with only the whirr of the tape to disturb the complete bafflement that at least two of those present were experiencing. Jones, who had approached this interview in the confident expectation that Jack Blakeney would spend tonight in a police cell, was falling prey to the same crippling ambivalence that Cooper had always felt towards this man.
"Why did you tell Mrs. Lascelles this morning that you murdered her mother if you already had an alibi for the night Mrs. Gillespie died?" he asked at last, rustling the papers in front of him.
"I didn't."
"She says in this report that you did."
"I didn't."
"She says you did."
"She said what she believed. That's a different thing entirely."
Jones pondered for a moment. He had a nasty feeling that he would receive almost as dusty an answer to his next question, but he put it anyway. "Why did you try to murder Mrs. Lascelles?"
"I didn't."
"She says, and I'm quoting, 'Jack Blakeney forced me against the wall and started to strangle me. If Violet hadn't interrupted him, he'd have killed me.' Is she lying?"
"No. She's telling you what she believes."
"But it's not true."
"No."
"You weren't trying to strangle her?"