She grinned. “Of course,” she said. “And like father, like son. Me and Theo, well, we were good pals, too!” Then her face fell. “Until Mum put a stop to it, o’course. Still, I could see it wouldn’t do. He’s my half brother, you know!” She giggled. “Sort of incest, I suppose you’d call it. Still, nobody else knew, Mum said, and made me swear not to tell. I didn’t mind after a bit. It was just nice to know I had a brother.”
“Did Theo know?”
Miriam made a face. “Mum said not, but I reckon he did, at some stage. She probably planned to tell him at some point to get a hold over him. When he stopped coming to see me, she said it was his doing, not hers, so maybe he’d found out somehow else. Not a nice woman, my mother. Shame really. You’re supposed to love your mother, but I can’t say I did.”
“But you didn’t kill her, did you?” he asked gently.
“O’course not! I wasn’t there. I’d gone into the village, to the shop. Came back and found her dead, lying there with a knife stuck in her chest. One thing I’m really sure of, Gus. Theo Roussel didn’t kill her. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“So why do you think the police have taken Beattie in?” Gus knocked back his primrose wine in preparation for the worst.
“Goodness knows. Got it wrong, I expect. I’m just waiting for them to find out about me.”
“What about you?”
“About me and Theo, of course. And that Mum had-oh lor, I suppose I have to say it-procured me for him, offering her one and only daughter for the amusement of the young squire. Why? Because of the money. I could be due part of the estate, Mum thought. That’s what drove her on, I reckon, after Theo inherited, trying to get something out of him. She’d have been satisfied with a lump sum, she said once. She was not the sort to go to court.”
Gus let out a heavy sigh. “Just as well,” he said. “You weren’t the only one, Miriam. The old man was the father of Beattie and her twin brother Keith. It was Keith in the police car. He’s turned up only recently, mad as a hatter, but I reckon they were up to much the same as your mother. Choosing their moment to trap Theo, and get money out of him. Enough for their pensions, I expect. No doubt they, too, thought they were entitled to it.”
“I kept telling Mum what I’d guessed about Beattie!” Miriam said hotly. “But she said she didn’t care, and just went on her own sweet way, as always. Blimey, you only have to look at Beattie standing next to me! Sisters, no doubt of it.”
“So your mother finally got in the way?” Gus helped himself to more wine.
“She got greedy, I suppose. Maybe threatened to tell all she knew about Beattie’s background if she carried on?” She frowned, finally serious. “But I don’t think Beattie would’ve done the murder, either. She’s been quite nice to me lately,” she added, as if that clinched it.
“So it could have been the brother, or maybe the two of them together?”
“Search me,” Miriam said. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe we’ll never know. D’you want to stay for supper? I’ve got chicken pie in the oven.”
GUS STAYED FOR supper. He learned nothing more, but not needing to listen to her inconsequential chatter, he turned over in his mind all she had said in answer to his questions. He did not agree that neither Theo nor Beattie would have murdered the old lady. Either of them could have done it, and Keith, too. If they had planned it carefully, watching until Miriam set off for the shop and, knowing her propensity for endless gossiping, they would have had time enough to get in, stab the nasty old woman, and get out again, vanishing back up to the Hall, or into the countryside around.
Motive was another matter. It was more than probable that, as Miriam said, Mrs. Blake had regarded Beattie as a competitor for the estate and was blackmailing her, trying to frighten her off. This would have put Keith in jeopardy also, and the madman would have had no compunction about knifing his enemy.
Gus reluctantly came to the conclusion that Theo had no real reason to want the old woman dead. After all, many moons had gone by since his affair with Miriam. He had probably forgotten the whole thing, and carried on his merry way with other girls, other adventures.
Well, now the police had the whole thing in their hands, and there was no need for Enquire Within to do anything more. Had the agency been a good idea? They had never received the commission from Theo Roussel to pursue the enquiry for him. Things had just developed piecemeal, with no fat fee for them at the end of it. “Cheer up, Gus! The worst may never happen,” Miriam said gaily.
“It already has,” Gus said seriously. “Your mother has been murdered, Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman have had the fright of their lives, and sad details of wasted lives have come to the surface.”
“Ah, yes,” Miriam said, “but let’s look to the future, Gus. You and me? That’s possible, isn’t it?” She looked at him lovingly, and got up to put her hand on his shoulder.
Anything’s possible, thought Gus, except that! He patted her hand, and stood up. “Must be getting back,” he said. “I’m dog tired, Miriam.”
“Tomorrow’s another day,” she chirped. “Who knows what might happen tomorrow?”
Fifty-three
THEO ROUSSEL SAT in the now empty drawing room for a long time, thinking about the awful things that had been said and done in his family’s name. When he was a child, his father had been his hero, so lively and dashing. And his pretty mother had been loving, worshipping even, to her handsome husband. Well, the old man had had feet of clay.
But was he, Theo, any better? Money and position, he supposed, had given him licence to behave badly. Poor Miriam Blake. Though, on reflection, she seemed a happy woman. Especially since her old mother died. A thought struck him. But no, he erased it instantly. She wouldn’t have, not in a million years. A very softhearted girl. Always had been.
And now Beattie had been arrested, with that appalling brother of hers. A really nasty piece of work he was, too. He looked up at the portrait of his father, and noted sadly that Keith had quite a look of the Roussels about him. They all had, himself, Beattie and Keith, and Miriam Blake. Ye Gods, what a muddle! He accepted without question that Beattie, with or without her brother, had killed old Mrs. Blake. Some kind of jealousy or envy, he decided, dismissing the whole thing.
“The only good thing that happened today,” he said to nobody, “is meeting that delicious Polish girl from Springfields! What a poppet!” He must find out how long she was staying in England. Then, without a thought for the devoted Beattie, he cheered up at the idea that with the right approach, Katya might well take over the housekeeping job here at the Hall. He would certainly like to get to know her better!
He got up, shook himself, and walked over to the portrait. Maybe he would turn its face to the wall for a bit! But no, the old man wasn’t all bad. Hadn’t he left provision in his will for a memorial seat outside the shop? He’d had a strong sense of duty towards the village, hadn’t he?
But there was something else he would do. He went into the study and lifted the portrait down from the wall. He opened the little safe door with the combination of numbers he had committed to memory. There it was, the lovely diamond ring that in a rush of enthusiasm he’d thought of for Rosebud or Deirdre, but had replaced, biding his time. He held it up to the light, and the fire within sprang to life, all its colours sparkling in his hand. “Yes, it should be worn,” he muttered. “I might need it yet,” he added, and smiled to himself.
He wandered over to the windows and looked out at the dark gardens, silent and reassuring. Continuity, that was the thing, he realised. It was his duty to keep the Roussel family name going here at the Hall. He strode over to the long mirror between the tall windows, and looked sternly at himself. A strict diet for a week or two would smarten him up. He still had a good head of hair, and his skin was good, in spite of years of incarceration indoors. Beattie had been responsible for that. Well, now she was gone, and he could look forward.