He turned and as he replaced the ring, saw something he had never noticed before. An envelope tucked at the back of the safe. He pulled it out, and was alarmed to see his own name. “Theo Roussel-for his eyes only.” It was discoloured, and the flap of the envelope had come unstuck. He withdrew a small sheet of paper, and recognised his father’s handwriting, large and flamboyant.
After he had read it, he walked unsteadily back to his chair and sat down and reread, anxious to make sure he had it right.
“My dear son Theo,” it began, and continued, “I wish you to read this letter and then destroy it immediately. There is no need for anyone but you to know what it contains.”
Theo shook his head, and his hands trembled. He read on. “You are my legal heir, and no one needs to know that my dearest wife was not your mother. Beloved Hermione was sadly barren. The two of us together, in total and loving agreement, decided that I should father an heir to the estate with a sweet orphan girl who worked in the kitchen here. You were taken away from her immediately after the birth, and she was to be handsomely rewarded. Sadly, she did not survive a difficult and long childbirth, and was laid to rest. You have been the light of our lives, Theo, and we could not have loved you more. Your loving father, John Roussel.” After this, he had added the family motto: “Go forth and multiply.”
Theo put back his head and roared with laughter. “The old devil!” he shouted delightedly. “Well, he certainly lived up to family tradition.”
He found a box of matches, and holding the letter between thumb and forefinger, set fire to it until it was burning brightly, then threw it into the great hearth, where the dry paper quickly reduced to ashes.
So that makes us level pegging, he realised with amusement. Me, Miriam, Beattie and Keith. All by-blows of the wicked squire. He shut the safe door and replaced his father’s portrait. “Father, my lips are sealed!” he said, and poured himself what was left of the brandy.
Fifty-four
THERE WAS NO chance of keeping the news from the village, and by the afternoon of the next day there were very few people who did not know that Beattie and her long-lost twin brother had been taken to the police station for questioning.
“Who’d have thought it?” Rose Budd said to David. “I mean, we all knew she was an old tyrant an’ all that. But murder? Did you ever hear talk of a brother?” Little Simon had dozed off for his afternoon nap, and David was relaxing for ten minutes before going back to the farm.
He shook his head. “Never. He must have surfaced quite recently. Not long out of prison, so people say.”
“But why, David? Why on earth should either of them want old Mrs. Blake out of the way?”
He shrugged. “I called in at the pub before lunch and people were guessing it had something to do with blackmail. Miriam’s old mother was an evil old bag, so they said. The old chaps remembered a time when she encouraged young Theo to pay court, and more, to Miriam. They reckoned the mother hoped to get something out of it.”
“Like what?”
“Like money, Rosie. That’s what this is all about. They were guessing, of course, but there’s usually a kernel of truth in gossip.”
“But Theo didn’t kill her, for God’s sake! We all know that now.”
“Apparently not. No, the old men remembered when Beattie came to the Hall. They reckon she had something to do with the Roussel family. It was all very hush-hush, and no explanations given. She just appeared, and would never talk about herself to anyone, though some of the WI women had a good try.”
“Long time ago, then. O’course, what I saw of Beattie in charge, and her way with Mr. Theo, she worshipped the ground he walked on. Probably had high hopes, even now. Could have been something to do with that? You have to feel sorry for Beattie, I suppose.”
“I don’t,” David said firmly. “She was a dreadful woman, capable of anything. Anyway, all will be revealed in due course,” he added. “I must get back to work. Mr. Theo will be giving me orders from now on, I’m glad to say.”
IT WAS ALL round Springfields, of course, in the mysterious way that gossip can travel round residents who have not been anywhere all day, and have talked only to the staff.
“It can’t be Katya,” Ivy said. “She promised to keep her mouth shut, at least for a couple of days until we hear what’s happening to the Bentalls.”
She and Roy had escaped from the lounge after lunch, fed up with all the speculation, and were sitting in Ivy’s room, mostly in thoughtful silence but occasionally talking about yesterday’s events.
“Oh, it’ll be the cleaning women who come in every day,” Roy said. “And don’t forget Miriam Blake. She has eyes and ears permanently tuned to the Hall. You bet she picked up the whole story.”
“Ah, Miriam, yes,” Ivy said. “Gus was going to see her, wasn’t he. She probably wormed the facts out of him. He pretends to be tough, but he’s a bit of a softy, and it wouldn’t take many warm smiles and hot suppers to get him talking.”
Roy smiled. “You’re right, as always,” he said. “Still, it doesn’t really matter, does it? The police are in charge now, and we can retire from the case.”
“Unpaid,” said Ivy sourly.
Roy agreed, and said that next time they must make sure they get the fee up front.
“Sometimes,” Ivy said, smiling in spite of herself, “I forget you’re eighty-six. Have a chocolate.”
UNACCUSTOMED AS SHE was to walking, Deirdre nevertheless strode out from Tawny Wings and set off for the village shop. The local evening paper arrived in the afternoon, and she was anxious to see if the Bentalls were in it.
Her head was still whirling from the scenes at the Hall. She had hardly slept, and when she did doze off, horrible dreams woke her up again, sweating with terror. After the last nightmare, when Beattie and Keith, standing like giants over her, brandished a knife and laughed as they forced her into a corner, she jolted awake, got out of bed, made herself a cup of tea and listened to the World Service on radio until it was six o’clock and a reasonable time to get up and start the day. Even the violent situation in the Congo could not alarm her as much as that nightmare.
Now the crisp air cleared her head, and she walked up the steps and into the shop feeling much more cheerful. After all, it was over now. The police were in charge, and Enquire Within could leave it to them.
The shop was crowded, full of chattering women, but when Deirdre walked in, all went quiet. “Morning everybody,” she said. “Morning, Will. Has the paper come?” Then she noticed that all the shoppers had open newspapers. Will took up one from the pile, turned to an inside page and silently handed it to her.
The photograph had been taken as Beattie and Keith, arriving at the court in separate vehicles, had been escorted inside, both in handcuffs and with faces covered. Still in shock, probably, thought Deirdre. She started off for home, but changed her mind and went in the direction of Hang-man’s Row. She needed company, somebody who had been there, someone to read the paper with. Gus was the obvious choice, and as she tapped on his door she hoped he was at home. He was, and beckoned her in with a smile. “You don’t look so good,” he said. “Takes a bit of recovering from, doesn’t it?”
Deirdre burst into tears, and sat down heavily on the sagging sofa. “Sorry, sorry,” she blubbed.