David Dickinson - Death in a Scarlet Coat

‘I’ll call at the house this afternoon,’ said Powerscourt. ‘He was brave at the end to tell us what really happened up at the Hall.’

‘I’m under instruction to report back to the Chief Constable on our return, my lord. Thank God he’s not here full time. He spends most of his working life making things impossible for the people up at headquarters in Lincoln. What should I tell him about the exhumation order? Do we try for it now or do we hold our fire? I think we have to get a coroner on side first.’

‘I’m going to have to read up about exhumations,’ said Powerscourt. ‘If my memory serves me, the family of the person to be exhumed have to give their agreement. That could be tricky. You could say, Inspector, that we’re reviewing our position at this stage. That should impress the Chief Constable, reviewing our position. Military people like him usually get mental images of troops being inspected on parade grounds, line after line of redcoats stretching to the far reaches of the drill square; you know what I mean.’

The Inspector smiled. ‘I’ll plant that thought, my lord, and we’ll see what answer comes back.’

Powerscourt resolved to contact Lady Lucy as soon as he could. He thought he might try an encircling movement on the Chief Constable. He was pensive as he walked over to Dr Miller’s house. Originally, he thought, there were three people who had seen the dead man’s face, three people who knew how he had died. Now one of them was dead. Another wouldn’t tell him the truth. And the third had disappeared off the face of the earth. Then he realized something else. He thought it possible, but not likely, that Richard, now the Earl of Candlesby, had killed his father. It just seemed an incredibly roundabout way of doing it – though that, of course, could have been planned to throw people off the scent. But if he hadn’t, then there was another person or persons who must have seen his face and his injuries before he died. The murderer or murderers. And Powerscourt had no idea at all who they might be or why they had killed him.

He was still wondering about what had happened to Candlesby’s face when he reached the doctor’s house. Mrs Baines opened the door.

‘Oh, it’s you, Lord Powerscourt. I expect you’ve heard the news.’

‘I have indeed, Mrs Baines. I’ve come to pay my respects.’

‘There’s only a son left of his family now, and he’s in Montana or one of those places in Australia. Or is it America? Five children the doctor had at one point, but four of them died. Doesn’t seem fair, does it, four of them being taken.’

‘Montana’s in America, Mrs Baines. Full of cowboys with big hats. Could I ask you a question about the doctor’s last hours?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did he have any visitors in the period after I left him?’

‘Funny you should say that, Lord Powerscourt; he did as a matter of fact. A gentleman called on him yesterday evening but the doctor wasn’t able to say anything sensible. I told the gentleman to come back in the morning but he said he could only manage the afternoon as he had business to attend to first thing.’

‘Did he leave his name, or a card or anything like that?’

‘No, he didn’t, but I’d know him anywhere. He had a great shock of red hair.’

When she looked back on it after Powerscourt had gone she felt sure from the look on his face that he had known perfectly well who the mysterious visitor was. But like the visitor himself, he hadn’t chosen to tell her.

Shortly after eleven o’clock the next morning a cab from the station deposited a visitor at Candlesby Hall. The newcomer took a quick glance at the front of the building and whistled softly to himself as if he had just worked out how much it would cost to repair. He was shown into the saloon where the new Earl was waiting to meet him. Another quick glance round the room seemed to add even greater sums to those already required outside.

‘Sowerby, my lord, Mark Sowerby, partner in Hopkins Pettigrew amp; Green, solicitors of Bedford Square, at your service.’

‘Sit down, do, Mr Sowerby. How kind of you to come so promptly. My father did a lot of business with your firm, I believe.’

‘That is indeed the case, my lord, and how fortunate we were to secure his custom.’

Mark Sowerby had that indefinable look about him that says people come from London. Maybe it was the sharpness of his clothes, on the fringes rather than at the centre of fashion. Maybe it was the eyes, forever darting from one place to the next as if greater business or greater beauty was just around the corner. Maybe it was the restlessness, the shifting about as though anxious to be aboard the next train back to the capital. He had small rather mean eyes and a sharp nose.

‘I told you in my letter, Mr Sowerby, about my father’s death and the fact that we have had a Detective Inspector round here with a private investigator in tow.’

‘You did indeed, my lord. Would you have a name for the investigating gentleman?’

‘Powerscourt, Mr Sowerby, Lord Francis Powerscourt.’

Sowerby let out another of his low whistles. ‘He’s got a very fine reputation, my lord, that Powerscourt. I wonder if we could pay him to go away.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, Mr Sowerby. Pay him to go away?’

‘Sometimes, my lord,’ Sowerby was now leaning forward in his best man-of-the-world manner, ‘we find that if they are paid by us more than they have been promised by the other party, they drop the case. After the payment has been made, of course.’

Richard stared sadly at one of the holes in his carpet. ‘I’m not sure that would work,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it.’ He didn’t like to tell the lawyer from London that he would find it difficult to lay his hands on sums large enough to change an investigator’s mind.

‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves, my lord,’ Sowerby was rubbing his hands together now, ‘as often happens when lawyer and client strike up an immediate rapport. Now then,’ he pulled a dark blue notebook from his breast pocket, ‘why don’t you tell me exactly what happened at the time of your father’s death. It helps if we can begin with the truth. Then you can tell me what you told the police. Don’t worry if they’re not the same, my lord. That’s usually why people call us in.’

Richard told him the truth first of all. He realized that he had given so many different accounts of what happened that morning that he wasn’t sure what the truth was any more. Sowerby wrote it all down. Then Richard filled him in on what he had said to the police and to Powerscourt. He didn’t mention what had happened to his father’s face. He did tell him that the groom Jack Hayward who had brought the body up the road to the Hall had disappeared.

Sowerby stopped writing with a flourish of his pen, which he returned ostentatiously to his pocket.

‘Good! Excellent, I’d say! Couple of points, my lord. Did the police and the investigating man ask if you had killed your father?’

Richard shook his head.

‘Right, my lord.’ Sowerby sounded like a man on home ground now, one who had handled many similar cases in his time. ‘One or two things occur to me. The first has to do with your brothers. Something in the way you told their story makes me think you don’t trust them very much. So, keep them away from the police at all costs. The second has to do with the man Hayward. Did you have anything to do with his disappearance, my lord? Don’t worry, I shan’t be upset and I’m certainly not going to the police.’

Richard remained silent.

‘I’ll take that for a yes, my lord. Never fear. Let me just say that if he is coming back, I think it’s probably best if the date of return is a long time away. And I think you should check with us before you bring Hayward back again. Then there’s the death certificate, which you said was false. Do you know if that doctor – Miller, did you say his name was? – told anybody else about what he saw?’