R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

‘I do think we should inform the police, Hugh.’

‘You heard what Beatrice said. No police. Beatrice doesn’t want to “snitch” on Ingrid, silly woman.’

‘Silly woman,’ Antonia agreed with greater emphasis than she intended.

Colville had been confident he could keep the situation under control. Colville said he was capable of taking good care of Beatrice. He said that he wouldn’t hesitate to ring 999 the moment he felt Ingrid might be ‘up to something’. Colville might be besotted with la bella Bee, Payne pointed out, but he wouldn’t stand any nonsense from Ingrid. Colville had confided in Payne on parting that he’d be damned if he did.

‘That’s reassuring,’ Antonia said in a doubtful voice. ‘I wouldn’t dream of sleeping under the same roof as Ingrid – would you?’

‘Not for all the tea in China.’

‘Where does Ingrid go dressed up as Beatrice?’ Antonia wondered aloud, looking out into the darkness. ‘You heard what Beatrice said. Ingrid’s been slipping out without a word quite often lately.’

‘I don’t imagine she goes for country walks or to the cinema or window-shopping, or merely roams aimlessly.’ Major Payne stroked his jaw with his forefinger. ‘I think she goes to… Ospreys.’

‘To Ospreys! You mean she knows that Ralph Renshawe lives there?’

‘I think she does, yes.’

‘How did she learn about it? No, don’t tell me. She read his letter to Beatrice. I saw you looking at that envelope.’ Antonia paused. ‘It’s been tampered with, hasn’t it?’

‘Steamed open. There was smearing around the flap and it felt thicker – glue had been used to reseal it,’ Major Payne explained.

He hadn’t mentioned the fact in front of Beatrice. Beatrice had been in a state of near-collapse. She had flapped her hands and babbled about ancient beliefs – wasn’t it said that encountering your double was a prelude to death? Beatrice had felt so faint, she had lain on the sofa, where she had remained, among the silk cushions, rather picturesquely, looking like an odalisque.

‘Here’s a theory.’ Major Payne cleared his throat. ‘Ingrid’s love for Beatrice turns to darkest detestation at the news of her friend’s nuptials. Ingrid accuses Bee of “betrayal”. Renshawe’s fate has already been sealed. Ingrid concocts an ingenious scheme. Kill Renshawe and have Beatrice arrested for the murder.’

‘Double revenge?’

‘Double revenge. Ingrid goes to Ospreys dressed up as Beatrice. Renshawe is delighted. He suspects nothing. It has been thirty years since he saw Beatrice last, besides he is a very ill man, all his faculties greatly diminished. Ingrid lets the nurse and whoever else is at the house take a good look at her. She tells them she is practically a neighbour. She makes sure they learn her name and address – Beatrice Ardleigh – Millbrook House.’

‘Could she really believe she’d be able to get away with it?’

‘I am sure she could. She is crackers. Her brain must be as valuable as a cap full of porridge. She is probably convinced she has been diabolically clever.’

There was a pause. Antonia said, ‘You don’t suppose she has killed Ralph Renshawe yet?’

‘I don’t know. She might have.’ Payne puffed pensively at his pipe. ‘How about checking?’

‘Do you mean we should phone Ralph?’

‘The matter is too complicated for phoning. Um. I suggest we drive to Ospreys.’

Antonia stared at him. ‘Now?’

‘Now. Why not? Ospreys is apparently only five miles from here. It will take us twenty minutes at the most.’

‘What shall we say when we get there?’

‘We’ll ask to speak to Renshawe – if he is still alive, we’ll warn him of the danger – we’ll tell him that the Beatrice who’s been visiting him is in fact Ingrid. If he is not well enough to grant us an audience, we’ll have a word with the nurse, the padre or whoever’s taking care of him.’

Antonia said, ‘If Ingrid has been visiting him, but hasn’t killed him yet, it would be interesting to know why… Is it possible that she has forgiven him?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it terribly likely – not from what Beatrice told us, but who could tell? Anything is possible. Ingrid might be biding her time. Or she might not have had the chance to be alone with him.’

‘Or she might be getting a kick out of watching him die?’

‘She might indeed. May I have some more coffee? Thank you… Of course there’s always the chance that we are making complete asses of ourselves,’ Payne went on, taking a sip of coffee. ‘We might be imagining this whole phantasmagoric imbroglio. Ingrid might turn out to be a fanatical cinephile – she might have been going to the cinema. Or she might have a boyfriend, with whom she holds passionate trysts.’

‘Dressed up as Beatrice?’

‘Well, Beatrice is the more attractive of the two, so Ingrid might be trying to emulate her -’ Payne broke off. ‘No, I don’t really believe that.’

‘You thought Beatrice attractive, didn’t you?’ Antonia said. ‘Good lord. Not in the least. I didn’t do or say anything to suggest I did, did I?’

‘You kept trying to be funny!’

‘My dearest love! I was only breaking the ice.’

‘I don’t think there was much ice to break.’

‘Did I say many funny things?’

‘Personally, I didn’t think so,’ said Antonia, ‘but Bee clearly regarded you as the wag and wit of the party.’

He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t help it if the silly creature rolled round in hysterical merriment at every absurdity I uttered.’

‘She fancied you wildly. She made that abundantly clear. I don’t think her husband liked it.’

‘Golly. I do need to be careful. She’s a nightmare.’ Payne started the car. ‘Though of course not as great a nightmare as Ingrid.’

It took them much longer than they thought to locate Ospreys.

They lost their way twice and had to stop at two pubs to ask for directions. ‘It’s outside Coulston,’ a woman with a pleasant round face, glasses and hair as flat as Cromwell’s told them in mellifluous tones. She was nursing a gin and tonic but now she produced a local map and pointed. ‘Coulston is a small village – the house isn’t marked but it’s here, I think.’ The woman’s husband, a man with an unruly beard, disagreed vehemently. ‘No, no, Kate – Ospreys is here – on the other side.’ He stabbed his forefinger at a spot on the map. They were clearly visitors, strangers to these parts.

One of the locals, a very old woman in a woollen hat embroidered with dancing harlequins, had been sipping what looked like brandy and barley water and examining the advertisements section in the local paper through a magnifying glass, but she looked up when Antonia mentioned Ospreys.

‘Ospreys, eh? That house has a bad name… Some millionaire from Florida’s dying there now, but it’s never been a happy place. Never. The secret house of death they used to call it. Someone got killed there many years ago -’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. A couple. That was why it remained empty for so long. Most people don’t fancy houses like that. Attract weirdos, places like that. An American actress bought it – Moira Montano. Don’t think anyone remembers her.’ The old woman took a sip of her drink.

‘Moira Montano? The name does ring a bell,’ Payne said. ‘All those cheap horror films in the ’50s?’

‘That’s right. She made oceans of money, heaven knows how, the film were so bad, but that’s what they said. She had a pink conservatory added to the house. She bought masses of exotic plants but then she died suddenly. Then Sir Marcus bought it – Sir Marcus Laud, that is – for his new bride. He married this very young girl, you see, but she ran away after about a month, so it was the death of love, I suppose.’ The old woman sniffed. ‘Sir Marcus was heart-broken and he sold the house. One of my nieces was the housekeeper at Ospreys at the time, that’s how I know. Then the American gentleman bought Ospreys and he brought a fat foreign woman with him.’