R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

Nurse Wilkes had never met the woman, but she felt sorry for her. Such a heartless thing to do, kicking out someone who loved you! Not Christian. Well, converts were much worse than cradle Catholics, it was always said. Much more fanatical. Much more – extreme.

There had been another nurse when Nurse Wilkes first started; a male nurse, Eric, but he too had had to leave. Ralph had sacked him. She had liked Eric. He was a former prison warder. Not particularly bright but exceptionally strong. Eric had a zip of black beard in the cleft of his chin, like one of those musketeers, and a golden ear-ring. A body-builder, but very quiet, very softly spoken. Eric could crack a walnut between his thumb and index finger! So useful to have around the house. She had felt safer with Eric round. She hadn’t thought him threatening in any way. Eric liked to paint his nails very pale green, which was a very nice colour…

The house could be quite scary at night. Sometimes Nurse Wilkes found it difficult to sleep. All those empty rooms… On several occasions she imagined she could hear someone walking about, laughing and talking gibberish, and had got it into her head it might be Madame, the Thai woman, come back, mad with grief, the way it happened in books – or that she might have topped her-self and was haunting the house! Eastern women were very loyal, to the death, she had heard.

Nurse Wilkes took her headphones off and picked up the small tray. Linda had told her she had seen Eric in Coulston. He seemed to have got a local job of some kind. Linda was coming at eleven, same as Mr Saunders. Nurse Wilkes had phoned her at Ralph’s request. She and Linda were going to be witnesses to the new will Ralph was making.. . Was Ralph going to disinherit his nephew? It certainly looked that way. And the new beneficiary? Wilkes had no doubt it would be Beatrice. Who else? The way Ralph’s face lit up each time she entered the room! He had been very much in love with her once upon a time, she had gathered, then they had been separated or some-thing. It was a very romantic story.

Nurse Wilkes believed Ralph’s brain wasn’t functioning properly. The cancer must be killing his brain cells. He had odd fancies. After Beatrice’s last visit, Ralph said, ‘I’d rather be struck down by the Angel of Death than die of cancer.’ He had spoken in a funny kind of voice, as though he had seen the Angel of Death. What did he mean exactly? To Nurse Wilkes’ way of thinking, the Angel of Death and cancer were very much the same thing. Death was death. Ralph also seemed to suspect his nephew Robin and Eric of having had an affair. That was why he had turned against them. Well, even if that was true, it was none of her business. Live and let live, that was her motto. She liked Robin; he was a charmer. His mother had been a Lady – Lady Violet Trelawney.

What was that noise? Nurse Wilkes stood and listened. Sounded like all the rooks outside were having a riot! As though something had scared them. When Mr Saunders came later on, she’d ask him about getting another nurse. She could do with some company. She must be careful though – she didn’t really want to give the impression she was complaining in any way. They paid her a good salary – an extremely good salary, in fact. Better than anywhere else she’d been before. Besides Ralph told her he had remembered her in his will.

She walked across the hall and paused outside the door. She didn’t want to interrupt a confession. No, nothing. Silence. Absolute silence. Maybe Ralph had fallen asleep and Father Lillie was praying for the salvation of his soul. She wanted to talk to Father Lillie about how exactly this thing worked. As she pushed the door to Ralph’s room open, she heard a buzzing noise – flies?

Instinctively she looked at the french windows first. When Father Lillie had come, they had been left ajar – now they were gaping open. There was something on the floor that hadn’t been there before. She drew in her breath.

A red trail – She traced it back, from the windows to the bed – that was where the trail was coming from.

Nurse Wilkes didn’t drop the tray, the way they did in films, didn’t scream either, but stood very still in the doorway, staring at the glistening wet redness at the head of the bed. Ralph lay slumped against his pillow. There was blood on his face. On the pillows and the sheet as well. Ralph’s head was at an awkward angle.

She had no doubt that he was dead. From where she stood she couldn’t see the wound, but she imagined his throat had been slit, or his jugular pierced. There were flies buzzing in the room, attracted by the blood. It must be all this hot weather. A hornet too, by the sound of it.

Nurse Wilkes was used to the sight of blood, but she started shaking now. Who did this to him? Where was Father Lillie?

One of the wardrobe doors was ajar. A crazy thought popped into her head: what if moon-faced Father Lillie was lurking inside, clutching a knife, waiting for her?

Lazarus

Antonia took her coffee and the vanilla-cream macaroons she had bought at the local Chez Paul to her study, sat down at her desk and opened her diary. Hugh had asked her what she imagined would happen next. She had said, nothing – but she could do better than that, surely?

She picked up her pen and started writing.

A double bluff. What no one realizes is that there is another plot at work. It has never occurred to Ingrid that she is being duped. Ralph is not Ralph. The dying man by whose bed Ingrid has been sitting is not dying at all. He is an actor hired – and handsomely remunerated – by Ralph to impersonate him. The dreadful appearance is nothing but clever make-up and pros-thetics. For some reason Ralph is keen on keeping up the pretence that he is mortally ill, that indeed he is dying. What reason though?

‘Well, he has enemies. Ingrid Delmar is not the only one who is after him.’ Hugh had come into the room unnoticed, and was standing behind her, looking down at what she had written. He stroked her hair, then put his hand on her shoulder. ‘We may start with the strong presumption that Ralph Renshawe had a serious reason to leave America. Gentlemen at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the delightful climate of Florida for the solitary life of an English squire in a bleak Gothic mansion on the border between Oxfordshire and Berkshire.’

‘How did he make his enemies?’ Antonia tapped the pen against her teeth.

‘When he lived in Calgary and later in America he man-aged to get involved in various dubious deals. He cheated and double-crossed a great number of people.’

‘Perhaps he even ventured into the territory of organized crime? Yes. It was fear that drove him away.’

‘He had been getting death threats -’

‘Ralph Renshawe chose Ospreys very carefully,’ said Antonia. ‘Ospreys’ main attraction lay in the fact that it was isolated and hard to find. Remember how long it took us to get there?’

‘Indeed I do. That was a matter of desperate necessity. Renshawe settled down at Ospreys – but the fear didn’t leave him. Night after night he lay in bed, thinking about his enemies. He then hit on an ingenious plan -’

‘By pretending to be mortally ill, indeed, dying,’ Antonia said slowly, ‘Ralph Renshawe hopes to discourage his enemies from bumping him off… But if the cancer is fictitious, the resident nurse would know it, surely?’

Payne waved his hand. ‘Squared. Part of the set-up.’

‘The doctor -’

‘Ditto.’

‘Ralph Renshawe – the real Ralph Renshawe – is also at Ospreys. He occupies a secret attic room. He has been monitoring the situation from above. He’s had CCTV cam-eras installed and everything. What he doesn’t realize -’ Antonia broke off. ‘Can you think of a final twist?’