James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“The death of Sir Rupert,” she finally said. “Nothing suspicious?”

“It doesn’t seem so. His daughter Meredith was not exactly heartbroken, but there’s nothing to suggest she killed him. The doctor confirmed his heart was bad, had been for a while. He should have been resting, not working.”

“It would seem that there are strong emotions lurking within Meredith,” she said.

“She wasn’t happy being left out of the will,” I said.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Mrs. Mallowan said. “When she was an impressionable young girl, she discovered her father’s betrayal. That left a mark upon her. The proof is that she held on to that letter all these years. What rational reason would she have to do so?”

“To use it against Sir Rupert at some point?”

“No, Captain Boyle. She wanted to keep her anger and hatred alive. Time does heal the wounds of youth, and I’d say Meredith kept that letter to make certain hers never healed. I’d wager she was very close to her mother, which is where her loyalty lay. When her mother died, perhaps she feared a reconciliation with Sir Rupert, which would be a betrayal, and of course betrayal was the very thing she hated her father for. That made it all the more important for her to hold on to her loathing for him.”

“I had wondered if she’d taunted him with it the night he died. It wouldn’t be murder, but close to it.”

“Perhaps the question is, why did she bring it out that night, of all nights?”

“Good question,” I said. “She had told him she’d destroyed it years before, so there had to be a point in bringing it out now.”

“That may be,” she said. “But from the way you described their raised voices, it sounds like a serious argument. And a woman has very few weapons to bring to a fight with a powerful man. Of course, it is easy for me to come up with ideas. That is what I do. The truth, of course, is much more difficult to discern.”

“You’re right about it being an argument,” I said. “She was enraged. I think she said something about not standing for whatever he was doing to her when she stormed out of his office.”

“Perhaps he told her she would inherit nothing,” Mrs. Mallowan said. “But then what good would the letter do? She couldn’t blackmail him with it if he was intent upon acknowledging Peter Wiley as his illegitimate son.”

“Then we’re back to rage and revenge,” I said. “He must have been hurt to know that she’d kept the news from him all those years. But what does any of this have to do with Peter Wiley dead in the Channel?”

“That is a mystery, Captain Boyle,” she said with a pleasant smile. “My detectives always look for the small things. Little inconsistencies that lead to the truth. I’ve no idea how useful that is in a real murder investigation, I must say. But lies are actually quite difficult to maintain, don’t you think?”

“Lies and secrets, Mrs. Mallowan. Like Paris of Troy in Lord Edgware Dies .”

“Exactly! But remember what happened to the young man who realized what that meant.”

“I haven’t got there yet,” I said. “But I get the idea. I’ll be careful.”

“Please do, Captain Boyle. I’d like you to catch whoever was responsible for this foul deed. There’s death enough in the world today without violence being done by one of our own. Tell me a little more about the men in the household.”

I told her about David and his burn scars, and the desire he showed to serve again, which disappeared fairly quickly after Sir Rupert’s death. And Edgar’s principled stand in India, which cost him his position, not to mention his sobriety.

“But they’re only visitors,” I said. “Roger Crawford is the estate manager, very efficient at it too. Sir Rupert left him a decent sum.”

“But?”

“But he’s arrogant. Walks through the house like he owns the place. Apparently Ashcroft House is quite egalitarian, but he always strikes me as having a smirk on his face.”

“You don’t like the man,” Mrs. Mallowan said.

“No, I don’t, perhaps because he has a chip on his shoulder about Americans. He had a house in the South Hams, which the government took over. I’ve seen what’s left of it after all the live-fire exercises. Hard to blame a guy for being sore after the American army uses your place for target practice.”

“And Edgar-Meredith’s husband-takes refuge in the bottle, you said?”

“Pretty much. Booze and Shakespeare seem to be his two passions. I think that one decent act in India was all he had in him. He’s planning on writing a book about Hamlet , which is the only thing I’ve seen him get excited about,” I said. “David’s wife, Helen, couldn’t look at his face when I first arrived. But now she manages it, and they seem to be getting along. I tried to get him a position here so he could stay in uniform, but his eyesight is too badly damaged. I thought he’d take it hard, but he shrugged it off soon enough.”

“All this after the death of Sir Rupert?”

“Yes,” I said. “The doctor saw no signs of poison, and confirmed Sir Rupert’s heart condition. A matter of time, he said.”

“Hmmm. Let me think,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. A ship’s horn sounded in the distance, beyond Dartmouth harbor. A couple of minutes passed. “Let me venture a guess about this Meredith woman. Once Peter Wiley left the house, she voiced her displeasure with him in some way, perhaps even saying he would not be welcome again. Am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. How did you know that?”

“Because it is obvious that she knows more than she lets on. Her argument with her father behind closed doors tells me that. Perhaps she sincerely disliked Peter Wiley, and saw no reason to hide the fact after her father’s death, or from the moment Sir Rupert told her about Peter being in the revised will. But it is Helen who interests me. You described her as somewhat sensitive, which would make her reaction to her husband’s injuries understandable. It’s the change in demeanor that is hard to account for.”

“Like her husband’s?”

“No. That is easily understandable. A disfigured veteran might well worry about how he will make his way in the world and earn a living. Sir Rupert’s death may have seemed heaven-sent to a man with half a face, so it is entirely natural that he would no longer wish for employment. He certainly had reason to believe that Helen would receive a decent inheritance, since she and her father got along. But I wonder what drew Helen closer to David, following her father’s death? Mourning, or something else?”

“Are you saying I should treat Helen as a suspect? She doesn’t seem the murderous type,” I said.

“With your knowledge of the real world of criminals and killers, I should bow to your expertise. But based only on the sketch of Helen you have given me, I note the change in her attitude. Why, I ask? What would cause a young woman who is repulsed by her husband’s scars to alter her behavior suddenly? Do you have an answer, Captain Boyle?”

“I understand criminals, and that includes female criminals, Mrs. Mallowan. But women in general? I need all the help I can get.”

“That’s refereshingly honest of you, Captain Boyle. But she bears watching. Is Lady Pemberton a factor in this mystery?”

“I think she knows more than she lets on,” I said. “She’s still sharp, and she’s seen everything that’s happened at Ashcroft House since the Great War.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Mallowan said, tilting her head back and letting the sunlight fall on her face. “Why does the matriarch keep any secrets at all? Her silence must have a purpose. If you discover that, you will then know what the secret is, and why she keeps it hidden.”