James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

Confusion passed across her face as she calculated what to say. That told me there really was a secret. “I knew Meredith had the letter,” she said, her bony hands clutching the spine of the book.

“Of course you did,” I said. “You see everything that goes on here. Did Meredith come to you when she intercepted the letter? Had she been confiding in you before then?”

“Yes, ever since she spied her father and that woman kissing in the garden. You see, she idolized him. But that moment changed everything. She went from a delightful young girl to a devil of a daughter. At least to Rupert. She transferred her mighty allegiance to her mother, and from that day on, it was war. But I fail to see what this has to do with Peter Wiley.”

“Maybe nothing,” I said. “Do you have any idea why she kept the letter for all these years?”

“She liked to taunt Rupert about it. She told him he’d never hear from Julia Greenshaw again. Needless to say, that’s one reason why she left, and perhaps why she was not mentioned in the will.”

“If she took her mother’s side in all this, why didn’t Louise Pemberton leave Ashcroft House to Meredith and Helen instead of her husband? Wouldn’t Louise reward such loyalty?”

“She intended to,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “In fact she promised Meredith she would. That was when they were in India. But the illness came on quickly, and when she died, she had not changed her will. I understand she had written to Farnsworth, our family solicitor, saying that she wanted a new document drafted. If he sent her one, it did not come in time. Her previous will stood, in which she left everything to her husband. Written in the flush of romance, I suspect.”

“Meredith must have been unhappy with that,” I said.

“Oh, she was. Meredith accused her father of destroying the new will so he would inherit Ashcroft. He denied it, of course, but that was the final break between them.”

“Then she stole some jewelry and went to London,” I said.

“The ring was missing, but that has been explained by recent events. She did take a few other old pieces, probably enough to sell and get herself set up properly. Nothing of sentimental value. I never begrudged her that much.”

“So she and Helen were both here because of their husbands,” I said. “Looking for help.”

“Essentially, yes. I had also written to both of them, saying that their father was quite ill. Rupert had confided in me a month ago that the doctors were very concerned about his heart. Actually, this was the second time Meredith had asked Rupert for help. She must have choked on her words. The previous time, after the birth of their first child, it was to secure a position for Edgar in the Indian Civil Service. Rupert obliged, and we know what a hash Edgar made of that.”

“Some might say he did the honorable thing,” I said.

“Perhaps, but it is hardly honorable to come back a second time to ask for help again. But they were desperate. No prospects, a dwindling bank account, persona non grata at the Foreign Office. It made for an awful scene when they first arrived.”

“But he didn’t throw them out,” I said.

“No, not with Helen and David coming as well. I think Rupert knew these were his last days, and even with all the enmity between them, he did find some solace in family.”

“And then Peter Wiley walks through the door,” I said.

“Yes.”

“It must have driven Meredith crazy,” I said.

“That is a bit of an exaggeration,” Lady Pemberton said. “But she obviously was not pleased. The only good thing for her was that it proved that she had not stolen the ring.”

“But Sir Rupert would have known that all along,” I said.

“I imagine so. But he couldn’t let on, could he? Louise claimed she had lost the ring, perhaps to protect herself from learning the truth. She defended Meredith against the accusations, telling Rupert her daughter would never steal from her. But still, what does all this have to do with the death of poor Peter?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I do know you saw something, probably early in the morning after Sir Rupert’s death. From this very window.”

“No!” Lady Pemberton said, rising from her seat, the book tumbling to the floor. “Now let us put an end to this. It is high time you left.”

I rose and took her hand. “I’m sorry if I caused you distress, Lady Pemberton. I am sure we’ll meet again. Soon.”

I went to my room and packed up my duffle bag. Kaz and David were in Big Mike’s room putting his gear together, and we walked downstairs together.

“I hope you’ll visit again, Piotr,” David said. “You too, Billy. Although it seems big things are coming soon. The generals will want to be in France before the summer. Can’t be too long now.”

“Think you’ll miss it?” I asked as we swung the bags into the back of the jeep.

“Yes,” David said, his voice low and firm. “Terribly. But at least I’m needed here. Gives me something to do. Listen, good luck with the Peter Wiley case. Hard to believe it was murder, but I am glad you seem to be closing in on the killer.”

“We’re very close,” I said. “A key piece of evidence has turned up. But mum’s the word, okay?” David agreed, and we shook hands and drove off.

“Where to now?” Kaz said.

“To see Inspector Grange. Then into the restricted area. The timing ought to be about right.”

I had enough of the pieces of the puzzle assembled for it to make sense to Kaz as we drove into Dartmouth. Which was good, since that was a dress rehearsal for Inspector Grange. He thought the idea had sufficient merit to send a car with two constables to assist us. But not so much that he came along himself. It was getting dark, and starting to rain to boot, so he decided to do his inspecting indoors.

We drove to Strete, showing orders at the roadblock and explaining that the bobbies in the other automobile were with us.

“You can go ahead if you want, Captain,” the MP at the gate said, shaking his head at the idea as raindrops splattered off his helmet. “But there’s an exercise scheduled for the morning. Bombardment at zero four thirty, landings at zero six hundred at Slapton Sands. Where are you headed?”

“Dunstone,” I said. “Little place south of Torcross.”

“I know where it is,” he said. “You’d best be clear of it by zero four hundred. They’re sending in those new rocket-firing fighter-bombers to soften up the area around the beachhead. They hauled in some old tanks today for target practice. If a stray shell from a cruiser doesn’t get you, a P-47 might.”

“Cheery,” Kaz said as we set off into the wet, bleak landscape. Heavy black clouds blanketed the setting sun, and the rain came and went in gusty showers. We slowed as we made our way through the ruined village of Stokenham, almost slamming into a tank parked in the middle of the road.

“Hey!” I yelled, looking for the crew. Then I noticed there were no treads. It was a wreck, an old M3 model, one of the targets for tomorrow’s exercise. The P-47s would be diving and firing their rockets, testing them out against thick armor plate. Flesh and bone wouldn’t stand a chance. I drove on, braking at shadows, afraid of a collision with an immoveable object.

We stopped at a fork in the road on the outskirts of Dunstone. An old farmhouse stood between two roads, a ramshackle barn facing the lane leading to the village. Rows of trees stood like sentinels in the night-it had been an apple orchard once upon a time.

“You fellows stay here,” I told the constables as they approached the idling jeep. “Watch each road, and follow anyone who passes. Give them about five minutes.”