Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

Suppose Alban had propositioned Emma after she’d broken up with Alex, that might account for the stress she’d suffered. What if they’d had a surreptitious affair? And if Emma had indulged in a little quiet blackmail …

‘What about Tom Inchmore, did he realise that?’

‘Alas, poor Thomas. To adopt the modern idiom, he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the block. He took a shine to Emma while she worked here, she was always very good with him. As you may be aware, he’s dead now, so he cannot defend himself. But let me say this on his behalf. He may have been a Peeping Tommy, but he was no murderer.’

‘Suppose he made overtures which she rejected. It’s a situation that often leads to violence.’

‘Your colleagues explored that hypothesis in — shall we say, considerable depth? — ten years ago. Frankly, I was surprised that they failed to thrash a confession out of him. He was pitifully weak. That he steadfastly denied guilt proved that he found the notion of harming Emma horrific.’

‘I presume he was descended from whoever built this place?’

‘Indeed.’ Alban puffed out his cheeks and Hannah realised that she was in for a lecture. Presumably in winter he pined for the chance to pontificate to tourists with time on their hands. ‘During the nineteenth century, Clifford Inchmore ran a successful business, mining the Coniston Fells and earning a knighthood to accompany his fortune. My great-grandfather, Albert Clough, joined the firm as a young man and rose to become a partner in the firm. But Clifford’s son, George, was not cut from the same cloth. Albert left to set up on his own and George set about squandering his inheritance with unwise commercial ventures. Long before the influenza epidemic of 1919 carried off Albert, George had been made bankrupt. He lived long enough to suffer the indignity of seeing his son William go cap in hand to Albert’s grandson for work. Armstrong Clough, my father, took him on and was rewarded by William absconding after the war ended. He stole one thousand pounds, and we heard he died in Crete five years later without a penny to his name. Nonetheless, my mother insisted that we had a duty towards the family that gave Albert his first opportunity in life.’

‘That’s remarkably forbearing.’

‘My mother was a remarkable lady.’

‘So you gave Tom Inchmore a job out of the goodness of your heart?’

‘Because my mother had a good heart, which is not quite the same. Tom’s parents both died young, in a car crash twenty-five years ago, and from then on he was looked after by his grandmother, William’s wife. Edith Inchmore was herself a formidable woman. She died only last year at the age of ninety.’

‘The two old ladies were friends?’

‘They kept their distance from each other. While the Inchmore residence was a cramped two-up, two-down riddled with dry rot, my mother was chatelaine of this magnificent hall. It cannot have been easy for Edith Inchmore to bear, but she had only her husband’s family to blame. As for my mother, she had a fanatical sense of duty towards others less fortunate than herself, even if she disliked them. Noblesse oblige , if you like. It is a mark of my devotion to her that I resisted the temptation to sack Tom Inchmore, despite being one of the least competent young men I have ever met. That explains why he fell off a ladder when repairing a leaky roof. To suggest that he became cunning and successful for the first time in his life on resorting to murder is sheer fantasy.’

Not the most generous character reference Hannah had ever heard, but it was time to change tack.

‘You know Francis Goddard, I take it?’

‘Indeed. I cannot pretend that we have much in common. The meek may well inherit the earth, but that does not make them interesting.’

‘Emma lived under his roof. Might something interesting have occurred between them?’

Alban laughed so hard that his eyes started watering. ‘A deliciously sordid speculation, Chief Inspector! But regrettably wide of the mark, if I am any judge. Moreover, I have known Vanessa Goddard for many years. She is dedicated to outreach work, establishing partnerships between the libraries and other agencies. She lost her first husband to another woman, but Francis is well and truly under her thumb. I cannot conceive that he would have the spunk for a dangerous liaison with Emma, even were he not devoted to his wife.’

‘And you don’t have any reason to doubt that devotion?’

‘Certainly not. Vanessa and Francis have always had eyes only for each other. Emma herself confirmed it.’

‘What did she say?’

His wicked smile made him look like a gleeful old troll. ‘In the first flush of happiness after she embarked on a relationship with my daughter, I overheard her saying to Alexandra that she would be glad when she could afford to move into a place of her own. She indicated that, although the bedroom walls at Thurston Water House were by no means thin, Vanessa and Francis were raucous as well as uninhibited in their love-making. I find it pleasing to hear of a genuine love match, they are so very rare these days, but Emma found it embarrassing to be forced to eavesdrop on their passion. Poor girl, at heart she was something of a prude.’

Did this prove that Vanessa and Francis were incapable of straying? Hannah dabbed at a smear of sweat on her forehead. The heat and the old man’s salacious humour were overpowering.

‘Very well, Mr Clough. I’m grateful for your help.’

Her host treated her to a wicked smile as she hauled herself to her feet.

‘You’re not going so soon, Chief Inspector? Oh dear me, please linger for a few minutes more. Let me explain to you what it is that women most desire.’

Daniel was in the kitchen, looking out over the cottage garden and tapping notes into his laptop. John Ruskin’s life story proved that having it all was an illusion. Artist, critic, social philosopher, he was ‘the pre-eminent intellectual genius of Victorian England’. Yet his marriage was annulled due to non-consummation, he spent years lusting after a girl who lost her mind and died young, and he proposed to another teenager when he was seventy. After Whistler sued him for libel and won the princely sum of a farthing in damages, depression defeated him and he spent his last years in Coniston leading a reclusive and child-like existence, cared for by his cousin Joan.

Daniel switched off the laptop and read a few more pages of Unto this Last . He found the title haunting. Ruskin never finished the book, but failure to complete wasn’t an option for a twenty-first-century author who needed to keep the publisher satisfied and Daniel had started and discarded a couple of synopses. The malady was easy to diagnose. A historian was, by definition, an archive rat. But he still lacked documentary sources to provide a backbone for a book. He needed something he didn’t yet possess.

His thoughts wandered to Hannah Scarlett.

I could call her, why not? Where’s the harm?

He dialled Hannah’s number without answering his own question. Straight through to voicemail. It would have been so easy to hang up, but he heard himself speaking.

‘Hannah, this is Daniel Kind. I was wondering … how are things? Maybe we could talk sometime. Perhaps meet up.’

‘So,’ Alban Clough demanded, ‘do you know what it is, Chief Inspector, that women most desire?’

‘Break it to me gently.’

They had retraced their steps from Alban’s eyrie in the tower to ground level and she’d started shivering again. Alexandra Clough was nowhere to be seen and everything was still except for their footsteps echoing on the floor. For all his age and supposed infirmity, Alban strode briskly across the main hall and Hannah could do no more than glance at the dusty displays featuring the phantom army of Souther Fell and the fabled wizard of Burgh under Bowness.