Chapter Eleven

THE CLATTER OF SID’S HOOVES ON THE STABLE-YARD flagstones sounded terribly normal, as if his owner had brought him in from any ride. The injured mare stuck her head out of the box and whinnied, but this time Sid wasn’t interested. Even Robin couldn’t persuade him to stand still and he went round in circles, rolling his eyes towards the thing on his back. Since Robin had to stay with Sid it was up to me to fetch help, and for a moment I hesitated. Imogen and Midge were nearest, but I didn’t want them to see the Old Man like this. Dulcie Berryman was next nearest and probably down in the kitchen by now, but the same thing applied. I admit my first reaction was to run for Meredith. He was older, after all he was a don. He’d know what to do. It was only then that I thought of Alan and remembered he had the right to know first. Looking back, it’s odd that the idea of sending for the police didn’t come into my mind at that point. Perhaps we’d already got used to managing things for ourselves up there. I told Robin to hang on, I’d be back soon and started running but before I’d gone more than a stride, there was Dulcie. She was walking under the arch between the house and the stable yard, with a big apron over her dress and slippers on her feet. From the casual way she was strolling and the beginnings of her usual smile when she saw me, there was no idea in her mind that anything was wrong. Then her face changed. She looked past me at Robin and Sid.

‘I should go back to the house,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

She took no notice and ran past me, heels of her slippers flapping to show the hard, calloused feet of somebody who walks barefoot a lot. Odd the things you notice. Then she stopped and said, ‘Oh.’ It was the tone of a mother whose child has done something damaging – the moment of realisation and regret before scolding starts. I called again that I’d be back soon and went on running. I didn’t tell them to leave the Old Man as he was until Alan got there because from the way Sid was behaving I didn’t think they had much choice. I ran out of the yard and up the track, across the mown field to the men’s barn. As luck would have it, Meredith was the first person I saw, standing outside the barn in his shirt sleeves, looking at the view northwards to the Scottish hills.

I said, ‘The Old Man’s dead.’ Then, because I didn’t have much breath to spare put the rest into one word, ‘Mazeppa.’

Whether he understood it all from that I didn’t know, because the other three came out of the barn in various stages of dress and undress. I told them as calmly as I could what had happened. Alan’s face went sharp and pale.

‘Why? Why was he tied to the horse?’

Now it was too late I saw that I’d done Alan a wrong twice over by not telling him about the Old Man’s heart trouble or his attempt to kill himself on the beach. Trying to protect him had made for a worse shock now. He seemed unable to move and Meredith had to suggest gently that they should all go inside and finish getting dressed. He and I waited outside for them. He asked me if I wanted to sit down, offered to get me water from the stream but didn’t fuss when I said no.

‘I take it there’s no doubt that he’s dead, Miss Bray?’

‘No. It was what he wanted yesterday on the beach, only…’

‘I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it yet if you don’t want to.’

‘Alan will have to know about him trying to kill himself.’

We told him while we were all walking down the track. He’d wanted to run to the stable yard but Meredith made him go slowly and listen. Alan walked head down, not responding, and I wasn’t sure how much he understood. To get it over, I told him about the Old Man’s near-collapse in the tack room.

Alan said, still head down, ‘You’re saying that he knew he was ill, he wanted to die?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

I tried to signal to Meredith with my eyes, over Alan’s bent head, that I wanted a word with him. He understood and we dropped back a few paces.

‘We brought him up from the field just as he was,’ I said. ‘I thought we’d better leave him like that until somebody else could see, but it probably shouldn’t be Alan.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s his right, don’t you think?’

As it was, I needn’t have worried. When we got to the stable yard there was no sign of Sid or his burden. Midge, Imogen and Dulcie were standing near the horse trough. When Alan saw Imogen he went running to her and laid his head on her shoulder. Unashamed, she put her arm round him and bent her head so that their foreheads were touching, not saying a word. I looked at Midge.

‘We managed to untie him,’ she said. ‘Robin and Dulcie and me. He’s in the tack room.’

‘Where’s the horse?’

‘Robin’s shut him in the stallion’s box. He’s still with him, trying to calm him down.’

Meredith, Alan and I went into the tack room. An old table that was usually scattered with bits of leather and mending tools had been cleared and the Old Man was laid out on it, covered in a yellow and red horse blanket. Dulcie and Midge must have done that because Robin had the horse to deal with. Meredith gently drew back the blanket from his face. The Old Man’s eyes had been closed and his face was gaunt but calm, the red gash from the fall on the beach standing out on the thin, weather-beaten skin. The sun was coming in through the window, shining on the picture of the galloping horses and breaking waves above his head and the Byron quotation. There were bits of grass and leaves in the Old Man’s silver hair, earth and grass stains on the sleeve of his shirt.

‘It looks as if the horse might have rolled on him.’

My own voice, sounding terribly calm. I wished I hadn’t said that with Alan there but shock seemed to have turned me into two people, one of them drowning in what was happening, the other one watching and analysing. Tears were running down Alan’s face. Meredith moved away to the far end of the tack room to give him some time to himself and I followed.

‘Did you make the Mazeppa connection at once?’ Meredith asked me.

‘Yes. I suppose … something like that was in my mind after that business on the beach.’

‘You mean you expected it?’

‘Not expected, no. But when I saw his foot was tied to the stirrup I thought … it was the kind of thing he might do.’

‘In the Byron, doesn’t Mazeppa survive?’

‘Yes, the horse drops dead and some Cossacks cut him free.’

‘The horse might have dropped dead this time. It must have been terrified.’

‘He risked Sid’s legs on the beach. There was a ruthlessness about him, wasn’t there? Horse and warrior taking their risks together.’

He glanced at me. ‘You understood him rather well, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Alan turned the blanket back over the Old Man again and left, his steps slow and heavy on the stone floor. I couldn’t look at the picture of the horses any more or the shape under the blanket, so much smaller now the life had gone out of him. I stared at a saddle stripped down for cleaning, a bunch of leather thongs hanging from a peg. They’d been left untidy and uneven, unusual in this neat room. I knew if I was going to say anything it must be now and to Meredith.

‘Those thongs – some like that were tying his feet to the stirrups. I … I think I might have heard him last night coming in to fetch them, and the saddle and bridle too probably.’

‘When was that?’

After Imogen had come back, but of course I couldn’t talk about that even if all the men had guessed.

‘Some time after one o’clock but before it got light. His hands were tied too. That’s what scares me. At first I was sure he’d done it himself. You could tie your own feet to the stirrups, even tie the stirrups together under the horse’s belly … if you leaned down from the saddle, say, and hooked the string with a riding crop…’ (As I talked, I was visualising the Old Man doing it) ‘but I don’t see how he could tie his own hands…’ My voice was becoming unsteady. ‘I’m sorry, forgive me, I’m talking nonsense.’

He looked at me and sighed. His hand, pleasantly cool, came round my wrist and I felt myself being guided over to an old armchair against the wall. Shock must have been setting in badly by then, because I didn’t try to resist.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid if you’re starting this there are no half measures.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you begin following a logical course of thought, you can’t tell yourself that you’ll only go so far then stop. Either don’t start or go as far as it takes you.’

‘I haven’t had time to think.’

‘You’ve had as much time as you’re going to get. You know we have to report this to the police? In a few hours it won’t be our private property any more.’ It sounds brutal, but the way he said it wasn’t. He was talking to me quite calmly, like an equal.

I said miserably, ‘I think I’ve already started.’

‘Yes, I think you have too. So you have to use your eyes and your brain and your instincts and go where they take you, whether you like it or not.’

‘Like being tied to a wild horse?’

‘Perhaps. You were saying that you didn’t see how he could have tied his own hands. Did you say that to Robin?’

‘I … I don’t think so. I told Robin we’d better get him back to the stable yard as he was. I thought … I supposed he’d still be on the horse when we got back down there but Robin and Dulcie and Midge must have…’

‘Did you call Dulcie?’

‘No, she just walked into the stable yard, the way she does.’

‘What about Midge?’

‘No, but we sleep just over the stable yard remember. Midge must have heard something and come down.’ I was amazed, when I thought about it, at Midge’s competence and calmness.

‘You said it scared you when you saw his hands were tied. What did you mean?’

‘I thought it meant somebody else must have known what he was planning to do – must have helped him.’

‘Did you get as far as wondering who?’

‘I don’t see who it could have been except Robin. He could get Sid to stand still, tie the knots and … oh.’

I pictured Robin in the grey light before dawn, tying the Old Man’s hands to the leather strap and the Old Man watching calmly, probably giving him instructions on exactly how to do it.

‘He’d do anything for the Old Man,’ I said. ‘You could see that.’

‘You know assisting somebody to commit suicide is a serious crime. It would be no defence to say you were told to do it.’

‘I know. So how can I be the one who puts Robin in prison? The police would probably be happy enough with that. You said yourself that Gypsies get blamed for everything round here.’

‘What happened to the leather thongs and the string?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose they’re still out there in the yard somewhere’.

‘The police might want to see them.’

‘Yes, if we put the idea in their heads. Do we have to do that?’

Meredith didn’t answer because Alan’s voice came from outside the tack room, calling for him. When we went out to him he was dry-eyed but still shaken, standing close to Imogen.

‘What happens now?’

‘We shall have to inform the police. I suggest that you and I go down and get that over as soon as possible. As Miss Bray saw him on the horse it might be a good thing if she came with us.’

Meredith’s tone was businesslike and that seemed to help Alan because he blinked and said yes, yes of course. Midge, Kit and Nathan were in the yard but there was no sign of Robin or Dulcie. I went over and took Midge aside.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Do you know what became of the string and the bits of leather?’

‘We got a knife out of the tack room and cut them. I suppose we just threw them down.’

I walked all round the yard as unobtrusively as possible, but there was no sign of them at all, not an inch of leather thong or string. Somebody must have tidied them away, but it would have been brutal to start asking questions about a detail like that. Besides, I wasn’t sorry not to find them.

The next job was getting the wagonette ready to go to the police station. Nathan volunteered to go to the mares’ field to fetch Bobbin and I went with him because I’d have to face it again at some time. Something was obviously worrying Nathan and as soon as we were away from the others he came out with it.

‘You shouldn’t have let her get involved.’

‘Midge? But I had no choice.’

‘You could have warned her, told her to stay upstairs.’

‘I’m sorry, but there were other things to think about. I had to tell Alan.’

In different circumstances I’d have been amused by the assumption that Midge was a delicate flower who needed protecting, but I agreed with him. I wished I could have saved her from it as well. We walked in silence up the track to the mares’ field. Now it was just any meadow on a fine summer’s morning. The mist had burned away, the mares gone back to their grazing and Bobbin’s placidity seemed entirely unaffected. The only strange thing was not seeing the Old Man. I hadn’t realised until then how his presence had worked itself into every corner of the place. Back in the stable yard when we managed to get the harness into a tangle I expected him to turn up and sort it out for us with his brown bony hands.

As Alan got into the wagonette, Imogen came up to him and took both his hands in hers for a moment. He bent and kissed the back of her hand that was clasped round his own, not in the tentative way he’d done when we went off on our ride but with a desperate need as if she were the only thing that made sense. I had a sudden, sharp memory of our evening in the college garden. Dead, for my life! Even so; my tale is told. It seemed another world already.

*   *   *

Meredith asked me to drive, which was typically sensible. For one thing it gave me something else to think about. For another, it meant he and Alan could sit in the back and talk. I couldn’t hear what they were saying above the clattering of Bobbin’s hooves and the jingling of the harness but I guessed it must be what we’d discussed back in the tack room. Put brutally, what exactly should we tell the police? It wasn’t an easy thing to have to do, given Alan’s obvious grief and shock, but decisions had to be made in the course of the drive.

We left Bobbin and the wagonette in the stables of the public house again and walked to the police station. We got some curious looks on the way but didn’t take much notice because Meredith was talking to us quietly but firmly, back in tutorial mode.

‘You should both keep in mind that the police aren’t stupid. Don’t on any account try to lie to them about any matters of fact. On the other hand, you’re under no obligation to talk about what you surmise, guess or suspect. The same applies to questions about Mr Beston’s health and state of mind. It’s perfectly reasonable for you, Nell, to tell them about the time you saw him taken ill. When it comes to what happened on the beach, that’s a more difficult question. It must be a matter for surmise unless you can say for certain that he threw himself off rather than falling.’

I didn’t say anything to that. I was certain in my own mind that the Old Man had intended to kill himself, but it would be difficult to explain why to anybody who hadn’t been on the ride. An old man falls off a horse, it happens all the time.

Alan said, ‘What about the telegram to me, and shooting Kit and so on? Do I tell them that?’

‘Probably yes. They’re both facts, and witnessed by other people as it happens. His state of mind is relevant.’

‘Because the police will think he killed himself because he murdered young Mawbray?’

‘It would be a reasonable assumption.’

I said, ‘And from their point of view quite useful. It closes an embarrassing case after all.’ I was feeling rebellious and it must have come out in my voice because they both looked at me.

‘Don’t you want that to happen?’ Meredith asked, not argumentative but as if he really wanted to know.

‘But if he didn’t kill young Mawbray—’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, let’s go in and get it over with.’ It came from Alan as a cry of pain and I realised how thoughtless I was being. Even if he hadn’t known the Old Man well, he was a relative and the one most closely affected. We crossed the street and went into the police station without another word.

*   *   *

The police officer we saw was the same Inspector Armstrong who’d spoken to Alan and Meredith on their first visit – a broad-shouldered man in his fifties, plump and balding. He spoke unusually softly for a policeman in a lowland Scots accent and had a relaxed, almost kindly air but shrewd eyes. When we were first shown into his office there was the business of introducing me and finding an extra chair, then Alan burst out as soon as we were sitting down.

‘My uncle’s dead.’

Once he’d got that out, he managed the rest well and calmly. His uncle had been found early that morning, tied into the saddle of one of his horses, dead. Armstrong listened calmly, not taking notes yet.

‘Was it you who found him?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I did.’ I told him all of it just as it happened, going to the river to swim, seeing the horse coming out of the mist and knowing at once that something was wrong. ‘But I couldn’t get the horse to stop, so I ran for help and luckily I met Robin.’ I realised I didn’t even know Robin’s second name.

‘The Gypsy lad?’ Armstrong said.

‘Yes. He got the horse to stand still and we took him back to the yard.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘Robin?’

‘Mr Beston.’

‘He was dead. I’m sure he was dead as soon as I saw him.’

‘On the horse?’

‘Yes.’

Inspector Armstrong sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘Where is he?’

Alan glanced at us both. ‘My uncle?’ Armstrong nodded. ‘Up at the house. In the tack room.’

Silence inside the room. Outside a cart rolled past and the window frame vibrated. Armstrong seemed to be thinking hard, eyes closed and chin propped on his fingers. After a long time he unpropped his chin and spoke.

‘We’ll have to bring him down for the doctor to look at him and we’ll be wanting statements. I’m afraid you’ll have to give one, Miss Bray, since you found him. It won’t be too alarming, just tell the story as you told me and we’ll write it down for you to sign.’

It annoyed me that he thought I needed reassuring, but I was glad to be spared any hard questions. He turned to Alan.

‘Do you know who the last person was to see your uncle alive, Mr Beston?’

We looked at each other. Alan said, ‘I suppose it would have been Mrs Berryman, in the house the night before.’

‘Ah yes, Mrs Berryman.’ A heaviness in the Inspector’s voice. You could tell he didn’t approve of her. ‘We’ll need a statement from her, and the Gypsy lad. Does that mean you weren’t in the house with him last night?’

‘We all slept up at the barn,’ Alan said.

Armstrong made no comment on that. ‘Are you Mr Beston’s next of kin?’

‘I think my father is, only he’s in Baden Baden with my mother. I’ll have to telegraph him, but…’ Alan let the words trail away. I think the complexities of the situation were only just catching up with him.

Armstrong nodded. ‘In any case, you’ll understand that you can’t make any arrangements to have your uncle buried until the doctor and the coroner have seen him. There’ll have to be an inquest. They might open it and adjourn it and release your uncle’s body for burial, but naturally we’ll keep you informed.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do I take it you’ve got quite a party up there?’

‘Some college friends on a reading party.’

‘Well, we’d take it as a favour if they’d stay until we sort out who we need statements from. We’ll try not to inconvenience them any more than we have to. And if you don’t mind waiting now, Miss Bray, we’ll get your statement taken down.’

Meredith asked, ‘May we go back after that or should we wait for the doctor?’

‘He’s been called to Ireby on another case. We’ll send him up to you later.’

*   *   *

The sergeant who took me through my statement and the constable who wrote it painstakingly down were as careful of my feelings as Inspector Armstrong had been. As Meredith had suggested, I kept to the simple facts of what I’d seen that morning with no speculation. They didn’t ask any questions about the Old Man’s health or state of mind. I supposed that would come later and was more than ready to let it wait. When we’d finished Meredith was waiting for me on the far side of the reception desk, looking concerned.

‘All right, Miss Bray?’

‘All right, yes.’

Alan had gone to the post office to send a telegram to his father. We met back in the yard of the public house and although I felt quite well enough to take the reins going home, Meredith insisted on driving us. I sat in the back with Alan. He looked worn down with worry and kept biting at his knuckles, probably a habit from his childhood that came back at times of stress. I couldn’t blame him. I had my straw hat in my lap and I knew my fingers were twisting the brim out of shape, the way I was told not to when I was about six years old.

‘Did you tell them about the ride on the beach, Nell?’

‘No. Did you want me to?’

‘It will all have to come out, won’t it? Isn’t that the kind of thing they want to know at inquests?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been to one.’

We were all so terribly new to it and this wasn’t at all the intellectual exploration we’d intended for our summer. We bowled along between banks of foxgloves and meadowsweet and I wondered how much practice it took to stop thinking things.