Chapter 13

The atmosphere in the drawing room of Dammett Hall was profoundly gloomy, hardly relieved at all by the two table lamps which had been turned on to counteract the steady fading of the daylight, as the rain poured down outside from low charcoal clouds. Sandra Lawdown rose.

“I hope very much, inspector,” she said with a sort of nervous haughtiness, “that you have come to tell us that you have finished with us at last.”

“In many respects, your ladyship, yes,” replied Constable.

“Thank heavens for that. I know you’ve had your duty to do, inspector, but for the rest of us, life has to go on, and I for one need to make some arrangements. For a start, someone has to organise a meal for this evening.” She took a step towards the door.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but that won’t be possible just at the moment,” said Constable. “Please take a seat.” And, forestalling the words of protest which were already forming on Lady Lawdown’s lips, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to use your kitchen for some time, not until my colleagues have finished in there. It is now being examined as a crime scene. I have to tell you that Miss Amelia Cook has been murdered.”

Gasps and murmurs of shock rose all round the room, as Lady Lawdown sank on to a sofa. “Amelia murdered?” she said with an effort. “But how? When? Who would have …” She tailed off in seeming bewilderment, as Laura Biding came to sit alongside her and put an arm round her shoulder.

“Inspector,” said Laura, “Do you mean that Amelia’s been killed by the same person who killed Uncle Horace?”

“It appears so, miss.”

“And you think you know who it is?”

“I believe so, miss.”

Seymour Cummings could not contain himself any longer. “This is ridiculous, man!” he barked. “Are you trying to tell us that there’s some sort of lunatic assassin going about? In Dammett Worthy, of all places? The idea’s absurd.”

“I grant you that, sir,” replied Constable. “On the face of it, Dammett Worthy is the perfect English village. So who would have thought that it was such a hotbed of secrets? Oh yes,” he said in response to the murmur of protest which arose from the six as they exchanged uneasy glances. “The difficulty of an investigation like this is that during the course of it, we tend to uncover so many secrets, even among the innocent, that we can have something of a problem sorting the wheat from the chaff. And who would have thought that such a popular character as Horace Cope could have so many enemies?”

“How could Horace have had enemies, inspector?” protested Albert Ross. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. He was a fine man, a fine journalist and an outstanding clairvoyant – he was a visionary.”

“Well, let’s not overdo things, Mr. Ross,” said Constable. “He may have been all those things, but I can assure you that, from what we’ve learnt, he did have enemies. People over whom he had a hold, because of what he knew about them. Now that may be the way to influence people, but it’s certainly not the way to make friends. So I have to ask myself, how come Mr. Cope didn’t foresee the trouble he was storing up for himself? Perhaps it’s because he wasn’t a very good clairvoyant.” He permitted himself a small dry smile.

“You said something about people’s secrets,” said Helen Highwater.

“I did, Miss Highwater. Because we’ve discovered that what Horace Cope was very good at, was getting hold of other people’s secrets and using them for his own ends. Yes, even against his own cousin, the only other member of his family. Because he had Albert Ross round his neck, sponging off him all the time, cluttering up his house and showing no signs of wanting to move on.”

Albert Ross jumped to his feet. “That is simply not true, inspector,” he riposted with an unusual display of vehemence. “I’ve told you, Horace was very good to me, and I will not have him insulted in this fashion. Horace was a great believer in family loyalty, you take my word for it.”

“Sit down, Mr. Ross,” said Constable wearily. “I wish we could take your word for it, but I’m afraid that from what we’ve been told from sources that we’re quite happy to rely on, family loyalty was not exactly in plentiful supply in Mr. Cope’s household. Oh, I don’t doubt that you had quite a cushy number for quite a while, but I think you went and blotted your copybook, didn’t you?”

“I really don’t understand you,” muttered Albert uneasily.

“Oh, I think you do, Mr. Ross,” replied Constable. “And in fact, if there was any possibility that hearsay evidence might stand up in court, we might well want to have a long talk with you about certain antique items which went missing from Mr. Cope’s cottage. And possibly even some other pieces of silver which disappeared a little closer to hand.”

Lady Lawdown looked up. “What?” she said sharply. “Do you mean the silver we had stolen from the Hall? Are you trying to tell us that Albert was responsible for that?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything, my lady,” responded Constable. “I can’t spare the time to think about that incident just at the moment. We have more important things on our minds. But it may well have been on Mr. Ross’s mind. It seems that Mr. Cope was just about to pull the plug on his cousin. Albert Ross was about to be thrown out on to the streets.” And as Albert seemed to be about to protest again, “Please don’t deny it, Mr. Ross. We are pretty sure of our facts. So what I have to consider is, did you take drastic action to turn yourself from an unwelcome guest into the owner of a very comfortable home, as Horace Cope’s only heir?”

As Albert sat there stunned and silent, Andy Constable turned to Laura Biding.

“Miss Biding, you told us quite a lot about your … what did you call him? Your ‘Uncle Horace’.”

“Yes,” said Laura impatiently, “but of course you know he wasn’t actually my uncle. That was just what I’d always called him. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply. I’ve explained all that.”

“Indeed you have, Miss Biding,” soothed the inspector. “We aren’t implying anything other than that he was an old friend of the family as you told us. But of course, that’s just it. If Horace Cope wasn’t too free with his expressions of family loyalty within his own family, there would be no reason to suppose that that loyalty would extend to anyone who wasn’t family, would there? Now you started out telling us all about your dear generous Uncle Horace, but you’ve changed your tune since then, haven’t you?”

Lady Lawdown looked at her daughter. “Laura …?”

“Oh Mummy,” sighed Laura, “you don’t know the half of it.”

“Darling, what is Mr. Constable driving at? What does he mean, you’ve changed your tune? Inspector, what on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid it’s all a little delicate, Lady Lawdown. You see, we have to consider the question of lifestyle.”

Sandra Lawdown seemed baffled. “What lifestyle? Whose?”

“Ah, well, there you have it, my lady. In fact, it seems that the whole business is tied into the question of lifestyle. Not just Mr. Cope’s, but everybody in this room. But I think we’ll stay with yours, Miss Biding, for the moment. Now, you don’t have a job, do you?”

“No,” replied Laura, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes it’s helpful to know people’s sources of income, miss,” said Constable blandly. “It can be relevant.”

“Well, if you must know, although I can’t see why you should, I have an allowance from a trust which was set up for me by my stepfather, Lord Lawdown.”

“I assume it must be quite a generous one, miss, if it enables you to run that very smart little car of yours.” And as Laura did not reply, “Which is probably as well, because it seems that the estate these days doesn’t have a great deal of spare money at its disposal. I think that’s correct, isn’t it, your ladyship? From what we’ve been told.”

“And who, may I ask, has been bandying my private business around?” demanded Sandra Lawdown. “Has Amelia been gossiping again, as usual? Is that what this is all about? Do you suppose I killed her because she let some sort of cat out of the bag about my financial state?”

“Oh Sandra,” said Helen Highwater, “I’m so sorry. I think I was probably the one who told the inspector that money was a little tight for you. But I didn’t mean anything by it. I never thought for a moment that it would cause trouble for dear Laura…” She tailed off.

Inspector Constable turned back to Laura. “So, miss, an allowance. Would that be your only income?”

Laura seemed oddly evasive. “I do a little modelling work from time to time, inspector.”

Helen Highwater seemed eager to recover lost ground. “Oh inspector, Laura shouldn’t be so modest. She’s been in several of the fashion magazines, and she looked absolutely gorgeous on that cover of ‘County Living’. I’m sure there’s a copy here somewhere if you’d like to see.”

“We’ll leave that for the moment, Miss Highwater, I think. But we’ll agree that Miss Biding is a very attractive young lady. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why Mr. Cope was so generous in taking her out dining or to the theatre. I’m sure many middle-aged men in the public eye are always happy to be seen out and about with a glamorous young woman. But it seems that Mr. Cope went rather further than that, didn’t he? There was talk of him putting the flat he was planning to buy in London in your name, wasn’t there, miss?”

“Laura, darling? Is that true?” Lady Lawdown seemed taken aback at the revelation. “But why on earth would Horace do that?”

“I’m sure the inspector is about to tell us, Mummy,” said Laura wearily.

“The only thing we are certain of,” continued Constable, “is that Horace Cope was overheard to mention the possibility that Miss Biding might use the flat for ‘business’.”

“What, staying in London when you went up to do modelling shoots, is that it, darling? Well, inspector, what’s wrong with that?”

“Not a thing, my lady, if that is in fact what was proposed. Of course, there are other interpretations of the word ‘business’. Are there not, Miss Biding? And based on a newspaper cutting which we found in the dead man’s wallet, which mentioned the personal services of a certain lady called ‘L’, we could easily draw conclusions as to what ‘business’ Miss Biding was engaged in.”

Laura glared defiantly at the inspector. “You have not a shred of proof of any of this wild tale,” she declared. “If you dare to repeat any of this publicly, I will take you to court. Robin …?” She looked to Robin Allday for confirmation.

“That may not be advisable, Miss Biding,” replied Constable. “You see, there is a file of photographs which we have discovered on Mr. Cope’s computer which may be of interest to us. Of course, it may not be relevant, but we shan’t know that until we get past the security and open it up. Which we shall be doing if we think we need to.”

Laura subsided. She sounded resigned. “I don’t think you need trouble to do that, inspector. But I’ve done nothing illegal, and I resent this dragging out of my private life in front of everyone. It has nothing whatever to do with you.”

“Ah, but it has, Miss Biding. Because I spoke of secrets, and here is one which I’m sure some people would go to almost any lengths to preserve. To protect their reputation. To protect their name, their family. It’s very much a secret worth killing for.” He turned to Laura’s mother. “Is it not, your ladyship?”

Sandra Lawdown, who had been gazing at her daughter in horrified silence, rallied. “Are you trying to imply, inspector, that I knew all about this … whatever it is you believe Laura has done … and that I killed Horace in order to protect the family name? Is that seriously what you are suggesting?”

“I’m afraid it’s rather more complicated than that, my lady,” said Constable. “No, I don’t see that you would have killed Horace Cope for your daughter’s sake. But for all that, you were none too fond of him yourself, if the truth were told.” And as Sandra Lawdown seemed about to protest, “No, please don’t try to deny it. We’ve heard of one or two conversations between you which were not entirely friendly. And as lady of the manor and a Justice of the Peace, who knows, perhaps you even thought he was a little beneath you. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that behind your back, Mr. Cope was sometimes less than complimentary about you. In fact, the late Miss Cook overheard Mr. Cope saying that you were no lady. So how would you respond to that?”

Lady Lawdown remained looking straight ahead, lips firmly pressed together. Under the flawless make-up, her face seemed suddenly haggard.

“I mentioned some of the interesting items we discovered at Mr. Cope’s cottage,” continued Constable. “One of them was a letter from the Family Records Office which referred to a marriage certificate between a Mr. Rex Biding and a Miss Alexandra Thyme. The certificate itself wasn’t there – no doubt it’s safely locked away in Mr. Cope’s safe. So the question we then had to ask was, why was Mr. Cope so interested in it? Was that all of a piece with his professed interest in the records held at St. Salyve’s church? Now I think we are safe in the assumption that Rex Biding is Laura’s father. So then what about this marriage? Who was Alexandra Thyme? Was Lady Lawdown trying to hide the fact that she was never married to Laura’s father, and that Laura is therefore illegitimate?”

Lady Lawdown sprang to her feet, provoked into fury. “Inspector, how dare you? That is the most insulting …”

Andy Constable held up his hand to stem the flow. “Please allow me to finish, your ladyship. As I was about to say …” He waited until Sandra Lawdown had resumed her seat. “We of course had the answer to that question almost before it had been asked. Because according to the vicar, when Mr. Cope and Lady Lawdown met in the church porch, Mr. Cope called her ‘Alex’. Which might be thought strange, since her name is Sandra. But of course, it isn’t strange at all, is it, my lady? It’s simply that Alex is short for Alexandra, just as Sandra is short for Alexandra.”

“Of course it is,” said Lady Lawdown with more assurance. “I just happen to prefer the name Sandra. And I’m sure Horace used the name Alex purely to provoke me, although I have no idea why. He always had a spiteful streak. So I really cannot imagine what relevance all this has, inspector. What on earth does it matter what I call myself?”

“I think it matters a great deal, my lady,” replied Constable. “You see, I haven’t told you what else the letter said. Yes, there was a mention of Rex Biding’s marriage. But what Horace Cope had asked for, and failed to get, was a copy of Rex Biding’s death certificate. So why would he be interested in that? And why would the Family Records Office not be able to trace it? Their archives are pretty comprehensive, I understand. So the only thought that occurs to me is, perhaps this document didn’t come to light because it doesn’t exist. And perhaps Mr. Biding, whatever his daughter and other people may have been told, did not die when Laura was very young. Perhaps he did not die at all. So could it be that Lady Lawdown, J.P., is seeking to conceal the fact, not of illegitimacy, but of bigamy?”

Laura had been listening to the unfolding revelations with mounting incredulity. “Mummy … I don’t understand. Is the inspector telling us that daddy isn’t dead? But you always told me that he died when I was a child.” And in response to her mother’s continuing silence, “Mummy, tell me!”

“Oh darling, I wish I could,” answered Sandra Lawdown in a broken voice. “Your father …” She turned to Andy Constable. “You’re right of course, inspector. Rex was Laura’s father. I suppose we were just too young. Laura was born a year after we married, and when she was two, I discovered that Rex was involved with another woman. In fact, several other women. I confronted him – he didn’t deny it. So I told him to leave, and he did. I never saw him again.”

“And did you not get a divorce?” asked Constable.

“No, inspector, I did not,” said Lady Lawdown, recovering a little of her spirit. “I refused to undergo the embarrassment. And I wanted to protect Laura as best I could. So I just told her that her daddy had gone away. Later on, when she was old enough to ask questions, I told her that he had died. You may think that was cruel, but I thought it was no more cruel than letting her find out the sort of man her father really was. So the story was that Rex was dead. And as the years went by, I suppose I even came to believe it myself. And then I met Peter.”

“That’s Lord Lawdown?”

“Yes. And he was charming, and kind … so when he asked me to marry him, what could I do? I wanted the best for Laura, so I put my past life behind me.”

“So Rex Biding is still alive then?” said Constable.

“I really have no idea, inspector.” She smiled through emerging tears and rose to her feet. “And look at everything I have. Look at this house. My title, my position – everything is built on a lie.”

“And Horace Cope found out. How?”

Sandra Lawdown laughed bitterly. “He was a clairvoyant, inspector. Perhaps he divined it. How am I supposed to know? But he knew, and he let me know that he knew. Oh, nothing was ever said directly – he was too sly for that. And I don’t know what he hoped to gain by the knowledge. But if you ask me if I’m sorry that he’s dead, no, I’m not. I’m only sorry that the horrible truth didn’t die with him. I would have given anything to spare my friends the knowledge that I’m a liar and a fraud. But I am not a murderer.”

“And if that is the case, your ladyship, then there would probably be no need for the police to intrude further into your private affairs. Officially, that is. It may come as a surprise to some people, but we are sometimes capable of letting sleeping dogs lie, you know. So perhaps the matter of your past actions, and what you intend to do about them, is more a matter for your conscience than this investigation.”

Seymour Cummings walked over to Sandra Lawdown and wrapped his arms around her in a wordless hug, as Helen Highwater dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief from her sleeve.

“Sandra,” said Helen, “Don’t worry that any of this will make a difference to us. We love you for the person we know you are.”

“Thank you, Helen,” said Lady Lawdown. “You are a true friend.”

“Indeed, Miss Highwater,” said Constable. “Some might say that you appear to be Lady Lawdown’s best friend. And despite that friendship, or perhaps even because of it, you have had your own troubles with Horace Cope, haven’t you?”

“In what way, troubles, inspector? I don’t know what you mean?”

“But you’ve told us about them yourself, Miss Highwater. Don’t you remember? Of course, you’re a very successful author, and your books have made you very wealthy, haven’t they?”

Helen reddened slightly. “I won’t deny it, inspector, I’ve been very lucky, and I must admit that I’m really quite comfortably off. But I don’t see what that has to do with Horace’s death.”

“Ah, but the thing about wealth, Miss Highwater, is that it attracts all sorts of vultures. And it seems to me that Horace Cope might very well have been one of those vultures. Perhaps picking over the corpses.”

“Corpses? What corpses?” retorted Helen sharply.

“Forgive me, Miss Highwater,” said Constable. “Perhaps that wasn’t a particularly tasteful expression. I was referring to your ‘Carrie Otter’ novels. Because Horace Cope had been none too complimentary about them in his newspaper column, had he? But I dare say you hoped for better in his review of your new book. On the other hand, of course, there is the fear that Mr. Cope might have used his column to give you more bad publicity. We can’t tell, can we. So I imagine that it may be something of a mixed blessing that his final review will never appear in print. Will it?”

“No, inspector,” agreed Helen quietly, “it won’t.”

Andy Constable steepled his fingers and tapped them together. “Mind you,” he said, “there’s one thing that I can’t quite resolve. It’s this question of Mr. Cope’s possession of a copy of your final ‘Carrie Otter’ book. You told us that you gave it to him. Amelia Cook heard him decline your offer. And she also heard him make various other odd remarks which didn’t sound particularly friendly.”

Helen’s tone grew waspish. “I’m sorry, inspector, but I’m becoming a little tired of people being accused of goodness-knows-what on the basis of Amelia Cook’s bits and pieces of tittle-tattle. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I’m surprised that you pay so much attention to things half-heard from a woman who was probably only paying half-attention.”

“Really, Miss Highwater? Well, whatever else may be true about Miss Cook, I think it is generally agreed that her cooking was usually very well appreciated. So shall we say that she was paying close enough attention to notice that, whatever it was that Horace Cope said, it was enough to put you off your food.”