Part 2 (1/2)
Hyslop grimaced. ”Had to study it at school. Not my cup of tea, to be honest. Too obscure for my taste.”
”And for many people's.”
”I was surprised to find he had a sister still living. Surely he died before the war.”
”Yes. But he died young. In Spain. He was a volunteer in the Republican army during the Civil War.”
”That's right. Of course he was. A hero's end.”
”So I believe. And yet a more peaceful one than his sister's. Isn't that strange?”
CHAPTER.
THREE.
The employment of Avril Mentiply had represented Beatrix's princ.i.p.al concession to old age. It was, as she had often explained to Charlotte, a substantial concession, since Mrs Mentiply's standards of cleanliness were less exacting than her own.
Nevertheless, the relations.h.i.+p had endured, far longer than initial reprimands and threats of resignation had suggested it might. Indeed, it had eventually blossomed into something not far short of friends.h.i.+p. Consequently, upon arrival at Mrs Mentiply's house that evening, Charlotte had not been surprised to find her strained and tearful, with the promised list of missing Tunbridge Ware far from complete.
She lived with her taciturn husband in a strangely sunless pebble-dash bungalow on the Folkestone road-one of the few parts of Rye to which tourists never strayed. It was not a setting in which Charlotte would have wished to linger. Yet linger she had, as Mrs Mentiply offered her cup after cup of stewed tea and poured out her distress at Beatrix's death.
”I know she was old, my dear, and frailer than she'd care to admit, but she always had an . . . indomitable look . . . that made you think she 14 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
was indestructible. But she wasn't, was she? No more indestructible than any of us would be if we were attacked in our own home like she was. What's the world coming to, I should like to know, when that kind of thing can happen to a respectable old lady?”
”Could have been worse,” put in Mr Mentiply, whom Charlotte had hoped might take one of several hints and leave the room but who had instead remained slumped in his chair by the flame-effect gas fire. ”At least it wasn't one of those s.e.x maniacs. Just a straightforward burglar.”
”Have some respect for the dead, Arnold,” retorted Mrs Mentiply.
”Miss Ladram doesn't want to hear talk like that.”
”Only facing facts.”
”Well, facts are that if he'd been a straightforward burglar he wouldn't have murdered Miss Abberley, would he?”
”She should have stayed in bed. Left him to it. Then she'd have come to no harm.”
”How do you know?”
”Stands to reason, doesn't it? He was only after her knick-knacks.
You said so yourself.”
Seeing that Mrs Mentiply was once more close to tears, Charlotte decided to intervene. ”It's certainly the Tunbridge Ware the police want to know about. Let's just read through this list and make sure we've left nothing off, shall we?”
”Very well, my dear.”
”A tea-caddy with a view of Bodiam Castle on the lid. Two cake baskets. A cube-patterned tray. Two other marquetry trays. A ther-mometer stand. A solitaire set. Three paper-”
At the first ring of the telephone in the hall, Mrs Mentiply was out of her chair and bustling from the room. Charlotte took a deep breath and set the list aside. Then Mrs Mentiply reappeared. ”It's your brother, Miss Ladram. He wants to speak to you.”
Charlotte smiled and made her way to the telephone. ”h.e.l.lo, Maurice?”
”I'm at Jackdaw Cottage, Charlie. Chief Inspector Hyslop's been putting me in the picture. And a depressing one it is.”
”I know. I'm drawing up a list of the missing items now with Mrs Mentiply.”
”So I understand. The Chief Inspector wants me to go with him to the mortuary. To identify Beatrix.”
H A N D I N G L O V E.
15.
”Really? He never-” Charlotte stopped. Hyslop had probably thought it a kindness not to ask her to perform such a duty. ”Will you go straightaway?”
”Yes. But there'll be a sergeant here to take the list when you've finished it. It's probably best to get the identification done as soon as possible.”
”Of course.”
”Afterwards, well . . . I was wondering if I could spend the night at Ockham House.”
”Certainly. You don't need to ask.”
”There'll be umpteen formalities to see to tomorrow. Registrar, solicitor and so forth. And I can't say I fancy driving all the way back to Bourne End tonight.”
”All right. I'll see you later.”
As she put the telephone down, Charlotte realized what a relief it would be to let Maurice take charge of the whole sad affair. Since her father's death, he had become the calm and efficient organizer of family business. He had a.s.sumed control of Ladram Aviation, her father's barely solvent flying school, and turned it into Ladram Avionics, an internationally successful company. He had negotiated the contracts relating to his own father's poetical works from which her mother-and subsequently she-had handsomely benefited.
And he had consistently shown himself able to offer his half-sister a helping hand without trying to run her life. Now, once more, he would come to her rescue. And, as she walked slowly back into the Mentiplys' sitting room, she acknowledged to herself that the sooner he did so the happier she would be.
The list at last completed and delivered, Charlotte drove back to Tunbridge Wells. It was pitch dark by the time she reached Ockham House and cold enough for the warmth of the day to seem a distant memory. At all events it felt cold, though whether the temperature was to blame-or Mrs Mentiply's account of how she had found Beatrix-Charlotte was uncertain.
”He'd hit her with one of those heavy bra.s.s candlesticks. Several times, I should say. I hardly recognized her at first. Her hair all matted with blood. And this terrible wound in the side of her head. They told me it must have been quick and I hope to G.o.d they're right. But it won't 16 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.