A Pattern of Lies (5 page)

All of us, except for Mark, could see the man standing there, and the uniformed policemen behind him. He was of medium height, perhaps forty-­five, dark haired. There was a grim expression on his face.

Not one of us believed now that this call was about young vandals.

My heart flew into my throat, and I reached out for Mrs. Ashton's hand. She clasped my fingers fiercely until they hurt.

Philip Ashton rose. “Inspector Brothers,” he said calmly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ashton. I've come from Canterbury with a warrant for your arrest for the murder of these men.” He held out several sheets of paper, and I could see that they were filled with names. “I shall be happy to read them to you, sir, if you insist.”

“I know the names of these dead,” Mr. Ashton said. “They are engraved on my soul. What evidence is there that I have caused their deaths?”

“You were at the mill earlier in the day, Sunday the second of April 1916, before the first blast, behaving suspiciously, and there again just after the explosions brought the buildings down, standing at the very spot where the flames rose as you were hurrying away. This has been attested to by a dozen ­people who have come forward and given their depositions. They were rushing toward the river, and they report that your expression as you turned their way was gleeful.”

“Gleeful? I see. And what possible motive could I have had for destroying my mill, much less wanting these men dead?”

“A court will hear that in due course, sir. I am here to take you into custody on the charges brought.”

“Yes, certainly.” He glanced toward his wife, standing still as if turned to stone, her blue eyes stark in her pale face. “Will you give me a few minutes to say good-­bye to my family, and to give my son instructions about my affairs?” I could see Inspector Brothers hesitate. “I give you my word, Inspector. I will come through that door in ten minutes' time and accompany you to Canterbury without fuss.”

Reluctantly—­I think he was all too aware of the constables at his back, prepared for any resistance—­the Inspector agreed. Stepping back into the passage, he shut the door, and all of us could hear his voice issuing abrupt orders for his men to wait outside.

I would have left, to give them privacy, but Mrs. Ashton was still gripping my hand as if it were a lifeline to hope.

Philip Ashton came across the room to her and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Nothing to worry about, my dear, it will all be resolved shortly. I want you to be brave and not do anything rash.”

I couldn't imagine Mrs. Ashton doing anything rash, but I thought the words were meant for Mark as well.

He nodded to me, then turned to his niece. Clara was striving to hold back tears as she said good-­bye.

“It might be best for you to go home,” he urged her. “Will you think about it?”

And then he was conferring in a low voice with his son, close by the window.

Without looking at us, three women still standing there like marble statues, unable to speak, he crossed the room. Mrs. Ashton put out her hand then as if to stop him, but let it drop. He opened the door, stepped through it, then shut it firmly behind him, and we could just hear voices as Inspector Brothers took him in charge. As well as the soft
clink
of handcuffs.

The spaniel went to the door, scratching on it and whining.

 

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

A
S THEIR FOOTSTEPS
faded in the distance, Mrs. Ashton said distractedly, “He has nothing with him. His razor, comb—­a change of clothes, shoes—­a blanket, if where they put him is too cold.” But she didn't move.

Mark cleared his throat. “Later, Mother. He'll be all right until later. I must speak to Mr. Groves as soon as possible. That means running into Canterbury.” Through the open study windows we could hear the front door closing and then the carriages beginning to move down the drive. It was so loud in that room, as if the sound had come rushing back to invade and fill the silence.

For a moment no one said a word.

“Mark, perhaps it would be best—­” I began, thinking that it would be an imposition for me to stay under the circumstances.

Mrs. Ashton put out her hand. “Bess. No. You mustn't leave.” Then to her son, she said, “I'll see to his valise now. You must take it with you. It will make him more comfortable.”

Clara stepped forward. “I'll help,” she offered, but Mrs. Ashton shook her head.

“Thank you, dear, but I'd rather attend to it myself. You might speak to Mrs. Lacey about some sandwiches, and a Thermos of tea. I don't know what they serve in such places.” And she walked from the room like someone in a dream, only half her mind on the present.

Clara hurried after her, turning in the direction of the kitchen. The spaniel slipped out between them, and I could hear it scratching at the house door, asking to be let out.

Mark stared at me, but I don't think he saw me. Then he shook his head and said, quite simply, “Hell.”

I waited, not wishing to intrude. I couldn't imagine the police coming to take away the Colonel Sahib right in front of me. A shiver went through me at the thought. After a few seconds Mark's gaze sharpened, and I knew he was back in the study once more.

He said, as if apologizing, “There was nothing I could do. You do see that?”

“The last thing he would have wished is for you to make a scene. It would have been all the harder on your mother.”

“I felt like knocking Brothers down.” His voice was suddenly quite savage, the aftermath of shock.

“It would only have made matters worse for your father. And very likely they'd have taken you as well, and where would your mother be then?”

“Yes. Still.” He took a deep breath. “I don't know if they'll let me see him. But Mother will insist that I try.”

Collecting my wits, I said, “They'll search the valise. A formality, a precaution. And look at the food. You mustn't argue. Let them do what they must. Then they'll let your father have his things.” I wasn't sure if this was true or not, if they'd take away the razor and anything that he might use to harm himself. But I knew that it mattered to Mrs. Ashton, and if only a few things reached her husband, she'd be able to breathe more easily.

“You're quite right. Yes. I'll remember.” And then his anger came surging back. “My father. Taken away in handcuffs. Of all the stupid, ridiculous,
absurd
things to do.” He slammed his fist down on the back of the chair nearest him, not noticing the pain. “Why would he kill men he knew, men who'd worked for him, men who'd worked at the brewery until it closed? He knew them all by name. It was a point of pride to be able to call a man by his name when speaking to him. He paid a decent wage. He saw to it that they had decent housing. There are cottages on the far side of the abbey for those who needed a place to live. What in God's name could he gain, blowing up the mill?”

“If there's little or no evidence, if it's only rumor and speculation, the police will sort it out soon enough.” But Brothers had mentioned depositions. That was far more serious.

Mark frowned. “I can't imagine who these ‘witnesses' are. According to the Army there was only
one
witness. I'd nearly forgot about that. He claimed he was fishing out in The Swale. Surely he can swear that when my father walked away that morning, the buildings were still standing, the men inside still alive. And that my father had nothing to do with the fire any more than he'd had to do with the explosions.”

“Who is he?” I wondered if it were the boat builder. And if it were, if he would testify on behalf of Philip Ashton.

“A man by the name of Rollins. He calls himself a fisherman, but he spent as much time as possible far away from the sound of his sister's voice, and fishing may have been an excuse. Their father left them the cottage in equal shares, I hear, and it's very likely he enlisted to escape her. The trouble is, he was recovering from a wound at the time of the explosion. He must have gone back to the Front soon after the Army interviewed him about any signs of German incursions in the marshes. I don't believe he's been on any of the casualty lists. He must be still alive.” He was clutching desperately at straws.

“Will they bring him home, do you think, to testify? Surely they must, if he can refute the testimony of these other witnesses.”

“God alone knows,” he said, a touch of despair his voice. I knew this looked bleak; I could understand his gloom as his anger subsided. “Well, we'll accomplish nothing if I don't go and find Groves.” He crossed the room and said, “Bess, I'm so sorry. First the eggs and now this. But the worst is over, surely—­they've got what they wanted, the whisperers and the rumor-­mongers. Groves has been the family solicitor for years, he'll know what to do next. How to turn this around.”

It was whistling in the dark, but at least as soon as the solicitor came into the picture, the police would have to behave.

I wondered if that would satisfy anyone who had driven the police to take action today. But I said bracingly, “And you will, Mark, between you. I'm sure of it. And don't fret about me. I had nothing more pressing on my calendar than a few days of rest in London. I'll see your mother through this shock, and then she'll be herself again. I've never seen a more determined woman than Mrs. Ashton when she was in France. And she pulled you through. She'll not let anything happen to your father.”

His face brightened a little. “I'll be on my way. Mrs. Lacey and Mother should have the valise and those sandwiches by now.” He touched my shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Truth be told, I'm glad you're here. Eggs and Inspector Brothers notwithstanding.”

And he was gone. I waited there in the study until the hall was quiet once more, and then I went in search of Mrs. Ashton.

Instead I found Clara in the sitting room, a handkerchief in her hand and her eyes red.

“I don't want to go home,” she said wretchedly. “I want to stay here and help in any way I can. I want to stand by Mark, and Aunt Helen.”

It was none of my business—­Philip Ashton had expressly asked her to consider leaving. For the sake of her own good name. There was no reason for her to be involved and it would be best for her to go. “I think you should stay,” I said gently. “At least in the beginning. They'll have so much on their minds. They'll need someone to see to things, to make certain they eat and go to bed, and that Mrs. Lacey knows what to order, and the staff goes on as before.”

“Then why did Uncle Philip urge me to leave?”

I answered reluctantly. “Perhaps he feels there's worse to come. There will be more accusations, I should think. ­People will talk freely about him now, of course; they'll say things that are unforgivable because they feel they can. That he's guilty. This business might even come to trial, Clara, and that will be very hard for Mrs. Ashton to go through. Whatever is to happen in the next few days or weeks, your uncle wanted to spare you. To keep you from being dragged into this wretched business. And at some point, you might have to do just that. Leave. Where is it that you live?”

“In Berkshire,” she said. “My mother was Aunt Helen's sister.”

“There won't be the talk in Berkshire that there will be here. You will need a lot of courage to hear what's being said about your uncle, and not be hurt or angry. And you'll have to help your aunt to handle it as well. Now go put cool water on your face before Mrs. Ashton sees how upset you've been. It will hurt her to see you cry.”

In France I'd often been responsible for training the younger nursing Sisters and more than a few volunteers. Many of them had been shocked and frightened by their first experience of battlefield wounds, so different from the cases they'd worked with in hospitals in London. It made me feel ancient, but I'd had to learn to cope, just as they would have to do—­or be sent home. And Clara had had a shock too. Not torn bodies and the constant, nerve-­wracking sound of guns day and night, but it was no less devastating to watch her uncle taken away by the police on a charge of murder.

She looked a little mutinous, as if she resented my suggestion that she put her own feelings aside for the sake of her aunt. But if she wanted to stay here in Cranbourne, she would have to be strong.

Then she gave me a quavering smile and went out of the room.

Thank goodness
, I thought to myself.
When I leave, she'll be all right
.

I wanted to stay out of the way for a bit to give everyone a chance to deal with this shocking turn of events. Putting on a good face for the sake of a guest is very hard when pacing the floor or throwing something would make one feel better.

And so I slipped into the drawing room, expecting to find it empty at this time of day.

Instead I found Mrs. Byers, the housekeeper, standing by the front windows, her hands clasped tightly together. She must have watched Mr. Ashton leave.

She turned quickly when she heard me enter, expecting Mrs. Ashton. Her face was streaked with tears and she was hastily trying to hide them when she saw who it was.

“Don't mind me,” I said, putting up a hand to stop her from hurrying out of the room. “I've come here for the same reason you must have done. To give Mrs. Ashton a little time alone.”

Mrs. Byers took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. “I don't know who is behind what's happening, but it's
wrong
. I've been housekeeper here for twenty years and Mr. Ashton is no murderer. Do you think I'd have stayed, even for a minute, even for Mrs. Ashton, if I thought he'd had anything to do with the disaster at yon mill? All those men, blown to little bits or burned to death—­I ask you, what sort of person could do such a thing? It was an accident, pure and simple. God knows it couldn't be anything else.” She realized all at once that she was speaking to a guest in the house. Drawing herself together, she put her handkerchief away and was about to beg my pardon.

I said quickly, “Who could hate the Ashtons enough to cause them so much trouble?”

“God forgive me, and haven't I stayed awake at night wondering who was behind all the mischief?” she asked bitterly. “And I can't think of anyone vile enough.”

“It could be more than one person.”

“Whoever it is, they've spread their lies through the village. The butcher's order is wrong, or the meat already turned. We send the horse to be shod, and it's done backward. The post goes astray. A ha'penny's worth of nails is strewn in the drive one morning. Mr. Ashton's little boat is splashed with a dark red paint. Like blood, it was, and running everywhere. Another time the lines were cut and the mast hacked at.”

I couldn't hide my surprise. “Did Mark know all of this?” He'd been home for several weeks, he must have known. But he hadn't mentioned these other problems.

Mrs. Byers shook her head. “We were warned not to upset him. After all, he had enough trouble of his own. I felt that sorry for him, and everyone shouting in the hope he could hear a little. Mrs. Ashton didn't want him to worry about his father. As it was, he learned soon enough that something was going on.”

“Surely the staff has been questioned? By Mr. Ashton, if not by the police. Someone must have overheard talk. Some might know a name to begin with. A few must have family living there in the town.”

“Not that many of them. What's more, they all appear to be as much in the dark as I am.”

Or pretended to be . . . It would be hard on the servants here, having to choose between their own families and the family they worked for.

“We did have to let one of the maids go at the end of March this year,” Mrs. Byers told me with some reluctance. “She had lost both her brother and the man she was to marry in that explosion, and I think it slowly turned her mind. When we all believed it must have been sabotage, she hated Germans. She was volunteering for every committee in sight, knitting stockings and caps for our soldiers, then rolling bandages on her day off, even talking about going to work at the munitions plant over on Sheppey, to make the shells to kill more Germans. When it was decided there was no sabotage, she seemed to settle down a bit. I was all for letting her go; I thought she was apt to unsettle the others with her flights of fancy about Germans everywhere. Mrs. Ashton felt sorry for her. Besides, her mother had worked here before her death, and Mrs. Ashton was willing to give the girl the benefit of the doubt, for her mother's sake.”

“Has she ever come out and said anything against the Ashtons? Mr. Ashton in particular?”

“Not until that last day, when I paid her what was owing to her and gave her a little extra to tide her over while she found other work. That was Mrs. Ashton's doing too. Then she said outright that Mr. Ashton had put me up to letting her go, that he couldn't bear looking at her because she was a daily reminder of two of the dead on his conscience.”

“But why did you let her go, if Mrs. Ashton was against it?”

“She wasn't doing her work properly. I'd find a grate that hadn't been cleaned, a fire that hadn't been laid. A bed made worse than a junior maid could do the task, and the like. We were shorthanded already because of the war, and now one or the other of the staff had to go along behind her. I tried to talk to her, but she sat there without speaking, and I don't think she heard a word. I've wondered what it was troubling her. But she would never say. I didn't have any choice but to tell her enough is enough.”