A Question of Inheritance (24 page)

Hugo said, ‘A man called Gregor Orlov can.’

Rupert’s composure faltered for a moment and then he said smoothly, ‘Gregor Orlov? Never heard of him.’

Hugo said, ‘Major Orlov, MGB, post-war Berlin. Now at the Russian Embassy, under the name Aleksandr Zherdev. You arranged for him to buy some very special bronzes that belonged to an aristocratic family who wanted you to grant them their certificates.’

Rupert laughed; he sounded relieved. ‘Who do you imagine is going to pay the slightest attention to what an MGB officer says?’

That it was the devil of it, finding proof that led from Rupert in Berlin and the acquisition of these pictures, to their being in Lord Selchester’s attics wasn’t going to be easy. Let alone convincing MacLeod that Rupert had murdered Oliver to keep his mouth shut.

Scene 5

Rupert was going through the entrance hall when the front doorbell rang. Hugo opened the door and Emerson came in, followed by Saul.

And by Superintendent MacLeod, who said, ‘Just come to have a word with his lordship, if you—’

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Saul pointed at Rupert. ‘There he is. That’s the man from Berlin.’

Chapter Eighteen

Scene 1

Lady Sonia stormed into Grace Hall, and stood with her hands on her hips, enraged. ‘They you are. Would you believe it, Rupert has just simply taken off in his car. Georgia says he’ll be heading for London. How the hell am I going to get back to London if I don’t have a car? Am I supposed to go by train? Besides, the policeman told us to stay here. I can’t think what’s got into him.’

Leo, who’d arrived back from London, came into the hall with Georgia. ‘It’s inconvenient and annoying, but it’s better for you – for all of us, possibly – that he doesn’t stay in the Castle.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Can we go into the kitchen or somewhere warm?’ Georgia said. ‘It’s cold in here.’

‘I will not sit in the kitchen, as though I were a servant.’ Sonia stalked off towards the South Drawing Room, where she flung herself on to a sofa, still fuming. ‘Why all these mysterious looks? Why has Rupert taken it into his head to drive off at a hundred miles an hour? What is going on here?’

The others looked at one another. Then Leo said, ‘There are some things you ought to know about Rupert. Hugo will explain.’

Sonia listened in silence to Hugo’s account of the chain of events that had led to Oliver’s death, which was interrupted only by Georgia’s
sotto voce
, ‘I knew it was Rupert.’

Sonia sat up straight. She gave Freya a chilling look that reminded her of Lord Selchester at his most commanding. ‘Is this true, Freya?’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

‘Damn it. That’s too much. I can almost understand Rupert killing a man out of temper, in a quarrel or argument or when drunk. That happens. People get wiped out all the time. I didn’t mourn for Oliver. I didn’t know him but I did know he had blood on his hands.’ She paused and exchanged a glance with Freya. ‘You know about that, don’t you? About Marcus?’

Freya said, ‘Yes, but you claimed you knew nothing about Oliver.’

‘Never mind what I said. I didn’t know it for sure; it was just something my father told me. And I put two and two together. I wonder why the police didn’t arrest Dinah for the murder. Oh, you didn’t tell them about Oliver’s wartime exploits, Freya, did you? I’m surprised you, Hugo, with your infuriating curiosity, didn’t find out about it and think Dinah killed Oliver.’

‘Unlikely,’ Leo said. ‘Yes, I know about Marcus, too. Dinah told me. It would need an unbalanced person with an obsession to take that kind of revenge ten years later.’

‘It’s irrelevant now,’ Sonia said. ‘Oliver is dead. Rupert should end up with a noose round his neck but he won’t. And I won’t have those pictures.’

Leo said, ‘I don’t think Gus will want them.’

‘I don’t care who wants them. Selchester shouldn’t have had them and they must go back to their owners. If any of them are alive.’ She saw the surprise on Hugo’s face and said vehemently, ‘There are some things I draw the line at, you know. If what you’ve told me about Rupert is true, and I believe you, then that’s where I draw the line.’

Hugo was astonished at this moral stance, but he could tell that Freya and Leo weren’t.

Later, Hugo told Gus what had happened and he was shocked to the core. ‘I never thought that an Englishman in Rupert’s position would behave like that. For an Army officer to be so corrupt is truly horrifying. Is there anything I can do to help bring him to justice?’

Hugo shook his head. ‘Perhaps I can make some more enquiries, but I suspect that Rupert will get away with it.’

It was a subdued evening. Lady Sonia hardly said a word. Babs and Polly had got the truth out of Georgia, but none of them felt like discussing it.

As she got up from the dinner table, Lady Sonia said, ‘Give me the details of that man who traces looted paintings and I’ll arrange for them to be delivered to him.’ She glanced at Gus. ‘If that’s acceptable to you.’

Gus said, ‘To be honest, I don’t think I can sleep easily in this Castle with those paintings up in the attic. They represent such loss and suffering and, yes, evil, as I’m sure you’ll agree, Leo.’

‘I don’t think I can sleep easy in this castle at all,’ Polly said. ‘It’s a horrible place and terrible things happen here.’

‘You mustn’t think like that Polly,’ Freya said. ‘It’s not the Castle; it’s people that make bad things happen. After all, Rupert wasn’t connected to the Castle, and nor was Oliver.’

‘Maybe not, but people seem to die here.’

Georgia said bracingly, ‘Lots did, that’s what castles were all about. That was all in the past. It’s not really a scary place now.’

Gus said, ‘We’re not, as a family, happy in the old part of the Castle. So I intend to see what I can do to make Lady Mathilda’s wing habitable. I’ve had a look at it, and it needs quite a bit of work, but I’ve decided that’s where we’ll make ourselves at home.’

Polly looked up, eyes shining. ‘No old stone walls? No four-poster beds? No ghosts?’

Gus turned to Freya. ‘I would be so pleased, Freya, if you would continue to live in the old part of the Castle as you have been. It needs to have people living in it, but I’m too American and not enough yet a Fitzwarin or an Earl of Selchester to feel comfortable. I’ll be happier with a more modern place and the amenities that it can have. And it would be better for the girls.’

Then he said to Hugo, ‘And I hope that you and Georgia will continue to live here, for as long as is convenient for you and you want to.’

Georgia let out an unrestrained whoop of delight and punched her fist into her other palm. She took a deep breath and said, ‘That’s jolly good idea. Because they’ll have to un-suspend you now it’s all coming out about Rupert, won’t they, Hugo? And I tell you another good idea, which is that if you’re going to live here, then Polly won’t want to be away all the time. She should come to the High School with me.’

Babs said, ‘That makes sense. I’ve been talking to Sonia about boarding schools in England and they sound dreadful.’

Sonia raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘You’ll have to see to it, Gus, that she doesn’t acquire some frightful local accent.’

Chapter Nineteen

Saturday, January 19th

‘This is the BBC Home Service. Here is the eight o’clock news, read by Frank Phillips.

‘It has been reported that Mr Rupert Dauntsey, the Conservative Member of Parliament for Westington, has been found dead in his London house. Foul play is not suspected.’

Mrs Partridge always listened to the morning news on the wireless. As Hugo and Freya came into the kitchen for breakfast she said, ‘Mr Rupert is dead.’

Freya and Hugo stared at her.

‘Dead?’ Hugo said. ‘How?’

‘He shot himself. They said on the news he was cleaning a gun and blew his brains out. What a shocking accident. Careless; dangerous things, guns, and what did he want with one in his house in London? They’re saying all kinds of nice things about him, his war record and service to his country and all that and how it had been thought he might one day be Prime Minister.’ She gave a sniff. ‘For myself, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but he wasn’t a man I’d ever trust.’

Freya was shocked; too shocked to speak for a moment.

Hugo knew that whatever she’d done in the war, death hadn’t been the almost everyday event it had been for him. Yet he, too, was shocked. Rupert might be a ruthless murderer, but they had known him. He was more than a news item to them.

‘Was he taking the honourable way out?’ Freya said to Hugo. ‘Do you think he knew that the police were closing in on him?’

Hugo, instinctively suspicious of accidents with guns said, ‘Probably. I saw the Superintendent yesterday. They’ve had to make sure they have a completely watertight case, given Rupert’s position and the kind of friends he has in high places, but MacLeod was quietly confident that he’d be issuing a warrant for his arrest any day.’

‘So Rupert decided this was better than the hangman.’

There was a knock at the door. Mr Bunbury with the post. ‘Letters for you, Miss Freya, and for you, Mr Hugo, and a parcel for his lordship. Yes, I’ll take a quick cuppa, Mrs Partridge, if there’s one in the pot.’ He mopped his brow. ‘This hill doesn’t get any easier. Well, that’s one for the book, his lordship’s guest over Christmas shooting himself like that. It’ll be in the
Gazette
, seeing that he stayed at the Castle. If the missing atom scientist doesn’t steal all the headlines.’

‘Missing scientist?’ Freya said.

‘One of those boffins from the Atomic hasn’t been seen for a couple of days and it looks like he’s disappeared for good. They’re in a state over there; afraid he’s taken himself off to Russia.’

Hugo sighed. Trust Mr Bunbury to have information about something that was supposed to be secret. And if they were in a state at the Atomic, then the telephones would be ringing off the hook up at the Hall. He downed his coffee and stood up.

Mr Bunbury propped himself against the side of the sink, stirring a generous spoonful of sugar into his tea. ‘I dare say he’s one of those absent-minded boffins and has just wandered off. Why would anyone want to go to Russia? And in the winter, too.’

Acknowledgements

Heartfelt thanks to:

Eloise Aston for amusing and helpful comments.

Anselm Audley for ruthless and excellent editing.

Jean Buchanan for expert advice, plus coffee and cakes.

William Edmondson for electrical knowledge (the shocks are all mine).

Elizabeth Jennings for advice and encouragement.

Nancy Warren for a needle-sharp beta read.

Von Whiteman for listening to authorial agonising.

Andrew Wilkinson for forensic expertise (the mistakes are all mine).

And Emilie, Sana and the team at Thomas & Mercer for their brilliant support and help.

About the Author

Photo © David Morgan

Elizabeth Edmondson was born in Chile, brought up in Calcutta and educated at Oxford. She is the author of eight novels, including
The Villa in Italy
,
The Villa on the Riviera
,
Voyage of Innocence
and
The Frozen Lake
, which have been translated into several languages. She has a particular fascination for the Cold War era and the mysteries it suggests to her as a novelist; above all she has a desire to enchant and entertain. Elizabeth lives in Oxford, where she writes, rings church bells and enjoys vigorous walks in the University Parks, avoiding lacrosse balls and Quidditch players on their broomsticks.