Bones of the Buried (20 page)

Finally, in desperation, at the end of March, Edward decided to ring Basil Thoroughgood at the Foreign Office but was told by an unhelpful assistant that he was on leave. Defeated in his
attempts to keep in touch with the outside world, he relaxed into a dream world circumscribed by the dry-stone walls around the estate. He drove up to London once but found the noise and the dirt
gave him a headache and, after a sleepless night, returned gratefully to a bucolic existence. He thought Fenton was rather worried by his retreat into unsociability. Certainly, Connie was getting a
little perturbed and occasionally invited over neighbours, including on one occasion the Chief Constable, Colonel Philips, in an effort to take Edward out of himself. Colonel Philips had one item
of news: Inspector Pride, who had investigated the death of General Craig at Mersham the year before, had been promoted to Chief Inspector and was now highly thought of by Scotland Yard. There had
existed a mutual antipathy between Edward and the Inspector, the latter considering him a tiresome meddler in affairs which did not concern him, while Edward only just refrained from asking the
Chief Constable if he thought Pride’s promotion was in recognition of his ability to hide embarrassing truths under the carpet. He was too polite to say any such thing but was amused when the
Colonel offered him what might have been an apology for the way Pride had treated him the year before.

‘Dashed good fellow, don’t y’know. Amazingly thorough but don’t quite know how we work in the back of beyond, what? He cleared up a nasty blackmail case a few years ago
and, since then, I’ve always had the utmost admiration for the man. A bit blunt, I grant you, but I like him,’ he ended defiantly.

Otherwise, Edward gave offence to the dull daughters of the local gentry and their even duller mothers when he proved unable to disguise his yawns. Connie got so exasperated that she actually
suggested he go away. ‘I mean, I’m terribly grateful to you, Ned, for flying to my rescue but, thanks to Elizabeth, Gerald is so much better.’

‘Thanks to Elizabeth,’ repeated Edward dreamily, and Connie looked at him closely.

As far as she had been able to discover, Elizabeth was entirely respectable. She was a clergyman’s daughter but both her parents were dead. She had been in Africa – Kenya – but
not nursing. She was older than Verity, about Edward’s own age. Connie had the feeling she had a little money of her own. She was always nicely dressed and she wore clothes she could not have
afforded on what she was paid at the hospital. She was not exactly secretive but Connie, who was usually so good at extracting information from people, could get little else from her.

As the days passed, Edward and Elizabeth, as the only two young people in the castle, found they spent more and more time together. Elizabeth was interested in Edward’s views on world
affairs and on the situation in Spain in particular. She claimed to be in complete ignorance of the political turmoil in that unhappy country which, to judge from
The Times
, seemed to be
getting ever more unstable. He, of course, considered himself an expert on all things Spanish having spent less than a week in Madrid and delighted in instructing this attractive young woman who
– so unlike someone he could mention – gave every evidence of enjoying being lectured by him. Elizabeth said little or nothing about her own political opinions. As far as he could
gather she was an admirer of the Labour leader and former Prime Minister, Ramsay MacDonald, and hated what was happening in Germany.

He scanned the
New Gazette
for articles by Verity but, whether because there was nothing sensational enough to interest
New Gazette
readers or the news from Spain was judged by the
editor to be too depressing, there were only two reports carrying Verity’s by-line in the whole time he was at Mersham. Neither, if Edward was honest with himself, made riveting reading and
he hoped Lord Weaver, the proprietor and Verity’s sponsor, would not tire of her. He knew she would not last long without his support; the editor certainly did not care for her.

Then came a telephone call from Basil Thoroughgood which galvanised him. He was sitting at the breakfast table consuming, without much appetite, kippers and scrambled egg when Bates, the butler,
came into the room.

‘Excuse me, my lord. There is a trunk call for you – a Mr Thoroughgood. I informed him you were at breakfast but he insisted it was urgent that he speak with you.’

‘Thank you Bates. That’s quite all right. I’ll take it in the hall.’

The instrument in the hall was one of only two telephones in the whole castle – the other being in the Duke’s study. If any of the servants wished to use the telephone, they had
either to ask permission from the Duchess, which she almost always granted, or walk to the village. The Duke was inclined to think that telephones were a necessary evil and the source of bad news.
Edward had to admit that, at least in this instance, he was right.

‘Thoroughgood, that you?’ he shouted down the mouthpiece in his clipped, high-pitched, rather nasal drawl which Verity, in one of her moments of irritation with him, had described as
‘equine’.

‘Corinth? Yes, it’s me, Thoroughgood. I wondered if you had heard the news?’

‘What news? Has something happened to Ver . . .? What news?’

‘It’s Thayer . . . he’s been murdered.’

‘Stephen, murdered? I can’t believe it. Surely not! Murdered? There was nothing in the papers.’

‘Well, there wouldn’t have been. His body was only discovered this morning when the maid went into the study. He had been bashed on the head.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘The Commissioner’s a friend of mine and he knew I was a close friend.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Sorry, what did you say? This is a bad line.’

‘I said . . . oh, never mind. Look, Thoroughgood, can I come and see you? There are things we need to discuss.’

‘Of course, that was why I was ringing. What time can you be in London?’

‘I’ll come on the eleven-ten and be with you about one. Oh . . . and Thoroughgood, will you talk to the Commissioner again and find out all you can about the circumstances of poor
Thayer’s death – who was in the house, that sort of thing? Do we know who’s going to be in charge of the case?’

‘Chief Inspector Pride. I believe he’s a good man.’

‘Pride?’ Edward groaned.

‘Of course, I had forgotten you know him. He handled the unfortunate business at Mersham well – kept the whole thing quiet, didn’t he?’

‘Never mind about that. I’ll see you later. Goodbye . . . and thank you for ringing.’

Edward found Connie in the breakfast-room looking worried. She had overheard his side of the telephone conversation. ‘What is it, Ned? Did I hear you say Stephen Thayer is dead?’

‘Yes, murdered . . .’ He rang the bell for Bates.

‘That’s terrible and there’s that poor boy too, Frank’s friend. I must ring the school and see if there’s anything I can do. It’s too awful. It’s the
Easter break next week. I wonder if Frank will want to bring Charles here to Mersham?’

‘Yes, do that, Connie: speak to Frank. I think this may upset him quite badly. Do you remember I said I had met Stephen for the first time in years when I went to see Frank at Eton? I am
kicking myself for not having followed it up. I might have been able to help in some way. Thayer told me he had something he wanted to talk to me about but because of one thing and another –
Gerald mostly – it went right out of my head. Now I’m wondering whether if I had talked to him, I might have been able to do something which would have prevented this.’

‘Please, Ned, don’t start torturing yourself. If Mr Thayer had wanted to see you, there was nothing to stop him telephoning you here.’

‘I know but . . . Ah, Bates, have the papers arrived?’

‘Yes, my lord. I have them here.’

Edward grabbed
The Times
and Connie took the
New Gazette
but, as Thoroughgood had said, there was nothing about Thayer’s death in either.

‘Connie, I’m going up to town on the eleven-ten. I feel in my bones there’s a connection between Godfrey Tilney’s death and Thayer’s – something Stephen said
when I met him at Eton. And now I think about it, someone else who was at school with the two of us was killed – a chap called Makepeace Hoden. It’s all too much of a
coincidence.’

‘This man Hoden – you mean he may have been murdered?’

‘I don’t know,’ Edward said grimly, ‘but I’m beginning to wonder. His death was reported as a shooting accident. He was on safari in Kenya, but now I am beginning
to think his death may be part of a pattern. Makepeace Hoden,’ he murmured to himself, ‘a singularly inappropriate name.’

It’s damned odd, Corinth. There’s got to be something going on.’

Edward was seated on an upright chair like a naughty schoolboy, while Thoroughgood lounged back in his armchair behind a desk empty of anything except a telephone and a blotting pad.

‘You’ve talked to Pride? How did you get him to confide in you?’

‘I know the Commissioner. I told him I was a close friend of Thayer’s and he instructed Pride to keep me informed of progress. I went to see him at the Yard on my way here. He was
quite helpful though he says he doesn’t have much to go on.’

‘What does he think happened?’

‘The murder must have occurred after the servants went to bed – I understand that was about eleven. There’s no evidence that anyone broke into the house so whoever killed
Thayer must have been let in by him.’

‘And you don’t turn your back on someone you think may have a reason to kill you.’

‘Not unless you are very arrogant.’

‘Hang on, though, what about the servants?’

‘There are only three who live in, according to Pride, the butler – a man called Barrington – a cook and a parlourmaid. They would appear to be beyond suspicion.’

‘What time was the body discovered?’

‘Seven this morning, when the maid went in to tidy up.’

‘You say he was killed by one of his own ornaments?’

‘Yes – or rather not an ornament but a work of art. Thayer had a valuable collection of oriental figurines – jade mostly. The killer brained him with a Buddha – late
seventeenth-century Japanese, I believe.’

‘Hmm. That suggests the killer acted on impulse.’

‘You mean, he used whatever was at hand?’

‘He – or she. Could a woman have done it? I’d like to see the figurine.’

‘Women don’t go bashing people over the head. Anyway, they’re not strong enough. Thayer was tall and . . .’

‘Maybe – yes, you’re probably right,’ Edward admitted. ‘Did he have any obvious enemies?’

‘I don’t think so but Pride may turn up some skeletons. You don’t found and run a successful merchant bank without breaking a few bones.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Edward paused. ‘It was successful – the bank?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘You must forgive me, Thoroughgood, but I don’t quite understand why you’re so worked up by all this. It’s terrible, of course, but, as I remember it, you were never a
great friend of Thayer’s.’

‘No, not at school but afterwards our paths crossed quite a lot, you know,’ he said airily. ‘I was able to do him a few favours, gave him a tip now and again – early
warning of what was happening abroad, that sort of thing . . .’

‘And in return he made you money?’

‘Yes, he cut me in on a few deals. You know how it is – old school tie . . .’

‘So, you’ve got money in the firm?’

‘Between ourselves, Corinth,’ said Thoroughgood, leaning forward confidentially, ‘I’ve got a lot at stake if the bank goes down.’

‘But why should it go down? You said it was successful.’

‘Merchant banks are all a matter of trust, Corinth, you must see that. Thayer
was
the bank. With him dead . . . murdered . . .’

‘There must be other partners.’

‘Just the one – a chap called Hoffmann.’

‘German?’

‘Yes, Heinrich Hoffmann. You haven’t heard of him?’

‘Should I have?’

‘I just thought you might. He’s based in Frankfurt. Thayer was well in with the Fatherland.’

‘Hoffmann’s a Nazi?’

‘No, he’s not actually a Party member, not yet anyway.’

‘I see, so you’re afraid this business will uncover some deals with the Nazis which you wouldn’t want your name connected with?’

‘I’m being quite honest with you, Corinth. After all I can trust you; we were at school together.’

‘And if we went to war with Germany . . .?’

‘God forbid . . .’ said Thoroughgood, passing a hand through his thinning hair. ‘I’m trying to get my money out of the bank but it’s not easy, and now . . .’
he shrugged, ‘as I say, I’ve got a lot at stake: money, reputation – everything to lose.’

‘How can I help?’ Edward said easily, taking some pleasure in seeing the man squirm.

‘Well, you know, I can’t really be seen to be asking too many questions. I thought, as a friend of the dead man, you could keep an eye on the investigation. Maybe even drop Pride a
hint or two. Anyway, keep the whole thing quiet. It’s for the good of the country.’

Edward was beginning to feel his stomach churn. ‘I thought you were worried you might be next on the list?’

‘To be murdered? Well, there’s that too. That’s why we need to find out who killed Thayer . . .’

‘And Tilney and Hoden.’

‘You think the deaths are all connected?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Maybe . . . I have thought so but I have no idea why or how.’

‘Thayer hinted to me, the last time I saw him, that something was . . . I don’t know . . . worrying him.’

‘Blackmail?’

‘I’m not sure. He was going to tell me about it but he never did.’

‘You’ve got to find out why Thayer was killed. You can ask people – people at the top – questions the police can’t ask or, if they do, they won’t get
answered. It will be good for you, too.’

‘What do you mean: “good” for me?’

‘Well, if you do your country a service . . .’

‘My country!’ Edward exploded.

‘The FO, then. If you deserve well of us, we can help you. You want a job, don’t you? That’s what you’ve been saying. And then your girlfriend: Verity Browne. She’s
got some undesirable friends. She may need protecting. Another thing, for all we know this madman may have
you
next on his list, not me.’