Hollow Crown (30 page)

‘A licence?’

‘A driving licence – you oughtn’t to be driving if you haven’t got one, you know.’

‘I drove all round Spain on a bike.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said sententiously. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you. Anyway, girls go on the pillion.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Edward, do shut up. You’re making me sorry I kissed you. You deserve to be squashed like a hedgehog . . . ’ She saw his face fall. ‘Well, I
suppose I don’t mean that but you can be so annoying! Where are we anyway?’

‘Haling’s just round the corner. I wouldn’t be surprised if that car came from there. Anyway, it’s time you had your puncture.’

‘Why should it be me? I suppose you think it’s not masculine to have a puncture or something.’

‘Do shut up, Verity. We’ve gone through all that. It’s what we agreed, remember?’

While he was talking he took a screwdriver, which he had had the foresight to bring with him, and went over to Verity’s bike lying in the ditch and pierced the front tyre with it. He
watched with satisfaction the rubber tube exhale and then returned to his machine and started it. ‘Hop on my bike, won’t you, while I push yours.’

Submissively, she did as he asked and rode slowly round the corner with Edward in pursuit, huffing and puffing, as he pushed the heavy machine, its front tyre flapping ridiculously.

‘I’m most awfully sorry, Pickering, but we’ve had a bit of an accident.’ Edward indicated the machine he had been pushing which he had leant against a
wall. ‘Miss Browne’s machine had a flat – lucky she didn’t fall off and hurt herself. I suddenly saw where we were – I mean, just here at Haling – so I wondered
. . . we wondered whether it would be asking too much if you could supply us with a bucket of water. Look, see, I’ve got a repair kit in my saddlebag but . . . ’

There was just a moment when he thought Pickering was going to be difficult but the moment passed and the butler said, smoothly enough, ‘Of course, my lord. Perhaps you would care to
follow me. I will let Miss Conway know you are here.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother her . . . ’

A figure appeared in the hall carrying flowers.

‘Lord Edward! Is that really you?’

‘Yes it is, Miss Conway. Sorry to come barging in like this. What lovely roses!’

‘Yes, the very last. Williams grows them under glass. Mr Scannon so loved having them in the house. But did I hear you saying you had an accident?’

‘Not an accident, just a puncture. I was telling Pickering, we were passing the end of the drive when Verity . . . . by the way, you remember Miss Browne, don’t you? . . . her bike .
. . her motor bike, don’t y’know,’ he burbled on, ‘it developed a flat tyre . . . ’

‘Miss Browne,’ she said, shaking Verity’s hand, ‘I don’t think we did meet when you were here, did we? Mrs Scannon was very ill that night and I wasn’t able
to leave her. But don’t tell me you have been on a motor bicycle? How could you let her, Lord Edward?’

Edward considered asking how he could have stopped her.

‘Williams!’ she called to the gardener who was passing with a spade in one hand and a bucket in the other which he now courteously put down on hearing the summons.
‘Would you be kind enough to mend this puncture for Lord Edward?’

‘Oh no, please. I’m sure he has a great deal to do . . . ’ Edward protested.

‘It won’t take very long, will it, Williams?’ Miss Conway said, ignoring Edward.

Verity smiled at the gardener and that decided the matter. Williams blushed deeply and made a gesture which might have been half-way to touching his forelock. ‘No time at all, miss!’
he mumbled in a broad Wiltshire accent.

‘Come and have some tea. Take off your things . . . ’ Miss Conway gestured at their dirty boots and jackets. ‘Pickering, can you bring us some tea?’

‘Yes, miss.’

Edward was struck by the alteration in her manner. The shy, monosyllabic woman tied to Scannon’s bedridden mother was now very much the lady of the manor – confident, at ease
ordering the servants around and obviously happy to play hostess to the unexpected visitors.The mystery was soon explained. As they sipped their tea, Edward and Verity expressed their condolences
over Scannon’s death and Edward asked after the old woman.

‘Oh,’ said Miss Conway breezily, ‘Mrs Scannon’s in hospital. I just wasn’t able to cope with her any more – now I’ve got so much more to do, you
understand.’

Edward did not understand. ‘So much more to do? You mean the funeral?’

‘That and running the estate. I’m afraid Mr Scannon let the house deteriorate. The first thing I did was get on to the builders. The roof needs to be replaced, for one
thing.’

‘That will be very expensive.’

‘Yes, Lord Edward, but money’s not a problem.’ She smiled smugly.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, Mr Scannon was always pretending he was on the breadline but actually he had pots of money.’

‘And, if I might ask,’ Edward ventured, ‘who inherits it?’

‘I do, of course! He had no other relatives apart from his mother and he left everything to me. That was so good of him, wasn’t it?’

Verity and Edward could hardly hide their amazement. Edward managed to say, ‘That’s splendid, Miss Conway. But I had no idea you were a relative.’

‘No one knew. It was the old story . . . well, I don’t mind telling you. The fact of the matter is my mother worked in the accounts department at old Mr Scannon’s match
factory. You know he made his money from Starburst matches?’ Edward nodded. ‘He fell in love with her and I was the result.’

So baldly did she tell her story that it left Edward at a loss for words. It was Verity who ventured, ‘Mr Scannon was married when he fell in love with your mother?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘And you were accepted into the family?’ Edward asked.

‘Not at first. Mr Scannon bought my mother a house in Cheam. He paid for my education and gave my mother an allowance. He was generous in the way such men are generous. As long as my
mother . . . played the game, as it were, she was well cared for.’

‘But your mother’s not still alive?’

‘No. By some unlucky accident, she contracted a disease called phossy jaw.’

‘How terrible,’ Edward said, not wishing to tell her he knew already. ‘But I thought only those poor girls who were actually working with the phosphorus were in danger of being
contaminated.’

‘That is so but, before my mother was promoted to the accounts department, she had worked on the factory floor. To tell the truth, though I never discussed it with her, I think she had an
affair with the chief accountant and he must have . . . you know, fixed things.’

Edward had a vision of a pretty girl handed from man to man as casually as a packet of cigarettes. He could imagine how powerless such girls were to withstand the attentions of men who literally
had the power of life and death over them. Even a minor functionary, such as the head of the accounts department, was in a position to remove a girl from the hard and dangerous work on the factory
floor and, if she resisted his advances, she would be thrown on the scrap heap with every possibility of having to prostitute herself to put food in her belly. Mr Scannon, as the factory owner, had
all the power over his employees of some Eastern potentate.

‘So your mother got ill when you were . . . ?’

‘About twelve. I was brought to Haling as a servant to Mrs Scannon and my mother was taken off to some sort of a hospital. I never saw her again.’

‘How terrible!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘The way those men treated women like your mother was abominable.’ She looked at Edward accusingly.

‘I don’t suppose Mr Scannon saw it that way,’ Miss Conway said, mildly. ‘He probably thought he was saving me from the gutter – which he was.’

‘But you were his daughter!’ Verity said. ‘And you never saw your mother again – not even when she was dying?’

‘It is the most terrible disease, you know. It eats away at your bones, Miss Browne. I read up about it. I think he thought he was saving me from the horror of seeing my mother . . .
deformed.’

‘But does Mrs Scannon know you are her husband’s daughter?’ Edward asked.

‘We have never talked about it. She must have done, I suppose.’

‘You never talked about it – not in all those years you’ve been with her?’

‘Never!’

Verity was aghast. To think of the little girl torn from her mother and placed in a strange house as a servant with no one to love her or care for her . . . it did not bear thinking about. She
surely deserved recompense.

Ruth Conway, seeing their faces and misinterpreting their expressions, said, ‘You mustn’t think ill of my mother.’

‘Please, Miss Conway, don’t think for one moment that we were thinking badly of your mother. I was only feeling ashamed for my sex,’ Edward said.

Miss Conway looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t see why you should be. It’s nothing to do with you, Lord Edward. I mean, it’s not your fault. It’s the way of the
world.’

‘A world we must change,’ Verity said indignantly.

Ruth shot her a look of amused contempt. ‘You think it can be changed – the way men behave to women?’

‘I certainly do,’ Verity said stoutly.

Edward said, hurriedly, ‘But Leo obviously made up for what his father . . . ’

‘We grew up here together. He liked me, yes.’

Edward wondered if there had been any childhood romance and, as if she had read his thoughts, she continued, ‘I think you know, Lord Edward, that Leo did not like girls very much but he
was good to me.’

‘And you must have talked to him about . . . about your situation?’

‘About money, you mean?’

‘Well, yes, that, but I’ve got no right . . . ’

‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’m not. Anyway, the police have already asked me and I told them. When his father died, Leo told me he was going to leave me some money. He said there
ought to have been some compensation for my mother getting ill but, what with the war and everything, nothing had actually happened although his father always intended to do something for me. I
don’t know if that was just Leo being kind. I rather doubt the old man had given it a thought, but perhaps I’m doing him an injustice.’

‘And . . . forgive me, I’m being impertinent . . . ’

‘Did he say he would leave me all this . . . ? Is that what you were going to ask?’ Miss Conway said, waving her hand to indicate the house. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘But he welcomed you as a member of the family?’

‘That’s an odd way of putting it, but I suppose that was what it amounted to. He was very proud of his father and yet . . . taking my mother as his mistress . . . I think he was a
bit ashamed of that.’

‘He didn’t hold it against you?’

‘No, why should he?’

‘Some men might,’ Verity broke in. ‘When you’re in the wrong or ashamed of something you tend to lash out at the victim rather than the . . . you know. At least,
that’s what I’ve found.’

Ruth Conway and Edward looked at her curiously, wondering what had prompted her to speak with such feeling.

‘No, he was very good to me. He asked me to stay and continue to look after his mother but he said that if I wanted to leave, he would add to the money his father had left, so I could buy
somewhere to live.’

‘But you didn’t?’

‘No, I had no reason to leave. Haling’s my home but I never thought . . . that one day it might be mine.’

There was a moment’s silence and then she continued, ‘Now tell me, Lord Edward, why did you really come here? The puncture was just an excuse, wasn’t it?’

Edward looked at her, his mouth agape. ‘Was it so obvious?’ he said with a wry smile.

‘I’m afraid it was,’ she replied. ‘I guessed something was up when your sister-in-law telephoned and started asking questions about the funeral and who was here in the
house.’

‘The truth is,’ Verity broke in, ‘we want to find out who really killed Mrs Harkness. Molly was a friend of Edward’s and we don’t have a lot of faith in the
police.’

‘Why not? Chief Inspector Pride seems good at his job.’

‘The Chief Inspector is very thorough but we have had dealings with him before,’ Edward said. ‘You may remember reading in the newspapers that one of the guests at a dinner
party my brother gave at Mersham last year was murdered, and we don’t think he did much to find out who did it. He was more concerned to push the whole thing under the carpet.’

‘I see. And you think you can do better?’

‘Probably not, but I feel I owe it to Molly to try. You see, I had been invited to Haling to get from her, with the minimum of fuss, some letters she had stolen from . . . a certain
personage . . . ’

‘Mrs Simpson? Leo told me all about it.’

‘Oh, he did, did he,’ Edward said, annoyed that Scannon had been indiscreet. ‘Well, I failed and poor Molly was murdered. You can understand that I feel in some way
responsible.’

‘Molly was a particular friend of Edward’s – in Kenya,’ Verity added mischievously.

‘I
see
,’ Miss Conway repeated. ‘Well, what can I do to help? Shall we ask Pickering what he remembers?’

‘Yes, if that’s possible. I’m sorry to be a nuisance.’

‘You’re not a nuisance, Lord Edward. To tell you the truth, I
have
been a bit bored. Mrs Scannon not being in the house any longer, my whole daily ritual has
disappeared.’

‘But you must know a lot of people round here.’

‘Not really. Leo knew everyone, of course, but I kept in the background. They didn’t come to see me.’

‘But we almost ran into a car on the way here – a Wolseley, I think.’

‘Oh, that was Colonel Philips, the Chief Constable. Do you know him? He has been very helpful. I think he thinks Chief Inspector Pride has been bullying me.’ She giggled nervously.
‘I think he thinks I killed Leo. As if I ever would!’

‘When is the funeral? Connie said you didn’t know exactly.’

‘Next week if the coroner allows. It’s his having been poisoned, you know, that’s the problem. He can’t be buried before everything has been examined. After the funeral,
I might go abroad. See something of the world. You know, I have never been out of the country! I’d like to see Venice before I die.’