Rules of Murder (16 page)

“Why, yes, I have. Drew Farthering, did you say? You must be Mason Parker’s stepson.”

“That’s right.” Drew shook his hand. “And Miss Parker here is his niece.”

“Well, I’m awful pleased to meet you both.” Whiteside gestured to the table. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, no, no,” Drew said. “We wouldn’t think of disturbing you. You ought to call up at Farthering Place if you’re ever at loose ends, though. I’m sure my stepfather would very much like to see you again.”

“That’d be real nice. I knew he had an estate somewhere around here, but I didn’t realize we’d landed right on it.”

“Just up the road,” Drew assured him.

“Perhaps I will come for a visit sometime. I was going to send flowers, anyway. After I heard about your loss.”

“Very kind of you, sir. Thank you.”

“Are you sure you won’t join us?”

“Actually, we must be off. I promised Miss Parker I’d take her to look at our church and let her nose about some of the shops before they shut for the day.”

“Well, if you ever want to talk to somebody from home, ma’am, you let me know.” Whiteside winked at her. “Maybe we can find us a real iced soda pop somewhere around here.”

“That would be nice,” Madeline said. “Of course, if you come up to Farthering Place, perhaps I’ll see you then.”

After Drew made another apology to the ladies and they both made their farewells, he and Madeline went back to their own table. He reached up and jiggled the bell over the door, and Kitty hurried out of the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s you.” She dipped her chin so she could look up at him in that knowing way some girls had. “Something else?”

“Just the bill, if you would, please, Kitty.”

She scribbled a few numbers on her pad and then tore the page off and gave it to Drew with a sly grin. He handed her some coins and told her to keep the change. Then, with a tip of his hat to Mr. Whiteside and the ladies, he escorted Madeline out into the high street.

“How odd that it would be the Mr. Whiteside who designed
our new plants,” he said as they walked toward the church. “I’m surprised Mrs. Beecham didn’t know that beforehand, as well.”

“Maybe she does by now. It’s been at least half an hour since we spoke to her.”

He shook his finger at her. “Cheeky.”

She giggled at his mock sternness. “Does everyone here know everything about everybody?”

“Almost without fail, darling, so you’d ought to be on your best behavior. Good thing we’re on our way to church. In fact, I’m sure it will do wonders for your reputation to be seen going. Evidently, it doesn’t matter why you’re going so long as you are seen.”

“Do you think everyone’s a hypocrite?”

“Of course not. But there seems to be a great many of them in the church.”

“There are a great many of them everywhere, in case you haven’t noticed. Maybe church is the best place for them, anyway.” She smiled up at him in that pert, challenging way she had. “It’s not the healthy people who need the hospital, you know.”

They walked across the road and down to Holy Trinity. Headstones, as weathered and mossed over as the ancient oaks that shaded them, were scattered through the churchyard, and Madeline went along reading the names and dates, admiring a weeping marble angel here and a slumbering cherub there, musing over the lives of children who had died young and men and women who had lived long. They steered clear of the newest grave.

“How old these headstones are,” she murmured. “And how many there are too for such a small place.”

“We’ve had rather a long while to collect them,” Drew reminded her. “Shall we go in?”

They went up the walk and to the massive wooden door at
the front of the church. He opened it for her and, removing his hat, followed her inside.

“There’s not all that much to it, I’m afraid. And you’ve been here once already.”

“But that was different. I didn’t get a chance to really look at things then.”

It was no more than a small parish church, one that might be found in any village in Hampshire, or indeed in all of England, but she seemed fascinated by its every detail. She opened the door to one of the old pew boxes and sat down.

“What must they have felt all that time ago when this was first built and they began to worship here? When they first looked up and saw the light through that window?”

He followed her gaze up to the arched window above the altar, its richly colored panes depicting Christ in glory, His arms outstretched, His eyes merciful, His pierced hands beckoning. The late-afternoon sun shone through, illuminating the glass like a page from a medieval Bible. Drew had never noticed such richness in it before, but he didn’t allow any of the wonder in Madeline’s expression to be reflected in his own. No need getting silly over a woman’s fancies.

Her eyes shone as she looked up at it. “I’ve been wanting to have another look at that since the funeral.”

“I’m afraid that stained glass came a good four or five hundred years after the church, darling.”

“It’s still wonderful.”

He came and sat down beside her in the pew. “If you like this, I’ll take you up to Winchester one day and show you the cathedral. I daresay one could fit a dozen or more of our little Holy Trinity inside it.”

She took his arm and hugged herself against him. “Oh yes, please. I’m sure it’s glorious. But, in its way, I think it would still
be the same as it is here. It’s as if the fragrance of the prayers of all those hundreds of years still lingers here in these stones and in these pews, saying God still bends down to hear and answer.”

“I suppose it all must have been easier to believe back in those days.” He shrugged and helped her to her feet and out of the pew. “Now modern science explains everything away and, in time, one wonders what it’s all for.”

“How very sad,” she said as they walked up to the altar, toward the pulpit inscribed with the words
“Woe unto me if I preach not the gospel.”

He smiled. She was pitying him now. “Not so sad as that. I believe in God and all. I just . . . I suppose I just don’t think of it much.”

“Really?”

“It’s not that I don’t think He’s out there. Somewhere. I just don’t know if He’s really all that interested in what each of us is doing. I mean, I’d say He’s rather too busy to worry about if I’ve gone to a service and sung hymn 196 and given to the collection and all. No doubt He’d like us to be good to one another, help the poor, not run off with another man’s wife or murder her or any of that sort of thing, and if we’ve done a kindness here and there, that’s all for the better.”

“So just do a little more good than bad, is that it?”

“No, not exactly. I just think if God is a God of love and mercy as they say, He’ll know I mean well and see I’m taken care of.”

“But you don’t want to actually ask for His love and mercy. Or thank Him for it.”

“It’s not that. I just, well, He’s got better things to see to, hasn’t He? I’d think it rather cheeky of me to be wasting His time day in and day out.”

“Or is it that you don’t want Him wasting your time?”

He laughed, and her face turned scarlet.

“You don’t much mince words, do you, Madeline?”

She looked down. “Sometimes I forget we’ve really only just met.”

“I’m glad you forget. I like that you speak your mind to me, but I won’t suddenly become religious just to please someone else.” He squeezed her hand. “Not even you, darling.”

She looked relieved, not angry as he had feared.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She tilted her head back and smiled up at him again, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “In fact, I wouldn’t want you to be religious at all.”

She laughed and tried to pull away from him, but he pulled her closer instead.

“Just what are you?” he asked, cupping her face in his hands. “And why have you come here only to drive me mad?”

“I came here, Mr. Farthering, to visit my uncle and see your beautiful country.” She wrinkled her nose at him and pulled away. “Driving you mad is just a little bonus.”

“I see.” He wagged one finger at her. “That’s very naughty of you. And you’ll be sorry, too.”

She slipped her arm through his and started them walking again. “And why is that?”

“If I’m mad, I’ll have to be looked after for the rest of my life. And since you’d be the one responsible for my condition, it only follows you’d feel obliged to do the looking after. Assuaging the crushing guilt and all, you know.”

“If anyone should feel guilty, it’s you.”

“I? Madam, I protest.”

“Yes. For keeping all this to yourself this whole time.”

“That was bad of me, wasn’t it?” He dropped to one knee before her. “I make a present of it to you. All of it.”

“Get up, silly.”

“All right,” he said, complying, “but don’t say I didn’t try to
make it up to you. And don’t expect the same offer when we go up to see Winchester Cathedral.”

“When will we?”

“Oh, once all this mess with Lincoln has been cleared up. I don’t know. Right now I feel as lost and confused as a striped tie on a plaid shirt.”

“I don’t think your Mr. Dennison would approve.”

“Oh, definitely not. He looks askance at me if I decide to wear charcoal socks rather than black, and heaven help me if I break away entirely and choose argyle.”

She giggled. “You always look very nice.”

“You must thank Denny for that. He says anything less reflects badly on him.”

“I’ll put that on my list.”

“Your list?”

“Of things to thank Mr. Dennison for.”

“Have you a list?”

“Sure I do. He’s made sure that you dress stylishly without being a dandy. You told me he practically raised you after your father passed away, so he must have had something to do with you being not nearly the snob someone with your looks and money usually is.”

“Not nearly?”

She grinned and smoothed his tie, blushing a little as she did. It was very becoming.

“I think your Mr. Dennison has more of a sense of humor than he lets himself show.”

“Who? Denny? The man’s a mausoleum.”

“He’s not fooling anyone. I’ve seen you and Nick with him.”

“All right, I’ll confess. I did see him smile once. It was the twelfth of August, 1909. I remember it quite clearly.”

She laughed. “You’re such a liar. And here in the church, too.”

“What?”

“In 1909? Were you even born then?”

“I was a year old, thank you, and quite mature for my age.”

“Pity it didn’t last.”

“Now, that’s no attitude to take.”

She took his arm again. “Come on. You promised to let me do some shopping before it’s too late.”

“And here I thought you were going to explain everything to me before we left the church.”

“Why should I tell you what you already know?” She took a book from one of the pews, the
Shorter Catechism
. “‘What is the chief end of man?’”

He laughed. “All right, perhaps I do remember that one.”

“Well?”

He cleared his throat and stood very straight, reciting, “‘Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.’”

“There. You see? And it isn’t even my church. Don’t make it more difficult than it is.” She returned the book to its place. “Come on.”

“Madness,” he muttered as he followed her into the street. “Absolute madness.”

I
t was nearly five o’clock when they got back to Farthering Place.

“Mrs. Devon has been waiting tea for you, sir,” Dennison said as they came in through the kitchen.

“Tell her that’s all right. I took Miss Parker to tea at The Rose Garden.”

“Very good, sir. And Mr. Parker said he would like to have a word with you the moment you came in.”

“In his study?”

“I believe so, sir. He said it was rather important.”

“Well, then, I’ll go straightaway. Come along, darling. You’ll want to change before dinner. I’ll just nip in and have a word with your uncle.”

“I’ll come with you. Just for a minute, don’t worry. I just want to say hello and make sure he’s doing all right.”

“Well, come along then.”

They went to Mason’s study, and Drew tapped on the open door. Mason looked up from the papers scattered across his desk amid a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Oh, Drew. There you are.” Seeing Madeline, he got to his feet. “Good evening, my dear.”

“Hello, Uncle Mason. Don’t get up. I do wish you’d take a break from working all the time.”

He managed a faint smile and sat down again. “I can’t just now, my dear, but soon.”

“All right, but I’ll take that as a promise.”

Drew sat himself on the edge of the desk. “I say, sir, did Nick tell you about our visit to the office?”

“He did, in point of fact. I don’t know what to make of that passageway being there all along, but who would think to look for something as outlandish as that?”

“Precisely. Lincoln must have been planning this for some while.” Drew watched his stepfather’s eyes. “He and whoever’s in it with him.”

“True enough,” Mason said.

“Did you hear about the missing files, as well?”

Mason pursed his lips and folded his hands on the desk, effectively blocking Drew’s view of the papers he had been working on. “Nick said one of McCutcheon’s file drawers was empty.”

“But it wasn’t when the police searched the lab earlier, or at least the chief inspector didn’t mention it.” Drew glanced at Madeline and then back at Mason. “What would anyone want with that sort of thing?”

“Best leave that to the experts,” Mason said, and he began stacking pages. “Let’s see to our own business while we still have one, eh?”

“I’ll let you get to whatever important business you need to talk to Drew about,” Madeline said. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“No, no. No interruption in the least, my dear. I just find
myself in a bit of a difficulty, and I’m hoping Drew won’t mind helping me out.”

Drew studied his stepfather’s weary face. “Anything the matter?”

Mason sighed. “With everything that’s happened, I forgot one of our French clients, a Mr. Latendresse, will be stopping by tonight.”

“Tonight? The funeral was just three days ago. Are you up to that sort of thing yet?”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I? I’d forgotten he was coming until he rang up to say he was about an hour away.”

“Can’t he make it another time?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s on his way up to London and then off to the Netherlands for a fortnight. I really can’t cancel on him now after he’s come all this way. I’m sure he hasn’t heard about . . . about anything here.”

“All right, if you think it’s best.”

“Can I help at all?” Madeline asked. “I’d be happy to play hostess for you, if you want me to.”

“I was hoping you would.” Mason seemed to brighten a bit. “I don’t really want to have to carry all the conversation tonight. Don’t worry. I’ll handle the business end of things.”

“I don’t mind hanging about if you’d like, sir,” Drew said. “Between the three of us, I’m sure we’ll have your Mr. Latendresse purring like a kitten and eager to throw all his business to Farlinford.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d see to something else for me.”

“Certainly.”

“Rushford was to be here tonight as well, but his car has refused to start. His man is looking to it, but I’m afraid he won’t have it repaired in time to get Rushford here before Latendresse has to leave. Denton has the night off or I would send him, and Peterson . . .” Mason looked pleadingly at Drew.

“And Peterson is just not quite the ticket for a business matter.”

Mason exhaled. “Precisely. Do you think you might run up to Winchester and get him?”

Drew smiled. “Don’t see why not. I can be there and back in half a jiff.”

When Drew got to Winchester, he found Rushford waiting for him.

“I’ve just had a call from Parker. He wants me to stop by the office and pick up some equipment specifications and other papers he’d like to discuss with Latendresse. I hope it doesn’t put you out to stop on the way.”

“Not at all. Not at all.” Drew steered him out the front door and to the Rolls. “We’ll have you there and then to Farthering Place in no time at all.”

It was a pleasant drive on a fine night, even if Rushford was rather dull company, talking only of business matters.

“You needn’t come up,” Rushford said as he got out of the car at the Farlinford building. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Very well, sir. Take your time.”

Drew watched as the old man unlocked the door and disappeared inside, and then he looked up at the window that marked Rushford’s corner office. After a while, the light went on.

Drew sat for a moment, whistling a vague tune and tapping the steering wheel. Then, switching from whistling to humming, he looked himself over in the rearview mirror. Tie straight, hair in place, teeth sparkling, all was as it should be. Perhaps once the business portion of the evening was over, he could manage a bit of time alone with Madeline. She was going to have to explain herself and in no uncertain terms. Religion was a complex and personal matter, and she had just boiled it down into
two basic ideas: glorify God and enjoy Him. She was absolutely stark staring mad.

He couldn’t wait to get back home to her.

When he looked up at the window again, it was dark. Several minutes passed, but Rushford did not come out.

Drew glanced at his watch. A quarter of an hour now. Perhaps the old boy had stumbled in the dark.

Drew shut off the engine and went up to the door. Rushford hadn’t locked it behind him.

“Mr. Rushford? Sir?”

There was no reply, so Drew went around to the stairwell and opened the door. At least Rushford hadn’t fallen down the stairs.

“Mr. Rushford?”

Drew hurried up the three flights to the top floor, where everything was dark.

“Hullo?”

He switched on the lights and went across to tap on Rushford’s closed door, and then he pushed it open.

“Mr. Rushford?”

Rushford lay on the floor, bleeding from his temple onto his white tie and boiled shirt. His hands were tied behind him with an electrical cord, pulled from the desk lamp that lay smashed on the floor at his feet. He groaned when Drew felt for a pulse at his throat.

“Steady on, sir,” Drew said as he cut the binding from his wrists with his pocketknife. “We’ll have you up in a jiffy.”

Rushford was puffing and wheezing by the time Drew got him into a chair.

“Dear, oh dear, I shall never be the same again.” His eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears, and he patted his coat with both hands, searching blindly for his handkerchief.

Drew gave him his own and then poured him a shot of brandy from the credenza behind the desk.

“Drink that down. There’s a good fellow.” He pressed the old man’s hands around the glass and helped him raise it to his lips. “Go on.”

Rushford took a sip, coughed, and then emptied the glass. Then he just sat, his breathing so jerky and labored, Drew thought he might be sick, but he soon quieted.

“That’s better,” Drew soothed. “Now, can you tell me what happened?”

Rushford slumped forward, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know.”

“What do you remember?”

Rushford shook his head, muttering something unintelligible.

“That’s a nasty knock,” Drew observed, and he dampened a serviette from the credenza with some brandy and dabbed the wound on Rushford’s head. The old man made a startled, hissing sort of sound.

“Sorry, sir. I know that must sting.”

“It’s all right. Oh dear, I can’t believe it. It just can’t be.”

“Can you tell me what you remember?” Drew urged.

Rushford tipped the glass again, draining out the last amber drop, and then he sat turning it in his hands. “I came in, sat at the desk, and opened the bottom drawer. That’s the one where I keep my little lockbox. I leaned over to put the key in the lock, and something struck me across the side of the head.”

“I should say it rather did.” Drew dabbed once more at the cut on the man’s temple.

“I didn’t remember anything else until I came to on the floor there.”

“And you didn’t see anyone?”

Rushford shook his head. “But I heard . . .” He paused and shook his head more violently. “It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.”

Drew got down on one knee so he could look into the old man’s face. “What did you hear?”

“Someone talking. On the telephone. A man.”

“What did he say?”

“I couldn’t tell much. He said he’d got it and they’d share out after he’d taken care of things at the bank.”

“It? What did he mean by ‘it’? What had he got?”

The old man sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Anything else?”

Rushford’s only answer was a shake of his head.

“He didn’t say what bank?” Drew pressed.

“No, nothing like that.” Rushford blotted his face with Drew’s wadded-up handkerchief.

Drew checked the bottom drawer. “Well, there’s no lockbox here now.”

“Oh dear. Oh dear . . .”

“What was in it?”

“Some bonds. Bearer bonds. Worth quite a lot. I only opened it because Parker said he wanted the total values and the companies they were with. He said Latendresse had asked if we had the capital for the joint venture they’re considering and wanted detailed proofs.” The old man’s eyes darted from the empty drawer to the broken lamp to the papers strewn all over the room. “Heaven knows what else they’ve taken.”

“Don’t you worry yourself, sir. It’ll all be put right in time. Just relax now.”

Drew telephoned the police, and soon two constables were there to take down Rushford’s story and examine the crime
scene. That done, they assured Drew they would investigate thoroughly and, without further ado, dismissed him and the victim to their homes.

“We’d best go on now,” Drew told Rushford. “I expect Latendresse has long since left for London. We ought to ring up and let Mason know what’s happened.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Then I’ll take you back to your place. We can telephone the chief inspector from there and let him know what’s happened.”

Rushford gnawed his lip and didn’t say anything.

“Is that all right?” Drew asked.

The old man swallowed with difficulty. “I suppose that’s best.”

He got to his feet and then sank back into the chair with a groan.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I can’t . . .” Rushford’s bloodless lower lip quivered, and his eyes filled again with tears. Then he smiled. “I suppose I’m a bit more shaken up than I realize.”

“Come out to Farthering for a few days, sir. We’ll ring up your man, have him pack some things for you, and meet us there once he has your car put right.”

“Farthering? No. Oh, my word, no. It’s terribly kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly think of putting you all out like this. Min can look after me.”

“Min can look after you just as well at Farthering Place.”

Over Rushford’s faint protests, Drew telephoned Min and made the arrangements. He then called Mason and told him what had happened. After he hung up, he rescued Rushford’s hat from behind his desk and handed it back to him.

“Now we’ll get you home and have Dr. Wallace see to you.”

“I hardly think a doctor will be necessary,” Rushford said, touching his fingertips to the darkening lump on the side of his head.

Drew steadied him as he stood and then helped him into his hat and coat.

“We’ll let old Wallace decide that, shall we?”

Drew led him like a child down to the car and bundled him inside.