Sheer Folly (29 page)

She gave Charles (if Charles was actually his name) an encouraging smile and he smiled back. Insofar as it was possible to judge his mood, he seemed more exasperated than worried. This, Daisy thought, was a good sign, suggesting that his deception had innocent roots.

Nothing to do with murder, at least. What secret could he and Pritchard share that would embarrass both? She was baffled.

 

Alec ushered
Lady Beaufort into the breakfast parlour, pointed out to him as a suitable location by the butler. He held a chair for her, and she sat down with a sigh. She was a handsome woman still, though a little inclined to embonpoint.

“My dear man, you are a lesson to me.”

Alec opened his mouth, closed it again, then said cautiously, “I am?”

“A lesson already learnt,” she went on, confusing him still further, “but too late, alas. I'm afraid I'm responsible for the shocking occurrences of today.”

Doubtless Boyle would have applied for an arrest warrant instantly. Alec merely blinked and was glad he'd ended up interviewing her on his own. He didn't for moment suppose she was physically responsible for turning on the gas taps in the grotto.

“Would you please elucidate, Lady Beaufort? Explain,” he explained, when she looked uncertain.

“Of course. Where shall I start?”

“At the start of the events that led to the murder of Lord Rydal.”

“Oh dear, I suppose it all began in my girlhood—”

“Perhaps not quite that far!” Alec said quickly.

“That's when I was taught to believe in the importance of a girl marrying well, and
well
meant money and if possible a title. I don't know how much Daisy has told you about our circumstances?”

“Very little. Nothing, really, except that she and Lucy were at school with Miss Beaufort and you have been living in France.”

“My late husband was a younger son of a baronet, and everyone said he would do brilliantly in the Army, as indeed he did.” Lady Beaufort declaimed somewhat in the style of a Victorian melodrama. Alec suspected she was quite enjoying herself. “He was made a general while still in his forties, and knighted.”

“Admirable,” Alec murmured.

“But the Beauforts, though aristocratic and all too numerous, were not wealthy. George had a little money of his own, but army life is expensive. When he was killed in the War . . .” She paused to dab her eyes with a lace-trimmed but substantial handkerchief. “. . . I found it had all been spent. Julia and I were left in straitened circumstances.”

“So after the War you went to live on the Continent.”

“Yes. And then I came into a small inheritance and decided to use it to make sure Julia never had to suffer such deprivation.”

“Hence Lord Rydal.”

“He was everything I'd been brought up to think was necessary in a husband. Rich, an earl, and he loved her madly into the bargain. He would do anything for her. Almost. I managed to overlook his faults for far too long.”

“I still don't quite understand how he and the two of you ended up at Appsworth Hall.”

“I'm not surprised,” Lady Beaufort said frankly. “I'm not at all sure Julia didn't outwit me. We met Mr. Howell at a dinner party at the Wandersleys'. Not that we knew them well. If I'd known then what I know now, we shouldn't have known them at all, I assure you!”

Accustomed to Daisy's sometimes convoluted sentences, Alec had no difficulty disentangling this. “But you didn't expect to meet them here?”

“Not in the least. Julia seemed to get on well with Mr. Howell, so . . . Well, I suppose I had two possibilities in mind, besides the fact that I found London quite tiring. Endless shopping and parties and theatres . . . I expected a week in the country to be restful, to set me up to tackle the rest of the season. Little did I know!”

He brought her back to the subject: “And your two possibilities?”

“Possibilities? Oh, either Julia would see the difference between a manufacturer and a nobleman and come to her senses, or else she'd captivate Mr. Howell and be rich if not titled. At the time, she had recently told me about making the acquaintance of a Canadian in some library or other. It's quite shocking the way young people fall into conversation these days without waiting to be properly introduced. How did you and Daisy meet?”

“She felt obliged to draw to my attention a murder which was about to be passed off as an accident.”

“No!” Lady Beaufort laughed. “I don't suppose Lady Dalrymple—. But I mustn't waste your time in idle gossip. Where were we?”

“Miss Beaufort met Armitage in a library.”

“Yes, well, she's always been what we used to call bookish.” She sighed. “I daresay a professor will do very well for her. But at the time I didn't think so. In fact, I didn't even know he was anything so respectable as a professor. I seized what seemed to be an opportunity to get her out of town and away from him. I cajoled Mr. Howell into inviting us—”

“How?”

“As it has nothing to do with your investigation, Mr. Fletcher, I'm not prepared to reveal my methods. But I will say that I'm quite an expert cajoler when I put my mind to it. It's a skill necessary to the wife of a general.”

“I can imagine,” Alec said with a grin. “And then you cajoled Rydal into driving you down?”

“That wasn't necessary. I didn't expect that it would be. He
really doted on Julia, you know, a most determined pursuit. He offered his services as soon as he heard she was going to the country for a week, though not without some grumbling about the idiocy of leaving town at the height of the season. Julia never breathed a word about her Canadian being a temporary resident of Appsworth Hall, the sly thing!”

“When did you come to the conclusion that Armitage is preferable to Rydal?”

“In the grotto, yesterday afternoon. I'm not a great walker. Brin—Mr. Pritchard was keen for me to see it, and I gave in yesterday. Fortunately as it turns out. Not that I did decide in favour of Mr. Armitage, mind you. Merely against Lord Rydal. His behaviour was outrageous.”

“And when did you inform your daughter of your changed opinion?”

“Good heavens, I can't remember. With all that's been happening, it's a wonder that I remember to bring my head with me!”

“Not immediately, though. Why was that?”

“It wasn't convenient just then. Other people were about. Besides, I was in no more hurry than the next person to admit I was wrong.”

It was reasonable. Still, she didn't quite meet Alec's eyes and he was sure she was not telling the truth. Not the whole truth, at least. Odd, but probably not significant, he decided. At this stage in the investigation he couldn't afford the time to stray down every enticing by-way. Later, too, he might have to try to pin her down as to exactly when she had told Julia of her change of heart. He'd wait and see what Julia had to say on the subject.

He wanted to see Julia next, but Boyle probably considered her a major suspect and therefore wanted to question her himself. With dismay, Alec recognised in himself a disposition to regard her as innocent simply because she was Daisy's friend.

Julia Beaufort had been out on the downs with Armitage. If he had gone to the grotto, she could hardly have failed to know. She might not have had the slightest idea what he was doing
there at the time, but since the explosion she could no longer plead ignorance. If he was guilty, she was concealing evidence, and that made her an accessory after the fact.

She didn't have much of a motive for killing Rydal, but despite Daisy's glossing over the relationship, she had the best of motives for protecting the man she loved.

Not for the first time, Alec was going to have to perform a delicate balancing act, between leniency because of Julia's friendship with Daisy and undue harshness because he was afraid of being lenient. He reminded himself with gratitude that this was not his case.

Lady Beaufort was fidgeting under his blank gaze. “Well?” she asked, a challenge in her voice. “Are you always in a hurry to admit when you've made a mistake?”

Alec smiled and shook his head. “It depends on the circumstances. In general, I don't claim to be any more eager than the rest of the world. But if I've arrested someone and discover I shouldn't have, the sooner it's put right the better for all concerned, including me.”

“Fair enough.”

He liked the lady. He could only hope he wouldn't have to assist in the arrest of her daughter.

He stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lady Beaufort. That will be all for the moment.”

“For the moment! Next time it will be the local inspector, I suppose. It's too much to expect that he, too, is a gentleman.”

“More to the point,” said Alec, absorbing the implied compliment without a blink, “Inspector Boyle appears to be a competent officer.”

He escorted her back to the drawing room, thinly populated by Pritchard, Howell, Wandersley, and Bincombe, all with glasses in hand. Wandersley was standing with his back to the fire, apparently holding forth. The other three rose as Lady Beaufort entered. Pritchard and Bincombe in particular looked delighted to see her.

Pritchard came to meet them. “Let me get you a liqueur, dear lady. Crème de menthe, as usual? And a whisky for you, Mr. Fletcher?”

Lady Beaufort sank into a chair. “I think I'll take something a little stronger tonight, Mr. Pritchard. Brandy and soda would do nicely.”

What the hell
, Alec thought. He was unofficial, after all. “Yes, please. With plenty of soda. Mr. Howell, I've a couple of questions for you, if you please.”

“Or if I don't please?” But he spoke mildly, a comment, not a hostile protest. “I was in Swindon most of the day. I doubt I have anything useful to tell you.”

“That's what we'll find out.” He took the glass Pritchard proffered. “Thank you, sir.”

Howell was already at the door. As they walked towards the breakfast parlour, he said, “You've saved yourself some work. Much longer stuck with Sir Desmond's funny stories about politicians and I'd have up and strangled him. You'd have had another murder on your hands.”

“On DI Boyle's hands, not mine. You'd have done his arrest statistics a bit of good. I take it Wandersley is better to do business with than to entertain, if that's the right word.”

“If only he wouldn't insist on being entertaining. In the circumstances, it's a bit much.” Entering the room ahead of Alec, he sat down at the table. Alec took a chair opposite him. He continued, “As for business, I can't complain. He's going to recommend that we get the contract. Contracts, rather. It's for local governments to make the purchasing decisions, but with a recommendation from the ministry, most are not likely to want to spend the time and money to vet other companies.”

“Congratulations. What is it you would complain about otherwise?”

“Oh, just that he's wasted a good deal of my time. These bureaucrats keep very short working hours. It's incredible that they ever get anything done. I'm a businessman. If I made a habit of
starting work at eleven o'clock, the firm would be bankrupt by now.”

“You didn't get going till eleven this morning?”

“Nearer quarter past. Wandersley came down late to breakfast for a start. We still could have left for Swindon at a reasonable hour if he wasn't such a—a hearty eater.”

“Pig?” Alec proposed with a grin.

“You said it, not me. I got tired of watching him stuff his face and left him in here.”

“Alone?”

“No, several other people were still here.”

“Do you recall who?”

“Let me see. My uncle had already gone. Mrs. Fletcher and Lady Gerald left with me. Lady Gerald said something about sorting out her unused photographic plates. She was going to take some interior pictures of the house for Mrs. Fletcher, I gathered. That would leave Miss Beaufort, Armitage, and the abominable Rhino.”

“Where did you go?”

“To Uncle Brin's den, to have a word with him about—”

“How long after he left this room was that?”

“Quarter of an hour. Perhaps twenty minutes.”

“And how long were you with him?”

“No more than five minutes, I'd say.”

The exact length of time didn't matter. Pritchard had had at most half an hour or so to get to the grotto, turn on the gas taps, and return to the house to be waiting in his den for Daisy and Lucy. That was the bare minimum necessary. If Owen Howell had spoken with him during that period, he was out of the picture.

Except that Alec was pretty sure Howell would lie for his uncle, especially in what he might consider a good cause. He'd do it well, too. Men of business, like policemen, were on the whole adept at hiding their thoughts and emotions.

“The
abominable
Rhino, you called him.”

Howell shrugged. “I can't think of a better word for him. He
was abominably rude to my mother. There was no point having it out with him, though. He just didn't seem to understand why people got upset with him. I put up with it, in the certain knowledge that he wouldn't be here forever. I'm a peaceable sort of chap. More important matters on my mind than squabbling with an aristocratic ass.”

“A very sensible attitude. But how did your mother feel about it?”

He hesitated. “I'm afraid Mother was dazzled at first by having a living, breathing earl under her roof. Well, under Uncle Brin's roof, but she tends to regard it as her own. All the same, I can't see how she can go on living here after what she's said about him.”

“He told you? Or she did?”

“He told me Mother went to the police—to you and the inspector both, was it?—and accused him of blowing up the grotto.”

“So you expect him to ask her to leave Appsworth Hall.” Alec felt for him. He had twice had to ask his mother to move out, because of clashes with both his first wife and Daisy.