The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks (25 page)

'Really?' Tommy looked a little disappointed. 'Bit too wishy- washy, eh?'

Agatha hastened to reassure him. 'Oh, I don't say you couldn't kill if it was necessary, in a war, say. But I can't imagine your murdering a woman.'

'Ah.' He seemed happier. 'No, no, jolly well couldn't. Anyway, we all know who did it, don't we?'

'I don't,' Agatha said. 'I only got here today and I hardly know the others, so I'm not prepared to speculate.'

'I am. Well, it's a process of elimination. Couldn't possibly be either of the girls or old Mackenzie. Timothy's far too cautious. No, it's got to be Gregory the Great. He's absolutely the type. Can't you just see him creeping into the room at night—'

'
YOU INSUFFERABLE YOUNG BOUNDER!
'

Tommy gave a start and spun round. Gregory was standing about eight feet away. His face was crimson and he was quivering with rage. 'How dare you! How dare you blacken my name like that! I'll sue! I'll take every penny of that inheritance of yours. I'll ruin you. But first I'm going to thrash the living daylights out of you.' He tore off his jacket and advanced on Tommy, his fists clenched.

Dorothy gave a scream and Agatha jumped to her feet. Tommy backed hastily away. His face had gone the colour of partly melted snow. He stammered.

'I say, frightfully sorry and all that. Only joking, you know.'

'Joking? You can joke about a thing like this?' He continued to advance and Tommy continued to retreat, holding his hands up in front of him.

'Stop backing away, you young coward. Stop and fight like a man.'

Tommy started to babble something, but nobody heard him because at that moment there was a further intervention. A small blue, pink and gold blur appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and flung itself on Gregory. It was Penny. Like an avenging fury, she beat at his chest with both fists and tried to scratch his face. 'Leave him alone, you beast!' she screamed.

Taken unaware by the onslaught, Gregory was forced to back away, but eventually he managed to grab her wrists.

'Whoa, whoa,' he said, as if trying to calm an over-excited filly.

Penny squirmed and struggled unavailingly. 'You bully!' she shouted at the top of her voice. 'You — you Conservative!'

Agatha was standing indecisively, obviously quite at a loss to know how to react to all this. Dorothy had her hands clasped to her head and was rocking back and forth in her chair, making little moaning noises.

Tommy at last seemed to realise his situation: that he was being protected by an eighteen-year-old girl. He drew a deep breath and stepped forward. 'It's all right, Penny, old thing,' he said in an unnaturally low voice. 'Thanks, but I can handle this.' He took her gently by the upper arm. The back of his hand against her side could feel her body trembling violently. 'Let her go, please,' he said to Gregory. 'She won't hurt you now.'

Somewhat dubiously, Gregory released Penny's wrists. Tommy gently drew her aside. Then he slowly removed his blazer, folded it and handed it to her. 'Will you hold this, please?'

He deliberately turned back his shirt cuffs and faced Gregory. 'I'm not a violent bloke. But if this is your way of settling differences, I'm willing.'

He clenched his fists and took up an exaggerated pose, left arm extended and bent upwards at the elbow, his fist level with his forehead, the other lower down; plainly a stance remembered from school boxing lessons. 'Come on, then,' he said,

If he was hoping the MP would back down at this stage, he was disappointed. 'Right,' said Gregory and moved forward. Tommy stood his ground and at that moment an ear-piercing shriek rent the air. It came from Dorothy.

'Stop it, stop it, stop it,' she wailed. 'I can't stand it! My mother was murdered yesterday. Have you no sense of respect? None of you?'

Agatha went to her and put an arm round her shoulder. She looked at the others. 'She's right, you know.'

Gregory slowly lowered his fists. 'Sorry. Sorry, my dear. Lost my head. Bad form, in front of you and all that. Forgive me.' He glared at Tommy. 'Count yourself very lucky we're in the presence of ladies. I'm just sorry the days of duelling are over. I advise you to keep out of my way the rest of the time we're here.' He looked at Penny. 'And as for you, young lady, your father should give you a damn good spanking. Still, like father, like daughter, I suppose.' He made a stiff bow to Dorothy and Agatha, picked up his jacket and strode off towards the house.

In a most unladylike gesture, Penny poked out her tongue at the retreating figure.

Tommy looked at the sisters. 'My apologies as well.'

'Me, too,' Penny added.

Tommy offered his arm. 'Shall we go and see if someone will give us a drink?'

'Oo yes, that would be lovely.'

She tucked her arm in his and they strolled off.

It occurred to Agatha that in death her stepmother was capable of stirring up almost as much trouble as when she was alive. But she kept the thought to herself.

* * *

'You were wonderful, Tommy,' Penny said, 'standing up to him like that.'

'Well, thanks to you, got to admit. Couldn't let a girl fight my battles for me. I say, it was jolly sporting of you to stick up for me like that. Thanks awfully.'

'I hate him,' she said simply.

'Gosh, I wish duelling was still carried on, too. I bet I could make rings round him with a sword.'

'Of course you could, Tommy. Or with a pistol.'

He stopped, turned and looked at her. 'Er, there's something I've got to say, old girl.'

'What, Tommy?' Her voice and expression were eager.

'There's something you don't know about me. Fact is, that, well - I'm a Conservative, too.'

Her eyes widened and he hastened to reassure her. 'Oh, I don't mean I'm a member of the party, or anything like that. But I do vote for them. Well, I did once. Well, last time. Well, the only time I've voted, actually.'

Penny blinked. 'I see,' she said slowly, clearly perplexed. 'So, you think they're all right, do you?'

'Well, yes, not bad.'

'Not reactionary relics?'

'Not especially.'

She furrowed her brows in a deep frown. This was obviously a totally new concept, which took some grasping. 'Are you going to do it again?'

'Probably. Haven't really given it a lot of thought yet. Couple of years to go, after all.'

She looked relieved. Two years was an eternity. 'Yes, of course. That's all right then. And I think it's very brave of you to tell me, Tommy. You didn't have to. You could have kept quiet about it and I'd never have known.'

He smiled modestly. It seemed that nothing he could do was wrong. It was a rather pleasant feeling.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Gerry turned away from the window, to which she had hurried when she first heard Gregory's shout of rage and from which she had watched everything that went on. A completely new thought had come to her. Earlier, she had suggested to Timothy that he would be willing to kill to protect Penny. But she had just seen Penny, faced with a perceived threat to someone she cared for, turn in total fury and abandon on the source of that threat - even though the most damage Gregory had been likely to inflict on Tommy was a black eye. How would she have reacted had the threat been much worse, either to Tommy - or to her father?

If Timothy did have a guilty secret, it was quite possible Penny knew about it. If Tommy had one, she was at least more likely than anyone else present to know about it. And if she truly believed Clara had been about to make it public . . .

Gerry had not until now seriously considered Penelope as a suspect. But there was a remorseless single-mindedness about the girl which made Gerry realise that this had been a mistake.

But which of them would she kill for? Her devotion to Tommy was plain. But what could
he
have done that was so terrible that it had to be covered up at all costs? She came back to her earlier idea about a road accident. A hit and run. Tommy driving - and Penny with him. That was quite feasible. If someone had been killed and Tommy was proved to have been the driver, he would go to prison for a very long time. And for someone like Tommy to be shut up in Dartmoor or somewhere like it for many years would almost be as bad as a death sentence. (Of course, this line of thought put Tommy himself very much back in the picture as a serious suspect; but for the moment, she was concentrating on Penny.)

The trouble was that she just could not see Tommy being so carefree if he had something like that hanging over him. Even with Clara out of the way, there was always the possibility that the hit and run would come to light. Surely any decent person would feel a terrible guilt for the rest of their life: Gerry knew she would. And she still felt Tommy was basically a decent person.

No, of the two men in Penny's life, Timothy was by far the more likely to have something on his conscience - something that he might, in a weak moment, have confided to his daughter. Some professional indiscretion. Jury tampering or the bribing of a witness. Or more likely something not quite so blatant, some breach of the legal rules that the ordinary person might not think was too bad, but which would put a lawyer beyond the pale in the profession. Failing to disclose evidence - something like that.

One important thing to discover was just how much Penny cared for her father's welfare, how far she would be willing to go to protect him. If things were as difficult between them as Stella had said, it might be that she wouldn't care too much if he did come some kind of cropper.

Perhaps she could devise some sort of test to discover just how devoted a daughter Penny really was.

Gerry spent ten minutes in intense thought and at last came up with an idea. She would need two accomplices. Yes, Stella for one, and her mother would do for the other; she would only have to sit and listen. Now, what was the name of that book, and where was it? If she couldn't find it she was sunk - she had actually to have it in her hands at the time. Another fifteen minutes was spent unsuccessfully scouring first her room and then the library. Eventually, she found her mother writing a letter in her boudoir and asked her if she had seen it.

'Oh yes, I'm reading it at the moment,' said the Countess. 'It's by the side of my bed.'

'Oh, terrific! Could you please bring it to the drawing-room straight away?'

'Am I to know why?'

'Eventually, Mummy, but it would take too long to explain now. I've got to find Stella.' She rushed off. Lady Burford gave a little shrug to herself and made her way to her bedroom.

Gerry located Stella in her room, also busily writing. She could not help noticing that the page was headed 'My Ordeal as a Murder Suspect.'

'I want you to do something for me,' Gerry said. 'It's important. Could you bring Penny to the drawing-room in about five or ten minutes?'

'I guess so. Why?'

'It's a long story. Don't let her know I asked you to do it, come into the room without speaking, but do make enough noise for me to know you've arrived. Cough or something. And whatever you hear me saying, don't react at all.'

'But what reason do I give her?'

'Oh, you'll think of something.' She scurried towards the door again.

'Where is she?' Stella asked.

'I don't know,' Gerry called, as she vanished, 'but she can't be far away.'

When Gerry got to the drawing-room, she found Lady Burford sitting meekly on the sofa, the book on her lap. Gerry grabbed it. 'Wonderful! Now I must find a good passage.' She sat down next to her mother and for two or three minutes she flicked frantically through the pages. At last she exclaimed: 'Ah, that'll do. Page one-seven-five.' She closed the book.

'Now what?'

'Tell me the plot of the book.'

'But you've read it.'

'Never mind.'

'I haven't finished it.'

'That doesn't matter. Just talk. And don't stop when you hear somebody coming in.'

'Well, it's rather a hackneyed story. It's about this young girl, Isobel, who is left an orphan when her parents are killed in a rail crash and goes to live with an uncle and aunt, who live in this big, gloomy house in the middle of the Yorkshire Moors.'

The Countess ploughed on until Gerry's sharp ears heard the click of the doorknob, followed by a rather theatrical cough. 'Stop in five seconds,' she whispered.

'Well, the girl doesn't know what to do. But then she has a surprise.' Lady Burford stopped.

Gerry said loudly: 'Oh, Timothy's a totally despicable character. Thoroughly deceitful and slimy.'

There was a few seconds' silence in the room. It was broken, deafeningly, by Penny's voice. 'I heard that!'

They both turned. 'Oh, Penny—' Gerry began, but got no further.

Penny was staring at her, an expression of pure loathing on her face. 'How dare you speak about my father like that! He's a wonderful man! He's — he's practically a saint. You're the despicable one, talking about him like that behind his back. I hate you, I hate you!' There were tears in her eyes.

Gerry jumped to her feet. 'I wasn't talking about your father.'

'Don't lie to me, you sly cat! I heard you say Timothy.'

'I was talking about a character in a book! This book.' She held it out.

'I - I don't believe you.'

'I'll show you.' She opened it and quickly found page one hundred and seventy-five. She handed it to Penny. 'There you are: read the second paragraph.'

Penny took it doubtfully and read aloud: ' "I can't stand Timothy," said Isobel. "You're not alone," Frank replied. "In fact, I don't know anyone who's got a good word to say for him." '

'There you are, you see,' Gerry said. 'I read it some time ago and Mummy's half way through it. We were just talking about it. I said despicable
character
, not
person
or
man
.'

'Oh,' Penny said blankly. The anger had drained from her face. 'I'm sorry. I - I really thought . . .'

'Of course you did. I'd have thought the same. But I'd never talk about your father like that. I don't really know him. But I do know he's got a fine reputation.'