The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) (13 page)

‘You have a pretty outlook,’ she said. ‘Very picturesque. I’m glad to see you haven’t cut those trees down. So many people’s first thought on seeing a tree is to get rid of it as an inconvenient obstacle.’

Mrs. de Lisle acknowledged the compliment but did not take the hint to talk about the terrible history of the wood in question. Angela grimaced to herself. It had been a feeble attempt, true, but she had hoped that something might have come of it. She turned away and set herself to wandering around the room, observing its proportions with enthusiasm. Victorine watched her and replied when called upon to do so. At length Angela’s ideas were exhausted and she was beginning to wonder whether she perhaps ought not to come out with it and explain frankly what she wanted to know, when her eye happened to fall on a particularly attractive antique escritoire, on which stood several photographs in frames. Angela bent forward to take a closer look at them, and saw that they were of the de Lisle family. To her surprise, one of them was of Edgar Valencourt. She straightened up, blinking. Presumably somebody must have forgotten to remove this particular picture of the black sheep of the family. She glanced along the row of photographs and saw another of Selina. She picked it up. Here was her chance. She turned to speak, then started as she found Victorine standing at her shoulder. She had approached so silently that Angela had not heard her, and was staring fixedly at the picture in Angela’s hand.

‘These frames are pretty,’ said Angela. ‘I was just wondering about the people in the photographs. I seem to recognize some of them. That one is your husband, of course, and that one must be his father. But who is this one?’

Victorine was silent for so long that Angela began to think she had not heard the question.

‘She was my sister-in-law,’ she said at last. ‘Her name was Selina. She was murdered.’ She said it flatly, as though she had no strong opinion on the subject.

‘Goodness me, I do beg your pardon,’ said Angela. ‘I didn’t recognize her. Of course I saw her portrait in the gallery the other day.’

All the laws of etiquette said she ought to drop the subject now, but of course she could not. She took a deep breath.

‘I understand she was killed by her husband,’ she went on. ‘It must have been very upsetting for you all.’

‘It was not pleasant, certainly,’ said Victorine. She seemed to have no objection to talking of it. ‘This is the man who was convicted of the crime,’ she said, taking up the photograph of Valencourt. ‘My brother-in-law.’

‘I expect it was a terrible shock to find out that someone in the family was capable of such a thing,’ said Angela. ‘Did you expect it of him?’

Victorine shrugged.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But people are strange. One never knows. Besides, she was the kind of girl who would have been murdered sooner or later—whether by her husband or someone else.’

Angela regarded her in surprise as she made this extraordinary pronouncement.

‘Why do you say that?’ she said.

‘Because she liked to play with people,’ said Victorine. She saw Angela’s questioning look and went on, ‘Even though she was not the mistress of the house she wanted everybody to know that she was the queen, and that we must all dance to her tune.’

‘Oh?’

‘Naturally, I saw through her immediately,’ went on Victorine, ‘but the men did not—although perhaps I am wrong—perhaps Edgar did, just a little. He was not the sort of man to be a slave to a woman, and I think it made her a little unsure and all the more determined to win over everyone else. Besides, he was not here much of the time and so did not see the whole picture of what his wife was really like.’

‘Goodness!’ said Angela.

‘It is easy if one is unscrupulous,’ said Victorine. ‘My father-in-law was a tyrant and ruled over this house, but somehow she was allowed to do things that we could not. He thought her charming, and she had no hesitation in profiting by it. Of course, she did not think it worth her while to charm the women of the house—only the men. My mother-and-law and me she treated carelessly. But it is a dangerous game, that. It is best not to try people too far, because one day they may rise up and
voilà
—’ here she snapped her fingers, ‘—you suddenly find out that you are not as powerful as you thought you were.’

This was the most she had said all evening, and Angela in her surprise wondered what had prompted this awkward, taciturn woman suddenly to become so indiscreet. Perhaps she had never had the opportunity to express her feelings on the matter until now. Whatever the reason, this was Angela’s chance to take advantage of the situation.

‘Is that what happened, do you think?’ she said. ‘Did she try your brother-in-law’s patience a little too hard? Is that why he killed her?’

‘I do not know why he killed her,’ said Victorine. ‘But she ought never to have come to Greystone at all. She and that brother of hers. Him I did not like. He was always sneaking about the house and hiding in corners. One could not open a door without finding him standing behind it. Both of them the same—always wanting something, always taking something. Take, take, take, and never do they give. That was not the way of things here. We all gave everything—our freedom, our happiness, our devotion—to my father-in-law. Everything was for him, and there was nothing left for anyone else. But the Laceys tried to get more out of us when we had no more to give, and this is what happened.’

‘Was there no doubt that your brother-in-law did it?’ said Angela hesitantly.

‘I do not think so,’ said Victorine. ‘They quarrelled on the day she died, you see. It was thought that she drove him to fury then, and that he killed her when he went to see her before dinner.’

‘There was no question of his having done it later that evening?’

‘No,’ said Victorine. ‘He was in sight of us all during dinner, and then remained in the company of his parents for the rest of the evening.’

‘Didn’t you see him?’

‘No. I went to bed shortly after dinner, as I was coming down with a cold,’ said Victorine. ‘Godfrey was working in the study. But in any case, the police were quite sure that Selina was killed before dinner.’

Angela glanced at Victorine, but she seemed quite unconscious of what she had just said. If Selina had
not
been killed before dinner, then it looked as though Godfrey did not have an alibi for at least part of the vital period if he had indeed been working in the study. Had Godfrey been one of those whom Victorine had mentioned as having been charmed by Selina? She had talked of the
men
of the house. Someone had hated Selina enough to kill her, and what was more likely to engender hatred than thwarted love? It was a theory which certainly bore further investigation, Angela thought. For now, she decided to let the subject drop. Victorine had given away more than Angela had dared hope, and she seemed not to have noticed Angela’s more than usual interest in the case—or her evident prior knowledge of it. It was probably best to stop now before her suspicions were aroused. In any case, it was getting late, and it would be time to leave soon. Angela glanced at her watch and wondered how Freddy was getting on in the dining-room with Godfrey.

Just then a servant came in to deliver a message. Victorine replaced the picture of Valencourt on the escritoire and turned to hear it. As she did so, Angela could not help but notice her hostess’s large, strong hands. It would have taken a great deal of strength to strangle Selina, and they had all assumed, therefore, that she had been murdered by a man. But Victorine’s hands must be easily as strong as a man’s. She had as good as admitted that she hated Selina, and she had spent much of the evening of her sister-in-law’s death alone in her room—or so she said. Had she perhaps seen Selina throw a careless look at Godfrey that day and finally been overcome by a jealous fury that could not be contained? Might hers have been the hands which had pressed against Selina’s neck later that evening, slowly choking the life out of her until at last she went limp and fell to the floor? It was certainly an idea. Angela looked at the unsmiling Victorine as she turned back politely to her guest, suppressed a shiver, and wondered.

A
FTER THE WOMEN retired, a subtle change came over Freddy. He drew himself up and became less fatuous, more serious, as he considered how best to approach the coming conversation with his inscrutable host. Now was his opportunity to draw Godfrey de Lisle out and find out more about the dreadful events at Greystone Chase eleven years ago. Why had Godfrey been so seemingly unconcerned at the discovery that his brother was a murderer? Had there been bad blood between the two? And if so, what had caused it? From all that Freddy had heard of the de Lisles it did not seem as though they had been a happy family, but was it all the responsibility of Roger de Lisle, or were there other reasons for it too?

Up to now the conversation had not strayed from general topics, but now Freddy decided to introduce the subject of his own family. He waited until Godfrey made some suitable remark, and then, adopting a wistful air that he considered convincing, said:

‘Of course, Father’s death has been terribly hard on Mother. She was very fond of the old stick, although two more different characters one couldn’t find. Father wanted me to learn the business—couldn’t see the point of my continuing my education when there were factories to run and workers to pay. But Mother was the far-sighted one. She wanted me to go to Oxford and make the right sort of connections. She said that nobody of any importance cares about what happens in the North, and if I wanted to
make
them care, then I must learn how to influence them, and I couldn’t do that by sitting in a glass office in Manchester. In a way, she was right: in the course of three years I met any number of politicians’ sons; I can name two heirs to earldoms who would dine with me tomorrow night if I asked them; I could snap my fingers now and someone would ask a question in the House on Thursday. But all this mixing with the better sort of company has rather backfired, since it’s spoilt me for going back to the business. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how one looks at it—when Father died we were forced to sell one of the factories to pay the death duties, and since a competitor of ours was showing some interest at the time, Mother and I decided that we might as well sell the other two while we were at it. Other than the disrespect to my father’s memory I can’t say I particularly regret it, since I suspect I didn’t exactly inherit his abilities. And to be perfectly frank with you, I’m not entirely sure which would have horrified the Governor more: my selling the business to his rival, or the mess I’d have made of it if I’d kept it on myself. You’re in the wine business, I understand, sir.’

Godfrey indicated that that was the case, and expressed some sympathy at Freddy’s dilemma. His manner was almost affable, for he had been encouraged by his uncle to try and be more friendly if he wished to sell Greystone Chase, and his efforts in this respect had been assisted by an unaccustomed quantity of Burgundy with the main course, followed by two glasses of Sauternes. He was now completing the process with a generous helping of some excellent port.

‘I imagine you were only too happy to go into the business,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean to say, if Father had been a wine producer I expect I’d have been all for it myself. But steel springs!’ He raised his hands and widened his eyes in a gesture that was intended to be rueful and comical at the same time. ‘What can one do with a steel spring? Other than cause oneself a painful injury, naturally.’ Here he indicated his left ear-lobe, which was ragged and half-missing. ‘I did this as a child, when Father made the mistake of showing me how the production line worked close to—I can only imagine with a view to inspiring me with its poetry and romance. “Father,” I said, as they mopped up the blood and carried off the fainting women, “I now know everything I need to know about the steel spring. I’m sure you won’t mind if I observe the phenomenon from a distance in future.”’

‘Fortunately I have no such injuries,’ said Godfrey, ‘but like you, I was brought up to the trade. My father was in the business and it was always understood that I would take it over after his death.’

‘Did you never wish to do something else?’

‘I was not given the choice,’ said Godfrey dryly. ‘My father was not one to brook opposition. Like you I was sent to study, but as soon as I had finished I returned to France to take up my duties. When the war began we were forced to abandon our vineyards and come to England, but as soon as it was safe to do so we returned and took the reins once again. Or, rather, my father did,’ he corrected himself.

‘Something of a tartar, was he?’ said Freddy sympathetically.

‘He was certainly a taskmaster,’ said Godfrey. ‘We were under the yoke from a younger age than one would normally expect.’

‘We? Do you mean you and your brother? Was he expected to go into the business too?’

‘Yes, he was,’ replied Godfrey.

‘But I expect what happened put paid to all that, eh?’ said Freddy. He held his breath, wondering how Godfrey would take his mentioning of the unmentionable.