Death on Swift Wings (Gertrude Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 17

  The Chief Inspector caught her eye. ‘Okay,’ he said sharply, ‘I think that’s enough questions for the moment. You may leave, Mr Jackson. I think I have enough from you. And Brigadier, thank you for bringing these things to my attention. If we need anything further from you, we know where to find you.’

  Lennox escorted the pair to the drawing room door, closing it firmly behind them before returning to the settees. He allowed Gertrude to continue comforting the Countess for a few moments more, and then said: ‘Lady Castleford, would you prefer to take a brief respite, or do you feel up to a few more questions?’

  Philippa dried her eyes and sighed. ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to lie down for a while. Besides, I really don’t know what else I can tell you at the moment.’

  ‘Gertrude and I will continue with our questioning of your staff, if we may.’

  Philippa nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I shall ask Mr Jackson to make certain I am awake in a couple of hours.’

  When Lady Castleford had gone, Gertrude and Lennox sat down. ‘So, who do you think it is then, Gertrude?’

  ‘Well it would appear that we should add Mr Wilkins to our list that thus far consists solely of Herbert, whom we’ve yet to speak with. It does strike me as suspicious that Mr Wilkins returned to this house apparently dishevelled and with his shoes covered in mud. Yes, it’s been raining a lot recently, but he’s the chauffeur. There’s no reason for him to be muddy and dishevelled, so he’s obviously been up to something.’

  ‘And what about the maid, Millicent?’

  ‘I don’t think she was doing anything other than what every maid has done at one point or another during her working life. I know from my days up at Templemead Hall that listening at doors is a daily pastime for some maids.’

  Lennox nodded. ‘And I suppose that’s also all Mr Jackson himself was doing.’

  ‘Precisely. I do hope it doesn’t turn out to be Herbert, and I must admit that this man Wilkins is looking to be a more likely suspect. Perhaps we should question him next.’

  Lennox stared at Gertrude. ‘What will you tell your niece if Herbert should turn out to be guilty?’

  Gertrude sighed deeply. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that, Chief Inspector, but if it does then we’ll deal with it together as a family.’ She glanced up at him. ‘We’ve survived worse.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Lennox softly, recalling the aftermath of the death that had originally introduced them. ‘Gertrude, if you could wait here, I’ll go and see if I can locate this Wilkins fellow.’

  He exited the drawing room, leaving Gertrude alone. She stood and wandered around, glancing at the multitude of family photos that lay atop the grand piano in the corner by the window. It was clear that Lord and Lady Castleford, no matter what outward appearance they might give to those not so close, were devoted to one another and very family oriented.

  The Earl and Countess of Castleford’s children were a handsome pair. The girl reminded Gertrude of some of her sisters as children, with her light coloured hair. Was it blonde like Grace’s – like Lady Castleford’s – or was it light brown as her own had once been? It was difficult to tell from the sepia and black and white photos. It was strange, she thought, that there were no colour photos.

  The boy – she’d heard his name mentioned as Henry – was a solid looking lad. She peered closely at one of the photos, which was clearly one of the more recent. There was something oddly familiar about Henry, though she couldn’t quite place him. She could tell just by looking that he and the girl were siblings, yet while the girl presumably resembled her father, Henry’s facial features were most definitely inherited from his mother. His nose was small and slightly upturned; his lips quite feminine and delicate. His eyes were filled with an anguish that even the camera caught with splendid clarity.

  Gertrude shook her head sadly: how could his parents have been so blind to his unhappiness when it was clear enough for an outsider to see? She had heard tales of the school from which he had apparently absconded. St James’ School for Boys had a reputation for extreme strictness. Such a school could either make you or break you, and judging from the photos, Gertrude suspected poor Henry was ill-equipped to deal with such a harsh regime.

  When she saw a photo of Henry running in the distance at some sporting event – presumably at a previous school, judging by his age – Gertrude suddenly realised where she had seen him before.

  Her epiphany was interrupted by the return of Chief Inspector Lennox, accompanied by an unkempt looking man in his mid-forties.

  ‘Miss Harrington, might I introduce you to John Wilkins, chauffeur to the Earl and Countess of Castleford,’ Lennox said as he ushered the man over to the settee.

  Wilkins smoothed down his rumpled shirt and pushed his thinning hair back off his forehead. ‘Would someone mind telling me what this is all about? It’s my day off, and I was looking forward to a lie in.’

  Well that explains his current appearance, thought Gertrude.

  ‘I’m sure you are at least partially aware of the events that transpired late yesterday afternoon, Mr Wilkins,’ said the Chief Inspector sharply. ‘It should therefore come as no surprise that I am interviewing all those close to Lord Castleford in search of a possible motive.’

  Wilkins lounged back on the settee insolently, clearly not taking the proceedings seriously. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with me,’ he muttered. ‘I wouldn’t consider myself close to His Lordship.’

  ‘All the more reason to consider you a suspect then, Mr Wilkins. Now then, Lady Castleford tells me you have spoken about her late husband’s visits outside the walls of the Manor. In particular, how the late Earl visited Kingworthy.’

  Wilkins nodded. ‘That’s one of the places he said he used to go.’

  ‘What you may not know is that Lord Castleford kept a journal, detailing all the places he visited, and he never once mentions Kingworthy. That implies that you are lying, and I’d like to know why.’

  Wilkins sat up sharply, his incredulity clearly audible. ‘I never lied, Chief Inspector. Kingworthy was one of the places he told me he went.’ He reeled off a further list of villages and towns in the county, which Lennox jotted down in his notebook.

  ‘I’ll check these against Lord Castleford’s journal. You’d better pray that you’re telling the truth, because so far you’re a prime suspect.’

  The previously displayed insolence had vanished, replaced by a very visible fear. ‘I promise you, I’m telling the truth. I didn’t have any reason to kill His Lordship.’

  Lennox said: ‘What about Clara Hendon?’

  Wilkins made a face and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know that name. Is she another suspect, or is she dead as well?’

  Lennox remained evasive. ‘You might say that, in a manner of speaking. Lady Castleford also tells me that yesterday, shortly after the time of the murder, you arrived back here at the Manor out of breath, unkempt and muddy. Would you mind telling me why?’

  ‘His Lordship gave me the afternoon off, so I’d been visiting friends in the village. I was on my way home when I saw the Bentley coming towards me down the lane.’

  ‘This would be Lord Castleford’s Bentley?’ interjected Lennox, looking up from scribbling notes.

  Wilkins nodded. ‘I stepped aside to wave him down – I was going to offer to drive him wherever he wanted to go – but as the car approached I noticed it wasn’t His Lordship at the wheel. It was a blonde haired woman.’

  ‘Did you recognise her?’

  Wilkins shook his head. ‘Never seen her before. Anyway, I tried to stop the car, but she drove straight on; didn’t even make eye contact. Don’t know if she saw me, but she must surely have heard me bang on the side of the car as she drove past.’

  ‘And how did this woman react?’

  ‘She just ignored me and drove on. She was going at some speed. I tried to run after her, but fell over. She disappeared around the bend and I just couldn’t catch up. I was going to have a word
with His Lordship about her, but from what I understood at the time he had gone out. I assumed he must have been hiding in the back of the Bentley.’ Wilkins’ eyes lit up. ‘Oh, was she this Clara Hendon you mentioned?’

  Lennox ignored the question, continuing to make notes. ‘Tell me, what do you know of the killings of Lord Castleford’s pigeons?’

  ‘No more than anyone else around here. Every few days one of them turns up dead in the grounds. None of them should be flying at the moment.’

  ‘So someone has been releasing them without Lord Castleford’s permission?’

  Wilkins shrugged. ‘I guess, or maybe he was releasing them a few at a time for his own reasons. No one but His Lordship was allowed near those bloody birds, so none of us knew what he was doing half the time. Tell me, Chief Inspector, was that woman in the Bentley His Lordship’s mistress or something? Was she that Clara woman?’

  Lennox snapped shut his notepad, choosing to ignore the repeated question. ‘Thank you, Mr Wilkins, that will be all for the moment. Please keep yourself available in case I should need to ask further questions.’

  Wilkins sullenly left the room, slamming the door behind him, which made Gertrude wince.

  ‘That didn’t really get us anywhere, Gertrude,’ said Lennox dispiritedly. ‘We’re still no nearer to finding the killer.’

  ‘On the contrary, Chief Inspector, I think we can discount the chauffeur.’

  Lennox frowned. ‘You think he was telling the truth?’

  Gertrude nodded. ‘I do. He was genuinely surprised when you told him about Lord Castleford’s journal and its contents. He also didn’t seem to recognise Clara Hendon for who she really was, and he’s still none the wiser.’

  ‘And the bird killer?’

  ‘You know, Chief Inspector, I’m beginning to think it’s the bird killings we should be looking at more closely.’

  ‘Why?’

  In a conspiratorial tone, Gertrude slowly began telling Chief Inspector Lennox of her personal theories, and when she had finished, he looked at her open mouthed.

  ‘Are you serious?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes. But the question still remains: who’s behind it all? There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘More questioning?’

  Gertrude nodded. ‘Yes, Chief Inspector; more questioning. Sooner or later, someone is going to slip up, and when they do, we must be ready for them.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Brigadier Barrington-Smythe stretched his legs as he stood at the top of the stone steps, trying to ease the aches and pains induced by his sciatica. He’d been sat down for so long that his muscles had seized up. As he stood there with Jasper by his side, staring up at the once more darkening sky, he wondered what had induced the squeal of excitement from Miss Harrington. She had said she’d seen a spider, but the Brigadier remained certain her squeal was not one of terror.

  He was convinced that Gertrude had discovered something of relevance to the case, and he tried to recall what was being discussed at the time. He cursed himself for not being sharp enough to realise it at the time. His mind no longer worked as quickly as it once had.

  It was no use: he could remember nothing, and his stupidity irritated him.

  He felt a few spots of rain on his face, and decided to risk trekking through the copse again, wishing to return home before the rain started falling heavily. He descended the steps, his faithful canine companion following unbidden, and as he started crossing the lawn he caught a glimpse of someone already within the copse. He squinted into the distance, but was unable to make out the person’s features. He thought it was a woman, but couldn’t be certain. He was about to call out, but whoever it was saw him approaching and ducked back into the depths of the trees.

  The Brigadier wasn’t sure if it was the same person he’d seen in the copse on his way over to the Manor earlier, but instinct told him it was. He wondered whether he should try to follow, but instinct cut in again and warned him that might not be the wisest move.

  As he stood uncertainly on the lawn, he heard a car approaching, and as it turned into the driveway from the lane he could see that it was driven by the police sergeant, with Constable Denham in the passenger seat. He waved at them to stop.

  ‘Good morning Constable Denham, Sergeant,’ he said as he leaned in through the passenger window. ‘If you’re looking for your Chief Inspector, he’s in the drawing room with Miss Harrington.’

  ‘Thank you, Brigadier,’ said Denham with a smile.

  The Brigadier motioned towards the copse using his cane. ‘It appears that someone is lurking in the trees over there. On my way over here this morning, someone attacked my dog, and just now I saw someone looking out from the trees. I think whoever it is has been watching the house. Lady Castleford said she saw someone earlier as well.’

  Sergeant Callaghan nudged Denham. ‘That’ll be a task for you then, Constable,’ he said. ‘You can check out the trees and the surrounding area. Look for any indication that someone has been there.’

  Constable Denham slid from the car. ‘Yes, Sarge,’ he mumbled stiffly, apparently ill at ease taking orders from someone other than the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Do be careful though, Constable,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Whoever’s there is a potential killer, after all.’

  Bristling with irritation, Denham turned to the Brigadier. ‘Perhaps you’d like to accompany me for my protection?’

  His sarcasm was lost on the Brigadier who just loved the thought of being someone’s protector. ‘That sounds like a good idea, but I don’t think I can manage it.’ He tapped his thigh. ‘I’m afraid my leg’s not too good today.’

  Denham sighed theatrically. ‘Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to fend for myself then and hope for the best,’ he snapped before wandering off towards the trees.

  The Brigadier leaned back through the car window. ‘Did our young constable get out of bed the wrong side this morning?’

  Callaghan chuckled. ‘You noticed, did you? I’m afraid Constable Denham is a little put out because the Chief Inspector and I have taken over his investigation.’

  The Brigadier smiled. ‘I’m sure he’ll get over it.’

  ‘Indeed. Now, did you say the Chief Inspector is in the drawing room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then if you’ll excuse me, I really ought to join him.’

  The Brigadier straightened up, wincing as the movement aggravated the pain in his leg. ‘Come along, Jasper,’ he said, glancing down at the dog who sat obediently by his side, ‘let’s go home.’

  As the sergeant drove on up towards the house, the Brigadier walked in the general direction of the copse, following close behind Constable Denham. ‘More over in that direction Constable,’ he said, pointing to his left.

  Denham turned to see where the old man was indicating, and offered a silent thumbs up by way of sarcastic thanks.

  As the constable continued in the direction he’d indicated, the Brigadier thought sourly that even the local constabulary seemed to have worse manners these days. Had he been Denham’s superior officer, such insubordination would have been dealt with swiftly and harshly. In the army, if your commanding officer gave an order, you obeyed without question whether you liked the request or not. You certainly didn’t give a disdainful response and carry out the request in a churlish manner.

  The Brigadier decided he should have a word with the Chief Inspector about Constable Denham. It was odd though, because the constable was usually quite amenable. Could it have something to do with the sergeant? The Brigadier was certain he hadn’t met him before, so maybe the sergeant new to the area. Perhaps poor young Denham had his nose put out of joint by the newcomer. More questions to pose to the Chief Inspector later.

  As the Brigadier drew close to the edge of the trees he glanced over, slightly amused to see the constable squelching through the mud as he himself had earlier. Something caught his attention beyond the still struggling constable. A figure in amongst the trees, t
oo far away to recognise – yet clearly a girl – was picking her way carefully through the tangle of roots and fallen branches, heading in the general direction of the house. He thought she had seen him, but as he raised his hand to wave to her, it quickly became apparent that she hadn’t actually spotted him at all.

  He watched, a little perplexed as the girl suddenly bent down as though to inspect something on the ground within the darkness of the trees.

  ‘Dear Lord, don’t tell me it’s another dead bird?’

  The girl’s piercing shriek caught the Brigadier off guard, as it did to Constable Denham, who stumbled in the mud.

  Brigadier Barrington-Smythe and Constable Denham eventually pulled level with the edge of the copse together, just as Juliet burst out from the trees into the light drizzle, tears streaking her ashen face.

  She pointed backwards into the copse, gibbering incoherently.

  Denham pulled her close, trying to calm her. ‘Take a deep breath, Juliet. Calm down, my dear. Tell us what’s wrong.’

  Juliet choked back her tears, taking a great gulp of air, still trembling from some terrible shock. ‘There’s a body, in the woods,’ she finally managed to croak. She looked up into the kindly eyes of the two men. ‘Oh God – it’s Herbert. He’s dead.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lady Castleford had been dozing briefly in her room. She didn’t know how long she’d been lying on her bed, but was certain it couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes. Her eyes had barely closed before the peace was interrupted by the piercing scream from outside. She chose to ignore the sound. There was a Chief Inspector downstairs: if something had happened then let him deal with it.

  Under current circumstances it seemed nigh on impossible for her to remain calm. She detested most types of medication for fear of addiction, and so declined the lithium prescribed by Dr Gillespie. Besides, she had no desire to dull the pain she felt at Arthur’s death, neither did she wish to dilute her anguish regarding the disappearance of her son.