Under Orders

‘Juliet,’ I said, ‘I’ll go back to the yard and sort out any problems that Fred has with the horses. I think you should rest here as long as you can. The police will be down to see you soon enough.’

‘Thanks, Sid.’

I drove back to Bill’s place, not to the main drive but round the back, to the far end of the stables. I hopped out and went into the yard to find Fred. He was there looking slightly agitated, checking his watch. It was already ten minutes after the allotted time for the horses to go out and there was still no sign of Bill or Juliet.

‘Fred, hello,’ I called to him.

‘Oh, Mr Halley, good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry but Mr Burton and Miss Juliet aren’t here yet. I can’t understand it — they should have been here about half an hour ago, at least.’

‘They won’t be coming, Fred,’ I replied. ‘The horses aren’t going out this morning. Tell the lads to remove the tack and leave them in their boxes. Give them some hay and water.’

‘But surely — ’

‘Just do it, Fred, please.’

He wasn’t sure and kept glancing towards the gate through which he still expected Bill to appear at any second.

‘There’s been a bit of a disaster,’ I went on. ‘Death in the family. The police are in the house with Mr Burton. Just tell the lads that the horses are not going out this morning. No need to tell them why.’

They would know soon enough. It wasn’t only Juliet who would need to find a new job.

‘Right,’ he said.

I left him to it and went back to my car. There was a task I had to perform before I went into the house to see the police, and it was something I was not looking forward to.

I drove out of Lambourn on the Wantage road and turned into the drive of Kate’s parents’ house. They had moved here five years ago when Kate’s father had retired and Bill had taken over the stables. But Arthur Rogers had enjoyed his retirement for only a few weeks before being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and he had survived for barely two months after that. Daphne, his widow, now lived here alone and was one of the grandes dames of the racing world.

I stopped in front of the house and wondered if anyone would be up yet. I pushed the bell and heard a reassuring faint ringing somewhere deep inside. Daphne was indeed up but still in her dressing gown as she opened the door.

‘Good morning, Sid,’ she said with a smile. ‘What brings you here this early?’

‘Morning, Daphne,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘Is Kate here?’

‘Why?’ The smile disappeared.

‘I have to see her.’

‘Did Bill send you?’ she asked. ‘I always said that Kate shouldn’t have married that man. He’s brought disgrace on this family. Race fixing, indeed!’

Murder, it seemed, was acceptable.

‘Is she here?’ I asked again.

‘Maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t. Why do you have to see her?’

‘Look, Daphne, it’s important. Something’s happened to Bill.’

‘Something else? What’s he done now?’

‘Is Kate here?’ I asked again in a more forceful tone.

‘She’s asleep. In the spare room.’

‘Are the children with her?’ I asked.

‘No. They’re in the attic rooms,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and wake them?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘leave the children. Let me go and wake Kate.’

She looked at me quizzically but made no objection as I went past her into the house and up the stairs.

‘It’s the room at the front,’ she called after me, ‘over the front door.’

I knocked gently on the door and opened it a little.

‘Is that you, Mum?’ said Kate sleepily from inside. ‘Who was that at the door?’

‘Kate,’ I said, speaking through the crack. ‘It’s Sid Halley. Can I come in?’

‘Sid! What are you doing here? Did Bill send you?’

‘Yes, Bill sent me. Can I come in?’

‘Just a minute.’ I heard her get up and open the wardrobe door. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

She was wearing a tweed overcoat and pink slippers.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I haven’t got a dressing gown with me.’ She looked tired and her eyes were red from too much crying. ‘Where’s Bill?’ she asked.

‘At home.’

‘What are you doing here, then? I told Bill I’d be back by ten.’

‘When?’

‘When what?’

‘When did you tell Bill you’d be back by ten?’

‘Last night. Look, Sid, what’s all this about?’ She was beginning to be alarmed. ‘Is Bill all right?’

‘No, Kate,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid he’s not.’

‘Oh my God! What’s happened? Where is he?’

‘Kate, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.’ There was no easy way.

‘Dead? He can’t be. He was here last night.’

‘I’m so so sorry.’

She sat down heavily on the bed, her overcoat swinging open to reveal a pink nightdress with little blue and yellow flowers embroidered around the top.

‘He can’t be dead,’ she whispered. ‘Everything was all right last night. He came round about eight o’clock and we talked for a couple of hours. He wanted me to go home with him then but the children were asleep so I said that I’d be home this morning.’

She looked at me. ‘Was it a car accident?’

I nodded. Better, I thought, to have only one shock at a time.

A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her coat. A second followed and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She lay down on the bed and I put a pillow under her head and covered her with the duvet.

‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ I said, and went downstairs to find that Daphne was still where I had left her.

‘Is Bill dead?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so. Why else would you be here and so determined to see Kate. How?’

‘Let’s get some tea.’

She led the way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

‘How?’ she asked again.

‘I’m not really sure. He was shot.’

‘Shot! I thought it must have been an accident.’

‘No, I’m afraid not. He was shot in the head. It looks like suicide — but I’m not so sure it was.’

It was Daphne’s turn to sit down. ‘You mean it might be murder? It can’t be. He was here last night.’

‘How did he seem?’ I asked.

‘Oh, the usual… bloody-minded.’ It was no secret that Bill and his mother-in-law did not get on, and that was putting it mildly. As she had rightly said, she had not approved of the marriage and thought that Bill was nowhere near good enough for her daughter.

‘He came round here and begged Kate to go back to him. I thought she was better off without him and I told her so.’

Daphne could be a very stupid woman at times, I thought. The fact that it had been Kate who had cheated on Bill seemed to have passed her by.

‘Grannie, why is Mummy crying?’ Young William was standing in the kitchen doorway. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that his father’s brains are all over the sitting room wall?

His carefree, little-boy days had ended. Today, as the eldest of the four, he would have to carry his share of