Scold's Bridle

a handful of donkeys. At least if you accept the bequest, they've a chance of a capital sum.'

Sarah stared past him towards the window. 'Why did she do it?'

'She said she was fond of you.'

'Didn't you question that at all? I mean, do you normally have rich old ladies turning up out of the blue, saying that they want to make new, secret wills which they don't wish their families to know about? Shouldn't you have tried to persuade her out of it? It might have been a spur-of-the-moment whim which we're all saddled with because she died on us. People are saying I used undue influence.'

He turned his pencil in his fingers. 'It wasn't spur-of-the-moment. She first approached me about three months ago and, yes, as a matter of fact I did try to persuade her out of it. I pointed out that, as a general rule, family money is best left with families however much one individual may dislike his or her children. I argued, with no success at all, that she should not regard the Cavendish wealth as hers but as a sort of inherited trust to be passed on to succeeding generations.' He shrugged. 'She wouldn't have it. So I tried to persuade her to discuss it with you first, but I'm afraid she wouldn't have that either. She was quite adamant that you were to inherit but weren't to know about it in advance. For the record, and as I told the police, I was satisfied there was no question of undue influence.'

Sarah was appalled. 'Three months,' she echoed slowly. 'Have you told the police that?'

He nodded. 'They were also working on the theory that it was a sudden whim.'

She put unsteady fingers to her lips. 'I could just about prove I couldn't have known about it if she made the will two days before she died. There is no way I can prove ignorance if she'd been planning it for three months.'

John Hapgood, the bank manager, cleared his throat. 'It does seem to me, Dr. Blakeney, that you are concentrating on entirely the wrong issue. The night Mrs. Gillespie died was a Saturday if I remember correctly. Where were you that night, and what were you doing? Let's establish whether you need to prove your ignorance of the bequest.'

'I was at home on call. I checked when I learnt about the will.'

'And did you receive any calls?'

'Only one, shortly before eight o'clock. It was nothing serious so I dealt with it over the phone.'

'Was your husband with you?'

'No, he was in Stratford that weekend. No one was with me.' She smiled faintly. 'I'm not a complete moron, Mr. Hapgood. If I had an alibi I'd have produced it by now.'

'Then I think you must have more faith in the police, Dr. Blakeney. Despite what you read in the papers, they are probably still the best in the world.'

She studied him with amusement. 'You may be right, Mr. Hapgood, but, personally, I have no faith at all in my ability to prove I didn't kill Mathilda for her money, and I have a nasty feeling the police know it.' She held up her fingers and ticked off point after point. 'I had motive, I had opportunity and I provided at least half the means.' Her eyes glittered. 'In case you didn't know, she was drugged with the barbiturates I prescribed for her before the incisions were made in her wrists. On top of that, I did twelve months in a pathology department because I was considering a career in forensic medicine before I became a GP, so if anyone would know how to fake a suicide it would be me. Now give me one good argument that I can quote in my defence when the police decide to arrest me.'

He steepled his fingers under his chin. 'It's an interesting problem, isn't it?' He beetled his white eyebrows into a ferocious scowl. 'What were you doing that Saturday?'

'The usual. Gardening, housework. I think I used most of that Saturday to prune the roses.'

'Did anyone see you?'

'What difference does it make whether anyone saw me or not?' She spoke with considerable irritation. 'Mathilda was killed some time during the night, and I certainly wasn't gardening in the dark.'

'What were you doing?'

Cursing Jack. Feeling sorry for myself. 'I was painting one of the bedrooms.'

'After doing the garden all day?'

'Someone had to do it,' she said curtly.

There was a short silence.

'You're obviously a workaholic,' said Mr. Hapgood lamely. She reminded him of his wife, always on the move, always restless, never pausing long enough to work out where she was going.

Sarah gave a slight smile. 'Most women are. We can't shrug off the responsibility of the home just because we want a career. We got the worst of both worlds when we set out to storm the male bastions.' She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her tired eyes. 'Look, none of this is relevant to why we're here. As far as I can see Mathilda has put me in an impossible position. Whatever I do, I shall be saddled with guilt over her daughter and granddaughter. Is there no way I can simply sidestep the issue and leave them to fight it out between themselves?'

'There's nothing to stop you giving it back to them in the form of a gift,' said Duggan, 'once it's yours. But it would be a very inefficient use of the money. The tax liability would be colossal.' He smiled apologetically. 'It would also be flying in the face of Mrs. Gillespie's wishes. Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, she did not want Mrs. Lascelles or Miss Lascelles to inherit her estate.'

Keith reached for his briefcase. 'Is there any hurry for Dr. Blakeney to make her decision,' he asked reasonably, 'or can I suggest we put the whole thing on a back burner for another week or two until the police resolve this one way or another? I can't help feeling Dr. Blakeney will find it easier to make her decision once the inquest has been held.'

And so it was agreed, although for Sarah it was simply the postponement of a choice already made.

Keith and Sarah had lunch in a small restaurant at the bottom of the hill. Keith