Scold's Bridle

She nodded.

'In addition, please note that if he ever involves himself again in similar activities to those he engaged in tonight, he will be charged immediately. Is that also clear?'

She nodded.

The Inspector's tired face cracked into a smile. 'Off the record, I rather agree with Mr. Smollett here. You: husband's a brave man, Doctor, but I'm sure you knew that already.'

'Oh, yes,' said Sarah loyally, hoping that her expression was less sheepish than it felt. For as long as she'd known him Jack had always maintained the same thing. All men were cowards but it was only a few, like himself. who had the courage to admit it. She was beginning to wonder if there were other aspects of his character that she had misjudged so completely.

Father rang today to give me the inquest verdict on Gerald's death. 'They've opted for misadventure, thank God, but I had to pull every string in the book to get it. That damned Coroner was going to bring in suicide if he could.' Poor Father! He could never have shown his face in the House again if his brother had killed himself. Heaven forbid! What stigma is still attached to suicide, particularly amongst the upper classes. Nothing is so bad as the ultimate weakness of taking one's own life.

I am naturally delighted with the verdict, if somewhat piqued to have my brilliance overlooked. There is an extraordinary urge to confess, I find, if only to draw attention to what one has achieved ... I won't, of course.

Gerald was putty in my hands when it came to writing the codicil because I told him he'd go to prison for raping his niece if he didn't. 'Lord, what fools these mortals be!' The only purpose of the codicil was to convince the idiot solicitor that Gerald had committed suicide when he discovered whose child Joanna really was. Once persuaded, he alerted Father to the fact that a document detailing Gerald's incest existed, and they both performed to perfection. They made such a song-and-dance about pulling their various strings in order to suppress any hint that Gerald might have done away with himself that everyone, including the Coroner, was in no doubt that he had. It is all so very amusing. My only regret is that I had to involve Jane, but I am not unduly concerned about that. Even if she does have any suspicions, she won't voice them. She can't afford to, but in any case no one has questioned where Gerald acquired his barbiturates, or if they have I suspect Father has claimed them as his. He's so drunk most of the time, he probably believes they were.

Father's relief was short-lived. I told him I had a signed carbon copy of the codicil in my possession and he became apoplectic at the other end of the wire. He calls it blackmail. I call it self- preservation...

*16*

Two faxes were waiting on Cooper's desk when he arrived at the station later that morning. The first was brief and to the point:

Fingerprints on Yale key, ref: TC/H/MG/320, identified as belonging to Sarah Penelope Blakeney. 22 point agreement. No other prints. Fingerprints on bottle, ref: TC/H/MG/321 agree in 10,16 and 12 points respectively with prints located in Cedar House on desk (room 1), chair (room 1), and decanter (room 1). Full report to follow.

The second fax was longer and rather more interesting. After he had read it, Cooper went off in search of PC Jenkins. It was Jenkins, he recalled, who had done most of the tedious legwork around Fontwell in the days following Mrs. Gillespie's death.

'I hear you've been busy,' said Charlie Jones, dunking a ginger biscuit into a cup of thick white coffee. Cooper sank into an armchair. 'Hughes, you mean.'

'I'm going down there in half an hour to have another bash at him. Do you want to come?'

'No thanks. I've had more than enough of Dave Hughes and his fellow-lowlife to last me a lifetime. You wait till you see them, Charlie. Kids, for Christ's sake. Fifteen-year-olds who look twenty-five and have a mental age of eight. It scares me, it really does. If society, doesn't do something to educate them and match a man's brain to a man's body, we haven't a hope of survival. And the worst of it is, it's not just us. I saw a ten-year-old boy on the telly the other day, wielding a machine gun in Somalia as part of some rebel army. I've seen children in Ireland throwing bricks at whichever side their bigoted families tell them to, adolescent Palestinian boys strutting their stuff in balaclavas, negro lads in South Africa necklacing each other because white policemen think it's a great way to get rid of them, and Serbian boys encouraged to rape Muslim girls the way their fathers do. It's complete and utter madness. We corrupt our children at our peril, but by God we're doing a fine job of it.'

Charlie eyed him sympathetically. 'Not just a busy night, obviously, but an exhausting one, too.'

'Forget in vino veritas,' said Cooper acidly. 'In insomnio veritas is more like it. I wake up in the early hours of the morning sometimes and see the world as it really is. A bear garden, with religious leaders twisting souls on one side, power-corrupt politicians twisting minds on the other side, and the illiterate, intolerant masses in the middle baying for blood because they're too uneducated to do anything else.'

'Stop the world I want to get off, eh?'

'That's about the size of it.'

'Are there no redeeming features, Tommy?'

Cooper chuckled. 'Sure, as long as no one reminds me of Hughes.' He passed the first fax across the desktop. 'Gillespie never left the sitting-room, apparently, and the key's a dead-end.'

Jones looked disappointed. 'We need something concrete, old son, and quickly. I'm being pushed to drop this one and concentrate on something that will get a result. The consensus view is that, even if we do manage to prove it was murder, we're going to have the devil's own job bringing a prosecution.'

'I wonder where I've heard that before,' said Cooper sourly. 'If things go on like this, we might as well pack it in and let the anarchists have a go.'

'What about the diaries? Any progress there?'