Chapter 8
'Oh, there you are, Anton,' said Marianne Culpepper from the doorway. 'What on earth are you doing in here?'
'Forgive me, darlings,' said Davenant moving away from the window. 'I am quite, quite lost. That little room you put me in downstairs was super, Marianne, except that it didn't seem to contain a loo. And while I'm sure a house of such distinction has loos all over the place, I could find none downstairs, though I did peer through a kind of grid thing at a room full of po-shaped objects.'
'You mistook my room for a bathroom?' said Pascoe with carefully measured incredulity.
'Not in the least. I tried the door in my search, though, peered in, realized my mistake of course and then forgot all else as across the window, outlined against the evening sky, swooped Asio otus.'
'What?' said Marianne.
'The long-eared owl, my dear. I may have been mistaken, but I think not. Those ears! I forgot everything. One call of nature gave way to a greater, and I darted across the room to watch his flight. Glorious! Then someone approached. I froze into quietness, but alas! I was discovered. Forgive us our trespasses, I pray you.'
He smiled sweetly at Pascoe, who put on the all-is-explained face he often used when faced with a blatant liar.
'You've got him then,' said Mrs Culpepper, senior, in a triumphant tone. She peered curiously over her daughter-in-law's shoulder. 'He's a funny-looking devil.'
'Hush!' said Marianne. 'This is Mr Davenant, Mother. An old friend of mine.'
The plot thickens, thought Pascoe. And with the dramatic metaphor came a sense of staging, of something being not quite real.
'From London, is it?' said the old woman, as if wanting the worst to be confirmed.
'That's right,' said Marianne.
'I thought so.' She left, nodding triumphantly.
'Darling,' cried Culpepper up the stairs. 'John and Sandra are going.'
'Sorry to rush, but Eric's got a chill and we don't like to leave the sitter too long,' came Sandra Bell's voice.
Marianne looked uncertainly at Pascoe and Davenant, then turned and went down. Davenant made to follow her.
‘I didn't realize you had friends in the neighbourhood,' said Pascoe, sitting on the bed.
'Why should you? I didn't realize you had either. What I mean is, I didn't understand your odd behaviour in the pub till I found out later who you were.'
'Oh. Have you known the Culpeppers long?' asked Pascoe.
'Not long. In fact, hardly at all. Dear Marianne was putting it on a bit, for the old dragon's sake, I fancy, when she called me an old friend! No. In fact…' he hesitated and peered assessingly at Pascoe.
'In fact,' he went on, 'If I'm an old friend of anyone, it's of your old friends.'
'I'm sorry?' said Pascoe. Then, amazed, 'You mean of Colin and Rose's?'
'Yes. Well, more of Timmy and Carlo's really,' answered Davenant. 'Though I knew Rose and Colin well also.'
Pascoe stood up and closed the bedroom door.
'You'd better tell me exactly what you're doing here, Mr Davenant,' he said. Despite all his efforts he could not keep a threat out of his voice.
Davenant's story was simple. In Oxford, collecting material for an article on English provincial cooking, he had heard the news of the murders at mid-morning. As soon as he recognized the names, he had set out for Thornton Lacey.
'I was all of a tremble, I promise you. I could hardly point the car straight. But I had to come, you understand. By the time I got here, I'd settled down a trifle. It struck me that I would be foolish to appear as a friend of those murdered.'
'What made you think that?' demanded Pascoe.
'You're involved in the grief then. People don't talk to you as they would otherwise. You must have found that too.'
'I suppose so,' admitted Pascoe grudgingly.
'I wanted to be able to ask questions. Poke my nose in. Be a journalist. Just as you must be dying to be a policeman. I wanted to find out everything I could about this awful business. So I invented that silly story about my editor putting me on the job.'
'You did it very well,' murmured Pascoe.
'Thank you kindly. I decided I'd like to talk with you when I found out who you were. They told me you were staying up here. As soon as they mentioned the name Culpepper, I thought, Good Lord! Hartley! I've met him several times in town at mutual acquaintances', and I knew he lived in the country out here somewhere, but I'd quite forgotten it was Thornton Lacey. In other circumstances, a delicious coincidence.'
'Delicious. So they shut you away downstairs?'
'Until the other guests had gone, yes. It seemed easier. These villages are full of eagle eyes and tattle- tales.'
'And long-eared owls.'
'What? Oh yes. I wonder where the chappie's gone.'
He turned to the window once more and stared out into the star-filled night.
'Autumn,’ he said. 'Always a sad time. I'm sorry now that I came and disturbed you. Perhaps I should go.'
'Where are you staying?'
'With your late pugilistic opponent,’ said Davenant, turning and smiling. 'At the Eagle. If I start walking now, I'll be in time for a nightcap in the bar.'
'You walked here? Let me drive you back,' offered Pascoe.
'How kind you are. But no. I really like to walk. And perhaps Asio otus will appear for me again.'
'Then I'll walk with you,' said Pascoe. 'The air will help me to sleep. And I too would like a sight of your owl.'
To his surprise Pascoe found that he really was enjoying the walk after the first few minutes. There were things about his companion which he did not yet understand and a large part of his purpose in accompanying him had been to probe deeper. But the night was not made for chatter, idle or serious, and even the sound of their footsteps in the gravel of Culpepper's drive seemed an intrusion. It ran before them, white as an Alaskan river, and when they finally stepped off it on to the darker surface of the lane which led down to the road, they both hesitated as though uncertain of their footing. The night sounds gradually took control: a breeze in the trees; something rustling through the grass; a distant chatter, suddenly ending, then a long, wavering note which caught at the nerve-ends.
'There!' said Davenant. 'That's him.'
'Your owl?'
'Probably. Or it may just be a tawny owl. They're more common. Listen.'
The note came again. Pascoe felt as if the Indians might be about to attack.
'I think it is a tawny,' said Davenant. 'Sweet things in their way, but not the same.'
They set off walking again.
'Tell me,' said Pascoe when they reached the road, 'what did Palfrey have to say about Colin before I interrupted him? Or after.'
They had turned right towards the village. Left would have taken them towards Brookside Cottage.
'Now you're interested!' said Davenant. 'Well now, he was far from complimentary, you understand. I had met Colin through Timmy and Carlo and was not so deeply involved with him as you. Also, of course, I had set out to make him talk. So I didn't react like you.'
