The Crozier Pharaohs

unreasonable, and suffered from periods of morbid introspection.’

‘Do you happen to know when your father made his will?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

‘Oh, yes. He made a fresh will as soon as our mother’s funeral was over. Everything had been left to her, you see. He was beastly to her, as he was to us, but he knew what was the right thing to do. Unluckily she died before he did, otherwise the three of us could have settled down to quite a happy, peaceful life, because there was no shortage of money, thanks to the rich old lady in Stafford.’

Bryony referred to the time when the Rant family had lived in the Midlands. The old lady, it seemed, had suffered from chronic bronchitis and often spoke of moving further south. Dr Rant was in constant attendance on her and persuaded her that to move from the comfortable, warm home she had always known and try to settle down among people she did not know and to have another doctor prescribe and care for her would not be to her advantage.

She died rather suddenly, and it was then discovered that she had left all her money to Rant. There were mutterings of undue influence among the members of charitable institutions which had hoped to benefit, but there were no relatives to contest the provisions of the will, neither could the charities prove that they had been promised anything.

However, ugly rumours began to circulate and, although nobody dared say so openly, it began to seep about that the old lady had shuffled off this mortal coil remarkably soon after the will had been signed and witnessed. The witnesses, two of the old lady’s servants, were responsible for this undercover but dangerous hint and Dr Rant, at that time an able physician although even then a selfish husband and an unsympathetic father, had been forced to leave a rapidly declining practice and bury himself morosely in Abbots Crozier.

‘I was fifteen when we moved south,’ said Bryony, ‘and Morpeth was twelve. We were overjoyed at first to live in the country and so near the sea. We went to boarding school and loved it. Some of the girls were not so keen and found the rules, especially those relating to being out-of-bounds, irksome and frustrating, but for us it was heaven after living with father and being toads under the harrow. I was heartbroken when he took me away to be a drudge at home. I was eighteen then. Morpeth stayed on for a couple of years, then she was also taken away from school and we had to resign ourselves to the fact that there was no chance for either of us to go to college or train for anything except to be father’s slaves and watch mother’s health getting worse and worse.’

It came out that Bryony, as the driver of the car, was sent regularly to the chemist’s on behalf of her father. His prescriptions were made up by an elderly pharmacist in Castercombe who had died shortly after the demise of Dr Rant himself.

‘I used to go by way of the road through the valley,’ said Bryony, ‘until it was blocked for weeks by a big fall of rock. After that, I had to drive down to Abbots Bay and take the coast road and come back the same way. I much preferred it, but, of course, it took a great deal longer and father used to be very impatient with me. In the end, Dr Mortlake heard him reproaching me in his usual hurtful manner — and, after that, Dr Mortlake took the prescriptions and told me to go out and enjoy myself. He would hand me the medicine (that’s what father always called it) when he returned. He drives much faster and more confidently than I do, so he was able to cut down on the time and this mollified father, so we all benefited.’

‘Didn’t you ever think of leaving home?’ asked Laura.

‘With what? We had no money of our own while father was alive and we weren’t trained for anything. Besides, there was mother. Even after her death, we were still helpless. If Dr Mortlake had been in a position to buy his own practice, I would have been tempted to accept his offer of marriage, but he was not in such a position. Besides, I knew he would never agree to have Morpeth to live with us, and I certainly would not have been willing to leave her on her own to cope with father.’

‘I never liked Dr Mortlake,’ said Morpeth, ‘after I knew he wanted to take Bryony away from me. All the same, I sometimes wonder whether we ought not to be very grateful to him.’

‘In what way?’ Laura enquired.

‘Oh, after mother’s death he did far more work for the practice than father did. Also, when he was with us — at meals, and so on, you know — father kept his temper in check where we were concerned and that was a very good thing.’

‘A very interesting and informative evening, I thought,’ said Dame Beatrice, when the sisters had returned to Crozier Lodge. ‘What impression did it make on you?’

‘I think Morpeth’s gratitude to Dr Mortlake may rest upon something more than that his presence at meal-times kept Dr Rant in check to some extent. What a life those two women seem to have had of it, don’t they? I’m certain, if I had been Bryony, I would have left home, money or no money, job or no job, especially after the mother died.’

Dame Beatrice nodded, but not in agreement. ‘Bryony might have taken the risk of breaking away and trying a taste of freedom, but not with Morpeth acting as her Old Man of the Sea. It is clear that they have no intention of ever separating,’ she said. ‘There are several more questions I must ask the sisters, but they can wait until tomorrow.’

Dame Beatrice rang Crozier Lodge at half-past three the following afternoon, guessing that although Susan and one of the Rants might be out exercising hounds, it was unlikely that the Lodge would be untenanted. Morpeth answered the call.

‘Do come to tea,’ she said. ‘The others will be back by half-past four and I’ve baked some lovely scones and there will be home-made strawberry jam and clotted cream.’

After tea, Dame Beatrice and Laura were introduced to the hounds. The bitches, including Sekhmet, who was never in purdah, were loose in the garden and responded politely and, in Sekhmet’s case, enthusiastically to the visitors, but these were able to view the dogs only through the meshes of the strong wire fence which surrounded the stable yard. Dame Beatrice did not put her questions until she and Laura were about to take their leave. The two sisters accompanied them to the double gates outside which they had left the car, but Susan remained in the house, as Dame Beatrice had supposed that she would do, as the visitors were not, strictly speaking, her guests.

‘I suppose,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘that if either of you needed medical attention, you would call in Dr Mortlake.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Morpeth. ‘He almost counts as a brother, you see. We should have the man from Axehead, but it hasn’t been necessary since father died.’

‘I can see that your father would have been unlikely to avail himself of his partner’s services, particularly as Dr Mortlake can hardly have approved of certain aspects — ’