The Murder Of Gonzago

‘E. M. Forster once wrote something like, The husband died, then the wife died is a story. The husband died and the wife died of grief is a plot. The wife died for no apparent reason is a mystery, a higher form. Can you improve on that? Can you come up with a definition of a murder mystery?’

Antonia scrunched up her face. ‘How about, The wife died and everyone thought it was of grief until – um – until they discovered the bullet hole in the back of her head?’

‘But if he did do it,’ Lady Grylls said, ‘there must have been a cover-up. You are absolutely right, my dear. They must have agreed to keep mum. All six of them, which is not as extraordinary as it may appear. Conspiracies are said to be a part of everyday life. Perhaps they were bribed by Clarissa to form one of those spectacular pacts of silence?’

‘Yes. That’s what I think,’ said Felicity. ‘They all had a conspiratorial air about them at the crematorium. They looked guilty as hell. Gerard pooh-poohed it. He says I imagined it.’

Lady Grylls shook her head resolutely. ‘You aren’t the fanciful sort. So let’s see what happens. The dashing doctor poisons Roderick and of course he is only too eager to sign the death certificate. Clarissa bribes everybody into keeping mum. The official version presented to the authorities will be that Roderick died of a heart attack. That is how it is to appear in The Times.’

‘There have to be two doctors’ signatures on the death certificate,’ Payne pointed out.

Lady Grylls waved her hand. ‘They managed to rope in another doctor. Couldn’t have been difficult, persuading a local chap to sign on the dotted line and so on, given that Clarissa now owns the island.’

‘I doubt somehow that Dr Sylvester-Sale killed Roderick by pouring poison into his ear,’ Felicity said.

‘Why not?’

‘In front of everybody else? Using a highly theatrical black glass decorated with a skull and crossbones? On camera?’

‘Perhaps they were all in on it from the start and the dashing doctor was their appointed executioner,’ said Lady Grylls. ‘Maybe they all hated Roderick so much, they put their heads together and came up with the idea of getting rid of him? Like in Julius Caesar or – or on that stranded Orient Express.’

Felicity Remnant conceded that it was an intriguing theory – but would they have filmed the killing?

‘I don’t see why not. People do the oddest things,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘Years ago I used to play bridge with a woman – her husband was in the diplomatic corps – our man in Vaduz, I believe – and she would do anything to avoid bidding diamonds.’

‘That must have been somewhat limiting. Did you ever find out why?’

‘I did, my dear, yes, eventually. She was rather coy about it at first, but in the end it turned out she stuttered very badly on the letter d.’

‘I don’t believe my brother-in-law was meant to die on camera. It was obvious that it just – happened. Clarissa seemed to want the camera switched off at once. She looked extremely agitated. What do you think, Hugh? You are very quiet.’

‘The doctor couldn’t have poured poison into Lord Remnant’s ear since the glass was empty,’ said Payne. ‘There was nothing in it. He only pretended to be pouring.’

‘How can you be sure the glass was empty?’ Lady Grylls said.

‘Well, he was holding it upside down.’

‘Upside down? Are you sure, Hughie? I never noticed!’

‘I didn’t notice either,’ Felicity Remnant admitted.

‘It’s the kind of thing I tend to notice. You see, I am one of those obsessively observant people. I seem to possess what is known as “sensitivity to visual impressions”.’ Payne spoke in apologetic tones. ‘Let’s play that bit again, shall we? I’ll show you. Lady Remnant, would you be so good as to rewind? There it is – stop. Look. Look.’

There was a pause.

‘Goodness, yes. How extraordinary,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘You are perfectly right, Hughie. Yes. It happens very fast. He’s holding the glass upside down and then he realizes it looks silly and turns it over quickly and handles it properly! The glass is empty, that’s as plain as the nose on your face… Does that mean Roderick wasn’t killed after all?’

‘If he was killed, it was done in some other way.’

Felicity said, ‘The anonymously sent videotape showing the precise moment of my brother-in-law’s death suggests that there was something wrong about it, wouldn’t you say?’

Payne nodded. ‘Yes. I believe it does. Though it isn’t immediately clear from watching it how Lord Remnant died. The tape was sent to Lord Remnant’s brother, the present Earl Remnant… The sender is most likely to be one of the people who was there when Lord Remnant died. Some poor soul tormented by a guilty conscience or – or someone intent on stirring up miching mallecho.’

‘I’d be grateful if you spoke plain English, Hughie.’

‘Mischief, darling. Trouble. Miching mallecho is the phrase Hamlet uses… Did the tape sender mean to plant a suspicion or suggest a line of inquiry? Does the recording perhaps contain something which we should have seen but didn’t?’

‘I thought we saw everything there was to be seen,’ said Lady Grylls.

‘The bit where Lord Remnant dies – I’d like to see it again. If Lady Remnant doesn’t mind. It may be my imagination, but-’ He broke off.

‘You saw something? What is it? Out with it!’ Lady Grylls cried.

‘I want to see that bit again… If I am right,’ said Payne, ‘you will see it too.’

10

Maid in Waiting

The phone rang and Clarissa’s heart jumped inside her. She wanted to answer it because she thought it might be Syl, whom she loved with a love that was passionate, single-minded and overpowering, but she also feared it might be the call she dreaded. When she eventually did pick up the receiver, she discovered it was somebody from the Sunday Telegraph.

A journalist. A man. He said they wanted to do a feature on Remnant Castle – would Lady Remnant be good enough to show them around and give them an interview? The feature would appear in the Telegraph magazine. It was a friendly enough voice.

Clarissa said no, impossible, out of the question; her husband had been dead only ten days, they must know that, surely? Couldn’t they be more sensitive? Her husband’s ashes were still warm in the urn, she was terribly upset, she was ill, she had been sleeping badly, everything was at sixes and sevens, she was receiving no one, couldn’t they leave her alone?

‘Perhaps you could call again when my brother-in-law takes over. You may find him more welcoming. He may even suggest writing the piece himself!’ She slammed down the receiver.

Her brother-in-law had hinted he might sell the place. She was not at all surprised. That was what she had always wanted to do herself. Gerard needed the money for some crackpot idea of his. Another futile writing venture, she imagined.

The day was cold and grey. She felt oppressed by the mists that invariably rose around Remnant. She felt cut off, isolated. The central heating wasn’t working properly and there was no one who could do anything about it. She had got rid of the servants – she had followed the instructions to the letter. No servants and no visitors.

Her eyelids fluttered – closed.

She dozed off.

She had a dream.

They were back at La Sorciere and her husband lay on the chaise longue and he was bleeding profusely from a