Had he killed himself, after all? Not across Juliana’s grave, as I’d feared, but here in this quiet place where the only sound was the water spilling over rocks.
But where was his service revolver?
Chapter Six
Mrs. Ellis gave a little cry of shock and despair, and stopped where she was, one hand outstretched, as if to comfort him somehow.
I moved around her and went down to touch the hand that lay on the marshy bank of the little stream. There was no need to feel for a pulse. George Hughes was quite dead and had been for hours. But how had he died?
We missed our train after all, Lydia and I.
Although I’d wanted to stay with the body, Mrs. Ellis wouldn’t hear of it. We went back up the path, telling Lydia what we’d found.
And then the carriage took us back to the house. Roger Ellis went alone into Hartfield to bring the police.
We sat, the rest of us, in the hall, cold in spite of the fire, not knowing what to say to one another. I had let Mrs. Ellis explain what we’d found at the bottom of the path. Meanwhile, Lydia, her arms wrapped around herself for comfort, huddled in a chair to one side. I could see the effort it was taking to hold back her tears. Not for the dead man, I thought, but for her own thwarted plans.
If we’d gone directly to the station, we’d have been well on our way to London now.
It was not long before Roger Ellis returned with the local constable, Dr. Tilton, and the rector, Mr. Smyth.
To spare Mrs. Ellis, I went with them back to Wych Gate Church. I led the way down the path a second time, knowing now what was at the bottom of it, and stepped aside at the last minute so that the constable, a man named Austin, could see what Mrs. Ellis and I had seen less than an hour earlier. Roger Ellis, the doctor, and the rector had been asked to stay with the motorcar at the top of the path.
Constable Austin, square and competent, said, halting on the path, “You’re quite sure he’s dead?”
“Quite,” I said.
“And all you touched when you went nearer was his hand, looking for signs of life?” He’d already asked me that on our way to Wych Gate. But I knew he had to be sure.
“Yes, that’s right. I was careful not to disturb the body any more than necessary. You can see my tracks just there. If he’d been alive, I’d have pulled him out of the water. But there was nothing I could do.”
“Then I’ll go the rest of the way alone, if you please.”
I stood there, telling myself not to think of what I’d seen as George Hughes. The first time, I’d been shocked, making an effort to think clearly and do what had to be done. Now, standing here, I remembered the man I’d talked to at two o’clock in the morning.
Constable Austin looked first at the body from just above it, and then squatted beside it. After a time, he scanned the bank of the stream, first this side and then the other. Getting to his feet, he scanned the scene once more, from the vantage point of height.
Finally, turning to me, he said, “Will you ask Dr. Tilton to come down, if you please, Miss?”
I went back up the path and passed Constable Austin’s message to Dr. Tilton.
He went down slowly, almost reluctantly, and I followed. Stopping a little way up the path he looked down at the body and then went forward to examine it. Stepping back, he pronounced George Hughes dead, and added that while the cold water made it more difficult to judge with any certainty just how long, he believed-as I’d thought earlier-that the deceased had been dead for some hours.
“At least since five or six this morning. No later than seven, I should think. I’ll know more when I’ve got him on the table.” He glanced back at me as he said the last words. “That’s to say, when I can examine him properly.”
At last Mr. Smyth was allowed to come and pray for the dead man. I shivered, thinking about that cold water, and the rector said solicitously, “Would you like my coat, my dear? This is no place for you. Perhaps you would prefer to wait in the motorcar? I’m sure Constable Austin would have no objection to that.”
But I shook my head, thanking him for his concern.
Finally, the constable stayed with the body while the four of us-Roger, the rector, Dr. Tilton, and I-drove back to Hartfield to arrange to have George Hughes brought up the path and into the town.
While this was being attended to, I took a moment to walk into The King’s Head, out of the cold, and once more ask for the use of their telephone.
I was glad when my father answered, rather than my mother. I said, keeping my voice low although there appeared to be no one around, “There’s been a death here in Ashdown Forest. One of the weekend guests. I shan’t be able to leave for a day or two. But I’m all right, there’s no problem.”
“What kind of death?” the Colonel Sahib wanted to know.
“A drowning. Or so it appears. I couldn’t tell. Suicide? He was despondent, I’m told. And he made rather a fool of himself last evening. That may have been the catalyst. On the other hand, he may have been too drunk when he fell to pull himself out of the water.”
I could hear someone coming. “I must go, this is a very public place.”
“Very well. Keep in touch, will you, Bess?”
“I’ll try. But it’s quite some distance to the telephone, and I have no means of traveling here on my own.”
He said something I couldn’t quite catch. And then Roger Ellis was coming through the hotel door, saying, “We’re ready to leave.”
I bade my father a hasty good-bye and put up the receiver, following the Captain out to the waiting motorcar.
Dr. Tilton had gone back to oversee the removal of the body, while the rector chose to accompany us to Vixen Hill. I was grateful for his presence. Otherwise I’d have been alone in the motorcar with Roger Ellis.
I needn’t have worried. He was taciturn, and after several efforts at conversation, the rector fell silent. In the rear of the motorcar, I had an opportunity to watch Captain Ellis as he drove, and he seemed to be distracted, his mind anywhere but on the twisting track. Once we almost ran into a flock of sheep moving across the road to newer pastures, and again we took a turn too fast and swayed dangerously near the ditch on the far side.
Mr. Smyth exclaimed, “Here, Ellis! Have a care.”
I was reminded that just about here, George Hughes had sworn he nearly struck a tree in his path. But I couldn’t see remnants that even resembled anything large enough to dent the wing of his motorcar and throw him face-first into the windscreen.
Somehow we managed to reach Vixen Hill unscathed, and everyone was waiting to hear what the police and the doctor had had to say.
But Roger Ellis shook his head. “I’ve not been told. I expect we won’t be for some time. Dr. Tilton will sort it out.” He paused, then, looking around at the circle of faces, he added, “Did anyone see George this morning? No? No idea when he might have gone for a walk? Well, the police will be here soon, asking questions. We can be sure of that. Meanwhile, we should try to go on as normally as possible. Hardly the time or place for entertainment, but we need to stay busy until the police have finished their work.”
Mrs. Ellis said, “I can’t quite understand why George had gone down to the stream. I’d expected to find him in the churchyard at the very least, or the church itself.”
“He may have felt the need to relieve himself,” Henry said. “It’s one explanation, at least. It would probably be best, Roger, if we went home,” he continued. “I don’t see that we can contribute very much to this business, and you’ll have your hands full. Meanwhile, what about George’s family? Is there anyone I should contact when I reach London? George’s brother is dead. Do you know who his solicitors are?”
“There’s a cousin, I think. I don’t know if George still dealt with Pritchett, Dailey, and Thurmond. You could ask, if you would. His things are here, and of course there’s the motorcar. And arrangements to be made.”
“Well, then, Margaret and I will see to our packing.”
I said, “The police won’t want anyone to leave until they’ve spoken to all of us.”
Everyone turned to stare at me as if I’d suddenly grown two heads.
Lydia said, “I don’t care what the police want. I’m leaving for London. If I must walk there. Margaret, if you
