“Do you remember seeing the watch?” I asked, curious.
“Oh yes. It was his brother’s. It was sent back to him from the Front, when Malcolm was killed. It meant the world to him.”
“No, I mean, did you actually see it this weekend?”
She frowned. “I’m sure I did. Thursday night, I think, just before we went to bed.”
The same time I’d seen it.
“Did that please Inspector Rother? That you could answer his question for him?”
“He seemed very satisfied. Odd little man, isn’t he? If he weren’t an Inspector, no one would take any notice of him, would they?”
“I expect he’s a good policeman.”
“Yes, well, I hope we’ve seen the last of him. This whole business has been very trying. Especially for Roger. The last time the police came to Vixen Hill, it was to tell us that someone had found his father’s body. He doesn’t feel much sympathy for them. Bearers of bad tidings, he always said. And it’s true, isn’t it? There’s never a policeman about unless he’s bringing bad news.”
I hadn’t known the police had come about Matthew Ellis, Roger’s father. I should have expected it, for it explained his animosity toward them. How old had he been then? Eight? Nine? It was an age when memories were sharp and permanent. I could picture myself at that age, seeing my first body in India. A beggar, lying along the road, wrapped against the cold night, dying in his sleep. Or at least I’d hoped he had. My father was angry that I’d seen him. The Colonel Sahib had taken me out for the day, and his men had made certain our route was safe. The subaltern who had missed the corpse got a severe dressing down. But I knew what death was. It hadn’t taken a corpse on the roadside to give it a face. I’d seen the worry in my mother’s eyes whenever my father was in the field. She made light of it, but the fear was there-that one day his luck would run out, and a bullet would find him. It didn’t matter whether it was a bandit’s shot or a Pathan warrior’s or a nervous recruit’s accidental discharge of his weapon. Death was not uncommon in India.
I realized much, much later that it wasn’t the corpse that had disturbed the Colonel Sahib, but the fact that it could just as easily have been someone lying in wait for us. He had enemies, my father did. My mother had known that too.
Daisy brought tea to the sitting room, where it was warmer, and we all gathered there. Lydia was silent, and Roger Ellis had a grim set to his mouth. I think he must have guessed why Lydia had wanted to go into Hartfield.
That evening, just before we went in to dinner, we heard the distant clanging of the heavy knocker on the door. Daisy went to answer the summons and a few minutes later brought Inspector Rother to the drawing room, where we were finishing our sherry. He greeted Gran and Mrs. Ellis politely, then turned to Roger.
“I’ve come to inform you that we are satisfied that no one here is connected to the murder of George Hughes. You’re free to go about your own affairs as you please.”
Surprised, Mrs. Ellis thanked him. Across the room, Lydia’s face lost all color.
It was Gran who demanded, “The least you can do after all we’ve been through is to tell us who killed poor George. He was a dear friend, you know, not a stranger who happened by. We’re as relieved as the police must be that his killer is caught, of course we are. But we would appreciate a few answers.”
Inspector Rother nodded. “I understand, Madam. It will come out in the inquest, which will be held on Tuesday at The King’s Head. We have reason to believe it was one Davis Merrit.”
Mrs. Ellis exclaimed, “Surely not! I mean to say, he’s blind.”
“It doesn’t take sight, Madam, to strike a man on the back of his head. Or drag him toward the water.”
“But how did he get to the church? How did he know that George would be there?” Lydia asked.
“He keeps a horse, I understand, and goes out riding from time to time. He’s not precisely without resources. And the horse can find his way back to the stable, should it be necessary.”
“What was his motive?” I asked, wanting to know what the police had discovered.
“That hasn’t yet been determined, Miss Crawford,” he said in a tone of voice that brooked no further questions on that subject.
Roger Ellis said, echoing his mother, “We thank you for coming to speak to us. I’ll see you out.”
As they left the room, Henry, Margaret’s husband, said into the silence, “Well, that was quick work. I expected we might be here for several more days.”
“At least it wasn’t one of us,” Margaret said, her voice a little unsteady. I wondered if she knew how worried her mother had been about that.
It was Eleanor who made the remark none of us had considered. “Perhaps this man Merrit was out riding and came upon George along the way, and they went on together.”
Henry rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he stood behind her chair. “It still doesn’t explain why Merrit should suddenly kill someone he accidentally encounters on a track in Ashdown Forest. There must be more to this.”
Lydia turned her face away, toward the window. I could almost guess what she was thinking. That she’d given Davis Merrit a reason to search out and speak to Lieutenant Hughes. But why it should lead to murder was another matter. Unless I was right about his feelings for Lydia.
Still, even if he was in love with her, what purpose could be served by killing George after he’d already told everyone about the child? I should have thought that killing Roger would have been more appropriate as an expression of devotion. If one could call murder that.
Gran had the last word. “Well, one thing to be said for Davis Merrit as the killer, you shan’t be required to read to him any longer,” she told Lydia. “Ah, here’s Daisy. I thought that Inspector would keep us from our dinner. Henry, give me your arm. You can take me into the dining room.”
Henry turned to offer her his arm, and Gran led the way with the air of a woman who was very satisfied with herself. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I thought,
But what exactly did she have to gloat about?
Was it just the fact that Roger had been exonerated? Or was there something more? Watching her, I realized that in spite of her age, she was fit and a good walker. She could easily have followed George to the church and even killed him. She was tall enough. Strong enough.
And George would never have expected trouble from her.
Chapter Ten
By the time we had absorbed the fact that we were free to go, it was too late to do more than discuss whether to leave in the morning or the day after the inquest.
Lydia said to me quietly after dinner, “I’ve never really unpacked. If Simon would agree to take us to London, it would be easier. But I will take the train if he can’t manage it. Or if he’s concerned about what Roger might say or do.”
I couldn’t imagine Simon Brandon being afraid of anyone. But I understood that she was trying to protect him from an unpleasant scene. And Roger Ellis was likely to make one.
“We must get word to him,” I said, “unless he learns of the news in Hartfield.”
And where was Davis Merrit? Alive and on the run-or a dead scapegoat?
“I’ll pack my own things,” I told her. “Then we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
But after breakfast, I happened to notice that one of the Ellis motorcars had been brought around. And I could hear Gran’s voice echoing around the hall, raised in anger and fear.
I ran down the stairs, thinking that something terrible must have happened. But when I got to the hall, I found only Mrs. Ellis sitting by the hearth, tears streaming down her face while Gran was at the door, arguing vehemently with her grandson.
It was only then that I noticed that he was wearing his uniform and his greatcoat. I’d seen him in his uniform every day, but this time he wore it with a very different air. I’d been a part of a military family all my life, and I knew the look of a man on his way to war.
