‘Did he ever do that?’
There was another moment of stony silence. ‘He came close to it,’ Harriet said at last, ‘with the Falstone woman.’
‘Because she had his child?’
‘Because he allowed that rumour to develop and grow, to sour our reputation in the community here and with the rest of the county.’ Harriet stood up. ‘It gave people the right to pity me. And in my opinion, there is nothing more degrading than pity.’
Holly got to her feet too. She didn’t know what else to say.
‘Now, if that’s all, officer, I’m sure you can see yourself out.’ Harriet stared out of the window so she wouldn’t have to watch Holly go.
Chapter Thirty-Three
VERA SAT IN HER OFFICE AND brooded. About an elderly, educated woman who filled her life with good works and trips to the theatre. About a young lass who’d stopped eating to bring some order to her existence. About her own strange family, landed gentry, who, despite being lords of all they surveyed, seemed fraught, anxious and not at all at ease with themselves. About a young boy named Thomas, who was growing up without parents. It was the child who filled her thoughts in the end.
The phone call jolted her back to the present, to the small overheated room.
‘Ma’am, there’s a woman on the line for you. Her name’s Bolitho. She says you’ll want to speak to her.’
It took Vera a moment to realize who the woman might be. Of course, it was Juliet. She’d taken her husband’s name. Vera wondered about that. Didn’t most women hang on to their own, these days? Would Vera herself be the last remaining Stanhope?
Juliet sounded nervous. But then she usually did. ‘Do you think we could meet up? I’ve found something which might be helpful.’
‘Of course, pet.’ Vera thought she always treated the woman as if she were a shy child, who needed reassurance. ‘I’ll come over to Brockburn, shall I?’ She was glad of an excuse to leave the police station and to breathe a bit of fresh air.
‘No!’ The reply came quickly. ‘I don’t want to put you out. I can come to you.’
So, you don’t want the rest of the Brockburn mafia to know that we’re meeting.
‘Tell you what,’ Vera said. ‘I’ve got to be in Kirkhill anyway. Why don’t we meet there? Gloria’s caff. It’s usually quiet at this time of day and if there are people around, we can go for a stroll.’
Juliet was there before her, sitting in the back, close to the counter. Nobody walking past in the street would be able to see her, but the windows were so steamed with condensation that she was invisible anyway. Vera joined her, and Gloria brought coffee, then made herself scarce in the kitchen. They were the only customers.
‘What’s all this about then?’ The same motherly tone.
Juliet looked up at her and for the first time, Vera wondered if she was being played here. There was something calculating in the woman’s glance. Something steely. Perhaps Juliet wasn’t the shy innocent she pretended to be. ‘This is rather awkward.’
‘More than awkward,’ Vera said, ‘for Lorna and Constance. You did know that we found Constance last night in the forest? She’d been murdered too.’
Juliet nodded. ‘So dreadful.’
‘Now, why the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why couldn’t we meet at Brockburn?’
‘You’ll understand when you see this.’ Juliet put her phone on the table, tapped the screen and enlarged the photograph so Vera could read the print.
It was a very brief letter addressed to My dear wife, and was obviously from Crispin Stanhope to Harriet. The language was stilted and formal. This was intended for possible public consumption. The apology was brief. Perhaps Crispin had been more fulsome in person, though Vera suspected not. This was an entitled man, who had easily found justification for his hurtful behaviour.
My dear wife
This is to inform you that Lorna Falstone, the daughter of Gillian Falstone, is entitled to some claim on me and my estate. In the event of my death, I ask that you ensure she is provided for in a manner commensurate with that status. Out of respect for you and to save our family from possible embarrassment, I have not made a legal arrangement through our lawyers, but out of respect for me, I trust that you will follow my wishes.
I apologize for any distress this might cause.
Yours,
Crispin Stanhope
The letter had been printed but the signature was handwritten.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In an envelope in my mother’s room.’
‘You knew all along that Lorna was Crispin’s daughter, your half-sister?’
‘I still don’t know,’ Juliet said, ‘but yes, I suspected. I suspected that something like this might exist. My father was kind to the people he cared about, but he ignored the rest of the world. I couldn’t believe that he would pay for Lorna’s treatment out of an altruistic benevolence.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’ Vera tried to contain her impatience. What was it with these people, who thought that the rule of law didn’t apply to them?
‘I didn’t think it could be relevant. I thought you’d find Lorna’s murderer quickly and none of this would have to come out.’ Juliet paused. ‘I still don’t think it could be relevant. What reason could any of us have for killing Lorna? There’s nothing legal in this. My father left it to my mother’s discretion to provide for Lorna. Her death changes nothing.’
‘If it came out that Harriet had ignored your father’s wishes, it might change the way your neighbours, all these people who treat you as superior beings, look at you.’
Vera wondered why Harriet had hung on to the letter. Was
