Angel with Two Faces

pale-green walls and drapes gave it a light, airy feel and an affinity to summer; the half which contained the fireplace was lined with dark oak bookshelves, possibly made from the wood on the estate, and would make a cosy retreat on a winter’s afternoon. She walked over to look at the books, smiling as she noticed that both the fireside chairs and the footstool had been frayed at the edges by Motley Penrose. The shelves held an eclectic selection of fiction and non-fiction, and there was a predominance of volumes on natural history, botany and gardening. Someone was fond of the Victorians, and there was a complete set of Trollope which must, she thought, have belonged to Archie’s father – she couldn’t see Lizzie Penrose having a taste for chronicles of clerical life. All the books were fine editions, but that had not stopped them being read and loved, none more so than a collection of battered children’s books which sat next to a shelf of novels and plays that Archie had added in adult life. She recognised his tastes and was amused to see that her own books – particularly The Man in the Queue – looked a little out of place alongside Waugh, Forster and Bowen, but were just as dog-eared; at least she hadn’t had to suffer the indignity of finding them pristine and unread.

Her eye fell on a volume of Tennyson’s poetry and she took it down, remembering the empty blanket and the book that Morwenna and Loveday had left behind last night. Where had they gone? she wondered, turning to ‘The Passing of Arthur’ and looking for the reference which Archie had mentioned. Before she could read much, she heard a car draw up outside and went back to the window. Archie got out, looking tired and worried, and Josephine found it hard to believe that he even owned cricket whites, let alone had worn them just the day before yesterday.

‘I’m sorry not to have spoken to you properly last night,’ he said as she met him at the back door, ‘but there was no chance of getting away.’

‘Don’t be silly. I knew I wouldn’t see you as soon as William told us what had happened.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him last night,’ Archie said, giving her a hug. ‘He was wonderful with Nathaniel’s parents.’

‘Yes – he’s going over to see them again today.’

‘That’s good.’

‘What a dreadful way to lose a son.’ She looked at the suit and the frown, and gave Archie a resigned smile. ‘You’ve obviously accepted the case. Maybe we should have gone for that weekend in Brighton after all?’

‘It’s certainly not the holiday I had planned,’ he agreed. ‘A nightcap with the chief constable doesn’t have quite the same appeal, somehow.’

‘I bet his single malt isn’t a patch on mine, either. It’s a bit early for that now, but I could manage bacon and eggs. Have you time?’

Archie looked at his watch. ‘Just about. I’ve got to call the Yard, but I can do that from here. After last night, it’s vital that we find out what’s happened to Christopher Snipe and Bill can help with that up there – he’s got all the resources at his fingertips.’ He left Josephine in the kitchen and went through to the hall to let his sergeant know what was happening. As he was waiting to be put through, he had time to notice things he occasionally took for granted, and found a comfort in their familiarity which he did not often experience. He had always admired the painting that hung over the stairs, an oil by Stanhope Forbes which his father had bought for his mother shortly before the war. The picture showed a team of horses pulling a quarry cart through the Cornish landscape, and he loved it as much for the slash in the bottom right-hand corner of the canvas as for the quality of the brushwork. It was one of several works of art damaged by suffragettes in order to draw attention to their cause, and had met with a particularly militant umbrella while on display at the Royal Academy. The tear, and the spirit which it represented, was what made his father buy it in the first place, and his mother had resolutely refused to have the canvas repaired. Archie remembered how united they had always seemed. He was trying not to think too deeply about the consequences of this investigation on his relationship with the estate but – amid the doubts and suspicions that now surrounded some of his oldest friends – he knew that he desperately needed to find something in his past of which he could be confident, and the uncomplicated strength of his parents’ marriage took on a new resonance.

‘Can’t let you out of my sight for a minute, Sir, can I?’ Bill Fallowfield’s voice cut in on his thoughts, as cheerful and reassuring as ever. ‘I did try to tell you that theatre in the open air was a daft idea, but you wouldn’t listen.’

Archie laughed. ‘News travels fast, Sergeant – have you also heard that I’m forfeiting my holiday as penance for not listening to you?’

‘They did mention something of the sort. A bit selfish of you, Sir, if you don’t mind me saying. A fortnight with Inspector Rogers in charge is more than enough for anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you could get everything cleared up down there as soon as possible – for my sake, if nothing else.’

‘I’ll do my best, Bill, but I could do with a bit of help. We’ve got a missing person down here – could be in the frame for the killing, could be a victim himself, or could simply have disappeared up country to get away from a bit of trouble. Could you put a note in the Gazette for me and see if anything turns up?’

‘Must be something in the air down there,’ Fallowfield said after Penrose had given him the details. ‘That’s the third disappearance we’ve had word of in a month – a lighthouse keeper from Penzance, a clerk in Cornwall on holiday and now an undertaker’s son. Are you sure you don’t want me to throw a few things in a bag and come down to sort them out for you? I’d go a long way for a sniff of the sea and some of Mrs Snipe’s cooking.’

‘You’d be very welcome,’ Archie said, wondering if Bill knew how much he meant it, ‘but I’d better give the local boys a chance.’ His sergeant made a noise that indicated quite clearly what he thought of the Cornish force, but he dutifully read back the details that were to go into the police newspaper. They talked for a bit about various cases that were ongoing, then Archie rang off and went back to the kitchen, where a cup of strong, black coffee was waiting for him.

‘You look like you need that,’ said Josephine. ‘Scrambled or fried?’

‘Is that a question about my breakfast or a comment on my state of mind?’ he asked drily. ‘I don’t mind – which do you do best?’

‘Scrambled. You won’t taste better outside of Scotland.’

‘Then scrambled it is. Bill sends his regards, by the way, and asks what chapter you’re on.’

She grimaced as she broke the eggs into a bowl. ‘I suppose that’s the only advantage of your holiday going up in smoke – think of it as doing some sort of service to crime fiction. It’s a drastic way of forcing me to work, though. Have you had any sleep?’

‘Yes, but only a bit – perhaps that’s why this all seems so surreal.’ He sipped his coffee appreciatively. ‘You know, I can hardly believe that Nathaniel’s dead. One minute, we’re sitting on the rocks in the sun talking about Harry, and the next he’s falling over the cliff dressed as a jackdaw. And God knows what happened in between.’

‘You said the conversation was interesting.’

‘It was. I’d never really talked to him before, although I’d heard lots of good things about him from William – and I can see why now.’

‘You liked him, then?’

‘Yes, very much. He seemed to take his role so seriously,’ he explained, echoing Morveth’s description of Nathaniel as a boy, ‘and his dedication to the estate and the people on it was extraordinary. He was honest, too – or at least that’s how he came across in the brief time we spent together.’ He got up from the table and cut the loaf of bread into thick slices. ‘Perhaps he just needed a stranger to talk to – there was certainly a lot on his mind. He admitted to being in love with Harry.’

Josephine stopped beating the eggs and looked at him. ‘A vicar in a small village? He certainly wasn’t after an easy life, was he? How terrible for him – having to keep all that anxiety and grief to himself. Is that what you were going to tell me last night?’

‘Not just that.’ He repeated what Nathaniel had told him about the fire at the Pinchings’ cottage.

‘So Harry set the fire, with his parents and little sister in the house asleep – or so he thought – and went back upstairs to die as well?’ Josephine was incredulous. ‘Poor Loveday, walking around with all that stuff in her head and no one to help her through it.’

‘And poor Nathaniel – having to carry it alone and reconcile it with his feelings for Harry.’

‘Do you think he was the only one who knew?’

‘I’ve no idea – that’s one of the things I’ve got to try to find out today. You can imagine how much I’m looking forward to running the scenario past Morwenna.’