Dance to Your Daddy mb-42 Page 11

  'Well, it's all a lot of boloney, I think,' said Martha, 'but I don't suppose this murder business is going to make her feel any better about things, and she told Tancred she isn't only afraid of this Romilly, but also of the dispossessed chorus lady, who must also be gunning for her, and was expecting a baby by old Felix Napoleon and might show up at any minute, complete with child, and create hell and demand her rights and all that kind of what-have-you.'

  'The baby would be illegitimate, miss.'

  'Yes, but don't they have rights or something, these days? Heirs of the body, and so forth? Anyhow, be that as it may, this Trilby, according to Tancred, is in a real old spider's-web of intrigue and is talking of cutting her throat as the best way out of it.'

  'This is all very interesting, no doubt, miss, but it doesn't help me.'

  'Are you going to find out about this baby?'

  'The question does not come within the scope of my enquiry, miss. Will you give me your account of the way in which you spent last Tuesday?'

  Martha's account tallied almost word for word with Tancred's. Kirkby wondered whether they had rehearsed it.

  'I'll have to get confirmation of their story,' he said. 'If the Reverend Mr Lestrange was already dead on the Tuesday, there's no point in finding out what the house-party did after that.'

  'The coastguard stations, according to the Ordnance Survey,' said Dame Beatrice, 'are at Peveril Point and just south of the secondary road which leaves Worth Matravers for Ranscombe Farm. From neither spot would Dancing Ledge be visible, I imagine.'

  'Probably not, ma'am. Well, if you'll drop me off in Shaftesbury, I'll have another word about Mr Tancred Provost with our chaps at the station. They'll take me to Wareham, and I'll work Provost's story back from there. He's a sufficiently striking-looking lad for the people in the tea-shop to remember. I don't suppose they get crowds of people on a Tuesday at this time of year. Then I'll tackle the post-office people at Langton Matravers.'

  'Is there anything I can do in the meantime?'

  'I hardly think so. When I've checked Provost's story (if I'm able to), I'll go along to Galliard Hall again and have another word with Mr Romilly.'

  'Mr Giles Provost was there when you called, I suppose? He'd got back from the New Forest?'

  'Oh, yes, but he'd nothing to tell me. He had been out with the New Forest Hunt all right, but that (if Tancred Provost's story is true) can't do anything to help us. I'll have to tackle him from the other end-his home-and find out what he was doing before he went to Galliard Hall. According to the housekeeper-although I think she's a lot more than that-there was bad blood between the Lestrange family and the Provosts, so the murder might tie up with a sort of vendetta. It seems a bit peculiar, if such was the case, that they had all been invited to Galliard Hall at the same time.'

  'Yes, Mrs Judith told me that she had advised against having members of the two families in the house together, but that Mr Romilly had overruled her. He appears to have been amusing himself in an unkind manner at their expense. It seems that he had promised them, falsely, certain benefits, as an inducement to them to come and visit him.' 'What kind of benefits, ma'am?-monetary ones?'

  'Well, not exactly. It seems that he promised Mr Tancred a publisher who would pay for printing his poems, and the schoolmaster, Mr Humphrey, a much better post. I have never met the Reverend Mr Hubert, of course, but Romilly spoke of getting him preferment of some kind.'

  'That sort of thing? I see. Been less surprising, then, if Mr Romilly had been bumped off, instead of the Reverend Hubert, wouldn't it?'

  'I have a theory that one of those who suffered disappointment may have gone so far as to attempt to murder him.' She told Kirkby of the mysterious but abortive shot in the night.

  'There are two other people at the Hall I want to interview,' he said, when he had listened to the story. 'They were in Bournemouth when I visited the Hall.'

  'Oh, the twin brother and sister, Corin and Corinna Lestrange. Yes, they are appearing on stage in Bournemouth this week. I expect they were rehearsing when you called. They, and Mr Giles, were the persons who really did benefit, although only in a very small way, from their visit.'

  'Oh? How was that, then, ma'am?'

  'The twins were offered free board and lodging for the period of their theatrical engagement, and Mr Giles obtained the loan of a horse for the hunting-field. I do not think Romilly mentioned to you that not only the Reverend Hubert but the eighth member of the party did not turn up?'

  'Who would that be?'

  'Mr Willoughby, whom Rosamund mentioned to you. He is the Reverend Hubert's brother, and appears to be missing.'

  'Yes, I've heard of it. It might be very important. I'll ask Mr Romilly about him.'

  'I certainly think you should do that.'

  'One thing I've proved. The married couple, Mr and Mrs Humphrey Provost, are in the clear. There's no doubt their alibis are unshakeable.'

  'I'm glad of that,' said Dame Beatrice. Kirkby said thoughtfully:

  'One Lestrange dead-either suicide or murder-and another missing? I'll certainly look into that. Well, ma'am, I'm most grateful for your help. If I may, I'll call on you again and let you know how things are going. It will need to be soon, because of the inquest.'

  (4)

  'So, according to his light-of-love, Tancred runs away from anything unpleasant,' said Laura. 'By the way, Celestine tells me we had a visitor. Pity there was nobody at home. You were off on a toot with the detective-inspector and I, in accordance with your instructions, had whisked Rosamund off to Bournemouth to get her fitted out with clothes.'

  'Who was the visitor?'

  'He didn't leave his name or a card.'

  'Romilly, I venture to suppose. Did Celestine describe him?'

  'A tall, smooth-faced, dark-eyed, grey-haired gentleman of late middle-age, wearing a very good grey overcoat and a black hat. He asked to be allowed to come in and wait, but she explained that we were both out for the day and she had no idea when to expect us. He then asked to see Rosamund, whom he called "the young Mrs Lestrange, who is staying here," and was informed that she had gone out with me, but that I had not said where I was going.'

  'At what time was this?'

  'At about eleven this morning, Celestine said. By the way, did you have any lunch?'

  'Yes, in Shaftesbury.'

  'We had ours in Bournemouth. How do you like the suit Rosamund is wearing?'

  'I'm most concerned about having to owe you so much money, Dame Beatrice,' said the girl, 'but I hope that, by the end of May, I shall be able to pay everything back-everything but your kindness, of course. That I can never repay.'

  'Well,' said Dame Beatrice, 'we have plans for you, to keep you safely out of the way until all the problems are solved. You are going to stay with Laura's parents in Scotland. It is all arranged.'

  'In Scotland? I shall feel safer there, now Romilly has been to this house. Suppose I had been alone here when he came!'

  'Well, you weren't,' said Laura, 'so don't panic. I'm taking you to London tomorrow, and one of the nurses at Dame Beatrice's clinic will take you on to Glasgow, where my brother and his wife will meet you and take you to my home. There's nothing for you to worry about. It's all taken care of. There's the dressing-bell. Push off upstairs and put on that dinner-gown you chose. It's a smash-hit-in any language.'

  'I like your brisk and business-like tone when you speak to Rosamund,' said Dame Beatrice.

  'Ah,' said Laura, squinting down her nose, 'a talented nursery-governess was lost in me. Well, we'd better go up, too, I suppose. One of these days I shall come down in jeans and a windcheater, just to see the effect it has on Celestine. It's because of her I dress for dinner, you know, not really because I want to.'

  'You have been with Rosamund all day. What do you make of the child?'

  'Not too sure I like her. Bit of a rabbit, I think, to let herself be given the run-around by the despicable old Romilly. Aft
er all, this is the third quarter of the twentieth century and she is twenty-four years old, although I'll admit she doesn't look it.'

  'Romilly is a cunning and unscrupulous man, I fear. I will accompany you to London tomorrow and see Rosamund handed over to the care of Nurse Merrow. After that, while you suborn your husband to neglect his duties and take you to Scotland with Rosamund and Nurse Merrow, I shall lunch by myself in Soho and then visit my sister-in-law. There is nothing Selina does not know about the ramifications of the Lestrange family tree, and if I ask her to place these new relatives of mine upon the appropriate branches she will feel that, at last, I am showing a proper interest. George will pick me up at her house and take me back to the clinic, and I will wait for you and Rosamund there. Keep dear Robert with you as long as you can. You see far too little of one another for the parents of an eight-months-old baby.'

  'If we'd seen less of one another, there might not be an eight-months-old baby, and that wouldn't break my heart,' said Laura, grinning. 'But what's all this about the family tree?'

  'I am hoping that Selina can hang Felix Napoleon on it, that is all, and Romilly, too.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  BOLERO-MOTHER AND SON

  'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,

  Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green.'

  Venus and Adonis.

  (1)

  Lady Selina Lestrange had always regarded her more eccentric relatives with suspicion and disapproval, and it was with false cordiality that she welcomed Dame Beatrice to the ancestral home. She was the relict of Dame Beatrice's first husband's brother, and therefore the relationship between the two elderly ladies was not consanguinous and they had nothing in common except their age and sex.

  'Well, Adela,' she said, 'this is a surprise!'

  'Yes,' agreed Dame Beatrice, meekly.

  'If I had known you were coming...'

  'I am not going to stay,' Dame Beatrice assured her. 'My business may take half-an-hour, or very little longer, at the most. I come in search of information.'

  'Not another of your odious cases of murder!'

  'A by-product of one. Did you know that Hubert has been killed?'

  'Hubert? Hubert who?'

  'The Reverend Hubert Lestrange.'

  'I have never heard of him.'

  'That is most interesting. I wonder whether you have heard, then, of Felix Napoleon?'

  'Oh, dear! Please don't mention that old reprobate!'

  'Who was he?'

  'He was some sort of cousin. He was descended from a pirate or a bushranger, I believe-something disgraceful, anyway. We have never recognised the relationship, needless to say.'

  'But he had a right to his name?'

  'Oh, he was a Lestrange, if that is what you mean. He was also extremely wealthy, as a result, I have always supposed, of his ill-gotten inheritance.'

  'Is there any reason why he should have entertained kindly feelings towards me?'

  'Towards you? Why, did he?'

  'Failing his granddaughter and her next-of-kin, he seems to have left his fortune to me.'

  'Oh, well, if there is a granddaughter, you are hardly likely to outlive her.'

  'In the midst of life, of course-but you have failed to grasp the purport of my question. Apart from any suggestion of a legacy, why should he have thought of me at all? To my certain knowledge, I have neither met him nor corresponded with him. In fact, I am perfectly certain that I did not know of his existence until very recently.'

  'If he mentioned anybody, apart from his nearest relatives, in his Will, it ought to have been Ferdinand.'

  'My son Ferdinand? Why, what has Ferdinand done? Successfully defended him against a charge of some kind?'

  'Exactly.'

  'Then why have I not heard of it?'

  'You were in America at the time, and it never became a cause célèbre. The unspeakable Felix Napoleon was thought to have strangled a chorus girl or a member of a corps de ballet or something. She had borne an illegitimate child which she was attempting to foist on him, I believe. Anyway, Ferdinand was mixed up in it somehow.'

  'Oh, was there an illegitimate child?'

  'Oh, yes. That was not in dispute.'

  'You would not, of course, remember the baby's name?'

  'Certainly not.'

  'You never heard it?'

  'I may have done. I should not dream of charging my memory with anything to do with such disgraceful goings-on.'

  'Suppose I suggested to you the name Romilly?'

  'Is it of any importance?'

  'I think it may be of very great importance.'

  'You mean that this Romilly may have a claim on us?'

  'I think he may well consider himself to have a claim on his natural father's fortune. As it is, a life interest in it is left to Felix Napoleon's granddaughter, provided that she attains her twenty-fifth birthday. At her death the money goes to this Romilly. If she does not live to be twenty-five, I am to benefit.'

  'What has the death of a clergyman to do with all this?'

  'That is what I have to find out. It is all very mysterious at present. Hubert seems to have been on his way to Romilly's house when he met his death, and yet the spot where his body was found does not suggest that he was on the direct route to Galliard Hall. The police have the matter in hand, but I was hoping that you would be able to give me a pointer or two which might be of help to them.'

  'I am sorry, but you can scarcely expect me to interest myself in the affair.'

  'You have at least persuaded me that Romilly may have some right to his surname, and that is progress of a kind.'

  'You have already said that you think he may be Felix Napoleon's natural son, but that gives him no right to call himself Lestrange.'

  'I have never seen why a natural son should have no right to his father's name when that name is known and the claim acknowledged.'

  'Opinions differ, and I must say that I think you are unwise to have mixed yourself up in the affair.'

  'It is too long a story to tell you, and I doubt whether you would be interested in it, but I had no option.'

  'Because of the fortune?'

  'No. Because Romilly called me in in my professional capacity as a psychiatrist.'

  'You mean that the man is mad?'

  'No. He was hoping I would say that the heiress presumptive is incapable of managing her own affairs. If I did so, her expectations, for all practical purposes, would cease to exist.'

  'It seems that, as usual, you have got yourself mixed up in villainy.'

  'That is what I think. Before I go, I must try your exemplary patience a little further. Do the names Willoughby, Corin and Corinna mean anything to you?'

  'Corin and Corinna are Sally's children, and therefore are my grandchildren. Their father thought it better that they did not use his name, as they are on the stage in some dubious kind of way, so, to my great annoyance, they have taken their mother's maiden name of Lestrange.'

  'I thought Sally's children were named Montmorency and Clotilda. I was present at their christening, if you remember.'

  'Those would scarcely be names which could be used for the kind of act which I believe they perpetrate.'

  'No, I see that. Oh, well, that accounts for them. What about Willoughby?'

  'I have never heard of him.'

  'He has disappeared. As he is Hubert's brother, I am wondering whether he also has been murdered.'

  'You mean that this clergyman was murdered?'

  'The police appear to think so. I do not know yet what evidence they have. One more question, and then I will go. Do you know anything about a family named Provost?'

  'Provost? Do you mean the Marshall-Provosts? They are some sort of connections of Sally's husband, John Ponsonby-Marshall, I believe, but they are rather poor and obscure and are not really recognised as relatives by John's family. Why?'

  'They seem to be well known to Romilly Lestrange
, that is all, but they seem to be called, simply, Provost.'

  'I will ring for tea,' said Lady Selina in a tone which indicated, beyond all reasonable doubt, that this nuisance must now cease.

  (2)

  Armed with such information as Lady Selina had been able to supply, Dame Beatrice rang up her son on Lady Selina's telephone and was invited to dinner and asked to stay for the night.

  'Well, mother,' said the eminent man, when dinner was over and he had taken her off to his study for a private chat, 'what mischief have you been getting into this time?'

  'I seem to be mixed up, to some extent, in the murder of a member of the family.'

  'Don't tell me that somebody has had the public spirit and general goodwill to bump off Aunt Selina!'

  'No. I came here from her house and she appears to be alive and well.'

  'Who's been murdered, then?'

  'A young man-well, I assume that he is young, or comparatively so-named the Reverend Hubert Lestrange.'

  'A parson murdered? Rather unusual, what? What did he do? Rush in where angels fear to tread, and get himself clobbered?'

  'I have no idea what he did. I have a feeling, however, that he was killed because of something he knew.'

  'That sounds as though he'd uncovered the family skeleton. Have we one?'

  'I hoped you would be able and willing to tell me that. What do you know of Felix Napoleon?'

  'Oh, that old rip! I got him off on a charge of fraud once, but haven't seen or heard of him for ages.'

  'When was this?'

  'Oh, donkey's years ago, of course. It was before I was called to the Bar, as a matter of fact. I was up at Cambridge. How the old boy had found out I was reading law I've never discovered, or even how he knew where I was, but he wrote to me and asked me to suggest a line of defence, as he trusted neither his solicitor nor the chap who was to be briefed on his behalf. He told me his side of the story, I saw a loophole, pointed it out and the result was that the case never came up for trial. The beaks threw it out, and quite right, too, on the evidence, although, personally, I wouldn't be surprised if the old reprobate was guilty.'

  'How did Selina come to hear of all this?'