Chapter Eight #2
Despite Everett’s sudden death and the odd atmosphere between the Sidwell-Plants, breakfast was surprisingly convivial. There was the usual amount of small talk, and even a little teasing of Wilson and Lily, who seemed to be taking JB’s ham-fisted matchmaking in good spirit.
Sidwell-Plant asked about the progress being made on finding the stolen jewellery.
‘We’re pursuing a few lines of inquiry,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘We have a couple of leads, but we need to check a few more things before we can say anything for certain.’
I knew this to be something of a fib – we had absolutely no idea what had happened – but from the many nods around the table it seemed that the others were satisfied with this empty response.
‘Good show,’ said Bridgewater. ‘Worth a fortune.’
Another nod from Sidwell-Plant confirmed that he, too, was concerned about the value of the missing pieces.
Conversation returned to less sensitive matters for a while.
Inevitably, though, the subject of Everett’s death was eventually raised and talk turned to the urgency of sending Crawford ashore to fetch the authorities.
‘Have you sent him yet?’ asked Wilson.
‘It’s only been properly light for about an hour,’ said JB.
‘I had him help with breakfast first, but I sent him down to the boat about twenty minutes ago. He should be well underway by now. Give him ten minutes to get going, a quarter of an hour or so to get to shore, say half an hour to an hour to get the constable and a doctor, then half an hour to get them both up here. I’d say he’ll be back around eleven. ’
There was a knock on the dining room door and a diffident ahem. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but can I have a word?’
It was Crawford, his cap scrunched in both hands.
‘What is it, man? I was just telling everyone you were on your way to shore.’
‘That’s just it, sir. I can’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘It’s the boat, sir. Seems she broke loose from her moorin’s in the storm. As far as I can tell, she smashed up against the rocks and damaged her hull.’
‘How badly damaged is she?’
‘Bad enough that she’s at the bottom of the inlet, sir. Just her funnel showin’ above the swell.’
‘So we’re stranded here?’ said Lily. ‘We’ve no boat, no telephone, no nothing.’
‘Just for a couple days,’ said JB. ‘Vickerman will come out with the mail Tuesday.’
‘Who’s Vickerman?’ asked Wilson.
‘Vickerman the Fisherman,’ said Bridgewater. ‘Chap we saw at the quay on Thursday.’
Wilson shook his head. ‘So we’re waiting for the postman.’
‘I guess you could put it like that,’ said JB. ‘But we’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.’
‘You’ve forgotten that Edgar Everett is dead, I suppose?’ said Sidwell-Plant.
‘No, I’m well aware of that. But Crawford, could you move Mr Everett to the outside storeroom, please? It’ll be cold enough out there.’
Crawford nodded.
‘The doctor can examine him out there, too. The police won’t quibble over the delay in reporting things, given the circumstances.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting Clarice?’ said Patience. ‘She needs—’
‘I do hope you’re not going to be a frightful bore and speak for me as though I’m not here,’ interrupted Clarice. ‘I’m perfectly capable of expressing my own needs, thank you.’
‘Yes . . . Well . . .’
JB raised a placatory hand. ‘Like I say, we’ll be fine. We’ve plenty to eat, plenty to do—’
‘Nowhere to go,’ said Sidwell-Plant. He looked at Patience. ‘No one to spend a quiet moment with.’
She gave a pfft in response but said nothing.
‘I know we’ve suffered a tragedy,’ said JB, ‘but we have to make the best of it. We were planning to be here anyway, so let’s just carry on as best we can and wait for Vickerman to come out as usual.’
Sidwell-Plant gave a pfft of his own. ‘He’d better not forget. I was rather depending on getting away on Monday – I have to be back in London.’
‘Everyone has places to be,’ said JB. ‘At the risk of repeating myself one too many times: we’ll be fine.’
The grumbling and mumbling that followed this assertion very much seemed to indicate that the others didn’t believe him, but he was unfazed.
He got up from the table and came round to lean down between Lady Hardcastle and me.
He spoke softly. ‘Would you two ladies mind coming with me, please? I’d like a word away from these guys. ’
We got up and followed as discreetly as we could. We needn’t have bothered – by now they were all so busy arguing with each other about whose appointments were the most important that they didn’t even notice we’d gone.
JB led us upstairs to what turned out to be his own private suite of rooms, and into his study. He closed the door.
He leaned against his desk and gestured for us to sit in the two armchairs opposite him. ‘Am I lying to my friends?’
Lady Hardcastle frowned. ‘Of course you are. You knew that.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean about Everett – that’s just an expedient misrepresentation of certain details. I mean about whether we’ll all be OK.’
‘Ah, I see. Well, you’re being optimistic, certainly.
Only one among us can be certain whether the killer will strike again, and if Everett’s murder was a crime of – shall we use your word?
– expedience, then even he won’t know whether circumstances might conspire to require him to murder someone else. ’
‘How does a murder become a matter of expedience?’
‘As I understand it, there are only three principal motives for committing murder: passion, money, and to cover up another crime. If Everett were killed out of jealousy, or, say, revenge over his treatment of his wife, then there seems no reason to kill anyone else. With the object of his rage out of the way, the passion is spent.’
‘So you agree it’s a he.’
‘In truth, no, not yet. I just didn’t want to get into another discussion about the sex of the killer.’
JB smiled but didn’t respond.
‘I can’t quickly think of a financial motive for bumping off Everett,’ continued Lady Hardcastle, ‘but if there is one, it’s also likely that no one else needs to die.
On the other hand, if he had knowledge of some other crime and had to be silenced, any of your guests might have similar knowledge and might also be in danger. ’
‘So the key is knowing the motive.’
‘It so often is. Let’s start with passion. Everyone, I think, knows about Everett’s appalling treatment of his wife. I gather yesterday’s wasn’t an isolated incident.’
‘No, we’ve all known about him for a while.’
‘But none of you have tried to stop him.’
JB bridled. ‘Of course we have. Each of us have – how do you Brits put it? – “had a go at him” over the years. Sometimes he laughed it off, sometimes he angrily denied it, sometimes he told us it was none of our damned business how he treated his own wife, but he never stopped. Patience has been trying to get her to leave him. Dotty has . . . well, you know Dotty by now. Not the most forthright or practical lady, but she’s been offering comfort and support. ’
‘So you all have a motive for killing him, to save Clarice.’
‘I suppose we do, yes.’
It might take us off at a tangent, but there was something else I wanted to know. ‘What did Sidwell-Plant mean just now when he made that remark about us having no one to spend a quiet moment with? It seemed to be directed at Patience.’
JB sighed. ‘They’re a far from happy couple.
Patience wants him to divorce her, but he refuses.
She’s been quite open about her affair to try to force his hand, but still he won’t budge.
He believes that while he stays clear of the divorce courts he can dismiss her infidelity as gossip and rumour.
But if he divorces her, he makes the cuckoldry official, and he doesn’t want the scandal. ’
‘I see. I think. Who else knows?’
‘Patience has made sure we all know. Like I say, she wants her divorce so she can marry her new man.’
‘And who’s the new man?’
‘Well, now that one, no one knows. She’s trying to protect him, I suppose. There have been rumours, of course, but no one knows for sure.’
‘Could it have been Everett?’
‘I can’t see why she’d have fallen for a rat like him, and no one else thinks so, except . . .’
‘Except Sidwell-Plant?’ suggested Lady Hardcastle.
‘Yup, except him. We keep telling him Everett’s the last person she’d want to be with, but he’s as dogged in his belief that it’s a possibility as he is in his refusal to grant her a divorce.’
‘So he might have finally decided to bump off his supposed rival.’ I thought for a moment before taking us off in yet another direction. ‘We’re saying we can’t see how Everett’s death might have benefitted anyone financially, but surely Clarice is better off now? She inherits his estate.’
JB nodded. ‘And it’s not a bad one, either. Musicians don’t earn vast fortunes but he comes from money – he inherited property and a decent stock portfolio when his father died.’
‘So that gives her two motives,’ I said. ‘Revenge and money.’
‘She’d need help,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
I shrugged. ‘She’d not be short of offers – it seems everyone hated Everett.’
JB shook his head furiously. ‘Absolutely not. I love that girl like she was my own daughter. I’ll not have you speaking ill of her. She’s not involved in this in any way.’
‘Very well,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But what of your other guests? What do Lily and Wilson think of Everett?’
‘As far as I know, they just met him this weekend. I don’t reckon it ever took anyone more than a weekend to take a dislike to Edgar Everett, but I wouldn’t say either of them has had long enough to develop a hatred strong enough to inspire murder.’
‘That’s all very helpful,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Thank you. So that just leaves us with covering up another crime. Do you have any ideas?’
JB shook his head. ‘Not unless it’s the missing jewellery. But you seem to think that’s a prank.’
‘It could still be a prank, of course, but now there’s been a murder I think we ought to at least entertain the possibility that it’s a genuine theft.’