Chapter Nine #2
Alec couldn’t help smiling. “An eminently practical point of view,” he agreed. “Was there anyone else your husband saw regularly, besides his elderly military friend?”
“Not if they saw him coming! I don’t know whom he bored at the Duke of York—the barman if he couldn’t catch anyone else, I feel sure.”
“He walked to the Duke of York?”
“Yes, always, across the common whatever the weather. He had always seen worse somewhere—Africa, or the Himalaya mostly. He was determined to keep fit, but no one would play golf with him after he laid down the law once too often. He decided it was a footling game. No one invited us for bridge, for the same reason. We didn’t go to church because he held a low opinion of army chaplains he’d known.
As a matter of fact,” she said simply, “I’ve felt very isolated for years, and now I’m going to join everything I can find. But I didn’t kill him.”
“We have no reason to suppose you did, Mrs. Pelham. What about relatives?”
“We never had children. I have quite a few relatives that I shall see more often now, but on his side there’s only a nephew, with whom he quarrelled several years ago.”
“How long ago?”
“Oh, just after the War.”
Not much hope there, then, Alec thought, but he asked, “His name?”
“Reginald Pelham. A civil servant. The last I heard of him, he worked at the India Office, but I don’t know if he’s still there.”
“Never mind, we’ll find him.” He asked a few more questions, thanked her, and warned her that he or one of his men might have to return in search of further information. He and Piper stood to leave.
“Oh, but you haven’t had any lemonade, and it’s such a hot day! Do stay a little longer. I don’t know what can be taking Cook such an age.” She went to the door and called, “Bella! Bella?” before going out into the hall.
“No sense in leaving before Mr. Tring arrives, Chief,” Piper pointed out in a low voice. “Like as not we’d miss him on his way across the common, and Mr. Mackinnon, too.”
“True. Very well, you can go to the kitchen and have a chat with Bella and Cook, and I’ll let Mrs. Pelham entertain me.”
“She’s given us some good stuff. Maybe there’s more to come. You never know your luck.”
“It’s about the first bit of luck we’ve had in this case! If any of it actually turns out to be useful.”
Mrs. Pelham returned, followed by Bella with a tray. Ernie gallantly took the tray from the maid and deposited it on a table, then left the room with her.
The widow looked after them knowingly. “Your assistant’s gone to interrogate my servants, I suppose,” she said, pouring lemonade from a cut-glass pitcher.
“Just to chat with them. Thank you.” Alec took the glass she offered and drank deeply. “Perfect.”
“A little too much sugar, and she didn’t have time to pour boiling water over the lemons and let them steep, but one can’t blame her for that. Are you going to tell me what happened to William, and why?”
“As I told you last night, Mrs. Pelham, he was shot, and buried in Epping Forest alongside two others. As to the how and why, we have very little to go on.”
“You don’t think of someone being killed because they’re boring,” she mused, “more that they’ll bore someone to death.
Three victims murdered for that same reason seems even more unlikely.
So it must have been his martinet side that did for him.
Had the others any connection with Africa? Those Boers hold a long grudge.”
“None. They were considerably younger than the colonel. Both lived all their lives in England, and neither had any connection with the army before the Great War. Nor was either of a tyrannical disposition, as far as we can judge.”
“Hmm. Well, unless William kicked someone’s dog while crossing the common, I can’t think of anything he might have done or anyone he might have seriously offended since he retired for the second time, in ’19. Do you want me to identify his body?”
Alec winced. “I’m sorry, there’s … not enough left to make that necessary—or indeed, possible.”
“Pity. It would have been a pleasure. What is it, Bella?” she asked, as the maid returned once more.
“It’s the painter, madam, and two more policemen. Detectives, I should say. All come at once.”
“That will be my sergeants,” said Alec, standing up. “I’d better be off. You’ve been extremely helpful, Mrs. Pelham, and thank you for the lemonade. Just one more question, if I may: What colour are you going to paint the house?”
“White, with a medium blue front door and window-frames,” Mrs. Pelham said firmly.
“It sounds most attractive.”
“I never could abide mustard yellow. You may show the painter in, Bella, as long as his boots are clean.”
Following the maid to the kitchen, Alec said, “A decisive lady, your mistress.”
“And precious little she was let to decide till he vanished! Middling rousey, he were.”
“Er … would you mind translating middling rousey?”
She laughed. “Middling means very, ever so, though it don’t sound like it, to be sure.
Rousey, that’s bad-tempered. Never allowed as anyone else’s opinion was worth a groat and he’d bite her head off was she to disagree.
Me, I was ready to look for another place if he hadn’t’ve gone.
Not that I’d wish him murdered, mind. It’s a nasty way to go, even for the likes of him. ”
The kitchen was crowded, with one medium, one large, and one very large policeman, a bulky cook, and a small, wiry painter.
Tom Tring and Mackinnon each had a glass of lemonade.
Bella summoned the painter to the door, examined his boots, and took him away.
Piper slipped out of the back door. The detective sergeants swigged down their drinks, thanked the cook, and followed him.
Apologising to Cook for the invasion as he passed through, Alec went to join his men outside.
“Back to town. We’ll talk on the way. We may have something to go on at last.”