An Expert in Murder - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Nicola Upson (ч. 4)

Food was more than she could face.

‘Is there enough in that pot for two?’ Lydia spoke hesitantly, as if wondering what sort of reception she would get.

‘There’s plenty,’ Josephine said, delighted to see her. ‘But I’m afraid it’s proper tea, not the scented apology for a hot drink that you prefer.’

‘I’ll slum it, just this once.’ Lydia smiled, sharing Josephine’s relief, and found some cups and saucers in the cupboard. ‘I’m sorry, Josephine,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘It was much easier to blame you for letting Marta go than to think about how I might have let her down. Who knows, if I’d taken more time to listen to her and read between the lines, she might have felt strong enough to rebuild her life another way. I miss her so much, but I was a cow to blame you because she’s not here any more.’

Josephine took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said. ‘I really thought I was doing what was right, but then so did Marta and Bernard, and even Vintner in his way, and look where that got them. I might just have made it worse. But she does love you, you know. She wanted you to be sure of that.’

Lydia had not missed the present tense. ‘Do you think there’s 279

any chance she might change her mind now that she’s away from everything?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Josephine said, conscious of the irony that, if Marta did have a change of heart, it would be her work that kept her alive. ‘I hoped she would and I asked her to, but I’m honestly not sure if I could live with what she knows.’ She poured the hot water into the pot and looked at Lydia. ‘And Archie’s determined to track her down. It’s become a battle of wills between those two since they first clashed swords. He’s probably staking Cambridge out as we speak.’

‘Is that where she went, do you think?’

Josephine considered. ‘It would be my first guess, although I purposely didn’t ask – I wouldn’t have been able to lie to Archie in the mood he was in. It’s where Marta met Arthur so, in spite of Vintner, she was happy there. If she has gone to Cambridge, though, I don’t think she’ll be able to keep it a secret. It’s a small place, and Archie knows it well.’

‘Has all this caused problems between the two of you?’

‘It certainly hasn’t made things any easier, but then my relationship with Archie has never been easy.’

‘Why is that? Because he loves you and knows you don’t feel the same way?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. It goes back twenty years.’

‘Doesn’t everything?’ Lydia raised an eyebrow wryly. ‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s not that. It just feels disloyal to Archie.’

‘Then you should speak to each other – get it all out in the open.

Look what secrets can do to you.’

Josephine nodded, knowing that Lydia was right. After what had happened in the last couple of days, she was reluctant to let old grudges continue to fester. ‘I’ll talk to him when I get the chance,’ she said.

Voices drifted through to the kitchen from the central studio, confirming that Ronnie and Lettice were finally awake, so she added two more cups to the tray before carrying it in. Lettice thumped down onto the sofa next to Lydia and gave her an enor-280

mous hug. ‘Look on the bright side, darling – you hated that alabaster statue from the moment Hephzibar gave it to you.’

Lydia had to smile, as Ronnie leaned forward and poked her sister in the shoulder. ‘What did I tell you?’ she said triumphantly.

‘Everything that Hephzibar touches is cursed.’ Then the smugness disappeared. ‘She hasn’t ever given us anything, has she?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lettice snapped, but Josephine was amused to see her glance nervously at a small Buddha by the door. ‘Listen,’

she continued, ‘with all the fuss, we forgot to tell you that Johnny telephoned last night. He wants to talk to you about adding a week to the tour and finishing in Hammersmith as a tribute to Hedley’s girl – he thought of dedicating the week’s performances to her. Do you think the family would like that, or is it too soon?’

‘I think they’d be very touched,’ Josephine said. ‘If it can be made to work, it’s a wonderful idea.’

‘Good. He’s going to see if people are free. It might mean delay-ing rehearsals for Queen of Scots by a week or so, though.’

‘I’m sure no one will mind,’ Josephine said, adding privately to herself that the longer she could put off going through another play, the better.

‘Actually, we were a bit bewildered by the rest of the conversation,’ Lettice added. ‘It scarcely sounded like the real Johnny.

Apparently, he’s given Fleming three months off on full pay to sort out some personal problems. I don’t know what’s come over him.

We half-wondered if we should do a few sketches for A Christmas Carol. ’

There was an abrupt knock at the door and Ronnie got up to answer it. ‘Archie, dear,’ she said, letting him in. ‘Where are you going today? I believe you can get season tickets if you intend to make a habit of rail travel.’

Josephine was relieved to see that Archie’s wrath had been replaced by composure tinged with embarrassment. ‘Is there any news of Marta?’ Lydia asked as soon as she saw him.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, sitting down and accepting some tea. ‘I really am sorry, Lydia. I know that whatever professional duty I have to find her, it’s nothing compared to how much you must long 281

for news. I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I know anything. And I owe you an apology, too, Josephine.’ He looked at her a little sheepishly, but a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. ‘So I’ve decided not to arrest you after all.’ He drank his tea, and continued more earnestly. ‘We’ve checked the hospital records, though, and they confirm what Marta told Josephine about her time there. In fact, she didn’t tell you how bad it was.’ He glanced at Lydia.

‘Go on, Archie,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘Well, I managed to speak to someone who was a young nurse there at the time – she’s moved on now – and she remembers Marta very clearly. The depression was severe, it seems, and this nurse didn’t mince her words about how Marta was treated by those in charge. Apparently, she made a couple of attempts to take her own life just after Elspeth was born, then simply resigned herself to her fate.’

‘It’s hard to imagine how she got through it at all,’ Josephine said.

‘Yes, but that’s not everything. The reason this woman remembers Marta so clearly is because of what happened when the baby was taken away from her a few weeks later. Her husband came to fetch it, she says, and he brought a young boy of about five or six with him. Marta clung to the baby, desperate not to let her go, but of course it was no use. When the husband – Vintner – had Elspeth in his arms, he turned to the young boy and told him to go and give Mummy her present. The child went over to Marta and, when she bent down to him, he spat in her face. The sisters just stood by and watched. The woman I spoke to left the hospital the very next day – she said she couldn’t bear such cruelty.’

Lydia was pale by now, and even Ronnie and Lettice were too shocked to speak. ‘Have you spoken to Rafe Vintner yet?’

Josephine asked at last. ‘It seems that everyone’s a victim in this. I can’t imagine how being filled with so much hatred must have affected him at that age.’

‘Yes, and I couldn’t begin to tell you how it’s grown over the years. I’ve only spoken to him briefly because he’s still in hospital and fairly weak from that knock on the head, but I don’t think I’ve 282

ever seen so little remorse. He’s trying to blame his mother for everything, but that doesn’t surprise me.’

‘He won’t get away with it, surely?’ Josephine was horrified.

‘Oh no, if only because he can’t resist making it clear how clever he’s been, even as he tries to push all the responsibility onto Marta.

He’s his own worst counsel – so keen to make sure I’ve appreciated all the little signs he’s left along the way. You know, I still think that’s the most chilling part of these murders for me – the extent to which each scene was designed to humiliate his victims.’

‘Were the dolls his?’ Josephine asked.

‘We’ll find out when we can interview him properly, but I’m sure they were. Now we know what we know, the doll with the broken hand and the wedding ring was clearly a reference to Marta’s infi-delity. The iris was a jibe at Arthur, and the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that the choice of nicotine was, too. It’s used by gardeners, don’t forget, and I’m sure the irony wasn’t lost on him when he was planning the worst possible death for Bernard Aubrey.’

‘And the locked door?’ The question was from Lydia, and Archie could imagine how the memory of that terrible discovery had stayed with her.

‘I’m not certain yet, but there’s no doubt Swinburne used the bridge between the two theatres to get to Bernard’s office that night and leave the bayonet on the desk,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he expected the room to be empty – nicotine would have killed most people long before they got up those stairs –

and, if so, he’ll have had the shock of his life to find Bernard there, alive or dead. Perhaps he just panicked and locked the door without thinking – everybody makes a mistake eventually.

Whatever happened, we’ll get to the bottom of it.’ He thought for a second, remembering his promise to Grace Aubrey. ‘Vintner and I have a lot to talk about, so the sooner he’s fit enough, the better I’ll like it.’

‘But will there be enough evidence to convict him?’ Lydia asked, an urgency in her voice.

Archie looked at her reassuringly. ‘Yes, we’ve got a very good case, and Walter’s confession was lodged with Aubrey’s solicitor, 283

which helps tremendously.’ He turned apprehensively to Josephine. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to testify against him, though.

We can’t risk it without you.’

‘In court against one Vintner is misfortune, but two looks like carelessness.’ Josephine spoke lightly, but the prospect of another trial filled her with dismay. This time, if she were successful, she really would be sending a Vintner to his death. Would it never be over?

Archie looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go now –

Bill’s expecting me back at the station. Will you see me out?’ he asked, and Josephine nodded.

‘Actually, I’ll walk with you,’ she said. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

Traffic coiled around Trafalgar Square as Josephine and Archie made their way towards Whitehall, and news vendors were just starting to emerge, ready to catch the lunch-hour trade. ‘They’re going to have a field day when this comes out,’ Archie said. ‘I just hope we can find Marta before she has her life story splashed all over the front pages. I didn’t want to tell you in front of Lydia, but Bill and I are going to Somerset House this afternoon. Apparently, Aubrey telephoned there on Friday to make an appointment. I’m not certain yet, but I’d say he was about to go through the records to find out who Elspeth’s mother was. If only he’d done it sooner.’

Once again, Josephine considered how differently things might have turned out – for Marta and for Elspeth. ‘I’m glad you didn’t mention it,’ she said. ‘Lydia’s had about as much as she can take for now – I think everyone has. She spoke to Hedley last night, and said he was absolutely inconsolable.’

‘At least he needn’t be on his own – the Simmonses have said he can stay with them if he wants to.’

‘Have you been to see them yet?’

‘Yes, first thing this morning. When I got there, Frank Simmons was out the back burning the doll that Hedley had sent. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of anything Vintner had touched going near Elspeth, and he’s already packed away all his theatre stuff, 284

ready to sell to another collector. He and Betty seemed to be getting on better, though; there was a warmth between them today that I didn’t see the last time we were there. Strange how people can be brought closer together by the death of someone they love.’

‘Or driven further apart.’ She stopped, and looked at Archie.

‘Why have you never told me?’

‘Told you what?’ he asked, but she could tell from the way he hesitated that he knew what she meant.

‘The soldier Jack saved – the man he died for – it was you, wasn’t it?’ She waited for him to say something, half hoping that he would deny it, but he simply looked at her with a mixture of shock and relief. ‘It’s the only thing that makes any sense,’ she continued. ‘I know you were wounded at around that time, and it explains why you avoided me for so long after Jack died. God knows, I’ve had long enough to think about it.’ His silence was making her angry now. ‘How could you let me go on wondering year after year? You’ve made it impossible for us to have any sort of truthful relationship, and you can’t even speak to me about it now.’

‘I didn’t know you had any idea,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose that’s why I haven’t said anything – because I didn’t want it to affect our friendship.’

The excuse sounded feeble, even to him; to Josephine, it was insufferable. ‘And you don’t think it has been affected?’ she said scornfully. ‘For Christ’s sake, Archie, there’s always this sadness about you when you’re with me. I thought at first it was because I reminded you of Jack, but you’ve had years to get over that, and if I can manage it, you should be able to. I watch you with other people, and there’s a spark in you. But not with me. You’re so bloody careful around me all the time. You know, it was quite gratifying yesterday when you were furious with me – at least it felt honest.’

‘Oh, don’t talk to me about honesty,’ he said, relief giving way to resentment. ‘Why didn’t you say something? If you wanted this so-called truthful relationship, you could have made it easier for me to talk to you. But no – instead, you have to piece it all together like some sort of cheap detective story, building your 285

evidence out of my feelings and my silence. Do you have any idea how cold that is?’

Afraid of what he might say next, Archie turned to walk on but Josephine caught his arm. ‘All right, I should have done things differently, too. I know that, and I’m angry with myself as much as with you. But I needed to feel you could tell me – don’t you understand that?’

‘But I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘Facing up to it with you would have meant dealing with it myself, and that was too much to ask.’ He paused, wondering how he could ever give Josephine the explanation she wanted when he barely understood it himself. ‘You see, I didn’t know much about it at the time. I was unconscious for days, and it was a long time before anyone thought I was well enough to talk about it. I don’t know if they’d ever have told me exactly what had happened if I hadn’t started to remember bits and pieces, and to ask questions about Jack. When I heard the whole story, it was as if it had happened to someone else. I don’t know if it was some sort of defence mechanism or just cowardice, but I distanced myself from the whole thing, acted as though I hadn’t been there.

I’d talk about that soldier in the third person, as if he were a complete stranger. Eventually, I came to some sort of peace with myself

– well, acceptance rather than peace – but I could never find that with you. All I could think about was that last summer when I went to stay with Jack in Scotland, and I’d watch the two of you together and marvel at how happy you were. So no, I couldn’t own up to what I’d taken from you, and the longer I left it, the more impossible it became ever to say anything.’

‘Did it never occur to you that it might be easier for me to know Jack died for someone I care about?’ As soon as the words were out, she realised how selfish they seemed. Archie smiled, but there was no reassurance in it.

‘That’s a nice sentiment, but I doubt it’s true, however much you care. It’s not to my credit to be jealous of a dead man, especially one I loved, but if you’d had the chance to play God back then, it wouldn’t be me you’d have allowed to live.’

Now it was Josephine’s turn to pull away. ‘Listen to yourself, 286

Archie,’ she said, oblivious to the scene they were making. ‘How can you talk about playing God after all that’s happened? You know, I’m sick and tired of people making decisions for me, telling me how I would and wouldn’t feel. First I’m caught up in a private war between Vintner and Aubrey, and now you’ve manoeuvred me into some sort of no man’s land between you and Jack.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, stunned. ‘It isn’t the same thing at all.’

‘Isn’t it? You’re manipulating me because of your own guilt, and from where I’m standing that’s exactly the same thing. How dare you tell me how I’d have felt when you never gave me the chance to find out? Yes, I was in love with Jack, but it was young love and it didn’t ask for very much. It might have grown, of course – I assumed it would at the time – but I would have looked for something more sooner or later. I’m not going to live my whole life according to the options I had when I was nineteen. So don’t think you know what’s best for me, because you don’t.’

‘And when exactly is this sooner or later going to arrive? You were let off the hook in deciding whether or not to commit to Jack, and ever since, you’ve used his death as an excuse not to commit to anyone. Instead, you just throw yourself into your work, living with people who don’t exist and never will.’ He stopped, and turned away, unable to trust himself not to go any further and suspecting that he had already said more than he would be forgiven for.

Josephine let him walk away. Shaken by the truth in his parting shot, she sat down on the cold, stone steps of one of the government buildings that lined the street and watched him stride angrily down Whitehall. He stopped by the Cenotaph, and bent down to pick something up from the foot of the memorial. As he stood there, looking at it, she wondered what was going through his head, and realised sadly that she would never truly know: no matter how hard she tried to put herself in his position, or how strong the instinct for forgiveness and reconciliation, understanding was one of the casualties of the war; even now, there was an unbearable void between those who had fought it and those who had not, a stifling of emotion which was not so different from the deaden-287

ing of joy that Marta had talked about. How many generations would it last, she wondered? And what would the future have held for Elspeth if those who loved her had not been so crippled by the past? In the distance, Archie replaced whatever he had taken up and walked on towards Derby Gate. Before he could move too far out of reach, she got up and went after him.

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Author’s Note

To write fiction about historic fact is very nearly impermissible.

Gordon Daviot, The Privateer

An Expert in Murder is a work of fiction, inspired by real lives and events.

Gordon Daviot was one of two pseudonyms created by Elizabeth Mackintosh (1896–1952) during a versatile career as playwright and novelist; the other, Josephine Tey, was taken from her Suffolk great-great-grandmother and did not actually appear until 1936, with the publication of A Shilling for Candles. It was reserved for detective fiction, and is the name by which we know her best today.

By 1934, she had written a mystery and two other novels as Daviot, but it was Richard of Bordeaux which made her name and led to a number of important friendships and professional relationships. Mackintosh divided her time between London and her hometown, Inverness, where she looked after her father, and, when she died, she left the bulk of her considerable estate to the National Trust for England. The Josephine Tey who appears in An Expert in Murder mixes what we know about Elizabeth Mackintosh with the personality which emerges so strongly from her eight crime novels – novels which are loved for their warmth and originality by those who have discovered them, but which are still vastly underrated in comparison with the work of her contem-poraries.

Richard of Bordeaux ran for 463 performances at the New Theatre (now the Noël Coward Theatre) in St Martin’s Lane, closing on 24 March 1934. It took more than £100,000 at the box office under the management of Howard Wyndham and Bronson Albery (who lived to enjoy the success), and acquired the sort of 289

popularity that films enjoy today: hundreds of Elspeths went thirty or forty times to see it; the cast took part in high-profile publicity stunts; commemorative portrait dolls were produced; and it turned its leading man, John Gielgud, from a brilliant young actor into a celebrity overnight. The beauty of the set and costumes, designed by ‘Motley’ (Margaret and Sophia Harris and Elizabeth Montgomery), was vital to the play’s success, as was Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies’s performance as Anne. Bordeaux toured provincial theatres and was produced on Broadway, but the over-all experience was not entirely positive for its author: fame was unwelcome, particularly in Inverness, and, according to Gielgud, she was subject to unfair accusations of plagiarism which hurt her deeply. Gielgud’s own hopes for a film starring himself and Lillian Gish were never realised.

Daviot wrote many other plays – The Laughing Woman and Queen of Scots were produced at the New later in 1934 – but none were as successful as Bordeaux, whose humanity and romanticism struck a powerful chord in an audience haunted by one war and threatened by another. The war’s significance in the public response was a surprise even to the author: what she thought of as a tale of revenge, she admitted later, turned out to be a play about pacifism.

For an author who wrote several historical plays and novels, Elizabeth Mackintosh took a dim view of mixing fact and fiction –

but she allowed it if the writer stated where the truth could be found, and if invention did not falsify the general picture. Readers wanting to know more about the real people involved in Richard of Bordeaux should consult Gielgud’s autobiographical writings, the biographies by Sheridan Morley and Jonathan Croall, and Michael Mullin’s Design by Motley. Murder, of course, does rather distort the general picture, but I hope that it won’t entirely eclipse a unique moment of theatrical history and the true beginning of a remarkable writing career.

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Acknowledgements

An Expert in Murder was part of the 2005–6 Escalator Literature Awards Programme and funded by Arts Council England, and I am especially grateful to the New Writing Partnership and Michelle Spring, and to all at Arts Council England, East, for their support.

The book is a tribute to the people whose hard work and achievements created such a special world during the 1930s –

particularly to Sir John Gielgud and Margaret Harris of Motley, both of whom were kind enough to talk to me at length about the theatre of the period, and, of course, to Josephine Tey, whose work is at the heart of the novel.

Many other people have helped – wittingly or unwittingly – and I owe particular thanks to Karolina Sutton, Jennifer Joel, Laura Sampson and ICM for wonderful advice and encouragement; to Claire Wachtel, Jonathan Burnham and Heather Drucker for their passion for the novel; to Peter Mendelsohn, Cindy Achar, Roni Axelrod and Julia Novitch at HarperCollins for their care and vision in its production; to Walter Donohue for his magic at the beginning; to Dr Peter Fordyce and Stewart P. Evans for their expertise in very different areas of unpleasantness; to Richard Reynolds for his enthusiasm and knowledge of detective fiction; to Jane Munro and the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, for influencing Archie’s taste in art so beautifully; to Helen Grime and Margaret Westwood for their great interest and help with the project; to Josceline Dimbleby for the story of May Gaskell in her book A Profound Secret; to Virginia Nicholson for the wealth of information in Among the Bohemians; to Ian Ross, for the time to 291

make a start; to H.W. for additional typing; and to Sir Donald Sinden, Frith Banbury, Dulcie Gray and the late Michael Denison for their generosity in sharing recollections and stories with me.

Love and thanks go, as always, to my parents and family – for much, much more than their enthusiasm for this novel.

And to Mandy, who has been so instrumental in every moment

– from the original idea and wild beginnings to the fine detail and finished book – the joy of this is all down to you.

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About the Author

NICOLA UPSON is also the author of two works of nonfiction and has worked in theatre and as a freelance journalist. The recipient of the Escalator Award from Arts Council England, she splits her time between Cambridge and Cornwall.

www.nicolaupson.com

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Credits

Jacket photograph © Bert Hardy

Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Jacket design by Peter Mendelsohn

Copyright

AN EXPERT IN MURDER. Copyright © 2008 by Nicola Upson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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