Angel with Two Faces

Chapter Four

The sun sank lower over the trees, taking with it all the blue from the lake and transforming the surface of the water into a metallic palette of silvers and blacks. A heron took off from the tangled mass of shrubs on the opposite bank, its slate-grey plumage in perfect keeping with the rest of the landscape and, from her window at the Lodge, Josephine watched its languid progress across the water, enjoying the familiar, rhythmic beat of its wings until it reached the other side of the lake and disappeared into the impenetrable shadow of the trees. In the distance, a delicate curl of smoke from one of the farm cottages was the only indication of human activity. Except for the occasional drumming of a woodpecker from the trees at the back of the house, all was quiet and still.

The estate lodge was a handsome building of pale-grey stone, dating back, Josephine guessed, to the mid-nineteenth century and conceived in Victorian Tudor style. There was a small, sheltered garden at the side – well stocked with foxgloves, rose bushes and gnarled old apple trees – and she found it hard to imagine a more idyllic location. She had yet to see the main house, of course, but it seemed to her that in exchanging the worries of the estate for this peaceful retreat, the Penrose family had got the more desirable end of the bargain. She tried to imagine Archie here, but found it hard to separate him from their familiar London circles. The demands of Scotland Yard and the glamour of a West End first night were worlds apart, but he seemed equally at home in either and moved between them with an effortlessness which she admired, and occasionally envied; perhaps there was another, more rooted side to him which she was still to discover. He had always spoken lovingly of his parents, but never in much detail, although it may well have been her own tendency to compartmentalise areas of her life that discouraged Archie from sharing everything about himself. Certainly, looking around now at the images of a family home, stamped deeper with every generation, she realised how little she knew of his background, despite their long friendship.

She could scarcely believe that she had known Archie for twenty years: so much had happened since that first meeting, a year into the war, when her lover, Jack, had invited his closest friend – a fellow medical student from Cambridge – home to Inverness for the month. The three of them had spent much of that summer together, walking barefoot for miles over the soft, yielding moss of the flats by the loch, then climbing heathery slopes which recent burning had left too rough to cross unshod. As time went on, she had come to value Archie’s humour and sense of adventure as highly as Jack did; he, in turn, fell immediately in love with Scotland and – she knew, although it had never been spoken aloud – with her. They shared a passion for history and romance – in later years, it would be Archie who reawakened her fascination with theatre – and, while tramping over the white sands at Nairn or collapsing, exhausted, on the flat top of Tomnahurich, dark with cedar and with legend, they would entertain Jack for hours with richly inventive tales of Scotland’s heroes, both real and imaginary. For all of them, the month had been tinged with sadness: when it ended, both Jack and Archie were off to war, swapping the heroics of the past for supposed glories of their own. Jack’s death at the Somme just a few months later had created an awkwardness between Josephine and Archie from which they were only just recovering, and she looked forward to seeing him now, free of the strain that had hung over them for so long.

On the table in the kitchen, as if to echo her optimism, she found a box of Miel chocolates with a Bond Street stamp, a bottle of Burgundy, and a note from Archie propped up against a jug of bluebells. She read it and smiled: making herself at home wouldn’t be difficult, although the combination of beauty and indulgence boded ill for her work ethic. She had written her first mystery novel in a fortnight to meet an impossible deadline, but that was six years ago and the effort had nearly killed her, sitting up until three every morning and falling half dead into bed. She had vowed never to do it again. This book was bound to take longer, but if she could leave Cornwall with a satisfactory plot and a few thousand words, the hardest part would be over. Personally, she felt she had too logical a mind to write a real shocker, but the last novel had sold well enough to make her publisher eager for another, and she enjoyed the demands of a medium which was as disciplined as any sonnet. In any case, it would be nice to see Inspector Alan Grant again, she thought, selecting a chocolate from the box. She had grown rather fond of him in the fortnight they had spent together, not least because she had borrowed heavily from Archie to create him, and it was about time he had another murder to get his teeth into; an unbeaten case record was hardly an achievement if she only gave him an outing every decade.

In the meantime, there was dinner in a strange house to get through. The first night of any social visit was always an ordeal for her, no matter how much she liked her hosts and, even though the Motleys were easy company, the prospect of meeting their father brought out a shyness of which no amount of fame could cure her. Resisting a second chocolate, she went upstairs to change and was dismayed to find that the two suitcases which she had packed for every occasion now seemed to contain nothing remotely appropriate. Nerves made her impossible to please, and outfit after outfit was removed from its tissue paper and flung into the wardrobe with a contemptuous shake of the head. How formal would dinner be, she wondered, hesitating over a pale gold satin evening dress; then she remembered Ronnie’s casual instructions and picked up something less showy instead. In the end, annoyed with herself for making such an issue of it, she settled for a compromise, put on a blue silk trouser suit, which she hoped would impress the girls with its daring, and left the house before she could change her mind and her clothes yet again.

The heat of the day had subsided, and a slight edge to the air reminded Josephine that summer was still in its infancy. She crossed the narrow gravel driveway which ran past the Lodge and walked down to the water’s edge, where a small wooden boathouse reminded her that there was good fishing to be had in the Loe if she found time. Once again, a nagging little voice with a definite Highland twang whispered the word ‘deadline’ in her ear, but she chose to ignore it; a rowing boat in the middle of the lake would make a very satisfactory study for the preliminary plotting, she decided in her own defence, and if she came home with a couple of trout for supper, no one could accuse her of idleness. From where she now stood, she could see that an odd sort of vessel was moored at the front of the boathouse. It was more a barge than a boat, about the length of a punt but slightly wider, with a flat bottom and a raised platform rather like a bier at its centre. It seemed half decorated for something: green ribbons hung from the stern, trailing down into the water. On the floor in the middle of the craft, tucked under the platform, were some candles and what looked like a pile of garlands, presumably waiting to be draped around the edge of the barge. She couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of occasion demanded such efforts, but Ronnie’s opinion of the decor was bound to be worth hearing.

She set off for Loe House, leaving the lake behind for a moment and skirting marshes and parkland before joining the main driveway through the estate. As she followed the road around to the left and towards a tiny bridge, she saw Archie in the distance, on his way over to meet her, and realised to her surprise that she was a little nervous of seeing him, too. It was over a year since they had spent any amount of time together – and that had been in the middle of a murder inquiry which affected them both deeply and which had led to recriminations on either side as harsh as they were honest. His recent letters had been warm and friendly, but the next couple of weeks would show to what extent the air really had been cleared between them. He waved when he saw her, and she waited on the bridge, glad of the chance to spend a few minutes alone with him before meeting the others. Dressed casually in a blazer and flannels, and already tanned from the early sun, he looked more relaxed than she had seen him since that first Highland summer, before the war made him disillusioned enough with life to give up on medicine and choose instead a career which demanded a less idealistic view of human nature.

There was no sign of cynicism now, though, as he lifted her off the ground, smiling broadly. ‘You look wonderful,’ he said, ‘and I’m glad to see you made it here in one piece. I had no doubts about the train, but your escort from Penzance worried me a little – she’s been known to take three days to find her way back to the house from there. Have you settled in all right?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ Josephine said, giving him a hug. ‘But the flowers on the table were enough – you didn’t have to decorate a whole boat.’

Archie laughed. ‘So you’ve seen the ferry to Avalon already?’

She looked bewildered. ‘To where?’

‘Avalon – or at least our version of it.’ They sat down on the edge of the bridge for a moment, looking back towards the lake. ‘Did I tell you that lots of the towns and villages down here still celebrate their own feast week?’ Josephine nodded. ‘Well, ours is this week – the play at the Minack is part of it, but there’s also a cricket match on the Bar, a fair down on the beach, and various processions and blessings. The boat by the Lodge is for the final night. You see, the Loe was where Excalibur was thrown when Arthur died.’

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘Oh yes – the Loe and a thousand other lakes. Don’t forget – I live next door to the Loch Ness Monster. You’re talking to an expert in legends for the gullible.’

‘Kings and oversized eels are hardly the same thing,’ he said, feigning offence. ‘And anyway, none of those other lakes has Tennyson on its side. It’s all in “The Passing of Arthur” – an old chapel near a dark stretch of land, with the ocean on one side and a great water on the other.’

‘Oh well, that’s different,’ said Josephine with good-natured sarcasm. ‘If it’s that specific, it must be true.’

‘Quite,’ said Archie, laughing. ‘So every year we cast a sword into the Loe from the bank outside the Lodge, and send Arthur – otherwise known as a chap from the village – on his last journey across the lake to the sea, accompanied by three lamenting queens.’

‘Let me guess – otherwise known as three girls from the local Co-operative stores,’ she said wryly. ‘What happens when they get to the other side – sorry, when they get to Avalon?’

‘They have a glass of cider and a sausage sandwich – made by the Snipe if she’s here – and that’s it for another year.’

Josephine was torn between amusement and scepticism. ‘Is it all as peculiar as it sounds?’

‘Surprisingly, no. It’s actually quite spectacular – they put candles round the edge of the boat, and if it’s a clear night with the moonlight shining on the water, it looks beautiful. The lamenting can get a bit out of hand, though,’ he admitted. ‘It depends what the Co-operative has to offer. But you’ll see for yourself on Thursday – it all goes on just below your window.’

‘It’s still going ahead, then? Even after the death here?’

‘Apparently so. William offered to call it off this year because he was afraid it might be in poor taste, but Harry’s sisters insisted on having it. It’s probably a good thing – the feast week tends to bring the whole community together, and from all the bickering I saw today we could do with a bit of that right now.’

Won over by his enthusiasm, Josephine said: ‘The Lodge is stunning, but you didn’t have to move out for me. You don’t get much time here, and I could have fallen in with the girls.’

‘You wouldn’t have had any peace, though, and I know you need to work. Anyway, the Lodge is special and I wanted you to have a chance to spend some time there. I don’t mind – I quite fancy a couple of weeks in the big house, seeing how the other half lives.’

‘Playing at Lord of the Manor? I didn’t know you were really in line for it.’

‘Ronnie told you that? Thank God the family had the sense to bow out gracefully. I could never see myself taking this lot on. William’s dedication to it is extraordinary, but I don’t know where he finds the patience. I used to think the challenge of my job was dealing fairly with so many different people and trying to keep the peace in a community, but believe me – a day in Tottenham Court Road has nothing on this place. I wouldn’t last five minutes here before the temptation to bang their heads together got too much for me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Josephine said, thinking again how at ease Archie looked. ‘You seem quite at home to me.’ She touched his forehead playfully. ‘It’s a long time since that hasn’t been knitted together in a frown. I might have to rethink my prejudice against aristocratic detectives.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. There are more than enough of those already.’ He stood up, and they walked on towards the house. ‘By the way, Bill sends you his regards.’ Archie’s sergeant at the Yard was an avid reader of crime novels in general, and a big fan of Josephine’s books in particular. ‘Between you and me, I think he’s hoping for another appearance in this new one.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she promised, ‘although I can’t say I’m feeling very diligent at the moment, and somewhere as beautiful as this is hardly likely to put me in the mood for murder.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’ He told her briefly about the funeral, Morwenna’s fears, and the tensions at the wake afterwards.

‘What a terrible suspicion for his sister to have to live with,’ Josephine said. ‘I can understand why she’s angry. Do you think there’s more to it than an accident?’

‘I don’t honestly see how there could be, but there’s no doubt that certain people are closing ranks about something. It’ll be interesting to see if William’s got anything to say about Harry’s death, although obviously I can’t talk about suicide. You know how indiscreet Ronnie and Lettice can be, and Morwenna wouldn’t thank me for spreading that round the estate. It’d be me they’d have to fish out of the lake next.’

They rounded another bend in the drive, and Josephine saw Loe House in its entirety – an embattled seventeenth-century mansion, with two slightly projecting wings and many features which had clearly been added at various points over the two hundred years that followed. She could see why Ronnie had warned her not to expect anything too grand: constructed of a self-effacing pale stone and topped with a grey slate roof, the building seemed to crouch into the parkland and its obvious restorations gave it a rather patched-together appearance; nevertheless, taken with the landscape on either side, there was something quite noble about the house in front of her. A long garden wall stretched out from both wings, topped to the right with a line of dark yew trees and forming a pair of linked enclosures on the left-hand side, one of which was filled with apple trees in blossom so thick that snow seemed to have settled on the leaves. Just past the kitchen garden, where the driveway joined a track leading round the lake to the sea, there were some ramshackle farm buildings and an immaculately kept stable block, built in a U-shape and crowned with a clock turret. It was just after seven, but a couple of men were still working in the yard, taking advantage of the pleasant evening and, as she watched them go leisurely about their tasks, Josephine found it hard to imagine the kind of friction here that Archie had just described. To her, Loe House seemed to be that rare sort of place which encouraged the illusion that certain corners of England might never again be touched by conflict, the sort of place where a personal life undisturbed by politics might still be possible – and for that, she blessed it.

‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, pleased at how captivated Josephine seemed by her surroundings. ‘It does me good to see it through your eyes for the first time – I tend to forget how special it is, particularly after a day like today. Let’s go in – the Snipe has pulled out all the stops in honour of your arrival, so I hope you’re hungry.’

Josephine nodded, noticing that there were three more cars in the driveway, parked next to Archie’s and the Austin in which Ronnie had collected her from the station. ‘Is anyone else coming for dinner?’ she asked casually, waving to Lettice, who was waiting in the doorway.

‘Good God, no,’ he said, knowing how she felt about parties. ‘William isn’t the type to stand on ceremony – he just has a passion for motor cars. And apart from being proud of Lettice and Ronnie, he’s not particularly interested in theatre, he won’t have read your novels, and he has no appetite whatsoever for the London crime scene. We might even have a nice evening.’

Kestrel Jacks stood under a sycamore tree at the edge of the small clearing, smoking a cigarette and watching as the bird beat out the last minutes of its life in the trap that he had set for it. Jackdaws were less of a threat than magpies or crows, but they were still a menace in the nesting season, hunting eggs in all the likely places, and the more he could wipe out the better. It was his father who had taught him to build this particular ambush – a wire cage with an opening at the top which formed the mouth to a funnel; a pheasant’s egg, placed carefully on the grass below, was enough to seal the fate of any unsuspecting predator: as soon as a bird went down to get the egg, it lost all sense of direction and was powerless to find the narrow end of the cone which was its only hope of escape. Now, Jacks watched his latest victim panic and batter itself against the sides of the cage as it became increasingly disorientated, catching its feathers on the wire and emitting a sharp, almost doglike cry. The kind thing to do would be to wring its neck, but he waited a moment, enjoying the fact that the bird’s characteristic jauntiness had been so easily defeated. As it tired, he opened the door and walked over to where it was flapping pathetically on the floor. He picked it up by one of its wings and it lay still in his hands, seeming to know that he held its life in the balance. In that second, the bird reminded him of his wife and he turned and swung it hard against the fence, putting it out of its misery sooner than he had meant to. Annoyed with himself, he placed a new pheasant egg on the ground and shut the cage door securely behind him.

Jacks walked through the wood with the dead bird in his hand. When he got to the fence, he wound a piece of string around its neck and hung it on the fence next to the others, far enough away from the trap to ensure that the carcasses did not deter other birds from showing the same, fatal greed. As he looked up from his work, he saw Penrose in the distance, walking towards Loe House with a woman he didn’t recognise. He watched as they went inside, and followed their progress from room to room through the open curtains, feeling the anger well up inside him again as he remembered the wake. Why Morwenna let that bastard get so close to her, he couldn’t imagine. When he had seen them alone together earlier, he had wanted to smash his fist into Penrose’s face and beat him to a pulp, just as he had wanted to hurt Harry Pinching all those years ago when Pinching warned him to keep away from his sister. But now, as then, he needed to play a cleverer game. He was accustomed to waiting and watching, protecting what needed protecting and destroying anything that threatened it, and he would have Morwenna, one way or another. Penrose – like that opportunist bird, the jackdaw – should look around carefully before assuming that the prize was his.

There were nine birds on the fence now, he noted with satisfaction. He was good at his job, and people would do well to remember that.

‘Is it me, or is this trout even tastier than usual?’ asked Ronnie with a devilish twinkle in her eye. ‘Must be something we put in the water.’

Lettice’s fork clattered to her plate as she realised what her sister was hinting at. ‘If you must say whatever comes into your head, could you at least do it before it’s too late?’ she asked sharply, looking ruefully at the head and bones which were all that remained of her fish course.

‘Just think what those eyes might have seen,’ Ronnie continued, warming to her theme. ‘We should have let Archie interrogate the poor thing before handing it over to the Snipe.’

More than used to sparring with his cousin, Archie flashed the smile he reserved for her across the table and decided to drop the subject of Harry’s death. His casual efforts to find out if any rumours were circling around the estate had only earned him jibes from Ronnie about bringing the Yard with him in a suitcase, and when Josephine – in an effort to help – had asked William to describe the accident, his uncle’s reply told him nothing new. A straightforward question about suicide would, no doubt, wipe the smirk off Ronnie’s face very quickly and have them speculating for the rest of the night, but he couldn’t betray Morwenna’s confidence like that, so it was best to leave it and try again another time.

Josephine – who was far more interested in the people round the table than she was in the mythical Harry – was much better placed to satisfy her curiosity. She liked William Motley instantly – a reaction rare for her – and responded easily to his warmth and humour. He was, she guessed, in his early sixties, which was younger than she had expected, and he had an attractive, infectious vitality about him which had been passed down to his older daughter. Lettice was generally the more like him of the two – there was something continental about Ronnie’s beauty which she must have inherited from her mother – but William seemed to have Ronnie’s mischief as well as Lettice’s kindness, and Josephine could easily understand why many people would try their luck with him – and why it would take something very special to succeed.

‘Of course, what was remarkable was the way they found Harry’s body,’ he said now, refilling Josephine’s glass with the last drop of an excellent Chablis. ‘Did Morveth tell you about that, Archie?’

Archie shook his head, interested. ‘No. She just said that Morwenna was in a terrible state because of the waiting.’

‘Yes, that’s true, so Morveth took things into her own hands. She asked to borrow one of the boats from the Lodge and made Jago row her out to the middle of the lake early one morning with some of Harry’s clothes.’

‘Why? In case he was cold?’ quipped Ronnie, pouring herself a generous glass of red in preparation for the next course.

Josephine couldn’t help laughing, but thought she knew what William was getting at. ‘To find out where the body sank?’ she asked.

‘Exactly – you’ve heard of that before?’

‘Once, when I was a child. A holidaymaker went missing near the loch one summer, and his wife was convinced he’d drowned. Everybody else assumed he’d left her – we’re not a nation inclined towards the benefit of the doubt – but she insisted she could find him. Apparently, there’s an ancient belief that you can find drowned bodies by casting some of the dead person’s clothes on to the stretch of water where they died. The clothes are supposed to float on the spot where the body went down.’

‘Gosh – did it work?’ Lettice asked, fascinated.

‘Well, they found the man’s body about half a mile out from the shore at Foyers, so I suppose in a way it did. I couldn’t swear to you that any strange powers were involved, though. Personally, I think she did him in – but perhaps that’s just the Scot in me talking.’

‘And you say you haven’t got a criminal mind?’ Archie said, amused. ‘How old were you when this Loch Ness murder went undetected?’

‘About six,’ she admitted, ‘but I didn’t say I hadn’t got a criminal mind; I said I was too logical to be another Edgar Wallace. Readers seem to expect characters in fiction to do the most preposterous things, and I’m happy to oblige, but if I wanted to commit a real murder, I genuinely think I’d be very good at it.’

Archie held up his hands in defeat. ‘Just make sure you are,’ he laughed, ‘because I don’t want to have to arrest you. Bill would never forgive me.’

‘Perhaps Morveth bumped Harry off, then?’ Ronnie suggested helpfully.

‘That would certainly be the Scottish way of looking at things,’ Josephine said, ‘and I might bear it in mind for the book. If it’s good enough for Mr Wallace…’

They chatted inconsequentially for a while as a pretty young girl from the village came in to clear the plates away. ‘Mrs Snipe says I’m to apologise for the state of the lamb,’ she said earnestly, ‘but apparently things aren’t quite up to scratch in the kitchen. Half the stuff she expected to find is missing, she says, so I’m to tell you she’s done her best but she can’t perform miracles. She says she don’t know what sort of house we run here, and it wasn’t like that in her day. Honestly, sir, I’ve never heard of most of the things she was grumbling about – I think the city must have gone to her head.’

‘Don’t worry, Sheila,’ William said with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Things will be back to normal soon, and I’m sure the lamb will be perfect. Just tell her I’m sorry and that we all appreciate her efforts.’

Sheila smiled, winked back, and left to deliver her message. Lettice watched with relief as the trout bones were removed from the room, but the door had barely closed before Archie returned to the lake. ‘You’re not honestly telling me that Morveth conjured Harry’s body up with a pair of trousers are you?’ he asked William incredulously.

‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but there’s no denying that the body came to the surface soon afterwards. Not quite where Morveth laid the clothes, but not far off. Jago spotted it later that day, under those low-hanging branches along the western side by Bar Walk plantation.’

‘But that’s a coincidence, surely?’

‘I know what you mean – I suppose I’m sceptical about it, too, but there’s a part of me that is inclined to give Morveth the benefit of the doubt.’ He smiled at Josephine. ‘The English part, probably. Don’t ask me why, Archie, but you know how people round here trust her and believe in her – you included, if I remember rightly.’

‘I believe she’s a good person, yes. I’ll even go as far as to say that I believe she has the wisdom and the power to heal in ways that aren’t open to doctors and ordinary medicine. But I can’t stretch to magic tricks – not even from Morveth.’

‘What’s the difference? In the sense that finding Harry’s body brought comfort to Morwenna, don’t you think that what she did – if she did it – was a kind of healing? Your mother…’ He hesitated for a second, and Josephine got the impression that he had changed his mind about the rest of the sentence. ‘Your mother always said that Morveth could work miracles,’ he finished more gently. ‘Don’t be too dismissive.’

Archie seemed to relent a little. ‘You’re right,’ he said to William. ‘Where Morveth’s concerned, I’m happy to accept more things than any self-respecting policeman should. I just think that in this case there’s a more rational explanation. The body must have got caught in the weeds on the bed of the lake. The longer it was down there, the more it’ll have been eaten away at by fish and God knows what. It’ll have floated to the surface quite naturally sooner or later.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Archie, not during dinner,’ Lettice pleaded, and even Ronnie lost her colour for a moment.

‘All right, I’m sorry – but just one more thing. You say that Kestrel Jacks was the only person who actually saw the accident?’

William nodded. ‘That’s right. It was early morning, and he was coming back by Lower Pentire at the time. We’ve had some trouble with gypsies out that way, and he’d been over to check the pheasants.’ ‘And did he see what startled the horse?’

‘No. He wasn’t watching them, particularly. He saw Harry riding along parallel with the bank, and the next time he looked up, Shilling had changed direction completely and was heading towards the lake.’

‘How is Shilling now?’ Josephine asked.

‘Better, but still not himself. It’s a terrible shame – he’s a magnificent animal. I’ve had him brought to our stables for the time being – it didn’t seem fair on Morwenna to have him at Loe Cottage as a constant reminder of the accident. You must go and see him when you’re passing – him and the others. The girls told me how fond of horses you are, and you’d be most welcome to take one out any time you like.’

‘Was there anyone else about that morning?’ Archie asked, keen to return to the accident. From Jacks’s account, it seemed that Harry could have guided the horse towards the Loe himself.

‘No. It was still early,’ William said. ‘But Lettice is right – this is all too gloomy for the first night of a holiday. We should change the subject. Archie – have you told Josephine about our Minack performance?’

‘From one funeral to another,’ Ronnie muttered under her breath.

‘I just hope they’ve sorted out some of the problems we had with the theatre last year,’ Lettice added, helping Josephine and herself to generous portions. ‘I was speaking to Hephzibah the other day, and she’s told Rowena straight – she’s not performing there again until they make the stage a little safer.’

‘What went wrong?’ Josephine asked, intrigued. ‘You never mentioned it.’

‘They were doing the Dream,’ Ronnie explained, ‘and Rowena decided to put it to music. The dancing fairies kept falling over the forest of Athens, and they kicked up so much dust that the front three rows were either blinded or choked or both.’

‘But how was that Hephzibah’s fault?’

‘I’m coming to that. We can forgive her the dust – although she’s never been light on her feet – but it didn’t stop there. The audience sits on a very steep slope, and a woman was on her way back to her seat during the sandstorm. She couldn’t see where she was going, missed her footing on one of the steps and started to roll perilously towards the cliff edge, picking up speed as she went.’

‘It was so very nearly heroic,’ Lettice added. ‘Hephzibah was on stage at the time and saw what was happening, and she ran over…’

‘Thundered over,’ corrected Ronnie.

‘All right – thundered over to the woman and fielded her into a gorse bush.’

‘It sounds like she saved a life,’ Josephine said. ‘Surely that is heroic?’

‘Hardly,’ countered Ronnie. ‘There was a perfectly good pillar that would have saved her quite gently. Hephzibah broke the woman’s hip.’

‘She was quite elderly,’ Lettice admitted, as the rest of the table dissolved into laughter, ‘and her family threatened to sue Rowena. She was lucky not to have the whole place closed down. As it was, they had to cancel the rest of the run. Now, they won’t even acknowledge the Dream of ’34 at all.’

‘You’d better be careful, Archie,’ said William, wiping his eyes while Sheila cleared away the main course. ‘Keep away from the edge of the stage, and watch out for any unexpected entrances from the audience.’

‘What’s this?’ Josephine looked questioningly at Archie, who blushed slightly.

‘Hasn’t he told you?’ Ronnie jumped in wickedly. ‘He’s starring in The Jackdaw of Rheims this week.’

‘Really? I didn’t know you were in it.’

‘I’m afraid it’s my fault,’ William admitted. ‘We were one short because of poor Harry, and everyone else was either involved already or too busy on the estate, so I volunteered Archie and we’ve swapped a couple of parts round – Archie’s going to narrate, which leaves Nathaniel – our young curate – free to be the Jackdaw.’ He topped up his nephew’s glass by way of apology. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind.’

‘You mean you knew I could hardly refuse,’ said Archie drily. ‘Just don’t expect me to do it every year.’ He pointed his fork at Ronnie. ‘And if you even think of trying anything amusing while I’m on stage, I’ll make sure you pay for it afterwards.’

Ronnie held up her hands in a passable impression of innocence and William smiled at Josephine, who was beginning to understand how he had run the estate so successfully for all these years. If Sheila was anything to go by, his staff obviously loved him and she had very little doubt that, in spite of his protestations, Archie would now be persuaded to take part in any Loe estate venture that took place while he was south of the Tamar.

‘They might have chosen something with a bit more potential for costumes,’ Lettice grumbled through a mouthful of lemon tart. ‘There’s nothing very challenging about a monk’s habit and a few old feathers.’

‘Don’t knock it, dear. If it means we have more time for sunbathing, then bring on the cowls – that’s what I say. And we’ll have to get you measured up after dinner,’ she said to Archie, smiling sweetly. ‘We need to make sure that Nathaniel’s old costume will fit you.’

‘I expect it’s a busman’s holiday for you, Josephine,’ William said, ‘but if you’d like to go, you’d be more than welcome to come with me. No obligation, though – see how you feel.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it now I know about the casting,’ she said, surprised to find that she meant it, ‘and it’ll be a joy to go to a play and have absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens.’

‘Splendid. I’ll ask the Snipe to do us a picnic.’ He jumped up from the table. ‘Now, shall we try some of those strong waters you brought down from Scotland with you? We’ll have coffee in the library, Sheila. You don’t mind somewhere a bit less formal, do you?’ he asked Josephine, while the other three excused themselves briefly. ‘The sitting room’s in better nick, but it’s nowhere near as comfortable. We only use it to get rid of people we didn’t want to invite in the first place.’

The library was a large, beautiful room, and Josephine could easily see why William would choose to spend most of his time there. The once fine plasterwork on the ceiling needed some attention, and the enormous chocolate-coloured carpet – covered in shells, palm fronds and garlands of flowers – was worn right through to the floor in places, but there was nothing tired about the browns and golds that shone out from the bookshelves, giving the room a warm, autumnal feel that was belied only by several vases of bright pink tulips. William pulled some well-used armchairs up to the fire, and threw another couple of logs into the grate. ‘It was supposed to be Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades,’ he said, pointing towards an animal’s face which had been cast into the black iron of the fire surround, ‘but my wife had it modelled on her favourite dog of the time – a spaniel without an ounce of aggression in him – so the overall effect is rather tamer than I’d hoped for. Still – that’s probably no bad thing. Make yourself at home and I’ll get us some drinks.’

While he busied himself with opening the whisky, Josephine walked over to the bay window. The dark-green shutters were still folded back against the wall, and she could just make out the edge of the lake in the darkness.

‘Do you take anything with it?’ William waved a generous inch of Dalwhinnie at her.

‘Just a drop of water,’ she said. He nodded approvingly and brought three glasses over to the window, leaving brandies by the fire for Ronnie and Lettice. ‘It’s nice to have you with us,’ he said, raising his glass to her, ‘but I’m sorry that your first day was clouded with a death. It’s not what anyone needs on a holiday, and I gather from the girls that last year was difficult for you.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t want another one like it,’ she said, touched by his concern. ‘People still tell me what a memorable play Richard was, and I suppose I should be pleased, but my memories are so different from theirs that I’d really rather forget the whole thing ever happened. In fact, I wish it hadn’t happened – no matter how much satisfaction it’s given me or anybody else.’

‘Yes, it’s hard to be proud of something when it’s bound up with sadness,’ William said, ‘and I suppose you’re utterly sick of people telling you those deaths weren’t your fault.’ She nodded, glad not to have to repeat a conversation which she had had many times in the last year. ‘You know that the girls had a brother who was killed in the war? Well, I spent a lot of time in London after Teddy’s death – threw myself into the war effort because I couldn’t get over the guilt of having encouraged him to join the navy in the first place.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I was in with the Room 40 lot – cryptography, you know? We did the Zimmermann telegram, among other things.’

‘A lot of people say that turned the war.’

‘Yes, and that’s my point. People expect me to be proud of my involvement with it, but all I know is that while I was engrossed in that, my wife was here alone, dying of grief for our son. I’ll never forgive myself for that, no matter what I achieved elsewhere and how many lives it saved, and of course I’d change it if I could – doing something for the greater good has never been much of a consolation for her loss. Personal sorrow – it’s a very selfish thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I sometimes think that’s the danger of our age, you know – we’ve become far too abstract about the things that matter, particularly death. We read the newspapers and shake our heads at the numbers, but we’ve lost sight of the horror of it – the horror and the permanence.’ She took a sip of her whisky and thought for a moment. ‘I remember during the last war – and I don’t suppose the one they’re threatening now will be any different – it got to the point where we were almost embarrassed to be angry about our own dead. Perhaps it was a British thing – we instinctively look for someone worse off, don’t we? – but with everyone suffering so much, it was as if we were being selfish to focus on a personal grief rather than a collective one. That always seemed to me to be a betrayal of the people we’d lost. Surely they deserved to be mourned – no, not just mourned, remembered – for who they were rather than why they died? So I don’t blame you for being selfish or for valuing one person more than thousands – if we all did that, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.’

‘No, I don’t think we would. I stayed away from the estate for a long time after Veronique died, but you can’t run away forever and I think coming back helped in a funny sort of way.’

‘I can understand that – you can see the lives you’re responsible for. Sheila’s happiness matters as much as the League of Nations. Personally, I think that’s as big an achievement as your war work. From what Ronnie told me in the car, you have something very special here – and not just because it’s beautiful.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said. ‘It does heal, I suppose…’

‘Up to a point?’

He smiled. ‘Yes. Up to a point.’

Sheila arrived with a tray of coffee, and Archie and the girls soon followed. An old black Labrador trailed behind them and made straight for the hearth, and Josephine was amused to see how quickly William went over to move one of the chairs back so that the dog could stretch out in front of the fire. She handed Archie his whisky. ‘All measured up?’

‘Yes, although a steady stream of this throughout the week might not go amiss.’

‘It can be arranged. There’s another bottle back at the Lodge. I’ve got something for the Snipe, too – do you think now would be a safe time to give it to her? I’d like to say hello.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s a basket of everything she’s missing from the kitchen, is it?’ William asked. ‘That would make Sheila’s life a little easier.’

‘No, it’s a bottle of sherry – but it might have the same effect.’

‘Excellent idea, although if I’d known your luggage was largely drinkable, I’d have been more careful with it,’ Ronnie said. ‘Take it through now and put her in a better mood for the morning. There’s no point in ringing for her – she had the housekeeper’s grating blocked up when she first got here so that the bells wouldn’t disturb her.’

‘Yes, there was never any doubt as to who was in charge,’ William agreed, and pointed Josephine in the direction of the kitchen.

In spite of Mrs Snipe’s reservations, the servants’ quarters seemed to be tidy and well ordered. The kitchen was not especially large – about twenty feet by twenty – but the ceilings were high and every inch of space had been put to good use. Sturdy wooden pegs were everywhere, set along the beams to hold pots and pans, as well as a few provisions – onions, garlic, a large flitch of bacon – which were presumably needed close at hand for regular use. How little must have changed here over the years, Josephine thought; she might easily be looking at an Edwardian or even a Victorian kitchen. Fascinated by the scale of some of the implements – in one corner, there was a slice of tree trunk bound with iron hoops to make a fine chopping surface; in another, a massive mortar stood mounted in a heavy wooden stand, with the long handle of its pestle held in a high wall bracket above – she realised that the Snipe must have a physical strength to match her spirit, and her opinion of the Motleys’ cook – which was already high – went up a notch or two. In the grate, a big black kettle hung on an iron bracket over the coals, but the fire was beginning to die down and the chairs on either side of the hearth remained empty. Sheila was still there, scrubbing down the large oak table ready for the next morning, but there was no sign of Mrs Snipe.

‘She’s through there,’ the girl said, nodding to one of three doors that opened off the kitchen. ‘Popped through to her sitting room, then told me to put the kettle on. I thought we were having tea, but she’s told me to go when I’ve finished this.’ She looked at the sherry in Josephine’s hands. ‘You go through – I’m sure she won’t mind being interrupted for that.’

Feeling a little like the proverbial fly, Josephine did as she was told. She wasn’t surprised to see that the Snipe’s personal domain – at the end of a short corridor from the kitchen and well placed to overlook other areas of work – was a spacious, comfortable sitting room, plainly furnished but lacking nothing, and rivalling William’s library for faded but cheerful warmth. There was a jolly wall-to-wall carpet, matched with pleasant chintz curtains which had probably hung higher up the house in their younger days, and a pile or two of cushions made the old chairs look loved and inviting. The room was lined on two sides with well-stocked linen and china closets and, on another, with a mending table and desk which stood side by side. On top of the desk, grouped affectionately in the middle, there was a small collection of photographs of the Motley family which Josephine would have loved to explore – had she not realised immediately that she was intruding. At the round central table, where tea cups had been pushed to one side to make room for a large pan of water, Mrs Snipe was bending over another woman, gently bathing her face.

It was the other woman who noticed her first. She jumped up from her chair, nearly knocking the pan over as she did so, and turned quickly away from Josephine – but not quickly enough to hide her injuries. Her left eye was so badly swollen that she couldn’t open it, and a cut to her lip had covered her jaw and collar with blood. Startled, the Snipe looked up.

‘Miss Tey,’ she said, horrified, and Josephine realised it was the first time she had ever seen the cook at a disadvantage. ‘I didn’t see you there. Is there something I can get for you?’

Surely they weren’t going to pretend that nothing was wrong, Josephine thought. That was ridiculous. ‘Has there been an accident?’ she asked. ‘That cut looks like it might need stitches. Do you want me to call a doctor?’

‘No, please don’t.’ Panic-stricken, the stranger found her voice and took a couple of steps forward. She was about forty, Josephine guessed, although her fear might have made her appear older than she was. ‘I don’t need a doctor, really I don’t,’ she insisted, and there was a pleading, pathetic note in her voice which was dreadful to hear. She tried to pull her long, mousy hair forward over her face, as if covering up her bruised and battered features would convince them that she was not really hurt. ‘Just let me sit here for a moment and I’ll be fine.’

Her face betrayed her words, but Mrs Snipe was quick to regain her composure. She led the woman back to her chair and handed her the soaked cloth for her eye. ‘It’s all right, my love, we’ll get you sorted just fine on our own. Stay here while I have a word with Miss Tey outside.’

Josephine found herself ushered back to the kitchen, still holding the increasingly absurd bottle of sherry. She put it down on Sheila’s freshly scrubbed table. The girl had now left for the evening, and the room was calm and peaceful.

‘I know you mean well but I can handle this,’ Mrs Snipe said firmly. ‘Getting a doctor in would only complicate things.’

‘But that woman’s obviously been badly beaten, and somebody needs to do something about it. Who is she, anyway?’

‘Beth Jacks, the gamekeeper’s wife.’

‘Then shouldn’t someone fetch her husband and let him know what’s happened?’ Josephine’s naivety was reflected back at her in the look on Mrs Snipe’s face. ‘You mean he did it to her?’ she asked, shocked. ‘Then you can’t possibly keep it quiet – it’s assault and she needs to be protected from him. I’m going to fetch Archie – he can tell whoever’s in charge down here.’

She turned to leave, but Mrs Snipe caught her arm. ‘Down here, no one’s in charge of what goes on behind closed doors between a man and his wife – just like anywhere else in the country. What do you think will happen if you get the police in? At best, someone will go round to have a word with Jacks and be palmed off with a load of lies and men’s talk, and the minute he’s gone, Jacks will knock Beth from here to next week, probably half kill her, and everything’ll go back to normal.’

‘What about William, then? He wouldn’t allow this to go on if he knew. Can’t he sort it out without the police?’

‘Oh, he’d certainly try. First whiff of any violence and Mr Motley would have Jacks off this estate faster than he could skin a rabbit. The trouble is, Jacks would force her to go with him, so she’d be destitute as well as beaten. Look, don’t think I don’t agree with you,’ she said, more softly this time. ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to pick up a knife and sort him out myself for her, but it wouldn’t do no good. I’ve seen it before with another woman from the village, and it only gets worse if you fight back. At least here she’s got friends to keep an eye on her.’

‘But you’re not here most of the time.’ Josephine sat down at the kitchen table, still unsure of what to do for the best. ‘What happens then?’

‘She’s always got Morveth,’ Mrs Snipe said. Josephine recognised the name of the woman whom Archie and William had spoken so highly of, but she couldn’t help feeling that it would take more than a bit of white magic to sort this one out. ‘Beth went there first tonight, but Morveth was out for some reason, so she came here instead. There’s a few of us she can turn to. Please don’t say anything, Miss Tey – not even to the girls or Mr Archie. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.’

The words echoed those that Archie had repeated to her earlier when he was talking about Morveth and the funeral, and reluctantly she acknowledged defeat. She was an outsider here, although it was more the logic of Mrs Snipe’s reasoning that convinced her to keep quiet, at least for tonight.

‘This is for you,’ she said, pushing the bottle across the table. ‘You may want to share it, though.’

The night air was anything but springlike by the time Archie walked Josephine back to the Lodge, but the beauty of the moon over the lake more than made up for the chill that partnered the clear skies. They paused at the end of the drive, transfixed by the silver light playing on the water, but – as magical as it was – Josephine’s mind was on other things.

‘Are you all right?’ Archie asked. ‘You’ve been a bit quiet since dinner.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘It’s just the journey catching up with me. It was a lovely evening, though, and William’s marvellous.’

‘He is, isn’t he? I knew you’d like him. In all the years…’

A gunshot rang out through the woods, muffling Archie’s words and startling Josephine. ‘What was that?’ she asked, looking anxiously towards the trees.

‘Don’t worry – it’s only the gamekeeper, and it sounds closer than it is. That’ll be one fox less after the pheasants – unless one of those gypsies William mentioned has run out of luck.’

He was joking, but the thought of Kestrel Jacks with a gun didn’t exactly reassure Josephine. Before she could ask him anything about the gamekeeper, she noticed a young woman coming towards them along the path from the direction of the Lodge. ‘Gets busy, doesn’t it?’ she said wryly to Archie.

‘That’s Morwenna,’ he said. ‘What on earth’s she doing wandering the woods at night?’

‘She’s probably just glad of the peace and quiet. From what you tell me, I imagine she’s had enough of company for one day.’

Certainly, Morwenna showed no inclination to engage for long. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your brother,’ Josephine said when Archie had introduced them. Morwenna shot an accusing glance at him and, realising her mistake, Josephine tried to rectify it. ‘William told me about the accident,’ she said quickly. ‘It must have been a terrible shock.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said dismissively, but seemed to soften towards Archie. ‘I’ve been looking for Loveday,’ she explained, glancing at him and ignoring Josephine completely. ‘She went for a walk after the wake. You haven’t seen her anywhere, have you?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Have you tried Morveth’s?’

‘Not yet, but I’ll go there now. I just thought I’d drop in at the Lodge in case she’d gone to say hello to you. She likes to see you when you’re home.’ It might have been her imagination, but Josephine thought she detected a slight emphasis on the last word. ‘We both do,’ Morwenna continued, and Josephine could only admire her for delivering such a loaded sentiment without a hint of coyness. She wondered if she should walk on and leave them to it, but Archie showed no sign of awkwardness.

‘I’m sorry we were interrupted earlier,’ he said, ‘but I’ll come and see you at the cottage. We can talk properly there.’

‘Thanks, Archie,’ she said, genuinely grateful. ‘I’ll see you then.’

‘All right – unless you need any help looking for Loveday?’

‘No – she’ll turn up. You know what she’s like – she runs wild everywhere at this time of year. I wouldn’t normally go out looking, but it’s been a long day and she’s over-excited, and the wake carried on at the Commercial Inn – God knows what state some of them are in by now.’

‘There’ll be a few wavering footsteps along the cliff path tonight, then.’

She smiled. ‘Exactly, so I don’t want her getting into any trouble.’

‘Look, are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. You’re probably right about her being with Morveth – and I’d rather be on my own for a bit.’

She was gone before Archie could argue. ‘Beautiful but difficult?’ Josephine guessed when they were out of earshot. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to drop you in it, but there was no reason for her to assume you’d told me anything I shouldn’t know.’

‘It’s not your fault. She’s so on edge at the moment that anything you said would have been jumped on. And the difficult does tend to outweigh the beautiful.’

‘Even so, I imagine there’d be plenty of people willing to overlook that. Has she always been on her own?’

‘As far as I know. Her parents died when Loveday was still very young, though, and she’s brought her sister up. A lot of men round here might be happy to overlook difficult, but being saddled with a child as well is very different.’

‘She obviously thinks a lot of you,’ Josephine said, but Archie looked uncomfortable and she didn’t press the point. When they arrived back at the Lodge, she led the way round to the back door, shining her torch ahead of them and fumbling for her key. Suddenly she let out a cry and dropped the torch. The beam of light went out as soon as it hit the ground, leaving them in complete darkness.

‘What is it?’ Archie asked anxiously.

‘There’s something on the doorstep,’ Josephine said. ‘I thought I saw blood.’

‘Stand back a minute.’ Archie fumbled around on the floor to find the torch, and shook it back into life. Placing himself between Josephine and the door, he shone the light on the step. ‘It’s all right,’ he said with relief. ‘I suppose you could call it a present.’ He held up a rabbit. ‘I don’t know if you’ve come across our cat yet, but she obviously wanted to welcome you with something.’

Josephine laughed, a little embarrassed to have made a fuss. ‘Is she black with white paws and very talkative?’

‘That’s her. She divides her attentions – and her appetite – impeccably between here and the house, so we call her Motley Penrose.’

‘Then we have met. She was sitting on the window sill when Ronnie dropped me off. She likes ham.’

‘If you’re on those terms already, this is probably a thank you. Don’t tell the Snipe, though – she accuses us of spoiling her, but she’s far worse than anyone else when she thinks no one’s looking.’

Dora Snipe had more on her mind at the moment, Josephine thought, as Archie disposed of the rabbit in the bushes. She wondered again if she should say something to him now, in spite of her promise. ‘Shall I open that whisky?’ she asked, putting the light on in the kitchen and going over to fill the kettle.

‘It’s tempting,’ he said, washing the blood from the step with a glass of water, ‘but not tonight. You need a good night’s sleep and I wouldn’t mind one myself. We’ll have a couple tomorrow to toast our victory at the cricket match.’

‘Are you that confident?’

‘Not really. To be honest, the Loe House team is a bit of a motley selection, in more ways than one – but then the estate can’t be any less united than it was today. Sleep well – I’ll see you in the morning.’

He kissed her goodnight and she watched from the door until the beam of light from his torch disappeared, vaguely aware of something she had meant to say to him but unable to put her finger on what it was. It was only later, as she lay in bed thinking about Kestrel Jacks and his wife, that she realised what had been hovering at the back of her mind: Loveday couldn’t possibly be at Morveth’s, because Morveth had not been at home. So where was she? She fell asleep, still trying to decide if she should telephone Archie or not.

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