The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) (4 page)

‘
Which old p
lace is that?
’

‘
Blakeney Park, over towards Hazlett St. Peter. It
’
s an enormous estate
—
been in his family for centuries, I believe, and every last blade of grass in it belongs to Gil
—
although he
’
d far rather it didn
’
t!
’

‘
Oh?
’
said Angela.

‘
Yes,
’
said Miles
.
‘
He
’
d be the first to admit that he
’
s not the most business-minded fellow. As a matter of fact, there was a period, when he first inherited the estate, during which everybody despaired of him
—
especially his mother. He couldn
’
t seem to buckle to his resp
o
nsibilities at all
—
kept disappearing for weeks on end and then returning, looking very much the worse for wear and refusing to get out of bed for days.
’

‘
The war hit a lot of chaps hard, of course,
’
said Herbert soberly.

‘
True,
’
said Miles,
‘
but I always t
hought that in Gil
’
s case it was the
end
of the war that did for him. The task of running the Park was a little too daunting for him. He hasn
’
t the kind of brain that
’
s needed.
’

‘
No, he
’
s not at all bright, is he?
’
said Cynthia unfeelingly.
‘
Quite frankly,
I
’
m surprised Lady Alice was prepared to let him loose on the place. He
’
s the sort of person to do all kinds of well-meaning but stupid things. Knowing him, I half-expected the estate to be bankrupt within three years.
’

Miles winced.

‘
At any rate,
’
he wen
t on,
‘
he
’
s engaged to Lucy now. They
’
ve known each other since they were kids. She has a good head on her shoulders and she
’
ll see him right. I shouldn
’
t be surprised if she were to take the running of the estate upon herself, as a matter of fact.
’

‘
I won
der how she and Gilbert
’
s mother are getting on,
’
said Cynthia.
‘
I don
’
t believe Lady Alice ever liked her much. Lucy
’
s far too much the type to take over and start ordering her dear son around. Such a blow to the family pride!
’

‘
Oh, didn
’
t you know, darli
ng?
’
said Marguerite.
‘
The engagement was Lady Alice
’
s idea in the first place.
’

‘
No!
’
said Cynthia.

‘
Oh, but yes. It
’
s true enough that she and Lucy can
’
t stand each other, but Lady Alice was shrewd enough to see that Lucy was the ideal wife for Gil. Afte
r all, she herself is not getting any younger, and she hated the thought of dying without first seeing the estate secure. Lucy is from one of these old families, you know,
’
went on Marguerite to Angela.
‘
Some people attach great importance to that kind of
thing, although I don
’
t myself
—
personally, I think a dash of mongrel blood improves a line
—
but Lady Alice wanted only the finest pedigree stock for the Blakeney estate.
’

‘
Are the Blakeneys a titled family, then?
’
said Angela.

‘
No,
’
said Marguerite,
‘
althou
gh Lady Alice was a daughter of the Duke of Stoke. There were six daughters, I believe, and none of them had a penny to their names as their father was a dreadful old profligate who spent all his money and his wife
’
s and died in debt. Lady Alice was cast
o
ut upon the world to make her own way, and had the good fortune to attach herself to Gilbert Blakeney
pè
re
, who was much older than she. Gil was their only child. In recent years, though, she seems to have developed a kind of mania for carrying on the fami
ly and seeing to it that the Park is passed on to the next in the Blakeney line. It
’
s odd, really, since the place is only really hers by marriage.
’

‘
Perhaps it is a kind of vicarious interest,
’
said Angela,
‘
since her father lost his own property.
’

‘
And p
eople do tend to go a bit dotty when they get old,
’
said Cynthia.

‘
I should hardly call Lady Alice dotty,
’
said Miles.
‘
Why, she seems perfectly sane to me.
’

‘
Oh those ones are often the worst,
’
said Herbert darkly.
‘
The ones who seem the sanest are quite
often complete lunatics when you dig beneath the surface.
’

‘
Is Gilbert as keen on making a good marriage as his mother is for him?
’
asked Angela.

‘
Well, he and Lucy are coming over later, so you shall ask him for yourself,
’
said Miles.

Gilbert Blaken
ey was a large, fair man of about thirty-five whom nobody would ever accuse of being too clever for his own good. What he lacked in brains, however, he made up for in geniality and eagerness to please. On being introduced to Mrs. Marchmont he clasped her
h
and in an iron grip and wrung it energetically, beaming and blushing as though he had wanted nothing more in life than to meet her and could now die happy.

‘
I
’
ve read all about you in the newspapers, of course,
’
he said.
‘
I must say, this detecting thing a
ll sounds very exciting. How do you go about it? Do the police call you in?
’

Angela patiently explained, as she had many times before, that she was not a detective and that, far from the police calling her in, they were much more likely to view her as a tr
emendous nuisance. He nodded, but she saw that he was not listening. People rarely did.

‘
Will you be investigating this latest one?
’
he asked, sure enough.
‘
It was you who found the body, wasn
’
t it?
’

‘
Yes
—
or rather, it was my driver who saw her first.
’

‘
I
gather she was completely unidentifiable,
’
said Lucy.
‘
Who did that, do you suppose?
’

‘
Presumably the same person who killed her,
’
said Angela.

‘
Rather careless of him to leave her where she would be found so quickly.
’

‘
He wasn
’
t really careless,
’
said An
gela.
‘
As a matter of fact, it was pure chance that she was ever found at all. The undergrowth grows thickly on both sides of the ditch at that spot, so she couldn
’
t be seen either from the road or from the field on the other side of it. Why, if we hadn
’
t
gone off the road she might well have lain there forever, completely undiscovered.
’

‘
It
’
s jolly bad luck for the murderer,
’
observed Freddy,
‘
especially now Angela is looking into it.
’

‘
I
’
m not looking into it,
’
said Angela.
‘
It
’
s nothing to do with me
—
I j
ust happened to stumble upon the body. I dare say the police will catch the fellow who did it quickly enough, once they identify the woman. I wonder who she was.
’

She could not help picturing the crumpled heap of clothing and limbs that had once been a per
son. The smart but cheap blue coat and the worn shoes. The battered mess that had once been a face, surrounded by a halo of golden hair. What had she been like in life? Had she been beautiful? Who had loved her? Loved her and then presumably tired of her
a
nd conveniently disposed of her? No doubt it was the usual story, and the man who had killed her would soon feature in a few sorry paragraphs in the
Clarion
when he went on trial. It was all terribly sad.

The two visitors stayed for drinks and the party be
came rather silly and noisy, and the household did not retire until well past midnight. Angela slept badly that night and came down late the next morning to find the others having breakfast, all apart from Freddy, who was presumably still in bed.

‘
Hallo, d
arling,
’
said Marguerite.
‘
Do help yourself to coffee and eggs. Herbert has eaten all the muffins, I
’
m afraid.
’

‘
Sorry, Angela,
’
said Herbert.
‘
You
’
ll just have to get up earlier tomorrow.
’

‘
Sergeant Spillett telephoned a few minutes ago,
’
said Miles, who
was buttering some toast.
‘
He is coming here to talk to you about the woman in the ditch. I dare say he
’
ll want to speak to your man too.
’

‘
But you must tell us all about it,
’
said Cynthia.
‘
It will give marvellous colour to my piece for the
Clarion
.
’

Ange
la
’
s heart sank at the thought. It was clear that she would not be able to escape Cynthia
’
s clutches, but she was determined to give as little away as possible. Indeed, the mere thought of having her life history spread all over the papers filled her with
horror. She said nothing, but helped herself to coffee and began idly to concoct a few useful lies which would be suitable for consumption by the public and which, she hoped, would spare her too much embarrassment.

She was just finishing breakfast when she
was informed that the police had arrived and would like to speak to her at her earliest convenience. She rose immediately.

‘
See what you can find out!
’
hissed Cynthia as she went out.

When Angela entered the little parlour she found William already there,
looking uncomfortable in a stiff-backed chair, together with two policemen in uniform: a grey-haired sergeant with a bushy moustache and a pimpled youth brandishing a notebook as though not quite sure what to do with it. The three of them rose as she cam
e
in.

‘
Mrs. Marchmont, I believe?
’
said the elder of the two policemen.
‘
I am Sergeant Spillett, and this here is P. C. Bass.
’

P. C. Bass gave a strangled utterance that might have meant anything, and they all sat down.

‘
I understand you have come to ask us
about the poor woman in the ditch,
’
said Angela.
‘
I
’
m not sure we can tell you anything useful, however.
’

‘
P
’
r
’
aps not,
’
said Spillett comfortably.
‘
We
’
ve still got to ascertain all the facts about the matter, though, and you never know
—
you might have see
n something you didn
’
t think was important but might turn out to be an important clue.
’

‘
I take it the body has been removed?
’

The sergeant nodded.

‘
Yes. We did that straightaway. Wouldn
’
t have done to have left her there overnight, now, would it? It would
n
’
t have been respectful. She
’
s in the mortuary at Littlechurch.
’

‘
Had she been lying there long? From the glimpse I had of her it looked as though she had been placed there quite recently
—
perhaps even that same day.
’

‘
Yes,
’
said Spillett.
‘
She can
’
t have
been there too long, to judge by the condition of her. Her clothes were in a decent state too, always allowing for the mud she collected on her tumble down the bank.
’
He took out his own notebook and consulted it.
‘
Now, then, I
’
d like you to tell me under
exactly what circumstances you found the dead woman. I gather from Mr. Harrison that you had a bit of a mishap on your way here yesterday.
’

He looked up at them both inquiringly. Angela nodded to William, who described, with some embarrassment, the inciden
t with the sheep in the fog and the discovery of the body.

Spillett nodded sympathetically.

‘
So that
’
s how you ended up in the ditch. You have to watch out for the fog in these parts
—
it
’
s a treacherous beast. Nobody hurt, I hope?
’
he said.

‘
Not at all,
’
sa
id Angela.
‘
We just got a shock.
’

‘
Well, that
’
s all clear enough,
’
said the sergeant.
‘
Have you found anybody to come and fetch your car?
’

‘
Mr. Harrison has spoken to a Mr. Turner in Littlechurch, I believe.
’

‘
That
’
s your man,
’
agreed Spillett.
‘
He
’
ll see
you right.
’

‘’
S my uncle,
’
put in the young constable, then blushed.

‘
Now then,
’
went on the sergeant,
‘
do you remember whether you met or saw anybody on your way here? Another car, for example? Or perhaps a man walking along the road?
’

‘
No,
’
replied Angel
a.
‘
The only person we met along the way was Miss Syms on her horse. We took a wrong turning and she gave us directions.
’

‘
Miss Syms, eh? Make a note of that, Sam. We
’
ll have to speak to her. Maybe she saw somebody. Now,
’
he continued,
‘
you say you just ha
d a glimpse of the dead woman, and that
’
s as may be, but I will say that people in general are curious by nature, and there
’
s not a few would have gone up close and taken a good long look
—
for the best of motives, mind you. Are you quite certain that neith
e
r of you touched her at all? Perhaps you wanted to take her pulse to make sure in your mind that she was dead, for example
—
and I
’
m sure nobody would think the worse of you if you did.
’

Angela shook her head firmly.

‘
Oh, no,
’
she said.
‘
It was quite clear t
hat she was dead as soon as we saw her.
’

William nodded in agreement.

‘
It did occur to me to wonder whether we ought to carry her up to the road,
’
he said.
‘
I didn
’
t like leaving her there. But Mrs. Marchmont said that we must leave her where she was, so
as not to disturb any evidence.
’

‘
And she was quite right,
’
said Spillett approvingly.

‘
I did look at her for a moment or two, wondering who she was,
’
said Angela,
‘
but I should hardly call it “
taking a good long look,”
since it wasn
’
t the pleasantest of s
ights, all told.
’

‘
Then you didn
’
t recognize her at all?
’

‘
No. I have no idea who she was.
’

‘
Me neither,
’
said William.

‘
Whoever did it certainly took care to make sure she was unrecognizable,
’
said Spillett,
‘
presumably because her identity would lead us
straight to him.
’

‘
Didn
’
t she have a handbag with her?
’
asked Angela.