Let's Choose Executors, page 27
“I see,” said the Judge, mystified.
“So Mrs. Randall went to see Nancy, who took a rather malicious delight in putting the blame on Hugo; after all, he’d threatened to cut off supplies if she told anyone Mark was the father. As a consequence, Alice told Hugo to marry the girl, Hugo said no (but didn’t tell her the true state of affairs); so she changed her will, and went to Byron’s office on December 30th to sign the new codicil. Byron said she spoke to ‘us’ afterwards; that could only have meant himself and his partner. If that was true, one of them could have passed the information on to Nancy. And I’ve already explained why I guessed it had been Davenant.”
“And what then, Mr. Maitland?”
“Alice was horrified at what she suspected and went away to think about it. She knew all about Davenant and Nell, remember. But he was already on his guard, and he went to Ravenscroft on New Year’s Eve because he knew Nell was dining with the doctor, and the rest of the family would be at the dance. I don’t think there’s anything to add to the account I gave in court of the night of the murder. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it, that if anybody offended against Alice’s principles they’d be in for it. Hugo said himself: ‘She never gave anyone a second chance.” Chedcombe society is censorious, Davenant had a position to keep up; and he meant to marry Nell.”
“I will grant you all this,” said Halford judiciously, “as far as motive is concerned. But you haven’t proved he was there.”
“I’ve been told there hasn’t been a murder in Chedcombe for a long time. If he killed Nancy Selkirk, as I believe he did—”
“Very well, I take your point. You don’t feel you can accept two quite independent murderers.”
“No, Judge, I can’t. There’s just one other thing. Most likely it was Davenant who got me out of the hotel last night by phoning me when the uproar started. In the crowd he couldn’t have been sure an opportunity would present itself of taking a crack at me, but I expect he thought it was worth taking a chance.”
“But the girl was dead, and could no longer give him away.”
“I’m afraid I’d done my best to make his flesh creep when I saw him yesterday. I hoped he might see the red light and decide it was too dangerous to act for Fran any longer, and that would have been something gained.”
“You’ve no proof of that, however.”
“None at all. There’s only one other small point: Davenant’s wife died of cancer. It’s possible he had morphine in his possession all this time, that he intended to use that to poison Alice Randall—” He left the sentence unfinished, and turned to look at Vera Langhorne with a question in his eyes. Halford had given instructions that no one should leave the Shire Hall, but he hadn’t said that any particular precautions should be taken.
Before he could say anything else the Judge got up purposefully. “I can see only one way of dealing with the matter. I will dismiss the jury and order the transfer of the trial on your application, Mr. Maitland,” he said formally. “After that, the whole matter will be referred to the Director of Public Prosecutions.”
Antony came to his feet. He hadn’t, for the moment, the faintest idea whether he’d succeeded in convincing Halford or not. But there wasn’t anything else he could do, and Vera, he thought with a touch of bitterness, would tell him he’d done his best. Then the Judge turned in the doorway and looked back at them, and for the first time his expression lightened.
“If the proof you mention is forthcoming, I don’t think he’ll have much difficulty making up his mind,” he said. “And, strictly between ourselves, I found our friend’s reaction a trifle excessive.”
“Thank goodness for that, anyway!” said Maitland, in a tone of heartfelt relief. Some of the severity returned to Halford’s face.
“I should not be commenting on a matter which may be said to be sub judice,” he remarked. “But I, of course, shall not be trying the case.”
Antony caught Appleton’s eye, and exchanged a weary grin with him. “That would be most improper,” he agreed. But Counsel for the Prosecution, suddenly reverting to type, thought that the less his learned friend had to say about impropriety the better.
The Director of Public Prosecutions was not, after all, put to any great trouble in the matter. Tommy Davenant was found dead ten minutes later in the cold little room that was used for interviews at the Shire Hall. His diary was in his hand and in it he had written:
Why face it? The last few days have been hell. And once they start looking, there’ll be evidence.
I killed them both.
The doctors said he had died of morphine poisoning.
EPILOGUE
IT WAS the beginning of the Easter recess when Vera Langhorne took herself to London on a shopping trip and made Jenny Maitland’s acquaintance for the first time. “It seems a shame,” said Jenny, “that you should have lost your home.”
“Might be worse. Rebuilding,” said Vera, but she smiled at her hostess. People nearly always did smile at Jenny.
“But all your furniture. Antony told me―”
“Insured. Tell you the truth,” she added, in a burst of confidence, “not too sorry about that. One or two things I always wanted, couldn’t afford.”
Jenny waited hopefully for her to continue. Antony asked bluntly: “What, for instance?”
But Vera had the last word. “Always thought I’d like a chaise longue,” she told him, silencing him completely. Later, when they had finished tea, and it was nearly time for her to leave and catch her train, she asked in her abrupt way: “Coming to Chedcombe next week for the wedding?”
Jenny said: “Yes, we are. Shall we see you there?”
“You will.”
“I’m glad, of course, but I don’t see how they sorted that one out,” said Antony.
“Why not?”
“Hugo Randall’s not . . . not exactly a reasonable sort of chap. I told him myself not to be a fool; the old lady acted under a misapprehension when she cut him out—”
“Wrong way round. Gave him the girl’s point of view. Saw he’d been selfish,” said Vera. Antony gaped at her.
“You mean, you persuaded him—?”
“Not quite so easy. Saw my point in the end.” She was looking round for her bulging handbag as she spoke. “No use two people being unhappy. Besides, there are the twins to consider. And the baby.”
“For heaven’s sake, not another baby!”
“Jimmy Selkirk. Both wanted to adopt him. Neither can, while they’re single.”
“I suppose not,” said Antony faintly.
“As for Nell—” Now that it was time for her to leave, Vera seemed to be wound up at last to imparting her news.
“What about her? I always wondered how she felt . . . about Davenant, you know.”
“Kind-hearted creature,” said Vera, as she had done once before. “But not—not passionate.” She paused, apparently considering the word doubtfully. “Marry Byron, I shouldn’t wonder, now she doesn’t have to make up her mind between them.”
“And they’ll stay at Ravenscroft . . . Fran and Hugo, I mean?”
“Why not? Too happy to mind the gossip. Soon forgotten,” said Vera, in her wisdom.
Thinking it over later, Antony decided she was most probably right.
the end
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Sara Woods, Let's Choose Executors
