Whoever Has the Heart Read online

  ‘He knew the girl,’ said Barney. ‘He took her to the village, he gave her dinner, he was there. He was the last person we know she was with. Yes, I suspect him. Still do, but I can’t get anything positive on him.’

  There was no doubt that both of us would have liked to get something on Billy Damiani.

  ‘With both suspects looking clean there’s only one way forward at the moment: we’ll question all the village men, one by one, and take body samples.’

  I nodded. It was a dogged, hateful piece of drudgery, but it would have to be done.

  ‘Have you come across Thomas Dryden?’

  Barney nodded. ‘The name has come up.’

  ‘He seems to be in a strange state.’ Of course, not all strange states led to murder. ‘He might be worth looking at.’

  ‘He’s on the list,’ said Barney. He had brightened up considerably as he drank the coffee. He might have an insomniac night, his hands might be jumpy, but he was a happier man.

  ‘One other thing; some weeks ago. I had a telephone call trying to put me off moving here,’ I said. ‘A man’s voice; I didn’t recognize it.’ I shrugged. ‘Might mean nothing, might be something. It could have been him.’

  ‘Dryden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He considered in the dour, thoughtful way in which I suspect he considered all new, possibly exciting information. ‘ If anything occurs to you, let me know.’ He finished his coffee and put down his cup, then stood up, preparing to go.

  ‘Just one more thing. You didn’t know the village well before you came to the house?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I came once or twice with a friend.’

  ‘Would that be the Lady Mary Dalmeny Erskine?’

  ‘Yes, it was with Mary. This house belonged to her aunt.’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Armitage. You didn’t know her?’

  ‘No, she died before Mary brought me to the village.’ He was nearly at the door and then he stopped. ‘ You didn’t know the dead girl yourself?’

  ‘No, I never met her.’

  I realized then that he was getting round to his real reason for coming.

  ‘Had you even heard of her?’

  ‘No, what is this?’

  He paused ominously before replying. ‘A piece of paper with your name and Windsor address was in the pocket of the dress she wore when she was killed.’

  I stared at him.

  ‘She knew you, even if you didn’t know her.’

  I did not try to hide my anger. ‘That was devious of you. Why didn’t you ask straight away if I knew Chloe Devon?’

  Barney took his time to answer. ‘You have no idea how terrifying you are, ma’am. I couldn’t do it.’

  I was left not knowing if he spoke seriously or not. After Clive Barney had gone, I found myself liking the man much more than I had expected. There was a kind of raw honesty about him that I had to respect.

  He had thrown a small bombshell at me with the news that Chloe Devon had had my name and address. It made me jumpy, silly but true. It seemed bad news. I was thinking about this as I went to look at Muff. She was warm and comfortable in the kitchen, but I needed more heat in the big front room where I intended to work. The ashes from yesterday were still warm and twigs and logs thrown on would soon light, but the basket of logs was nearly empty.

  I was still using the wood and coal that Mrs Armitage had left behind, the logs were piled up outside in the garden. The rain had stopped so I took the log basket on my arm, filling it from the covered heap by the back door.

  To the right was the flight of stone stairs to the outside store room where, according to my friend Lady Mary, had slept the unhappy menservants of the Victorian household. The steps themselves were damp and moss covered, mute testimony to their present day lack of use. Good job too, I thought, wondering how many of the original sleepers had died of pneumonia.

  I had never given it a look, scarcely thought about it, but now curiosity drove me down the steps to push at the door. It opened with a scratching, screeching sound of hard old wood on stone, but it opened. There was not much to see inside, some light came through a slit-like window high in the wall. A flagged door, whitewashed stone walls, and a smell of damp and earth.

  Nothing here, a few stains that I might have imagined to be blood was feeling imaginative, an old dustbin, which was empty, and a rusty-looking fire extinguisher.

  I closed the door, it had no key in the lock, then mounted the steps. I was nearly at the top when my foot slipped on a scattering of greasy leaves, and I fell backwards, hitting my head on the stone walls as I went.

  Watch your step, Ellen Bean had said, damn her.

  Chapter Ten

  It was Nora Garden, calling to ask after Muff, who found me, staggering up the steps with blood streaming down my face. She took me inside and called the doctor. ‘And pleased to come,’ she reported. ‘ Once the police took their teeth out of him, all he wanted was a patient. A bloody patient, and you are bloody, dear, and that’s a nasty black eye coming up, just did the trick.’

  He was driving round to see me, no doubt appreciating the irony of helping a police officer.

  ‘I don’t think I need a doctor.’

  ‘I thought you did,’ said Nora. ‘ I was the one who found you. You probably have a slight concussion.’

  She was prowling around my living room, moving everything she touched. ‘You really must make it more comfortable in here. You haven’t got enough furniture.’

  ‘I’m getting more,’ I muttered. Speech was difficult, my mouth felt sore. Had I broken a tooth? I ran my tongue over them cautiously. No, all there and no jagged edges. ‘It takes time, that’s all.’ I flexed my foot cautiously. ‘I think I’ve sprained my ankle.’

  ‘You ought to be lying down.’ She looked around the room. ‘But there’s nowhere to lay you.’

  She had propped me up in the one big armchair, and was herself leaning against the bookcase. Perhaps she had a point, the room was bare. But I thought that already it had its own comfort, it was a happy room, full of light and warmth. The fire was blazing nicely; Nora must have piled on the logs. At least I had managed to get them up out of the store room. She must have carried them inside though.

  I raised my head from the cushion. ‘Don’t use all the wood or I shall have to get some more in.’

  ‘Is that what you were doing? Thought you were.’

  ‘In part.’ I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. ‘Just having a look round.’

  ‘It’s a terrible place. You could hide a body in it.’

  ‘What a truly awful thing to say.’

  Nora looked surprised. ‘Sorry, spoke without thinking. It’s that poor girl … Of course, I’m not suggesting she was hidden in …’

  A wave of irritation swept over me. ‘I wish you hadn’t called in the doctor.’

  Nora looked down at me with a gentle smile. In her last TV series she had played a nurse and I could see she was still living the part. ‘I did consider Ellen Bean.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’ Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to see Dr Harlow; I could observe him at close quarters. Could a doctor be a killer? Well, I knew he could be. A grisly catalogue went through my mind: Dr Palmer, the poisoner; Crippen, if you could count him as a doctor, his medical qualifications were not profound; Dr Buck Ruxton, and there were others.

  ‘Ellen’s quite a healer in her way. She did a good job on my toe.’

  I nursed my foot. Ellen was probably responsible for what had happened to me: ‘Watch your step,’ she had said.

  Nora was enjoying all this. I remembered now that the nurse in that TV series had also been a sleuth. She was called a sleuth, it was that sort of TV series, Nurse Foggerty. Much loved, I believe. ‘Ah, here he is.’

  Dr Harlow came in then, with a sort of swagger. He was a tall, dark-haired man, with the broad shoulders that probably demanded a swagger. Well, nothing wrong in that perhaps, not all swaggerers were beasts, although I had an instinctive dislike
of them, having met too many in my time.

  He had kind brown eyes and a gentle voice, though. Equally, I knew from my own experience that kind eyes and gentle voices might not count for much.

  Nora retreated. ‘Leave you two together. Got to feed the cat. Back with some coffee.’

  I was right, she was enjoying it.

  He had large and not particularly gentle hands. I winced as he fingered my forehead and prodded my ankle. ‘Nothing broken, and if you didn’t lose consciousness …’

  ‘Not for a moment.’ I wasn’t too sure about that, although I had no intention of saying so. I did not remember the arrival of Nora. Suddenly, she was there.

  ‘Then no concussion, but you’ll have a nasty bruise and a bad headache … I can give you some painkillers. I’ll strap the ankle.’

  I could hear Nora banging away at china in the kitchen, cupboard doors shutting, her voice talking to Muff and Muff not answering back.

  ‘I think that ought to help.’ He moved back from my foot.

  ‘Feels better already.’

  ‘You’ll be able to walk if you don’t put too much weight on it. Use a stick if you’ve got one. And rest it. Rest yourself too, you’ve been lucky, you could have broken your neck.’

  ‘I know I could.’

  He sat down and looked at me, his face suddenly tired. ‘I will have some coffee if Nora’s really making some.’

  ‘I think she is. I can smell it.’ I would need to get some more coffee. I seemed to be using a lot today.

  ‘This isn’t the best of times for you to get to know the village. But perhaps you don’t mind?’

  ‘Because of what I am?’ I shook my head. ‘It’s never good.’

  ‘No point in telling you that I didn’t kill the girl?’

  ‘Not my case.’

  ‘And you’re not interested?’

  ‘Well …’ I didn’t finish the sentence. He knew that I must be interested, just as he would be if a sudden and unusual wave of illness spread through the village. ‘Do you know Thomas Dryden?’

  ‘Only as a villager. He isn’t on my list. I don’t have many patients from Brideswell, most of them go to Franklin in Tuppett’s Halt.’ This was the next village.

  ‘I’m interested in him.’

  ‘He’s had bad luck, that man,’ said Dr Harlow with the sympathy of one who felt he was having bad luck himself. ‘ Terrible tragedy with his wife … But she never got over the death of her brother and his wife and child. I think she blamed herself. Not her fault of course.’

  Nora came back with a tray of coffee. ‘ I had a job to find enough cups … you don’t seem to have more than one of anything.’ She handed out a mug for me, a decent-looking cup for Dr Harlow, and the next best for herself. None of my Brideswell china was elegant but it was clean and unchipped.

  Not much more was said. Dr Harlow finished his coffee quickly, collected his bag and coat, and departed.

  When he’d gone, she tucked a blanket round me, Nurse Foggerty doing her stuff, and prepared to depart. ‘Now you have a nice rest. I’ll be back later on to see how you are.’

  It was my intention to get up the moment the front door closed behind her, but to my surprise, my eyelids felt heavy, I was warm and comfortable, my headache was receding.

  Muff crept up and settled on my lap. We both slept.

  I was roused by the sound of voices and laughter. I recognized Kate’s strong, deep tones. She was there and so was Rewley. The laughter came from Nora Garden.

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘I have a key,’ said Nora. ‘Always had one. Bea Armitage gave it me. I used to come in and feed her cat if she was away. And you haven’t changed the lock.’

  ‘I might think of it,’ I said, sitting up. Muff had gone and the fire was out.

  ‘I’ll give you the key back.’

  Kate kissed my cheek. ‘We came to see you as soon as we heard about your accident. George, do something about the fire.’

  ‘Why have you come?’

  ‘I heard you’d had an accident. I was worried. You weren’t attacked, were you?’

  ‘I fell.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not like you. How do you feel?’

  ‘Fine, I’m better. I am officially better.’

  ‘You could use some make-up on that eye.’

  I got up and hobbled to the door. ‘I’ll put some on.’ I had already met Rewley’s eyes and guessed from the look he gave me that his motive for calling had not been solely to mete out sympathy: he had something to tell me.

  And since he could have spoken to me on the telephone, then he must also wish to consult or discuss.

  When I came down the stairs, neat and tidy again, he was waiting for me. ‘I’ve been sent out to make a tray of tea. Come and talk … It’s Damiani.’

  ‘Leave it to me. Tell me what you have on Damiani.’

  Rewley filled the kettle and plugged it in before speaking. ‘ It’s what he was up to the night Chloe Devon disappeared.’

  ‘That was almost certainly when she was killed.’

  ‘Yes, hard to be sure from the state of the body, but yes, the guess is she was killed almost at once. Dissected later.’

  I flinched at the word. Rewley could be clinically cold sometimes. ‘Get on with it, please.’

  ‘Damiani said he went back to London where he called on his sister. She confirmed that … But I’ve discovered that she herself was out at a private party and did not return home until the small hours.’

  ‘Barney must have checked.’

  ‘Oh, he did. It’s in the records. But Bridget Damiani’s hostess lied. Said she left early. Early enough to have been there when her brother said she was.’

  I didn’t ask him how he knew, being fully aware that Rewley had his own methods and contacts, but I did want to know why the hostess had lied. I think I could almost have guessed the answer.

  ‘She had an affair with Damiani … she’s in love with him.’

  ‘Why didn’t he go to her and cut out the sister?’ Rewley smiled. ‘She has a husband,’ he said. ‘Silly question.’

  ‘He did turn up, but several hours later than he said. The taxi driver who brought the sister back saw him arrive.’

  The kettle was boiling so I infused the tea. I washed all the used cups and found two more. If I was to take my residence here seriously then Nora was right: I must buy still more china and furniture. People were always dropping in.

  But did I really mean to stay? Or were my hesitations a reflection of an inner intention not to stay? The house in Brideswell was my declaration of independence. Once made, did I secretly intend to go back to Maid of Honour Row?

  I dragged my mind back to Billy Damiani, liar and deceiver. But we all lie when pushed and I was playing a fair hand of deception myself. ‘So what was he doing all that time?’

  ‘He could have been killing Chloe Devon.’

  ‘Keep this to yourself for the moment while I think about it.’

  We carried the tea things in between us. I was limping, my ankle felt sore, my black eye was developing with every moment, but I felt better.

  I was pouring out the tea while Kate told me exactly how I would redecorate and furnish my house if I listened to her, when I heard the sound of a car stopping outside.

  Rewley went to the window, he watched, then turned with a raised eyebrow. ‘Damiani, and Lady Mary.’

  They came in together, bringing a gust of cold air with them. ‘ I had to come,’ said Mary. ‘I heard you’d been attacked. I made Billy bring me.’

  ‘Glad to do it,’ he said, being the gallant gentleman. ‘ How are you?’

  ‘I was not attacked, I fell, entirely my own fault. How did you know?’

  ‘David and Crick telephoned.’

  ‘I told them,’ said Nora quickly. ‘They will be dropping in too, I expect.’

  ‘And Ellen Bean?’

  ‘Of course, not her husband, though, he has a church meeting in Reading. Otherwise, of cour
se, he’d be here with the vicar.’

  ‘I hope you’re joking.’

  ‘Oh, we take visiting the sick seriously in Brideswell.’ Once more it was hard to be sure if she was laughing at me or not.

  But true enough, in a few moments the bell rang again and Crick and David were in the room.

  There were no clean tea cups left, but some sherry was produced. I think Nora must have brought a bottle with her. She had certainly been responsible for the seed cake and vanilla sponge that appeared for tea.

  ‘I expected to see Thomas Dryden today,’ I said as I handed David his sherry. ‘But not all of you.’

  ‘Better off with us,’ he said. ‘How’s Muff?’

  ‘On my bed asleep, as far as I know.’

  Billy Damiani took up a place by the fire and put down his sherry; he reached for Mary’s hand. To my surprise, she blushed.

  ‘Mary and I had another reason in coming. I expect you can guess: Lady Mary has done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife.’

  I stared at Mary. The colour retreated from her face leaving just a faint circle of red around her eyes.

  ‘Show them, Mary.’

  She held out her left hand; the steely blue gleam of a really large diamond shone there. Just like Billy Damiani to have a huge diamond ready for use.

  ‘Good Lord, is it real?’ said David, and then apologized. ‘Of course it is.’ He went over and kissed her cheek. ‘ My very best wishes. I always fancied you myself.’

  Money does give power, I thought. David has none, Lady Mary very little, her soldier boy even less: Billy Damiani was rich. He was pulling the strings.

  Money was important here in this case. Intuitively, I knew this to be the case.

  Money was king.

  None of them stayed long but Nora departed first and then Mary and Damiani. Crick and David went soon after.

  ‘Has good memories, this house has,’ said David, giving me a parting kiss on the cheek. ‘Want you to be happy in it. Part of the village.’

  ‘As you are. Thank you, David.’

  ‘If I am, not sure I always feel it,’ he said. ‘Come on, Crick.’

  I closed the door. I could just see Ellen Bean poking her nose round the gate as if she was considering what to do. She might call, she might not, it didn’t matter, the air waves or her black cat would keep her informed of what went on.