Destroying Angel Read online

  ‘Cedric lived in frightful squalor.’

  ‘Did he?’ Hubert didn’t seem interested and said angrily, ‘As for that policeman’s visit, wanting to take statements from everyone! I wish you had heard him. As if that young villain was a part of the family and not just a casual labourer on the estate.’ He paused, and then went on, ‘And I could have told him a thing or two about being blackmailed too.’

  ‘That would have been inadvisable, Hubert. Once the police are involved—’

  ‘I know, I know – no need for any warning. That was precisely my reason for engaging a private investigator.’ He paused to give me a tender smile, which was rapidly followed by an angry frown. ‘But having a policeman waste my time with all his damned silly questions… I shall put in an official complaint to the authorities—’

  I interrupted. ‘You might be interested to know that I believe I have solved your problem, Hubert.’

  ‘What problem would that be?’

  ‘The identity of your blackmailer.’

  He leapt to his feet. ‘You have! That’s marvellous. Who—’

  I held up my hand. ‘This is just a theory, but I think it’s a plausible one and worth further investigation.’

  He sat down again and stared at me blankly.

  ‘Apart from the general untidiness, it was obvious to me that someone had turned Cedric’s place upside down, either before or immediately after his death, searching for something.’

  Silent for a moment, he shrugged, and then said slowly, ‘I don’t follow. What has any of this to do with my – problem?’

  I told him about The Times, the glue and the scissors. ‘As for the last note you found when you got home from the shoot—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said eagerly. ‘He was with the beaters at the picnic and they came back here to deliver the birds. My jacket was lying over a chair.’ He gave me a look of triumph. ‘Well, well, he had ample opportunity.’

  ‘I believe he was your blackmailer,’ I said. ‘And his friend Jock mentioned that they went into Newcastle regularly, which suggests that they might well have been in the plot together.’

  There was no response from Hubert, so I went on:

  ‘I considered Cedric a prime suspect from the moment I heard that he had access to the house when he came regularly to see his auntie, Mrs Robson.’

  ‘She should never have allowed—’ he began indignantly.

  I cut him short. ‘Well, let us suppose that he came while she was absent in the village, or was working in another part of the house, and that he took the opportunity to see if there was anything besides food that might be worth pocketing.’

  ‘You mean that little ruffian stole things from my house!’ Hubert sounded shocked and furious.

  I ignored that. ‘Let’s just suppose he also walked across the room to your study here, found the locked drawer and, in the hope of finding money perhaps, searched for the key and found those interesting photographs instead.’

  Even as I said the words I wondered, not for the first time, why Hubert kept such dangerous photographs in his desk drawer when they could have been safely locked away in his dark room.

  I asked him as delicately as I could.

  He frowned, shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Must have had them out for some reason, meant to replace them. And forgot all about it. It wasn’t until I got the first threatening note with the clipped-off corner that I realised they were missing.’ He shrugged again, saying shortly: ‘I’m a busy man, Rose.’

  A careless one as well, I thought, considering the cost of that moment’s forgetfulness. It now seemed probable that Cedric would have wanted to share his secret with one of his cronies, like Jock, especially when they had downed a few ales. If that was the case, then with his partner-in-crime dead, Jock had seized the opportunity of returning to the lodging and removing the photographs.

  I decided that it might be worthwhile finding out who else had been in Cedric’s drinking company that last night.

  I would need to enlist Wolf’s aid since ladies could hardly, with any respectability, present themselves at the bar in the local inn.

  For the present, however, I would keep my suspicions to myself, but I said, ‘I think I should warn you, Hubert, that Cedric might not have been acting alone and that you may not have heard the last of the blackmailer.’

  ‘You don’t think that young blackguard was working alone?’ Hubert looked quite scared at this new peril.

  At least this new evidence seemed to clear Collins of suspicion. I remembered Cedric talking to Kate at the shoot. Had Collins been aiding and abetting Kate in her secret dalliance?

  ‘As a matter of interest, was Cedric the man you disturbed with Kate that night?’

  He stared at me, then said shortly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  I persisted. ‘You said that the whole episode had been a charade. That Kate was pretending to be sleep-walking to meet a lover.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, did I? Well, well, I made it up. Just trying to impress you with my detecting abilities.’

  This was too much and I was about to tell him what I thought of that behaviour when sounds in the hall indicated that Mrs Robson and Wolf had returned.

  Hubert stood up. He seemed glad of the interruption and said hastily, ‘We’ll talk of this later. I have to speak to Rider and I want a stern word with my housekeeper regarding her soup.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Hubert. She’s suffered enough for one day.’

  ‘Hmph,’ he said as I left him.

  Thane would be with Kate now for his daily dose of boredom, so I wandered out into the grounds. Glad to be free of the house, I found that rustic seat with its bird’s-eye view of the village including the tiny kirkyard where Cedric would be buried.

  Still angry with Hubert, I wondered if Kate had been telling the truth. She seemed so genuinely scared. Had she really been in danger from a killer? And why had I allowed myself to be taken in by Hubert’s explanation of a would-be lover?

  So taking out my sketchbook, the back of which had become my case logbook, I brought it up to date with the dramatic events of the last twenty-four hours.

  How cold they seemed in practical, casual words. How different to the stark terror of reality.

  I had just closed my book when Hubert approached, the last person I wanted to see.

  ‘I thought I would find you here. My favourite place, too. Isn’t that extraordinary?’ With that endearing smile, he indicated that I make room for him. I could hardly refuse, and he sat down beside me, too close for comfort.

  Before I could resume our interrupted conversation and express fully my annoyance, he said, ‘I am going across to Holy Island to take some photographs for a magazine article. I must seize the chance. This mellow weather is perfect, the lighting so dramatic. Would you care to come with me, Rose?’

  The question was wistful and without waiting for my reply, in the manner of a grown up addressing a small child, he went on, ‘This has all been so distressing for you, my dear. I am sure the change would do you good.’

  Pausing for a moment, he continued: ‘I have another reason. There is an old clergyman I should like you to meet, Rose. He was a friend of my father’s, fell on hard times, and I heard recently that he is now living on the island. My informant alerted me to the fact that he has been in poor health, so I have decided to offer him a refuge here with us, as winter can be severe on the island. Do you agree?’ he added anxiously.

  I did not see how his old friend’s winter quarters should concern me as I intended that Thane and I should be safely back in Edinburgh long ere the first snowflake fell on Staines, but I said I thought it was a good idea.

  ‘Excellent. I thought I might even give him a living and a small pension.’

  Looking at Hubert then, I decided this was a new caring side to his character.

  Wolf Rider was also to accompany us to Holy Island. He had invited himself along to bring back herbs for Kate’s medicine. />
  I didn’t think Hubert was best pleased by this arrangement, but I remembered that Wolf had made the suggestion earlier that we should go together. I confess that I was glad he would be with us to divert Hubert’s amorous intentions, if intentions there were, since I also learnt that it was very easy to be cut off by the tide on the island if one didn’t look sharp. And if that happened, there was no alternative but to stay overnight. That was the last thing I wanted.

  Hubert was saying, ‘We should go directly. I shall need to find out about the tides. But I believe Rider has a tide-table. We don’t want to be cut off – stranded.’

  The look he gave me hinted that nothing would suit him better as he added: ‘There is nothing urgent to keep me here. I have Rider’s assurance that there are no new calves imminent. When we return I shall have to negotiate with Tankerville at Chillingham Castle for permission to extract a new young bull from the herd.’

  I presumed he meant for Wolf to extract a new bull calf, as I could not imagine Hubert undertaking such a dangerous task.

  Later that day I collected Thane from Kate’s room. She looked sadder than ever, staring out of the window, and hardly turned her head to acknowledge my greeting. Collins gave me an angry look and I didn’t linger.

  Wolf had almost finished repairing the roof of his bothy, and today he had a helper. ‘This is Tom,’ Wolf shouted, as he leapt down to talk to me.

  ‘Tom is putting on the final touches. He is a great improvement on my last assistant,’ he said sadly, remembering Cedric. ‘Used to work down the pit here in his younger days. Can turn his hand to anything, the whole village is constantly at his door. His fame has spread as far as Alnwick too. And look, Rose,’ he said, steering me round the back. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘That’ was a bicycle, older, shabbier than mine. Held together here and there with pieces of wire, it had once been pride of possession to someone in its early days.

  ‘Belongs to Tom. He has been teaching me to ride,’ he added proudly.

  Hearing our voices, Tom looked down from his perch on the roof, hammer in hand. ‘My trusty steed, miss. Mr Rider needs no teaching from me, goes like the wind already. Seen you on your machine in the village, miss. Made quite a stir, it did. Not many women in these parts have bicycles – scared of them, they are.’

  ‘Don’t blame them,’ Wolf whispered. ‘I’m better on a horse.’ And, looking back at the roof, he said he was hoping to move back within the week.

  When I told him that Hubert had invited me to go along to Holy Island, ‘A good idea,’ was his only comment.

  Kate did not appear at dinner that evening and when Holy Island was discussed, it became quite obvious that Hubert could not conceal his disappointment at the prospect of Wolf’s presence.

  Collins leant over, whispered something urgently to Hubert, doubtless asking him if she could come too, but he said shortly, ‘Of course you cannot come. Who would look after Kate? We might even be gone for a couple of days. Who knows?’

  At the mention of a possible stay overnight, she looked narrow-eyed at me, as if it was my fault – part of a plan to seduce Hubert, high tides and all. She was very subdued and even tearful for the rest of the meal. I couldn’t help being sorry for her obsession with Hubert, which I felt was driving her to the threshold of madness.

  ‘We can take Roswal with us,’ said Hubert, and to Wolf: ‘Are you sure you want to come? Can you spare the time?’ he added weakly.

  In reply, Wolf assured him that this visit was necessary. In fact, he should have gone a week ago as his herbs for Kate were getting low. They did not last indefinitely. Once their freshness was gone, so did their restorative powers diminish.

  Kate’s welfare was the one indisputable matter that Hubert could not counter. He knew he had no argument but I guessed that he gave in with mixed feelings about having Wolf with us.

  As for me, I had no misgivings.

  I was just glad that I wasn’t going with Hubert alone. I had the feeling that Wolf read my mind and was making sure that I would not be compromised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  We set off early the next morning, with Wolf’s guidance on the tide-tables. It was a beautiful, crisp, early autumn day, still sunny and warm, and we travelled in Hubert’s carriage, with Wolf driving. Thane was in the back, alongside the bulky photographic equipment and my bicycle.

  Hubert was a little taken aback by my insistence that it accompany us – I thought secretly, but did not put into words, that it might come in handy for a hasty departure.

  We left the carriage outside the local inn, where Hubert was to meet his reverend friend that afternoon once the good light he needed for photography had faded. Shouldering tripod and camera, he set off towards the Priory and seemed disappointed when I declined his offer to accompany him, saying that I intended to make myself useful by helping Wolf gather his herbs, which had been left in the sea-wrack by the ebb tide at the shore.

  At the shoreline, Wolf kicked off his moccasins and I removed my boots, carrying them strung round my neck. I wanted to paddle, to feel the sand in my toes. I hadn’t touched the earth barefoot since my days with Danny in Arizona and I had forgotten how good it was. So exhilarating to feel free again, at one with the world of nature.

  As Wolf gathered the sea-wrack he needed and I put it in a basket, he placed a small black bead in my hand.

  ‘St Cuthbert’s beads,’ he said. ‘The fossil remains of tiny sea creatures from prehistoric times. A link, so we are told, that rooted the starfish to the sea bottom. Legend says that the saint could work miracles and, during storms, his wraith could be seen among the storm clouds. There’s a poem:

  ‘“On a rock by Lindisfarne,

  St Cuthbert sits and toils to frame

  The seaborne beads that bear his name.”’

  We sat down on a rock to eat our picnic, such humble fare from Mrs Robson scorned by Hubert, who preferred to eat in style at the inn. Looking at Wolf, another holy man, telling me the story of a saint who could work miracles, and observing the devotion in Thane’s eyes as he regarded his hero, I thought all three would probably have understood one other uncommonly well.

  ‘From this small island, Rose,’ Wolf concluded as he unwrapped a beef sandwich, ‘from this very place, sprang all the elements of your Christian faith in Britain.’

  And suddenly it would not have seemed at all remarkable had I looked up to behold the saint striding across the sands, staff in hand to give us a smiling blessing.

  This hour of benediction was to stay with me; the tranquil sunshine, the glittering silver waves gently lapping against a boat moored alongside, sheltering us from the breeze, the seabirds’ eternal cry above our heads. In harmony together and with nature. If only it could last forever and the world we had left never intrude again.

  At last it was time to leave the crumbs to the sea gulls and head towards the inn to meet Hubert. As I stood up, Wolf gently dusted the sand from my skirt.

  ‘Can’t have you all dishevelled,’ he smiled. Turning, my face touched his by accident and he smiled again, then kissed my cheek so gently it was almost an illusion, as if I had been touched by a feather and it wasn’t a kiss at all, just another benediction.

  Upright, the wind blew my unruly mop of yellow curls over my eyes and he brushed them back with a gentle hand, a gesture that I would have firmly rejected had it come from Hubert.

  Then the moment was over, just the blink of an eye, yet sealed in that place in which memories remain forever young and never grow old or stale or bitter.

  He gave me a helping hand, so warm and strong, over the sand dunes, laughing as we stumbled while Thane raced ahead, leaping over the rough grass, his mouth open, joyous, almost laughing too; glad to be with the two humans who mattered most in his strange world.

  At the inn, that other world, harsh and real, awaited us.

  Hubert and his old friend were seated by a table in the window. The room, drably brown with a spittoon and sawdust on t
he floor, smelt of spilt ale and stale pipe smoke.

  Wentworth Sandeman was introduced.

  His appearance – unshaven, unkempt, – did not suggest a man of God and I had a feeling that Hubert had arrived just in the nick of time, since his friend’s shabby clothes, stained and dirty, gave forth an unpleasant odour of unwashed linen.

  When I looked at him closely I realised that the smile, the slightly unfocussed stare, spoke of a recent over-indulgence in wine or spirits. When he stood up to shake my hand he almost fell and Hubert, with an embarrassed laugh, steadied him.

  I hoped the reverend would improve on knowing and that I’d soon overcome my first misgivings, which were not helped later by another encounter with Grace in the village.

  ‘He won’t be welcome back here,’ she said, having met him heading for the local inn that he had wrecked and left under a cloud – of alcohol fumes – some years earlier.

  Far from the respectable clergyman as reported by Hubert, who had fallen on hard times, it seemed those hard times came not from his devotions but from a devoted adherence to the bottle.

  Hubert was announcing that we were ready to leave and he would be taking Reverend Sandeman to Staines.

  But I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I was enjoying my day.

  ‘I would like to do some sketching in the Priory.’

  ‘The Rainbow Arch is worth drawing,’ said Wolf enthusiastically, ‘and I still have more plants to collect.’

  Hubert didn’t seem at all pleased by this decision and, regarding us both sternly for a moment, he said, ‘Then you must please yourselves. But let me remind you it is a long walk home if you miss the tide.’

  He had presumably forgotten the existence of my bicycle in his carriage parked outside.