Dr Compton nodded gravely. The two policemen pulled back the blanket. Both turned white. The doctor shook his head.
‘Seldom have I seen such terrible burns. Most of the face seems to have been taken off by the flames. Mr Frederick Harrison was not my patient, you understand. He had his own man up in London. He only consulted me for minor aches and pains down here.’
Not again, thought Powerscourt savagely. Not another corpse that is so severely disfigured it is almost impossible to identify. He wondered if the murderer, if there was a murderer, had intended such a degree of incineration to make it impossible to identify the body.
Dr Compton was peering at a silver ring on what must have been Frederick Harrison’s finger. He prodded at the teeth with a small silver instrument extracted from his bag. He sighed. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly into their case.
‘I am afraid, gentlemen, that this is Mr Frederick Harrison. Or rather was Mr Frederick Harrison. You can cover him up again now.’
‘How can you be sure, Dr Compton?’ Chief Fire Officer Perkins was polite but firm.
‘His teeth for a start. He had some very expensive dental work done a few years ago by one of London’s leading dentists. He was so proud of it, he showed me the details. It was at a dinner party here in this house. Lobsters, we had, I seem to recall. I’m afraid the sight of Mr Harrison’s improved molars did very little for the appetite.’
He smiled wanly at the memory of happier times.
‘Then there is the ring. I would recognize that anywhere. He was given it by his great-grandfather in Germany before he died. The great-grandfather, I mean. It had a German eagle marked upon it. I would know it anywhere.’
‘Thank you, Dr Compton.’ Inspector Wilson was making notes in his book. His young assistant had run away from the scene. From round the corner they could hear him retching uncontrollably into the trees.
The doctor set off to care for his other patients. Powerscourt realized that the fire officer and the policeman were both unsure of who was the senior man present. In professions used to rank and hierarchy this presented something of a problem. Temporary relief was provided by the return of Wilson’s colleague, the pallor of his face made more remarkable by the blackened buildings around him.
‘Get yourself down to the stables and find a drink of water, Radcliffe,’ said Inspector Wilson with a good officer’s care for his subordinates. The young man staggered off down the path, pausing only to vomit once more into a rhododendron bush.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Powerscourt, temporarily seizing the initiative, ‘may I take you into my confidence?’
He told them of the earlier death of Mr Frederick’s uncle, the body found in the Thames. He told of the suspicions regarding the death of Mr Frederick’s brother, drowned in a boating accident off the Isle of Wight. He told of his suspicion that this death too might not have been caused by natural causes.
‘You mean that the fire might have been started deliberately?’ Chief Officer Perkins was the first to react.
‘It might have been, yes, it very well might have been.’
Chief Officer Perkins whistled quietly. Inspector Wilson stared again at the remains of the building.
‘It won’t be easy to prove anything, my lord,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What the fire didn’t destroy, the water from Mr Perkins’ hosepipes may have washed away, or soaked it to the point where it’s unrecognizable. Whatever it might be, that is. My God, sir, I don’t think you could establish any sort of a case, any sort of a case at all, with this heap of smoking dust and rubble.’
As if to prove his point there was another loud crash from the upper floors. Dust and ashes rose from the great holes in the roof.
‘That’ll be the big beam in Mr Frederick’s bedroom,’ said Perkins. ‘It’s been on the point of going for some time. Made it very dangerous up there, wondering if this beam was going to knock you on the head at any moment.’
‘Could I just ask you to bear what I have said in mind?’ said Powerscourt apologetically. ‘I know you have much to do and I do not wish to get in the way of your work in any way. I asked the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police to send us the foremost fire investigator in London and the Home Counties. He should be here tomorrow. I’m sure you will afford him every assistance.’
Inspector Wilson had never heard of such a creature as a fire investigator. He longed to ask for more details of what they did and how they did it. He decided not to reveal his ignorance.
‘Very good, sir.’
Inspector Wilson disappeared once more into the ground floor. Chief Fire Officer Perkins began the slow ascent of a long ladder into the upper storey.
‘Bert,’ he shouted to his assistant, ‘where are you? What have you been doing up here? Come on, we’ve got work to do.’
Lady Lucy Powerscourt was sitting on a small chair in the main bedroom of the Parkers’ little cottage. Old Miss Harrison was still asleep, tucked firmly inside the Parkers’ best blankets. Mabel Parker stood by the door, as she had done for the last three hours.
‘She’s not dead, is she, my lady?’ she whispered for the tenth or eleventh time.
‘No, she’s not, Mrs Parker,’ said Lady Lucy quietly, ‘she’s just asleep. It must have been a terrible shock to her.’
Lady Lucy had reached Blackwater just after midday, ferried to the house by Mr Parker, still waiting in vain at the railway station for Charles Harrison to appear. There was a sudden rustling among the bedclothes. Miss Harrison looked at her new surroundings with surprise and a look of astonishment on her wrinkled face.
‘Hello, my dear,’ she said to Lady Lucy, ‘are you here too? And you so young.’
‘You’re looking well, Miss Harrison,’ Lady Lucy smiled, ‘after your ordeal.’
‘I never thought it would be like this,’ the old lady went on, peering around at the bedroom, the walls lined with pictures of the great mountains beloved by Mr Parker. ‘It seems so peaceful. And so quiet. I thought it might be noisier than this up here. And they don’t tell you about the last journey down there, do they? I’m sure somebody carried me up here. It must have been a very long way for him, a very long way.’
‘I’ll bring you some tea,’ said Mabel Parker, departing to her kitchen for the most useful restorative known to the Parker household.
‘They have tea here too,’ the old lady smiled. ‘I’m so glad they have tea. Tell me, my dear,’ she turned to inspect Lady Lucy closely, ‘how did you get here? Did somebody carry you too?’
‘We’re in Mr Parker’s cottage, Miss Harrison.’ Lady Lucy spoke quite loudly now, wondering if the old lady’s hearing had been disturbed in the fire. ‘There’s been a terrible fire in the big house. The butler carried you to safety. You’re quite safe now.’
‘Fire?’ said the old lady, sounding confused. ‘I thought they had fire down in the other place, not up here. Oh no, surely not here. You must be mistaken, my dear. Look, there are the mountains all about. We must be quite high up.’
‘You’re still alive, Miss Harrison.’ Lady Lucy realized that the old lady thought she had died and gone to heaven, here with Mrs Parker’s best blankets and cups of tea.
‘Alive?’ The old lady sounded quite cross. ‘I didn’t like being alive much at the end, you know. No, not at all. All my relations dying and all those people coming to ask me questions about my brother. I’m quite glad to be out of it really. Especially if they have tea.’
As if on cue, Mrs Parker returned with a small tray containing a cup of tea in her best willow pattern cup and a plate of biscuits.
‘They taste just like they did down below,’ Miss Harrison said, happily crunching into her digestive.
‘And so does the tea!’
Lady Lucy looked helplessly at Mrs Parker. Mrs Parker shook her head sadly. Lady Lucy resolved to make one last attempt.
‘Miss Harrison,’ she shouted, ‘we are all so glad to see you looking so well. There was a fire last night in the big house. You’ve been brought down here to Mrs Parker’s cottage. You’re going to be all right. You just need to rest.’