‘Our intrusion would hardly be welcomed. The police believe that they have apprehended the murderer. I think that for the present we must continue to play a lone hand.’
‘Suits me. But if you’re not going to contact this Bosse-Leyden—where does the Bosse come in?’
‘It must have been his mother’s name, don’t you think? According to the gossip George has heard at the public house, Rupert Bosse-Leyden is the son of unmarried parents.’
‘So he isn’t a Leyden at all.’
‘Yes, he is. It seems that, although his father and mother never married, they lived together until the woman died. The father insisted upon his son’s being known by the family name of Leyden, so, in that sense, if in no other, Rupert is fully entitled to use it.’
‘Anyway, why aren’t you going to chase him up? I thought the idea was to get him to show us where the monkshood grows wild, if there is anywhere around these parts where it does.’
‘That can be done later if it needs to be done at all. Meanwhile I think I will pay another visit to the late Mrs Leyden’s own house, and seek an interview with Mrs Porthcawl and Miss Bute.’
‘Another visit?’
‘The inquest was held there and I attended as a member of the public.’
‘Oh, so you’ve already seen Rupert?’
‘Yes, but not his wife until today. She did not attend the inquest.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, look, if you don’t need me to escort you, how would it be if I took time out to do a little snooping around in search of this wild variety of monk-shood?’
‘I was hoping that you would suggest it. It prefers moisture and shade, if that information will help you.’
‘When shall you go to see Mrs Porthcawl?’
‘Tomorrow morning, and without giving her notice of my visit.’
‘She might be out somewhere. Anyway, I’ll get the hotel to put me up some sandwiches and I’ll make a day of it, if you don’t mind.’
‘On second thoughts,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘I shall go to Headlands immediately after lunch today. Your point that Mrs Porthcawl may be out if I call tomorrow morning is a valid one. If she is out this afternoon I may be able to obtain information as to her probable plans for tomorrow.’
Lunch over, she and Laura went their separate ways. Laura had her own car and, with the help of an Ordnance Survey map, proposed to cover a wide area. Dame Beatrice, conveyed by the stolid, reliable George, who was also her ears and eyes at the gossip-ridden public house, took the road to Carne and branched off it for the track which led to Headlands.
George pulled up near the stables and came round to open the car door. ‘The guard dogs are loose, madam,’ he said.
‘So are the horses, I see,’ said his employer, ‘and there appears to be a young woman in their vicinity. Let us hope that she has a restraining influence over the animals, should they resent our appearance upon this striking and beautiful scene.’
Mattie came lumbering up to the car, slightly impeded by the dogs which lolloped along beside her. She greeted George matily.
‘Well, cock,’ she said. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Lunn,’ said George formally. ‘Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, to see Mrs Porthcawl.’
‘Better come along of me, then, seeing the dogs be loose. Not as they’d hurt a fly once they’re off the chain. It’s being kept tied up makes ’em savage. In Mrs Leyden’s time I was under orders and they was only let loose at night, and then, of course, they’d go for anybody, but Mrs Porthcawl have more liberal ideas, so I lets ’em loose most of the time. They likes a bit of rabbiting and it lets off their surplus to have a bit of a chase round. Dogs is all right if they’m treated right. None of God’s creatures was intended to be kept on a chain.’
‘Nor to be poisoned with aconite,’ said Dame Beatrice.
Mattie, cuffing one of the dogs which was attempting to climb into the car, stared at her distrustfully. ‘Come about that, have you?’ she said. ‘Best leave well alone, I reckon. Nobody don’t want all that raked up again.’
‘But it has never died down,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘and it is not likely to do so until after the trial.’ She stepped out of the car and gave the dogs her fingers to sniff. ‘Will you remain here with your companions? I prefer to reach the house unannounced.’
Mattie stared again. One of the dogs licked Dame Beatrice’s skinny yellow claw. She caressed the creature under its massive jowl. The other dog put a paw on her shoe and dripped saliva on to her skirt.
‘Seemingly you have a way with animals,’ said Mattie. ‘Different if these were on the chain. Right. Come to heel, you!’ she added, addressing the dogs and walking towards the stables. Dame Beatrice stepped out briskly for the house.
It was strangely and romantically situated, she thought. Not for the first time she wondered who had built it and whether the first owner had been a Leyden or not a relative of the present owner at all. Surely at some time the demesne must have been fenced in, or did the property comprise all the land literally as far as the eye could imagine? Seen on a glorious summer afternoon, the views from its seaward side were among the finest she could remember. Seen on a glorious summer afternoon, the house bore no hint of secrecy or of the cruel death which had taken place in it.
Maria and Fiona were both at home and appeared to have been engaged in heated argument, for Maria’s eyes were angry and Fiona’s cheeks were flushed and there had been the sound of voices pitched high as Dame Beatrice, led by the parlourmaid, approached the drawing-room door. Coffee cups were on a small table. The parlourmaid announced Dame Beatrice and removed them. Maria, her eyes still smouldering with battle, came forward to greet the visitor. Fiona made for the door.
‘Please don’t go,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘unless you are needed elsewhere. I should prefer you both to be present to hear what I have come to say. May I ask whether any other member of the family is in the house?’
‘Dear me!’ said Maria, attempting a smile. ‘You sound magisterial, Dame Beatrice. Since you ask, yes, I believe my ward is somewhere about.’ She rang the bell. ‘Find Miss Aysgarth,’ she said, when the parlourmaid appeared, ‘and ask her to come here.’
‘Miss Aysgarth?’ queried Dame Beatrice, as though the name was new to her.
‘Miss Pabbay as was,’ said Fiona in a flippant tone. ‘We have assumed the name we shall use when we make our debut.’
‘Oh, I see. Has she visited the famous Aysgarth Falls?’
‘Her mother fell, as they used to put it in Victorian times,’ said Fiona, in the same brittle tone. ‘That is all Antonia knows about falls, I daresay. Maria, won’t you ask Dame Beatrice to sit down?’
‘Oh, dear! I’m afraid my wits are wool-gathering today. There is so much to think about and Dame Beatrice’s peremptory tone startled me. Have you come on a serious errand, Dame Beatrice?’ said Maria.
Dame Beatrice seated herself in the proferred armchair. It was half-turned to the window and from it she had a view of Scar Head with its innocent, pastoral, downland crown and its dangerous rocks and currents below. She was speculating upon this resemblance to what had happened in the house, when the newly-named Antonia Aysgarth made a calculated entrance into the room and turned with a graceful, fluid movement, also the result of practise, to close the door behind her. She then stood with her back against it and gave the older women a rueful little smile.
‘Am I to stand in the corner?’ she asked. ‘Yes, I am meeting Barnaby when I go to London tomorrow, Maria. I was going to tell you at lunch that I was going back, but with you and Fiona looking daggers at one another and an uneasy silence brooding over the meal, it seemed neither the time nor the place, alas!’
‘Oh, sit down, Antonia, and stop play-acting,’ said Maria shortly. ‘Dame Beatrice is here on serious business.’