The Scold's Bridle (9 page)

Paul Duggan switched off the television set and spoke ito the silence. "The video recording, of course, has no legal standing which is why I referred to Mrs. Gillespie's last
written
will and testament." He reached into his briefcase and produced some sheaves of paper. "These are photocopies only but the original is available for inspection at my office in Hills Street." He handed a copy to each of the women. "Mrs. Gillespie felt you might try to contest this document, Mrs. Lascelles. I can only advise you to consult a solicitor before you do so. As far as Dr. Blakeney is concerned"-he turned to Sarah-"Mr. Hapgood and I will need to discuss details with you as soon as possible. We can offer you three mornings next week. Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. In my office for preference, although we will come to Long Upton if necessary. You understand, however, that executors are entitled to charge for expenses." He beamed encouragingly at Sarah, waiting for an answer. He appeared to be completely unaware of the brewing hostility in the room.

Sarah gathered her scattered wits together. "Do I have any say in this at all?"

"In what, Dr. Blakeney?"

"In the will."

"You mean, are you free to reject Mrs. Gillespie's bequest?"

"Yes."

"There's an alternative provision which you will find on the last page of the document." Joanna and Ruth rustled through their copies. "If for any reason you are unable to take up the bequest, Mrs. Gillespie instructed us to sell her entire estate and donate the proceeds to the Seton Retirement Home for donkeys. She said, if you couldn't or wouldn't have her money, then it might as well go to deserving asses." He was watching Sarah closely and she thought that, after all, he wasn't quite so complacent as he seemed. He was expecting that remark to strike a chord. "Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, Dr. Blakeney? I should point out that an early meeting is essential. There is the future of Mrs. Lascelles and her daughter to be considered, for example. Mrs. Gillespie recognized that they would be in residence at Cedar House when the will was read and had no wish that we as executors should demand their immediate vacation of the property. It was for this reason, and without any offence intended," he smiled amiably at the two women, "that a full inventory of the contents was made. I'm sure the last thing any of us wants is a battle royal over just what was in the house at the time of Mrs. Gillespie's death."

"Oh, bloody fabulous," said Ruth scathingly, "now you're accusing us of theft."

"Not at all, Miss Lascelles. It's standard procedure, I assure you."

Her lip curled unattractively. "What's our future got to do with anything, anyway? I thought we'd ceased to exist." She dropped her cigarette butt deliberately on to the Persian carpet and ground it out under her heel.

"As I understand it, Miss Lascelles, you have another two terms at boarding school before you take your A levels. To date, your grandmother paid your fees but there is no provision in the will for further expenditure on your education so, in the circumstances, whether you remain at Southcliffe may well depend on Dr. Blakeney."

Joanna raised her head. "Or on me," she said coolly. "I am her mother, after all."

There was a short silence before Ruth gave a harsh laugh. "God, you're a fool. No wonder Granny didn't want to leave her money to you. What are you planning to pay with, Mother dear? No one's going to give you an allowance any more, you know, and you don't imagine your sweet little flower arrangements are going to produce four thousand a term, do you?"

Joanna smiled faintly. "If I contest this will then, presumably, things will continue as normal in the meantime." She looked enquiringly at Paul Duggan. "Do you have the authority to give the money to Dr. Blakeney if I too, am laying claim to it?"

"No," he admitted, "but, by the same token, you will receive nothing either. You are putting me in a difficult position, Mrs. Lascelles. I was your mother's lawyer, not yours. All I will say is there are time limits involved and I urge you to seek independent legal advice without delay. Things will not, as you put it, continue as normal."

"So in the short term Ruth and I lose either way?"

"Not necessarily."

She frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Ruth flung herself out of the sofa and stormed across to the window. "God, why do you have to be so obtuse? If you behave nicely, Mother, Dr. Blakeney may feel guilty enough about inheriting a fortune to keep subsidizing us. That's it, isn't it?" She glared at Duggan. "Granny's passed the buck of trying to create something decent out of the Cavendishes to her doctor." Her mouth twisted. "What a frigging awful joke! She warned me about it, too. Talk to Dr. Blakeney. She'll know what to do for the best. It's so unfair." She stamped her foot. "It's so bloody unfair."

Joanna's face was thoughtful. "Is that right, Mr. Duggan?"

"Not strictly, no. I will admit that Mrs. Gillespie's reading of Dr. Blakeney's character was that she would honour some of the undertakings Mrs. Gillespie made to you and your daughter, but I must stress that Dr. Blakeney is not obliged to do so. There is nothing in the will to that effect. She is free to interpret your mother's wishes any way she chooses, and if she believes that she can promote something worthwhile in Mrs. Gillespie's memory by ignoring you and building a clinic in this village instead, then she is entitled to do so."

There was another silence. Sarah looked up from a prolonged study of the carpet to discover all their eyes upon her. She found herself echoing Ruth's words.
What a frigging awful joke.
"Thursday," she said with a sigh. "I'll come to your office on Thursday and I shall probably bring my own solicitor with me. I'm not happy about this, Mr. Duggan."

"Poor Dr. Blakeney," said Joanna with a tight smile. "I do believe you're finally beginning to realize what a ruthless bitch my mother was. From the moment she seduced Gerald, she had her hands on the Cavendish purse strings and she kept them there, through threats and blackmail, upwards of fifty years." A look of compassion crossed her curiously impassive face. "And now she's appointed you to carry on her tyranny. The dictator is dead." She gave a small, ironic bow. "Long live the dictator."

Sarah stood by Paul Duggan's car as he packed the video recorder into the boot. "Have the police seen that film?" she asked him as he straightened up.

"Not yet. I've an appointment with a Sergeant Cooper in half an hour or so. I'll give him a copy then."

"Shouldn't you have shown it to them straight away? Mathilda didn't sound to me like a woman who was about to commit suicide.
I must have died without changing my mind
... She wouldn't have said that if she was planning to kill herself two days later."

"I agree."

His moon face beamed at her and she frowned her irritation. "You're very relaxed about it," she said tartly. "I hope, for your sake, DS Cooper understands why you've delayed producing it. I certainly don't. Mathilda's been dead two weeks and the police have been tying themselves in knots trying to find evidence of murder."

"Not my fault, Dr. Blakeney," he said amiably. "It's been with the film company who made it for the last two weeks, waiting to have titles and music added. Mrs. Gillespie wanted Verdi playing in the background." He chuckled. "She chose
Dies Irae
-The Day of Wrath. Rather appropriate, don't you think?" He paused briefly, waiting for a reaction, but she was in no mood to oblige. "Anyway, she wanted to view it afterwards and they told her to come back in a month for a viewing. These things can't be hurried, I gather. They were very out to hear from me that she was already dead. All of which lends weight to your argument, that she wasn't planning to kill herself." He shrugged. "I wasn't there when she made it, so I didn't know what was in it. As far as I was concerned it was a message to her family. I saw it for the first time last night, at which point I rang for an appointment with the boys in blue." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm going to be late. I'll see you on Thursday, then."

Sarah watched him drive away with a horrible feeling of insecurity chewing at the pit of her stomach. She should have guessed, prepared herself a little.
Talk to Dr. Blakeney. She will know what to do for the best.
And what about Jack? Had
he
known?

She felt suddenly very lonely.

Sarah was raking up leaves when DS Cooper arrived that afternoon. He picked his way across the grass and stood watching her. "Hard work," he murmured sympathetically.

"Yes." She propped the rake against a tree and thrust her hands into her Barbour pockets. "We'd better go in. It's warmer inside."

"Don't worry on my account," he said. "I'd just as soon stay out and have a smoke." He fished a crumpled pack of Silk Cut from inside his coat and lit up with obvious enjoyment. "Disgusting habit," he murmured, eyeing her warily. "I'll give it up one day."

Sarah lifted an amused eyebrow. "Why are smokers always so consumed with guilt?"

"Cigarettes reveal the weakness of our character," he said morosely. "Other people give up, but we can't. To tell you the truth I've never understood why society treats us like pariahs. I've yet to meet the smoker who's beaten his wife after one too many fags or killed a child while in charge of a car, but I could show you a hundred drunks who've done it. I'd say drink is a far more dangerous drug than nicotine."

She led him to a bench seat beside the path. "The moral majority will get round to condemning the drinkers, too, eventually," she said. "And then the whole world will be jogging around in its vest and pants, bristling with good health, eating vegetables, drinking carrot juice and never doing anything remotely detrimental to its health."

He chuckled. "Shouldn't you applaud that, as a doctor?"

"I'll be out of a job." She leant her head against the back of the seat. "Anyway, I have a problem with the moral majority. I don't like it. I'd rather have free-thinking individuals any day than politically correct mobs who behave the way they're told to because somebody else has decided what's socially acceptable."

"Is that why you liked Mrs. Gillespie?"

"Probably."

"Tell me about her."

"I can't really add anything to what I've told you already. She was quite the most extraordinary person I've ever met. Completely cynical. She had no respect for anyone or anything. She didn't believe in God or retribution. She loathed mankind in general and the people of Fontwell in particular, and she considered everybody, past and present, beneath her. The only exception to that was Shakespeare. She thought Shakespeare was a towering genius." She fell silent.

"And you
liked
her?"

Sarah laughed. "I suppose I enjoyed the anarchy of it all. She put into words what most of us only think. I can't explain it any better than that. I always looked forward to seeing her."

"It must have been mutual or she wouldn't have left you her money."

Sarah didn't answer immediately. "I had no idea what she was planning." she said after a moment or two. She thrust a hand into her hair, fluffing it skyward. "It's come as a nasty shock. I feel I'm being manipulated and I don't like that."

He nodded. "According to Duggan, Mrs. Gillespie instructed the two executors to keep the whole thing secret." He examined the glowing tip of his cigarette. "The trouble is, we can't be sure that she herself didn't tell someone."

"If she had," said Sarah, "she would probably still be alive. Assuming she was murdered, of course."

"Meaning whoever killed her didn't know you were the beneficiary but thought they were?"

She nodded. "Something like that."

"Then it must have been the daughter or the granddaughter."

"It depends what was in the previous will. She may have made other bequests. People have been murdered for far tinier amounts than Joanna or Ruth were expecting to get."

"But that's assuming she was murdered for her money. It's also assuming that neither you nor anyone dependent on you murdered her."

"True," she said unemotionally.

"Did you murder her, Dr. Blakeney?"

"I wouldn't have done it that way, Sergeant. I would have taken my time." She gave a light chuckle. A little forced, he thought. "There was no hurry, after all. I've no outstanding debts and I certainly wouldn't want to link her death so closely to a will changed in my favour." She bent forward, clasping her hands between her knees. "And it would have looked very natural, too. Doctors have a built-in advantage when it comes to committing the perfect murder. A period of illness, followed by a gentle death. Nothing so dramatic or traumatic as slitting the wrists while wearing an instrument of torture."