Read The Riddle of the River Online
Authors: Catherine Shaw
The Riddle of the River (22 page)
‘Parent-Duchâtelet?’ he said. ‘You won’t find his research at Heffers. It hasn’t been translated into English at all. England has its own social researchers. You’ve read William Acton? I suggest you do – although, of course, being English, he is a moral crusader as Parent-Duchâtelet is not. Acton wants to cure the social phenomenon, Parent-Duchâtelet to
understand it. I agree that the French attitude is often preferable. However, you will have difficulty finding a copy of the book here. You would need to go over to the Continent.’
He blushed unexpectedly as he said these last words, turned his head slightly and uncontrollably as people do when they are specifically
not
supposed to look in a certain direction, then fixed his eyes firmly upon the region of my knees. My eyes followed his naturally, his expression and movement having led me to an unerring conviction that a copy could be found no farther than the room we were in, or at most, the room beyond. I was distracted, however, by the sight of something completely different: a pair of crutches, propped in a corner of the room near the desk. I stared at them, then looked back at him, down at his legs, which were so thin that the trousers appeared nearly empty. Could he stand, then, and even walk? My eyes guessed his height; standing, I thought, he would barely reach my forehead. Yet he was not helpless; those long arms were used to handling all the normal actions of his life…
He knew all about books, he could replace his brother with advice and counsel; surely he often went downstairs to the bookshop.
Had
he
, then, been the one to discover the secret of his brother’s love and imminent marriage? And determined to put a stop to it?
Ivy, in the bookshop, sitting in the armchair, writing a few words of passion before hurrying upstairs to press them secretly into her lover’s hand – the sharp tinkle of the opening door – the startled girl thrusting her letter down the side of the seat – the tap of crutches…the deformed figure entering,
mad with jealousy, in love with her, perhaps, himself, twisted with the repressed resentment of years, determined to annihilate his brother’s happiness…
I looked at the man sitting in front of me, and my eyes fell on the long fingers resting on his knees. The fingers of a strangler?
‘Thank you for your help,’ I gasped confusedly, rising from my chair. ‘I must go – I must go.’
‘Let me ring,’ he said courteously, rolling his chair over to the bell-pull.
‘Please don’t bother – I can let myself out,’ I cried, opening the door myself in my haste and fleeing down the stairs to the street with a feeling of desperate escape from an accursed presence. And I made my way, almost running, to the police station, and asked for Inspector Doherty, terrified of hearing that he was not available.
But he was in his office, and received me benignly.
‘Inspector,’ I said, ‘I know who killed Ivy Elliott now – it wasn’t old Mr Archer or his son Julian – it’s the other son, Philip! I’m sure of it!’
There was a long silence, during which I thought he was absorbing this piece of information with amazement, until I became aware that he was slowly shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Weatherburn,’ he said. ‘But we have already investigated both Julian and Philip Archer. You remember our previous discussion, in the course of which you advanced what I considered a rather unbalanced theory about the guilt of Julian Archer. You made some legitimate points, however, and we questioned both him and his brother about their alibis. They were together on the night of the murder. They are both well and truly out of it.’
I sat down in the hard wooden chair across from him, and slumped my elbows on the desk.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. ‘They are shielding each other.’
‘Mrs Weatherburn,’ he said patiently, ‘how many times do I have to tell you that these difficult cases are not for amateurs? The two Archer brothers were together for the entire evening and part of the night of the girl’s death, together with a friend and their manservant Simpson. Here, let me show you their statements directly; it will be simpler.’
He took out the usual folder, the sight of which by now recalled what appeared to be a series of dreary failures, and opening it to the end, extracted the latest documents.
‘Perhaps you should come and see me more often,’ he admonished me, ‘although, as you well know, I think you would do best to leave the case to me altogether. However, don’t think I’m forgetting the service you rendered me with the girl’s identification, not to speak of the interesting letter you found. I’m grateful for that, which is why I’m still sharing my information with you. Here you go: the sworn statements of the four witnesses.’
Mr Julian Archer: I did not feel like attending my father’s party, although he had kindly invited me to do so. Most of the people there were not really in my circle of friends. I preferred to stay home, and proposed to spend the evening with my brother and a friend or two. We dined at eight, and Mr Trevelyan came to join us after the meal. We spent the evening talking and playing music; both my brother and I play the piano, Philip much better than I, of course, and Trevelyan pipes on the flute. We also played several rather amusing parlour games, charades and so forth. We spent the
entire time upstairs in my brother’s rooms on the upper floor. My own rooms are on the lower floor, just over the shop. The flat is reserved for the manager of Heffers, but I am perfectly happy to share it with my brother. My brother walks with great difficulty, so that it is much more convenient for him to live in town. Simpson remained with us until a little before one o’clock in the morning, when we sent him to bed. Trevelyan left at about two. It was late, but we were having a most enjoyable time. Did we leave the sitting room at all? Well, naturally, over the course of several hours, we all must have left the room more than once, but not for more than a couple of minutes. I myself stepped down to my own rooms once or twice to fetch items for the charades or look up a word in the Philological Society dictionary; Philip only uses Richardson’s, whereas I find that the Philological is often more up-to-date. As far as I remember, neither Trevelyan nor my brother actually went downstairs, nor do I think Simpson needed to at any point. Beyond my brother’s sitting room is his bedroom, then Simpson’s bedroom, and the kitchen and bath; when Simpson was not in the room with us, he was over there. After Trevelyan left, I spent the rest of the night in my brother’s bedroom. I do that on occasion, because he sleeps very badly and sometimes needs help at night. Usually Simpson is within call, but we’d sent him to bed so late I thought it would be better not to disturb him. I myself need very little sleep. It doesn’t bother me at all to spend the night on the camp bed.
Mr Samuel Trevelyan: I spent the evening of the 21st of June at the flat of my friends Philip and Julian Archer, whom I have known since we were boys. Both Julian and I have
become quite busy lately with work, so that we don’t see each other as often as we used to. I was delighted at his suggestion that we spend an evening all three of us together. For obvious reasons, that could only be at Philip Archer’s rooms. We enjoyed ourselves a great deal; both brothers were in an excellent mood. I don’t remember anyone leaving the room for any significant amount of time. Well, Julian popped down to his room for charade things once or twice, but he was certainly never absent for more than five minutes. And Simpson was in and out all the time, with drinks and cigars and things, but I think he kept going through to the kitchen; I don’t remember him actually going downstairs for anything. As for Philip, I’m sure he didn’t go downstairs at all; it’s difficult for him, so I’d have noticed if he had.
Mr Philip Archer: I spent the entire evening in my rooms with my brother and a very good friend of ours, Sam Trevelyan. He did not leave until well after one o’clock. I did not look at the time, but it must have been closer to two, because we sent Simpson off to bed at about ten minutes before one, and Trevelyan stayed a good while after that. My brother had been sitting at the piano playing comic songs, but he stopped singing when Simpson went to bed, and then we played charades and word games. About going downstairs? Well, Simpson was in and out all the time, but as far as I remember he didn’t actually go downstairs for anything. Julian didn’t leave either; he just went to his room for a couple of minutes now and then to look up words, and to get things for our charades. We were all together for the entire evening. After Trevelyan left, my brother and I went on talking for a while, as I felt incapable of sleeping. I suffer
very seriously from insomnia, because of my enforced lack of activity, and painful backaches which prevent me from sleeping for many hours in the night, although I resist the use of laudanum, fearing to become weakened and dependent. Julian ended up spending the night in my room, as he does on occasion. I didn’t sleep until the sky became quite light, though Julian did.
Michael Simpson, manservant: All three gentlemen stayed upstairs from nine o’clock through until I went to bed a little before one. The whole time I was in and out of the sitting room, to the kitchen, to the dining room. As for the gentleman, Mr Julian Archer went in and out a few times; he also went downstairs. Mr Philip did not go downstairs; he generally needs assistance to use the stairs. When I wasn’t needed I sat in my own room till I was rung for. It’s the room adjoining Mr Philip Archer’s bedroom, looking out at the back. That way I can easily hear if Mr Philip needs me. As I said, I went to bed at about one o’clock, but I left my door ajar. I sleep lightly and am used to being called at night for Mr Philip’s needs; he doesn’t always call, but sometimes he needs his medicine. I vaguely heard the gentlemen going to bed about an hour after I did. Mr Julian stayed to sleep in the upstairs bedroom on his camp bed, but I left my door ajar as usual just in case. I believe I would have heard if anyone had risen and gone downstairs during the night. I am sure that nobody did so.
I perused these four statements carefully, then turned to the inspector.
‘Thank you for showing me these,’ I said. ‘I have something to show you, as well. Let us see what we can make of our
combined information.’ And I took the two letters out of my reticule and handed them to him.
‘These were written to Ivy Elliott and found by a friend of hers amongst her effects after her death,’ I told him. ‘I received them from her only today. It seems certain that the letter she wrote, that I found in Heffers, was addressed to the person who wrote these.’
‘I had that checked, by the way,’ he told me, ‘and you were right. The letter was undoubtedly written by Ivy Elliott.’
Taking up the letters, he turned them over and read them with the same attention I had devoted to his testimonies.
‘Who wrote these?’ he asked finally, after staring at the signature. ‘Do you know?’
‘I believe it was Julian Archer,’ I told him. ‘I’ve seen his writing and it is the same.’
He stared at me.
‘So what you are saying is that these letters tell us that Julian Archer was in love with his father’s mistress, and planning to marry her secretly on the very day after the murder. Well, Mrs Weatherburn, that sounds very like the theory you expounded last time you were here.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but then I suspected him of being entrapped into an undesirable marriage and wanting to get out of it. These letters make me feel differently. They are compellingly sincere; he needn’t have written them so, he
wouldn’t
– I think he
couldn’t
have written them so, if he didn’t really desire to marry her, even less if he were secretly planning to kill her.’
‘Perhaps,’ he mused, toying with the letters. ‘So how do you see things now?’
‘I think that Mr Philip Archer discovered his brother’s love
affair somehow, perhaps by reading his correspondence. He probably found out about the planned wedding.’
‘And so?’
‘Well,’ I went on thoughtfully, ‘suppose that Philip Archer is wildly jealous of his brother. Would it not be understandable, given his condition? Now, he rarely goes out, and probably has almost no contact with young women; imagine that he became acquainted with his father’s mistress and conceived a strong attraction for her. There is a book – well, anyway. What I mean is that in a man compelled to physical inactivity and used to repressing all overt signs of both physical and mental pain, jealousy on such a score could spill over into insanity. I’ve been asking myself why Julian and Ivy felt they had to keep their marriage entirely secret until it was a fait accompli. I understand that Julian felt his father might be angry, given that Ivy was his father’s mistress, after all, but my impression is that Mr Archer is very fond of Julian, and was not passionately in love with Ivy himself. Of course, he might have been very angry that his son should make such an incorrect marriage at all, but he has no power to disinherit him, and he could be just as angry after the marriage as before. But if Julian feared that his brother’s maniacal jealousy might destroy the wedding ceremony itself, I can understand his desire for secrecy better.’
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘jealousy may be a weak and entirely hypothetical motive, but it is admissible. Still, though, how do you think Philip Archer actually murdered the girl? Given that the statements say he never went downstairs, added to the problem we discussed in detail last time: how could he possibly have known that the girl was there?’
‘According to the witnesses,’ I said, ‘she must have arrived
in Petty Cury at about one o’clock. Now, up until almost that moment, Julian Archer was sitting at the piano playing comic songs. I’ve been in their sitting room; the grand piano is at the far end of the room from the window, so that precludes Julian Archer standing staring into the street watching for her to arrive, as I conjectured last time we talked. But it doesn’t preclude Philip’s having seen her through the window, either because he knew she was coming, or simply by coincidence. Mr Trevelyan noticed that both brothers were in a very good mood. For Julian, it would be understandable, given that he was going to be married to his beloved the very next day, but for Philip, such a mood might better express a state of manic overexcitement.’