The Quality of Mercy Page 22

  ‘One can’t know for certain but I think that on the day he died he was on his way to talk to Mountbatten – to beg him to leave the farmhouse as it was.’

  ‘Mountbatten never said anything about meeting him.’

  ‘I don’t think he did meet him. In fact, I don’t believe he had any idea that Gray wanted to remonstrate with him. I think Gray saw the activity below him, guessed Mountbatten was having one of his house parties and decided on the spur of the moment to beard him in his den and beg him not to spoil his view.’

  ‘On the spur of the moment? I think I remember you saying the note he made on the canvas was either an R or a squiggle or a . . .’

  ‘An M! Of course! It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. He was gearing himself up to go to Broadlands. That’s why he forgot his palette knife. He wasn’t intending to paint that day.’

  ‘So why did he take his paints and the picture?’

  ‘As a talisman? To focus on what he was in danger of losing? Who knows? Perhaps it was just automatic. He reached for his paintbox because he always took it with him to Tarn Hill.’

  Edward was silent. ‘Yes, I think you’ve cracked it. Are you going to tell Vera?’

  ‘I think I owe her that.’

  ‘And Lord Louis?’

  ‘What’s the point? If I’m right, it’s still not his fault.’

  ‘You know, old thing,’ Edward said, cheering up slightly, ‘it’s rather a relief to think that Gray wasn’t killed.’

  ‘Don’t call me “old thing”,’ Verity corrected him automatically. ‘Makes me feel like an armchair.’

  ‘Sorry, but Gray . . .’

  ‘The war damaged him and the influenza killed his wife.’

  ‘Yes, but . . . Well, do you think that perhaps Georg also died accidentally?’

  She furrowed her brow. ‘I’m beginning to think we’ll never be able to prove anything else.’

  ‘Let’s look at the facts,’ Edward said and Verity was glad to hear his voice lift. ‘There’s no question someone lured him down to the stables. He wouldn’t have gone there of his own volition. The lighter in the straw was a Camel and the first time I met Rose he gave me a Camel and lit it with his Camel lighter. I remember it vividly.’

  ‘But there are hundreds and hundreds of Camel cigarette lighters. They give them out to publicize the brand.’

  ‘Granted, but probably not round here.’

  ‘And Georg wanted to sell the Dürer through Rose.’

  ‘Or at least get it valued by him.’

  ‘And there’s no sign of it so we can assume Rose stole it, knowing he’d get away with it.’

  ‘If Georg was dead,’ Edward agreed. ‘He either found him dead and took the opportunity to steal the picture or he killed him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By exciting the horse – but how could he have done that? I can’t imagine he knows anything about horses. He’s not the type.’

  ‘Perhaps the pony – a stallion, overfed and skittish – was frightened by someone or something . . . by Georg and lashed out. Perhaps it was an accident. But you remember how I told you I’d found a clear print of a car or a motorbike tyre outside the barn on the far side of the stable yard?’

  ‘And one of the grooms told me he’d heard a motorbike when they went to get the stretcher for Sunita. Oh God, V!’ Edward said, rubbing his forehead. ‘I think I know who must have been riding that bike.’

  ‘Not . . .?’

  ‘Who else could it be?’

  ‘What’ll you do next?’ Verity asked anxiously.

  ‘I’ll have to ask him, won’t I?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I think we need to clear it up, don’t you?’

  ‘Let me alone! My husband is only in the next room.’ Ayesha’s eyes flashed and Mountbatten let go her hand.

  ‘I was only trying to say . . .’

  ‘It was all a mistake,’ she broke in. ‘I ought not to have allowed it.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it was all my fault!’ he said scornfully.

  ‘I’m not saying it was your fault, Dickie. I wanted you and . . .’

  ‘And I wanted you! I still want you, damn it. Forget about Sunny . . .’

  ‘Of course I can’t forget about him,’ she countered fiercely, managing to keep her voice low. ‘I love him. I ought not to have given way. He’d never forgive me.’

  ‘But why not?’ Mountbatten sounded puzzled. ‘You’ve done your duty. You’ve given him a son and a daughter almost as beautiful as her mother. Why should he mind you having a little fun?’

  ‘That’s what you call it, is it, fun?’ Her eyes were bright with contempt. ‘I was just a casual plaything? What would you call it? A bit of fluff? A bit on the side?’

  ‘No! Well, I . . . yes!’ he stuttered. ‘We want each other. What harm does it do as long as Sunny doesn’t know?’

  ‘Dickie! You’re quite without scruple. Of course it matters. Or rather it matters to me. And it would matter to Sunny. You may have different rules with Edwina but to Sunny . . . to us, it matters . . . being faithful. Can’t you understand?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Mountbatten hissed. ‘I want you, Ayesha, and I don’t understand why it’s suddenly all so different. I thought Sunita . . . I thought it was a golden opportunity . . . that’s why I insisted on you staying at Broadlands.’

  ‘Oh, Dickie! You really don’t understand, do you? You’re missing some cog we call conscience. To you Sunita’s accident was just an opportunity to have me at your mercy. No! Don’t touch me! It’s finished. Please, you must understand. I can never be alone with you again. I ought not to have . . .’

  Mountbatten looked at Ayesha with incomprehension and then disgust.

  ‘Go then! Go as quickly as you can and take your brood with you. I thought you cared for me but I see I was wrong.’

  ‘Dickie, please! Don’t let’s part as enemies. I’m grateful for what you did for us . . . for Sunita . . .’

  Mountbatten, without a backward glance, stormed out of the drawing-room. Sunny put his head round the door and said lightly, ‘All finished then, my love? Shall I tell the servants to get on with the packing?’

  Ayesha looked at her husband and saw that he knew exactly what had taken place but had trusted his wife to put an end to it.

  ‘I love you, Sunny. You know that I’ll always love you, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ he replied. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘I have to tell myself,’ she said quietly. But Sunny had already gone to tell the servants to prepare for their departure.

  They drove the by now familiar few miles to Broadlands and Edward parked the Lagonda by the stables. Of course there was no sign of Verity’s tyre print.

  ‘Look, there’s my friend Johnson,’ Edward said. ‘Hello there, we’re not burglars!’

  ‘No indeed, my lord. I’m glad to see you, sir.’ Johnson scratched his head with a muddy finger. ‘The fact is, when Jim and I were mucking out Button’s stable, we found something. It may be nothing but . . .’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Come into the tack room. I put it in a drawer.’

  ‘In a drawer! So it’s not very big?’

  The bridles, saddles, boots and the age-old scent of horse gave the tack room a character all of its own. Edward had hunted as a young man and it all came back to him now – crisp winter days riding across ploughed fields in pursuit of an elusive fox. He regretted that he had become so city-bound and decided there and then that, before war broke out and the shutters came down, he must have a summer and a winter of healthy exercise.

  ‘Here it is,’ Johnson said, taking an old biscuit tin out of a drawer and passing it to Edward. Cautiously, he prised open the lid and found inside the fragments of a small picture.

  ‘I’m afraid Button must have stepped on it. There’s nothing much left.’ Johnson sounded apologetic.

  ‘You were right to show it to me. I think these may be the remains of a drawing which belo
nged to the man who died.’ They were so badly damaged it was difficult to see precisely what they were and he passed the torn and muddied scraps to Verity.

  ‘Is it the Dürer sketch?’ she asked doubtfully.

  ‘I think it must be but only a scientist could tell us for sure.’ Edward sighed heavily. ‘We’ve allowed a priceless work of art, which could have thrown light on the working methods of a great master, to be destroyed. The world has lost something of great beauty from everything I’ve heard of it. I feel very much to blame. Well, at least we didn’t accuse Rose of stealing it. We would have looked perfect asses.’

  ‘I’m afraid I did,’ Verity confessed. ‘He said he would sue me if I repeated it.’

  Edward laughed. ‘Ah well, no harm done. I hope it gave him a jolt – he’s altogether too smooth for his own good.’

  ‘If the police had done their job properly, they would have searched through the straw and found it,’ Verity said censoriously. ‘I only hope Rose was right and it was a nineteenth-century copy.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Edward agreed. ‘I’ll take this, if I may, Johnson. Can you spare the tin? Perhaps the experts at the National Gallery can do something with it.’

  On their way to the house, they put their heads into the garage where Mountbatten stored his collection of motorcycles.

  ‘I must suggest he keeps this door locked. Some of these machines are worth a lot of money,’ Edward said.

  ‘I wonder if Mountbatten would let us borrow a couple of them. Do you remember when we rode those two Triumphs at Haling? I suddenly have a great desire to ride one of these beauties.’

  ‘I seem to remember, V, that I discovered – after the event – that you didn’t have a driving licence.’

  ‘Well, I do now.’

  Edward was not listening. He was examining the wheel of the Rudge. ‘It has certainly been ridden recently. Look at the mud on it.’

  ‘Well, let’s get on with it then.’

  It was with a heavy heart that Verity and Edward asked the butler if the Maharaja and Maharini were in the house.

  ‘They are taking tea with his lordship in the drawing-room,’ he informed them.

  Edward’s heart sank even further. It looked as though Lord Louis would have to be told.

  ‘Could you ask your master if he could spare us a minute, please?’

  They were shown into the drawing-room and greeted warmly by Sunny and Ayesha, though both seemed rather strained. Lord Louis introduced his wife. Edwina was standing by the window and looked as though she could not wait for her guests to leave but was polite enough to Verity and Edward.

  ‘Miss Browne,’ she said, with the clipped intonation of the aristocrat, ‘I am very glad to meet you. I read your reports in the newspaper. I admire you for doing a man’s job and doing it better than most men could.’

  Verity was surprised and pleased.

  ‘You think there will be war?’ Lady Louis asked without further small talk.

  ‘I am sure of it,’ she replied.

  ‘I know it is wrong to say this but I will not be so very sad. Dickie will be able to prove that his navy can defend us. I shall find war work of another kind.’

  Mountbatten said, half apologetically, ‘It will be like the last war in one respect – while the men are fighting, the women will have to take over on the home front.’

  ‘Not only on the home front . . .’ Lady Louis stopped herself and contemplated Edward. ‘I can see you have come with some news, Lord Edward.’

  ‘We shall leave you, now,’ Sunny said, rising from his armchair and addressing the Mountbattens. ‘I cannot tell you how grateful we are to you both for the way you have looked after us. We are departing in an hour or two, Edward. I was going to telephone you. Our stay here has been so much longer than we anticipated but our hosts have been very patient.’

  Sunny seemed relieved to be leaving, Edward thought, and he wondered if there had been some row or misunderstanding between the Mountbattens and their guests. Certainly, Ayesha and Mountbatten were making sure they did not catch each other’s eye.

  ‘Don’t go for a moment, Sunny,’ Edward said abruptly. ‘What I have to say concerns you.’

  ‘Concerns me?’ Sunny echoed.

  ‘And Harry. Is he outside?’

  ‘He’s at the stables, I believe,’ Ayesha said, looking a little alarmed.

  Mountbatten, obviously intrigued, asked if Edward wanted him summoned.

  ‘I think it would be for the best, if you don’t mind.’

  For ten minutes they tried to talk of other things. Lady Louis seemed genuinely interested in Verity who blossomed, as she always did, under sympathetic questioning. No one else said much.

  At last, Harry appeared looking rather dishevelled in riding boots and breeches.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ He scowled at the assembled company. ‘I’ve been riding,’ he added unnecessarily.

  ‘Yes, Harry,’ Sunny said. ‘Lord Edward apparently has something to say which concerns you. Are you clean enough to sit down without muddying the furniture?’

  Harry looked at Edward balefully and threw himself down on an upright chair.

  Verity thought he had a good idea of what was coming and felt almost sorry for him. It reminded her of being summoned to the headmistress’s study on one of the many occasions when she had been caught misbehaving.

  Sunny looked first at his son and then at Edward in consternation. ‘I say . . .’ he began.

  ‘Is it about the man who was killed in the stable?’ Harry interrupted.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ Edward answered.

  ‘It was a terrible accident. That’s what the police have concluded,’ Mountbatten said although there was a hesitation in his voice.

  ‘I think it was an accident,’ Edward began slowly, ‘but an unnecessary one. Georg Dreiser – the man who was killed when Button went wild in his stable,’ he added for Lady Louis’ benefit, ‘was a Jewish refugee. He came out of Austria with nothing of value except a small drawing which he believed was from Albrecht Dürer’s sketchbook.’

  ‘Dürer?’ She repeated in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, it was – or at least Georg and his parents thought it was – a preliminary sketch for a painting of a young girl which is now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. I have not seen the picture myself but from reproductions it is obviously a masterpiece.’

  ‘So the drawing was very valuable?’ Mountbatten asked.

  ‘Indeed. If it proved to be a genuine sketch by Dürer, it might have been worth many thousands of pounds.’

  ‘You think it wasn’t genuine?’ Lady Louis inquired.

  ‘I’m no expert. Stuart Rose thought it could have been a nineteenth-century copy.’

  ‘Stuart?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Louis. Rose was a guest here when Mr Dreiser was staying with my brother at Mersham Castle. Hearing of Rose’s reputation as an art expert, Dreiser brought the drawing with him to Broadlands on the day of the polo match.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Mountbatten barked.

  ‘Rose told me that Georg had shown it to him,’ Verity said.

  Mountbatten nodded his head for Edward to continue.

  ‘But what has this to do with Harry?’ Ayesha could not restrain herself from asking.

  ‘I shall tell you,’ Verity continued. ‘Rose and Dreiser had agreed to meet at the stables during the polo. Georg did not like horses but he guessed the stables would be deserted while everyone was watching the match. He knew he had something very valuable but he wanted to keep it secret until he had decided what to do with it. Rose presumably planned to talk to his friends in the art world and find out what the drawing was worth.’

  ‘Georg went to the stables after he had had a brief altercation with Herr Braken. Braken, or Putzi as he’s called,’ Edward explained to Lady Louis, ‘is a friend of Hitler from when he was a nobody . . .’

  ‘Hitler still is a nobody!’ Verity could not resist commenting.
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  ‘But now he has offended his master and is contemplating offering his services to the British Government or the Americans. Verity happened to overhear Putzi threatening Dreiser – telling him to stay away from Joan Miller.’

  Lady Louis raised her eyebrows. ‘They had both had affairs with her,’ Edward added, having no wish to go into any detail in Harry’s presence. ‘Georg’s reaction – predictably – was to seek out Joan and together they walked down to the stables talking of old times. Georg said he was lonely and asked Joan to resume their relationship. She refused.

  ‘Then they heard someone coming – or rather Joan smelled the cigarette Rose was smoking. She made off and Georg had his meeting with Rose. Rose examined the drawing and told Georg – this is according to Rose – that it was a nineteenth-century copy and nothing like as valuable as he imagined.

  ‘My first thought was that Rose killed Georg to get his hands on the drawing. Even a nineteenth-century copy would be worth something and, of course, if it turned out to be genuine . . . well, that was worth killing for. I was wrong. Johnson, one of the grooms, later came across the remains of the sketch – by now totally ruined – when he was mucking out Button’s stable. Here it is.’

  Edward opened the tin box and passed the contents to Mountbatten.

  ‘So why did Dreiser go into Button’s stable and what drove the pony so wild that he lashed out at him?’ Mountbatten asked.

  ‘That’s the question and I admit I was foxed until Verity reminded me that she had seen a tyre print in the stable yard and one of the grooms said he had heard the sound of a motorbike when they rushed back to get a stretcher for Sunita. Georg also heard it and, not wishing to be found there skulking, dodged into Button’s stable. He probably had no idea it was occupied until he closed the door. It would have been quite dark in the stable.’

  He stopped and turned to Harry whose sulkiness had given way, Edward thought, to a mixture of rage and fear. ‘Harry, I know you did not mean to cause Georg’s death but it was you, was it not, who rode the noisy Rudge into the stable yard and unsettled Button?’

  Harry remained mute. Sunny opened his mouth to say something but, before he could speak, Mountbatten barked an order.