Death on a Branch Line(59)

‘What was her name?’ I said, and the sharpness made Bobby Chandler take a step back.

‘That is not changing the subject of course,’ he said, ‘but I believe her name was Emma. The vicar here,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘was distinctly keen on her.’

‘Did either man conduct a …’

And the world stopped, and the sliver of moon winked down at me encouragingly, as I found the word ‘liaison’.

‘I think that possibly they both did,’ he said with a sigh, as though suddenly extremely bored.

‘Both at the same time?’ I said.

But he didn’t seem to hear. He had turned a little way away from me and, keeping half an eye on Lydia, began instructing the waiter about opening some more of the right kind of bottles.

The vicar, who was supposed to be such a great pal of the murdered man, would not be dismissed, would not be stood down from the ranks of suspects.

Bobby Chandler was still speaking to the manservant, having quite forgotten about the governess. Lydia was still speaking to Mrs Chandler, who was drinking hock, but Lydia had not re-filled her own glass; the first one seemed to have done the trick, and it had emboldened her to bring out her hobby horse, for she was speaking about one of her great heroines, Emmeline Pankhurst, until Mrs Chandler interrupted, saying:

‘I know Emmeline Pankhurst slightly.’

The wife was shocked at this, but tried not to show it.

‘Oh,’ the wife said, ‘and what does she say about the progress of the cause?’

‘Well, I don’t really speak to her about that.’

‘Really?’ said the wife. ‘That’s rather like knowing William Shakespeare and never mentioning his plays.’

‘But William Shakespeare is dead,’ said Milly Chandler, and the force of the last word made her stumble slightly.

‘I admire her daughter Sylvia very much,’ the wife was saying. ‘She works tirelessly for the poor in the East End.’

‘Yes, she’s very tedious,’ said Milly Chandler, and she eyed Lydia for a moment, looking to see her response to this. But she burst out laughing after a second in any case.

The small table seemed to have been replenished with red wine; there were also now walnuts, almonds, crystallised fruits in silver bowls, cigarettes and cigars in silver boxes. The manservant was at my elbow, and it seemed that he intended to take my glass away. Perhaps he’d noticed that I’d had enough. But as it turned out he only meant to give me a new one. ‘This is the ’98, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s a better vintage.’

‘Reckon so?’ I said.

Bobby Chandler was facing me again, and to test my theory about him, I said, ‘Where were you when you heard the news of the murder?’

‘India,’ he said, very simply. ‘We were visiting people we know out there.’

‘Where do you actually live?’ I asked him.

‘Well, here now,’ he said, ‘most of the time.’

‘But where were you before, exactly?’

‘Oh, London, you know. We’re not really country people.’

‘Ten to one your place in London is not as big as this,’ I said, gesturing up towards the Hall.

Chandler glanced thoughtfully up at the great house.

‘Perhaps not quite,’ he said. ‘But there’s a lot I don’t care for about this place. It has no cellar, for instance – well, it won’t do after tonight. John doesn’t drink, and my brother-in-law left very, very few decent bottles, so I thought we might as well drink them off so that we know where we stand, do you see?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, if there’s nothing left, there’s nothing left. It’s an extremely straightforward position.’

The Chief was at my elbow.

‘Will you step over here, lad?’



He took me by the arm, and moved me a little way to the side of the terrace. He held one of his small cigars. He was friendlier than before.

‘Lydia’s looking well,’ he said.

‘Good,’ I said, and then, after a pause, ‘Is it all in hand, sir?’

‘It is and it isn’t, lad.’

The Chief was normally as straight as they came, but now he looked and sounded shifty.

‘I came upon a fellow lying in the woods,’ I said. ‘I thought he must be …’

‘We can’t speak of it here,’ said the Chief – and he was eyeing Usher.

‘You had supper earlier on?’ I enquired, after an interval of silence.

‘Aye,’ said the Chief, and he almost smiled. ‘Roast quails … and it went from there.’

On the terrace, Usher was pacing and smoking.