“No use to him in the end though, was it?” I said.
“True enough. We’re all wondering what’s going to happen now.” He looked around before speaking again. “We don’t know if the whole kit and caboodle will go to Mrs. Van Horn, seeing as how she’s his only child. Or to Mr. Joseph as his business partner, or whether the fortune will be shared between all the family members. If it’s Mr. Joseph he may not even want to keep on this place. He doesn’t really like it here. He’s a city gent. He doesn’t even stay in the house most times—he sleeps out in the guest cottage where you are now.”
“And I have a good idea why,” I said. “He arrived unexpectedly a couple of nights ago and brought a woman with him.”
“That’s what we’ve heard.” The boy lowered his voice even though there was nobody within sight. “He and his wife don’t get along. He only married her for her money, of course. That’s what we hear. And she’s very religious and into charity work and he—well, let’s just say that he likes a bit of fun, if you know what I mean. They say he has a regular mistress—all set up in a house of her own and everything. But the master didn’t approve so I suppose Mr. Joseph kept her away from prying eyes in the guest cottage.” He laughed in disbelief. “He’s got a nerve, hasn’t he? The way rich folk carry on.”
“So tell me,” I said, steering the conversation back. “What did the servants have to say to Chief Prescott? Anything interesting?”
“Nothing much at all. He asked us whether Mr. Hannan was definitely expected last night and what orders he’d given to his staff. They all said that he sent them ahead and told them he’d got a spot of important business to take care of and he’d be coming up on a later train. The footman had brought the bags and had unpacked his master’s clothes—laid out his suit for dinner, so he was definitely expected by then.”
“But nobody saw him arrive?”
“That’s the funny thing, isn’t it?” The boy put his head on one side, like a sparrow. “House full of people—you’d think someone would have seen him. You’d think he might have said hello to his family before he went off walking in the dark.”
“It’s all very strange,” I agreed.
“You know what else was a bit strange,” he continued. “Mr. Parsons, he’s the head gardener. He said someone had been in the shed. Moved things around.”
“Ah, well, I think I can explain that,” I said. “Two people in fact. Mr. Hannan’s grandson Sam went out fishing early this morning and I gather the fishing tackle is kept in the shed, and also I was told that the master kept a bottle of whiskey and a glass in the shed, in case he wanted a tipple without anyone seeing him.”
“So that’s why nobody saw him.” He looked relieved now. “He went off for a quick drink in private.” Then a frown crossed his boyish features. “All the same, that don’t explain how he wandered the wrong way and went over a cliff, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said.
He lifted his shears again. “Ah, well, it’s no business of mine. I’d better get back to work. Mr. Parsons is a stickler about slacking off and I’m lucky to be one of the ones they keep on all winter. In the summer they take on five gardeners. In winter it’s just down to three.” And he went back to digging up dying plants.
I continued out of the gate and followed the road into town. As I passed the solid red brick colonial I glanced up and thought I saw a figure half hidden behind the drapes again. Someone in that house had nothing better to do than to sit and watch the road. I wondered if this observation continued after dark. If so the person might prove very useful to the police chief—but then he’d already decided that this was an accident caused by drunkenness, hadn’t he?
I went over this as I walked on. I’d been trying to form a picture of Brian Hannan in my head and what I’d heard didn’t add up. A man who was the clear head of the family, who could summon them, knowing they would all come. I’d gotten the impression they were all a little afraid of him. I’d heard how they had to be well dressed for him, how the staff were not allowed to slack off. And yet this man, the owner of the estate, a powerful politician and businessman, had apparently not wanted to face his family without taking a drink first. He had slunk off to a gazebo with a bottle he’d kept hidden away in a shed. That didn’t make sense. Surely a powerful, confident man like Brian Hannan would have said, “To hell with the lot of you. I’m going to take a drink in my own house.” He would have announced his arrival and expected his family to gather around him to pay their respects. The only reasons I could think of for this secret drink in the garden was that he was ashamed of his own weakness, or … He was meeting someone he didn’t want the family to know about. And my thoughts went to the man who had stood outside the gate and said, “Don’t tell him. I want to surprise him.”