She was pale but calm as she rustled forward in a black silk tea gown to acknowledge them. She briefly took Joe’s hand and nodded in an unfocused way to the other two. The slight hesitation in her greeting alerted Joe. The appearance of the odd threesome before her created problems. She was instinctively preparing to speak to Joe while dismissing the inferior officers to some suitably distant back quarter of the house but Joe swiftly introduced Armitage as ‘my colleague’ and Westhorpe hurried forward, hand outstretched. ‘We met at Lady Murchison’s ball three years ago, Mrs Jagow-Joliffe, though you won’t know me in my uniform, I’m sure. Mathilda Westhorpe. My father, General Westhorpe, sends his warm regards and, of course, his condolences.’
‘Well, you’d better all sit down and I’ll have tea brought,’ she said. Her clear voice just failed to be musical. Deep and resonant but with a slight edge of sharpness, it fell on Joe’s ear with the disturbing quality of an ancient bell developing a hairline crack. ‘You will take tea? China? Will you drink Lapsang Souchong?’
Armitage and Westhorpe nodded dubiously and Joe, sensing their reluctance, said cheerfully, ‘I’d much prefer Indian if that’s available. Acquired something of a taste for it when I was in Bengal.’
‘Certainly. Bring a pot of kitchen tea as well for the Commander, will you, Reid?’
Westhorpe earned her month’s pay in an hour that afternoon, Joe reckoned. Supremely at ease, she was everywhere, oiling the social wheels: ‘Do let me pour, Mrs Jagow-Joliffe. May I pass you a scone? What delicious honey! Off the estate? How delightful! Plum cake? William, I’m sure I can tempt you to a slice of plum cake?’
After a moment’s adjustment to the phenomenon of a girl of her own class appearing in the highly dubious guise of a police officer, Mrs Joliffe allowed herself to be seduced by Tilly’s impeccable manners, cheerful competence and – not least – by her smooth undertaking of the tea-table chores. After their improvised lunch, the take-up of the sweet things on offer was a minimal token though the excellent strong tea was welcome. Joe noticed that, with silent understanding, Tilly refilled Bill’s cup from the Indian pot.
The pleasantries exchanged, Joe turned to the formalities. He expressed his sorrow at her loss and, under close questioning, filled in the details of Dame Beatrice’s death. The old lady was grief-stricken but controlled, and he guessed that a quietly burning anger was glowing just beneath the surface and giving her the strength to get through the difficult interview.
‘So, you’re implying that my daughter was murdered and by someone who was known to her and not, as you first said on the telephone last night, by a burglar?’
‘I have an open mind at the present time, madam, whilst we explore every avenue. But, for various reasons, yes, we are inclined to think that such a frenzied attack is most likely to have been carried out by someone who knew her and had reason to resent her.’
‘But the family emeralds were stolen, you say? Have you any idea of their value, Commander? They were worth a very great deal of money. Motive enough to kill someone who has caught you in the act, I’d have thought?’
‘Indeed, madam, and I assure you I do not lose sight of that. Meanwhile, exploring all avenues, as I’m sure you would wish me to do, will you tell me if, amongst Dame Beatrice’s friends and family, there is anyone who bore a grudge against her? A grudge amounting to hatred?’
Mrs Jagow-Joliffe favoured him with a wintry smile. ‘Where to begin, Commander! I loved my daughter dearly but I have never been blind to the fact that she was the subject of much envy, much criticism. Many disapproved of the progress she made in throwing off the shackles of femininity. But I am prepared to cut your investigation short and put this nightmare behind us as soon as possible. A few hours before her death, Bea was involved in a blazing row with someone close to her. My daughter could be very insensitive . . . no, I’ll say it . . . vindictive and quarrelsome. I knew one day she’d go too far.’
She rang the bell, lost in thought. When the butler appeared, she spoke again. ‘Reid, take the Commander to Miss Blount’s rooms, would you? Audrey Blount. You’ll find Audrey Blount is the person you’re looking for. You may take her straight back to London with you if you wish.’
Chapter Eight
‘Audrey pursued my daughter to London yesterday afternoon, following a violent quarrel.’
‘A violent quarrel?’
‘I don’t think blows were exchanged, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. Not on this occasion, at any rate. Screaming and crying out, a little wrist-slapping and hair-pulling perhaps. It has happened before but there was something about my daughter’s determination to flee the field this time that made me think that finally she meant business. I heard her shouting at Audrey, telling her to pack her bags and that she didn’t expect to see her in residence when she returned.’