Whenever Harry was alone he continued to work on the outline plot for his novel.
He’d read over a hundred detective novels while he was working as deputy librarian at Lavenham, and he felt that some of the characters he’d come across in prison and in the army could provide material for a dozen novels: Max Lloyd, Sefton Jelks, Warden Swanson, Officer Hessler, Colonel Cleverdon, Captain Havens, Tom Bradshaw and Pat Quinn – especially Pat Quinn.
During the next few weeks, Harry became lost in his own world, but he had to admit that the way some of his visitors had spent the last five years had also turned out to be stranger than fiction.
When Emma’s sister Grace paid him a visit, Harry didn’t comment on the fact that she looked so much older than when he’d last seen her, but then she’d only been a schoolgirl at the time. Now Grace was in her final year at Cambridge and about to sit her exams. She told him with pride that for a couple of years she’d worked on a farm, not going back up to Cambridge until she was convinced the war was won.
It was with sadness that Harry learnt from Lady Barrington that her husband, Sir Walter, had passed away, a man Harry had admired second only to Old Jack.
His uncle Stan never visited him.
As the days went by, Harry thought about raising the subject of Emma’s father, but he sensed that even the mention of his name was off-limits.
And then one evening, after Harry’s doctor had told him that it wouldn’t be too long before they released him, Emma lay down next to him on the bed and told him that her father was dead.
When she came to the end of her story, Harry said, ‘You’ve never been good at dissembling, my darling, so perhaps the time has come to tell me why the whole family is so on edge.’
43
HARRY WOKE the next morning to find his mother, along with the whole Barrington family, seated around his bed.
The only absentees were Sebastian and his uncle Stan, neither of whom it was felt would have made a serious contribution.
‘The doctor has said you can go home,’ said Emma.
‘Great news,’ said Harry. ‘But where’s home? If it means going back to Still House Lane and living with Uncle Stan, I’d prefer to stay in hospital – even go back to prison.’ No one laughed.
‘I’m now living at Barrington Hall,’ said Giles, ‘so why don’t you move in with me? Heaven knows there are enough rooms.’
‘Including a library,’ said Emma. ‘So you’ll have no excuse not to continue working on your novel.’
‘And you can come and visit Emma and Sebastian whenever you want to,’ added Elizabeth Barrington.
Harry didn’t respond for some time.
‘You’re all being very kind,’ he eventually managed, ‘and please don’t think I’m not grateful, but I can’t believe it needed the whole family to decide where I’m going to live.’
‘There’s another reason we wanted to talk to you,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘and the family have asked me to speak on their behalf.’
Harry sat bolt upright, and gave Emma’s grandfather his full attention.
‘A serious issue has arisen concerning the future of the Barrington estate,’ began Lord Harvey. ‘The terms of Joshua Barrington’s will have turned out to be a legal nightmare, rivalled only by Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and could end up being just as financially crippling.’
‘But I have no interest in either the title or the estate,’ said Harry. ‘My only desire is to prove that Hugo Barrington was not my father, so I can marry Emma.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘However, complications have arisen that I must acquaint you with.’
‘Please do, sir, because I can’t see that there’s any problem.’
‘I’ll try to explain. Following Hugo’s untimely death, I advised Lady Barrington that as she had recently suffered two onerous demands for death duties, and remembering that I am over seventy, it might be wise for our two companies, Barrington’s and Harvey’s, to join forces. This, you understand, was at a time when we still believed you were dead. Therefore, it seemed that any dispute over who would inherit the title and the estate had, however unhappily, been resolved, making it possible for Giles to take his place as head of the family.’
‘And he still can, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Harry.
‘The problem is that other interested parties have become involved and the implications now go far beyond the people in this room. When Hugo was killed, I took over as chairman of the newly merged company, and asked Bill Lockwood to return as managing director. Without blowing my own trumpet, Barrington Harvey has paid its shareholders a handsome dividend for the past two years, despite Herr Hitler. Once we realized you were still alive, we took legal advice from Sir Danvers Barker KC, to be sure that we were not in breach of the terms of Joshua Barrington’s will.’
‘If only I’d opened that letter,’ said Maisie, almost to herself.
‘Sir Danvers assured us,’ continued Lord Harvey, ‘that as long as you renounce any claim to the title or the estate, we could continue trading as we had for the previous two years. And indeed, he drew up a document to that effect.’
‘If someone hands me a pen,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll happily sign it.’
‘I wish it were that easy,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘And it might have been if the Daily Express hadn’t picked up the story.’
‘I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,’ Emma interrupted, ‘because following the success of your book on both sides of the Atlantic, the press have become obsessed with finding out who will inherit the Barrington title – will it be Sir Harry or Sir Giles?’
‘There’s a cartoon in the News Chronicle this morning,’ said Giles, ‘of the two of us on horseback, jousting, with Emma sitting in the stands offering you her handkerchief, while the men in the crowd boo and the women cheer.’
‘What are they alluding to?’ asked Harry.
‘The nation is divided right down the middle,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘The men only seem interested in who’ll end up with the title and the estate, while the women all want to see Emma walking up the aisle a second time. In fact, between you, you’re keeping Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman off the front pages.’
‘But once I’ve signed the document renouncing any claim to the title or the estate, surely the public will lose interest and turn their attention to something else?’
‘This might well have been the case had the Garter King of Arms not become involved.’
‘And who’s he?’ asked Harry.
‘The King’s representative when it comes to deciding who is next in line for any title. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he simply sends letters patent to the next of kin. On the rare occasions when there’s a disagreement between two parties, he recommends that the matter be settled by a judge in chambers.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s come to that,’ said Harry.
‘I’m afraid it has. Lord Justice Shawcross ruled in favour of Giles’s claim, but only on the condition that once you were fully fit, you signed a disclaimer, waiving your rights to the title and the estate, while allowing the succession to progress from father to son.’
‘Well, I am fully fit now, so let’s make an appointment to see the judge and get this settled once and for all.’
‘I’d like nothing more,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘but I’m afraid the decision has been taken out of his hands.’
‘By who this time?’ asked Harry.
‘A Labour peer called Lord Preston,’ said Giles. ‘He picked up the story in the press and tabled a written question to the Home Secretary, asking him to make a ruling on which one of us was entitled to inherit the baronetcy. He then held a press conference, at which he claimed that I had no right to succeed to the title, because the real candidate was lying unconscious in a Bristol hospital, unable to put his case.’
‘Why would a Labour peer give a damn if it was me or Giles who inherited the title?’
‘When the press asked him the same question,’ said Lord Harvey, ??
?he told them if Giles inherited the title it would be a classic example of class prejudice, and that it was only fair that the docker’s son should be able to put forward his claim.’
‘But that defies logic,’ said Harry, ‘because if I am a docker’s son, then Giles would inherit the title anyway.’
‘Several people wrote to The Times making exactly that point,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘However, as we’re so close to a general election, the Home Secretary ducked the issue, and told his noble friend that he would refer the matter to the Lord Chancellor’s office. The Lord Chancellor passed it on to the Law Lords, and seven learned men took their time deliberating and came down by four votes to three. In favour of you, Harry.’
‘But this is madness. Why wasn’t I consulted?’
‘You were unconscious,’ Lord Harvey reminded him, ‘and in any case, they were debating a point of law, not your opinion, so the verdict will stand, unless it’s overturned on appeal in the House of Lords.’
Harry was speechless.
‘So as things stand,’ continued Lord Harvey, ‘you are now Sir Harry, and the major shareholder in Barrington Harvey, as well as owner of the Barrington estate and, to quote the original will, all that therein is.’
‘Then I’ll appeal against the Law Lords’ judgment, making it clear that I wish to renounce the title,’ said Harry firmly.
‘That’s the irony,’ said Giles, ‘you can’t. Only I can appeal against the verdict, but I have no intention of doing so unless I have your blessing.’
‘Of course you have my blessing,’ said Harry. ‘But I can think of a far easier solution.’
They all looked at him.
‘I could commit suicide.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Emma, sitting down on the bed beside him. ‘You’ve tried that twice, and look where it got you.’
44
EMMA BURST INTO the library clutching a letter. As she rarely interrupted Harry when he was writing, he knew it had to be important. He put down his pen.
‘Sorry, darling,’ she said as she pulled up a chair, ‘but I’ve just had some important news that I had to come across and share with you.’
Harry smiled at the woman he adored. Her idea of important could range from Seb pouring water over the cat, to ‘it’s the Lord Chancellor’s office on the phone and they need to speak to you urgently’. He leaned back in his chair and waited to see which category this would fall into.
‘I’ve just had a letter from Great-aunt Phyllis,’ she said.
‘Whom we all hold in such awe,’ teased Harry.
‘Don’t mock, child,’ said Emma. ‘She’s raised a point that may help us prove Papa wasn’t your father.’
Harry didn’t mock.
‘We know that your blood group and your mother’s are Rhesus negative,’ continued Emma. ‘If my father is Rhesus positive, he can’t be your father.’
‘We’ve discussed this on numerous occasions,’ Harry reminded her.
‘But if we were able to prove that my father’s blood group wasn’t the same as yours, we could get married. That is assuming you still want to marry me?’
‘Not this morning, my darling,’ said Harry, feigning boredom. ‘You see, I’m in the middle of committing a murder.’ He smiled. ‘In any case, we have no idea which blood type your father was, because despite considerable pressure from your mother and Sir Walter, he always refused to be tested. So perhaps you ought to write back, explaining that it will have to remain a mystery.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Emma, unbowed. ‘Because Great-aunt Phyllis has been following the case closely, and thinks she may have come up with a solution neither of us has considered.’
‘Picks up a copy of the Bristol Evening News from a newsstand on the corner of sixty-fourth street every morning, does she?’
‘No, but she does read The Times,’ said Emma, still unbowed, ‘even if it is a week out of date.’
‘And?’ said Harry, wanting to get on with his murder.
‘She says it’s now possible for scientists to identify blood groups long after the person has died.’
‘Thinking of employing Burke and Hare to exhume the body, are we, darling?’
‘No, I am not,’ said Emma, ‘but she also points out that when my father was killed, an artery was severed, so a great deal of blood would have been spilt on the carpet and the clothes he was wearing at the time.’
Harry stood up, walked across the room and picked up the phone.
‘Who are you calling?’ asked Emma.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Blakemore, who was in charge of the case. It may be a long shot, but I swear I’ll never mock you or your great-aunt Phyllis again.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke, Sir Harry?’
‘Not at all, chief inspector.’
Blakemore lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘Dreadful habit,’ he said. ‘I blame Sir Walter.’
‘Sir Walter?’ said Harry.
‘Raleigh, not Barrington, you understand.’
Harry laughed as he sat down in the chair opposite the detective.
‘So how can I help you, Sir Harry?’
‘I prefer Mr Clifton.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘I was hoping you might be able to supply me with some information concerning the death of Hugo Barrington.’
‘I’m afraid that will depend on whom I’m addressing, because I can have that conversation with Sir Harry Barrington, but not with Mr Harry Clifton.’
‘Why not with Mr Clifton?’
‘Because I can only discuss details of a case like this with a member of the family.’
‘Then on this occasion, I shall revert to being Sir Harry.’
‘So how can I help, Sir Harry?’
‘When Barrington was murdered—’
‘He was not murdered,’ said the chief inspector.
‘But the newspaper reports led me to believe—’
‘It is what the newspapers didn’t report that is significant. But to be fair, they were unable to study the crime scene. Had they done so,’ said Blakemore before Harry could ask his next question, ‘they would have spotted the angle at which the letter opener entered Sir Hugo’s neck and severed his artery.’
‘Why is that significant?’
‘When I examined the body, I noticed that the blade of the letter opener was pointing upwards, not down. If I wanted to murder someone,’ continued Blakemore, rising from his chair and picking up a ruler, ‘and I was taller and heavier than that person, I would raise my arm and strike down into his neck, like this. But if I was shorter and lighter than him, and, more important, if I was defending myself –’ Blakemore knelt down in front of Harry and looked up at him, pointing the ruler towards his neck – ‘that would explain the angle at which the blade entered Sir Hugo’s neck. It is even possible from that angle that he fell on to the blade, which led me to conclude that he was far more likely to have been killed in self-defence than murdered.’
Harry thought about the chief inspector’s words before he said, ‘You used the words “shorter and lighter”, chief inspector, and “defending myself”. Are you suggesting that a woman might have been responsible for Barrington’s death?’
‘You’d have made a first-class detective,’ said Blakemore.
‘And do you know who that woman is?’ asked Harry.
‘I have my suspicions,’ admitted Blakemore.
‘Then why haven’t you arrested her?’
‘Because it’s quite difficult to arrest someone who later throws herself under the London express.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Harry. ‘I never made any connection between those two incidents.’
‘Why should you? You weren’t even in England at the time.’
‘True, but after I was released from hospital I trawled through every newspaper that even mentioned Sir Hugo’s death. Did you ever find out who the lady was?’
‘No, the body was in no state to be identified. However, a colleague from S
cotland Yard who was investigating another case at the time informed me that Sir Hugo had been living with a woman in London for over a year, and she gave birth to a daughter not long after he returned to Bristol.’
‘Was that the child discovered in Barrington’s office?’
‘The same,’ said Blakemore.
‘And where is that child now?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Can you at least tell me the name of the woman Barrington was living with?’
‘No, I am not at liberty to do so,’ said Blakemore, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray full of butts. ‘However, it’s no secret that Sir Hugo employed a private detective who is now out of work and might be willing to talk, for a modest remuneration.’
‘The man with the limp,’ said Harry.
‘Derek Mitchell, a damn fine policeman, until he was invalided out of the force.’
‘But there’s one question Mitchell won’t be able to answer, which I suspect you can. You said the letter opener severed an artery, so there must have been a great deal of blood?’
‘There was indeed, sir,’ replied the chief inspector. ‘By the time I arrived, Sir Hugo was lying in a pool of blood.’
‘Do you have any idea what happened to the suit Sir Hugo was wearing at the time, or even the carpet?’
‘No, sir. Once a murder enquiry is closed, all the personal belongings of the deceased are returned to the next of kin. As for the carpet, it was still in the office when I’d completed my investigation.’
‘That’s very helpful, chief inspector. I’m most grateful.’
‘My pleasure, Sir Harry.’ Blakemore stood up and accompanied Harry to the door. ‘May I say how much I enjoyed The Diary of a Convict, and although I don’t normally deal in rumour, I’ve read that you might be writing a detective novel. After our chat today, I shall look forward to reading it.’
‘Would you consider looking at an early draft and giving me your professional opinion?’