Murder at the Ashmolean, page 20
‘Only from Inspector Grafton.’
‘But nothing you have discovered, apart from that?’
‘No,’ said Daniel.
‘What was your opinion of Mr Everett?’
‘I never met him,’ replied Daniel. ‘But, from what I’ve discovered about him, I’d say he was a crook. A forger, a blackmailer, a confidence trickster. By all accounts charming, but completely corrupt and absolutely not to be trusted.’
The two men fell silent as Jones once again wrote something in his notebook.
‘Is that it?’ asked Daniel. ‘Are we finished? If I’m not to be charged with anything, can I go?’
‘One last thing,’ said Smith. ‘At no time during this exchange have you made any mention of Miss Abigail Fenton. Why?’
Immediately, Daniel was alert, concerned about where this was leading.
‘You never asked me any questions in which she figured,’ he said.
‘We understand she is your partner in this investigation. And she also partnered you in previous investigations.’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘Where it needed someone with historical expertise. She has a first class degree in history from Girton College in Cambridge and is a well-known and highly respected archaeologist with an international reputation.’
‘What has been her role in this investigation?’
‘She uncovered the fact that Everett was having copies made of certain ancient artefacts, so he could sell the originals.’
‘Did she have any contact with Inspector Grafton?’ asked Jones.
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Absolutely none.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Abigail sat at the desk in the office at the Ashmolean, moving pieces of paper around, then moving them again to a different place, just to keep herself busy. Where was Daniel? How was he? Inspector Pitt had asked her not to go to the Kemp Hall police station, telling her that he’d be in touch to let her know what was going on if Daniel himself didn’t appear at the museum. She looked at the clock. Three o’clock and there’d been no sign of either Daniel or Inspector Pitt. After what Esther had told her about Josiah Goddard’s sister, she’d been bursting to find out more about the farm where Jenny Woodman and her husband lived, how far it was from the city, and how best to approach the Woodmans without causing Josiah Goddard to flee, if he was – as she was sure – hiding out there, but she hadn’t left the office for fear of Daniel arriving and her not being there to meet him.
She’d felt that going to Kemp Hall to inform Inspector Pitt about Jenny Woodman was valid, but she knew she’d only really be going because she was worried about Daniel. She knew she needed to tell Daniel about the Woodmans first. But where was he? Why hadn’t he been released? The horrible thought struck her that these people from Special Branch, or the War Office, or wherever they were from, might be taking Daniel back to London for further questioning. What would she do then? What could she do?
‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ said a voice from the doorway.
Daniel!
Abigail pushed herself out of the chair and flew at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug and kissing him hard on the mouth. He kissed her back and smiled.
‘You missed me then?’ he said.
‘When did they let you go?’ she asked.
‘About an hour ago.’
‘An hour ago!’ she exploded, furious. ‘I have been sitting here, worrying myself to death over you—’
‘That was the Secret War Office people, or whoever they were,’ said Daniel. ‘Inspector Pitt then brought in another doctor to examine my head before he let me go.’
‘And?’
‘No fracture. But he’s told me to be careful. So be gentle with me. No hitting me around the head.’
‘I’ve never hit you around the head,’ said Abigail indignantly.
‘No, but I thought I’d mention it just in case you were thinking of doing it.’
She hugged him tightly again. ‘Oh, my love. You could have been killed!’
‘Twice,’ he reminded her. ‘There was also Piers Stevens and his gun. And you might have been killed when that thug set on you. I never thought of Oxford as being such a dangerous place. Have you told Gladstone Marriott what’s happened?’
‘No, because Inspector Pitt said he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything.’
‘He told me you’d worked out what had happened. Grafton being shot. Me being attacked, and then arrested.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t know officially.’
‘So you’ve kept it to yourself.’
Abigail hesitated, then admitted, ‘Not completely.’
‘Oh?’
‘Esther was here.’
‘Esther!’ burst out Daniel. ‘You told a reporter!’
‘I did not,’ insisted Abigail. ‘I told her I’d heard something, all unconfirmed, but I swore her to secrecy.’
‘And you think she’ll keep to it?’
‘Yes, I do. And, more importantly, she gave us a lead on Josiah Goddard. It seems he’s got a sister called Jenny Woodman and she’s married to a farmer, and their farm is just outside Oxford. It’s just a guess, but I think he might have gone there.’
‘Yes, you could be right,’ said Daniel. ‘We need to take this to Inspector Pitt. We’ll need help in bringing Goddard in if he’s there, especially if his brother-in-law comes to his aid.’
A thought struck Abigail, and she asked, ‘Was it Lord Chessington who killed Inspector Grafton?’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel.
‘Has he been arrested?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘According to Inspector Pitt, his lordship found Grafton in his study, apparently burglarising it. Chessington had heard noises in the room and brought a gun with him. He has a fear of burglars. According to Chessington, the burglar – Grafton – was acting in an aggressive manner and reached into his pocket, and Chessington thought he was going to produce a weapon. At that point, Chessington says, he shot at Grafton to wound him. It was a single-shot pistol, hence he only fired once. He said Grafton pushed past him and ran for the front door. The police have agreed that Chessington acted in self-defence, so he won’t be charged.’
‘It might have been a different situation if he’d just been an ordinary householder,’ commented Abigail.
‘True,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But then, being a lord has major advantages.’
‘You can get away with shooting burglars, for one,’ said Abigail.
‘You can get away with a lot more than that, as I learnt during my time at Scotland Yard,’ said Daniel ruefully. ‘Now, we ought to go and see Marriott and bring him up to date, before we go and tell Inspector Pitt about Goddard’s possible hideaway.’
They found Gladstone Marriott in his office, studying a letter with a perplexed expression on his face. The puzzled expression remained as they entered.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘I was just about to bring this to you.’ He held out a sealed envelope to Daniel. It was addressed to ‘Daniel Wilson Esquire’.
‘It was in a note I received from Lord Chessington literally a moment ago, delivered by messenger, asking me to pass it on to you.’ He looked again at the letter in his hand. ‘His note to me says, “Please pass the enclosed to Mr Wilson. I wish to make amends for his dreadful suffering last night.”’ He looked at Daniel, still puzzled. ‘What dreadful suffering?’
Daniel explained, relating the story of the previous night. As he did so, Marriott’s expression became more and more horrified.
‘Lord Chessington shot and killed Inspector Grafton?!’ he said, shocked.
‘Yes, but that’s not to be passed on,’ said Daniel.
‘I wasn’t able to come and tell you earlier, Mr Marriott, because the police had ordered me not to tell anyone,’ said Abigail.
Marriott stared at them both, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing.
‘And you were kept in the police station all night and interrogated by these people from London?’ he said to Daniel.
‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘It was only after they were satisfied I had nothing to do with Grafton’s death that they let me go. And that was just an hour ago.’
‘And Lord Chessington?’ asked Marriott.
‘He’s not to be charged with anything,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s seen as he acted in self-defence.’
Marriott shook his head in bewilderment.
‘I never thought such a thing would ever happen in Oxford,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry for the suffering you endured.’
‘I’m afraid that sometimes goes with the job,’ said Daniel. ‘Sadly, Inspector Grafton had the worst of it.’
‘So, do you think his idea that Everett’s death was the work of the Boers …?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Everything we’ve uncovered points to it being connected to the waitress from the Quill Club who went missing, possibly murdered; or to the fraudulent ancient Egyptian plates Everett switched for the real ones, or the business of the possible Shakespeare play.’
Marriott let out a groan.
‘I really didn’t think it would turn out to be as bad as this,’ he said.
‘Let’s see what Lord Chessington is writing to me about,’ said Daniel as he opened the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. He read the few brief lines, then handed the letter to Abigail to read, and she in turn passed it on to Marriott for his perusal.
‘He’s invited you both to afternoon tea,’ said Marriott. ‘Today.’
‘It’s a bit late for tea,’ said Abigail, looking at the clock.
‘Any time is the right time for tea,’ said Marriott. ‘Especially in his lordship’s world.’
‘It will be interesting to hear what he has to say,’ said Daniel. ‘Especially on why he really shot Grafton.’
‘You don’t think the story of him thinking he was a burglar rings true?’ asked Abigail.
‘It still seems a bit of an extreme action to take,’ mused Daniel.
‘You said that Lord Chessington claimed he only intended to wound him,’ Abigail reminded him.
‘True, but I would expect his lordship to be a better shot. An arm or a leg is for wounding. Grafton was shot in the chest.’ He put the note back in the envelope and tucked it into his pocket.
‘It’s interesting that he’s invited both of you,’ observed Marriott. ‘Considering only Mr Wilson was involved in the events of last night.’
‘It suggests Lord Chessington has been making enquiries,’ mused Daniel.
‘Not to me,’ said Marriott.
There was a tap at the door and the figure of Hugh Thomas appeared. He stopped when he saw Daniel and Abigail.
‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I came to see Mr Marriott and I didn’t realise he was occupied. I’ll come back later.’
‘No, don’t go on our account, Mr Thomas,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, you’re the very person we need at the moment.’
‘I am?’ said Thomas, puzzled.
‘Along with Mr Marriott. Did either of you ever meet a man called Josiah Goddard? He took over the restoration work for the Ashmolean after Ephraim Wardle.’
Marriott frowned. ‘No, I can’t say that I did. And the name’s unfamiliar. Restoration work, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Josiah Goddard,’ said Thomas. ‘Yes. I did meet him.’ They looked at him and he enlarged. ‘I came into Mr Everett’s office for something, and a gentleman was in here with him. “Mr Thomas, this is Josiah Goddard,” said Everett. “He’s going to be doing some restoration work for us, so if you see him studying any of the exhibits and making drawings of them, that’s with my permission.” I remember being surprised that Ephraim Wardle was being replaced, because he’d always done an excellent job, but I thought that Mr Everett must’ve known what he was doing.’
‘Did you see Goddard again at the Ashmolean after that?’ asked Daniel.
‘Indeed, sir. Just as Mr Everett said, he was in here a few times making sketches.’ He frowned, thoughtfully, then added, ‘In fact, he was here the day Mr Everett died.’
Daniel and Abigail exchanged looks of startled surprise.
‘Here? In the museum?’ asked Abigail.
‘No, in the street outside the main entrance. It was just after we’d officially closed. As I left, I saw Mr Goddard outside by the main entrance, as if he was waiting for someone.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Half past five, the time I always leave.’
‘Did you tell Inspector Pitt this?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, sir,’ said Thomas. ‘There didn’t seem any need. He was just a person outside in the street. There were quite a few people outside in the street that day. It’s leaving time, after all.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
As Daniel and Abigail walked back to their office, Daniel said, ‘This latest information from Mr Thomas definitely points the finger of suspicion at Goddard.’
‘Shall we go and tell Inspector Pitt what we’ve learnt and get the farm raided?’
‘Later,’ said Daniel. ‘If he’s there, that’s where he’ll stay for a while because he knows he’s safe. First, we have this invitation to tea from Lord Chessington to attend to. Personally, I feel there are still some questions hanging over his lordship’s role in this matter.’
The last time I was here, I saw a man die, and I was beaten unconscious, thought Daniel as he and Abigail mounted the steps to Lord Chessington’s front door. Their tug at the bell pull was answered by a man in a butler’s uniform opening the door.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Daniel. ‘Daniel Wilson and Abigail Fenton for Lord Chessington.’
‘Yes, sir. His lordship is expecting you. If you’ll follow me.’
He led the way along a passageway, and a man appeared from one of the rooms. He was in his fifties, stout and balding, and formally dressed in striped trousers and a morning jacket over a starched white shirt, enlivened by a red and blue cravat. He smiled as he saw them.
‘Ah, my guests!’ he said, holding out his hand and shaking theirs. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ He turned to the butler. ‘William, tell Mrs Brent we’ll take tea in the conservatory.’
‘Yes, m’lord.’
William departed, and Daniel and Abigail followed Lord Chessington along the passage and then through a door into a large conservatory where different varieties of roses were growing in colourful profusion. Chessington took a deep breath as he gestured them to comfortable armchairs.
‘I love the scent of roses,’ he said. ‘So heady!’
As they all seated themselves, Chessington said apologetically, ‘Originally I had only intended to invite Mr Wilson in an attempt to make amends for the dreadful suffering he experienced at the hands of my people, but when I learnt that he was here in partnership with you, Miss Fenton, I couldn’t resist the temerity to invite you as well. I have long been an admirer of your archaeological work, especially your explorations at Giza.’
‘My work at Giza was simply following in the footsteps of others: de Maillet, Greaves, Pococke and Norden, and especially Nathaniel Davison, who was the first to enter the chambers above the King’s chamber in Khufu’s pyramid.’
‘Yes, but you were there!’ enthused Chessington. ‘Inside those pyramids! Uncovering antiquities that had lain undiscovered for thousands of years!’ He sat back, shaking his head in open admiration. ‘How I envy you, Miss Fenton! To have actually touched the final resting places of the gods.’
‘In their view, and that of their people, they were gods, but our excavations showed their very human aspect.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, for example, at Meidum, in the chapels of Nefermaat’s mastaba, the figures of the people represented were cut deeply into the stone, and these deep cuts filled with coloured paste. Previously, the colouring had been done on the surface, but it’s as if Sneferu was aware that time would make these images vanish. By etching them into the stone he made sure the images lasted. As a god, he wouldn’t have needed to take this step because he would have felt assured that they would be there for all eternity. As a human king, he needed to make sure the images would last.’
‘Fascinating, and truly wonderful!’ said Chessington. ‘And to hear these names spoken by someone who has been where these kings and their families actually were: Sneferu! Nefermaat! Khufu!’
Suddenly he looked apologetically at Daniel.
‘Mr Wilson, my apologies. I was lost in listening to Miss Fenton and had almost forgotten my reason for inviting you. I cannot express enough how sorry I am for what happened to you.’
There was a discreet cough from the open door of the conservatory, then the woman Daniel had seen talking to Grafton the previous day entered bearing a tray with tea pots, cups and saucers. Behind her came the butler, William, carrying a second tray, this one with plates and displays of biscuits and cakes.
‘Shall we serve, sir?’ asked William.
‘Do!’ said Chessington. To Daniel and Abigail, he added, ‘Just tell them how you’d like it. Milk or no milk. Sugar or no sugar. And do help yourself to some fancies.’
After they’d been served, and the servants had left, Chessington continued with, ‘I had a visit from Superintendent Clare explaining the sequence of events. He said that the man I mistook for a burglar was actually a detective inspector from Special Branch at Scotland Yard in London.’
‘Yes, sir. That’s my understanding,’ said Daniel.
‘But what on earth was he doing in my house?’
‘That’s what I hoped to find out, your lordship. That’s why I’d followed him.’
‘And you saw him break in?’
‘I didn’t actually see him break in. I saw him disappear round the back of your house, and assumed he was planning to gain entry. My intention was to confront him when he came out and ask what he was looking for, in case it gave us an insight into our enquiry into Gavin Everett’s death. I don’t know if Superintendent Clare mentioned it, but the Ashmolean has hired us to look into why Everett died.’
