Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [49]
‘Did you sleep well, sir?’ she asked, a knowing smile upon her face. I muttered something approximating to ‘Good morning’, and floundered to the edge of the bed. The fact that the pyjamas that Simpson had laid out for me the night before were far too large did nothing to make me feel any easier.
Beryl just stood there watching me, the light streaming around her body like water around a curved stone in a brook. Her half-smile made me distinctly uneasy, as if she were waiting for something she knew was bound to happen. I dismissed her curtly, and as she left with a disappointed flounce I began to review the events of the previous day.
It all added up to a large zero: one body, a multitude of suspects and no obvious clues to point me towards a solution. All I could do was proceed slowly, feeling my way around the case and pretending that I knew what I was doing. My actions for the morning were pretty well set anyway: I had yet to question Miss Harries, Mrs Wallace… and the strangely distant Susan Seymour. Somehow I wished I could ask Baker to see her. Police questioning can often be mistaken for petty prying and I had no wish to be cast as the villain in her eyes. Quite the opposite. But it was my duty, and the opportunity to see her alone was something I looked forward to even as I dreaded it.
I suddenly remembered Dr Friedlander. Simpson’s revelations of his presence in the conservatory before his apparent arrival at the house could well form the start of a case against him. Fired with enthusiasm and the warmth of the tea, I washed and dressed.
On the way to the door, and I hoped a large breakfast, I paused by the window. The snow-covered fields and woods stretched out before me like a rumpled bedsheet, and I felt an urge to walk out of the front door and keep going. All my happiest memories were linked to that countryside – staying with my aunt, walking the hills and vales all day, and returning in the evening with aching feet and an easy mind. Walking had always helped me clear my thoughts. Whenever things got too much for me I returned to Three Sisters, and to peace.
With an effort I tore my gaze from the hidden paths and pushed it ahead of me to breakfast.
On my way through the hall I met Sergeant Baker heading in the opposite direction.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘On your way to breakfast?’
‘Yes, have you eaten?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir. My views on a good breakfast don’t seem to coincide with Sir George’s. I’m sure I can find something around, though.’
‘I’m sure you can, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Simpson told us about the Doctor and Herr Kreiner’s presence in the conservatory. I’d like to speak to him again, confront him with what we know. Can you get hold of him and tell him I want a word?’
I entered the dining room to find Simpson in the process of serving a young woman seated at the large table. She looked up with a smile of greeting which quickly changed to surprise.
‘This is Inspector Stratford, ma’am,’ murmured Simpson. Relief filled Catherine Harries’s face as I crossed the room and took her hand.
‘Miss Harries,’ I said, ‘I am sorry to make your acquaintance under such tragic circumstances.’ As I spoke I searched her face and wondered if her good looks had been reflected in her brother; and also found myself morbidly attempting to delineate the shape of her skull, muscles and tendons beneath her fair skin.
I sat down opposite her as she said, ‘I’m so pleased to see you, Inspector. Richard’s death has… has confused me so much. I feel much safer with you in the house.’
‘I’ll serve your breakfast now, sir,’ said Simpson.
I could not help being flattered by Miss Harries’s trust in me. ‘I’ll do my best to keep you safe,’ I said, not sure how to respond to her words.
‘Your kippers, sir,’ intoned Simpson, depositing a plate in front of me.
Breakfast seemed to be composed