‘Walter protested, of course – it went against everything he believed in, everything that was natural. But he wanted that child

– wanted it for me – and I honestly think he would have done anything. If he’d had longer to consider what he was doing he might have stuck to what he knew was right, but he had to act quickly and he made the wrong decision. I think the Captain was relying on the speed of the whole thing for his co-operation. Then when Aubrey and one of the others made it back to the surface unexpectedly, he pretended the system was blocked. In the end, only one man died, thank God, but it was the most important one –

Aubrey’s nephew and Elspeth’s father.’

‘But why did Arthur have to die? And what gave this man the right to decide what happened to his child?’

‘The law gave him the right. You see, Arthur had been having an affair with his wife. It had been going on for some time, while he was away and before Arthur signed up, and the Captain found out about it. I think he intercepted a letter that his wife had written to 224

Arthur – stupid, really: she must have known how they were all living in each other’s pockets. The trenches were never renowned for their privacy. But she had written to tell Arthur she was pregnant, and that was that – it sealed his fate, and I don’t know if he ever discovered he was going to be a father. Her fate, too, of course. Women had even fewer rights in those days than they do now, and the Captain wasn’t the sort to bring up another man’s child. As soon as the baby was born, he made his wife give her up.’

‘What happened to her? Elspeth’s mother, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. Walter never asked, and I don’t think Aubrey could have known either, or he’d have done something about it.

Apparently, when we first had Elspeth, Walter kept expecting her mother to turn up out of the blue but she never did. As the years went on, he assumed that the Captain had found a way to get rid of her – after all, someone who did what he did to Arthur was capable of anything. But he didn’t want to know. He had enough on his conscience.’

‘The man who orchestrated all this – the Captain – do you know his real name?’

‘Oh yes. After what he did to my husband, it’s hardly likely to be a name I’d forget. And anyway, he achieved a certain notoriety in his later years.’ She smiled bitterly and Penrose waited eagerly for her to continue, desperately hoping that what she said would make sense within the context of his investigation. His mind raced through several possibilities, but never in a million years could he have predicted Alice Simmons’s next words. ‘His name was Elliott Vintner,’ she said. ‘You probably know him as a novelist. These days, I think of him more as a murderer.’

Penrose was stunned, so much so that Fallowfield had to pick up the questioning. ‘Did Bernard Aubrey know all this, Mrs Simmons?’

‘Not immediately, no, but he wouldn’t let it rest. He was devastated by his nephew’s death, of course, and he nearly died himself, but there was no reason to think it was anything other than a tragic accident. He only became suspicious because of the state Walter was in – it just didn’t make sense that he should be so trau-225

matised. He’d always been a reliable soldier and he had a reputation for staying calm in the most terrible situations, but he fell apart after that incident. He became ill, and God knows what he must have said in his delirium, but it was enough for Aubrey to realise that something had gone on. When Walter got better, Aubrey begged him to tell the truth about Vintner; he was the only person who could testify, you see, and Aubrey was obsessed with getting justice for his sister’s son. He promised Walter absolution if he would only bring the real murderer to trial, but he refused.

There was too much at stake with the baby.’

‘But Aubrey didn’t give up.’

‘No, he never gave up, but Walter had made up his mind once and for all. It’s funny – he was never as deferential when he came back. I think our men were generally less inclined to take orders after they’d fought so hard, but for him it was personal; he’d taken one order too many. But Aubrey kept trying. He felt responsible, you see, and he’d promised his sister – Arthur’s mother – that he’d find out the truth.’

‘Did Aubrey ever try to get the baby back?’ Penrose asked, surprised that the fatal agreement had been allowed to stand.

‘No, I’ll give him that. He genuinely wanted what was best for Elspeth, and he put that before his hatred for Vintner. Arthur was gone and his mother wasn’t able to raise a child on her own – and he knew how much we loved her. She was happy with Walter and me, you know, in spite of everything. So Aubrey sent the money and the notes, but there was no more pressure than that. He had a deadly patience, Walter once said. In the end, they came to a sort of unspoken agreement: Aubrey wouldn’t disrupt Elspeth’s childhood by raking up the past before she was old enough to deal with it; and Walter would tell the truth about what happened when he felt the time was right. I don’t suppose he thought it would be on his deathbed, but that’s how it worked out.’

‘So Aubrey got what he wanted?’

‘Yes. Walter wrote it all down – it was one of the last things he did. He was so ill by then that I had to help him with it; perhaps that’s why he told me, but I prefer to think he did that because he 226

wanted to. Aubrey came to collect it, and he spoke to Walter. I don’t know what he said but afterwards it seemed that Walter was happy to die. Like he’d found some peace.’

The existence of such a document could well explain why someone had been willing to take the risk of entering Aubrey’s office on the night of his death, Penrose thought; its removal was vital to anyone wanting to protect Vintner’s reputation. He wondered how Josephine’s ordeal fitted into the pattern of events. ‘When did Walter die, Mrs Simmons?’ he asked.

‘In September last year. It was just after that trial, and of course Vintner committed suicide shortly after that. Everyone assumed it was because he lost in court, but it wasn’t that – it was something far deeper. He knew by then that he’d soon be back in the dock.

Vintner was stupid to bring that case with Aubrey on the other side, but he thought he was invincible. It was another way to taunt Aubrey for the past, but it backfired on him. He lost, and Aubrey took the opportunity to make it clear that it was only a matter of time before he’d lose far more. Vintner had no idea that Walter and Aubrey had been in contact, you see, but by then it was too late for him to do anything about it – Walter was beyond threats and Aubrey implied that the police had already been told.

So Vintner took the coward’s way out, but it was Aubrey’s taunt-ing that drove him to it.’

So Vintner had simply been using Josephine to get at Aubrey. All the anguish, all the remorse she had suffered after Vintner’s suicide was because she had been caught up in a deadly game between two men. No wonder Aubrey had been so loyal in his support for Josephine, but how could he have allowed her to assume responsibility for someone’s death when the blood was anywhere but on her hands? Penrose had watched as all the joy had been stripped from Josephine’s success. He had sat with her for hours, trying to convince her that she was not to blame for Vintner’s decision to take his own life – but nobody could tell you that you weren’t responsible for someone’s death; you had to feel it in your heart. If anyone understood that, he did.

‘I kidded myself that Vintner’s suicide would be the end of it,’

227

Alice Simmons continued, ‘but of course it wasn’t. Death wasn’t enough for Aubrey – at least not if it came at a time of Vintner’s choosing. Aubrey wanted his name linked to what he’d done, to expose him as a murderer rather than as some sort of broken man who deserved pity. His plan was to bring everything out in the open as soon as Elspeth turned eighteen. He’d put all the money from Richard of Bordeauxin a trust fund for her – I suppose he thought that was some sort of justice with all the trouble that had gone on. She would have come of age next month, but someone was obviously determined that should never happen.’