The Ullswater Undertaking by Rebecca Tope (read dune .TXT) 📕

had turned to another of the letters. ‘Did we sell these to Hilda Armitage?’ he asked. ‘If so, they’re dynamite.’

‘Why would she buy them, when they’re addressed to her?’ Simmy asked. ‘She’d have had them all along.’

‘Ah!’ said Christopher, going pink. ‘Silly me.’

‘She wanted to sell them, actually,’ said Ben. ‘Oliver West told her they’d raise a fortune, with the provenance and so forth. But Richmond heard about it and tried to stop her.’

Simmy and Christopher could find nothing to say. The questions were tumbling over each other so fast that words couldn’t keep pace. She spluttered slightly, before waving at Ben to continue.

‘Then Richmond’s son Petrock got involved. Obviously it would be a great coup for his book if he could quote actual letters. He probably fancied the idea that he was Winston Churchill’s great-grandson.’

‘Wouldn’t anyone?’ said Christopher.

‘Listen,’ said Ben, holding Richmond’s letter, which seemed to run to several pages. ‘“There I was, caught between my mother and my son, both of them impatient to make the whole story public, and cast shame on the man they believed to be my father. I became obsessed with it myself, comparing my appearance with photographs of the Churchills. I insisted there should be a DNA test, but could find no way of doing it. I would need something from Randolph or one of his offspring, and that didn’t seem possible. Hilda refused to see me or speak to me – as if I was a mere detail in the story. If it hadn’t been for Josephine, I think I might well have murdered somebody myself.”’ He looked up. ‘As you see, it’s nowhere near as simple as you might think.’

‘I didn’t think it was simple,’ said Simmy, feeling very churned up. ‘The poor man.’

‘Where does Josephine come into it?’ asked Christopher, suddenly pale.

‘Aha!’ Ben sorted the pages of the letter, and selected another. ‘It’s all here. “She came to me, a year ago now, having realised what Oliver and Hilda were trying to do. Oliver was widely regarded as an expert in the authenticity of documents, and he stated with complete certainty that these letters had definitely been written by Randolph. Josephine knew Hilda, of course, and asked if she could have a look at them herself. Well, almost immediately she had doubts. The lack of an address struck her as very strange, for one thing. And the fact that there were no envelopes with them. She accused Hilda of forging them herself. Hilda denied it and begged her to keep quiet. What was there to gain from making trouble, she asked. And so much to lose. Josephine was torn – and then Hilda said she’d leave her the house if she promised not to rock the boat.”’

‘Blimey!’ said Christopher. ‘That’s a bribe and a half.’

‘So she did promise and did get the house,’ said Simmy. ‘Poor Richmond. He must have felt terribly let down.’

‘They were going to get married,’ said Ben, flourishing the letter. ‘And then he was going to find a way of doing the DNA test and the whole thing would be set right, publicly.’

‘Which wouldn’t matter once Hilda was dead,’ said Simmy. ‘And they probably knew that nobody was ever going to take much notice of Petrock’s book. It’s got far too many adjectives.’

‘It would matter to someone else, though,’ said Christopher slowly.

Ben looked at him and nodded. Perched in his chair at the end of the table, Robin gave a little squeal.

‘Oliver,’ said Simmy.

‘To save his reputation,’ said Christopher.

‘Shall I call Moxon now?’ said Ben.

They all went up to the Mortal Man in Troutbeck for lunch. ‘We can confirm the booking for our wedding breakfast at the same time,’ said Simmy.

Bonnie was with them, having closed the shop at twelve-thirty. ‘We owe you,’ said Simmy. ‘You’ve been a star.’

‘Will they have arrested him yet?’ asked the girl, after listening intently to three people all trying to bring her up to date.

‘Unlikely,’ said Christopher. ‘They’ll need to have a chat with Richmond, first.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Ben. ‘They can take him in for questioning at least.’

But nobody really cared. ‘Are we absolutely sure it wasn’t Petrock?’ Simmy worried, just before they got to the pub. ‘Hasn’t he got just as much of a motive?’

Ben laughed. ‘Surely I told you – he’s got a perfect alibi. He spent the whole of Saturday, Sunday and Monday at a writing conference in Aberdeen. There must be two hundred witnesses to vouch for him.’

‘How do you know that?’ Simmy wondered.

‘I googled him,’ said Ben, as if it was obvious. ‘There’s a list of people they call “attendees” which seems a weird word to use. Anyway, he attended it all right. I happen to know someone else on the list and I called to check.’

‘Who?’ asked Bonnie.

‘A student at Newcastle. She’s a writer – already got her first publishing contract. She was on a panel with Petrock.’

Simmy cheered. ‘Ben – you’re wasted on us. Honestly, I think you’ll be Prime Minister one day.’

‘What about Fabian?’ Christopher said later, when they were all seated round a table in the pub. ‘How much did he know about it all?’

‘I never met him,’ Ben reminded them. ‘But my guess is he was completely out of his depth. He never knew Oliver and had nothing to do with Richmond. Aunt Hilda had spurned him, and the cousins probably thought he was a nuisance and an embarrassment.’

‘And Josephine?’ said Simmy.

‘We might never know,’ said Ben. ‘But I can’t see that he had anything at all to do with her death. Nor Uncle Ambrose. But everyone else was right in it. Two factions – Oliver, Hilda and Petrock on one side, with Josephine and Richmond on the other. Fighting over the authenticity of those letters.’

‘You forgot Keith,’ said Simmy.

Ben waved this aside. ‘It all comes down to history, when you think about it,’ he went on. ‘Proper nuts and bolts, brass tacks history. I’ve been thinking that’s the sort of thing I want to focus on. The real stuff.