Harry frowned, but said nothing.
‘I think she intended to kill all three women, but had no real plan beyond Roz’s sunset execution. But she was clever, an improviser. When she caught sight of the race card she immediately saw an opportunity to kill the first of her sister’s tormenters. She might not have succeeded, actually. If Jake had been driving it’s possible that she wouldn’t have been travelling fast enough to kill herself, but poor Dawkins was much quicker, and so the poor chap met his end on a fast bend.’
‘Well, that explains Dawkins,’ Harry said. ‘What about Viktor? He had nothing to do with Katy’s death.’
‘No, Viktor was killed to protect Burkinshaw’s secret. I don’t suppose you remember that night after the race when we ladies went off to the library, do you? You joined us after quite a while, claiming you’d been looking for us everywhere.’
‘I remember it well enough.’
‘You finally learned where we were when Helen came into the drawing room looking for an old school photograph. Jake and the girls, all lithe-limbed and fresh-faced. Athletes flushed with victory.’
‘I remember some gawky girls in cricket togs,’ said Harry.
‘Your lack of a poetic soul notwithstanding,’ she said, ‘we are talking about the same photograph. Viktor saw something in it that none of us could see. Well, none of us except Armstrong. It was she who insisted that the whole thing might have something to do with the photograph. But Viktor most definitely recognized the girl standing between Roz and Helen. He had known the Burkinshaw girls when they were young. He knew the story of Katy’s suicide, and he knew exactly who her sister was. He thought he’d sent Rebecca here to spy for him, but he had no idea that she might have plans of her own until he realized that Jake, Helen, and Roz were Katy’s school friends.’
She passed Harry the photograph, and he examined it closely.
‘As soon as he saw the photograph, Viktor knew there was something up,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I suspect he confronted Rebecca and told her not to ruin his plans. All he wanted was a way to buy Fishy’s racing expertise – he had no idea what else he might have unleashed. We might never know exactly what passed between them, but she knew she had to silence him, or she would be undone before her plan was complete.’
She reached once more under her chair and produced the folded sheet of Codrington Hall notepaper.
‘I’m afraid I’ve been thoroughly naughty,’ she said. ‘I searched her room before the inspector got here. We can give him this later, but I thought you should all see it first.’
She showed them the note we had originally found in Herr Kovacs’s room, the one inviting him to his fateful meeting. The one signed ‘R B’.
‘I’m embarrassed to have to confess that we thought it might have been from you, Roz, dear,’ she said. ‘We knew of no other “R B”s at the time. We couldn’t say anything to anyone, because no sooner had we found the note than someone pinched it. Burkinshaw, as it turns out. It was shoved down inside the pocket of one of her dresses – she must have forgotten to destroy it.’
The note was passed round the table.
‘She invited him to the coach house – she knew by now that she could do whatever she wished in the coach house by dead of night, and no one would be any the wiser. He went down expecting to be able to take control of the situation, to get his own plans back on track. But she caved his skull in with a wrench instead.’
‘That’s Dawkins and Viktor, then,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘But what about poor Electra? Surely she can’t have worked anything out. The Dalmatians are clever girls, but . . .’
‘It was the sandwich,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘It was piccalilli – your favourite. It was meant for you. She put rat poison in the ham and piccalilli sandwich before it was brought out for lunch. It was a slight gamble, but since you’re one of the only living people who actually likes piccalilli, it was a gamble worth taking.’
‘Oh,’ she said. She put down the slice of pie she had been about to eat. ‘Oh,’ she said again.
‘I’m afraid this whole thing was about you three,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Rebecca Burkinshaw blamed you for her sister’s suicide and wanted her revenge.’
Mrs Beddows looked up from her plate for the first time since Lady Hardcastle had begun speaking. ‘She was right, though,’ she croaked. ‘It was my fault. I was a beast to Katy Burkinshaw. An absolute beast. I’ve been a beast ever since.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.’ She stood abruptly and left the room.
‘Go after her, Monty,’ said Lady Lavinia. ‘Don’t let her be on her own. Make her take the sedative Dr Edling left for her. She needs to sleep. She’ll feel better in the morning.’
Mr Waterford stood, too. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and he left by the same door.
‘What a bally awful mess,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe. ‘I’m grateful to you for explaining it all, Emily. I just wish it had never got this far. Perhaps we should retire. What do you say? Put this horror behind us, and start afresh in the morning. I’ll get Spinney to make us a round of nightcaps, and we’ll call it a day.’
Betty was still awake when I finally crawled up to bed.
‘I thought you’d never get here,’ she blurted as I opened the door. ‘You’ve got to tell me everything. Did the old trout say anything? Oh, I shouldn’t speak ill of her behind her back. Especially not after everything she’s been through. But she is a dreadful old trout. What happened? Did Lady Hardcastle explain everything? Do you know what really went on? Is that brandy? Might I have some?’
‘I think you might need it,’ I laughed.
I poured her a small measure in one of the tumblers I’d brought with me, and she sipped at it gratefully.
‘Mmm, that’s better,’ she said. ‘His lordship has better brandy than the trout. But don’t you be distracting me with gifts from the master’s cellars. Tell all.’
And so I did. As clearly and succinctly as I could, I recounted the events of dinner, including Lady Hardcastle’s explanations and finishing with Mrs Beddows’s tearful departure.
‘Oh,’ said Betty. ‘I feel awful now. Should I go back to her, do you think?’
‘I think you’ll both be better off if you don’t,’ I said. ‘This might have softened her a little, but that bit in the Bible about leopards and their spots isn’t just there to add a bit of exotic decoration. Deep down, she’s a spiky sort, and she needs a spiky maid to stand up to her. You and Miss Titmus couldn’t be more suited as employer and servant if you’d been handmade for her by Edna Fitzwilliam’s Bespoke Servant Manufacturers of Bolton.’
‘You do talk tosh, Flo,’ she said.
‘I do. It’s part of my charm. Now get to sleep, or we’ll be no use to anyone tomorrow.’