A Suitable Vengeance (Inspector Lynley, #4)(127)

“Then how do you explain the condition of the sitting room?”

“A blind,” Lynley said. “Something he could use to support his contention that Mick was murdered because of a story.”

“But that leaves the other two deaths unaccounted for,” St. James said. “It also puts Peter into jeopardy again. If Brooke didn’t fall to his death, someone pushed him, Tommy.”

“It always comes back to Brooke.”

“Which should tell us how likely it is that he’s responsible, no matter what other wrinkles we find in Mick’s relationships with anyone else.”

“The cove and the newspaper office, then.”

“I expect that’s where we’ll dig up the truth.”

They walked through the Tudor gatehouse and crossed the drive. In the garden they paused to greet Lady Asherton’s retriever who came running to meet them, a tennis ball between his jaws. Lynley wrested it from him, hurled it in the direction of the west courtyard, and watched as the dog went yelping joyfully on his way. As if in response to her retriever’s barking, the front door was pulled open, and Lady Asherton came out of the house.

“I’ve lunch waiting,” she said by way of greeting and continued to speak, this time only to Lynley. “Peter phoned. The Yard’s released him for now, but they want him to stay in London. He asked to go to Eaton Terrace. Was it all right to say that would be fine with you, Tommy? I wasn’t quite sure if you’d want him at your house.”

“It’s fine.”

“He sounded quite different from the way he’s talked in the past. I wondered if this time he’s prepared for a change. For good.”

“He is. Yes, I think so. And I am as well.” Lynley felt a moment’s trepidation. He looked at St. James and Deborah. “If you’ll give us a few minutes,” he said and was grateful for their immediate understanding. They went into the house.

“What is it, Tommy?” Lady Asherton asked. “Is there something you’ve not told me? Is there more about Peter?”

“I’m going to tell Penzance CID about him today,” Lynley said. His mother’s face blanched. “He didn’t kill Mick. You and I know that. But he was in the cottage after John’s visit there on Friday. And Mick was still alive. That’s the truth of the matter. The police need to know it.”

“Does Peter know…” She didn’t appear to be willing to complete the thought. He did it for her.

“That I intend to tell the police? Yes, he knows. But St. James and I think we’ll be able to clear his name today. He trusts us to do that.”

Lady Asherton forced a smile. “Then I shall trust you to do that as well.” She turned and began to go into the house.

“Mother.” Even now he didn’t know how much it might cost him to speak. Nearly sixteen years of his bitterness had created a minefield between them. To attempt to cross it called upon resources of character he wasn’t sure he possessed.

She had hesitated, her hand flat on the door to push it open. She was waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve made a mess out of Peter. Out of everything else as well.”

Her head cocked. A quizzical smile touched her lips. “You’ve made a mess of him?” she said. “Peter’s my son, Tommy. He’s my responsibility. Don’t take the blame when there isn’t any need.”

“He didn’t have a father. I could have been more to him. I chose not to be. I would have had to come home to spend time with Peter, but I couldn’t bear that, so I left him to himself.”

He saw that she understood the intention behind his words. She dropped her hand from the door and came back to the drive where he was standing. He looked above her to the Asherton coat of arms that was mounted high on the front wall of the house. He had never considered the heraldic device anything more than an amusing anachronism, but now he saw it as a declaration of strength. The hound and the lion facing off in combat, the hound overpowered but showing no fear.

“I knew you loved Roderick,” he said. “I saw that you loved him. I wanted to punish you.”

“But I loved you as well. What I felt for Roddy had nothing to do with you.”

“It wasn’t a question of thinking you didn’t love me. It was more an unwillingness to see you and forgive you for being what you were.”

“For wanting someone besides your father?”

“For giving in to the wanting while Father was alive. I couldn’t deal with that. I couldn’t stand what it meant.”

She looked beyond him, towards the Tudor gatehouse. “I gave in,” she said. “Yes. I did that. I wish I’d had the nobility or the courage or whatever it would have taken to send Roddy away when I first realised how much I did love him. But I didn’t possess whatever strength it would have taken to do that, Tommy. Other women probably do. But I was weak. I was needy. I asked myself how evil it could be if Roddy and I truly loved each other. How great a wrong were we committing if we turned a blind eye to social condemnation and acted on that love? I wanted him. To have him and still live with myself, I made neat compartments out of my life—children in one, your father in another, Roddy in a third—and I was a different person for each part. What I didn’t expect was that you would burst out of the section I’d reserved for you and see the person who wanted Roddy. I didn’t think you’d ever see me for what I was.”