Roots of Evil(10)

‘Deborah Fane’s funeral? I could give you a lift to the house.’ He was thin-faced with dark brown hair and expressive eyes and hands.

‘Could you? I mean, are you going there anyway?’

‘I wasn’t especially going, but I can take you. I know where the house is. My car’s parked in the lane over there.’

Lucy had no idea who he was, but he had a nice voice. He was probably somebody local; a teacher from the local school or one of the village’s doctors.

‘Funerals are always harrowing, aren’t they?’ said her companion as they drove off. ‘Even for the elderly, and especially when they hand you all that ghastliness about resurrection and only having gone into another room to await friends.’

This was so precisely in tune with Lucy’s own sentiments that she said, without thinking, ‘And that panacea they always offer about, not dead, merely sleeping. That’s quite grisly if you interpret it literally. Um – I’m Lucy Trent, by the way. Deborah Fane was my aunt.’

‘Do you read Edgar Allen Poe by any chance, Ms Trent?’

Lucy smiled involuntarily. ‘Today I wanted to read a modern poem about a lovely dotty old lady who got a kick out of being old and dotty.’

‘Was it called Warning by any chance?’

‘Yes, it was! Aunt Deborah would have adored it, but my cousin Edmund thought it wasn’t suitable.’

‘I met your aunt a few times,’ he said. ‘And I think you’re right that she’d have liked the poem. Oh – I’m Michael Sallis. I’m from a Charity called CHARTH. Charity for Rehabilitating Teenagers made Homeless, if you want the whole thing. We pick them up off the streets, dust them down, teach them a few basic social skills, and then turn them loose again, mostly on a wing and a prayer. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.’

‘Was CHARTH one of Aunt Deb’s pet charities? I know she had a couple of particular favourites. She used to do quite a lot of voluntary work.’

‘I don’t know about voluntary work,’ said Michael Sallis. ‘But she left her house to us. That’s why I wanted to come to her funeral. As a courtesy.’ He clearly sensed her shock, and took his eyes off the road for long enough to look at her. ‘Didn’t you know about the house? I assumed you would.’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Lucy, staring at him. ‘And I’ve got a feeling my cousin Edmund didn’t, either.’



Edmund certainly had not known, and he was very much inclined to question this stranger, this Michael Sallis who had turned up, cool as a cat, and who appeared to consider himself Deborah Fane’s main beneficiary. Well, all right, not himself precisely, but his company or charity, or whatever it called itself.

But people did not blithely make over their entire properties to tinpot charities, ignoring their own families, and Deborah Fane would certainly not have done so. CHARTH, for goodness’ sake! An outlandish name for a charity if ever Edmund had heard one. What did it stand for? Was it properly registered? He, Edmund, had never heard of it, and it would not surprise him to find that this Michael Sallis was nothing but an adventurer. It would not surprise him to find that there had been undue pressure, either. This would have to be looked into very carefully.

Still, the conventions had to be observed, and Edmund beat down his anger and took Sallis into the small downstairs study. The subdued murmur of the funeral party was still going on across the hall; it was infuriating to remember that he ought to be out there, handing round drinks, talking to people, gracefully accepting sympathy. Being admired for his control and his efficiency at such a time.

Michael Sallis said, ‘I’m extremely sorry about your aunt’s death, Mr Fane. I only knew her slightly but I liked her very much. As a matter of fact I spoke to her on the phone only a few days before she died.’

‘About the homeless teenagers?’

Michael Sallis took that one straight. ‘Yes. She was very interested in CHARTH’s work. I only meant to attend the service today, though. But then your cousin Lucy missed her lift outside the church, so I drove her here and she asked me to come in for a drink.’

So it was ‘Lucy’, was it! And on five minutes’ acquaintance! Edmund said coldly, ‘I suppose this bequest is all in order?’

Michael Sallis’s cool grey eyes met Edmund’s angry blue ones. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Perfectly in order. But this is hardly the time to discuss the legalities, is it?’

And now the man was putting Edmund in the wrong, and on Edmund’s own terrain as well! Arrogance, you see!

‘Quite,’ said Edmund, and added offhandedly that he dared say there was no objection to his having given out some pieces of his aunt’s jewellery to various members of the family. Only a few trinkets, really.

‘I suppose that strictly speaking there ought to be a probate inventory before anything’s actually taken,’ said Michael Sallis. ‘But that’s your terrain, more than mine. I do know that it’s only the bricks and mortar that are left to us, though.’

Well, of course Edmund knew there should be a probate inventory, but he had not bothered to get one because he had assumed everything was coming to him. But he could not actually say this, so he merely said, frostily, that if Sallis would leave a card, they could be in touch in the next week or so. After probate was obtained.