Spider Light(92)

Antonia supposed that as nightmares went, this was about as bad as it could get. She stared miserably at the floor, but was still aware of Sergeant Blackburn impassively making a note. She thought Godfrey Toy turned to stare at her. She wondered if Oliver Remus was watching her with that cool dispassionate regard, so to counteract this, she said angrily, ‘You’d better all stay with Miss. I’m not entitled to the Doctor part any longer.’

Curran studied her thoughtfully, and then said, ‘Presumably you’re going back to Charity Cottage tonight?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘In that case, I’ll walk across the park with you. Blackburn, see if they’re still searching the grounds, will you? And check whether they’ve nearly finished downstairs while you’re about it. Dr Toy–Professor Remus–stay here for the moment, will you?’

‘Do we have a choice about that?’ said Oliver.

‘No, but you asked me to be courteous. I’m doing my best.’

‘Are you?’

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ said Curran, ignoring the sarcasm in the professor’s voice. ‘Miss Weston, shall we go?’



After they had gone, Godfrey demanded of Oliver what on earth that had been about.

‘You mean why was I rude to D. I. Curran?’

‘I don’t care if you insult the whole of Cheshire,’ said Godfrey, who would have been torn apart before he would have committed any kind of discourtesy himself. ‘I mean Antonia Weston. Is she a doctor?’

‘She was,’ said Oliver, refilling his brandy glass. ‘But she was struck off. Did you really not recognize her?’

‘I really did not. Will you stop being so melodramatic and mysterious, and tell me what’s going on.’

‘I can’t recall the details,’ said Oliver. ‘But I’m fairly sure Antonia Weston was convicted of murdering one of her patients.’

‘How? An overdose or something?’

‘No. She was a psychiatrist and there was a young man she was treating. He killed her brother, and she went for him with a knife or something like that. I told you, I don’t remember it all. I think there was a plea for self-defence and mitigating circumstances, but they still found her guilty.’

‘She was sent to gaol?’

‘Yes, I’m sure she was. The boy was her patient–that was what really damned her.’


Godfrey, still trying to absorb this bombshell, asked how long ago this had all taken place.

‘About five years.’ Oliver said it in a remote voice, and nothing in his tone so much as hinted that anything that had happened in that year was memorable because of Amy’s death. He said, ‘And if I was rude to the inspector, it was because I didn’t like some of the questions he was asking her.’

‘If there’s a murderer on the loose they’re bound to question everyone.’

‘Certainly they are. With particular attention to lone females who take holiday cottages in the middle of nowhere in November. But too many policemen suffer from extreme tunnel vision. They go hotfoot for the likeliest prime suspect.’

‘You think Antonia Weston would be their prime suspect?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘But look here, she wouldn’t kill Greg Foster,’ said Godfrey. He was so incensed he very nearly forgot about feeling ill at the memory of that poor young man’s body sprawled on the music-room floor. ‘She hardly knew him.’

‘I don’t think she killed him. But you can see why Curran might?’

‘Yes,’ said Godfrey unhappily. ‘Yes, I can.’



It was hard to believe Oliver’s story, but Godfrey knew he would not have made up such a tale. Antonia had been convicted of murdering a young man who had killed her brother, and had been sent to prison. Prison. Locked doors, barred windows and exercise yards.

Godfrey, hunting out his best silk pyjamas to wear tonight in case there was some new crisis that hauled them all out of bed, could not stop thinking about Antonia. He kept seeing the sudden smile that lit up her eyes, and remembered her quick bright intelligence and sensitive hands and voice. He found it impossible to believe she had actually killed someone. Doctors did not kill people–at least not intentionally.

But Godfrey knew it was not the possibility that Antonia really had committed a murder that would keep him awake tonight. It was the nightmare images about how life might have been for her in prison.



‘Sleep as well as you can, Miss Weston,’ said Inspector Curran standing outside the cottage. ‘I’ll just come inside with you to take a look around if that’s all right.’

He made a quick tour of the house, going into each room. Antonia, standing at the foot of the stairs, heard him opening the wardrobes, and she thought he drew back all the curtains.

He came down the stairs and smiled at her. ‘All serene,’ he said. ‘We’ll be around for a few hours yet.’

‘Then you do believe what I’ve told you?’ said Antonia. ‘About someone getting in? And the music and the hanging rope and all the rest of it?’

‘I don’t precisely disbelieve you,’ he said slowly. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’ He paused, and then said, ‘It was obvious that finding that boy’s body gave you a massive shock.’