Death of a Chancellor by David Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page A

service in South Africa. I have
hardly had time to reacquaint myself with my wife and children.’
    ‘I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long, Lord Powerscourt. Not a man of your abilities.’
    ‘Perhaps I could just ask one or two questions, Mrs Cockburn. Do you know the details of your brother’s will?’
    ‘I’m afraid I do not,’ said Augusta Cockburn vaguely. ‘Not exactly. It’s just possible that he left it in our house or at our solicitor’s, I’m not sure.
I believe my husband may have helped him with it, but George, Mr Cockburn, is away at present.’
    Augusta Cockburn was a much more accomplished liar than Andrew McKenna or Dr Blackstaff. Maybe the years with her deceitful husband had taught her something after all.
    ‘Did your brother ever give any indication about his intentions in his will?’ asked Powerscourt.
    ‘Not specifically, Lord Powerscourt, no. But he always said that my family would be well provided for. Sorry, I should have told you before. My brother was not married. There were no
children.’
    ‘And what do you think actually happened to your brother?’ asked Powerscourt, the investigator in him always fascinated by puzzles and mysteries.
    ‘That’s what I want you to find out, Lord Powerscourt.’
    ‘Do you think he was murdered?’
    Silence fell over the Powerscourt drawing room. It lasted quite a long time. Powerscourt waited for her reply.
    ‘He certainly could have been, Lord Powerscourt. I don’t think we can rule it out.’
    ‘He didn’t by any chance suffer from a debilitating illness? Something that could have disfigured his face?’
    ‘Not as far as I am aware, Lord Powerscourt. And I’m sure the doctor would have mentioned it if he had been.’
    ‘Very good, Mrs Cockburn, you have presented the facts of the affair very clearly.’ And not all of them completely truthfully, Powerscourt thought, but which part was fiction and
which the truth he did not yet know. He checked the address on her card. ‘If you can leave me until this afternoon, I will let you know then whether I can take the case on or not. I must
speak with my wife.’
    Two minutes after Augusta Cockburn’s departure Lady Lucy was back in the drawing room. She found her husband pacing up and down. She thought he was swearing under his breath.
    ‘Johnny and I used to do a lot of this walking up and down on that ship on the way home, Lucy. Helped to pass the time.’ Now it was her turn to wait until he was ready to speak. It
was a full five minutes before he sat down and told her the details of the death of John Eustace.
    ‘That poor woman, his sister,’ said Lady Lucy sadly.
    ‘You wouldn’t say poor woman if you spent any time with her. She’s bitter and twisted inside as though she had a corkscrew in her heart.’
    Lady Lucy winced. ‘What are you going to do, Francis? Are you going to take it on?’
    Powerscourt started walking up and down again. ‘I really don’t know. I’ve only just got home.’
    ‘Well, it’s not as if you’re going back to South Africa.’
    ‘Do you think I should do it, Lucy?’ said Powerscourt, stopping by his wife’s chair.
    ‘You know what I think about these things,’ said Lady Lucy very quietly, looking at her husband’s face. ‘Let’s suppose this poor clergyman was murdered. Somebody
else may get murdered after that. And then there may be more victims. I think you have to remember the number of people who may be left alive after you’ve finished, the ones who might have
been killed if you hadn’t come along.’
    Powerscourt smiled suddenly. ‘Lucy what were you just about to say earlier this morning when that woman was announced?’
    Lady Lucy blushed. Interior decoration didn’t seem quite so important now. ‘I was just going to suggest, only a suggestion, Francis, that we might . . .’ She paused briefly,
then her courage returned. ‘We might just redecorate this room. New sofas, new wallpaper, that sort of thing.’
    Powerscourt