The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) by Clara Benson Page B
Authors: Clara Benson
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serious, I hope?’ said Angela.
‘Oh, no, nothing that a little bed-rest won’t cure,’ he replied. ‘I don’t suppose Chris told you, but he came abroad to recover from what I suppose one might call a nervous illness.’
‘Oh?’ said Elsa in concern. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes,’ said Francis. ‘We’ve been friends since childhood, you know, and he was always pretty highly strung even as a boy, but he had a complete nervous collapse a few months ago, poor fellow, and his parents sent him out here for some sunshine and warm weather, with me to look after him. He’d been doing very well, but he went out this morning and came back upset about something or other, and then the thunderstorm this afternoon set off one of his headaches, and after that we heard the news about Mr. Sheridan, which I don’t suppose helped either. I dare say he’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, though.’
‘How did Mr. Lomax take the news?’ said Angela. ‘I understand he was a close friend of Mr. Sheridan’s.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Francis. ‘Truth to tell I don’t even know whether he’s heard, as when the rain started we had to stop work, of course. He went off somewhere and I haven’t seen him since. I expect he’ll be pretty cut up about it when he finds out.’
‘I should imagine that he more than anyone will know about Mr. Sheridan’s state of mind before he died,’ said Elsa. ‘It doesn’t look as though there was a note, you see.’
‘Is that so?’ said Francis. ‘Well, then, I think you’re probably right. As a matter of fact, I do seem to remember his saying something about dropping in on Sheridan on his way home last night, after our attempts to paint the sunset were so rudely interrupted by the rain. Perhaps he noticed something then.’
Angela nodded but was only half-listening, for she had just spotted Edgar Valencourt standing in the garden in close conference with the woman who called herself La Duchessa. Out of the corner of her eye Angela watched as La Duchessa appeared to discourse at length, with many gesticulations. Valencourt glanced around and then replied. As far as Angela could tell, he seemed to be suggesting that he and the woman go somewhere less public to continue their conversation. La Duchessa smiled the smile of a woman who was very pleased with herself indeed, then took his arm and they walked away until they were quite out of sight.
After that little scene she might have wasted the rest of the evening in useless speculation, but fortunately for her Jack Lomax just then turned up. His jaw was set even more firmly than usual and he seemed even less likely than usual to talk unless forced to, but it was evident from the haunted look in his eye and the sympathetic clucks of Mr. Morandi, who was with him, that he had heard the news.
‘I saw him yesterday evening,’ he said at length, after some gentle pressing, ‘and he was perfectly well then—physically, at least.’
He seemed inclined to sink back into his own thoughts, but Mr. Morandi said:
‘But what of his mental state? Did he give you any idea that he was planning something of this kind?’
‘No, none at all,’ said Lomax, then swallowed and reddened. Angela had never seen such a poor attempt at a lie. Lomax evidently realized it himself, for he went on, ‘Well, not suicide at any rate.’
‘Do you mean he was depressed about something?’ said Elsa.
Lomax hesitated.
‘Don’t like to talk about a man when he’s not here to talk for himself,’ he said.
‘But you are the only person who can help him talk for himself,’ said Angela, ‘since you may have been the last person to see him alive.’
‘Hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Lomax. He looked remarkably uncomfortable. ‘He was depressed,’ he said at last after a pause. ‘He and Virginia had a row—I don’t know what about—and that’s why she went home to England.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Elsa. ‘Do you mean she’d
‘Oh, no, nothing that a little bed-rest won’t cure,’ he replied. ‘I don’t suppose Chris told you, but he came abroad to recover from what I suppose one might call a nervous illness.’
‘Oh?’ said Elsa in concern. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes,’ said Francis. ‘We’ve been friends since childhood, you know, and he was always pretty highly strung even as a boy, but he had a complete nervous collapse a few months ago, poor fellow, and his parents sent him out here for some sunshine and warm weather, with me to look after him. He’d been doing very well, but he went out this morning and came back upset about something or other, and then the thunderstorm this afternoon set off one of his headaches, and after that we heard the news about Mr. Sheridan, which I don’t suppose helped either. I dare say he’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, though.’
‘How did Mr. Lomax take the news?’ said Angela. ‘I understand he was a close friend of Mr. Sheridan’s.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Francis. ‘Truth to tell I don’t even know whether he’s heard, as when the rain started we had to stop work, of course. He went off somewhere and I haven’t seen him since. I expect he’ll be pretty cut up about it when he finds out.’
‘I should imagine that he more than anyone will know about Mr. Sheridan’s state of mind before he died,’ said Elsa. ‘It doesn’t look as though there was a note, you see.’
‘Is that so?’ said Francis. ‘Well, then, I think you’re probably right. As a matter of fact, I do seem to remember his saying something about dropping in on Sheridan on his way home last night, after our attempts to paint the sunset were so rudely interrupted by the rain. Perhaps he noticed something then.’
Angela nodded but was only half-listening, for she had just spotted Edgar Valencourt standing in the garden in close conference with the woman who called herself La Duchessa. Out of the corner of her eye Angela watched as La Duchessa appeared to discourse at length, with many gesticulations. Valencourt glanced around and then replied. As far as Angela could tell, he seemed to be suggesting that he and the woman go somewhere less public to continue their conversation. La Duchessa smiled the smile of a woman who was very pleased with herself indeed, then took his arm and they walked away until they were quite out of sight.
After that little scene she might have wasted the rest of the evening in useless speculation, but fortunately for her Jack Lomax just then turned up. His jaw was set even more firmly than usual and he seemed even less likely than usual to talk unless forced to, but it was evident from the haunted look in his eye and the sympathetic clucks of Mr. Morandi, who was with him, that he had heard the news.
‘I saw him yesterday evening,’ he said at length, after some gentle pressing, ‘and he was perfectly well then—physically, at least.’
He seemed inclined to sink back into his own thoughts, but Mr. Morandi said:
‘But what of his mental state? Did he give you any idea that he was planning something of this kind?’
‘No, none at all,’ said Lomax, then swallowed and reddened. Angela had never seen such a poor attempt at a lie. Lomax evidently realized it himself, for he went on, ‘Well, not suicide at any rate.’
‘Do you mean he was depressed about something?’ said Elsa.
Lomax hesitated.
‘Don’t like to talk about a man when he’s not here to talk for himself,’ he said.
‘But you are the only person who can help him talk for himself,’ said Angela, ‘since you may have been the last person to see him alive.’
‘Hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Lomax. He looked remarkably uncomfortable. ‘He was depressed,’ he said at last after a pause. ‘He and Virginia had a row—I don’t know what about—and that’s why she went home to England.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Elsa. ‘Do you mean she’d
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