Stately Homicide by S. T. Haymon Page B

first owner of Bullen Hall. Over the heads of the people moving towards the outer door he peered at the long, dark face with undisguised repugnance. It struck him that while there were words and to spare for every other kind of sexual sinner – adulterer, sodomite, lesbian, rapist – there was no one word to describe people who committed incest. It was as if, faced with such monsters of iniquity, language itself had recoiled from providing the label which would confirm the fact of their existence.
    The departing guests spilled gaily out on to the strip of grass which divided the house from the moat. Mrs Coryton, Jurnet thought, had been magnificent; despite all, bringing the party to an untroubled close. Even Francis, with the help of his glasses, had managed pretty well. Mr Benby, the estate surveyor, who had brought his camera, had taken several pictures of the old and new curators together, one of which showed the two standing smiling with arms linked.
    When the caterers came to pack up the remains of the feast, Jane gave orders that Chad Shelden’s fridge should be stocked with a selection of the residual goodies – ‘to keep you going till you’ve discovered where the village shop is.’
    â€˜It’s enormously good of you.’
    â€˜You’re doing us a favour. We don’t want to still be eating salmon, ham and goulash come Michaelmas. Mrs Barwell will be in, in the morning, to do the room. Francis, will you bring the desk set? Well –’ with a final, comprehending glance in which there was more relief than regret – ‘that’s it. Elena, can we walk you home?’
    Miss Appleyard rose from the settee and wrapped a shawl about her thin shoulders.
    â€˜Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll risk the night air. I shall go through the house. Maudie is waiting up for me.’
    â€˜All that switching on and off of lights –’
    Miss Appleyard opened a handbag of gold mesh and produced a serviceable torch.
    â€˜None at all. I’ve come prepared, you see.’
    â€˜Francis will go with you just the same.’
    â€˜Francis,’ said Miss Appleyard, ‘will do no such thing. I was running about these passages before he was born. If I felt I needed an escort, I should ask our visiting policeman. That’s what policemen are for – isn’t it, Inspector? – To protect the weak.’
    Jurnet said: ‘Happy to oblige.’ Weak? he thought. You!
    â€˜I’m sure you are. But, as I’ve said – this is my home. You could blindfold me and put me down anywhere in Bullen Hall, I’d know where I was straight away. Goodnight, Inspector.’ Miss Appleyard held out a hand which trembled a little in the detective’s. ‘I hope you won’t wait until Mr Shelden has his farewell party before coming to see us again.’
    Danny March at Jurnet’s elbow said: ‘Anna says to tell you the couch opens out to a full-length put-u-up, in case you’d care to sleep over at ours.’
    â€˜Ta all the same, but no,’ Jurnet replied, ‘I’m on duty first thing in the morning. If I don’t get myself a change of socks and a clean shirt they’re liable to drum me out of the Force.’
    He did not add that he didn’t fancy a night listening through the bedroom wall to the sound of jouncing bed springs. ‘I’ll be back in Angleby in no time.’
    The partygoers’ cars were, by special dispensation, parked in the front drive. Jurnet made his solitary way towards the car park in the old orchard. Behind him the Hall, floodlit against the night sky, looked like a cardboard cutout out of a child’s picture book. Then, just as the detective turned round for a last look, the lights went out. For a moment, there was a terrifying emptiness; then, eyes making the necessary readjustment, a new, moonlit Bullen Hall sprang into being, lovelier by far, floating on a moat full of