Page 55 of Marble Hall Murders

‘Dr Lambert?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Susan Ryeland. I’m a friend of Eliot Crace, Miriam Crace’s grandson. I wonder if I might talk to you for a moment?’

‘What is this about?’

‘It’s a bit difficult to explain, but I’m quite worried about him. He’s writing a book that contains some allegations about his family, and obviously I don’t want anything to come out in print that may be damaging to him or to anyone else. As the family doctor and the man who was there the morning Miriam Crace died, I’m hoping you can help.’

He blinked at me. ‘You’d better come in.’

I’d stretched the truth when I was talking to Frederick, but this time I’d turned it on its head. My meeting in the tea room had taught me a simple lesson. If I introduced myself as Eliot’s editor, I’d be implying that I was on his side. I’m not suggesting that Frederick – or Dr Lambert, for that matter – had anything they wanted to conceal, but a great deal of secrecy had always surrounded Miriam Crace and her life at Marble Hall, and anyone asking questions was bound to be seen as an interloper. I’d decided that Dr Lambert was more likely to talk to me if he thought I was preventing a book from coming out rather than publishing it, and so far it was a strategy that seemed to be working.

He led me through the hallway and into a living roomwith a low ceiling, exposed beams and a heavily patterned carpet, all of which made the space feel even more compressed than it actually was. The furniture was comfortable and chintzy. The scent of retirement hung in the air. A woman in a floral dress was sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper. She was the same age as him, very countrified, with a mauve tint to her hair and glasses on a cord running behind her ears. She seemed put out by my appearance.

‘This is Susan Ryeland, dear,’ Dr Lambert said. ‘She’s a friend of Eliot Crace.’

‘We haven’t seen Eliot Crace for a very long time.’ This was her only observation. She returned to the article she had been reading, making no secret of the fact that she was annoyed to have been interrupted.

‘You say you’re working with Eliot?’

‘I was an editor at Cloverleaf Books when he had two books published about ten years ago. Now he’s written another book and he’s asked me to help him with it. But I have some concerns about the content.’

‘What is it he wants to write?’ Dr Lambert asked. He was immediately nervous, his eyes blinking and his mouth turning downwards, following the curve of his moustache. ‘What allegations is he making?’

‘He seems to have quite a negative view of his grandmother,’ I began.

‘Miriam? Well, she could be difficult, it’s true. But I suppose it comes with the territory. After all, she was getting on a bit. And there was a lot of pressure on her. She had millions of fans.’

‘According to Eliot, she treated her family very badly.’

‘That’s nonsense. And I think you would be very ill-advised to suggest such a thing in public. Have you spoken to his uncle, Jonathan Crace? I can tell you, Miss Ryeland, Mr Crace won’t be happy at all. I myself have signed a non-disclosure agreement with the estate and there is very little I can tell you about Mrs Crace or anything else. I’m surprised that Eliot didn’t sign an NDA too.’

‘Well, he was only twelve years old when he left Marble Hall.’

‘That’s exactly right, Miss Ryeland. I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have any faith in the recollections of a child.’

‘A very devious child,’ Mrs Lambert remarked. ‘Not pleasant at all.’

‘How well did you know the family?’ I asked Dr Lambert, ignoring his wife.

‘Well, they moved to Devizes a long time ago, when I was still at school. My father was the doctor here then. I took over the surgery when he retired. My first patient at Marble Hall was Leylah Crace, when she was pregnant. She had a daughter, a lovely, healthy baby. After that, I got to know most of the family – though not socially. I think I probably treated every one of them for something or other over the years.’

Mrs Lambert peered at her husband over the top of the newspaper. ‘I used to meet the children in the village. Roland and his brother, Eliot. Those two were never apart. And what was the name of the sister? She used to waddle along behind them.’

‘That’s a little unfair, dear.’ Dr Lambert had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘I examined Julia Crace on more thanone occasion. She had a very low BMR.’ He smiled at me. ‘Basal metabolic rate. Her thyroid levels were abnormal and I recommended a change of diet … green vegetables, fruit, fatty fish. Not easy for a young girl, especially in those days.’

‘Eliot told me that his grandmother was quite cruel to her,’ I said.

‘You only have Eliot’s word for that and I can assure you I saw no evidence of it. I would have been very surprised if Miriam, a much-loved children’s author, had been anything but sympathetic and kind to her granddaughter. She gave money to children’s charities, you know, and she was the patron of an orphanage in Devizes.’

‘Salisbury!’ Mrs Lambert’s disembodied voice corrected him. ‘You should tell her about Eliot and your medicine bag.’

‘What was that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, it was nothing, really. But it doesn’t reflect well on Eliot.’ I waited for him to continue. ‘I was at the house attending to Kenneth Rivers. Now, he was a very nice man. Very quiet. He was a civil servant when he married Miriam, but he no longer had any need to work, not with all the money his wife was making.’

‘He did taxidermy.’

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