02 - Flight of Fancy (13 page)

“And you saw no one around it?”

“Who would there be but me and
Maud? Maud can vouch that I never touched the platter after I covered and put
it in the pantry and she never touched it until I said to bring it in to you
and I was facing her so I could have seen her tamper with it, and she ain’t
that kind of girl!”

Mrs Crimps fidgeted anxiously,
her tone turning defensive.

“It really is a limited suspect
pool.” Clara said apologetically, though with a glint in her eye, “Perhaps I
could see the pantry?”

Mrs Crimps was flustered as she
led Clara and Captain O’Harris into her kitchen. It wasn’t right the master of
the house coming in and she didn’t like the idea of her domain being poked
around in by some miss who called herself a detective. She grumbled under her
breath as she showed them the pantry.

“Here it is, been here ever
since I come.” She said rather sharply.

Clara ignored her temper and
glanced at the pantry. It offered no inspiration. It was well-lined and clean,
a mouse trap sat on the floor but from the condition of the small lump of bread
that rested on it as bait there had been no mice present in a long time.

“Where does this door lead to?”
Clara pointed to a white door beside the pantry entrance.

“To another passage that has
the door to the garden at the bottom.”

“Is that unlocked?”

“During the day it is, so Mr
Riggs can come in and have a cup of tea.”

“So Mr Riggs comes into the
kitchen?”

“By no means! He works in that
filthy garden and his boots are always thick with mud. He has a chair in the
passage.” Mrs Crimps opened the door and pointed out an old wooden kitchen
chair against the far wall. A blast of cold air blew in from the passage and
Clara felt infinitely sorry for Mr Riggs who was banished from even drinking
his tea in the warmth of the kitchen.

“Were you in the kitchen all
that day Mrs Crimps?”

Mrs Crimps started to nod, then
shook her head.

“What a question! I think I
was, but then how should I know? I nip out all the time for this and that, I
had to fetch some parsley for garnish on the sandwiches, I remember that. I
keep a pot in the greenhouse, but I was here the rest of the time. Probably.”

“I am trying to establish Mrs
Crimps if anyone could have entered the kitchen without you knowing?”

“Hardly likely, and who
anyway?”

“Mr Riggs?”

The cook gave Clara a firm
glare.

“He would not dare, besides
this floor is spotless and if he walked in with those enormous boots of his I
would have seen the mud.”

“Point taken.” Clara smiled at
the woman trying to defuse her temper, “I should add that in no way am I
concerned about your cooking, indeed I would partake of lunch any time it was
prepared by yourself. The sandwiches were first class.”

The flattery worked. Mrs Crimps
simmered a moment then relaxed.

“I try my best.”

“And you have been here since
1891? You must have seen some changes to the place?” Clara pulled out a stool
from under the kitchen table and perched on it, she motioned behind her back
for O’Harris to do the same.

Mrs Crimps was calming down now
it seemed that Clara had forgotten about the mouse and just wanted to talk. Mrs
Crimps supposed it was in the nature of a detective to be nosy.

“I have seen some changes, yes.
It was all very different when I first come. There must have been a dozen
servants in the house then and a whole army of them outside. I don’t exactly
miss those days, but the bustle was nice and there was always something going
on. Everyone had their story to tell and the maids, oh, they were always up to
some mischief. Poor Mrs O’Harris used to get quite despondent at the rate she
went through them.”

“A lot came and went then?”

“It was the way it was.” Mrs
Crimps risked the improperness of pulling out her own stool, her joints grew
sore in the winter these days and she appreciated sitting down, “Few of them
were like me and chose being in service for life. They would be here maybe a
few months, sometimes a year or two, then they were married and gone, or…”

“Or, Mrs Crimps?”

The cook blushed a little.

“Back in the days when it was a
big household there was a footman here, Gerry the Terror we called him. He was
all hands and none of the girls were safe. Oh he was harmless enough, but if
you let him charm you, you could end up in a lot of trouble, as some of the
girls discovered.”

Clara nodded understandingly.
She wished she could signal to O’Harris to leave the room, the questions she
wanted to ask next would likely draw a reaction from Mrs Crimps she would want
to hide from him.

“Dear captain, I do believe I
left my handkerchief in my purse in the drawing room, would you fetch it for
me?” Clara finally gave up being subtle.

“I’ll send Maud.” Mrs Crimps
offered quickly.

Clara pinned O’Harris with her
firmest stare, hoping to get her point across. It seemed he understood.

“No need Mrs Crimps, I know
where it is. I shan’t be a moment.” The captain stood up.

“No rush.” Clara emphasised as
he left.

She let the interruption cool
down for a moment, making a vague comment about the shine Mrs Crimps had achieve
on her copper jelly moulds, then she went back on the attack.

“Now you mention it I do recall
a story concerning that footman.”

“Really?”

“Well, I believe so. My maid
told me it when I mentioned the O’Harris name, she is a dreadful gossip you
know.”

“Quite, such a nuisance.”

“Why she said that there was a
girl here who got herself into trouble and fell down the stairs. It was a
dreadful accident. Nellie I think she was called.”

“Millie.” Mrs Crimps corrected
automatically, “But that was after Gerry had left.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have no idea who the
unfortunate girl was involved with, but the outcome was as you said, except
several of us here at the time considered it suicide.”

“That is quite shocking.”

“It happens.” Mrs Crimps shook
her head, “But she was a wayward girl with an eye for the boys. Indeed I saw
her cast her eye on the good captain but he had more sense than that.”

Clara made no comment.

“She was carrying on with a few
of the lads from town, I lost track of them after a while. They were always
popping round and bothering us until Mrs Abergavanney had to have words with
her. Oh she put on her parts and threatened to quit, but that didn’t help her
at all. Mrs Abergavanney said she would help her pack her bag.”

“Sounds like she was not
terribly popular?”

Mrs Crimps put her head on one
side as though she was considering the suggestion.

“She wasn’t unpopular. You just
couldn’t get close to her. She had no friends here, not really. I think she
fell in well with some of the gardeners and the stableboy had an eye for her,
but that wasn’t friendship as such.”

“Still her accident must have
been a shock.”

“Oh yes, I heard her thumping
down the stairs myself! What a racket. Poor Mr O’Harris was beside himself. Mrs
Abergavanney hardly blinked an eye, but then
she
wouldn’t.”

“Was anyone, aside from Mr
O’Harris upset?” Clara asked in mock surprise.

“Not really. I suppose we were
all a little shocked. I had to tell the men outdoors, of course. The gardeners
were then coming in for a cup of tea, one lad went pale, but he was a soft soul
so I don’t think it were because he was particularly fond of her, just that
anything like that made him queasy. The stableboy refused his supper that
night, come to think of it.”

Clara let her mind absorb the
information, but it was too vague and made such little sense. If Millie was the
motive for Goddard O’Harris’ death Mrs Crimps’ story did not point to any of
the servants, though it did rather suggest Florence might have had cause to be
jealous. Was Goddard so upset simply because of the shock or because Captain
O’Harris was not the only one to be smitten by Millie’s charms?

“Thank you Mrs Crimps, I do
apologise for holding you up.”

“That is perfectly all right my
dear. Are you staying for lunch?”

“I have yet to be invited.”

“Let me suggest I do it on his
behalf.” Mrs Crimps surprised Clara by winking at her, “I really want you to
try my homemade potted shrimp, it is rather wonderful.”

“I should be delighted.” Clara
made her excuses and went to find O’Harris and inform him he was stuck with her
for another hour at least.

The rain had eased up by the
time Clara set out on her way home. Captain O’Harris tried to insist on taking
her in his car but Clara simply refused. The day was turning out fine and the
walk would do her good after the heavy lunch Mrs Crimps had served. She had
appeared to want to impress Clara with her culinary skills and had presented a
feast of various dishes to be sampled. Besides Clara had a great deal of
thinking to do and that was best done alone and while walking.

She wandered down the grand
drive noting the spring flowers emerging in patches of colour around the trees
and the bent over stems of the previous month’s daffodils. A figure was working
in the distance, hoeing a flower bed. She eased her stride as she recognised Mr
Riggs.

“Good afternoon!” She called
jovially.

Mr Riggs looked up, if she had
hoped for a guilty expression she did not get it. He merely took off his cap
and nodded to her.

“This is fine weather, is it
not Mr Riggs?” Clara smiled, “And your flowers look superb, what a pity I was
not here when the Daffs were in bloom.”

“Ah, they’ve had their day now.
I’ve folded ‘em over and tied up their stems so they will rot back and be ready
for next year.”

“That is the thing about
gardens, always something to do, always something new happening. They are quite
therapeutic, are they not?”

“Ay, I hear as much.” Mr Riggs
toyed with his cap, seemingly anxious to get on with his hoeing.

“I have had such a morning
talking to Mrs Crimps, and she has fed me so much! I dare say she was trying to
make up for the last time I had lunch here.” Clara gave a light laugh.

“Really miss?” Riggs asked with
a singular lack of curiosity.

“Anyway, I think Mrs Crimps was
rather enjoying telling me about how things were here in the past. She was
telling me about the footman, erm, Gerry, yes that was it.”

“I remember Gerry.” Mr Riggs
nodded, “Had a way with the ladies.”

“As she explained, but I did
get muddled, I had it in my head he was something to do with a maid called
Millie who fell down the stairs here, but it was my mistake. Unless there were
two Millies?”

“No, only the one. But that was
years ago.”

“Yes, quite, and I didn’t like
to say too much as I thought it might upset the captain. No one likes to think
of someone throwing themselves down their staircase.”

Mr Riggs eyes widened for a
moment.

“I always thought she tripped.”

Clara tried to assess his
expression, but he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Perhaps I heard that wrong
too. Oh dear, it has been such a day.” Clara made a pretence of adjusting her
hat, “I mustn’t delay you Mr Riggs, what are you planting in there?”

“French marigolds.” Mr Riggs
shrugged.

“I shall look forward to seeing
them. Good afternoon.” Clara waved goodbye and left the bewildered gardener
standing watching her, his hoe idle in his hand.

“Let me get this straight, now
you think none of them did it?” Tommy peered at Clara over the top of his
paper.

“I didn’t say that. What I
mean, what I think I mean, is that none of them seem to have a motive.”

“That is how this case has been
all along. You should call it the Mystery of the Motiveless Murder.”

“Nothing is motiveless.” Clara
took off her heels and rubbed her feet, she noticed miserably there was a new
ladder in her stockings, “Bother.”

“The case is back to suspect
No. 1 yet again.” Tommy put aside his paper, “Florence O’Harris.”

“That worries me, I mean she is
the obvious choice, but is she too obvious?”

“Could it be, Clara Fitzgerald,
you are stumped?”

Clara gave him a disparaging
look.

“Not stumped, just uncertain
how this all fits together. But the builders are coming tomorrow to dismantle
the front of the O’Harris garage and if we can get at the footings we may just
find a body.”

“Bodies preserve well in
concrete.” Tommy said idly.

“I sometimes wonder how you
know these things.”

“It is all to do with the
oxygen and bacteria not being able to get to the body. I would say that is why
fewer criminals do it, you don’t exactly dispose of a body.”

“You do if the footings are
under a house.”

“Point taken, but houses get
knocked down.”

“And gardens dug up and rivers
drained and thick forest cut down, few places are secure for hiding a body.”

“Has anyone ever told you two,
you are both decidedly morbid?” Annie appeared in the room with two cups of
tea.

Clara noted she did not make
eye-contact with Tommy the entire time she was in the room and left without
another word.

“We have reached a mutual
agreement for a brief hiatus on shelling each other.” Tommy informed his
sister, “Only the shells were rather one-sided and very verbal.”

He made a play of rubbing his
ears as if they ached.

“When does O’Harris fly?” Clara
asked, trying to assuage her anxiety and anger.

“Saturday, all being well.
Weather forecast is good for the time of year and promising only light winds.”

Clara took a long sip of tea.

“It is such an adventure
Clara.” Tommy said, beseeching her to understand.

“Of that I am sure.” Clara
mooted the subject, “I have compiled a new list of suspects, taking into
account someone involved in the crime is still alive today and sending those
ominous notes. Though we do have to count the possibility they are nothing more
than a nuisance from some numbskull.”

“Who is on your list?”

Clara groaned.

“Florence O’Harris.” She
slumped back in the chair, “And her accomplice could be anyone of Mrs
Abergavanney, Mrs Crimps, Mr Riggs or Colonel Brandt.”

“I suppose the colonel could
send notes, maybe he regrets getting you involved.”

“He is in this very deep now
Tommy, he told me about Goddard’s affair with Susan O’Harris, that raises even
more of a dilemma. Do you think Captain O’Harris knows?”

“No, and you can’t tell him.”

“Can’t I?”

“Telling a man his father isn’t
who he thought he was is dangerous, especially when that man is about to fly
across an ocean. He needs his mind clear.”

“Point taken.” Clara sighed,
“Anyway, I’m not really convinced Mrs Crimps would have tainted her own food,
it was too risky and Mrs Abergavanney appears to have had no reason either, but
then that leaves Mr Riggs and he has no reason as well!”

“There has to be one thread
that unravels this all.” Tommy assured her.

“I am hoping it is in those
cement footings.”

“If Goddard O’Harris is laying
there what do you think O’Harris will do?”

Clara honestly didn’t know.

“What would you do Tommy? If it
was your uncle?”

“Walk away, maybe.” Tommy shook
his head, “I suppose I would want to know why. It is so hard to say when it
isn’t yourself involved.”

“I wonder if I should call
Inspector Park-Coombs?”

“Not until you know something
Clara, this could be a wild goose chase.”

“Goddard O’Harris has to be buried
somewhere.”

“Maybe.” Tommy drained the last
of his tea, “Maybe.”

There was no tidy way to
demolish the garage and O’Harris had paid for speed not delicacy. After the
tiles on the roof and the roof beams were removed the walls were hammered into
rubble and crumbled to the ground. The White Buzzard stood quietly by, watching
the destruction of her home dispassionately.

Clara arrived with Tommy in the
late afternoon after receiving a phone call to say the foundations had been
uncovered. The first person Clara spotted was Mr Clarence. He tipped his cap to
her.

“Thought I should be here, not
often one of the things I put up is purposefully knocked down.” Mr Clarence
looked grim and a tad broken-hearted, Clara supposed it was hard watching your
work be destroyed, “I’ve pointed out the exact spot, the men are getting the
pickaxes now.”

Captain O’Harris wandered over
with Colonel Brandt in tow.

“Sad day.” The colonel
muttered, “If we find him…”

He blew his nose into a large
handkerchief and wandered away again.

“I’m sorry about the garage.”
Clara said, beside herself at the sadness on O’Harris’ face.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged.

“Do you regret asking me to do
this?”

O’Harris suddenly flashed a
smile at her.

“Don’t be foolish Clara. I knew
what I was letting myself in for the moment I asked you. Maybe from the moment
I asked you to dinner I had it at the back of my mind I would get you to
unravel this mystery. This is painful, but it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be
done.” He suddenly looked at Tommy, “Hey, old chum, how are the legs?”

“A bother.” Tommy rolled his
eyes.

“There is a doctor who thinks
he could help him, but Tommy is being as stubborn as ever and refusing to see
him.” Clara added.

“Now, old man, that is a bit
childish.” O’Harris admonished.

Tommy gave a grimace.

“Doctors are all for poking and
prodding.”
“Not this one.” Persisted Clara, “Oh if only you would try!”

Tommy looked sullen and
O’Harris decided it was best not to encourage an argument.

“I imagine you have heard about
my flight on Saturday?” He didn’t quite realise the antagonism his new train of
conversation could bring.

“Yes, I am aware.” Clara
answered.

“Will you be on the pier
watching?”

She hesitated a moment, her
eyes sliding to Tommy.

“I might.”

“I would love to see you waving
me off, give me a bit of extra courage, you know.”

Clara suddenly felt a tide of
unhappiness grab her. It had done so before when O’Harris had talked about his
flight, but never so powerfully as in that moment. She wanted to tell him to
call the thing off, enjoy being Captain O’Harris and living in a fine house,
but she knew he would not. Even her friendship could not dissuade him, she saw
that in his eyes. Instead she said what she knew he wanted to hear.

“I shall stand there and wave.
I’ll wave you both off.”

“Good, it will mean a lot.”
O’Harris grinned at her just as a cry went up.

A builder was waving a chunk of
concrete he had just dislodged and everyone was hurrying over. Owen Clarence
pushed forward and took the chunk of grey material. He rang his fingers over
the rough edge.

“Something definitely went in
and it trapped some air with it. This edge here is smooth as though there were
a gap beneath it.”

The workers with the pickaxes
were hammering the concrete even faster now they knew they were on the right
track. Another lump of concrete broke off and was tossed aside.

“I can make out an ‘ole!” One
of the men claimed.

Clarence limped over to the
scene and peered into the hole.

“Definitely something down
there, but it ain’t big.” He gave a deferential look to O’Harris.

The captain looked pale and
grim, his mouth was set in a stiff line and all his usual enthusiasm seemed to
have drained from him. Clara felt horrible for what she was causing, she wanted
to reach out and touch him. Another piece of concrete was chucked to the side.

“It looks like a cavity, here
this piece has got something stuck to it.” A worker handed Mr Clarence a shallow
shard of grey concrete that had what appeared to be paper stuck on the back.

“What is that?” Clara moved
forward for a better look.

“Some sort of printed card, I
would say.” Clarence gave it to her.

The concrete had clearly stuck
to something and when it was now removed the top layer of what it had cemented
itself to had come with it. The card was green with a gold edge and there was
the faintest impression of letters in a swirling hand. Clara traced them with
her finger, trying to reverse them in her head without success.

“I see a box!” Clarence was
doing his best to peer into the cavity that had formed, “Chip away the concrete
about it and let’s see if we can bring it up.”

The men set-to with their
pickaxes, Clara took a pace back as small, pebble-sized lumps of cement flew
into the air.

“Let’s take a look.” Tommy took
the block of concrete off her.

“It seems to have been the lid
of a box.” Clara said baffled.

“What are these letters? A
b
or a
t
, really quite unclear.”

“I think it is a maker’s name, but
the lettering is very stylised.”

“Why would anyone dump a box in
a pool of concrete?”

Captain O’Harris was looking at
them clearly wondering the same, some of his colour had returned, it seemed
they weren’t about to find a body.

“Here it comes!” Clarence
called.

A workman had managed to get
his pick under the lump of concrete containing the box and was levering it up
while his colleague reached in and looped his hand underneath. Between the two
of them, and with Clarence issuing instructions every moment, they hauled out
the box in its casement of concrete.

Clara was first to the find,
bending down and brushing off loose grey dust, ignoring the mess it was making
of her gloves. Part of the lid had been ripped off by the layer of concrete
above it, leaving a thin, blank sheet of cardboard over the box. It was dark
green too and must once have been quite thick considering the depth remaining.
It was a smart box, no doubt about that.

“Is it jewellery?” A workman
asked.

Clara thought not, it wasn’t
that sort of box. Captain O’Harris had joined her and Tommy was peering over
her shoulder. She tried to lift the lid.

“It’s stuck down, perhaps some
cement leaked in.” She ran her finger down the edge but the seal was strong,
“Tommy, have you your pocket knife?”

Tommy handed over a blade he
had had since he was a boy and watched enviously as Clara slotted it into the
thin gap between the lid and the box and began working it along. It was like
the uncovering of an ancient tomb or treasure and more than one soul was jealous
that Clara had seized the initiative first.

“Here, let me try.” Said Owen
Clarence, but Clara ignored him.

The concrete was gradually
crumbling as she gently sawed the knife, it was only a very fine layer after
all and at points she felt the cardboard of the box rip and let the blade
through. She could sense the impatience in the crowd around her as she cut
round the last side. The lid was finally free. For a moment she did nothing,
after such a long time one could only wonder what horrors lay in the box and
had caused its last owner to dispose of it so. It had never meant to be found,
that was for sure. Feeling strangely reverential over the box and its contents
Clara raised the lid.

“Why it’s just a load of old
cigars.” Someone groaned.

Captain O’Harris quickly knelt
by Clara. The cigars at the edges of the box had been covered with the seeping
cement, but the ones in the middle were as intact as the day they had been
made. O’Harris took one.

“These are my father’s
favourite cigars.” He said looking at the gold and green wrapper around the one
in his hand.

Clara caught herself before
asking whether he meant Oscar or Goddard. He didn’t know about his mother’s
affair, she was sure, and now was not the time to expose it.

“These are your father’s cigars?”
She asked instead.

“Yes, well, actually this looks
like his last box that he bequeathed to Uncle Goddard. They were expensive and
he had hardly touched this lot and he knew aunt Flo never allowed Goddard to
spend as much as these cost, on cigars, she considered it a frivolous waste. I
always thought it quite touching he left his last box to his brother. He even
made a point, when he knew he was dying, to not touch these ones so Goddard
would have almost a full box. Considering the difficulties they had it was
quite moving.”

Clara was eyeing the box and
thinking, slowly ideas were forming in her mind.

“ ‘ere, do we get a cigar for
unearthing ‘em?”

Clara didn’t even glance up.
She took the cigar back from O’Harris and put it in the box.

“No, these are evidence.”

“Evidence?” The workman who had
asked pouted, “Evidence of what?”

“Murder, maybe.”

“It ain’t a body!”

There was some disgruntled
grumbling in the crowd.

“That’s enough you lot.”
Captain O’Harris took charge, “You were employed to demolish a garage and I
shall pay you well for that, but you weren’t here for a treasure hunt and can’t
expect a share of what we found. Besides those cigars have been encased in
concrete for over ten years.”

“Still would have liked to try
one.” Someone muttered.

“Get your minds off old cigars
and back onto putting my garage back together.” O’Harris shepherded the men
back to work and wandered away from Clara.