A Mourning Wedding (17 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: A Mourning Wedding
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“And Miss Angela.”
“ … But you could be right. It's just possible Lady Eva had found out something very recently and approached them about it although she hadn't yet put it in her books.”
“Clergymen and choirboys,” Tom said darkly.
“I trust not! The Reverend Timothy has a wife and children. He's not one of those High Church celibates. Apart from that, how did Walsdorf strike you?”
“Truthful. I don't think he knew Lady Eva knew, and I don't think he was too worried that she did. But if we find Rupert lying dead …”
“We'll know where to look,” Alec agreed with a grin.
“M
r. Montagu Fotheringay,” Ernie announced, ushering in a bulky gentleman dressed with an almost foppish elegance that ill-became his stoutness. His sister and his nephew lay dead, yet he had a camellia in his buttonhole which must have come from the conservatory, and two or three gold charms dangled from his Albert watch-chain. Perhaps he hoped they would protect him against becoming the next victim.
According to Daisy, he had virtually collapsed at the news that his sister had been murdered. Overcome with relief? Horrified? Or acting horror?
As he lumbered the length of the room, Mr. Montagu didn't appear to be in any condition for so vigorous an activity as strangling a hefty, healthy woman. Not that his size was necessarily a disadvantage: he was no larger than Tom Tring, who could move with a speed and efficiency that always took malefactors by surprise. Yet the Honourable Montagu Fotheringay was breathing heavily by the time he sat down in front of the desk, his cheeks mottled and his forehead bedewed with perspiration, which he blotted with a large silk handkerchief.
Of course, that could be nerves.
His well-manicured hands were incongruously small. But Lady Eva had been strangled with a stocking, not by hand.
He gave his address as his club. “Until today,” he added morosely, “I'd have said ‘and Haverhill,' but Nick and I have never got on, and with Rupert taking charge I shan't feel free to come down anytime without an invitation. What's worse, Rupert has no family feeling and he'll probably discontinue my allowance when he inherits. Thought I'd be dead by the time that happened. Might as well be, with the pittance I'll have left.”
“‘Nick' is your brother, Lord Haverhill, sir?” Alec asked to clarify matters in Piper's notes. “You don't get on with him?”
“Always been a damned Puritan prig, even when we were boys.”
“So you wouldn't have been happy had he found out that you suffer from … a social disease, shall we say.”
“Got a dose of the clap. And she was such a nice girl, too. Nick would hit the roof if he knew, but there's no reason he should find out. Hi, how do you know? Don't tell me Eva wrote it down in her blasted book? Well, if that don't take the biscuit! She might have known someone would read it if she dropped dead of a seizure. That cloddish son of hers, likely as not, if he can read.”
“But Lady Eva died of strangulation, not a seizure, and we have read her files.”
Unexpectedly, the Hon. Montagu grinned. “Juicy reading, eh? She'd never let me take a peek.”
“She told you about her records, though?”
“Years ago.”
“And that she was aware of your … ailment?”
“No, no, I told her about that. You see, I'm afraid it wasn't the first time, but my faithful old doctor had died and I didn't know where to turn. Thought Eva, with her interests, might be able to give me the name of another man who specialized in such … ailments. Which, I may say, she did. Not easily shockable, my sister. Marvellous fellow she sent me to.”
“You weren't afraid she'd pass on the information to your brother?”
“Good gad, no. Thick as thieves, Eva and I. Always was my favourite sister. Don't mind admitting, I'm going to miss her like the devil.” Clearing his throat noisily, he blinked hard. Alec felt in his pocket for a handkerchief, but Montagu pulled himself together. “Poor old girl, what a way to go!”
He admitted to having left his room “more than once” during the night, to visit the lavatory, which was opposite his room at the far end of the passage from Lady Eva's. He had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. If he had for a moment supposed that his sister was being foully done to death, he would have gone to the rescue. “Not as limber as I was, but I can put a good deal of weight behind a fist, these days. Dare say I could have given a decent account of myself. Funny, I'd have expected Eva to fight off the beast who attacked her. Very active, she was, always buzzing about hither and yon. She used to say, ‘I'm not going to be one of those old ladies who put up their feet and wait to die. I'll go with my boots on.' And so, in a manner of speaking, she did.”
Best not to tell him the theory that Lady Eva had fought off an attack with a pillow before succumbing to the stocking, Alec decided. Where was that damned stocking? Surely Dr. Philpotts had completed the autopsy by now? He glanced at his wristwatch. Only quarter to nine. It had been a long day, and showed no sign of ending.
Montagu Fotheringay, still shattered by his sister's murder, had not gone down to tea. His nephew Henry had brought the news of Aubrey's death. He had dressed and gone to present his condolences to his brother and sister-in-law and the grieving widow, and to offer his services to act as host. Nick had told him that Rupert was expected.
“So, of course, I had to go down to dinner. I couldn't let that young whippersnapper think I was running shy. He was extremely rude to me, I may say, when I offered my sympathy on the loss of his father. But then, he never had much time for Aubrey, since Nick
holds the purse-strings. Rupert gets a good allowance, besides his pay, but he's always coming with his hand out and Nick always shells out. Whereas if
I
run a little short, I might as well go begging to the man in the moon. Matter of fact, Eva used to oblige me occasionally, another reason why I'm going to miss her like the very devil!”
Daisy had said Montagu was the only person who seemed genuinely to mourn Lady Eva's death. Alec saw nothing in the man's rambling to contradict her judgment. If the maid confirmed that he'd been undressed when she took up his tea and when she fetched the tray, and if no one had seen him about, he could be crossed off the list for the murder of his nephew if not for his sister.
The Hon. Montagu went off to resume his interrupted dinner. As he left, a footman came in with an envelope and a small brown-paper parcel.
“I didn't want to interrupt, sir. These came a few minutes ago, by messenger. From Dr. Philpotts, he said.”
As expected, the packet contained a stocking and a ring. The ring was gold set with an oval rose quartz, blush pink, surrounded by seed-pearls, of no great monetary worth. Its value must have been sentimental, perhaps an early gift from the late Sir Granville. Flattish, it would not have been too awkward to wear in bed. One of the prongs holding the stone in place had been bent back and on it was caught a wisp of thread.
“Let's have the lens,” Alec said to Tom, whose precious Murder Bag contained a magnifying glass among its treasures.
But Tom had picked up the stocking and was delicately rubbing it between his fingertips. “Artificial silk, Chief,” he said. “You're not telling me any of the toffs in this house wear artificial silk stockings. Looks like it must have been a man who bought it specially for the job.”
 
By the time Montagu came back to the dining room, everyone else was eating rhubarb and strawberry tart with whipped cream. The
horrible events of the day didn't seem to have put Lord Haverhill's cook off her stride. The pastry was flaky, its contents succulent, with just the right amount of sugar. Daisy hoped the baby was enjoying it as much as she was.
For ten minutes or so the diners were left in peace. Then Teddy Devenish was summoned to the library.
“But he's already been questioned!” cried Lady Devenish, anguished.
“Don't fuss, Mater. I expect they just want to check that I locked the door behind me when I arrived last night.” In spite of his bravado, Teddy was pale and obviously anxious.
“Go with him, James,” his mother begged.
“Not me,” said Sir James. “He's got himself into a mess, he can get himself out of it. Perhaps it'll make a man of him at last.”
Teddy flushed furiously and marched out.
“James! You must send for a lawyer.”
“Nonsense. What's the point of wasting money on a lawyer if you're innocent? You don't think Teddy killed his grandmother, do you?”
“Oh, James!”
People started whispering to their neighbours. Many hadn't yet seen the police, so for one to be called in a second time must be significant.
“Do you think Fletcher's going to arrest him?” Gerald muttered to Daisy.
“How should I know?” Daisy raised her voice a bit and went on, “I expect it's just that Alec's thought of a question he forgot to ask before.”
Angela gave her a grateful look, but the whispering didn't stop.
Though Montagu was still eating, Sally, keeping an attentive eye on Rupert, took his cue to rise, saying, “Shall we take our coffee in the drawing room, ladies?”
But whatever the custom in the Household Cavalry officers' mess,
Rupert was forced to bow to the refusal of several ladies to be parted from the protection of their spouses.
“No!” Lady Devenish exclaimed. “I know Teddy didn't do it, so the killer is still on the loose. I'm not going anywhere without James.”
This was curious, Daisy felt, when not so long ago the two had not been on speaking terms. But Sir James meekly followed his wife.
“Denzil, you'll come with us, won't you?” pleaded Lady Carleton. “We can't be sure …”
“It's all right, Vickie,” said Oliver, “I'm right behind you. Come along, Lucy.”
“Come along, Peter,” ordered Veronica Bancroft. “We'll stay together.”
Flora went out with her aunt Ione, and Angela collected Daisy on her way. Daisy glanced back to see Gerald glumly moving to sit beside Rupert. He had to wait and make sure everyone was gone before he and Daisy met in the conservatory. Baines set decanters of port and brandy before Rupert, who was looking distinctly annoyed at the general resistance to his plans.
Montagu allowed a footman to serve him a large slice of tart with lashings of cream. Daisy wondered whether Rupert was sufficiently willing to be rude to his great-uncle to leave before the old man had finished his meal.
Sally had led the way through the door to the Long Gallery, followed by most of the others, but a few had gone through into the hall. This was the way Angela took Daisy. The reason was apparent as soon as they stepped through the door. Tiddler, banned from the dining room, dashed out from behind a pillar and launched himself at Angela's knees with a squeak of relief and joy.
“Down!” she said hastily. “Don't ruin my stockings, this is my only decent pair. Good boy. If you were just a bit bigger and a bit braver, you'd make a good watchdog.”
Daisy stooped to pet the little beast. “Alert, loyal, but not quite
fierce enough. You don't really feel as if you need a watchdog, do you?”
“Don't you?”
“No. Alec knows everything I know, so why should anyone attack me?”
“I told him everything, too, which was little enough. I didn't see or hear anything to help him. But after all, I was up and about last night and the murderer could think I might remember something significant. Who knows? I think whoever did it is mad. What could Uncle Aubrey have seen, tucked away in the family wing?”
“Perhaps it wasn't anything he could have seen last night but something he might have noticed before or after. We'll never know, now. But there wouldn't have been any point at all in killing him if other people might have had the same information.”
“I suppose not. Well, I'd better take Tiddler out for a few minutes. Coming?”
“Not just now. I'll see you later.”
“Right-oh.” Angela turned towards the Long Gallery and the gardens beyond.
Daisy made for the lavatory in the downstairs cloakroom. After the vermouth before dinner she had stuck to water instead of wine, but an attentive maid had kept refilling her glass and these days it didn't take much liquid to make her run.
As she approached, Lady Devenish came out, with that furtive look peculiar to the well-bred woman caught answering a call of nature. She ignored Daisy in a pointed way which could have been due to modesty or dislike or the two combined.
Emerging a couple of minutes later, Daisy glanced towards the library, wondering what Alec was up to. A movement caught her eye. Someone—Lady Devenish?—had hurriedly withdrawn into the shadows behind a pillar near the library door. She must be waiting for her son, or perhaps nerving herself to interrupt his interrogation. Though her dislike was mutual, Daisy couldn't help pitying her. If
Teddy was still in there, Alec must have good reason to suspect him of killing his grandmother.
Grand-matricide? What was the Latin for grandmother? Daisy's school had not considered Ancient Languages suitable for fragile female brains.
Sir James, though he had heeded his wife's plea to leave the dining room with her, was not visibly present to protect her. Daisy could think of several possible explanations. He might believe her safe because he knew his son was the murderer; or he might know she was safe because he himself was the murderer; or he might not much care if she was murdered.

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