British Manor Murder (7 page)

“We're still trying to sort things out. I don't know what we'd do without our curator,” said Poppy, arriving with an armful of papers and a thick wad of upholstery fabric samples, all of which she dropped on an armchair where they joined the cushions and dented silver ewer she'd previously put there. “What a day.” She sighed as she sank into another chair. “I am so sorry you were involved in the recent unpleasantness,” she said, speaking to Lucy and Sue. “All I can do is offer my sincere apologies and assure you that this sort of thing is the exception rather than the rule.” She turned to her son and deftly changed the subject. “Is this that good cab you brought, Desi?”

“Yup. My friend Henri grows it at the family domaine.”

Sue caught Lucy's eye and winked, as if to say, “Look at us! Hanging out with people who know people who own vineyards.”

“Delicious,” said Poppy, savoring a sip before joining her son on the sofa. She looked up as an attractive young woman dressed in the countrywoman's uniform of cashmere sweater and tweed skirt entered the room. “Oh, Winifred, let me introduce our friends from America,” she said, naming Sue and Lucy. “Winifred Wynn is our curator and a gift from God.”

“I don't know about that,” said Winifred, smiling. “I just came by to let you know that the art restorer from the National Gallery is coming tomorrow to check out the damage to the general.”

“Thanks for the update.” Poppy dismissed her by adding, “Have a good evening.”

When Winifred was gone, Poppy took a big swallow of wine. “Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Don't forget Aunt Millicent is coming, along with that dragon Harrison.”

“Harrison is Aunt Millicent's lady's maid,” said Perry. “She's almost as bad as Chivers.”

“Worse, I think,” said Poppy. “We could hide from Chivers, especially in his later years when he took to drinking Gramps' port. Harrison is relentless. She won't take no for an answer. Aunt wants to sleep in the countess's bedroom—”

“That's impossible,” said Perry. “It has to remain open to the public.”

“I know, but that doesn't seem to matter to Aunt.”

Perry frowned. “She can have the Chinese room. It's closed anyway while the bed curtains are restored.”

“She's not going to like that,” said Desi. “Can't you offer some treat to placate the old thing?”

“Have some folks in for dinner? Let her play the grande dame,” suggested Perry. “We could use the big dining room, if we timed it right. The house closes at six and we could eat at eight. That would give the staff time to clear away the ropes and carpet savers, and reset the table with the second-best china.”

“That's a good idea. She detests eating here in the kitchen,” said Poppy. “I'll invite the vicar and his wife. They're always available on short notice. We've got Lucy and Sue, and there's Willoughby and Winifred.” Poppy counted people on her fingers. “I need one more man.”

“Quimby!” exclaimed Perry.

“And we'll get a couple gardeners to play footmen for the night.”

“Oh,” chimed in Sue, “we met the nicest fellow today, by the name of Geoff. We got lost in the maze and he came to help us. When we found the body, he took over.”

“Dishy Geoff,” said Poppy, determined to steer clear of any topic as disagreeable as the discovery of a body. “Hearts were broken throughout the county when his engagement was announced. With a wedding coming, I'm sure he'll be glad for a bit of extra cash.”

Lucy was struck by Poppy's smooth direction of the conversation and wondered if she was simply determined to limit the discussion to amusing topics or whether she knew more about the dead man than she wished to reveal. Certain that Flora had recognized the description of the young man, Lucy suspected that Perry thought so, too.

“Will we have to dress?” asked Desi.

“Dinner jacket will do,” said Poppy, getting a groan from Desi.

“This will be a treat,” said Sue. “Dressing up for a formal dinner at Moreton Manor.”

Not so much, thought Lucy, biting her lip. She didn't have anything to wear, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to stay with people who regarded a young man's death as nothing more than an awkward inconvenience.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” asked Perry. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to neglect you, as I'm rather involved with the exhibition.

“Never fear,” said Sue. “Lucy and I are perfectly capable of amusing ourselves. In fact, I was thinking of exploring Oxford. It's not far, is it?”

“Not at all far, twenty minutes or so,” said Poppy. “We can have someone drive you. Just give a call when you're ready to come back.”

“Great,” said Lucy, who had noticed Perry placing a basket of bread on the kitchen island. “Shall I set the table?”

“I think I'll just set the grub here on the island, buffet style, if that's okay with everyone?”

“Fine with me,” said Sue.

Desi was opening a cupboard and counting out plates. “Shall I call Flo?”

“She'll come if she wants to,” said Poppy with a sigh. “It's better not to force the issue. At least, that's what the therapists tell me. Flora knows when we eat dinner.” Poppy looked up as Gerald arrived, stomping his muddy feet on the doormat. “Did you have a rumbly in your tumbly, dear?”

Lucy was tempted to say he'd had a bit of a
tumbly
in the
rumbly
, but thought better of it and bit her tongue. Sue, however, caught her eye and gave a mischievous smile and Lucy found herself giggling.

“Something funny?” demanded Gerald, who had advanced to the island and was emptying the wine bottle into his glass.

“It's just the way you English people have with words,” said Lucy. “I feel as if I'm in a Winnie the Pooh book.”

“It's more like a fairy tale,” said Sue. “This beautiful house, the garden, the folly—it's all so magical.”

Lucy stared into her wineglass where the surface of the wine reflected light from the downlights in the ceiling. Sue was right, she thought. Moreton Manor was like a castle in a fairy tale, and fairy tales were full of wicked witches, evil queens, nasty trolls, and big, bad wolves.

Gerald glared briefly at Sue, then downed half his glass of wine. “Is there any more of this plonk?” he demanded.

“It's not plonk,” protested Desi. “It's 2013 cabernet from Henri Le Vec's vineyard in France. It's rather special. It's the wine the family reserves for itself.”

“Well, whatever it is, it's all gone and we're going to need another bottle,” said Gerald. “Are you going down to the cellar or shall I?”

“I'll go,” said Desi, promptly disappearing through a door.

“I think we can start. Desi will be back in a minute,” said Perry, setting the tureen on the island and handing a plate to Sue.

Lucy's mood improved as everyone gathered around the island and helped themselves to generous servings of Perry's delicious ribollita. The vegetables were fresh from the garden and bursting with flavor, the whole grain bread had a crunchy crust, and the wine was plentiful. Even the butter was marvelously flavorful, tasting of sunshine and sweet meadow grass.

“This isn't at all what I expected,” said Sue. “I have to say it's a pleasant surprise.”

“Did you expect
Downton Abbey
?” asked Poppy.

“I guess I did, a little bit,” confessed Sue, who was fetching second helpings for herself.

Lucy watched in amazement. In all the years she had known her, she had rarely seen Sue finish her firsts, much less go back for seconds.

“Well, you'll get plenty of
Downton Abbey
tomorrow when Aunt Millicent arrives,” said Desi.

“I didn't bring any dressy clothes,” admitted Lucy, getting an eye roll from Sue. “Can you recommend any shops in Oxford?”

“I'm afraid I'm no help. I haven't bought anything from a shop in years. Most of my clothes were bought at agricultural fairs,” admitted Poppy.

“We'll put that question to Flo,” said Desi. “She's certain to have some ideas.”

“Great,” said Lucy, rising to help Poppy clear the table for dessert.

“Rhubarb and custard,” said Perry. “I hope you like rhubarb.”

“Love it,” declared Lucy, thinking of the huge plant in her garden at home. That led to thoughts of Bill and Patrick and the girls and she was suddenly stricken with a huge wave of sadness and longing for home.

“Coffee, Lucy?” asked Perry, sounding concerned.

“Better not,” she said, quickly rallying. “Jet lag, you know.”

“I don't think even coffee will keep me awake,” said Sue, accepting a cup. But even she turned down a second cup when it was offered. “I think Lucy and I need an early night.”

“Of course,” said Poppy. “You've had a difficult day. We'll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

Lucy and Sue started up the stairs to their guest rooms, Sue pausing midway to give her nose a good blow. “Dogs,” she said by way of explanation. “I think I'm allergic.”

They had reached the first landing when an odd sound caught their attention. Lucy pushed open the doorway. Leaning into the corridor that contained the family's bedrooms, they clearly heard someone sobbing.

“That must be Flora,” said Lucy. “I bet she's crying over the fellow in the maze.”

“Do you think she knew him?” asked Sue.

“She seemed to recognize his description. She ran out of the room.”

“The others didn't seem to know him,” said Sue thoughtfully. “I guess he really wasn't the sort of fellow you'd bring home to meet the family.”

“I guess this is the side of Moreton Manor that the day-trippers don't see.”

“It's not all strawberries and cream.”

“It's not even rhubarb and custard,” said Lucy.

Chapter Seven

O
nce in her room, Lucy decided to call home. The discovery of the tattooed young man's body had upset her, and she couldn't erase the picture from her mind. Who was he? Why had he come to Moreton Manor? And most disturbing of all, what had caused him to turn to drugs? Such a waste of a young life troubled her, but she was also upset by the family's determination to ignore the situation. She'd heard the term
stiff upper lip
before, but she hadn't realized what it actually meant. She didn't know if they were also troubled by the discovery of the body and were repressing an emotional response or if they simply didn't care. Flora was the only one who seemed upset, and Lucy wasn't sure if that was because she had some sort of relationship with the young man or if her reaction was a symptom of her obviously fragile mental state.

Lucy felt anxious. Dark clouds were building in her mind and she knew she needed to touch base with those she loved; she needed to reassure herself that everyone at home was safe and things were going well. She wanted to hear Bill's voice and needed to know that he was there for her, even if they were separated by thousands of miles of ocean. But when she punched in his cell phone number, he didn't answer, so she tried the land line in the house and got Zoe.

“How's it going?” she asked her daughter, making a determined effort to lighten her voice. “Are you all ready for the prom?”

“I think so. It'll be okay if I do my hair myself, don't you think? And I got a tube of self-tanner. I don't want to spend the money for a professional spray tan.”

Hearing this, Lucy was puzzled. “But you had the appointments. I left checks for you to use.”

“I know, Mom, but we got the reply from Strethmore . . .” Zoe desperately wanted to attend Strethmore College, and she'd been accepted, but the financial aid package had not been very generous. The family had appealed the award, explaining the need for more funds, and the answer had apparently arrived.

“How much did they come up with?” asked Lucy.

“Ten thousand and Dad says it's not enough, so that's why I'm trying to save money.”

Lucy was impressed by her daughter's reaction, but thought it was misguided. “Look, sweetie, skipping a salon appointment and a fake tan session isn't going to make much difference in the big picture. We'll figure it out when I get back.”

“Well, Pop is meeting some guy, some friend of Toby's who's a financial planner. He says this guy has some ideas about maximizing investments or something.”

Lucy thought of the modest balance that remained in the education fund that had been depleted by the older kids' college expenses and wondered what sort of investment could increase it substantially in the short time they had before it was needed for their youngest child. “Is this that Doug fellow?”

“I didn't get his name,” said Zoe.

“Well listen, I think you should get your hair done and get the spray tan. You'll be even more gorgeous than you usually are and you'll have a wonderful time at the prom. I want to see lots of pictures.”

“Okay, Mom,” said Zoe, sounding pleased. “And how's your trip?”

“Well, it's not quite what I expected,” said Lucy, choosing her words carefully.

“Life's full of surprises, isn't it?” said Zoe.

“It sure is,” said Lucy. “Take care, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

* * *

Poppy was already at the big table, studying a spread sheet while she ate her boiled egg and toast, when Lucy and Sue came into the kitchen early the next morning. She looked up and greeted them with a smile. “Coffee's ready, help yourselves to whatever you want,” she invited with a nod at the various offerings awaiting them on the island. “By the way, I got a call from the police late last night and it seems they've identified the young man. He's from London and it's a bit of puzzle what he was doing here at Moreton, but they're satisfied his death was due to an accidental overdose. Case closed.”

“Did they tell you his name?” asked Lucy, slipping a couple crumpets into the toaster.

“They did, but I forgot,” said Poppy, turning over a page of the spreadsheet. “Maybe it was Eric something or other.”

Sue filled her mug with coffee and joined Poppy at the table. Lucy soon followed with her coffee and crumpets. They all looked up in surprise when Flora arrived, as she habitually skipped breakfast. Whatever had reduced her to tears in the night seemed to have been resolved as she was clearly in a much calmer mood and even helped herself to a small bowl of yogurt topped with three strawberries.

When she politely inquired if Lucy and Sue had any plans for the day and learned they intended to go to Oxford, she quickly offered to drive them and give them a tour.

* * *

“Hope you don't mind going in the Mini,” she said an hour or so later, leading the way to the stable yard where an assortment of vehicles were parked, including an ancient MiniCooper.

“Not at all,” said Lucy, who knew that she would have to sit in the back because that was simply the way the universe was ordered. Not that she minded, but it would be nice if just once Sue would at least offer her the front seat.

The Mini had no suspension to speak of, and the three women bounced along down the drive and along country roads bounded by tall hedges. It was a lovely spring morning, warm and sunny and not at all like spring in coastal Maine, which was always a rather chilly affair due to breezes blowing in over the cool ocean water. There were lots of flowers in bloom, including bluebells, and the birds were tweeting and trilling to beat the band. It wasn't long at all before they spotted the “dreaming spires” of Oxford in the distance.

Flora knew her way around and drove confidently down the narrow streets and past numerous bicyclists, taking them right under the quaint Hertford Bridge. Supposedly inspired by the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, it extended over a narrow street and connected two buildings.

“Ooh, look!” exclaimed Lucy, “I've seen that on TV.”

“In the Inspector Morse mysteries,” said Flora. “They've managed to use the whole city in one episode or another. It's kind of a local industry.”

“Things do seem very familiar,” admitted Lucy, who was a fan of the original TV show as well as the recent spin-offs. “It's kind of like déjà vu.”

Flora zipped around the famous Radcliffe Camera, with its unusual circular design, and past the ancient stone colleges, whose walls were often plastered with announcements for concerts, sales, and other events. She soon popped out on an extremely busy main street, explaining that the Botanic Garden and Magdalen Bridge were at one end, the Ashmolean Museum was at the other end, and there was shopping in between.

“Oh, let's go to the museum,” begged Lucy, recalling the description in her guide book. “It has Guy Fawkes' lantern.”

“And the Alfred Jewel,” added Flora.

Sue was not enthused. “On one condition. We'll take a quick peek, eat an early lunch, and spend the rest of the day shopping.”

“The Eagle and Child is a famous pub. Tolkien hung out there with his writer friends, the Inklings. It's quite near the museum,” said Flora.

“We must go there so I can send pictures to Toby—he loves Tolkien—and then we can shop till we drop,” said Lucy, surprising her friend. “I do need to buy something to wear to dinner tonight.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Flora, are there any shops you would recommend? That aren't too expensive.”

“I usually go to one of the resale places,” admitted Flora. “You can even take the dress back after you're done with it. I like Secondhand Rose. It's next to Marks and Spencer. You can't miss it.”

“Lucy!” protested Sue. “Why didn't you pack something?”

“I really don't have anything I thought would do,” admitted Lucy.

“Well, here we are,” said Flora, suddenly taking a U-turn and pulling up in front of a very ancient gray stone church with a tall tower. “I'll let you two explore while I, well, I have a bunch of boring stuff that I can't put off,” she said, adding an exaggerated eye roll. “I have to meet my tutor.”

“Oh, sure,” said Sue, somewhat hesitantly. Lucy figured that, like herself, Sue was surprised by this sudden dismissal, but didn't want to seem unappreciative of the trouble Flora had taken.

“If you want a ride back, meet me here at three,” Flora said.

“Three it is. See you then,” said Lucy, beginning the process of extricating herself from the tiny car. Then the two friends stood on the sidewalk and watched as Flora zoomed off.

“I wonder . . .” began Lucy.

“She's a student, Lucy,” said Sue. “She has to meet her tutor. That's how they do it here. More like independent study when we were in college.”

“Funny sort of tutorial,” insisted Lucy. “There was no sign of a book or a notebook or a laptop in that car. And why does a little rich girl like Flora buy her clothes at a secondhand shop?”

“Vintage is all the rage with young people,” said Sue. “Give it up, Lucy. You're not Inspector Morse. I don't know about you, but I can't say I'm very excited about this Guy Fawkes.” She gave Lucy a serious look. “You may not know this, Lucy, but he was a very bad sort. He tried to blow up Parliament.”

“I do know,” said Lucy. “They remember him with bonfires every fifth of November on Guy Fawkes Day.”

“Well,” sniffed Sue, “there's no accounting for tastes. As for that Alfred Jewel, it's nothing at all you could wear. I saw a photo and it's really a very ugly lumpish sort of thing.”

“I take it you don't want to visit the museum,” said Lucy.

“No, and I don't care about the musty old pub either. Eagles and children don't go together very well.” She looked longingly at a sign pointing to the Covered Market. “I want to go shopping.”

“Okay,” agreed Lucy. “On one condition. We visit the Botanic Garden.”

“It seems rather far to walk,” began Sue, only to be silenced with a look from Lucy. “Okay. Okay.”

“Good,” said Lucy, who really didn't mind skipping the museum. She was eager to find something to wear to the formal dinner and was grateful for Flora's advice.

Secondhand Rose was just where Flora had said it was, and Lucy found an affordable long black skirt and a creamy lace top that Sue pronounced acceptable.

After visiting most of the shops, which offered designs aimed at college-aged girls, even Sue admitted defeat. She was able to satisfy her need to spend at a Boots drugstore, where she found a tempting array of bath and beauty products not available in the US, so the morning was not a complete loss for her.

They grabbed a quick lunch at a noisy pub mainly patronized by students, where Lucy ordered a sandwich and Sue opted for a liquid lunch of Guinness stout.

“It's only got ninety calories and it's awfully good for you,” she insisted, but Lucy wasn't convinced.

Thus fortified, they made their way toward the Magdalen Bridge and the Botanic Garden, which Lucy found extremely familiar.

“I swear, half of those Morse episodes are filmed here,” she said as they strolled along a wide path that ran along the river. Eventually finding a bench, they sat down and took in the busy scene on the Cherwell River filled with boaters floating along in punts they'd rented from the boat hire on the other side of the Magdalen Bridge.

The sun was warm and they were both feeling tired after their long walk. It was quite delightful to simply sit and rest and soak up the sunshine. They dozed off.

Lucy woke with a start. Checking her watch, she found it was twenty to three. “Sue, Sue, wake up!” she cried, jumping to her feet.

“Wha', wha'? I wasn't sleeping,” protested Sue.

“Never mind. We have to go. It's almost three.”

“Flora will wait for us,” said Sue, gathering her things together and strolling in the direction of the garden's gift shop.

“I'm not sure she will. She might think we've made other plans,” said Lucy, more to herself than Sue.

Inside the shop, Lucy confronted the array of tempting garden merchandise and paused to examine a pair of rose gloves said to be thorn-proof.

Suddenly, it was Sue who was in a hurry. “Come, come, Lucy. You can get those at home, you know.”

Lucy reluctantly replaced the gloves. “I know.”

They exited the garden together, and Lucy insisted on taking a quick look at the famous Magdalen Bridge, which irritated Sue.

“I don't want to have to hire a taxi or rent a car to get back,” she said.

“Look, it's not that far to the tower,” said Lucy. “We have to cross the road anyway so we might as well do it here.”

The road narrowed at the bridge, which was very much in use and carried a constant stream of traffic. They were able to dart between the slowed vehicles without too much trouble. Then they took a quick peek at the river below where people were lined up and waiting to rent punts. Turning around, they headed back up the busy High Street toward the agreed upon meeting place at the tower. Lucy looked back across the bridge for one last view of the river. It was then that she caught a glimpse of Flora on the opposite side of the bridge, standing and staring down at the river water below.

Something in the way she was standing and the way her attention was so fixed on the river worried Lucy. It was hard to believe the young woman who looked like a homeless person, with her shoulder blades clearly delineated beneath her oversized shirt and her unkempt hair, was a member of one of England's most aristocratic families. “Look!” she told Sue, pointing through the traffic toward Flora. “We have to get over there.”