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Authors: Carola Dunn

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BOOK: Mistletoe and Murder
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Bel was awfully glad Derek had been allowed to come. Nothing bothered Derek, not even turning up with a dog who wasn't invited. Belinda was in two minds about Nana. On the one hand, Nana would go on loving Belinda even if all the rest of the world thought she was Ill-Bred; on the other hand, she
was
an uninvited guest, and just turning up with her might make people think her mistress was Ill-Bred.
“Mr. Norville,” she said, as they reached a path through the woods by the river, “do you really, really truly not mind Nana?”
“Not at all. Why is she called Nana?”
“After
Peter Pan
, because Derek's dog is called Tinker Bell, only he usually just calls her Tinker. ‘Specially now he knows me, 'cause he calls me Bel, you see.”
“I see. May I call you Bel? You'd better call me Uncle Miles, I should think. Mr. Norville is my father. And he
won't mind Nana as long as you keep her out of the old house.”
“Why?” asked Derek. “I mean, I should have thought he'd care more about new stuff than old.”
“He's a historian,” Miles explained. “The old house is full of valuable antiques—tapestries and four-poster beds and cabinets with secret drawers and all that sort of thing.”
“Secret drawers! Gosh!”
“And a secret passage, and lost treasure, and a ghost.”
“Crikey!” breathed Derek. “Ripping!”
Belinda wasn't so sure a ghost was “ripping,” but she saw a twinkle in Uncle Miles's eyes and guessed he was teasing Derek. “Have you ever seen the ghost, Uncle Miles?” she asked.
“Not I, but I live in hopes. Aren't you going to let Nana off to chase squirrels, Bel? Won't she come when she's called?”
“Mostly.”
“She always comes when I whistle,” said Derek.
“It's not fair. Girls aren't supposed to whistle.”
“Who said that? Your gran or Aunt Daisy?”
“Gran,” said Bel, grasping Derek's point at once. Her new mother had very different ideas from her grandmother about what was proper for girls to do. “But I don't know how.”
“Let Nana off and we'll teach you,” Uncle Miles promised.
By the time they reached the house, Nana was exhausted and muddy, while Uncle Miles and Derek were wheezing from laughing at Belinda's efforts, but she could almost whistle. Whenever she tried, Nana cocked her head, so it was worth persevering.
“Better not whistle indoors,” suggested Uncle Miles, “and we'd better take Nana to one of the gardeners to be washed before she comes in. This way.”
With the puppy clean and as dry as a couple of sacks could make her, they went into the house. Nana went straight to the fireplace, lay down on the hearthrug, and fell asleep. No one seemed very interested in her. They were busy fussing around Lady Dalrymple with cushions and tea.
There was a girl not much older than Belinda and Derek, but she wasn't a bit friendly. There was a cross-looking clergyman, not at all like chubby, cheerful Mr. Preston at home. Derek started to talk to a man who was a sailor, a captain. Belinda went politely to sit with an old lady who smiled at her. Her name was Mrs. Norville. She said she came from India, a long, long time ago, so Bel told her about her schoolfriend Deva, who was Indian. Mrs. Norville was very nice.
After tea, Uncle Miles took Belinda and Derek on a tour of the old house. He warned them to be very careful because of everything being so valuable. They had to take a lantern because it was getting dark and there was no electricity, not even gas.
“I've got an electric torch,” Derek announced. “Daddy gave it to me for an early Christmas present. I'll go and get it.”
“Save the battery for when you need it,” Uncle Miles advised, lighting his lantern.
The old house was full of interesting things, but it was a bit eerie by lantern-light. There were shadows everywhere, and the people in the tapestries seemed to jump out at you when you went into a room. They kept moving, too,
because it was windy outside now and the draughts made the tapestries ripple and rustle.
“It's sort of like being in a house full of ghosts,” Belinda said.
“Real ghosts moan and rattle their chains,” Derek objected. “I say, Bel, let's come back tomorrow when it's light and look for the treasure map in the secret drawers.”
“May we, Uncle Miles?”
“I don't see why not, as long as you're careful not to break anything. Right-oh, we'd better get back now. It's your supper-time, and I have to dress for dinner.”
Jemima had supper with Derek and Belinda. She was simply furious because she usually had dinner with the grown-ups. The silly thing was she was angry with Bel and Derek, though it wasn't their fault at all. She scowled and muttered, and after pudding (delicious apple pie with very thick cream the maid called “clotted”), she said loudly, “It's going to be a
rotten
Christmas,” and went off without another word.
“She can have a rotten Christmas if she wants,” said Derek, “we're going to have a ripping Christmas. Nanny packed a big box of crackers and gummed paper for making paper chains. And Captain Norville said there'll be a Christmas tree and carols and mincepies, and plum pudding with sixpences in if he has to put them there himself. And if we hang up stockings tomorrow night, Father Christmas will come, only he'll have a grizzledy grey beard instead of white.”
Belinda giggled. “What a nice man! I hope you didn't tell him we're too old for Father Christmas.”
“Gosh, no! I said could we borrow a pair of his socks 'cause they're probably the biggest stockings in the house,
and he said yes. He's a brick. Maybe I'll be a sailor when I grow up.”
“Right now what you've got to be is a gentleman. I have to take Nana out. Please, may I borrow your electric torch?”
Derek hesitated, then came up with a compromise. “Tell you what, I'll come with you.”
Even with the torch, it was very dark outside, very different from London with its street lamps and lights in people's houses. The wind was blowing in great gusts which hurried them along in one direction and held them back when they turned around. Some of the gusts showered them with raindrops. Derek thought it was very jolly, and Belinda could see what he meant, but she was glad to go back inside.
They took Nana to the scullery where they had been told she was to sleep, then found their bedroom candles and lit them. They both thought it was very funny to be carrying lit candles up to bed with them, and Derek laughed so hard he blew his out halfway up the stairs. There were two lots of stairs, the second one very steep and narrow and sort of twisty, with a tiny landing at the top.
The bedrooms were very small, with sloping ceilings because they were up under the roof. Derek's was next to Belinda's, with a connecting door. There was a door on the other side, too, which a maid had told her was to the Reverend Calloway's room, and her parents were just at the bottom of the twisty stairs.
She and Derek got ready for bed, then sat cross-legged on Belinda's bed planning tomorrow's treasure hunt. Derek was sure the map must have been hidden in the desk with the naked people on it. Bel voted for the other desk Uncle Miles
had shown them, in the South Room, mostly because she didn't think they ought to be looking at the naked people.
“We won't
look
at them,” Derek argued. “We'll be too busy searching for the secret drawers no one else has found. I bet that's why they didn't find them, because they were squeamish about the naked people. You're not squeamish, are you?”
“No!” Bel denied hotly, though she wasn't at all sure what squeamish meant. It was a good word, though. Derek probably learnt it at his boarding school.
“Right-oh, that's settled then. Oh, hello, Aunt Daisy. Is it bedtime already?”
“Yes, darling, off you go. I'll pop in when I've tucked Bel in. I've brought you a night-light, Bel, because you're in a strange place and there's no switch to turn on a light if you need one.” She lit a little, fat candle and set it on the chest-of-drawers. “All right, darling?”
Belinda was asleep almost before Daisy had kissed her good night.
She woke with a start some hours later. The wind was howling around the eaves and down the chimney, making the night-light flicker. When the howling paused momentarily, something scratched at the window-pane. Just the creeper growing up the wall, Belinda assured herself stoutly. That wouldn't have wakened her—so what did?
She lay straining her ears. Was that a footstep? Something moaned softly. Bel sat bolt upright.
A white figure drifted towards her from the direction of Derek's room. It had a head, but no face. When she sat up, the moaning grew louder. The figure floated on across the room, and then came a rattling noise.
Belinda screamed.
D
aisy and Alec had retired early, though a considerable time passed before they settled to sleep. Daisy lay in bed, curled up against Alec, with his arm around her waist. He was already asleep. She mused on how wonderful life was. Before she was married, she hadn't realized that one could miss a person physically as well as emotionally, and after just a couple of days apart.
She was glad they had a double bed. No modern nonsense about separate singles in this old-fashioned house, she was thinking drowsily, when she heard Belinda scream.
“Daddy!”
Alec stirred. Daisy sprang out of bed. Not wasting time hunting for her abandoned nightie, she grabbed her dressing-gown, pulling it on as she felt her way through the pitch-darkness, barefooted on the chilly polished floorboards. Where was the door? Oh for the flip of a switch!
A narrow line of light from a lamp left burning in the passage showed her the way. Flinging open the door, she stumbled up the awkward stairs to Belinda's room. The child's voice was a wail now: “Daddy!”
“Darling, I'm here. Everything's all right. Did you have a bad dream?” As she spoke, Daisy gathered the sobbing girl in her arms and glanced around the dimly lit room.
A paler rectangle—the door to the clergyman's bedroom was open. Daisy's upbringing had not been so sheltered that she hadn't heard tales of clergymen who …
“A ghost! It was a ghost, Mummy, all white, moaning and rattling its chains.”
“Did it touch you, darling?” Even as she spoke, Daisy became aware of voices in the next room. “Wait here, Belinda, I'm going to see just what's going on.”
Mr. Calloway, fully dressed, had the ghost by its thoroughly corporeal wrist. It had on an ankle-length white garment, with a lacy white shawl completely covering its head.
“ … dabbling in the occult,” the clergyman was saying sternly, “a highly dangerous pastime. You put your immortal soul in danger for the sake of a silly prank.”
“Let me go! It was just in fun.”
“Jemima,” whispered Belinda, slipping her hand into Daisy's. “She doesn't like Derek and me.”
“The supernatural is not ‘fun.' From playing the ghost, you may easily come to the deadly sin of attempting to raise ghosts and spirits.”
“I hardly think so,” said Daisy, walking in. “A stupid bit of mischief, that's all, isn't it, Jemima? I have a word to say to you, young lady, but we don't want to keep Mr. Calloway from his devotions.” She had noticed a pillow on the floor by the bed, indented by two knees.
“I am sorry to hear you make light of this, Mrs. Fletcher. However, this is not the time for serious remonstrances. I shall speak to her parents in the morning and ask their
permission to see if I cannot make her see the evil of her tricks. This is a troubled house. I shall pray for all within its walls.”
Daisy was tempted to say, “Not for me, thank you,” but that would be a very bad example for the girls; and anyway, she was far too well brought up. “Good night,” she said instead, and beckoned imperiously to the ghost. She was her mother's daughter in that, she thought ruefully. Even with bare feet and no night-dress under her dressing-gown, she could make a gesture imperious enough to bring Jemima slouching after her into Belinda's room.
Shutting the door, she moved to stand on the bedside rug, saying, “Belinda, get back into bed before you catch cold. Jemima, take your grandmother's shawl off your head, if you please. Now tell me, why did you play such an unkind trick on a younger child who is a guest in your house? Why did you want to frighten Belinda?”
“I didn't care about frightening Belinda,” Jemima said sulkily. “I just wanted to make Mr. Calloway go away.”
“Mr. Calloway? Why on earth … ?”
“He's upset everyone. He's going to absolutely ruin Christmas! I suppose you'll tell everyone what I did,” she snarled at Belinda.
“No, I shan't. I don't carry tales.”
“Mr. Calloway's going to tell your parents,” Daisy pointed out. “You'll have to explain to them what it was all about. Now you'd better get to bed. Off you go.”
Jemima left through the door to the landing, which Daisy had left open. As she closed it behind her, the handle rattled slightly.
“That's what it was,” said Belinda. “That's the noise I thought was chains. It must have been Mr. Calloway's door
handle, and I should think what woke me up was when she came in through Derek's door.”
“She came through Derek's room?”
“I think so. When I saw her, she was coming from that direction. Do you think he's all right?” Bel started climbing out of bed.
“You just stay put, young lady, and do your best to go back to sleep. I'll see to Derek.”
Daisy wondered if she'd find her intrepid nephew cowering under the bedclothes. She should have known better. He was fast asleep, sprawled on his back, the bedclothes around his waist. She pulled them up around his neck, tucked them in, and went back to her own room.
Alec was as fast asleep as Derek. Of course, he'd worked hard all week and had had the exhausting task of bringing her mother plus children and puppy from London to Brockdene. Yet before their marriage he would have awakened at the slightest sound of distress from his precious daughter. Daisy sighed. She supposed it was flattering that, even dead to the world, he relied on her to take care of Bel.
Icy feet against his thighs brought only an indistinct mutter as his arm closed around her again. Feeling wide awake she started to try to puzzle out what Jemima had really been up to, and what it had to do with whatever was going on with the rest of the Norvilles. But in spite of the subject's fascination, within a couple of minutes she drifted off.
When Daisy and Alec went down to breakfast on Christmas Eve, only Miles was in the dining room.
“Your two are off somewhere doing something deadly secret,” he reported, as they helped themselves from the sideboard.
“Not outside, I hope,” said Daisy, looking at the rain beating against the window.
“I think not. They took the pup out for a quick dash earlier, then apologized profusely to her for shutting her up again, so I suspect they're in the old house. I suppose they're to be trusted not to do any damage?”
“Oh yes, they're good children.” Daisy sat down opposite the young man.
“On the whole,” Alec qualified. “You did warn them to be especially careful, I trust?”
“I told them Father would beat them within an inch of their lives if anything was broken. I remember the time I … Ah well, that's water under the bridge. It's about the only thing that really gets his goat. The Rev was fulminating against Jemima this morning, but Father didn't seem to care a hoot. I don't suppose you know what that was all about?”
Daisy exchanged a glance with Alec, whom she'd told about the night's adventures.
“I see you know all and are not going to tell me,” said Miles. “Ah well, I'll worm it out of Mother. She was pretty annoyed about Jemima's shenanigans. Jemima's been sent up to wind wool for Gran. I was asked to present Mother's excuses for not being here when you came down. She's gone to consult Mrs. Pardon about Christmas frolics, the Pardon being expected to cooperate for once because there's a ‘Lady' in the house, with a capital L. Said Lady is breakfasting in bed, I understand.”
“Said Lady always does,” Daisy affirmed. “I hope Mrs. Pardon has assigned a maid to her full time. I'm surprised she didn't bring her own woman.”
“Lady Dalrymple gave her maid Christmas off,” said
Alec, “assuming that Lord Westwood's house would have plenty of well-trained servants.”
“Plenty of housemaids.” Miles looked at Daisy. “Am I out of line, Mrs. Fletcher, if I say we've all been wondering why Lady Dalrymple chose to come to Brockdene for Christmas?”
“I never attempt to explain anything Mother does,” Daisy said lightly. “Where is everyone else?”
“The Rev's in the Chapel, praying to be preserved from Gran's idols. You haven't seen them yet, have you, sir? I'll take you up after breakfast, if you like. They're rather magnificent.”
“So Daisy tells me.”
“Uncle Victor's dragged a couple of gardeners out to cut a Christmas tree and some greenery. Flick … Oh, good morning, sir.” Miles jumped up as an elderly gentleman in a decidedly damp tweed suit came into the room.
“Sit down, sit down, my boy, and finish your breakfast.”
“Just a last cup of coffee. Will you have one? Mrs. Fletcher, may I present my grandfather, James Tremayne? Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, sir.”
So this was the solicitor, Dora Norville's father, who had paid for Miles's schooling and now employed him. “How do you do, Mr. Tremayne,” Daisy said with a smile. “Don't tell me you walked over from Calstock in this weather?”
“Pooh, pooh, a bit of a breeze and a drop of rain, nothing to a countryman, Mrs. Fletcher, I assure you.” He stood on the hearth, his back to the fire, his steaming clothes releasing an odour of cigars into the room. “Now, the weather forecast is something different. I listened to it this morning on my wireless receiver. I have an excellent wireless
set. They say this wind will grow to gale force in the course of the morning. That's why I came over early.”
“We're quite sheltered at Brockdene,” said Miles, taking his grandfather a cup of coffee. “I dare say it won't amount to much except for those at sea. But you'd better reckon to spend the night, sir.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps so. I wouldn't wish to put out Lord Westmoor's guests.”
“You won't do that, Mr. Tremayne,” Daisy assured him. Her mother could not possibly have any greater objection to a country solicitor than she already did to a dark-skinned poor relation, and her host's absence. “The more the merrier, especially at Christmas.”
He beamed at her. “Just what I think, dear lady! And that reminds me, I brought the post with me, and there was a letter for Lady Dalrymple, as well as one or two for your father, Miles. And the newspapers. They are on the hall table. Godfrey doesn't take a newspaper, so I generally bring a couple when I come over. I expect you'd like to see the
Times
, Mr. Fletcher.”
Alec agreed, though his usual paper was the
Daily Chronicle
, a shockingly liberal choice for a policeman. They chatted about the news of the day for a few minutes, until a maid came in and said to Daisy, “Please, madam, her ladyship wants to see you.”
“Right-oh, I'll go up in a minute. Thank you … ?”
“Jenny, madam. Right away, madam, her ladyship said. Her ladyship's in a proper state, madam, and I'm sure I hope 'tis not something I've done; but I weren't trained up for a lady's maid and that's the plain truth of it.”
“She'd have left you in no doubt if it were your fault,
Jenny.” Regretfully Daisy abandoned what little remained of her sausage and toast. “Oh dear, what now, I wonder?”
“I reckon it's that letter, madam,” Jenny said, as they left the dining room. “Knowing Mr. Tremayne were come, and him sometimes bringing the post, I looked and saw it on the table when I were going up to get her ladyship's breakfast things, so I took it up to her ladyship. She sent me to run her bath, and she were opening it when I left, and when I come back she were in a state.”
“I'm sure it must have been the letter. Thank you, Jenny, you can go now. I'll ring if you're needed.”
Hurrying up the stairs, Daisy wondered whom the letter was from and what on earth it said that was so upsetting it required her immediate presence. Surely not Violet! If anything had happened to her or the baby, she or Johnnie would have written to Daisy first and let her break it to their mother.
“Mother, what … ?”
“Daisy, how could you be so remiss, so utterly lacking in duty to your only parent, as to leave me to learn the truth from a stranger?”
“Mother, I've already explained that Westmoor didn't tell me he wasn't going to be here for Christmas, though I gather he's spent Christmas at Tavy Bridge for years. And I didn't know Mrs. Norville was Indian, either.”
“Indian!” Lady Dalrymple snorted and waved the offending letter. Sitting up in bed in a powder blue quilted satin bed-jacket, she was a study in outrage. “That is the least of it!”
“Whom is it from?”
“Eva Devenish. An utterly reliable source.”
“Blast!” Daisy muttered. Lady Eva never invented gossip;
she didn't need to. She had at her fingertips every scrap of scandal which had shaken the aristocracy in the past five or six decades. No use Daisy trying to cast doubt on whatever she had raked up this time. “Lady Eva's not exactly a stranger, Mother, even if she isn't family. But how did she know you were here?”
BOOK: Mistletoe and Murder
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