Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (7 page)

“I’m fine.”

“Iris needs to be more careful here,” said William. “This place is a death trap.”

I was beginning to warm to him. “You see, Mum?” I said smugly. “William doesn’t think it’s practical for you to be here, either. Nor is it safe. I practically broke my foot in the loo. The casing flew off.”

“I’ll take a look tomorrow,” said William. “It’s already bruised Iris’s foot once. I told her not to use that toilet but she’s a stubborn old thing.”

“I’ll have less of the
old,
thank you very much,” Mum grumbled.

“Anyway, I’d best be off.” William rewarded me with yet another dazzling smile and got to his feet. He had to be at least six foot three—David was tall, but William seemed gigantic. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her, Kat. I know I can’t.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Chocolate strawberries aside, perhaps I could enlist William’s help to persuade Mum to return to London with me.

William headed for the back door. He pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket and put them down on the dresser. “I moved your MINI into the yard by the way, Iris.” Turning to me he added, “I would have moved your Golf—that
is
your car?”

“Yes, but don’t worry,” I said. “I can move it myself.”

“And I put the fender in the barn.”

Mum looked blank. “Fender?”

My heart sank. “Mum, I was going to explain but—”

“Naughty Iris,” William said with an indulgent chuckle. “I told you that I could lift the MINI out”—he flexed his biceps—“but you couldn’t wait and had to ask Eric for help.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mum.

“You’ll need a new fender,” William went on. “Eric is like a bull in a china shop.”

Mum turned to me with a shriek. “Eric Pugsley! What possessed you to ask Eric Pugsley?”

“I didn’t know you and he had had a falling out,” I protested.

“Oh dear,” said William. “Have I put my foot in it?”

“Yes, you have,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it sorted,” said William smoothly. “I’ll take your car into Dartmouth on Monday, Iris.”

“Thank you, William,” said Mum, shooting me a furious look.

“What time shall I come and get you for your hair appointment tomorrow?”

“I can take Mum,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“In that case, I’ll be off. Enjoy the strawberries, ladies,” said William. “Kat, can I have a quick word?”

“Is it about me?” said Mum coyly.

“It’s always about you, Mother.”

Once we reached the courtyard William turned to me. “I wasn’t joking about the place being a death trap.”

“Nor am I.”

“Does she have any other family members? Brothers? Sisters? Someone who can make her see sense?”

“Mum is an orphan.”

“An orphan?” said William. “She never told me.”

“Mum’s very private,” I said.

“Do you know why she decided to come and live here?” William seemed worried. “I mean, why move from London? Does she know anyone in the area?”

I was touched by his concern. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well—perhaps you can persuade her,” said William. “The winters can be pretty brutal.”

“I intend to.”

“I must get on,” he said. “Edith will be waiting for me in the stable yard.”

“Is that the dowager countess?”

“She’s incredible—still rides sidesaddle to hounds,” William enthused. “Her bark is worse than her bite, but she’s a good person. Sharp as a tack—whatever you may hear to the contrary.”

I waved William good-bye and returned to the kitchen.

“William certainly seems to have the hots for you,” I teased.

Mum didn’t answer. She was busy scribbling on a block of Post-it Notes. I couldn’t read very well upside down but I deciphered the word “strawberry.”

“Hmm?” Mum continued scribbling.

“Did you hear what I said? I don’t trust his motives.”

“What was that?” Mum bit her lip and frowned. “Wait a moment.” And began scribbling again, tearing off each Post-it Note with gusto and sticking them under her poncho.

“Just as well you write left-handed,” I pointed out. “Mum, seriously. This William—”

“He reminds me of Lurch,” she said suddenly. “From the
Addams Family,
only friendlier. You know, I feel a headache coming on. I’m going to lie down.”

“Well, I’m tired,” I said, relieved that she didn’t want to rant about Eric and the broken fender. “Can I help you get ready for bed?”

“I don’t need a nanny.”

“Oh God!” In all the excitement I’d forgotten my promise to Gayla. “Speaking of nannies, I need to make a phone call.”

“Be my guest,” said Mum.

Retrieving the business card for Bumble-Bee Cars I dialed the number but just got voice mail. It would appear that the taxi company’s operating hours were from 6 a.m. until 9 p.m. I didn’t leave a message. “They’re closed. Can you believe it!”

“This isn’t London, dear.”

“I hope Gayla made her train.”

“Gayla the nanny?” said Mum.

“I met her at the top of the drive waiting for a taxi. Apparently she left in disgrace.”

“Disgrace? Really?” said Mum. “How do you know?”

I related the conversation I’d overheard in the general store earlier between Muriel and Vera, adding, “Vera doesn’t seem the housekeeper type.”

“I’m sure she had something to do with Gayla’s dismissal,” said Mum. “Vera is insanely jealous of any pretty girl who comes near her precious Eric.”

“
The
Eric?” I said surprised. “She’s married to Eric Pugsley?”

“Vera told me she thinks he is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen.”

“With those eyebrows?” I laughed. “Is she blind?”

“Yes, old beetle-brows,” Mum said. “I half expect them to crawl off his face.”

“Mum!”

“You know what they say—beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Mum paused for thought. “Take you, for example. I don’t know what you see in Dylan. Is it his money? His power?”

I retorted with a barb of my own. “And I wonder what you see in staying in this dump? Is it for the remote chance of meeting royalty?” Mum winced and I felt horrible. “Sorry, that was unkind. But honestly—even the nanny said you should move back to London.”

“How nice of you to discuss me with a stranger,” Mum said coldly. “And a foreigner at that. Your father never trusted the Russians.”

“Actually, Gayla was very complimentary about you. But she said you were in great danger.”

“I am. From beetle-brows,” said Mum.

“She said—and I quote, ‘Rupert is a wicked man and should be stopped.’”

“Are we going to bicker all evening?” Mum grumbled. “I’m game if you are.”

“No,” I said wearily. “Let’s call a truce.”

“Good—because
Walk of Shame!
starts in five minutes,” said Mum. “
Do
watch it. It’s hilarious.”

“No, thank you.” I sniffed. “I don’t want to see people get humiliated by Trudy Wynne, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s all scripted.”

“It’s
not
all scripted,” I exclaimed. “Trudy goes out of her way to dig up the dirt.”

“I hope you didn’t quit
Fakes & Treasures
because of her.”

“Of course not,” I said hotly, hating Mum for touching a nerve.
Had I?

“Your father would be
so
disappointed if he knew you packed it in because you’d let Trudy get to you.”

“I’m not packing it in because of Trudy Wynne,” I cried. “And I don’t want to talk about her. I’ve always wanted my own antique shop. At least
look
at some of the property brochures I’ve brought with me, Mum.”

“You are wasting your breath,” said Mum. “I’m not moving anywhere.”

“Let’s not argue,” I said.

“Who’s arguing?”

I made a monumental effort to keep my temper, picked up my tote bag, and pulled out
Gypsy Temptress.
“Here,” I said. “A peace offering.”

“Oh!” Mum brightened. “What did you think? Did you enjoy it?”

“You know I don’t read that rubbish. It’s for you.”

Mum opened her mouth but before she could say thank you, the puke-green phone mounted on the wall let out a series of chirrups. “Who on earth is calling so late?” Mum snatched up the receiver. “Yes?” she snapped. “Oh, yes, this is Iris Stanford speaking.” Mum’s expression changed from annoyance to disbelief. “Could you repeat that please?” She listened again and then put the phone down, eyes wide with excitement.

“Did you win the lottery?” I asked.

“That was Cropper from the Hall,” Mum gushed. “We’re expected for coffee tomorrow morning at ten-thirty with the Earl of Grenville—that’s Lord Honeychurch, they have all kinds of titles. Well I never! I
am
surprised. Fancy the gentry asking us for coffee!” Mum’s face was pink. “But what should I wear? Oh dear, I can’t go looking like this!”

“What exactly did Cropper say?” I asked.

“Something about not using the tradesman’s entrance.” Mum beamed. “You see! We’re even told to use the main drive!”

“I am sorry to dampen your excitement,” I said. “The reason we are going to the Hall is to discuss the tradesman’s entrance—and a few other things.”

“Why do we have to discuss the tradesman’s entrance?” said Mum.

“I met Lady Lavinia this afternoon and told her that old beetle-brows had closed all access—meaning you couldn’t drive through his field.”

“Oh.” Mum’s face fell. “Really Kat, I do wish you wouldn’t interfere. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m embarrassed. They are the aristocracy and now I’ll look common. You’re just like your father. Always putting a wet blanket on everything.”

“That’s not true, Mum. I’m worried for you, that’s all.” I waved
Gypsy Temptress
at her. “I do try, Mum. See?”

Mum regarded my gift with what seemed like disgust. She turned on her heel, wrenched open the kitchen door, and vanished.

I just couldn’t win.

Chapter Five

I washed up the dishes and gave the work surfaces a thorough cleaning. Under the stone sink was a very smelly pedal bin in dire need of emptying. Obviously, William hadn’t been put on bin duty.

A sudden burst of birdsong erupted from a round clock hanging above the pantry door. According to the chaffinch, it was ten o’ clock. I’d bought that clock for Mum decades ago and Dad had never liked it so it stayed in the box. I wondered if my parents had really been happy all those years and yet I knew my father had idolized Mum.

Dad never exactly forbade her to do things, but rather suggested it wasn’t a good idea as in, “Iris, it’s lovely but where would you put it?” When she saw a dress she liked and wanted to buy it—Mum had no money of her own—Dad would say, “Of course you can have it but would you wear it? You know you hate going out.”

Perhaps I needed to change tactics and adopt some of Dad’s persuasion techniques.

A shaft of moonlight shone through a crack in the net curtains. I pulled a panel aside and looked out onto the cobbled yard. Mum’s MINI was parked in front of the barn. A figure entered the courtyard from the direction of the woods and stood in the shadows.

I was certain it was William and felt a twinge of alarm. Was he going to turn out to be a peeping Tom? Switching off the kitchen light, I returned to the window and watched. He stood there for several minutes before creeping over to the dustbins.

Tying up the bag of rubbish from the pedal bin, I walked to the front door and out into the courtyard. Taking a circular route, I crept around the corner of the barn determined to confront him.

To my annoyance, William was busily scouring the contents of the dustbins with the help of a flashlight and a walking stick. Balls of yellow paper and food wrappers were scattered on the ground and there was an overwhelming stench of rotting garbage.

I’d had to deal with “fans” rifling through my dustbins before hoping to find some gem to sell to Trudy Wynne and was furious.

“Looking for something?” I said and then stepped back in surprise. “
Eric?
Is that you? What are you doing?”

Eric slammed down the lid and spun around. Shielding my eyes from the glare I snapped, “Turn that thing off.”

“Yes, what
are
you doing, Eric?” Vera materialized from thin air. “Or should I say, what are you
both
doing?” Her voice was slurred and I suspected she’d been drinking.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, woman. Can’t a man use a dustbin?” Eric said, exasperated. “I was on my way to my office.”

“At this time of night?” Vera’s voice was heavy with accusation.

“Yes,” said Eric. “And don’t start nagging.”

“You don’t waste time, do you? That Russian tart only left this afternoon,” Vera shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I know what’s wrong with you,” Eric shouted back. “You’re bloody drunk, woman.”

Vera stepped toward me. Her breath reeked of alcohol. “And you should keep your hands off other people’s husbands,” she cried. “You’re on
Fakes & Treasures
! You’re Rapunzel. I
knew
you were lying …
Jazzbo
.”

“Excuse me,” I said coldly. “I’d like to throw this lot out.”

Wordlessly, Eric took the rubbish bag from me, gallantly lifted the dustbin lid, and threw it in.

“Thank you,” I said. “And please clear up this mess.”

“Keep away from my Eric,” said Vera. “I’m warning you.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” I muttered, as I squeezed past Vera and hurried back to the house thoroughly irritated. What an awful woman.

Picking up my overnight case from the hall, I headed upstairs, promptly tripped on a loose floorboard at the top of the stairs, and went flying headlong on the landing. Despite the crash and my cry of pain, Mum did not come out to investigate. She must have taken her headache straight to bed.

There were no prizes for guessing that the first door I opened was mine. Apart from the gaping hole in the floor behind the door exposing the hall below, Mum had recreated my 1980’s teenage lair complete with my Laura Ashley curtains. She could easily have made this a guest room. I was touched.