Murder at Merisham Lodge: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 1 (7 page)

Chapter Eight

I didn’t get a chance to talk to Verity until the next morning, when we were washing and dressing in our room. She’d had to accompany Dorothy out the night before and hadn’t got back until the small hours, when I was fast asleep. She was heavy-eyed that morning, yawning frequently. I helped her do her hair and make-up.

“Thank you, Joanie,” she said, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as I brushed her hair.

“So, how did you get on with the inspector?”

That made her sit up and open her eyes. “Well, I told him about the gloves. I said I was absolutely certain that they weren’t there first thing in the morning and that they must have been put there during the morning, while Peter was with Dorothy.”

I carefully slid the pins into her hair, smoothing it under my fingers. “So did you actually say that someone else must have put them there?”

Verity made a face. “Not exactly that. I mean, it would have looked as though I was trying to tell him his job, wouldn’t it?” I had to agree. “He’s not stupid, Joan. He’ll come to that conclusion by himself.”

I slid the last pin into place. “There, done. Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” I glanced over at the little alarm clock that stood on our bedside table. “Lord, we’re going to be late; it’ll have to be later. Come on, V.”

We found out something else after breakfast. Apparently the post mortem had been performed on her ladyship, and, in the usual manner of servants’ gossip, the facts about it were already circulating, despite Mr Fenwick and Mrs Anstell’s attempts to stop it.

“There were
splinters
,” Maggie whispered to me in the pantry as we gathered the ingredients for the minestrone planned for that day’s lunch. “In her
head
.”

“How horrible,” I said with distaste. “Don’t let Mrs Watling catch you talking about it, mind.”

“Yes, but Joan, think about it. Doesn’t that mean someone must have hit her with one of the logs in the library fireplace?”

“I suppose so.” I hurried her over to the kitchen table and started her chopping the onions. “Don’t let’s talk about it anymore, all right?”

Maggie crimped up her mouth, clearly longing to pick over the grisly facts a bit longer. I began seasoning the lamb, which was going to be the main course for luncheon, thinking about what Maggie had told me. Her supposition that the murder weapon had to have been one of the library logs seemed accurate. Did that mean the murder was not premeditated? Surely using a lump of wood as a weapon meant that the murderer clearly hadn’t planned to do it? Didn’t it?

I shook my head in impatience at myself. What business was it of mine? I turned my attention back to the food beneath my hands, trying to keep my mind on the job and off the murder.

Verity came down to lunch and we managed to sit together. The order of precedent wasn’t always firmly observed at the servants’ table, something for which I was thankful because it gave us a chance to talk.

“Where did you go last night?” I asked.

Verity yawned and covered her mouth. “Oh, sorry. We went to La Petite Bouche.” This was a restaurant in Buxton. “I had to wait for her in the cloakroom for two bloody hours while she had a nice meal with that Simon.”

“Which Simon?”

“You remember. Simon Snailer.”

I remembered the name. “Oh, so she’s still seeing him then? What’s he like?”

Verity grinned. “Let’s just say it’s probably just as well Lady E isn’t here anymore. She would definitely not have approved.”

I half laughed, although I was a little shocked. “In what way?”

“Well, he’s got no money, for starters. He’s a gentleman but he’s not highborn in any way. And he looks very much like a disreputable artist.”

“Is that what he is?”

“I think so. A painter, or something like that.” Verity put her knife and fork neatly in the middle of her plate and took a drink of water. “That was lovely food, Joanie. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” I said, but I was pleased. It was nice to have some acknowledgement of the time and effort I put into my work. I certainly wasn’t going to get it from anyone upstairs, that was for sure.

Lowering my voice, I told Verity about what Maggie had mentioned to me. “Had you heard?”

Verity looked sombre. “Yes. Dorothy’s been obsessing about it. Well, that’s hardly surprising really, is it?”

“So, what do you think?”

“What?”

I hesitated, feeling it was a little indelicate even to be talking about it. “If the – the murder weapon was one of the logs, doesn’t that indicate that it wasn’t planned? I mean, it’s not a very likely weapon, is it?”

Verity was chewing her lip. She rotated her teacup on its saucer, obviously thinking. “Actually, Joanie, in some ways it’s the perfect weapon. Why do you think they haven’t found it yet?”

“Haven’t they?” I realised I’d raised my voice in my surprise and that Mrs Anstells was starting to cast glances our way. I spoke more quietly. “How do you know that?”

“Dorothy told me. The inspector told
her
.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t they found it yet?”

Verity gave me an exasperated look. “Because whoever did it probably put it straight in the fire afterwards. It’s all been burnt up. Nicely concealing things like fingerprints.”

I frowned. “Would you be able to get fingerprints from a piece of firewood?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But my point is, that even though on the surface it doesn't look premeditated, it doesn’t actually mean that it wasn't.”

Mrs Anstells was definitely looking now. “No, no, you’re right,” I said hastily. “Let’s talk about it more tonight.”

After lunch, Mr Fenwick asked me to go and help the footmen clear the dining room. Slightly resentfully, because that wasn’t really my job, I clambered up the stairs to the ground floor of the house and went into the dining room. Andrew and Albert were already stacking the trolley that would be rolled into the service lift for transportation to the kitchen for washing up.

There was still an awful lot of food left. No doubt, it would be mine and Mrs Watling’s job to refashion the leftovers into the evening meal for the servants. Sighing inwardly, I began to clear plates from the dining table.

The doorbell rang. Both men and I looked up in surprise. The dining room stood off the entrance hall to the house and, after a moment, I could hear Mr Fenwick’s ponderous footsteps wending their way to the front door. It gave that distinctive two-tone creak as he opened it.

“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Lady Dorothy.” It was a man’s voice, rather drawling and affected. The two footmen and I exchanged a look.

“And whom might I say is calling?” Mr Fenwick asked.

“Simon Snailer.”

Alight with curiosity, I put the plate in my hand back on the table and moved closer to the door. I could feel the glances of the two men hit my back but I ignored them.

There were footsteps outside, lighter than Mr Fenwick’s. Then Dorothy spoke. “Simon! You’re early.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

As I watched, I saw them both walk past the half-open dining room door. Simon Snailer was tall and broad-shouldered, with a shaggy mop of dark hair and a moustache. He looked rather louche and I remembered what Verity had said about him. His clothes, in the brief glimpse that I had, were shabby and paint-marked. He wore a worn tweed jacket and no tie. Mr Fenwick followed the two of them, radiating disapproval.

Their footsteps faded from hearing and I turned reluctantly back to the dining table.

“Nosy,” Andrew said, grinning. I rolled my eyes at him.

Verity was in the kitchen when I got back, sitting at the table with a bottle of oil, a heap of red rose petals and some salt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, curious.

“Mixing up a potion,” said Verity absently, occupied with shredding rose petals.

“It smells nice,” I said, sniffing appreciatively.

Mrs Watling came bustling over and shrieked. “What knife are you using, Verity? Oh, no, no, not that one!” She pulled it out of Verity’s hand. “This one’s just for meat. Oh, I wished you’d asked me.”

“Sorry,” Verity said, annoyance edging her tone. “Which one can I use, then?”

Mrs Watling slapped a knife down in front of her. “This one. And you’ll need to hurry up because we need the table for prep soon.”

“All right,” Verity muttered. She gathered up the rose petals and dumped them into the bowl in front of her. Then she poured over the oil and began to mix it all together with the knife.

“Is this for Dorothy?” I asked, fascinated.

Verity nodded. “This is all part of being a top-notch lady’s maid. You have to be able to mix up beauty potions, do her hair, do her make-up, do her manicures and pedicures.”

“Lord, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Verity grinned. “Stick to cooking, Joanie. You’re good at it.”

“Verity—” warned Mrs Watling.

“I’m going. I’m going.” Verity gathered her things together. She gave me a look and inclined her head very slightly to one side.

I followed her out of the room. “What’s the matter?”

“Was there something you wanted to talk about? You said so, this morning.”

For a moment, I couldn’t think of what she meant, but then I remembered. I glanced around at the open kitchen door and gestured for Verity to follow me. We walked further down the corridor to where we couldn’t be overheard.

“What is it?” Verity asked.

I spoke in a low tone. “Have you – have you ever seen anything strange going on between Lord Cartwright and Rosalind?”

Verity’s eyes widened. “Lord Cartwright and Rosalind?” I saw her gaze go off to the side as she obviously sifted back through her memories. “By strange, do you mean—”

I nodded at her raised eyebrows. “Yes,
that
. Have you ever seen or heard anything?”

Verity looked sombre. “Why are you asking, Joanie? Have
you
seen anything?”

I told her what I’d heard – or not heard – in the study. “Of course, I could be completely mistaken. But...I don’t know – it’s odd.”

Verity frowned. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything. But—” She paused dramatically. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if she
was
setting her cap at him. Now he’s widowed. She’d probably love to get her feet under the table. You know how rich he is.”

“Mmm.” I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that Lord Cartwright would need all the money he had to make up for his unfortunate personal attributes. Not to mention his horrible temper.

“What do you—” Verity began but then we both heard Mrs Watling calling for me.

“Blast, I’ll have to go.”

“Me too.” Verity picked up the bowl that she’d placed on the sideboard. “But I’ll tell you what, Joan. I’m going to keep my eyes peeled.”

“Good. Talk to you later, then.”

I watched her walk up the stairs to the ground floor, trailing the scent of rose petals in her wake. Then I walked back to the kitchen, bracing myself for the hours of hard work that were yet to come.

Chapter Nine

As well as preparations for dinner, I also had to prepare food and drink for afternoon tea. There was an extra person to cater for, in the form of Simon Snailer. It was Albert’s afternoon off so I helped Alfred carry the tea things up to the drawing room. As I carefully carried the tray, teacups and saucers chinking together musically, I remembered doing the same all those days ago, when Lady Eveline had still been alive. I tried to feel a bit sorry at her death but she’d been such an unpleasant person, it was hard to feel much of anything. I felt sorry for Dorothy, though, and for Peter. Especially for Peter, if it were true that he was innocent.

It was a shock to see him in the drawing room. He was sitting with Dorothy and Rosalind, and they were both cooing over him as if he’d been away for years. Lord Cartwright was sat opposite them all, staring at them without expression.

“I knew they’d made a mistake,” Dorothy exclaimed. “The police are just so stupid. I tried to tell them they’d made a mistake but did they listen?”

“I highly doubt the police are stupid,” said Duncan. He was standing by the fire, smoking a cigarette and staring into the flames. “I get the impression that the inspector, for example, is a very sharp and calculating man.”

Dorothy made a noise of disbelief. “Well, I think it’s absolutely ludicrous that they arrested Peter. Anyone with half a brain could see that he had nothing to do with it.”

“So who
did
do it, then?” Duncan asked with a hard tone. He threw his cigarette butt into the fire with a jerk of the wrist.

There was a shocked silence. I was pouring out the tea and the tinkle of the liquid into the cups sounded very loud. Hurriedly, I put down the pot.

“Duncan, that is not a subject for discussion in this room,” said Lord Cartwright heavily.

“That’s right,” said Rosalind. “
Pas devant les domestiques
and all that.”

It made me laugh inwardly when our betters said things like that. Did they honestly believe that we didn’t understand what they were saying, just because they said it in French? I didn’t know much French, although Verity was trying to teach me, but I damn well knew what that phrase meant.

I saw Duncan look at Rosalind with dislike. “Nobody asked you to stick your oar in. Why are you here, anyway? You’re not part of this family, no matter how much you might like to think you are.”

I saw Rosalind’s face contract with shock, just before Lord Cartwright thundered “Duncan! Apologise at once.”

Duncan half laughed, bitterly. Then he walked out of the room shaking his head.

I could see Rosalind trying to pretend it didn’t matter. Dorothy looked uncomfortable, Peter likewise, and Simon Snailer frankly amused.

“I must apologise for my son, Rosalind, my dear,” said Lord Cartwright, rather redder in the face than was normal. “He didn’t mean it, I’m sure.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Rosalind said, with a bright, insincere smile. “We’re all rather tightly wound at the moment, aren’t we? It’s been a very great strain.”

By now I’d poured the tea out into the cups. This should really have been the time to leave the room and go back down to the kitchen but I was too curious to do that. Instead I stepped back a little from the tea table to stand against the wall next to Alfred. I dipped my head a little and clasped my hands in front of me but kept my gaze on the family.

One by one, they drifted over to pick up their tea. I got a faint smile and a ‘thank you, Joan’ from Dorothy, but that was it. Peter Drew looked as though he were in a not particularly pleasant dream. Rosalind was clearly still stewing over Duncan’s rude remarks. Lord Cartwright didn’t bother coming up to the table. Instead he snapped his fingers at Alfred. “Get me a whisky,” was all that he said.

Alfred hurried over to the drinks cabinet. I stood, demurely, watching people’s faces. Simon Snailer came over and helped himself to an enormous number of scones, cakes and sandwiches. Then he went and sat back down next to Dorothy. I looked at him curiously, wondering what it was that she saw in him. He clearly didn’t have money, he wasn’t titled, so what was it? He was good-looking enough, in a scruffy kind of way, so perhaps that was it.

Alfred handed Lord Cartwright his whisky and came back to stand next to me by the wall. I watched Lord Cartwright. His eyes were frequently on Rosalind, although she didn’t seem to notice. That fake smile had fallen off her face and she was sipping determinedly at her tea, her eyes unfocused. I wondered what she was thinking.

After ten minutes, I couldn’t put off going back downstairs any longer. Nothing much was happening in the drawing room anyway. Simon sat talking to Dorothy, Peter stood by the window looking out, and Rosalind and Lord Cartwright both remained silent.

I thought Verity might have to accompany Dorothy out again that night, but luckily, that didn’t turn out to be the case. I was brushing my hair out in front of our little mirror when she came into the bedroom.

“I thought you’d be out tonight,” I said, catching her eye in the mirror.

“So did I, but Dorothy changed her mind.” Verity sat down on her bed with a thankful sigh and unbuckled her shoes. “Ooh, my feet. I feel like I’ve been on them all day.”

“Is Simon Snailer staying the night?” I asked.

Verity giggled. “Yes, he is. Wonder if there’ll be some late night corridor wandering later?”

“Verity!” I had to admit, I was a little shocked. “Would Dorothy do that?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” she said, still smiling. “She’s a modern woman, remember?”

“She’d better hope Lord C doesn’t find out,” I remarked, laying the brush back down on the tiny dressing table. “He’d throw her out of the house.”

“Well, maybe he’s got a few secrets of his own,” said Verity. She lay back on her pillow, smiling cynically. “I think you might be right about him and Rosalind.”

“Do you?” I turned in my seat. “I was watching him today in the drawing room at tea. He did look at her a lot.”

Verity yawned and sat back up. “Lord, I am so tired. I must get to bed.” She heaved herself to her feet and started to undress. “God knows what Dorothy is going to want to do tomorrow.”

What we’d been talking about went out of my head, given my concentration on getting my hair pinned up properly. Verity took her washbag and went down the hall to the servants’ bathroom to brush her teeth. When she came back, I was already tucked into my bed with the covers pulled cosily up to my chin.

It was only when she turned down the lamp that it occurred to me. “V…” I said, slowly.

“What is it?” came her drowsy voice through the darkness.

“If – and I know we don’t know for certain –
if
Lord Cartwright is involved with Rosalind—” I broke off, uncertain of whether I actually dared put my thoughts into words.

“What?” Verity’s sleepy voice said.

I took a deep breath. “Well, then that gives him a motive, doesn’t it?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Verity, sounding more awake, said “My God, Joan. You’re right. It does.”

We were both quiet. Then I said, uncertainly, “It can’t be, though, can it? I mean, surely he’s the first person the police would suspect. Remember Asharton?”

“How could I forget?” Verity sounded completely awake now. I heard a rustle as she sat up in bed and then the rattle of the matchbox. As she re-lit the lamp, there was a flare of light against the darkness that made me screw up my eyes.

Verity was looking at me intently, so intently she almost scared me. “What is it?” I said, nervously.

“I was talking about this with Dorothy,” Verity said slowly. “A few days after it happened, when she’d calmed down a bit. She’d had to tell the police where she was between eleven thirty at night and five and twenty past one in the morning.”

Her stare was still unsettling me. “So what did she tell them?”

“Dorothy said she’d got in from Dickie Fotherington-Gill’s party at about one o’clock. She said she was a bit vague about the time because she’d had a few too many cocktails.”

I half laughed. “Well, she had, hadn’t she? I remember you telling me.”

“That was something I had to confirm to the police – they asked me whether she was telling the truth.”

There was something quite shocking in that – the idea that a lady’s maid would be asked to essentially betray her mistress, if in fact, her lady had been telling an untruth. I began to feel nervous again. “So, was Dorothy being truthful?”

“Yes, of course she was. I helped her into bed at about ten past one. So unless she got up again immediately after I’d left her and went down to the library…” Verity trailed off, chewing her lip.

I understood her hesitation. It was a horrible thought, a daughter doing that brutality to her mother. I just couldn’t see Dorothy doing such a hideous thing. Would she even have had the strength to wield a heavy piece of wood in that fashion?

“Anyway,” Verity continued after a moment. “I’ve strayed off the point a little. The fact is that Dorothy told me that both her step-father and Rosalind had an alibi, because they’d been working late together in the study that evening.”

I laughed cynically. “Working, they say?”

Verity smiled weakly. “Well, that’s what they said. But you know, Joanie, Rosalind must be telling the truth – about being in the study, anyway – because I saw her.”

I stared at her. “Really?”

Verity nodded vigorously. “Dorothy had spilt one of those really sticky cocktails all down her dress, and I wanted to get it in to soak before the stain set. I was coming down the back corridor, you know, that runs past the study and there was a light on in the room. I looked – well, you do, don’t you? And Rosalind was sitting at the desk, writing something down.”

“What time was this?” I asked.

“It must have been at least twenty past one. There just wouldn’t have been time for her to…to do it. Not to mention that she’s tiny. Lady E towered over her. Would Rosalind have had the strength to do it?”

That echoed precisely those thoughts I’d just had about Dorothy. Verity and I looked at each other for a moment. Then Verity added, “I told the police that too.”

“So they must know that she’s speaking the truth,” I said quietly.

Verity nodded. “So does that mean they think Lord Cartwright is in the clear as well?”

Suddenly exhausted, I leant my head back against the flaking plaster of the wall behind me, despite knowing I’d end up with flakes in my hair. “I don’t know, V. I don’t know.”

There was a short pause and then Verity said, “Look, it’s too late to discuss this now. Let’s see what we can find out tomorrow and see if that takes us any further.”

“Agreed,” I said. I could feel my eyelids drooping. We both slid down under our respective covers again.

“Good night, Joanie,” came her tired voice from across the room as she reached out to the lamp.

“Good night.”