Murder on the Cliffs (13 page)

Passing the gateway to the established Padthaway gardens, I saw a dog sniffing in the bushes, a great hairy beast of a dog, and delighted, I went to play with him.

“What’s your name then? Fred? Rufus?”

“It’s Jasper.”

A large head loomed up out of the bushes and I recognized Ben, the gardener, who’d carried my makeshift bed into Lianne’s room with Soames.

His eyes bored into mine, blank, motionless. “It’s Jasper,” he repeated.

“Ah, Jasper.” I bent down to pat the dog, giving him a good rub on his tummy before toying with his ears. “I had a dog named Jock once. Jasper looks as if he needs a bath, though.”

Ben stared at me, his crazed eyes trying to place me. “I’ve seen ye before . . .”

“In Miss Lianne’s room,” I reminded him. “You brought the bed up. My name’s Daphne. What’s yours?”

He didn’t seem to register any of my words and even when I waved good- bye, he still stared after me, wooden, lifeless.

“What an odd fellow,” I remarked to the wind, thinking it kind of Lord David to keep him on. Mad old Ben looked as if he’d lived his whole life at Padthaway and the gardens were his life, his domain.

Since I’d encountered Ben, I slipped out through the back gate to embrace the enchantment of Cornwall: its coastline, wildflowers burgeoning across its jagged proportions.

“Whoa! Steady, boy!”

Dazed, I confronted the sudden galloping intruder.

Man and horse, Lord David steadying his snorting, muscular black beast, reining him in hard. “Hallo there. Sorry, we didn’t see you.”

“Nor did I,” I managed, gulping at the fear of a near- death collision. I might have been trampled under by those powerful legs.

“Do you ride, Daphne?”

I said that I did.

“So you’re not afraid of horses?”

“Certainly not.”

To prove it, I calmed the rapid- breathing beast with a few words of my own.

He smiled. “You’re privileged. He likes you. Do you prefer walking to riding?”

“Yes,” I replied, “it requires less effort.”

He dismounted. “Then may I walk with you for a while?”

I nodded. I couldn’t seem to do anything else.

“I’m so glad we’ve met like this,” he murmured. “Out here . . . on the coast . . . nothing matters. That’s the most important lesson we can learn in life: nothing matters.”

Not even murder? “What about Victoria?”

I didn’t mean to, but the question just spilled out of my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, keeping my gaze focused on the ground. “That was thoughtless of me, but I do care about you and Lianne. I can only imagine how terrible it must be.”

The wind whipped through his hair and he nodded, his face taut and unreadable.

I kicked myself for my tactless comment.

We walked on in companionable silence, inhaling the fresh air, savoring the wayward landscape, acknowledging the cry of the seagulls above and the echo of the wind raging over the grassy headland. There was no place on earth quite like here, I thought, and I sensed my future lay here, somewhere within this wild, primitive countryside.

“Miss du Maurier, Daphne, I need to ask a favor of you.”

We paused a few feet away from the edge of the cliff. I shuddered, looking over, seeing the image of Victoria hurtling to her death. Had she been pushed or had she jumped? Or neither? Had someone laid her below on the beach to confuse the cause of death?

“Daphne?”

Lord David’s low voice sent further chills up my spine.

“Daphne . . . Miss du Maurier. If anything should ever happen to me, I’d like you to be a friend to Lianne, someone she can turn to in times of trouble. I know this is a large favor to ask and one you may find odd considering our brief acquaintance, but I trust you.”

“O-Oh,” I stammered, “yes, of course, I shall do as you ask, but it is no favor.”

“That’s nice of you to say so. She’s a difficult girl, but she’s my sister and Mother cannot always be counted upon to look after her best interests.”

“She’s not alone. She has Jenny . . . and me as a friend, if she wants. I give you my word.”

He thanked me and I thought I glimpsed an acute sense of relief flicker across his face. Did he fear tomorrow? Did he fear he’d be charged with the murder and taken away after the funeral?

I watched him mount his horse and ride away.

“What does one really know of ricin?”

“Whoever examined the body is sure to know a thing or two.” Ewe shrugged. Her sarcasm had heightened throughout the day.

“You’re not nervous about this important visitor you’re having on Sunday?”

Offended, she snapped down the special napkins she’d washed and pressed and was now in the pro cess of folding just so. “Do I
look
nervous?”

“Yes!” I laughed, taking the napkins from her. “Let me show you. This is something worthwhile I learned in my girlhood. Not that I had a
choice,
since Mother forced us. She has great aspirations of us becoming grand hostesses one day.”

While I folded the napkins and set them out on the table already prepared for Sunday, I relayed how I’d chanced upon David Hartley upon my walk.

“Oh, dearie! This doesn’t bode well.”

I studied Ewe’s crestfallen face. She’d taken the place of parent in the absence of my parents and didn’t think it wise for me to associate too closely with the Hartley family. Nor did I, if I were to judge objectively.

“Well? What did he say? What did he do?”

“He didn’t
do
anything. He walked with me a little . . . and asked that if something should happen to him, would I treat Lianne kindly, as a friend.”

Ewe deliberated. “Humph. So he thinks he’s going to hang for it.”

“Hang for what? He
didn’t
do it. I think he’s been framed. Framed by an enemy, someone who wanted to even up the score, so to speak.”

“I’d wager he didn’t do it either.” Sinking into her most cozy armchair in the parlor, Ewe pondered Lord David’s dire situation. “I mean, he’s the obvious suspect. Everyone will think it must be him. I’ve lived in this village my whole life; I know the Hartleys through and through, and David Hartley is no killer. No, no, no, there is foul play here. Someone is out to ‘get even.’ And I think . . .”

I remained perched on the edge of my seat. “You think?”

“I think . . .” she said again, thinking. “I think . . .” She turned to me suddenly. “I think you shouldn’t be mixed up in all of this. I worry for you. I am supposed to care for you while you are here, under my roof. I
worry.
”

“I know you worry.” I kissed her cheek. “But please have a little faith in me. I intend to solve this mystery,
with
or without your help.”

Ewe faced me with a cranked finger. “Think you’ll get to the bottom of this before Sir Edward, do you? Think you’ve got something he doesn’t have?”

“Yes, I do,” I retorted. “I have ‘character insight.’ ”

“Character insight!” she huffed.

“It’s nothing and yet it’s everything,” I defended. “I don’t profess to know a great deal about the world and its workings, but I do know people. I study them. I want to be a writer of novels. How else do you think I can do that without studying people and their motivations? Don’t you see, dear Ewe? I would make the best inspector!”

I proclaimed it without thinking, and without regret. I spoke the truth.

And Ewe knew it.

“Well,” she conceded, “you just be careful with the Hartleys. If you’re right, and if
someone
wants to harm them and Lord David, that puts you in danger.
Grave
danger,” she pointed out, “particularly if you continue on and discover things you oughtn’t.”

“Ought not,” I echoed. “And if I didn’t, who else should?”

Ewe pondered over this and I restrained myself. I didn’t tell her about my appointment with Mrs. Bastion. I so wanted to, but reminded myself that if I truly wanted to investigate, I could not relay the full details to friends. I found the whole subject of bodies, mystery, and murder a fascinating study of motivation. It was pure fodder for my future novels.

I thus presented myself at Mrs. Bastion’s door, as witness and spectator.

“Hallo.” The door was answered by a little boy no more than four years of age.

“I’m Daphne,” I said, shaking his hand.

“I’m Petroc,” he said proudly, shaking mine back. “And Mum says to bring you to the courtyard, so I’ll do that.”

The courtyard,
thought I,
that’s unusual.
Shrugging my shoulders, I followed this little dark- haired boy to the courtyard, a tiny enclosed garden enjoyed by those who owned cottages and intended to make the best of a garden.

She was already seated in one of the cane rocking chairs, a glass of beer cider on her right, studying me intensely as I entered. “You found my girl.”

“Yes,” I whispered, dusting a seat.

“How did you find her? I want to know!”

I saw the anguish in her face so I described exactly how I’d stumbled upon Victoria that fateful morning. I said how beautiful I thought Victoria was and how unfair it was that she, so young, should perish in such dire circumstances.

“Unfair, aye,” said the mother. “It weren’t no accident. She’s dead!
Dead!
” Shoulders heaving, Mrs. Bastion spun her accusing gaze over the innocent courtyard plants. “Don’t know which one of ye did it, but I won’t rest until somebody pays. Somebody’s
got
to pay.”

She sat there, lifeless, drained of any moral fiber while her beautiful daughter languished below, not even in a grave.

“Oh, this is too much to bear!” she cried. “
You
found her, yet I
bore
her. There is a difference. I am her mother, the one who gave her life. You understand?”

“I understand completely,” I said with authoritative confidence.

It was just the thing to do, even though I had no experience. I had never borne a child, seen it reared, only to hear of its death, well before its years.

“You”—she pointed at me—“You! Bring her to justice.”

Unsettled by such unbridled emotion, I nodded. “I will,” I promised. “What ever it takes, I’ll do my best. You understand?”

She nodded, rocking in her chair.

“My poor girl was murdered, I tell you. I don’t know by whom or what for, but I just know. As life breeds from me to her, I just know.”

I shook her hand. “I vow I will bring the killer to justice.”

She smiled, her scrawny face bleak. “You do that, Miss du Maurier.”

Upon leaving the Bastion cottage, I spied Connan Bastion whistling up ahead. He was home early from fishing, it appeared, his cap bent down low across his face. Turning into the pathway to his house, he didn’t see me.

“Connan,” I said.

“What, er?” The bag slung over his right shoulder slipped to the ground as he quickly turned toward me.

“Sorry to startle you. I came to visit your mother.”

He frowned at this news, his violet eyes accusing and cautious. “Why?”

I colored. “To . . . offer my condolences and my help, if you need it.”

“Need it? You’re one of them. Worse, a
friend
of them.”

He’d heard, then, of my visiting Padthaway and that I’d been seen driving in the motorcar with David and Lianne Hartley. “I’m everyone’s friend. I don’t like to have enemies, do you?”

The question caught him off guard.

“Especially ones who own land and shipping companies,” I added.

Kicking the dirt beneath his shoes, he crossed his arms. “Ye’ve just come here. You don’t know nothin’ about the Hartleys. They killed my sister.” His fingers curled into a shaking fist. “Had to do it like cowards, too. Poisonin’ her like she were some animal to be put down.”

“Did you know your sister was pregnant?”

His face darkened.

I took the answer for a “no.”

“We shared so much but she never told me. She should’ve done. I’d have saved her.”

“How?” I dared to ask.

He laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. The sound of anguish and grief and hysterical irony.

“Lady Hartley. She were hopin’ the weddin’ would be called off right up to the day. Vicky said she was scared of her.
Scared
of the mother.”

I conveyed my sympathies by shifting my foot, one on top of the other, deep in thought. I deliberated whether to share something with him in return and decided I would. “Sir Edward—”

“Him! The Hartleys
own
him, too. They own everything!”

“Lives and souls,” I echoed. “Sir Edward asked me if Lady Hartley scared me, too. I’ve only met her once or twice but I can see she is a very forceful lady.”

“Forceful! She’s a . . .”

I closed my eyes at the expletives rushing out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m a sailor and I’ve got a sailor’s tongue.”

“Don’t apologize. I’d do the same if I were you. I can’t even begin to think if one of my sisters was found like that, just before her wedding. Do you really think Lady Hartley is truly capable of committing such a crime? So publicly? So openly?”

Connan lifted one wiry eyebrow. “She’s gotten away with it before. Who’s to stop her now?”

“ ‘She’s gotten away with it before’ were his words. What does he mean? Who has died suspiciously in the last twenty years or so? Can you think of anyone?”

“Her husband,” Ewe blurted.

“Lord Hartley! The father . . .”

“Gunshot to the head. Suicide. I didn’t believe it at the time and I still don’t.”

“Anyone else?”

“Humph! Madame Muck’s always had her fingers into things she oughtn’t.”

“Perhaps she’s formed associates over the years while being involved in these forbidden things? Perhaps that’s where she purchased the poison.”

“Mrs. T. She’s no innocent. But what ever or
how
ever they did it, they’ve hidden it good and proper.”

“Sir Edward needs evidence to convict,” I spoke aloud. “Finding poison in her body isn’t enough to convict.”

“A receipt for poison would be. But ye’ll not find that lying around. It’d take an army to search that house.”

Search the house. I wondered if Sir Edward and his people had managed to do so yet. He probably wanted to conduct a full search after the funeral. Victoria’s room would have been searched already, though. I ached to go there, to Padthaway, to see her room. There
had
to be clues. Clues maybe only a woman could find, like letters hidden inside dolls. I doubted Sir Edward and his men possessed the insight to look in such places.

I’d only seen a little of the house. I had to finish the tour, and it was a good enough excuse as any to make a late- afternoon visit. As I made my way toward the house, I kept my eye on the time, conscious of the pale sun speeding down to the horizon. Lapping, white- tinged waves reared, bucking against the oncoming night. I walked faster, determined to get there at a respectable time.

To my surprise, no one answered the door when I rang.

Huffing, for I’d walked all this way for nothing, I turned to go, but then tried the door latch.

It opened with a slight creak.

Taken aback, I tiptoed inside. Crossing the parlor, I crept up the stairs, cringing at the slightest noise. “Lianne? Mrs. Trehearn? Is anyone home?”

The silence of the house greeted me. Relieved, I climbed to the second floor and waltzed halfway down when a pair of maids gossiping outside a room caught my attention.

“The secret’s out now. Don’t need to worry no more.”

They lowered their voices to whisper more and I leaned forward, straining to hear.

“Did ye hear somethin’? I think someone’s here.”

Heart racing, I dashed down the stairs, spun around, and pretended to walk up again.

“Oh.” The older maid blushed. “Sorry, miss. We didn’t see ye. If ye lookin’ for Miss Lianne, she’s out.”

“I shouldn’t have walked in,” I replied, “but the door was opened a crack . . . it’s Betsy, isn’t it?”

“Betsy and Annie, miss. We’re cousins.”

Annie smiled her welcome at me.

“Forgive me,” I whispered, “but I heard you talking about Lord David. How is he managing, really?”

“Poor Lord Davie,” Annie sighed. “Don’t know how he’ll go on now . . . after all this.”

“He’ll manage all right. They always do.”

I joined the two of them as they dusted. “So, nobody had any idea Victoria was pregnant?”

Lowering her eyes, Annie colored. “I did but—”

“Shh!” Betsy scolded. “What did I tell ye?”

Annie looked suitably chastened.

“Annie, Miss Daphne, has a way of lettin’ her mouth run off with her. I’ve warned her about it. Best keep silent unless ye’re sure, and now the secret’s out, it don’t matter no more.”

“What doesn’t matter any more? Did you see or hear something, Annie, about Victoria?”

Frowning at me, Betsy shook her head at her cousin.

Annie looked down.

“Oh, please.” I laid my hand on Betsy’s arm. “You can trust me. I won’t say anything. Since I’ve just arrived, I know nothing and find all of this quite . . . overwhelming.”

“Ain’t it that,” Betsy huffed. “Knew she were trouble from the day she came . . . had her eye for Lord Davie and nobody else. Got herself pregnant, but I ain’t so sure Lord Davie is the father.”

“Why do you say that?”

Betsy hesitated but I insisted, assuring them of my complete silence.

“It’s something Annie heard the night before she died. There was a big row. Go on, Annie, you tell her what ye heard.”

Abandoning her feather duster, Annie leaned across the balustrade to whisper in my ear.

“She asked for a cup of tea so I went up to her room and I heard her and Lord David yellin’ at each other. I didn’t know what to do so I put the cup of tea on the floor. Oh, the row was so terrible the floors shook.”

“We don’t need the labor pains, Annie.” Betsy rolled her eyes. “What did you hear Victoria say to Lord David?”

Gulping, petrified of being caught by Mrs. Trehearn, Annie clutched my hand. “I heard her . . . that Victoria . . . say to Lord David: ‘How do you know you’re not the father of my child?’ ”