Murder on the Cliffs (17 page)

I refused to leave the room until I discovered his secret. I kept my focus on the Vikings until my grand opportunity presented itself in the form of Mrs. Trehearn.

“My lord.” She stepped back in astonishment when she saw me. “Your lady mother wishes a word.”

“She usually does” was the irritated reply.

Lord David left directly, reluctantly, but since Mrs. Trehearn stood there holding the door open, he walked through without a backward glance. After sending me one pointed look that said “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Trehearn shut the door.

Acute relief washed over me. Now alone, I quickly hunted through Lord David’s desk, looking for that book he’d hidden, sifting through his papers, suppressing any shame for going through his personal items.

And then I found it.

A letter . . . hidden inside a book on poetry and the letter began with:

My darling David . . .

My darling David,

How can you say those beastly things to me? I will

always be yours. I know what they say about me . . .

please don’t believe it. It’s not true, I tell you. I love

you.

It’s curious how one’s past catches up with one.

We all have secrets, and I’m no exception. Someday,

I’ll confess all, but know now that my heart belongs

only to you and you alone are the father of my child.

I know we had a terrible row earlier but I can’t

wait for Saturday. I shall walk proud on your arm,

the new Mrs. David Hartley.

Your devoted,

Victoria

Like a naughty child, I glanced up furtively; frantic Mrs. Trehearn might have bowled through the door and caught me in the act. I felt like a criminal, stealing someone’s private letter, but why should Lord David hide it there? Did he think the servants searched his desk? Worse, did he suspect Lianne or his own mother would search through his private affairs? From what I knew of the both of them, I, too, would have hidden the private letter inside a book and placed it high on the shelves.

Rereading the words, I wondered if David had kept the letter because he loved her or because he felt guilty for murdering her. I saw nothing in the letter but a protestation of Victoria’s love for her man, and the assurance that he was the father of her child. She said she couldn’t wait to walk proud on his arm, the new Mrs. David Hartley. Her words definitely ruled out suicide, for they were the words of a woman who intended to live, to marry, and to have her child, regardless of rumors, prejudice, and even family opposition.

“Not suicide, then,” I murmured aloud. “Unless something occurred between the writing of this letter and the night she died.”

Returning the letter to its safe home, I went in search of Lianne. She’d be angry with me for spending too long reading after inviting me here as her particular friend.

Looking around for Betsy or Annie to guide me, for I refused to seek out Mrs. Trehearn and ask her, I wandered around the house wondering where Victoria’s room was located. I began down the corridor leading to the sea and was heading toward the forbidden west wing when Lianne found me.

She wasn’t alone. Her brother stood by her and both of them eyed me with an intense curiosity I found disturbing.

“We thought we’d lost you, didn’t we, Davie?”

Lord David’s quizzing eyes remained focused upon me.

“What time do you have to be back?” Lianne skipped to me.

I consulted my wristwatch. “In time for dinner.”

“Then there is time for a tour of the dungeons, if you so wish,” Lord David smiled. “Unless you’ve further important reading to do?”

I cringed. He not only suspected, he
knew
I’d read the letter. “A tour of the dungeons would be lovely,” I said.

“Excellent.”

A faint grin drifted on his lips. Removing a flashlight from his inner pocket, his smile deepened and I looked away.

“They were
working
dungeons once,” Lianne rambled excitedly, skipping on ahead, “and used for
torture.
I wonder if any were used on the monk in the tower. There’re still chains down there, you know, and more than likely
skeletons,
though I haven’t found any yet.”

“You sound annoyed,” I said, wondering about her fascination with death. She had a peculiar penchant for torturous instruments and death. Had this something to do with her father shooting himself? Had the child witnessed the event?

I felt innately sorry for David and Lianne. On the night of their father’s suicide, their lives were irrevocably changed. David, a sixteen- year- old boy, was thrust into a man’s position earlier than anticipated, while Lianne, a six- year- old child, was abandoned to the care of her nanny.

As we entered the west wing, the breezy sea air rustled the hairs on my skin and I experienced a queer nervous sensation. Who but this house knew what secrets lay within its ancient folds? Pausing outside the Moorish doors, David knocked, opening the door for us. “The way to the dungeons is through here.”

“Will your mother mind the intrusion?”

“At this time of day, my mother usually takes her tea in the courtyard.”

I noted the clipped tone he used when referring to his mother. Lianne also used it and I thought what a strained, odd kind of relationship existed between the three of them. Had there ever been gaiety and happiness in this house hold?

The magnificent room caught at me once more, its haunting beauty stoking the fires of my imagination. Such a room demanded a beautiful heroine, a brooding hero, and a dark, rich mystery.

The door to the dungeons loomed at the end of the antechamber. As we explored the labyrinth of cobwebs and dust, a dark, eerie passage gleamed ahead, just visible by David’s flashlight.

“In the old days, the smugglers dodged the coast guard by using the caves,” David said. “But one captain refused to give up. Tracking the criminals, he speared the crew before going after the organizer, my great- great- great- grandfather, Lord Aiden. However, Lord Aiden employed his aristocratic privilege and thus evaded punishment, which in those days was hanging.”

As he spoke, I realized that like the previous owner, Lord David might escape punishment, too, using “aristocratic privilege.”

“It doesn’t end there.” Lianne’s grin looked eerie in the darkness.

“No,” David continued, “for Captain Saunders refused to give up. His reputation insulted, he infiltrated the house one night and speared Lord Aiden in his sleep. Nobody ever saw Saunders again, but he left his saber as a grim reminder. The saber now graces the gallery beside the portrait of its victim.”

I nodded, and cautiously rounded the rocks forming the road out to sea. Lianne marched ahead out toward the sea, fearless. “She’s never afraid, your sister.”

“Are you afraid, Daphne?”

The elusive murmur drifted by my ears. “Afraid of what?” I gulped.

“I know you read the letter.”

I didn’t know where to look. Lianne was waving at me so I dumbly waved back at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“But you do. You’re curious, which is natural. I also know you went to the Bastion cottage. That was kind of you. To offer your services.”

Now I felt truly afraid.

“I don’t mind,” he laughed, and turned me to face him. “I’m only jesting with you, and if you read that letter, that letter I’m keeping from everyone else . . .”

“But why? Do the police know?”

“No,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have shown it to them, but you must understand, I wanted something of ours to remain
private
. Can you imagine what it’s done to me,
as a man,
as her future
husband,
to know that I couldn’t protect her when it counted? Can you realize, just for a moment, how this tortures me day after day?”

Examining every line of his face, I read the trueness of his declaration. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel in the same situation,” I whispered. “I think it would drive me mad.”

“As it does
me
.” Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped out to help Lianne across the rocks.

I gazed out to the sea, loving the roar of it in our ears and following Lianne’s steps out to the treacherous rocky view. “How splendid. I shall never forget this place.”

“Beware the tides of a moonless night,” Lianne shouted. “Where death awaits those deserving it.”

“Captain Saunder’s cryptic message,” David interpreted, directing us both back to safety. “He left it on a note speared to Lord Aiden’s chest.”

“Lovely,” I smiled, shivering inside. Something about this place gave one the chills. Death and danger somehow cloaked the house, its past, present, and future inescapably linked.

Would I, too, suffer its dismal fate?

David offered to drive me home.

I accepted to as far as the village, as I wanted to make a late-afternoon telephone call to my father. The call also served as my excuse, for after the dungeon visit, I wanted to get away as soon as possible to think.

David, a man suspected of killing his own bride, had kissed me.

“Yes, poison,” I said to my father. “Ricin, have you heard of it?”

“I have, and Daphne, darling, I do think it’s time for you to come home. Your mother’s frantic. She’s read the papers.”

“Oh, please. Not yet, not when I’m so close.”

“Close to what? Your part is over. You discovered the body and reported it. I don’t want you mixed up in any more of this case. It’s dangerous. I’m not sure of this Lord David fellow. He might be innocent as you say, but who’s to know? How’s the investigation going?”

How like my father to get straight to the facts. “Still ongoing. Since they found this poison, it’s overturned ‘accidental death.’ Sir Edward,” I coughed, “appears to be handling it.”

“Daphne,” rang my father’s voice. “You’re like me, so there’s no use pretending. You want to solve this case on your own, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I confessed, dreading what he’d next say.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”

“I know you don’t like it, but you’re going to have to put up with it because I’m not coming back until it’s over. I just can’t. The sea, the air, the mystery, it’s all part of me now . . . and I love Ewe dearly. She amuses me. She’s worse than we are. You should hear her. She talks of nothing else but the ‘murder case.’ ”

“What of these visits to Padthaway, though? The Hartleys are rich and dangerous, or so I’ve read. It’s not beyond them to murder.”

“I know that.” And I shared a few of my private thoughts on Lady Hartley. “She’s just inhuman. There’s something odd there. Out of anyone, I’d say
she
murdered Victoria. Think, Dad. If she’s an earl’s daughter, accustomed to being mistress of the house, and a mere
commoner,
oh no, a village
strumpet
almost, one who served as kitchen maid in her house, aspired to the affections of her only son . . . and that son
agreed
to marry her—”

“Agreed,” my father echoed, “you make an interesting point. He
agreed
to marry her because she was pregnant. Do you think he’d marry her if she wasn’t?”

What my father said made sense. I thought about it as I strolled home, still in a daze from the eventful visit to Padthaway. Oh, how the imagination soared! I couldn’t wait to get to my journal, to jot down notes for a novel. Oh, yes, I had in mind a novel of graphic proportions, and every page filled with these events.

“Thank you, Padthaway,” I said, late into the evening, lying on my bed. “I know I can truly write a novel now, with your help. A story worth publishing. A story fit for the world.”

And I began to scribble in earnest, jotting down character ideas, motivations, a setting, a grand old house set by the sea, a mystery, and a dead love.

Excited, I had trouble sleeping at first. I kept dreaming of this future book. I knew it would be special. I knew it would sell, if anyone would publish it.

I dreamed of it . . .

I dreamed of an opening line.

I dreamed of Manderley . . .

Intensely inspired the next day, I journeyed up to Castle Mor, to the home of Sir Edward.

The castle looked splendid perched up on the hill, overlooking a lush green valley. It was the perfect place to sit and write, and dream.

“Reporting to the sleuth society?”

So lost within my pencil- chewing deliberations, I had not seen Mr. Brown approach the green. “You should know better,” I said, “than to sneak up on ladies.”

“I did wave to you from the other side.”

Oblivious to my cool glare, he had the further audacity to peer over my shoulder. “Nice handwriting.”

Shutting my journal, I tucked it under my leg and smiled my best socialite smile. “Good day, Mr. Brown. I see you’re not dressed for tennis today?”

“I’m going fishing,” he grinned, dropping his rod and tackle box and finding a spot on the grass beside me. “Much like you, really. What are you fishing? Let me guess . . . is this an
exclusive
abbey piece or a private unauthorized investigation report?”

I glared at him again. The man was far too arrogant for his own good. Who did he think he was, a duke? “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Brown,” I returned sweetly. “I have no need to fish in
any
waters.”

“Then what holds you, the glamorous socialite, in the modest hills of Cornwall?”

“Glamorous socialite,” I echoed, never having heard myself described that way. Usually, such descriptions were lavished upon my sister Angela.

“A m I wrong? Shall you correct me? Do you not delight in murder for your stories?”

I couldn’t believe his audacity. How dare he, a stranger,
question
my motive for staying in Cornwall! Giving him my best evil eye, I said I resented his comments and thought it inappropriate in the circumstances to trivialize a local death. He listened to everything with somber sobriety, nodding here and there, and I realized he must have learned of my writing aspirations from Ewe.

His eyes sparkled like a newly kindled fire. “You don’t like me, do you, Miss du Maurier.”

It was a statement, not a question. At least, I thought, a perceptive intelligence favored Mr. Brown, and if he had not so annoyed me by what he’d said, I might have mentioned the letter I’d found at Padthaway, or asked his opinion of Mrs. Trehearn. I wanted to know if he knew of her job during the war and her penchant for brewing tonics in the Padthaway green house. “What do you actually
do,
Mr. Brown, other than attack ladies out in the hills?”

“The wild
isolated
hills,” he replied, “are perfect for secret rendezvous.”

“Then I shan’t keep you a moment longer,” I smiled, and getting up, prepared to leave.

His arm shot out to stop me, an amused expression lingering on what Ewe Sinclaire thought his “very fine cheekbones.”

“But aren’t you forgetting something?”

I lifted a weary brow.

“Your journal?”

Tapping the book over his knee, he strove to look inside it. Furious, I managed to snatch it back off him. “How dare you! You are very ill- mannered. Good- day, sir!”

“Where are you off to now?” he called out after me. “Rothmarten Abbey? To shake up its secrets?”

Pausing, I spun around to see him tilt his hat and stroll off, whistling, his rod bouncing on his shoulder. Unbidden, I couldn’t resist watching him swagger away. The man behaved like an overbearing ship captain. Truth be known, he was probably little more than a tennis club caddy, living in a hovel somewhere, and I felt intensely irritable that he’d walked away without my discovering anything about him. I’d learned nothing about him, whereas he seemed to know everything about me.

How can you say those beastly things to me? I will always be yours. I know what they say about me . . . please don’t believe it. It’s not true, I tell you. I love you.

I wrote the words down in my journal as I remembered them.

“Two callers for you this morning,” Ewe said on my return. “Sir Edward and Miss Lianne Hartley. She seemed quite put out to hear you weren’t here.”

“Yes, she would be.” The cloying attentions of a teenager were tiresome.

“And ye invited out tomorrow,” Ewe chirped, “on a
country
drive with the Hartleys.”

“Oh. What did Sir Edward want? Did he leave a note?”

“No. Askin’ more questions, I think. Don’t know what it’s got to do with you. Your part is over, just as ye father said. And if you listen to ol’ Ewe, ye shouldn’t be seen too much with Lord David.”

The warning, though friendly and delivered with a good purpose, annoyed me. “Why shouldn’t I spend time up at Padthaway? He hasn’t been arrested.”

“But the case ain’t closed yet,” Ewe reminded. “And I’ve a care and
duty
for ye reputation while ye’re under my roof.”

I sighed. “What do you think I should do then? Decline tomorrow’s invitation?” I looked at her suspiciously. “Has Mr. Brown been here at all?” ”

Color stained Ewe’s cheeks. “He bought me flowers. Thanked me for the luncheon—”

“And no doubt shared his reservations concerning my association with the Hartleys?”

Ewe couldn’t deny it. She hadn’t the face to lie.

“Well, I’m going,” I announced, going to my room, “and I don’t care what anyone says.”

“Ye will care very much so if ye picture’s taken with ’em,” Ewe called out.

Perhaps I should have taken more care, but the fine day, and the allure of driving in a plush motorcar down the Cornish coast, were too much to resist. After my conversations with Connan Bastion and Mrs. Bastion, I no longer feared being seen in town with the Hartleys. I intended to keep my promise to them both, to discover the truth, no matter where it might lead.

They picked me up in front of the post office. From the corner of my eye, I gleaned Mrs. Penmark’s head poke outside the bakery window, watching, lifting her eyebrows as I climbed into the car.

Lord David drove, Lady Hartley beside him in the front. I said hello to them all as I took a seat by Lianne, and in record time we were nosing out of the village, passing several curious villagers on the way.

“We’re going to St. Mawes for lunch,” Lady Hartley informed, adjusting her driving gloves. “At a place called Stall’s. Have you ever been there, Daphne?”

“No,” I said. “What is it?”

“A resort hotel by the sea,” Lord David answered, his gaze perusing me in the rearview mirror. “I daresay you’ll approve. It was once the home of a Russian countess. Late Georgian with a few Victorian gothic touches. Your favorite form of architecture, I believe?”

I nodded, marveling at his ability to act so naturally after our kiss in the library. Then I remembered all the stolen kisses I’d shared with Geoffrey. He, too, had acted in a similar cavalier manner and I wondered if all males followed the same code.

Mercifully, the scenery usurped my troublesome reflections. It was a Cornish summer’s day, still and perfect, the blue sky looming above open grasslands ablaze with red and yellow poppies, pink mallows, white clovers and yarrows, a lovely harmony of color.

“Stall’s has the best shops and ice cream.” Latching on to me, Lianne tugged my sleeve with childish joy.

I had decided to wear a dress, a wise choice considering the warm day. I had little time to do my hair but then, one could never keep hair in order on an open drive. Lady Hartley’s hat, I noticed, preserved her manicured image. David wore no hat, his sunglasses shielding his eyes and emotions from view.

Inhaling the fresh, sweet air, I closed my eyes and let the wind assail my hair. It had been so long since I’d driven down this part of the coastland, the Roseland peninsula, and I was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

Weaving our way up to the quaint cliff top village of Portloe, where we stopped for fresh tea and scones, I immersed myself in the beauty and history of the place. Each village had something different to offer, like Veryan, with its circular thatched cottages and wide- eyed locals.

“The round shape is supposed to guard the village from evil.” David happened upon me at one point while we waited for Lady Hartley and Lianne. “I hope you don’t think I’m evil, Miss du Maurier.”

He’d used my surname, I believed, to establish distance and formality between us. Wanting to support this wisdom, yet mildly disappointed by it, I shook my head. “No person is truly evil.”

“Then you do forgive me. . . .”

“Forgive you?” I echoed.

“Do you forgive me,” he murmured, “for upbraiding you the other day?”

He asked nothing about the kiss. “It is purely my fault. I shouldn’t read other people’s private letters.”

“May I ask,” he began, losing confidence halfway.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“May I ask . . . your opinion. Need I turn it in to Sir Edward?”

I didn’t know what to say. It didn’t incriminate him in any way but she did speak of an argument, she did speak of doubts, doubts concerning the parentage of the baby. Was it possible grounds for murder? “You should at least
show
it to Sir Edward,” I advised. “For if it is somehow discovered later, it mightn’t be . . .”

“Good for me?” he finished, smiling. “And what of the kiss? Do you forgive me for that, too, Daphne?”

I felt the heat rise to my face, especially as Lady Hartley and Lianne were only yards away. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s forget it and be friends.” I held out my hand.

He shook it, a tiny smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

I think we both embraced the drive to Stall’s, a chance to dispel the awkwardness of our tête-à- tête, and the tour of St. Mawes Castle proved an excellent diversion.

The mansion of Stall’s lurked on the other side of town with a view of the little boat- filled harbor. Once a private home, now an elite hotel and club, it breathed a history all of its own, the lineup of fancy cars outside the front merely a foregleam of its popularity.

I dreaded I might see someone I know. However, luck prevailed and after a sumptuous lunch surrounded by an intriguing array of dazzling hotel guests, we spent a leisurely afternoon on the terrace, sipping pink lemonade and devouring homemade ice cream. The tranquillity of the splendid seaside view with all its little boats seemed a perfect end to a perfect day.

“I don’t think I’ve had such a lovely day in a long time,” I said to Lord David when Lady Hartley and Lianne disappeared to greet old family friends.

“Nor have I,” he murmured.

By the line of his mouth, I sensed something troubled him.

“Daphne, you don’t think I did it, do you?”

“Did what?” I whispered, my throaty voice betraying a reluctance to allow anything to ruin this day.

“Murdered her.”

I shivered, seeing the face of Victoria floating between us. “I . . . I wouldn’t know,” I stammered, alarmed by his deadly serious face. “Are you a murderous type, my lord?”

A half- laugh assailed his lips. “I don’t know. Am I?”

I think he posed the question to test me. “Why do you ask?”

The corners of his lips lifted slightly. “Everybody else seems to think so. Just read the papers.”

His mocking coldness concealed a deep and tortured soul. I noticed it and sought to sympathize using a heartening smile. “Yes, but one must realize the papers always sensationalize, and you’re not exactly a nobody, are you? Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be forgotten in a month.”

Forgotten in a month
. What stupidity had possessed me to utter such a thoughtless thing? The breeze suddenly turned chilly.

“Lord David!”

Startled, we both turned to the gleaming eye of a photographer as he snapped us there, standing side by side on the terrace.

“Thank you, my lord.” The greedy photographer bowed, racing away with his latest kill.

“Hell!”

Uttering another swear under his breath, David guided us back to the others.

“You’d think they’d have had their fill, wouldn’t you?”

“Something has to sell papers,” I said. “And I suppose they have to earn a living.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose they do.”