Peril at Somner House (16 page)

Grateful for the Major's influence in obtaining Mr. Lissot's temporary release, Trevalyan invited the Major back to dine at Somner. The dinner meant to serve the double purpose of thanking the Major whilst welcoming a partially exonerated Mr. Lissot. But was he truly welcome now?

Sir Marcus and I debated.

“Davis has put her into a quandary. We'll have to see which horse comes in first. It's not always the strongest or most obvious one, you know.”

To protect ourselves from Bella's eavesdropping, we had decided on an evening stroll. It was cold and I shivered as the sea air whirled around us.

“Should have brought a wrap.” Clicking his tongue, Sir Marcus elegantly slid out of his coat and placed it on my shoulders. I thanked him and told him he was a gentleman.

“‘A gentleman.' Alas, that appears to be my sad vocation in life. The Gentleman of the Cloak…speaking of gentlemen in general, glad to see you and MB have mended the breach. Had my doubts, I did. The fiercely independent proud Daphne—”

“I'm not proud!”

“Stubborn. You are very stubborn where men are concerned. Your sister told me.”

Annoyed with Angela for once again exploiting the affairs of a younger sister, I determined to set the record straight. “Just because I weigh their words and actions doesn't mean I am proud or stubborn.”

“Aha. Seeing them all as potential characters, eh?”

“Perhaps,” I admitted. “What else did Angela say?”

“That you're in love with the gallant Major.”

This time, my face turned scarlet. “The little…trollop. I have
never
divulged such secrets—”

“So it's true? You're in love with him?”

“No, it's not true,” I returned hotly.

“I think it may be.”

I sighed. “It's not what you think. We are entirely unsuited to each other. Besides, he's a…”

I paused, nudging Sir Marcus. “Is that Bella Woodford?”

Sir Marcus squinted. “Yes, I believe so.”

Both of us stood there watching her tear out of the house, a fountain of tears streaking her face.

“Bella…wait!” Roderick burst out of the house, his cryptic eye quick to detect us. “My cousin is upset,” he explained. “Have you two been outside long?”

He was wondering how long we'd been standing there, and perhaps, how much we'd overheard from our place in the gardens.

“Not long,” Sir Marcus replied. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No.” Frowning, Lord Roderick took his leave. At the door,
however, he turned to say, “My cousin and I have no attachment, if you are wondering.”

“Strange comment,” I breathed to Sir Marcus after he'd left. “Perhaps she expressed her true feelings for him now that he's Lord of the Manor and he rejected her?”

“Possibly,” Sir Marcus owned, “but I see a different version.
Perhaps
they quarreled over Kate or you, for instance.”

“Me? What do I have to do with Bella running off in tears?”

“Because, dopey, his lordship might be
interested
in you. Romantically.”

“No. That cannot be.”

I turned a deeper shade of scarlet, examining my words and actions. Had I encouraged Roderick? Had I flirted with his affections? “It has to be over Kate.”

Sir Marcus whistled and we parted ways at the base of the staircase. I longed to upbraid Angela for talking about me and I found her sitting alone in the darkened breakfast parlor, brooding, her hand clutched under her chin as she stared unseeing out the window.

I began to storm over to her and say “how dare you” when her expression stopped me. It looked almost murderous.

She jumped when she saw me.

“Daphne! You have a very bad habit of sneaking around like that. Are you spying on me? And where's Sir Marcus? Hiding behind those drapes?” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Don't know what I'm doing here anymore, Daph. I stayed on for Kate's benefit, but now, I think it's time to leave.”

“Oh, no, we can't leave. Not yet. That's running away.”

Every instinct rebelled against the idea of leaving just when things were starting to get interesting, and I'd finally begun to enjoy myself, but perhaps I spoke to quickly.

“Why do you want to stay?” Her accusing eye scathed me. “It's cold and boring. There are no shops or theaters here to entertain us, and I find the present company most
tepid
.”

I suddenly understood the reason for her sullenness. She and Kate had quarreled.

Seizing a nearby cushion, I sat cross-legged before her on the floor. I had never seen Angela so withdrawn and gaunt and I felt a little sorry for her. Everything usually seemed to go her way, but not this time. “Of course, we'll leave if you wish. Do you know if the boats are operating now? I can ask Roderick tomorrow if you like.”

“Oh, I don't know,” she groaned, shielding her face from me.

She hardly ever cried, nontheatrically, and I felt ill equipped to deal with the situation. What was I to do? Angela wasn't a warm affectionate hugging sort of person; she detested such signs of weakness, so I just sat with her and eventually persuaded her to go to our room. “It's not good to sit alone in the dark,” I advised, and she meekly followed my guidance.

“I wonder if…I wonder if she'll marry him.”

She was speaking of Mr. Davis.

“Is, er, Mr. Davis well set up?” I said, shepherding inside our room and closing the door. “I mean, can he support her?”

“More than Josh Lissot,” Angela snarled. “But she's a fool if she makes the same mistake again. I've helped her through the whole Max affair. I won't do it again. She was warned, you know, about Max. But she didn't listen.”

“She liked his looks and his estate.” I shrugged. “She's not
the first to make such a decision.” I paused. “What do you know of Mr. Davis?”

Chewing on her lower lip, Angela lifted a dismissive shoulder. “His parents died during the war, leaving him a handsome flat in London and an income.” Yawning, she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Other than that, I don't know much about him.”

“So, he's a gentleman of no profession,” I mused to myself aloud, “who plays the piano and has harbored secret passions for his best friend's wife all these lonely years.”

“Oh, he hasn't been lonely,” Angela corrected. “There've been countless girlfriends, from what I hear, but none of them obviously matched up to Kate, so I suppose that's why he's now made his move…now that she's free.”

Her voice echoed with bitterness and the grim acceptance of reality. Kate Trevalyan needed someone financially settled and Mr. Davis fulfilled the requirement, having the London flat and the income to support her current lifestyle. On the other hand, Mr. Lissot, while handsome, young, and virile remained the struggling artist, chased about for back rent and constantly on the run from creditors. “Do you think Roderick's in love with Kate, too?” I asked Angela before we lulled ourselves to a contemplative sleep.

“Not anymore,” came the decisive laugh. “I believe
you
have conquered there, little sister.”

 

I refused to believe I could have made such an impression on the dour Roderick Trevalyan. Though, on reflection, we did share a love of poetry, and I had to admit that his estate was a definite virtue.

I waltzed, needless to say, on the way to the breakfast parlor only to encounter Arabella, her vicious glare stalking me as I helped myself to coffee and toast.

Angela was right. Bella had guessed or suspected her cousin's interest in me, and rather than hide her disappointment, chose a course similar to Miss Bingley's in
Pride and Prejudice
. After refusing to pass the jam bowl on my third request, I said, “Miss Woodford, do you not hear me on purpose? I asked you three times to pass the jam.”

Casting a glance to Roderick, where he sat perusing the morning paper, she gaped at me. “I, er, did
not
hear you, Miss du Maurier.”

She most certainly
had
heard and sensing Roderick's immediate interest in our dispute, I gingerly applied a spoonful of the surrendered jam bowl to my toast. Whatever Sir Marcus's objections concerning the Somner House kitchen, they kept an excellent jam and I complimented Roderick on it. I then offered him coffee as I poured my own, which, no doubt, further incensed the dark-eyed Bella sitting opposite me. Accepting my gracious offer with a warm smile, Roderick proceeded to engage me in conversation, drawing fresh spots of angry color on his cousin's face.

Throwing down her napkin, she sauntered out of the room.

Lord Roderick looked after her, slightly embarrassed. “Forgive her, Daphne. Bella's not a happy person. She never has been.”

This admission perked more than one set of ears about the room, and I spied Sir Marcus pretending to be fully immersed in an upside-down copy of
The Times.

“Yes,” Roderick said quietly while I stirred my coffee, “Aunt Fran is something of a tyrant and poor Bella's tied to looking
after her…the brief reprieves here at Somner are her only escape.”

Seeing Kate, Angela, and Mr. Davis adjourn to the sunny terrace, I lowered my voice to the confidential tête-à-tête. “I think, my lord, your cousin is in love with you.”

“If she is, she's no reason to be. I've never thought of her that way.”

“Did your brother?” I lowered my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” I didn't know what else to say.

“She's more in love with Somner,” he went on. “She'd love to be mistress of Somner and Max's inheritance appealed to her. As for him, she was a brief amusement.”

A brief amusement. I hoped nobody would ever call me a “brief amusement.”

“You mustn't blame Bella. She was young and vulnerable at the time.”

“And in love with Somner House,” I reminded. “Was it a shock to her when he married someone else?”

“Yes. It was a shock as he'd given her an engagement ring.”

“They were engaged!”

“One foolish summer. Max, from what I understand, was drunk. He never meant anything serious but Bella took it to heart.”

“What happened?”

“He demanded the ring back. She refused so he packed his bags for London and told her she'd never be welcome at Somner again.”

“But she was here when…”

“Yes. She came every summer, as usual. Max just ignored her.”

“And Lady Kate, how does she manage to…”

“Tolerate Bella? She feels sorry for her and thinks it would do more harm than good to banish her from Somner. After all, Somner is a second home to her and my parents treated her like a daughter.”

She had hoped to marry Max and make her refuge her home, but Max had humiliated her by bringing home a wife.

Had she resorted to murder?

Josh Lissot arrived early the next day.

I was returning to the house from my morning walk when I saw the car. He stepped out without a backward glance at the driver and stood for a moment on the flagstones.

“Hello,” I called out.

He flinched.

“Welcome back. We are all glad you are back.”

He said nothing but I read the silent question in his eyes. He wondered what kind of reception awaited him, what the future held, and why the police had let him go.

I slipped my arm through his. “Come inside. It's eight o'clock. We can breakfast together.”

“Thank you, Daphne. It's kind of you…and thank you for coming to see me.”

Once in the parlor, he said he'd go and change first and I followed suit, meeting him and the others a little later. Outwardly, everybody greeted him with friendly relief, commiserating over what he'd endured while in the prison house. There was no sign to indicate the transferral of Kate's affections
from Mr. Lissot to Mr. Davis. Perhaps she deferred her decision as a kindness to Mr. Lissot, but I believed otherwise. I believed she hadn't yet decided.

Betraying an inner qualm, Angela remarked upon it as we dressed for dinner. “She doesn't have to choose. Oh, I wish she would follow my advice, return to London and set herself up independently! She doesn't need a
man
to support her and Sir Marcus can obtain painting commissions at the snap of a finger.”

“That may be so,” I replied, finding it difficult to choose between the gray skirt and cream lace blouse or the beaded black dress. “But considering how much she suffered with her first husband, she may want another. A kind, caring one to make her believe in love again.”

“Gosh!” Rolling her eyes, Angela snagged the zipper on her skirt. “You make me positively ill! All men are not worth two pennies rubbed together. They're not faithful or true and they invariably go for the pretty and racy ones and they age very badly. Why, consider Heathcliff. He just got worse and worse. He never truly loved Cathy. She was just a possession to him.”

The mention of
Wuthering Heights
made me decide upon the black dress. Elegant and simple, I'd enhance it with my mother's pearl set: pearl drop-earrings and a pearl-studded comb. Sweeping up my hair, pins protruding from my mouth as I endeavored to achieve a classic French style, I squinted into the mirror. “No, you're wrong. Heroes exist out there, otherwise why would we fictionalize them? Granted, they're not perfect, but who is?”

“Well,” huffed my sister, “I still think she's an idiot if she marries Davis or Josh Lissot.”

“Perhaps she'll choose Sir Marcus,” I joked, dusting a small amount of rouge over my cheeks. “After all, if it's comfort she desires, he has the best address out of all of them.”

“Perhaps, then,
you
should encourage him. You're gallivanting around with him enough as it is, and you cannot pretend that
Lady
Daphne of Clevedon Court doesn't sound good.”

“It does sound good.” I allowed myself to indulge the brief possibility of becoming the mistress of an estate in which all doors were open, every confidence shared. The same tantalizing picture no doubt had occupied Arabella's dreams.

I confess to a certain degree of nervous ness as I descended the stairs. Roderick awaited me at the bottom and the marked attention he bestowed upon me in front of the Major and the others betrayed his singular interest. I couldn't help but wonder if this interest coincided with his desire to lessen Bella's designs.

True to form, Major Browning raised a cynical brow, his dark gaze moving surreptitiously to Roderick. I smiled at him and feigned innocence, glad, in fact, of the additional company. The Major and his men occupied one end of the table, Roderick, Kate, Bella, and Mr. Davis at the other. The rest of us sat in the middle and I noted Josh Lissot's scowl growing heavier by the minute. Was the love affair with Kate over then? Or was she using discretion considering her recent widowhood and Mr. Lissot's near escape from the hangman's noose?

“You play decoy, Amadeus, while I'm on watch.”

Nudging my chair, Sir Marcus rose and after allowing a modest time to pass, I followed him.

He was waiting for me out in the corridor.

“Now the plan is…when they all go to the parlor, you take the piano stool so that I can see where the lovers sit.”

“What! Are you mad? I can't play the piano and there's no piano in the parlor, so I don't know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, yes, there's a piano in there,” he grimaced. “For Mr. Davis. Our Katie girl wishes him to lull us to sleep with a
love
melody.”

I lifted a brow at the evident sarcasm. “Don't believe in love, do you?”

“Infinitely,” he assured me. “Especially after good food and wine. It's the between parts which bore me, but I've a hunch Cupid is in the air tonight and will light the way.”

“The way to the murderer?”

“Or a murder
ess
…shhh! Alas, they emerge.”

He bounded away, leaving me to linger in the hall as Roderick and Kate led the party to its adjournment.

Play the piano.
My first instinct was to run away.

“Arrest my eyes. Miss du Maurier appears to be lacking an escort.”

I began to feel ill. The person I least wanted to see me make a fool of myself stood there in the shadows.

“I left my coat in the dining room,” the Major explained, strolling by with a grin. “I thought I had better fetch it before the performance.”

I felt considerably ill and hurried to the room before the Major haunted my steps. Sir Marcus had his reason for wanting me to play the piano and obviously had announced my recital to the others. I groaned. There was no escaping now, no running away. I drew in a quick breath, entered the room, and marched straight to the piano facing the back wall.

The party had begun to relax around me. Wineglasses twin
kling, pleasant smiles all around, amiable conversation and reluctantly, I slid onto the cool, leather chair.

“Daphne, what are you doing?” Angela cried. “You can't play!”

Trust one's sister to trumpet one's failures. Ignoring her, I stroked the keys, trying to remember a tune I'd learned years ago. The result, I'm afraid, came out very raw and from the corner of my eye, I observed the Major and everybody else's sudden silence.

Sir Marcus alone clapped.

“Daphne.” Angela hurried over. “I think you should let Mr. Davis play.”

“Yes,” I humbly admitted, slowly rising and retreating to a darkened corner of the room as Mr. Davis began Mendelssohn's
Songs Without Words.

“He plays very well.” The Major strolled over to me.

“Unlike myself?”

“Anyone can play,” he responded to my slightly loud tone. “But I cannot help but think you are acting as a distraction.”

“A distraction? Don't be absurd, Major Browning. I've no reason to engineer a—”

“Or is it”—his smile eluded me—“too much champagne for a little girl to handle?”

Now he'd enraged me.
A little girl.
How dare he imply such a thing.

“Despite your assumptions, my playing had nothing to do with any beverage I may or may not have consumed.”

A knowing grin continued to play on his lips. “I daresay you and Sir Marcus are engineering something.”

“Mr. Davis,” I said, quick to divert his suspicions, “do you think Kate will accept his proposal?”

The Major shrugged. “The man in question is well positioned.”

I followed his gaze to where Kate turned the pages for Mr. Davis. “Whereas poor Josh, languishing there in the corner, is not so well positioned.” I shook my head. “How sad for him…”

“The love affair is not over.”

Startled by this admission of superior knowledge, I raised a curt brow. “No? Do you hold the lady's confidence then?”

“Brooding does not look well on you,” he replied, a faint smile on his lips. “I note it is a favorite façade of yours—the cynical soul—the writer within philosophizing and drawing from life to insert into books.”

“You mistake me, sir—”

“Do I? Can I ask you a question?”

This sudden turn in conversation lured a reflective musing on my part. What did the Major hope to achieve by drilling me? Did he care about my writing? Dare he be showing an
interest
in my writing, and, in turn, me?

“There's certainly plenty of scope for characters here,” the Major observed. “We know who the victim is: Max Trevalyan. But who's the hero, heroine, and villain in this tale, Miss du Maurier?”

The use of my formal title attempted to rebuild the wall between us. I swallowed, fiercely wishing he did not know me so well. Nothing escaped the notice of Major Browning. I was sure he filed everything away to use at will.

His question inspired me to try to unlock the inner workings of his mind.

“Dear Frederick…your first name is Frederick, is it not? You seem to be the beholder of many secrets. Why don't you tell me who my characters are.”

His lazy eye perused me. “You overestimate my talents. I am not a guest of this house,
you
are.”

“However, you still have the propensity to influence events. Mr. Lissot's return for one. We have no doubt he owns his temporary release to your interference.”

“Not interference,” he corrected. “Reasonable persuasion. And he is not out of the fire yet, so to speak.”

“So he's still a suspect along with the others,” I said under my breath, surveying the room. Mr. Davis continued to play a beautiful concerto, but he'd lost his page turner. Kate and Josh Lissot now occupied a divan near the fire, both engaged in a low, earnest conversation. Unlike the previous day, no tension strained her face. On the contrary, she smiled often, laughed once, and her eyes softened as she placed her hand on Mr. Lissot's knee.

“Lissot's a fool,” the Major murmured. “He'd do better to keep away until Mr. Whitt arrives.”

“Mr. Whitt?”

“Chief Inspector Whitt. Due in on the next boat, by all accounts.”

“See! You
do
know everything. How did you find out?”

“It is no secret. Courtesy of your Lord Roderick.”

“He's not
my
—” I stopped short, looking at the man in question. I couldn't deny a certain attraction to him, admiring his stern work and moral ethics, his sense and education.

“He's a better choice than David Hartley,” the Major remarked, “though not entirely exempt in this affair.”

“Why would he murder his own brother?”

“Look around you. To save the family fortunes.”

“Yes, but he's not a violent man, nor the kind to resort to—”

“Not by his own hand, but a hired one?”

“Jackson the gardener. He's the only kind of nefarious character I can see delivering the blow.”

“How do you not know Lord R and he did not come to some kind of arrangement?”

It was true.

I didn't.

“It's a mystery,” the Major sighed at length, retrieving his coat from a nearby chair, “and time for me to retire. I shall leave you to your…deliberations, Miss du Maurier.”

He bowed curtly and left.

I watched him go, feeling suddenly a little lost without his company. I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't feel tired, nor did I feel like talking to anyone in the party, least of all Arabella, who eyed me curiously from where she lounged beside her cousin. Roderick, I noticed, looked stiff and ill-at-ease and as I bid my farewells, he immediately rose and lingered over my hand.

I climbed the stairs, enjoying the small triumph. Beyond a doubt, I'd certainly captured his interest. What should I do? Encourage it? How did I feel about the man? I
liked
him and respected him, but, he was a little too reserved. Did I feel a romantic attraction? I couldn't say, but I imagined passion lurked somewhere beneath his cool façade. Why else would he seek to hide a book of poetry? Was he ashamed of these safely guarded emotions and desires?

Or was he, like me to some degree, afraid of love?

 

“I've
delicious
news.”

Sir Marcus's big face invaded my sun. And right in the
middle of the final chapter of
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
Did the man have no comprehension of decency?

Stealing the book away, Sir Marcus faced me with a schoolboy grimace. “Delicious, mouthwatering news, my little Daphie. As it so happens, I witnessed an event last night of momentous magnitude.”

I waited for the revelation.

“Like Othello, Mr. Lissot believed his love had rejected him for another.”

“Rejected! She
rejected
him?”

“Well, not entirely,” Sir Marcus reflected, squeezing a seat beside me though there was clearly not enough room for the two of us on the divan. “This is rather cozy, isn't it?”

“Yes, and?”

“Brotherly,”
he insisted, his face all innocence. “You needn't fear for I have no designs upon you at present, though I suspect you'd make a jolly good wife.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. One couldn't help but smile at his ridiculousness. “Where did this momentous event take place?”

“In a moonlit garden.” Sir Marcus sighed. “It was
so
romantic…”

“But of what import?”

“
Hasty
Daphne. One must build the scene, not plunge headlong into the swamp. Swamps are horrid, murky places; don't recommend them at all.” He shuddered, pausing for effect. “Here is how it happened: after all you boring people went to bed, I wheeled myself into Lord Rod's study for a cigar. The night air enticed me outside, yet I soon snuffed out an absurdly
good
Cuban, more's the pity, when I spied our lovers behind a tree. Or was it a hedge? I can't remember, and in
any case, it doesn't signify. What
does
signify is that I heard all, bones, heart, and soul. It almost made me weep.”