Peril at Somner House (20 page)

“She refused! Why?”

“I don't know. You're a woman. You work it out.”

To do so was to paint a picture first of a woman who needed to be cared for, nurtured and cherished, protected and loved at all times. And I saw that her best choice was Mr. Davis. Friendship and intimacy and a happy marriage would free her to pursue a career as an artist. Mr. Davis would only be too happy to oblige, knowing better than any how much she had endured with Max. Max and Kate, the answer lay somewhere in their tragedy.

“Don't sit there gaping like a mummy,” Sir Marcus scoffed. “You might start drooling and I won't wipe up the dribble, I warn you.”

“I'm sorry. I must go.”

I fled from the room before he could stop me.

I couldn't be stopped until I knew the identity of the murderer for certain.

It was a risk that I alone must take.

I thought of the great detectives G. K. Chesterton and Sherlock Holmes. I was no great detective, nor did I aspire to the title. It was people who interested me, their desires, their secrets, their regrets, their loves, hates, and revenges.

That's why I placed a letter under suspect number four's door before rejoining Angela in our room.

“Isn't it a glorious day, Daphne?” Yawning, Angela twisted herself away from the window.

I joined her at the window. Somner House in the morning. Nothing could compare to the exotic pattern of trees winding to the beach, the strange call of the island birds hiding in the branches, the sea air rustling those wintry leaves.

“Aren't you glad you decided to come along? I told you it would be interesting.”

“Yes, interesting,” I murmured. “Two deaths and one sister who seems strangely happy about the fact.”

“Oh, pooh! If you knew half the things Max did to Kate, you'd be glad, too.”

“I was speaking of Mr. Lissot.”

Her mouth hardened and I watched her return to her side of the room to sort through her clothes.

“And how is our Kate? And how are you?” I whispered.

“Fine,” she snapped, maintaining an air of indifference I knew she didn't feel. “It's Kate's life. And if she chooses him, Davis will provide handsomely for her. She won't want for anything.” A grim smile appeared on her lips. “Men! Who needs them? They're a blight, a weakness, a plague among women. But I cannot dissuade her. She insists Davis is a good man who will cherish and protect her. Cherish and protect! Ha! It sickens me to hear it.”

After a moment's reflection, I spoke my fears. “You do see we're in danger here, don't you, Ange?”

She eyed me sharply. “Danger?”

“There's a murderer on the rampage. None of us are safe.”

“Max was murdered, but Lissot took his own life, Daphne.”

“Yes, I know. I read the note.”

The force of my confession struck her. “Did you
spy
on me last night?”

“By accident,” I protested.

I shivered, though the room burned with the sun's morning light. I envisioned Angela reading Josh Lissot's note, tiptoeing to where he lay in his bath, plunging the knife into his heart, shoving her hand over his mouth so he couldn't cry out. I studied her from the corner of my eye, sickened to see an ugly purple bruise emerging on her left arm. “How did you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That bruise on your arm.”

She averted her eyes. “Oh, I ran into the door of the cottage.”

Since the Major's ongoing residence in the house, I took more trouble with my appearance, though I was loath to admit it.

“Angela, can I borrow your pink lipstick?”

“Sure.” Gliding to the window, Angela hurled her makeup case to me.

Opening the silver case containing a cache of theatrical wonders, I rummaged through to the desired item. It was when I zipped the case back up that I noticed the blood. Blood? I dropped the case as though a snake had bitten me. The pouch was large enough to have concealed a kitchen knife. Shaking, I painted my lips pink to the sound of Angela singing, nausea squirming in my stomach.

Perhaps she'd forged Josh's note? Perhaps he'd intended to kill himself and at the last minute needed help and Angela obliged?

I shook my head free of such nonsense. It was a preposterous notion…Angela, no, no, not even an intoxicated Angela, could have committed such a heinous crime.

“Hurry up, Daphne, we'll miss breakfast.”

Pinning my hair up halfway as I walked down the stairs, I prayed my face did not betray my fears. Nervousness had a penchant for reflecting on my face and I must not allow my suspect to guess my identity.

As the clock in the dining room struck nine thirty, I shivered. Who was I to stir up a hornet's nest? I doubted even the best detectives lowered themselves to use a baited note to flush out a suspect.

“Sir Marcus said you woke him.” Adjusting her spectacles,
Arabella eyed me with the contented smile of a well-fed cat. “I wondered what all that noise was in his room.”

I felt the heat rush to my face. Roderick, I noted, quickly discarded his paper and the Major's brow flickered upward as Kate stirred her coffee, cooped up in the far corner with Mr. Davis and Angela.

“Splendid news,” Sir Marcus grinned, hitting his coffee cup with a spoon. “Daphne is to become Lady Oxley. Cannot compromise a girl rousing a bachelor from his bed, now can I?”

“He's joking,” I laughed, careful to avoid the Major's inquisitive gaze.

Sir Marcus gave me a severe frown. “You wound me terribly, Daphne girl. I do quite fancy you as a wife, you know, waking me up early in the morning with a hot cup of tea.”

 

Mr. Fernald's superior, the chief inspector assigned to our case, called an hour later, as we'd all repaired to the outdoor terrace to enjoy fresh tea and sunshine. Hugo let him through the door and I saw Kate shudder.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”

Inspector Zoland, a bald man, short and well-dressed and with gray hooded eyes, waved his cane at us. “After reviewing the facts, I am of the opinion that Mr. Lissot did not take his own life, but was, in fact, murdered. And as for Lord Trevalyan's untimely demise, I am not satisfied as to the cause. My lord, I shall prevail upon you to allow me to interview your guests.”

“You are welcome to conduct your interviews in the library, Inspector,” Lord Roderick offered.

“We'll interview each of ye in turn…startin' now,” Mr. Fernald declared.

My distaste for the man increased as I witnessed how much he enjoyed wielding his power to inspire fear in others. Did he abuse this power, I wondered? Was he susceptible to bribery?

“Miss Daphne.” Fernald's voice sent my heart pounding. “If you will come this way, if ye please.”

Stumbling to my feet, conscious of all eyes intent upon me, I obediently followed the policemen.

I began to tremble. Why had they chosen me first? Surely they did not suspect
me
? What reason could I have for murdering Josh Lissot or Max Trevalyan?

Enclosed in the library where books no longer radiated comfort, I wrung my hands together. I missed my father. I missed his strength and authority in the face of a creature such as Fernald. It was clear he meant to conduct the interview with the chief inspector looking on, making notes in his little pad.

Fernald opened his leaf pad. “I want to know your precise movements on the day Mr. Lissot was murdered. There was a storm. What time did you arrive back at the cottage, Miss du Mure?”

“It's du Maurier.” I glared at him. “And I never carry a watch but it must have been around five o'clock. Yes.” I nodded, remembering the sky.

“You shared a room with Miss Woodford that night. Give me an exact account of what you did upon your return.”

I stammered through the events of the evening.

“So, ye say you went to the lounge room early? Can anyone vouch for this claim? Mrs. Trent, perhaps?”

“Major Browning,” I whispered, heat rising to my face. “He was there also.”

A slow curl emerged on Fernald's too-thick lips. “You and the Major…are intimate?”

I shot to my feet. “Certainly not! And I
resent
the insinuation.”

“But ye've a habit, Miss du Maurier, of poking into places, don't you? Sir Marcus's bedroom, for one?”

My face turned redder. I don't know how the man had come upon this information. Had he been eavesdropping outside the breakfast parlor while waiting for his superior?

“Sit down, Missy.”

I sat down, wishing I had the fortitude to throw a book at him. He was the most odious man I'd ever met and I vowed to make him into a villain in one of my novels. A horrible creature who preys upon the innocent…a tyrant…a tyrannical innkeeper, I decided.

“I cannot conceive Miss du Maurier's motivation to stab Josh Lissot at his bath,” Inspector Zoland observed from his seat. “But the sister is another matter.”

“Angela?” I feigned surprise. “
Kill
Josh Lissot? Are you mad?”

My mind raced ahead. Was Angela to be interviewed next?

“I think this one's hidin' something,” Fernald said. “She's trying to protect somebody and that somebody would be a sister, eh?”

Eh?
I bit back a retort.

“I am hiding nothing,” I maintained, folding my arms across my chest.

“When did you last speak to Mr. Lissot, Miss du Maurier?” Mr. Zoland asked.

“Before the storm.”

“Did he seem upset? Out of sorts to you?”

“Yes, he was worried about how everything would turn out.”

“His innocence proven so he could marry Lady Trevalyan?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“One more question, Miss du Maurier. In your opinion, was Josh Lissot a man capable of suicide?”

I delayed my answer in hope of protecting Angela, but Josh Lissot deserved my honesty. “I don't know.”

Once dismissed, I let out a sigh of exasperation just as Bella advanced upon the library door.

Smiling, she moved toward the door handle and I moved out of her way. If anybody had something to hide, it was she, I grumbled to myself.

 

Eager to forget the whole affair, I escaped to the gardens, to a little corner I'd found where a stone wall covered with climbing roses, clematis, and wisteria looked out to sea. Numerous pots with struggling pelargoniums, verbenas, and heliotropes stood as lovely guardians to a luxuriant border hedge shaped into a circular oval design. There was no garden chair in the middle so I sat cross-legged on the green lawn and caressed the soft grass. The promise of spring blossomed all around me, and I longed for it.

“‘For throughout every new mystery and journey / Is an expanse of new stimulus for all eternity.'”

Blinking twice, I looked to my side to see Roderick Trevalyan.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“Y-Yes, of course. It is your home, my lord.”

He sat down and I smiled. “You will get your suit soiled.”

“I care not,” he shrugged, looking back at the house. “I never did care for the privileged life. I am far happier building boats.”

“And reading poetry. Who was the poet you quoted just now, by the way?”

“Me.”

“True? Why didn't you say so before?”

He raised a modest hand. “I've done it since a boy. It's a private passion of mine, one my father hated. So did Max. But my mother encouraged me and one day, without my knowing, she'd shipped off my compilation to London and they accepted it.”

I was astounded. “They accepted it? Just like that?”

“Yes, I have a published copy in the tower, if you're interested.”

“Here I dream of being a writer and you are already one! It's very selfish of you to keep this talent to yourself, you know.”

A light laugh drifted from his lips, bringing out the blue of his eyes. A deep Mediterranean blue, I thought.

“Daphne…” His eyes deepened with new meaning. “I know we have only known each other a short time, but nothing would give me the greatest pleasure if you would agree to be my wife.”

I was lost for words, but flattered beyond belief. I didn't know what to say.

“You needn't answer straight away. No doubt you'll need time to consider the proposal and I've no wish to press you. Take as long as you like. Take a year, if need be. I will still be waiting for you.”

That meant a great deal to me. He considered my needs before his own, further proof of his very good character. A good man. He almost fulfilled all of my criteria. Except he lacked one critical element. Like all young women I imagined how it ought to be, the romance preceding marriage, that flush of instantaneous joy, that wild abandon symbolizing absolute clarity…

A clarity I felt with only one man.

Major Frederick Arthur Montague Browning II.

 

I did not tell Angela about Roderick Trevalyan's proposal.

I had no wish to hear her laugh.