The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (28 page)

“We had better telephone them,” my mother murmured.

“I’d much rather Inspector James,” Ellen said. “Can’t we ask him to come?”

“It’s not his jurisdiction.”

Sinking into a chair, Ellen lifted a weary hand to her forehead. “I’ll have to see about the money…”

“The police will probably advise otherwise,” my father said.

“How can you not try with a child?” my mother retorted.

“What assurance does she have though, if she goes ahead?”

Crying softly, Ellen answered us through her tears. “None.”

*   *   *

True to my father’s prediction, the police suggested no negotiation.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t. I’ve got the money ready and I know Teddy would have done the same. Major Browning?” Moving across the room, Ellen handed him the package. “Can you deliver this for me?”

From the other side of the room, I saw the indentation in his jawline. His mouth tightening, I knew he didn’t approve of Ellen’s choice, but he accepted the package. “There is no guarantee this will bring back your daughter,” he did warn and my father echoed the major’s sentiments, volunteering to accompany the major on the mission.

The two men left and I watched them go, my father and my future husband. They were strong men, handsome and charismatic, and I loved them more than anything in this world. What if something should happen to one of them?

I dared not think about it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“We’ve looked everywhere, Mrs. Grimshaw. No child has been found with her description.”

Glassy-eyed, Ellen nodded. We’d all joined the hunt for Charlotte at Victoria Station and now as darkness expanded over the city, it was time to admit defeat. Taking Ellen in her arms, Mother led her to a waiting car, intending to put her to bed with a sedative.

At the mention of sedative, an uneasy feeling crawled up my spine. Lady Gertrude, Ellen’s mother, had died of a misapplied sedative. Since Charlotte’s disappearance, I trusted no one. And once again those chilling words of Mrs. Haines’s echoed through my head:
Death comes in threes.

Who would be the third?

“Thornleigh,” I said to myself. “Thornleigh has the answer to this riddle…”

We had to go back.

Driving home with Ellen, I talked her out of a sedative and instead went to Father’s study for brandy. Pouring a glass out of the decanter, I sniffed it. The pungent odor assailed my nostrils. It smelled normal. It smelled safe.

As I stood there inspecting the golden liquid, I thought of Teddy Grimshaw. He’d have thought nothing of it, sipping his death-dealing potion just prior to death. Would I suffer a similar fate?

What the inspector said of Ellen appeared true. She was at the center of all of this. Someone had tried to kill her twice and those around her were at risk. Having been at risk twice before, I hesitated before sipping the brandy.

“Daphne? What are you doing there in the dark?”

Yawning, my father scratched his belly. “Fancy a drink, do you? Then pour one for both of us.”

“I’ll pour three,” I said. “I have to take one to Ellen. I’d rather her have it than a sedative. Remember her mother died of a sedative.”

“Ah, the abominable Lady Gertrude.”

“What do you remember of her?”

“Nothing much,” my father admitted. “Only saw her once or twice. What are you doing with those glasses?”

“Inspecting them. What if they are poisoned?”

“Nonsense, my girl! You’re allowing all of this business to play on your mind.”

“But you must acknowledge we are exposed to danger.”

“Poor Ellen. Someone’s out for her and it ain’t Cynthia Grimshaw.”

“They are after Teddy Grimshaw’s widow.”

“Give me the drink. I’ll test it.”

My father wasn’t a patient man. Squeezing my eyes closed, I heard him slurp the first centimeter.

“It’s safe.” He chuckled. “You may tell Ellen I am now her cup bearer.” He laughed again, and after I’d delivered Ellen her nightcap, I rejoined him.

“How is she?”

“Not good. She can’t stop blaming herself. What would you do if I went missing?”

“Dear me, I don’t know. I’d go mad I suppose.”

“Would you have paid the ransom?”

After a deep sigh, he raised his glass to me. “It’s a question any parent will answer yes to.”

“But I’m not asking any parent. I’m asking you.”

He delayed, and eventually his gaze connected with mine. “In this case, I’d have waited.”

“Why?”

“Because of the note and how it’s written. ‘The longer you delay the price goes up.’ He did not intend to release her at all. At least, not yet.”

“He wants more money?”

“Invariably. It’s a game and we are not equipped to play it.”

“If she hadn’t paid, she’d get another demand?”

“Yes, and that note might have given us another clue.”

“Is it worth a child’s life? Playing a game like this?”

“Well, I don’t envy the police who have to deal with such creatures.”

Nor did I and I felt sudden sympathy for the police around the world.

Going upstairs, I knocked softly at Ellen’s door. There was no answer so I moved on, intending to go to bed. Yawning on my way in, I groaned. I really should check that she was all right. I hoped she was fast asleep for sleep gave her a brief escape from this nightmare.

Turning the doorknob, I looked inside. It was dark and quiet. Tiptoeing closer to the bed, I swallowed.

The bed was empty.

*   *   *

“There’s only one place she could have gone,” I said to my parents, waking them up in a frenzy.

“She could be on the streets anywhere.” Hauling himself out of bed, my father put on his nightrobe and slippers.

“I’d do the same.” My mother sighed. “I couldn’t rest, either. I’d keep searching all night. Why didn’t we think of it?”

I followed my father downstairs.

A deathly silence greeted us. “I don’t suppose anybody heard anything?”

“Let’s not wake the servants.” My father yawned.

“Where shall we start looking?”

“You think she’s gone to that post office and not searching the streets, like your mother says?”

“Yes, I do. Can we take the car?”

I persuaded him to go out. Both of us left in our nightgowns.

“This is a waste of time,” my father said, driving down darkened streets where the only activity was the dull flicker of a night lantern. “She could be anywhere.”

“Let’s check the post office first. If she’s not there, she’s at Victoria Station.”

“I’m not even sure how to get to this post office, as the major drove yesterday. I do know how to get to Victoria Station.”

“Then let’s try there. We have to try, Papa. We can’t leave her out here alone.”

My father’s face turned solemn. “That might be what the blackmailer is hoping. Perhaps he’s using the child as bait.”

“But isn’t he after the money?”

“Not if it’s personal. That fellow Jack Grimshaw. He’s Rosalie’s lover, isn’t he? The two of them are probably working together.”

A sickening reality curled in my stomach. Who else needed money more than they did? Who else could have such a grudge against Ellen and Charlotte?

With her mother dead, Rosalie Grimshaw seemed the most likely suspect. Was she the type of person to kidnap her own sister?

With Jack Grimshaw handling the particulars, maybe. My father and I discussed this possibility in the dead of the night.

Having never seen London in these wee hours, I appreciated the ghostly buildings, the glowing street lanterns, the empty streets, the busy promise of tomorrow.

“Grimshaw’s burned his chances this side of the ocean,” my father acknowledged. “Wily fellow. I’m glad I chose not to invest with him.”

“He’d have stolen the money and run. Easy money is what he wants.”

“And if he’s on the outer, kidnapping is a way to easy money.”

Driving into the umbrella of Victoria Station, my uneasiness increased. There was no one in sight and such a place invited danger. Switching off the engine, we came to a slow stop.

“I should have brought my pistol,” my father joked, getting out of the motorcar.

“You should have.” Catching my breath, I walked on with him, expecting to run into a criminal at any moment. Worse, Jack Grimshaw, lurking behind some column, armed, and holding Ellen for ransom.

I hoped she had the sense to conceal herself. An eerie feeling consumed me as we approached the deserted ticket office.

“No one’s here. Let’s go home, Daphne.”

I nodded, turning back once more. “She has to be here, though. Living in hope for Charlotte’s return.”

I looked again. I fancied I heard a whimper far down the hall. “Maybe we should go down there?”

My voice sounded small and intrepid. I wished my father had brought a pistol. I wished the major was here with us. I’d probably get a lecture later this morning but I didn’t care.

Clutching my father’s arm, we proceeded across the hall. Drawing closer, I felt my father tense. Each step became slower. I’d never seen my father so afraid before and my heart pounded. Pallor crept into my face. Are we walking into a trap? Our death?

Another whimper.

Faint, and that of a female.

I halted. “Ellen?”

The whimper vanished.

“Ellen?”

Then a voice out of the darkness. “Daphne?”

I shut my eyes, smiling.

We found her crouched in a corner, crying.

*   *   *

“Excuse me, sir. This arrived for you.”

It was midday. Seated at the breakfast table sipping a coffee, I glanced at the maid. I’d expected her to announce the arrival of Major Browning. But no, simply delivering the mail to my father.

Opening the envelope with his butter knife, my father blanched. “Outrageous!”

His outburst rustled my mother’s teacup. Swooping to steady it, I examined his face. “It’s about Charlotte, isn’t it?”

My father nodded, grave. “He wants more money.”

“Oh no.” Putting aside her tea, my mother looked over his shoulder. “What does he say this time, Gerald? Why has he addressed it to you?”

“Because Ellen is staying under my roof. He wants full attention. He’s a sadist.”

“May I see the note?”

It was similar to the first demand and with the same neat black handwriting. “I think you’re right, Papa. These two are different from the other threats. The kidnapper is not the person who tried to kill Ellen.”

“If not him, then who?” my mother cried.

“I’ll telephone the police.” Heading toward the door, my father paused. “Keep the news from Ellen for the minute, if you will.”

When he left, my mother and I faced each other.

“It’s so dreadful, all of this business and it doesn’t help to have that inspector on the case. How dare he insinuate Ellen being a murderess!”

“I daresay he explores all possibilities.”

“What a pity they never caught Teddy Grimshaw’s killer. If they had, this might have never happened.”

“It still would have happened.”

Shaking her head, my mother gave me her look of disapproval. “You romance things too much, Daphne. We are not living in a novel.”

Crossing my arms, I thought a novel much tamer than life at the moment.

However, one didn’t disagree with Lady Muriel du Maurier.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“I’m still not sure this is the best way…”

“You have the power to respond here,” Inspector James replied. “Remember, you tried the other way and failed. Trust me. I have experience in these matters.”

“But what if he gets angry and harms Charlotte?”

“He won’t harm her. She’s too valuable. If she wasn’t a great heiress, then perhaps I’d advise you otherwise. But she is, and it’s her value that keeps her alive.”

“Thank you, Inspector. Your assurance gives me confidence.”

Hanging up the telephone, Ellen sought my hand. Hers shook as she asked if I’d heard everything.

“Yes. I agree with him.”

Staring hard at me and Major Browning, she nodded. “Then let it be done. Request him to come to Thornleigh to get his money. He’s to bring Charlotte to her father’s grave and that is where we shall make the exchange.”

“The gravesite?” Lifting his eyebrows, my father muttered under his breath. “Not a good idea. Too isolated.”

“It’s a place that will appeal,” the major countermanded. “We need to lure him out face to face. This person doesn’t like face-to-face. That’s why he used the post office box to communicate.”

Upon hearing this, I began biting my nails again.

“Daphne!”

I should have expected my mother to catch me.

“Let her chew away.”

After hearing the major’s fond assessment of my bad habit, she left me alone at it. Chewing my nails helped me think. I conjured up my characters this way, mulling over their personalities and their motivations.

I was glad to go back to Thornleigh. The drive kept one occupied. Ellen and I each stared out of the window while Alicia Brickley conversed with Major Browning in the front.

I tuned in to some of their conversation.

“My uncle was a clever man but something unsettled him before his death. I saw him at his desk one day rubbing his chin. He only ever rubbed his chin when he couldn’t solve a riddle.”

“He was worried about the threats against Ellen and Charlotte.”

“No … actually I don’t think he was. He was a rich man. He’d dealt with threats before. It was something else that bothered him.”

“To do with his business?”

“Yes.”

“Something he couldn’t solve? A riddle?”

She nodded and I admired the nape of her neck. She held herself well, Alicia Brickley. Tall, graceful, reserved. A perfect secretary. A perfect nanny.

Anybody too perfect bothered me.

Keeping my suspicions to myself, for I didn’t know exactly what I suspected Alicia of doing, I turned my attention to the scenery I loved so much. Wild roses crawled up the walls of passing cottages. I dreamed of living here. Here in the heart of Cornwall.

A dusky pink tinged my cheeks. Now, as an
engaged
woman, I could begin hunting for a house. Somewhere deep within this country. I dreaded the thought of having to spend my first married years in London.