The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (3 page)

“Doom and gloom is Daphne,” Jeanne said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of pink champagne. “Wherever we travel, she regales us with the worst stories. Last year, she frightened Mama out of her wits!”

I smiled.

It was true.

“Oh do humor us with a story, Daphne,” Megan insisted.

“But we should wait ’til after dinner,” Clarissa advised.

“Yes, after dinner,” Angela seconded.

*   *   *

The elaborate preparations to attire oneself for the dining car amused me. Clarissa curled her hair, Angela absconded with our mother’s hand mirror, Megan changed her dress five times, and Jeanne begged me to wear some lipstick.

Since I had the merest pink lipstick in my possession, I obliged her while Angela scowled in the corner. She didn’t like to see Jeanne growing up too fast. She liked to think of her as our baby sister.

Tinkling crystal greeted us as we entered the long carriage and the designated dining car.

“Wise of Teddy to prebook a table,” Megan whispered in my ear. “Oh, my goodness, is that Lionel Adams over there? I’m going to die!”

“Please don’t obstruct the aisleway then.” Angela winked her amusement, smiling at the famous actor. “Papa knows him, I think.”

“Papa knows
everyone
in the business,” Jeanne affirmed, stopping by Lionel’s table to ask for his autograph.

“I can’t believe she’s doing that.” Rolling her eyes, Angela shared Clarissa’s mortification.

“Oh, let her be.” Ellen shepherded us away. “We were all her age once.”

Until now I hadn’t realized how much one grows up from fifteen to twenty-five. I imagined the jump from thirty to forty would yield further mysteries as to one’s true character.

“We are all shaped by circumstance,” Clarissa said, reminding all of us we were here for Ellen’s wedding and not to gape at the plethora of notables on the train. “When I first met my Charles, I despised him. I thought him a great rogue and very vain.”

“And now?” Megan teased.

Clarissa’s face softened. “And now I think he’s adorable … and
so
good to me.”

Putting all thoughts of men aside, I tried to drink in the atmosphere from the gleaming silverware on our table to the various faces, voices, and food selections under the lulling hymn of Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons.

For tonight’s dinner I’d chosen a dress Lady Kate Trevalyan had so generously bequeathed to me when I was a guest at Somner House. Silver gray, its soft satin folds reminded me of a dove’s belly. Drop-waisted, it suited me well and the black lace overlay with its mock sleeves added glamor. To my hair I slipped on the headband bearing one silver star and a black feather. I believed I looked rather fine and much older than my twenty or so years.

“That dress is a bit old for you,” Clarissa, the eldest of us all at twenty-nine, observed as we ordered from the menu.

“It belonged to Lady Trevalyan,” I replied. “And she is reputed to have the best of taste.”

“I hear she is to marry Sir Percival Clements. A
splendid
match.”

“You mean he’s splendidly rich,” Angela snapped. “He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”

“Father perhaps,” Ellen soothed, laughing. “Now ladies, I do believe we’re attracting certain attention from that quarter.”

Following her sweeping lashes to a table of four gentlemen diagonal to us, I daresay we made a fine impression. Honey-haired Ellen’s quiet grace contrasted to Megan’s exuberance as much as her raven hair and mischievous dark eyes. On the other hand, we du Maurier girls were often called “attractive” though not endowed with any great beauty. I considered my nose too
retroussé,
Angela’s chin too determined, and Jeanne a shadowy version of our mother.

“They look French to me.” Megan sighed. “Oh, what I’d give to be romanced by one of them!”

“French men don’t make good husbands,” Clarissa informed her. “I have it on good authority from my cousin, who is married to one of them.”

There was a slight superciliousness to her tone and I braced against it. Clarissa had come from a rich family and had married into an equally rich family. They had money but no title or exalted connections. She appeared the kind of person to make up for this lack by being haughty and using condescension to elevate herself.

As our meals arrived, a couple entered the carriage on the far end. I blanched, my face turning a maggoty white. I could feel the blood draining from it as I looked on, sickened at the sight of yes,
him—
Major Browning accompanying a dark-haired lady and assisting her to her seat, attentively arranging her sparkling shawl and grinning fondly down at her.

“Daphne, what is wrong?”

Squeezing my hand under the table, Ellen’s eyes radiated sympathy.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Words stuck in my throat. I could only stare, astonished, hurt, and angry. Who was
she
? She wasn’t his sister, I knew that much. And were those her parents seated opposite them?

Angela made a scene by openly glaring at him. She turned back to me, countless questions in her eyes.

“Who is he?” a startled Clarissa and Megan breathed.

“Daphne’s boyfriend,” Jeanne answered. “Ouch! Don’t kick me under the table, Ange; it’s true!”

“Jeanne,
shhh.
” I didn’t want to believe it, nor did I wish to acknowledge his presence. Searching for an escape, I figured I could leave the table and stealthily make my way back to our carriage. I could do all this without being noticed.

I had to collect my thoughts. My stomach burned. I felt like one disembowelled and weak. Sickening betrayal haunted my steps as I fled, and I paid no attention to the curious whispers.

Once in our quarters, I caught my breath, sagging against the wooden panelled door. I wanted to beat my fists and wail. Curses left my mouth as angry tears spilled down my face.

“It’s his fiancée, Lady Lara Fane,” Angela brought the devastating news. “They are going to Cornwall for the wedding but they’re not staying at Thornleigh. He seemed embarrassed to see me and kept looking behind me to see if you were there.”

“
Please
don’t say you told him I was on the train.”

“Of course he knows you’re on the train. He’s not an imbecile. He asked after you in a strange way.”

I waited for her to enlighten me. I didn’t know if I wanted to hear any more.

“He said: ‘Are all your family travelling with you?’ to which I replied: ‘All but my parents who are coming a week later.’ Then he introduced his fiancée and her parents. I nodded my head coolly and left.”

I was thankful Clarissa hadn’t witnessed this interchange firsthand. Angela said nobody else could fit in the aisle and as it was, she barely shared five minutes with them. She added the major looked decidedly ill at ease. “How dare he toy with my sister! I’ve a mind to box his ears and I will.”

“He’s not worth it,” I whispered.
Now
I understood why he’d not bothered to call at the house or send a note. He was too busy with his fiancée, somebody he should have mentioned.
Was he engaged to her when we shared that kiss at Somner together? Was he?

I glared out of the window.

Suddenly, the world had turned very bleak. I vowed never to trust another human soul for as long as I lived. I vowed never to surrender my heart again. Never.

Angela sat beside me, a silent companion. Neither of us spoke and she kept the others away from me. I needed to be alone … to think.

The wedding and Thornleigh awaited and I prayed the busy frivolities drove all remembrance of the major firmly from my mind.

CHAPTER THREE

“Don’t torture yourself,” Ellen advised. “Consider it a good thing they are not bound for Thornleigh. Oh, I’ve got a mind to cancel his invitation.
All
their invitations! I had no idea Lara was engaged. Funny they didn’t mention it.”

Funny
he
didn’t mention it.

“He has ill-used my friend and is no friend of mine. I’ll poison his cup if I have the chance!”

I smiled at Ellen’s loyalty as we climbed into the waiting motorcars. Angela stood as sentry to ensure we did not run into
his
party, complete with fiancée. Clutching my handbag, I prayed to be saved that humiliation.

Gulping back painful tears, I fixed my gaze on the passing green countryside. For the first time in my life, Cornwall in the summertime failed to cheer me. The whole window became a blur of mixed colors, shapeless and moving. A bubbling tightness constricted my throat and I put my hand there to conceal it from the others. Oh why, oh why had I begged Ellen to invite
him
to the wedding? And how dare he accept
knowing
he had a fiancée and
knowing
I was Ellen’s maid of honor?

No, I would not cry. Not now.

I am sure I never sat on a longer journey. The minutes seemed like torturous hours and the humming of the sleek Rolls-Royce sounded like swarming bees in my ears. I wanted to block it all out. I wanted to block life out. I wanted to run away.

But I could not.

Duty beckoned and my friendship with Ellen took precedence.

If he had even an inkling of sensibility, he’d have denied the invitation. But no, he didn’t. And here was I dreaming of romantic assignations in the gardens of Thornleigh, in the great galley of Thornleigh, in the library at Thornleigh … in the woods surrounding Thornleigh. How the very reminder tasted bitter.

How should I conduct myself? Smile at his fiancée and pretend there was nothing between us? Scratch his eyes out in
front
of his fiancée? Scream at him like a fishwife in front of everyone?

My internal guide said to remain silent. To adopt a facade and ignore the situation. Treat him as nothing more than a slight acquaintance.

The great gates of Thornleigh arrested me, as they always did, with their weathered rusty exterior.

“Teddy wants to get new gates,” Ellen sighed, “but I can’t. The gates may be old but they are part of Thornleigh.”

“Yes, I agree. It would be a crime to remove them; they are so full of character.”

Entwined on the gates glistened the Hamilton coat of arms, given to Ellen’s ancestor five centuries ago. A knight of fortune, Sir Winston saved his king’s life and thus won for himself a bride and a castle. Since that day, the Hamiltons had occupied this land. I wished I could boast such a family history. My most infamous connection extended to my great-great-great grandmother Mary Anne who became mistress of Prince Frederick, the duke of York.

Chestnut and lime trees formed a handsome avenue up the house. Sir John Hamilton saw them planted during the Restoration and it was he and his architect friend who designed the Thornleigh standing today.

“Mama, I can’t wait to ride my new pony!”

Smiling indulgently, Ellen ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Daphne’s a great rider. I’m sure she’ll take you out this afternoon.”

“Yes, I will,” I promised Charlotte. Since it had been some time since I’d been on the back of a horse, I looked forward to it, too.

Beyond the trees, Thornleigh stood ancient and proud. Light rain drizzled down the crenulated turrets and the huge Jacobean wing with its endless mullioned windows and pretty gables. Red and green ivy flourished up the three turrets surviving from the original castle and, I was happy to note, had begun creeping across the limestone mansion.

“Think, Daphne, what it will look like in another fifty years.” Stepping out of the car, Ellen twirled in the rain. “When we’re old ladies, we can sit in that tearoom overlooking the gardens.”

I followed her gaze to the far corner of the house.

“Who has need of a drawing room today? We’ve made it into a tearoom and it’s cozy and bright. Our plan is to transform Thornleigh into an English-Italian villa. You’ll love it.”

I had no doubt I would. I loved all old houses, but Thornleigh remained a particular favorite. Perhaps because I’d come here as a girl, because I’d wandered alone in the woods, because I’d met my pen-friend Ellen here and because I based all my girlhood fantasies around the romantic grounds encompassing the old house.

“Had Xavier lived, you could have been mistress of Thornleigh,” Ellen teased as we made our way up to the house and into the delightful tearoom.

I smiled, an image of the handsome Xavier coming to mind in uniform, on leave from the war. Although I was so much younger, scarcely a child, he’d treated me like a lady and I thought of him as a hero. If he had lived, I calculated quickly, he’d be thirty-three now, a perfect age for a man a girl in her twenties like me might marry.

Ellen suggested we take tea before retiring to our rooms. I still could not believe how much had changed. From the new Queen Anne staircase to the fully restored state rooms, Thornleigh was well on its way to returning to its former glory.

“We plan to do one room at a time,” Ellen said to me on our way up to the third floor. “Teddy is a great planner. He’s pushing the builder all the time.”

“I guess money helps.” Angela grinned, pausing to admire a painting on the stairway wall. “Is that a Monet?”

“Yes.” Ellen seemed embarrassed. “It was an engagement present. I did think of locking it away, but it’s insured and Teddy says it should be on display. We put it in the library first but I think it looks better here in the hall.”

She moved on, and Angela and I shared a wide-eyed look. This was how millionaires spent their money, obviously.

“It can’t have been bestowed on a better person,” I said to my sisters later. “And how kind of Ellen to give us the best room over all the American relatives!”

“You
are
her maid of honor,” Angela reminded. “And we do have to share this suite with our parents. No late-night sneaking out.”

Elated, I skipped about, refamiliarizing myself with the “Queen’s Room.” Called so for Queen Charlotte herself stayed at Thornleigh while passing through the country, it bore the bed the queen slept in, a massive four-poster carved in oak, a King Louis XVI sitting room, a maid’s chamber where we three girls unpacked our luggage, and a separate Regency-style reception room. The old furniture had been tastefully restored and some replaced, and new blue velvet drapes framed the large window. I slipped outside that window onto the private balcony and gazed out at the woods.