The Widow's Club (46 page)

“Magdalene,” I said, moving to the edge of my seat so I could catch her if she swayed, “you face a very difficult problem. In fact, you face two. What happened to Ben at the church hall was no accident. It was a vicious attempt on his life.”

Her screech brought an I-told-you-so look to Primrose’s face. Out came the smelling salt bottle and at the close of the next minute Magdalene had a lavendar shawl around her shoulders, properly set for her hour of suffering. Throughout the horrible disclosures which followed, she resorted to the smelling salt frequently and was so silent I was afraid shock might have affected her vocal cords.

I took over the story from the Tramwells at the point where they entered Delacorte’s to find me crouched over Ann’s body.

“When I retrieved that note to Felicity Friend from Ann’s bag and consumed it, I foolishly believed my involvement had ended. Admittedly, I felt a momentary alarm when I read a confidential in her column to Heartbroken, but I was confident it was a coincidence.”

Magdalene’s eyes closed. Was she praying for strength to forgive me?

“Completely understandable, my dear.” Primrose’s small papery hand closed over mine. “Your mind rebelled
at the possibility of the unbearable. But it is apparent that the late Mrs. Delacorte had discussed with The Founder your avowed interest in joining the widows. What amazes me,” she said with a tiny sigh, “is that anyone whom Mrs. Delacorte put up for membership should be accepted as a viable candidate. One must assume that your being known to The Founder stood you in good stead.”

Hyacinth took up from Primrose. “We were duplicitous in saying that we were out on a scenic drive this afternoon. The confidential you mentioned, Ellie, did not escape our notice.” Her voice was grave. “We, too, hoped it was a coincidence, but Flowers Detection leaves nothing to chance. Perceiving the grim possibilities of the cookery demonstration, we parked at the side of the hall in readiness for a quick getaway and, when everyone had gone inside, moved to stand outside the main entrance, where we could hear what was going on without our presence disturbing you, Ellie. I had brought along my grandfather’s duelling pistol”—she patted the carpetbag—“and when the commotion commenced, we were about to charge to the rescue when the Raincoat Man burst around from the other side of the hall, barged against us without so much as an apology and went inside.”

“An unsettling moment.” Primrose crumbled her cake. “But after overhearing what he had to say, we thought it best to protect our cover and let him make the rescue. One does, at times, have to practise a professional detachment.” Her face puckered. “I do hope you understand, Ellie?”

I took a slice—two slices, actually—of cake. “What I understand is that someone unknown fiddled with the pressure cooker valve and from behind the screen of steam a chloroforming hand was pressed against poor Ben’s face.” I stopped. Magdalene was crumpling. However, before I could touch her, she straightened, lips so compressed they disappeared. I continued, keeping a watchful eye on her. “And then came that awful Dr. Bordeaux. What sort of accident, I wonder, would have befallen Ben at The Peerless?”

“One can only surmise, of course, but one suspects he would have been sent spiralling down the stairs onto the marble floor or got tossed out of a window.”

I reached out and took Magdalene’s cold hand.

“Oh dear, yes.” Primrose brushed cake crumbs from her fingers. “There would have been a distraught nurse sobbing into her starched handkerchief at the inquest, saying she had only left the patient for a moment, and when she got back, he was gone. He must have become disoriented waking up in a strange place and … thank you, Butler, I
will
have a ginger biscuit … I doubt she would have been sufficiently composed to go on.”

“But why? Why did it happen? Why did Ben get put on the widows’ hit list? Ann said there were four stages to the application process. First, the heartbreak letter to Dear Felicity Friend; second, a telephone contact asking if you want your husband murdered”—Magdalene was going over the side of her chair again. Butler realigned her and I rushed on—“third, the confidential item in Dear Felicity’s column delivering the message,
your application is approved
. Fourth, the initiation fee. But I was never contacted by phone, meaning Ben should have been safe.”

The Tramwells weren’t looking at me. They were staring at Magdalene, who sat there like a broken-winged sparrow. Somewhere in the house Sweetie howled.

“The voice didn’t say ‘Do you want your husband murdered?’ ” The movement of her lips made the rest of Magdalene seem abnormally still. “It said, ‘Do you ever dream of having your husband murdered?’ I thought it was Reggie trying to lure me out of the house in the middle of the night. I was told to bring money or jewelry and a signed note saying it was blood money and hide them in a statue in the churchyard.”

“The dues.” Hyacinth’s earrings bobbed as she wrote.

Magdalene kept staring straight ahead. “I didn’t know what to do. If I notified the police, they might capture Reggie in the churchyard, but what if he started shooting? How could I guess the voice was talking about murdering my son? Giselle hadn’t thought to confide in me. His own mother the last to know! I still can’t believe it. When I picked up the phone, the voice asked for Mrs. Eli Haskell …” Her voice wound down, and she stared at me. “Oh, I think I see … Mrs. Ellie …”

It was exactly the sort of bungle I might have made. Butler pressed a glass of brandy into Magdalene’s limp hand. “I must be going senile,” she sighed. “First the wrong convent and now this. I … I signed that note Mrs.
E. Haskell.” She reached into her cardigan pocket for a handkerchief.

“Nonsense.” Hyacinth eyed her imperiously. “You—a woman stalked by an unscrupulous villain—pick up the phone to hear the word murder. What could you be expected to think? And to all proper-thinking people, Mrs. Ellie Haskell is an error of address, but”—a mild shudder—”
these
people don’t think like us.”

Magdalene held her nose and downed her brandy. “I have to blame myself. Perhaps if I hadn’t come here, been such a burden, none of this would have happened.” She set down her glass and squared her shoulders. “I have something to confess to you, Giselle, and, later, to Father Padinsky. I don’t have any jewelry other than my wedding ring, so I took … stole your engagement ring. Naturally, I don’t expect you ever to understand.…”

I stood and glared down at her. “Will you stop with this nonsense! That was a ring well spent if it saved Poppa’s life, or if you thought it would. Now, can we stop talking about trivia, please, and decide how we are going to keep Ben from being murdered!”

Her eyes spun. When she revived, they gleamed with determination. Primrose signalled for Butler to fetch more brandy.

“My dear Magdalene, if I may so presume to address you, I do hope you do not think Flowers Detection is minimizing your personal plight, but kidnapping, whilst most annoying, is scarcely as onerous as murder.”

“It would take a very selfish mother to put her own safety ahead of that of her son, and I am sure Giselle would not intentionally have given you such a view of me.” Magdalene, hair wisping around her set face, was back in form. Primrose and Hyacinth made admiring noises.

Despair had me by the fetlock again. I stood up, drew the curtains against the gathering of evening, and spied a protrusion of tail over the edge of the bookcase. Reaching for Tobias, I buried my hands in his fur. Eyes on Abigail’s portrait, I said, “It is clear to me what must be done to unmask The Founder and I am entirely prepared to face the risks involved. But in the meantime, how do we keep Ben safe? The widows won’t fold up their weapons and go away. Remember Vernon Daffy? They tried and tried again until the third time was the charm.”

Magdalene sat on the rim of her chair. “Far be it from me to interfere, Giselle, but if you insist … Why not phone up one of these wicked women and say, being careful not to give offence, that you’ve changed your mind. Say that Ben—oh, it breaks a mother’s heart to think of the horrid things being said about him—has changed his ways, thrown Frederick over, so you’ve decided to keep him.”

Primrose shook her silvery head. “I seriously doubt that backing out would be permitted at this stage. The risks to the club would be too great.” She turned to me. “Indeed, Ellie, Ben must be hidden until all is safe once more. What a pity, Hyacinth”—she dimpled at her sister—“that we are not at Cloisters; the priest hole would be perfect.”

Abigail’s eyes smiled serenely down at me. “No more perfect than a dungeon.” The Tramwells looked a little envious as I explained.

“I think we should explore the dungeons as soon as possible.” Hyacinth rapped with her pen on the green notebook. “But first, Ellie, let us make sure we understand your plan.”

Magdalene lowered her head onto her hands. “This will be Purgatory for my dear boy with his claustrophobia.”

I couldn’t answer her. My throat felt like straw. In attempting to save Ben’s life, I knew I stood to lose him. Could he ever forgive me for this? If only I had talked to him, but the time for talking had been lost somewhere along the way.

“My plan is what you, Hyacinth and Primrose, hoped for all along.” I let Tobias slide out of my hands. “Ann showed us the way. Can any of us doubt she got herself killed because she committed the unforgivable sin of asking The Founder to murder Bunty Wiseman so that she could make a play for Lionel? Therefore I must make a similar request. But what man shall I say I want at any cost, and what female stands in need of being removed from my path?”

Primrose watched me solicitously. “If Bentley hadn’t been so charming, you and that handsome vicar would certainly have made a splendid couple.”

“Rowland really isn’t my type.” I was remembering with a bitter pang that moment of emotional infidelity at Abigail’s. “But—yes, I will telephone Mrs. Bottomly (I suspect from something Ann said that she is the president)
and say that Ben has left me and ask her to put before The Founder my request that my cousin Vanessa be removed because she would make a terrible vicar’s wife and I wouldn’t.”

“Oh delightful!” Primrose leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh. “This should bring the same swift retribution meted out to Mrs. Delacorte.”

Hyacinth folded up the green notebook. “The vicar is on holiday, but I see no reason to inform him on this matter. As I see it, the danger to Vanessa is nonexistent, but I suppose it would be courteous to inform her that her name is being used in this matter; an ideal time, perhaps, for her to leave the country.” Hyacinth looked at me.

“At my expense, naturally.”

“As for Ben’s whereabouts, I believe that Flowers Detection can supply a credible fabrication to be put into circulation. We have in the course of our research discovered something interestingly unpleasant about Mr. Sidney Fowler.” Hyacinth’s lips formed a complacent crescent. “He is a bigamist.”

Magdalene winced. “This will kill his mother. How … how many wives?”

“A lot,” Primrose answered. “But, to give credit where credit is due, it would seem he came down to this obscure village and made a valiant attempt to fight his beastly urges. But Bentley”—she raised a finger at me—“all unwittingly, asked him to be best man at your wedding, Ellie, and at the sight of orange blossoms and bridal cake, old temptations must have flooded back. Mr. Fowler thirsted for the excitement of being once again a bridegroom. He put an advertisement in
The Daily Spokesman
. Perhaps none of his customers appealed or he didn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure.”

This was interesting, but Ben and Poppa might come down any minute. To move things along I said, “Sid told me that he had put a personal in the paper and had received a response from someone who seemed a soulmate.”

“He most certainly did.” Hyacinth’s black eyes gleamed. “He heard from wife number one, Angelica Brady.”

“Never!” said Magdalene and I together.

“We fear so.” Primrose fussed with her curls. “Again unwittingly, Bentley sent Miss Brady some copies of
The
Daily Spokesman
, and in one of them was Mr. Fowler’s appeal. We have spoken to her and she likened the effect upon her to being drawn by an invisible cord. However, being a woman of the world, she did exercise some caution. She insisted that they hold to a use of code names and continue addressing their correspondence to post office boxes. Fear of disillusionment kept her from setting a first meeting, but with the cookery demonstration so apropos, it was arranged that they should each come to the church hall wearing a red rose.” Primrose sank back in her chair, in breathless need of the fresh cup of tea Butler promptly handed her.

“And one or both of them told you all this as they rushed from the hall?” I didn’t mean to sound biting, but how did Sidney’s plight help Ben?

Hyacinth surveyed me. “Miss Brady put up at the Pebblewell Hotel last night and we engaged her in conversation; quite easily done—young people find it difficult to make a getaway when the elderly are persistent. And Miss Brady is a singularly sweet person. She confessed to us all about her early marriage and her acute distress upon discovering that her husband was leading not a double, but a quadruple life.”

“No way round it, this will kill Sidney’s mother.” Magdalene was looking a little more perky. “Although there’ll be those that’ll say she brought it on herself, letting him get his own tea when he was little.”

Hyacinth replaced the green book in the carpetbag. “When Miss Brady dashed out of the church hall this afternoon, she collided with us, babbling that her
amour de plume
was none other than her bigamist husband, Sidney. Scarcely had she fled between the gravestones when Mr. Fowler cannoned into us, babbling that he was going to grab a boat and head for France.”

“We don’t want to seem dim-witted …” Magdalene and I said as one.

Primrose gave a dimpling laugh. “My dears, Sidney disappears and Bentley disappears. Can you believe it won’t be said that they have gone off together, to the chagrin of cousin Frederick?”