Murder and Mascara

by Evelyn James

  “You killed Esther because you thought we were having an affair?” Mr Grundisburgh’s face had fallen and he looked utterly broken by what he was hearing. “There was nothing between me and the girl. She did not deserve to die!”

  April Grundisburgh preened at his outburst, instead of making her rethink her allegations, it seemed to satisfy her that she had been correct all along. She looked smug and it made Clara sick to see how wickedly she relished what she had done.

  “What of Mr Forthclyde?” she asked to distract them all. “How had he offended you?”

  “Cushing’s Corsetry!” April Grundisburgh declared to Clara, as if the connection should be apparent. “I modelled for them for years! Before I married Albert I was close with Mr Forthclyde. Bertie. But he betrayed me too. I asked him to take me back once I realised Albert was a lying rogue, but he said he would not. He was too worried about his reputation!”

  For the first time tears pricked April Grundisburgh’s eyes.

  “I thought we could be like before. It had been glorious then. I never should have let him go for Albert, but I was foolish,” the tears ran down April’s face. “And all Bertie would say is that we were a thing of the past and he would not risk his career on a married woman! Still, he could not resist meeting me secretly in the dining room the night I killed him. He was surprised I was at the fair and wanted to know what I was doing. It was so simple to get him to agree to hang behind after the dinner. I hoped by writing the word betrayal I would deflect suspicion onto the saboteur. ”

  April Grundisburgh trembled with the emotion that was overtaking her. Her anger was faltering being replaced by self-pity. Clara moderated her tone too as she asked her next question.

  “You began to plot revenge. The trade fair offered you an opportunity to take out those people who had hurt you without making you a suspect, but your husband was not going to be at the trade fair?”

  “I knew…” April Grundisburgh choked on tears. “I knew that if some big calamity struck the trade fair my husband would be sent down to manage it. He is good at that sort of thing. All I had to do was stage the two murders and he was bound to be summoned. It was pure good fortune that it turned out someone else wished harm to the place and was prowling around at night sabotaging things.”

  “You told your neighbours you were going to your sister’s to explain your absence from home,” Clara continued.

  “Yes. I told Albert that too.”

  “And you disguised yourself as Arthur Crudd to gain access unnoticed to the trade fair.”

  “That was easy,” April smiled to herself, pleased with that part of her plan. “I have been disguising myself as a boy for many weeks now so I could spy on Albert. No one has taken any notice. Not that it was nice staying in that horrid lodging house with that ghastly woman, but I was prepared to endure it all.”

  “What about Niamh?” Mr Grundisburgh asked bleakly. “Miss Owen? What could you possibly have against her?”

  “She was fluttering her eyes at you, Albert! From the very day you arrived here! Did you not see it? No, of course not, you were just too flattered by the attention!” April snorted, her anger returning. “That is how it always is with you! A wink and a smile and you are besotted! I saw you walk her home, arm-in-arm. My blood boiled! I had only just killed that other damn woman and you had found your next mistress! It was so callous, Albert. I actually felt bad for Esther. You didn’t seem to care at all!”

  “Neither Esther nor Niamh were ever my mistress,” Albert had recovered enough to be cross and he spoke fiercely. “Listen here you stupid woman, those girls were employees and nothing more. I was sad when Esther died but I was not heartbroken because I never loved her, I was never having an affair with her! Niamh was feeling unwell the night I walked her home. You stupid, stupid fool! You killed three people out of misplaced jealousy, when the only person I ever cared about and loved was you! I worked hard for you! So you could have all the best things in life! And this is how you repay me?”

  His outrage hit home. Suddenly the fight had gone from April Grundisburgh as realisation dawned on her.

  “I thought…” she turned to Clara, perhaps hoping for sympathy. “I knocked on her door pretending I had a message for her. She was feeling bad and had to lie down on the bed. I… I put the pillow over her face.”

  “And you took her key to make it seem like she was killed for it?” Clara added.

  “I don’t know, maybe,” April seemed to have shrunk in on herself. “She was holding it in her hand and it fell to the floor. So I picked it up…”

  April Grundisburgh started to shake violently.

  “Albert, I am so sorry,” she looked to her husband. “I take it all back, every word I yelled at you!”

  “Too late, my dear, too late,” Albert Grundisburgh scowled at her.

  “Albert?” April Grundisburgh’s voice became wheedling. “Please Albert, I made a mistake. Don’t be like that.”

  Her husband could not even meet her eye. Clara took hold of the conversation again.

  “Where did you go last night, after you killed Niamh?” she demanded.

  “I…” April turned her attention to Clara. Her eyes were big and damp and she seemed suddenly childlike. “After I killed the girl, Niamh, I felt strange. It was not satisfying like it had been to kill Esther and Bertie. I felt… sick. And… and I was dressed in my own clothes because I had been meaning to kill Albert. I thought I would catch him as the last person to leave the Pavilion, only he was with her, and I didn’t get the chance. I had changed in the park, but when I went back the boy’s clothes I had hidden under a bush were gone. I must have looked for them for over an hour, but they were gone. Someone stole them!”

  This idea seemed to appal April more than the fact she had murdered three people.

  “I could not go back to the lodging house dressed as a woman, so I stayed out all night. I thought I would have to abandon my suitcase,” April’s eyes suddenly darted across the floor to the badly damage leather suitcase. “That is my suitcase! You… you brought it here and ruined it!”

  “I think you will find you ruined it,” Clara said calmly. “But that is beside the point.”

  There were footsteps in the corridor and Inspector Park-Coombs arrived with two constables and Dr Deàth. He took one look at the scene, then glanced at Clara.

  “Miss Sommers said you needed the police and a doctor? Dr Deàth happened to be in the station when she arrived so I brought him.”

  “Inspector, this is Mrs Grundisburgh, the woman behind the three deaths here. And she came very close to killing her husband just now,” Clara motioned to Mr Grundisburgh and his bloody arm. Dr Deàth moved forward to tend him.

  “Mrs Grundisburgh, you best come down to the station with me and explain all this,” Inspector Park-Coombs helped the trussed woman to her feet.

  “Yes, inspector,” April Grundisburgh stood meekly. “I have done some awful things. But I hope you will forgive me.”

  Inspector Park-Coombs glanced again at Clara, puzzled by Mrs Grundisburgh’s demeanour. Clara merely shrugged. Murder, she had long ago concluded, was a form of madness and went hand-in-hand with other maladies of the mind.

  The policemen departed and Clara was left with Mr Grundisburgh and Dr Deàth. The latter was humming as he bandaged Mr Grundisburgh’s arm.

  “Thank you, miss Fitzgerald,” Grundisburgh turned to Clara. “The outcome is not what I would have wanted, but I am relieved you caught the killer. To think, it was my own April…”

  “She had shown no signs before?” Clara asked.

  Mr Grundisburgh merely shrugged.

  “I was not looking for them. She was right about one thing, I was always working. April came second to my career,” Albert Grundisburgh sighed. “We met five years ago. As she told you, she was a model for Cushing’s Corsetry. I happened to be at one of their launch events for a new type of corset. April was modelling it. I took a shine to her.”

  Mr Grundisburgh winc
ed as the bandage was drawn tight around his cut.

  “I was never under any illusion April loved me, why should she? Look at me?” Mr Grundisburgh waved his good hand at his sizeable paunch. “But, I was content if she wanted me for my money, as long as I had her company I didn’t mind.”

  “I think you were wrong, Mr Grundisburgh,” Clara said softly. “April does love you. Jealousy is an emotion only stirred by strong passions. Had she only been interested in you for your money it would not have mattered to her you had mistresses. As long as she was your wife, that would have been enough.”

  Mr Grundisburgh smiled wistfully.

  “It doesn’t matter now. She has slain three people and tried to kill me. Whatever she once felt, whatever I once felt, it is all gone,” he sighed. “I feel responsible. Especially for poor Niamh. April attacked her because she saw me offering her help home. I had only meant an act of kindness.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for that,” Clara reassured him.

  “I shall though,” Mr Grundisburgh said mournfully. “Just as I shall feel guilt over Jeremiah Cook. This incident has made me realise how much our actions can affect others. It has made me rethink my position over Mr Cook’s departure from Albion. I shall do all in my power to persuade head office to drop the charges of sabotage against him. If they do not choose to press them, then the police will not pursue it. I think that is the least I owe him.”

  Clara agreed. Albion Industries had treated Jeremiah Cook very badly and he did not deserve to suffer further.

  “They will be busy enough dealing with the case Mr Mokano brings against them,” Clara reminded him.

  Mr Grundisburgh gave a hoarse laugh.

  “We’ll fight that one, don’t worry!” then he became grim again. “Will my wife hang?”

  “If they decide she was sane enough when committing the crimes, I suppose so, yes.”

  Mr Grundisburgh’s face hardened.

  “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The trade fair was in its final hours. Soon the Pavilion would be restored to its usual self and the stalls and displays would be packed away. Clara did not think that could come too soon. But she was no longer at the Pavilion worrying about murderers and vandalism. That role had been deferred to Mrs Levington, for Clara had other matters to occupy her.

  Owing to the steady determination of Dr Cutt, Captain O’Harris’ discharge from the hospital had been obtained and he was now safely ensconced in Dr Cutt’s spare bedroom. Dr Cutt had insisted on the arrangement, as it meant he could watch over the captain’s recovery in a much pleasanter environment than the hospital. His housekeeper was equally delighted with the arrangement, having learned who Captain O’Harris was and being most eager to help a war hero. To assist them Dr Cutt had hired a nurse, a reliable soul he had known a number of years and who had specialised in psychiatric cases in the past. She would be on hand during the night should Captain O’Harris need help. Dr Cutt felt certain that between them they would have the captain back on his feet before Christmas.

  Naturally Clara intended to keep her eye on them all.

  “I shall visit every day,” she informed O’Harris as they sat in his new accommodation. The bedroom was spacious and airy, with a comfy bed and a soft armchair. “You shall be sick of me and be glad never to see me again once you are well!”

  O’Harris laughed. It was a good sound.

  “I don’t think I could get sick of you,” he grinned.

  “Many people do,” Clara said with a raised eyebrow. “Mr Grundisburgh, despite my saving his life, quite never wants to see me again.”

  “Ah, well that might have more to do with his wife being discovered a murderer,” O’Harris pointed out. He stretched out on the bed in the room and gave a peaceful sigh. “Did she confess to the police?”

  “Yes. She was quite helpful to Inspector Park-Coombs. She explained how she had concocted this idea of murdering her husband while he was at the trade fair, so that she would not be deemed connected to the crime. She told everyone she was going to stay with her sister, but the sister spoiled that. Then she came to Brighton and started her plan by killing Esther Althorpe and Mr Forthclyde. They were really only the lure that would bring her husband down to the fair, but she had reason to want them dead too. She made the crimes seem connected to Albion by using beauty products in the crimes. But it was actually more personal than that. Esther had made her name via the promotion of a certain type of stocking, and that was how she came to Mr Grundisburgh’s attention. Strangling her with the same type of stocking was something of a message. Similarly, killing Mr Forthclyde with a sharpened corset stave was because she had once been a model for Cushing’s Corsetry,” Clara paused. “When you think about it, Mrs Grundisburgh was actually leaving us messages all along. It was just we didn’t know how to connect them.”

  “And Jeremiah Cook’s presence was pure coincidence?” O’Harris asked.

  “Just a lucky happenstance,” Clara agreed. “After being sacked from Albion Industries, Jeremiah felt a fool. He realised he had been used. He was jobless and the woman he had loved had abandoned him. I think any person in such a situation would contemplate revenge. But Jeremiah also felt guilty that he had betrayed Mr Mokano and he wanted the world to know what Albion had done. His message of betrayal had a double-meaning, firstly he had been betrayed, secondly he had committed betrayal.

  “Jeremiah knew about the trade fair from his time at Albion and he concocted this idea. He would sabotage the displays at the fair and announce to the world what had occurred. He naturally targeted the Pearl Pinks. But the whole time he was masquerading as Ian Dunwright he had only the vaguest notion that someone else was in the Pavilion. As it happens, Mrs Grundisburgh kept her murders to the times when the Pavilion was open, while Jeremiah operated at night. He would deliberately let himself be locked in so he could get on with his sabotage.

  “Mrs Grundisburgh, however, realised there was another person causing trouble and used it to her advantage. When she killed Mr Forthclyde she made sure he fell on the table where she had written the word betrayal. Her idea was to cast the blame for the murders onto the saboteur and it almost worked.”

  “And she framed Abigail Sommers?”

  “She needed a scapegoat and Abigail was just too tempting. Abigail had perfectly ordinary reasons for often speaking with Mr Grundisburgh. She was the top sales representative in her region and she had been chosen to organise the trade fair. But, to a jealous wife, she looked to be another potential usurper. Abigail tells me that she asked for some of the samples to be brought to her hotel room, so she could go through them and check everything was there before the fair opened. The person given the task of carrying the boxes was Arthur Crudd. He, or rather she, was alone in the room for several minutes while Abigail ran down to fetch a message from the front desk. That was ample time to plant evidence.”

  “And killing Niamh Owen was a spur of the moment decision?” O’Harris asked, settling himself further on the bed.

  “Yes, by that point I think everything had gone to Mrs Grundisburgh’s head and she had lost all sense of reason. But the murder of Niamh was spontaneous and troubled her more. She had spent months convincing herself that it was right for Esther and Mr Forthclyde to die, but Niamh was a different matter. I think that murder brought Mrs Grundisburgh crashing back to reality,” Clara thought for a moment. “I feel sad Niamh was killed, but I find it hard to feel the same sympathy for her that I do for Esther. Niamh had a nasty streak and she was intent on ruining her rival. She had a friend in the accounts department at Albion alter important documents and then send them to her. The forged documents made it look as though Abigail was cheating the company. Luckily Abigail kept her own copies.”

  “Sounds a dangerous business, being in cosmetics,” O’Harris said thoughtfully. “I don’t think it is a career I should choose. Still, it has certainly given the town something to talk about.”

  “To th
ink Brighton was the place the Pearl Pink was launched, right before it became the item at the centre of a legal controversy,” Clara smiled. “Well, that is none of my business. I caught a killer and that is that.”

  “Do you think Mr Taversham will ever recover from the fact he hired a woman disguised as a man?” O’Harris chuckled to himself. “I rather fancy it has hurt his pride that he couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “Nor could anyone else, to be fair,” Clara laughed with him. “Mrs Grundisburgh does not have a feminine figure and years of heavy cigar smoking have deepened her voice. She might have tried to insult me by calling me plump, but I personally feel I have a far more natural and favourable appearance than she.”

  Captain O’Harris gave her a wink.

  “I like my ladies with curves.”

  “Jolly good,” Clara said with mock sternness. “Because you are stuck with me. Now, I am going to head off to see poor Mr Taversham and hopefully console him in his misery by offering him the task of getting your house liveable again. If you are all right with that?”

  “Perfectly,” O’Harris said. “Tell him to strip the place and redecorate it! I want the old memories all gone. I need a fresh start.”

  “It shall be done,” Clara promised.

  “Though…” O’Harris hesitated. “I think the cars could stay?”

  Clara rolled her eyes.

  “Naturally!”

  She started to move away, to head out of the room and get on with making arrangements. O’Harris called her back and she stood by the side of the bed. He took her hand.

  “Just needed to check you weren’t an hallucination,” he said, a frown creeping onto his forehead. “Sometimes, I am not so sure.”

  “My dear Captain,” Clara said drily, “do you really imagine your mind could concoct anybody so complex and irritating as me?”

  “Well, perhaps not, but to be sure…” Captain O’Harris pulled her down towards him and kissed her on the lips.

  Clara blushed. She stood up quite flustered. O’Harris was laughing to himself again.