Murder Lies Waiting

by Alanna Knight

  With that patriotic flag-waving, the tourists seemed unimpressed, while I thought of Holyroodhouse, including my own personal brief encounters of His Majesty earlier this year at Balmoral Castle as stepsister of Dr Vincent Beaumarcher Laurie, a junior physician to the royal household.

  Having consumed a scone less delicious than it appeared under the glass cover, and a cup of somewhat weak and lukewarm tea, our guide lingered to point out the final lap of the tour around the terrace close to the house, with its few ornamental flower beds, all sadly past their seasonal blooms. However, we were permitted a glimpse of Lady Vantry, also known to Sadie as Lady Adeline, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

  At my side, Sadie gripped my arm, fearful of being recognised and once more glad of the impulse to bring along her disguise, the close-fitting hat.

  Lady Adeline passed close by, and hesitated to stare at us, perhaps resentful of this invasion of her privacy. Her expression was concealed by her veils, the only flesh visible was from a ringed hand, with a flash of jewels, raised against a sudden breeze that threatened her bonnet.

  The guide gave her a stylish bow and as she wandered off in the direction of the servants’ entrance, an obvious necessity to avoiding the steep stone steps to the front door, he whispered: ‘Her ladyship is very frail now.’

  She didn’t look frail, she was even a little stout, but that could have been an illusion from the flowing robes, I thought, as he continued: ‘She likes to keep up with present day happenings and is very proud of our history. Pleased to open her house to so many visitors from foreign parts who will remember it as part of their visit to the island, and carry away good memories of our heritage.’

  Someone asked: ‘Who looks after her ladyship now?’

  ‘She has close relatives who live here. Her ladyship never recovered from losing her only son’ – a hesitation – ‘twenty years ago, as you all are aware, no doubt …’ Another pause for silent reflection in a nod towards the house with its now infamous staircase … ‘In such terrible circumstances.’

  At the table next to me, a knowledgeable tourist was telling his partner about this brother and sister from a remote branch of the family who had moved up from England near where he lived, and, he understood, leaving a splendid estate, to come and look after her ladyship. The listener was impressed and there were head shakings and murmurs of ‘Such devotion’. Personally, I considered that remote branch doubtless had ample rewards for such devotion no doubt provided by a quick scan of Lady Vantry’s will.

  Keen to hear how Sadie had reacted to this visit, as we left the house I asked what did she think of Lady Vantry.

  She shrugged. ‘I never would have recognised her again. Didn’t look a bit as I remember her. Always thought she was taller and thinner, not so shapeless.’

  ‘That’s what time can do. And for all those elaborate precautions, perhaps the same can be said for you,’ I added tactfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ve changed a bit, haven’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said and added eagerly: ‘That guide, Angus-something-or-other, he must be sixty or more, but he always looked old. Got less hair now, but thankfully he never gave me a second glance. I was quite scared, I can tell you. I’m just thankful that Edgar didn’t get a chance to see me.’

  ‘You’ve certainly made sure of that by keeping out of his way here as well as at the hotel.’

  She sighed. ‘And with good reason. Edgar Worth was one of the witnesses—er, of the accident.’ She thought for a moment and frowned. ‘I’m sure he wasn’t called Edgar then. Something like Ned, or Teddy.’ She shrugged. ‘He claimed that he also heard Oswald and I fighting and me shouting that I hated him just … just before—’

  ‘What was he doing at Vantry?’

  ‘On holiday from England, I expect.’

  ‘What about the sister, Beatrice?’

  Sadie shook her head. ‘She wasn’t with him then. I never met her. She was maybe too little. I don’t recall anything about her or even that he had a sister.’

  We were walking down the drive, well ahead of the tourists, and as we turned a sharp corner a man was approaching. He was just yards away, and seeing us, he nearly jumped out of his skin, his anxiety not to be seen reminding me of Sadie as he darted into the rhododendrons.

  ‘Did you see that?’ I asked Sadie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That man. Coming towards us – he didn’t want to be seen, just leapt into the bushes.’

  Sadie shook her head, she hadn’t noticed him, head down, too busy talking, lost in her own anxieties, her Vantry experiences that this visit had reawakened.

  But my mind was on that man, his swift movement so furtive it suggested that whatever he was doing on the drive heading towards the house, he was up to no good.

  I saw his expression, that startled face. It was not the last we were to hear of him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We had reached the place where the tram waited, already crowded with noisy, truculent children overcome by boredom, a few of the very small ones now yelling lustily. Sadie and I exchanged looks of resignation. This was not a journey that we cared to contemplate.

  A quick decision. Late afternoon and still a pleasant day. Sadie took my arm and whispered: ‘Feel like walking back? It isn’t far and I think over there is a shortcut.’ I was eager to try it and we followed the path she had pointed out between the fields. On high ground, we were soon in sight of Ardbeg and emerged from the wooded slope on to the road to Rothesay.

  ‘Tell me about Edgar. You’re quite sure it was him?’ I asked Sadie.

  She nodded. ‘Yes. He was older than me, past forty now, I would guess, and I do remember that Adeline seemed very fond of him on that last holiday.’

  ‘What about her son, this Oswald? How did the two boys get along?’

  She thought for a moment, frowning. ‘Oswald was the young one, but they played together, card games, cricket, that sort of thing, very boisterous and often fighting over trifles the way all young lads do.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Harry says that Gerald never got along with Peter, his adopted brother, either. There was too much difference in their ages. They still haven’t much in common, which is a shame.’

  ‘Age doesn’t always matter. Tell me about Harry and Gerald.’

  ‘Maybe it’s different with friends and Harry says they have always been close, more like brothers, really, and Gerald came to live in the hotel a couple of years ago.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’

  Suddenly I wanted to know. He had shown not even that solitary gleam of interest I had observed in every man meeting Sadie for the first time.

  Now she shrugged. ‘He’s all right, I suppose.’ That seemed inadequate, incredible to any observer that a woman like Sadie could prefer the boy-like Harry to the more mature, and although it was a moot point, also better-looking, Gerald.

  ‘What did you think of Edgar?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a great deal. But then I hardly had time to make an assessment.’ However, the remark set me off on an interesting but alarming train of thought. Despite Sadie’s account of the accident, what if, on that fatal day, it had been Edgar and Oswald fighting on the stairs? Suppose Lady Adeline had seen it, but with reasons for wanting rid of Sarah, did she persuade Edgar to blame her, turn that accident into murder? I realised again that I needed to read a full account of that trial. But how?

  And I had it. Sergeant Clovis, off duty, was in the hotel lounge. So much for my resolution to keep him out of Sadie’s way.

  He stood up, put aside the newspaper he had been reading, and smiled: ‘I was waiting for you, Mrs Macmerry. Have you had a good day? Harry said you were going to Vantry.’

  I said it had been enjoyable and he continued eagerly: ‘It’s my father’s eightieth birthday and we are having a wee party this evening. My folks would love to meet you and we wondered if you would care to join us?’

  I was conscious of Sadie
lingering in the background. As we entered the hotel she had said she was exhausted and intended going upstairs to have a rest before dinner. ‘And do bring this young lady with you,’ he added, with a bow in her direction.

  I had hoped to avoid this meeting with Clovis, but it was too late now. She had removed the hat, revealing her best feature – that cascade of chestnut waves. She smiled, came forward and shyly thanked him.

  That was good, he was politely treating her as a stranger, asking her how she liked Bute. I sighed with relief as moments later they were discussing Edinburgh and how lucky she was living and working in that great city. And suddenly I was an observer only, listening to a repeat of his conversation with me – born and bred islander, served with the Bute police twenty years ago – but he obviously had not the least notion that this was Sarah Vantry he was talking to. My presence was forgotten and Sadie Brook was working her charm on the policeman. How did she do it?

  Following her upstairs, the coquettish manner faded like a light switched off. She frowned. ‘I don’t know about that party, Rose, there might be unseen hazards.’

  I agreed with her. Even if Peter had not worked on the case, the elder members of the Clovis family would certainly have memories of the trial. What if someone at the party had reasons for recognising Miss Brook as Sarah Vantry? She had been fortunate so far, since Gerald had not realised her true identity, which was just as well for her association with Harry.

  When I put it to her, she agreed and said the thought of meeting the Clovis family made her nervous and that I would be better going on my own. Besides, she had a better excuse.

  Harry was taking her to the pictures again. ‘He’s delighted to have someone to go with. Gerald can’t abide these moving pictures. He’s a bit of a snob and thinks the stories are silly.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, we couldn’t get in the other evening, the tickets were sold out.’

  I gave her a hard look.

  She had lied about that. When I asked her had she enjoyed the film, her answer clearly indicated that they had been at the picture house. ‘It has been very popular. As well as the main film, they have been showing the fourth Marquess of Bute’s wedding last year and all the local folk are thrilled with Mount Stuart being local and so near. It’s been a great draw—’

  Returning to the lounge, Sadie’s story was interrupted by Harry with a message from Sergeant Clovis that the party would begin shortly.

  ‘They live in one of the big houses up the hill, quite near at hand, just five minutes’ walk away.’

  Gerald came forward, smiled. As I was a stranger to the area, he would be delighted to personally escort me there.

  Sadie and Harry watched us leave. ‘We’re looking forward to the films,’ Sadie said and I observed those warm glances exchanged between the pair.

  Climbing the hill with Gerald, I had to tell myself firmly that although it was now obvious that a love affair was in bloom, it was no business of mine and if I hoped to fathom the enigmatic Gerald walking firmly by my side, I was to be disappointed.

  I received nothing more personal than a warm hand gripping my arm crossing the road and on a treacherous piece of pavement. His only conversation was an extended version of the tourists’ guide to Bute and what was important not to miss.

  The approach to the Clovis house had a sensational view over the river and inside it was most attractively furnished, enhanced by the candlelight from the drawing room’s large bow windows and rivalling the town’s lights twinkling far below. Appropriate for such an occasion, moonlight obligingly sparkled on a smooth sea.

  When I arrived, the rooms and the hall were already crowded with guests. Peter’s mother Jane came forward and greeted Gerald with a kiss. She was obviously delighted to see him and said so. I thought that odd considering that he now lived a mere five minutes away.

  James Clovis made his way through the crowd, was introduced and smiled wryly at his adopted son, hoping that he was happy and that the hotel was not working him too hard. A nice piece of sarcasm, I thought, wondering what this family scene would be like when they gathered together behind closed doors.

  Drinks were being passed around, and aware of my poor head for alcohol, I accepted an orange juice.

  Peter rushed forward to greet me, his eyes searching I realised for Sadie as he said: ‘You are alone?’

  I told him that Gerald, who had drifted off to greet other guests, had escorted me and added that my companion sent her apologies, she already had a previous engagement. I could see by his expression that this was a disappointment, but taking my arm he said: ‘There is someone who is anxious to meet you.’

  And there was Lady Vantry. I spotted her immediately, an unmistakable figure from the gardens at Vantry that afternoon, wearing the same attire complete with mourning veils and seated in an armchair in a corner of the vast drawing room.

  Peter was saying: ‘She doesn’t go out except on rare occasions and it is an honour to have her with us.’ He smiled. ‘As our lady bountiful, it would have been considered an insult not to invite her to such an occasion since Father has been an honoured member of the community all these years, a lawyer of some standing.’

  A lawyer, indeed. How fortunate Sadie had made the right decision not to come, I thought, as Peter took my arm and whispered: ‘I must introduce you to her ladyship, Mrs Macmerry. She is just looking in for a short while, out of politeness. She won’t be staying for the meal. She never eats in public now. Her scarred face, you know.’

  Introduced as the authoress – to my embarrassment – who was also the famous Inspector Faro’s daughter, Lady Vantry offered an elegant hand: ‘I once had the pleasure of meeting your father on a visit here, long ago. We entertained him at Vantry and I am delighted to meet his daughter.’ That was quite a speech considering the throaty quality of her voice, perhaps with age, hardly above a whisper.

  I was conscious of a figure looming in our direction. It was Edgar Worth, regarding his aunt and patroness with anxious eyes. Apparently, he never relaxed even at parties, the hand holding the glass tightly with those bitten fingernails was a sure sign of nervousness.

  As Lady Vantry murmured an introduction, he bowed in my direction. ‘Mrs Macmerry and I have already met at the hotel, Aunt Adeline. Beatrice and I, the other evening – a dinner engagement,’ he reminded her rather loudly. So age had also contributed deafness.

  Edgar turned to me and shook his head: ‘Beatrice cannot be with us this evening, alas, she has one of her migraines.’ A somewhat twisted and reluctant smile. ‘Unfortunately, they are quite frequent at this time of the year.’ Another bow. ‘She will be sorry to miss the party and the chance of meeting you here, Mrs Macmerry. She is a keen reader.’

  Oh dear, the false authoress persona again. I smiled in polite acknowledgement. I looked at Lady Vantry and hoped she wasn’t also a keen reader armed with the usual questions as Peter was carried off to welcome another newcomer. Thankfully, she merely nodded and Edgar put in quickly: ‘How long are you staying, Mrs Macmerry?’

  ‘Just for a week.’

  A deep sigh from Edgar registered polite disappointment, or could it have been relief?

  ‘Perhaps you might visit Vantry,’ said Lady Adeline.

  Edgar gave her a sharp look for that throaty invitation and added quickly: ‘Indeed, yes, and Beatrice would like that.’

  The rattle of glasses heralded the approaching drinks tray. I shook my head while Edgar seized one and offered it to his aunt.

  She took it eagerly enough, and shielding her face from our direct gaze, turned her head away to lift a corner of the veil. I felt a moment’s compassion, so much else destroyed by age and a tragic accident, but those elegant beringed hands had been spared.

  Edgar was watching her. The sonorous note of a gong from the hallway indicated that dinner was about to be served.

  ‘We must leave, Aunt,’ Edgar said loudly. ‘The carriage is waiting.’

  Eager to depart, he helped her to her feet, stick in hand. He rem
embered a bow in my direction as they disappeared among the guests now heading downstairs.

  Peter came across with Gerald and as neither had partners I walked arm in arm with both men as they led the way into the large candlelit dining room. There I discovered that I was an honoured guest, seated between Peter and Gerald, opposite their parents, James and Jane, on one of the long, white covered tables provided for the occasion, all richly decorated with flowers and candles and, I suspected, the meal provided by the Heights Hotel’s very best and most expensive menu.

  The Clovis family were long-established members of the Rothesay community; Peter’s father bore the weight of his eighty years exceedingly well, rosy-cheeked and healthy-looking, his only failing apparently being short-sighted and having to ask his wife several times to read what was on the menu.

  She smiled at me and whispered: ‘He won’t wear his glasses.’ She laughed. ‘I thought it was only ladies, but men are so vain sometimes.’

  Leaning across, he said he had met Chief Inspector Jeremy Faro on a visit to Rothesay long ago and what did I write?

  I was spared an answer due to the noisy conversations nearby, particularly a woman with a strident voice and shrill laugh – I suspected a relentless application to that frequently passing drinks tray on arrival. I missed some of Mr Clovis’s remarks but he was most eager for news of my father.

  Peter had inherited his looks from his mother who was keen to hear all about Edinburgh, particularly the fashions and whether I had ever been to Holyroodhouse. They seemed anxious to include Gerald in the conversation.

  ‘We were very keen that he should do law,’ said his mother, glancing at him fondly, ‘but he had no inclination for that kind of study. Has he mentioned his travels in Europe and that he was very good at languages?’

  Gerald sat through all this silently, offering no comment, and I had a distinct feeling that he would rather be anywhere than at this family gathering. Certainly, the animation he showed in the hotel was sadly missing in this display of forbearance.