THREE SILENT THINGS a cozy murder mystery (Village Mysteries Book 2)

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘Mrs Barnes . . . I’m so glad to see you here. How good of you to come.’

  Lois Delaney’s son, Rex Farrell, was shaking Mrs Barnes’s hand and she was flushing with embarrassment.

  ‘Well, I didn’t quite know if I ought to be here, Mr Farrell.’

  ‘But of course you should, Mrs Barnes. My mother would have wished it. You were a great help and support to her at the Hall. She relied on you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Do you have everything you want, Mrs Barnes? Another cup of tea, perhaps? Some more cake?’

  ‘No, thank you, sir. The colonel’s kindly looking after me.’

  A flashing smile in his direction. ‘That’s very good of you, Colonel.’

  Rex Farrell could charm the birds out of the trees, the colonel thought drily, and probably did so regularly. He wondered if his court testimony had been anything like the whole truth. But it was commendable that he had taken the trouble to come over and speak to the caretaker’s wife when his time might have been spent much more profitably cultivating the people in the room who could help get him some decent acting parts.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your poor mother,’ Mrs Barnes was saying. ‘She was a lovely lady.’

  ‘Yes, she was. Very lovely.’

  ‘I’ll miss her.’

  ‘So will I, believe me. Very much. Tell me, Mrs Barnes, is there anyone here you’d specially like to meet? A favourite actor?’

  Mrs Barnes flushed deeper. ‘Well, sir, that gentleman over there – the one who plays the lawyer in that TV series. It’d be a such a thrill to meet him.’

  He waved an imaginary wand. ‘Your wish shall be granted, Cinderella. Come with me to the ball.’

  The colonel watched as Mrs Barnes was escorted across the red carpet and introduced to the actor, who rose gallantly to the occasion. To his surprise, Rex Farrell then returned to his side.

  ‘I remember you from the inquest, of course, Colonel. It must have been very unpleasant for you, finding my mother like that. You didn’t actually know her, did you?’

  He said, ‘No. I’d only seen her on the stage.’

  ‘It was a bit of a shock for me, I can tell you. She’d been on rather good form when I was with her at Christmas. Full of the joys, in fact. Talking non-stop about the play Hay Fever, you know. Magda was apparently very upbeat about it.’

  ‘Magda?’

  ‘Magda Dormon. Her agent. A fearful old dyke but she stuck by my mother for all the lean years. Did her level best for her when nobody else wanted to know any more. Then along comes this amazing offer. Noël Coward’s back in favour, you see. The wheel’s gone full circle. Audiences are getting tired of all the other stuff. They don’t want to pay the earth to be made to think or worry. They want to be amused and entertained. My mother would have been perfect as Judith Bliss, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure. It’s a great pity her husband didn’t see it that way too.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t quite get. She never said anything to me about needing him to put up any money. And I’d have thought he’d have been the last person she’d ask. When he coughed up once before, the play folded after a week. And if there’s one thing my stepfather doesn’t like, it’s losing money – not so much as a penny, and that was quite a lot of pennies. He made a great big fuss and when Bruce makes a fuss, it’s not nice for anyone. I can’t see her trying it again. As I understood it, the play already had backers anyway.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Well, it’s what my mama implied. It was a done deal. All ready to go. She’d even been learning the lines – acted out a scene when Jeanette came for a drink on Christmas Eve. Of course, she’d downed a few vodkas and kept bumping into the furniture, but she was word-perfect. She’d have wowed them, just like she always did.’

  ‘I rather wondered whether the Bloody Marys might have got in the way? As your stepfather suggested in court?’

  ‘Not a bit. Mama always followed Noël Coward’s dictum to the letter: not a drop till the final curtain comes down.’

  ‘So, she didn’t mention writing to her husband and asking him to call at the Hall?’

  ‘Not to me. The divorce was being handled through the lawyers and I can’t imagine why she’d have wanted to see him. It was finished between them. Over and done with. Another of her mistakes, as she called it. The third one, unfortunately.’

  ‘The marriage had been unhappy?’

  ‘Not to begin with. I think she always started off in a sort of rosy glow of love and optimism. It just never lasted. I don’t know much about her first marriage, but the second – to my father – was pretty good for a while, I think. The trouble was, he was an actor and not very successful – rather like me – and that’s a recipe for disaster. The acting profession should never marry each other – it hardly ever works. Then, of course, she married Bruce. He’d been married twice before as well – did you know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘He’d had a son by his first marriage, but he died of cystic fibrosis aged six. Then he got divorced and married again and divorced a second time. Neither of them had a very impressive track record in the matrimonial stakes. Mama was nearly five years older than him, but you’d never know it, and she was a pretty good wife to him. Worth her weight in gold. The glamorous hostess at all Bruce’s boring business do’s, entertaining useful contacts; out till all hours at dreary restaurants practically every night, buttering up the most ghastly types. She told me she had them all with their tongues hanging out, panting to sign on the dotted line. Of course, she missed the theatre like anything and in the end she got so bored and fed up that she went back on the bottle.’

  ‘You didn’t get on with your stepfather?’

  Rex Farrell smiled. ‘That’s a bit of an understatement. I’m a no-good sponger, as far as he’s concerned. He loathes me. I’m sure he’s always thinking of the wonderful son that died and me undeservedly hale and hearty. It’s perfectly true that my mother lent me money. We also had a rather good relationship and I think he was very jealous of that. I adored her – faults and all – and she was pretty fond of me. I came a fairly close second to the theatre.’

  The colonel said slowly, ‘And you had no reason to expect that your mother would try to take her own life?’

  ‘On the contrary. As I said at the inquest, she was in high spirits over Christmas. Jeanette vouched for that.’

  ‘I understand you’ve known Miss Hayes for some time?’

  ‘About four years. We met at a party in London and I moved into the flat she rented the very next day. She finally threw me out last summer and I can’t say I blame her. She works very hard and I’m a lazy bum. She got fed up with me lying about the place, doing nothing. Then a great-aunt died and left her some money, so she went off to live somewhere else. I’d no idea she was at the Hall till my mother told me. She was very fond of Jeanette. Always hoped we’d get back together, but there wasn’t much chance of that.’

  ‘Miss Hayes isn’t here?’

  ‘No, she’s kept well away. Doesn’t want to run into me again. Mama’s twin turned up, though. That was a surprise.’

  ‘Twin? I didn’t realize she had one?’

  ‘A twin sister. They weren’t identical. In fact, they couldn’t have been more different. My Aunt Iris is a schoolmarm. She was headmistress of a snobby girls’ school in Wiltshire till she retired. She and my mother were never close. Their paths divided, as they say. Unlike Mama, Iris has never been married – not even once. She’s standing over there, actually. Would you like to meet her?’

  The colonel was presented to the woman in grey whom he had noticed at the funeral. As her nephew had said, she could hardly have been more different from Lois Delaney. Her hair was grey, like her drab clothes; she wore no make-up and her eyes were pale blue, not emerald green. An unidentical twin was merely a sibling, genetically speaking, but it still seemed extraordinary that the two should have inhabited the same womb at the same time. />
  She said, and in a very headmistressy voice: the voice of one accustomed to being in charge, ‘I take it you’re retired from the army, Colonel? Put out to grass, like me. Absurd the way they think we’re no longer up to the job, isn’t it?’

  He agreed – certainly in her case. Iris Delaney looked perfectly capable of handling anything, mentally and physically.

  She went on, ‘I keep busy, of course. Committees, voluntary work . . . all that sort of thing, but it’s only filling in time. Not the same thing at all.’

  ‘No, indeed.’ He couldn’t see her joining the Venture for Retired People, unless it was to run it.

  ‘Did you know my sister well, Colonel?’

  He said apologetically, ‘I’m afraid I’m here under false pretences, I didn’t know her at all. I’d only seen her on the stage. I live in Frog End and happened to be calling at the Hall when she died.’

  ‘So, you’re the one who found her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How upsetting for you. I don’t know why she chose such an unpleasant way to go. Pills were much more her style, washed down with plenty of vodka.’

  ‘You weren’t surprised that she took her own life?’

  ‘Not really. I gather from Rex she’d nearly done it once before, six months ago. She had what people politely call a very fragile temperament. And I think she was, basically, an unhappy woman. She was famous and had had great success in her time, but her three marriages all failed and her star had faded.’

  ‘She had been offered the chance for a comeback.’

  Iris Delaney shrugged. ‘Who knows if it would have worked? Bruce didn’t think so, which is why he nipped it in the bud. Not very kind of him, but then he’s not a very nice man. I never quite understood why Lois married him. He wasn’t at all her usual type, but I suppose power and money can be attractive. My sister was always extremely extravagant, you see. Of course, she could afford to be when she was a big success but I expect the well had almost run dry by the time Bruce arrived on the scene.’

  She waved away the platter of vol-au-vents thrust at her by a waiter. The colonel declined them too.

  He said, ‘Did you see much of your sister?’

  ‘Practically nothing – once we were grown-up. Lois left school a year earlier than me and went more or less straight on to the stage. I stayed on and then went up to Oxford to read history. I became a teacher and, finally, a headmistress.’ She looked at the colonel with a dry expression. ‘As you can imagine, we lived in two different worlds. I used to go and see Lois in plays occasionally – she’d send me complimentary tickets – and once she came to present the drama cup at St Margaret’s, but we were both preoccupied with our own lives and we had almost nothing in common. You seem very curious about my sister, Colonel, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, of course.’

  ‘You needn’t apologize. She often had that effect on people. They were fascinated by her. Drawn like moths to a bright flame. When she came into a room, everyone stopped talking and stared. Rather like with the Princess of Wales, I imagine. I was never envious of Lois – if that’s what you’re thinking. I would have hated her life. As I said, she wasn’t very happy and although she knew a great many people, I don’t think she was ever very close to any of them. Except for Rex, and one other person.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Our old nanny. She would have been here today, but she’s too frail now. Lois adored her. We both did, but Lois had a special rapport with her and Nanny Oliver helped look after Rex when he was born. After she retired Lois went to see her regularly for years but I’m ashamed to say I’ve only been a few times. My excuse is that a headmistress’s life is very busy and Caister-on-Sea is a rather long way away from Hampshire. Do you know it, Colonel?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘It’s in Norfolk. Nanny Oliver was born there – which is why she chose it. She bought a bungalow on the front but when she had a stroke last year, she had to move into an old people’s home because she couldn’t cope on her own any more. It’s very sad when that happens, isn’t it? Homes are such depressing places. Lois gave me the address and I sent a her a Christmas card and flowers, but I still haven’t managed to get over to visit her. I feel very guilty about that.’

  ‘Perhaps your sister went recently?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure she would have done. She’d have gone to tell her about the divorce. She always told her everything. She used to say that Nanny still scolded her, but she always understood.’

  The colonel thought of his own nanny who had never understood the first thing about the fierce military battles he had fought on the nursery floor with his toy soldiers, or the breakneck races he had run and won with his tinplate cars, or the complicated journeys undertaken with his train set. Nor had she ever appreciated how much he had hated broad beans and overcooked cabbage and bright yellow custard with wrinkled, leathery skin.

  He said, ‘I wasn’t quite so lucky with mine.’

  ‘Well, proper nannies scarcely exist any more, do they? People employ young foreign girls who are completely unknown, untrained and don’t speak a word of English and they call them nannies and entrust their children to their care. Madness! The world is changing very fast around us, isn’t it, Colonel? Everything is different: values, standards, communication, customs . . . But we have to move with the times, or be left high and dry.’ She gave him a shrewd and unexpectedly humorous look. ‘Don’t we?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I’m afraid that’s very true.’

  ‘What are you sulking about now, Craig?’

  ‘I’m not sulking, Neville.’

  ‘Yes, you are, and it’s very boring. I know this is a funeral but there’s no need to look quite so miserable.’

  ‘I don’t much like these people. They’re a bunch of tossers. Like they think they’re God’s gift.’

  ‘They’re in the theatre, dear boy. What else do you expect? They are God’s gift, as they see it.’

  ‘How come you know so many of them?’

  ‘I already told you – I used to design theatre costumes, once upon a time.’

  A snooty-looking waiter was shoving a plate of eats under their noses – bits of smoked salmon stuck on top of soggy crackers. Craig didn’t think much of the food, nor did he think much of any of the waiters, or the waitresses either. They were all locals – he could tell that. Clumsy amateurs. Not a clue how to offer-up the plate, not a smile, no style. He could have done it loads better. The top-class waiters were always Italian or French and he’d been just as good as them in his day. He could have made a better job of the eats, too; not the same old stuff they were bringing out. You’d think a snob place like the Chilcote would do better, even if it was out in the middle of bloody nowhere.

  Neville was talking to somebody else now and the two of them had their backs turned to him, like he wasn’t worth bothering with. Sometimes, he wondered why he stayed. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d walk out one day. He could always find a job. He was a good enough cook now to earn his living at it instead of waiting tables. No need to stay where he wasn’t appreciated. He didn’t need an old queen like Neville, with his stupid dolls. He could find someone younger and better-looking, and with the dosh, too. There were plenty of them around, if you knew where to go.

  He stared at Neville, gassing away to the other bloke. When he thought about it, he didn’t know much about him at all – and not a thing about his past life. He’d never said a word about knowing Lois Delaney, for instance, which was weird, especially when she was living right next door to them. You’d think he’d’ve mentioned it, at least. And he hadn’t told the cop that he’d left the flat that evening. Why hadn’t he said something about that? He’d gone to ask Mr B to fix the work lamp, that’s all, but, now that Craig thought about it some more, he’d taken a bloody long time about it when it’d only been a loose wire. Maybe he’d gone to see Lois Delaney as well? It must have been just after seve
n, if he remembered right, because he’d been in the kitchen starting the dinner, and Lois Delaney had died between six and eight. He knew that because the doctor bloke had said so in court when they’d gone to the inquest and that girl upstairs had said she’d knocked on the door of Flat 2 at half past seven and there hadn’t been any answer, so the woman must have been dead already. Creepy!

  That was another odd thing. Why had Neville wanted to go to the inquest, considering it was nothing to do with them? Bloody boring it had been, too. Worse than one of those operas.

  He went on staring and thinking and wondering whether it wouldn’t be a bloody good idea to push off and go back to London. And then just as he’d decided it would be and he was mentally packing his bags, Neville turned his head towards him and smiled.

  ‘Is that you, Ruth?’

  She recognized the voice at the other end of the wire – recognized it all too well.

  ‘Yes. It’s me.’

  ‘It’s Ralph here.’

  ‘Hallo.’

  ‘Just thought I’d give you a bell – see how you’re getting on. It’s ages since we met.’

  Six months, to be precise. The last time she had seen him had been when she had been stupid enough to have lunch with him in London; when she had believed, against all the odds, that he was finally getting a divorce from his wife. The time when he had trotted out yet more excuses for waiting longer and shied away from giving her the help and support that she had desperately needed after Mama had been murdered.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Still living at the Manor, then.’

  ‘Yes, I’m staying on for the time being.’

  ‘Big place for you to run on your own.’

  ‘Yes, it is, rather. But I manage.’

  ‘Lonely, too.’

  ‘Not really.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gripped the receiver more firmly. Cleared her throat. ‘How are you, Ralph?’