Murder on a Mystery Tour

by Marian Babson

  ‘Well, you won’t find him here.’ Evelina tried to stem the relentless advance.

  ‘He might have slipped in without your noticing.’ Brigid stepped sideways and through the gap as her twin pushed at the door. Automatically, the others followed, until they were all inside the sitting-room and Evelina had retreated to guard her desk and manuscript.

  ‘Do what you want to do,’ she said in exasperation. ‘And then get out. I’m trying to work.’

  ‘So wise of you,’ Amaryllis murmured. ‘The critics all said your last one could have used a lot more work.’

  ‘Were those the same critics who recommended a diet of saltpetre and tranquillizers for Adam MacAdam and Suzie Chong? I must say I agreed. Bram is going to go straight from the mystery lists to the porn lists—with never a stop at Mainstream—if he isn’t more careful.’

  ‘Speaking as a mere reader and fan—’ Dix interrupted the exchange. ‘I have been thrilled to find both of my favourite authors under the same roof—and to discover that they have been in such close proximity for some weeks. It makes me wonder if I dare hope that they might have been collaborating? I can’t tell you the thrill it would be for us fans to think that we could look forward to having Luigi von Murphy, Adam MacAdam and Suzie Chong appearing in the same book—working on the same case.’

  ‘I hardly think our styles—’ Evelina began.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Amaryllis cut her off. ‘It could be quite provocative—and lucrative. Luigi von Murphy meets Suzie Chong …’ A far-away expression crept over her face as she contemplated the possibilities. ‘That poor, frustrated quasi-monk, blossoming like a jungle flower when exposed to the understanding, the warmth, the generosity of Suzie Chong. It has distinct possibilities.’

  ‘I don’t think—’ Evelina said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see it now.’ Amaryllis closed her eyes, her face rapt. ‘Luigi von Murphy has never met a woman like Suzie before. She will inspire him—release him. He will create a liqueur especially for her—and then a perfume. And he will know that it is his last perfume. No other woman will ever be able to inspire him so again. For Luigi, she will always be the woman!’

  Her eyes still closed, Amaryllis was unable to observe that Evelina had turned an interesting shade of puce.

  ‘And, of course,’ Dix prompted, ‘Adam MacAdam would understand?’ Was there a wicked gleam in his eye?

  ‘Adam MacAdam always understands,’ Amaryllis said.

  ‘I have an even better idea,’ Evelina said dangerously. ‘As I visualize it, that pagan trollop and her married-in-name-only paramour have never met anyone like Luigi von Murphy before. After such a close encounter with the goodness, the kindliness, the saintliness of Luigi, they see the error of their ways and repent. They forswear their wicked lives and retire, Adam MacAdam to a monastery, and Suzie Chong to a nunnery. And how about a touch of Abelard and Heloise—Bram has plagiarized from practically everyone else in the history of erotica? In true repentance—not to mention striking another blow for militant feminism—and also, since neither of them appears to have a relative to their names, Suzie castrates Adam herself. After all, she’s done everything else with and to a man!’

  ‘How dare you?’ Amaryllis snarled.

  ‘I really do think—’ Midge tried to intervene—‘that it’s time for—’

  ‘He isn’t here,’ Brigid reported, re-entering from Evelina’s bedroom.

  ‘He’s not here, either.’ Lauren emerged from the spare bedroom, a cheated expression on her face. ‘We’ll just have to keep on searching.’

  ‘It’s nearly lunch-time,’ Midge announced firmly. ‘Why don’t you go to your own rooms and freshen up? I’m sure Bramwell will be back soon. He might even be in the dining-room when you go in for lunch.’

  ‘He’d better be.’ Stan caught Midge’s arm and spoke softly. ‘I think I ought to tell you that I’m a lawyer in real life and if you let those crazy broads stampede us out into that storm and somebody catches pneumonia, I will personally handle the lawsuit when they sue you. Fun is fun, but you can’t carry on the game to the detriment of the health of the players. If you’ve got Bramwell Barbour hidden away in the private quarters, I suggest you whistle him up before the game gets out of hand.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ Midge said faintly. ‘I’m sure Bramwell will appear for lunch.’

  ‘He’d better,’ Stanley Marric said grimly and moved away.

  ‘Take it easy.’ Now Dix grasped her arm. ‘He’s only trying to frighten you.’

  ‘He’s succeeded,’ Midge said. ‘We couldn’t cope with a lawsuit. It would wipe us out. We’d be—’ She broke off. There was no need to admit how close to the wind they were sailing.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Dix said again. His face was stern. There’s entirely too much litigation in the States, most of it unnecessary. I don’t think he’d have a leg to stand on, anyway. You aren’t forcing your guests out into the storm. If they’re crazy enough to let a pair of feeble-minded neurotics order them about, that’s their problem. They’re all adults, they can always say no.’

  ‘They seem to think it’s part of the game,’ Midge said. ‘But it isn’t—honestly. Bram was just escaping from those ghastly females for a while. Only they’ve set up this hue and cry and are trying to chase him down.’

  ‘Blood sports,’ Dix muttered, ‘I was always against them.’ He released her arm and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry. It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I’ll guarantee that,’ Midge said. ‘Bramwell is going to make an appearance at lunch—whether he likes it or not.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Another encouraging pat.

  ‘I don’t care!’ On the far side of the room, fresh trouble had erupted. ‘You can do what you want—but I’m not giving up. I’m not eating, either!’ Brigid stormed towards the door. I’m not deserting Bramwell in his hour of need!’

  ‘Neither am I!’ Lauren was right behind her. ‘But I don’t see why we can’t eat first. It won’t do Bram any good if we collapse.’

  Some of the others had already left, Midge noticed. Those who remained were standing around irresolutely while the combatants glared at each other.

  ‘Now that you’ve searched my rooms—’ Evelina seemed close to real-life murder as she spoke icily—‘perhaps you’d be good enough to leave me in peace to get on with my work. I was hoping to finish a chapter before lunch.’

  ‘We do apologize,’ Dix said earnestly. ‘I can assure you, we were not the moving spirits in this intrusion.’

  Evelina nodded coldly. She was not interested in who had started the invasion, she was only interested in ending it.

  ‘Lunch will be served in half an hour,’ Midge announced firmly.

  It worked. There was a concerted rush for the door. Evelina slammed it only slightly behind them.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Lettie greeted Midge as she entered the kitchen. ‘We’ve done all the rooms, but Grace is fairly knackered now. How about letting her get murdered before Hermione? She could use the rest.’

  ‘All right,’ Midge said, ‘but make it after tea, rather than lunch. I think everyone could do with a quiet interval. They’ve been racing around searching for Bramwell.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Lettie said. ‘The sensible ones have been stretched out in front of the fire, catching up with their Thirties paperbacks. Some of them have even been playing bridge. And Bram’s had a lovely peaceful morning helping Cedric.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m afraid his peace is over. If he doesn’t put in an appearance at lunch, they’re planning to search for him outside—’

  A gust of wind hurled snow against the window-panes with a slapping sound. It was worse than ever out there.

  ‘And we can’t have that,’ Midge finished. ‘They don’t know their way around. If any of them got lost in this blizzard …’ She shuddered.

  ‘I take your point,’ Lettie said, ‘but it does seem hard lines on poor Bram, to throw him to
those—those wolverines.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Midge said firmly, ‘if it comes to a choice between him and us, it’s going to be him. I’ve already been warned that we’ll be sued if anyone catches pneumonia.’

  ‘You’re right—it’s going to be him.’ Reggie had come up behind them silently. ‘You’re a nice girl, Lettie, and your kind heart does you credit, but if you want to save Bramwell from a fate worse than death, you’re going to have to make an honest man of him and marry him yourself. Why don’t we announce the engagement at lunch?’

  ‘Don’t even joke about it!’ Midge was aghast. ‘Those Chandler harpies would tear her limb from limb. I don’t think they’re normal.’

  ‘Not to mention his mother,’ Lettie said. ‘We could use another diversion—but not that much of a one.’

  The sharp peal of the bell startled them all, then Reggie swore briefly.

  ‘We’ll disconnect it while she’s at lunch,’ Midge said quickly. ‘This is too much. We can’t cope with her demands as well as those of a houseful of guests—’

  ‘Impossible,’ Reggie said flatly.

  ‘I’ll explain to her myself—’ Midge broke off, realizing that that was not what Reggie had meant. She followed his gaze to the number swinging in its little box.

  ‘Impossible,’ he said again. ‘That room’s unoccupied.’

  ‘Oh dear. It must be those Chandler twins. They’ll be barging into the private quarters next.’

  ‘Let me go up there.’ Lettie started for the door. ‘I’ll give them the scare of their useless lives!’

  ‘Ignore it,’ Midge said. ‘We haven’t time now. We’ve got to start serving lunch.’

  ‘You still have a few minutes,’ Reggie said. ‘Most of them are still in the bar. I just came out for more ice.’ He opened the fridge and began filling the ice bucket.

  ‘Suppose you break it to Bram,’ Midge suggested to Lettie, ‘that Workers’ Playtime is over. He’s on duty in the dining-room—as of now.’

  Later, in the dining-room, the Chandler twins blissfully fussed over Bramwell. ‘But where were you hiding?’ Brigid pouted accusingly. ‘We looked everywhere.’

  ‘I was working,’ Bramwell said curtly.

  His mother regarded him with a speculative eye, which he refused to meet. He was also stubbornly deaf to the jokes being made at his expense.

  Reggie poured wine lavishly into the waiting glasses, as though it were liquid sunshine to make up for the storm outside. Midge and Lettie raced between kitchen and dining-room, trays piled high with serving dishes.

  ‘I say—’ A plaintive voice spoke from the doorway. A tall, thin, bronzed man stood there. ‘Doesn’t anyone answer bells around here any more?’

  All conversation stopped, all eyes turned towards him.

  ‘It’s him!’ Brigid screamed. ‘It’s the ghost! I’m going to faint!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ her twin said. ‘You can’t see through him. He’s as alive as you or me. I think.’

  ‘What—?’ The man fell back a step, looking around wildly.

  ‘I know who he is.’ Bertha Stout rose to her feet. ‘Look at that tan!’ She pointed. ‘He’s the tea planter from Ceylon. He’s Petronella’s father!’

  ‘Daddy!’ Petronella took up the cue. She pushed back her chair and rushed to throw her arms about the stranger. ‘Oh, Daddy, darling! You’re here!’

  The man fell back under her onslaught. Midge and Reggie closed in on each side of him, took his arms, and rushed him into the kitchen.

  13

  ‘For God’s sake, Dad,’ Reggie said. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Don’t overwhelm me with affection,’ Eric said bitterly. ‘I might get above myself.’

  ‘Well, of course, we’re glad to see you,’ Midge said. ‘We just never expected it. How did you get in? When did you arrive? Why didn’t you let us know?’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Eric said. ‘I flew into Heathrow and hired a car. Then I found I was driving straight into a storm. It got worse and worse. Finally, I was obliged to abandon the car and continue on foot—’ He flapped a hand towards the window framing the blizzard. ‘It’s still out there somewhere.’

  ‘Impeding the snow ploughs,’ Midge murmured.

  ‘Fortunately, I was quite near by then, but it was very late. The Manor was dark when I arrived. I let myself in with my own key, had a snack—’

  ‘The three missing chicken fillets—’ It was all becoming clear. ‘You ate them!’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Eric said defensively. ‘I shared one with a friendly cat. He’s new since my time, but seems very pleasant. In fact, that’s how I knew where to find them. He led me over to the larder and looked so hopeful I knew there must be something good inside.’

  ‘Trust Ackroyd!’ Midge said. ‘No wander he looked so guilty. He was to blame for them going missing.’

  ‘Then I went up to bed,’ Eric continued. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you in the family wing, so I checked the register for an empty room and went up the service staircase to it.’

  ‘Producing the ghostly footsteps where they shouldn’t be.’ Reggie grinned across at Midge. ‘No wonder we’ve been dogged by the supernatural today. I suppose—’ he addressed his father—‘you utilized the service passage to disappear into when the hunting party almost caught up with you in the upper corridor?’

  ‘Now that you’ve brought it up,’ Eric said, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you: what’s going on here? When I left it to you, this was a perfectly respectable family hotel. Why have you hired it out as a lunatic asylum? Who are all these mad screaming females? And who was that demented girl who hurled herself at my head and called me Daddy?’

  ‘About that—’ Reggie said. ‘Now that they’ve spotted you, I’m afraid you’re going to have to resign yourself to the fact that she is your daughter, the Honourable Petronella Van Dine. Bertha is right—it’s the only explanation. Especially with that tan.’

  ‘What’s wrong with my tan? Why should I claim a complete stranger as a daughter? Who are all these—?’

  ‘Hard cheese, old boy.’ Cedric had strolled into the kitchen and was grinning evilly at his brother-in-law. ‘You’ve walked right into the middle of it and you’ll have to take the consequences. You’ll be lucky if you’re not done away with before the weekend is over. I was.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t pay any attention to Cedric,’ Reggie said. ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Perfectly true, old boy. I turned up my toes after the mushroom soup last night. Unless there was something in the coffee.’

  ‘You’re raving mad,’ Eric said flatly. ‘The lot of you.’

  ‘It’s really quite simple,’ Midge said. ‘Let me explain. We’ve got a murder on this weekend. Cedric doesn’t count —he’s dead now—but he was Hermione’s brother—’

  ‘He’s her husband.’ Eric fought weakly for his sanity. ‘I’m her brother.’

  ‘No, you’re just an old friend. I’m the housekeeper here and Reggie is butler-barman-major domo. The Hon. Petronella is your daughter and Lady Hermione is sponsoring her for the London Season. She’s doing it because you’re such an old friend of hers and you can’t do it because you’re a widowed tea planter in Ceylon—’

  Midge raced through the explanation, aware of modified uproar in the dining-room. She got to her feet. It was time to serve dessert and hope that would keep them occupied for a while.

  ‘There now—’ She smiled encouragingly at her father-in-law. ‘Got it?’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Eric bleated.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Cedric said. ‘I’ll go over his lines with him. He’ll have it by tea-time.’

  ‘It won’t matter if he’s a bit vague—’ Midge tried to reassure herself as much as the others. If Cedric was going to work with Eric, it would be the blind leading the blind. ‘He won’t have to be up on everything that’s been happening. He’s been
out in Ceylon all these years.’

  ‘You keep babbling about Ceylon,’ Eric complained. ‘What’s happened to Sri Lanka?’

  ‘Sri Lanka hasn’t happened yet,’ Midge threw back over her shoulder. ‘This is 1935.’

  As she went through the door, she saw Eric slump forward to rest his head on his forearms, moaning, ‘The inmates have taken over the asylum.’

  ‘Good to see old Eric again.’ Wearing thin rubber kitchen gloves, Colonel Heather had smeared the blade of the carving knife with copious blood. Now he squinted at it thoughtfully. ‘He’s looking very well.’

  ‘If a bit confused.’ Midge dipped into the bucket of blood and arranged a neat coagulation between Grace Holloway’s shoulder-blades.

  ‘Well, of course, it’s confusing.’ Grace wriggled as the stuff seeped through to her skin. ‘It must be like walking in in the middle of a film—in the days when they had continuous performances. Cedric will straighten him out.’

  ‘Hah!’ The Colonel snorted. ‘I’d hate to bet Cedric’s got it straight himself yet.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Grace said complacently, ‘I dropped dark and sinister hints all through lunch. I think I’ve got them worried about me. One of them warned me that it wasn’t safe to let people think I might know too much. I said I’d tell everything I know at dinner tonight—’ She giggled. ‘Then four of them tried to follow me to protect me—but I gave them the slip.’

  ‘Good show!’ Colonel Heather said. He turned the knife over thoughtfully. ‘What do you think? A bloody handprint on the handle?’

  ‘Why not?’ Midge agreed. ‘Pull out all the stops.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He dipped his hand into the blood, then let most of it roll off. ‘They won’t get any fingerprints from these rubber gloves—not that any of them would know what to do with a fingerprint if they had one.’

  ‘I’m afraid some of them would try,’ Midge said. ‘And it would be a dead bore to get all inky and messy.’

  ‘We’ll make sure they realize that gloves were worn.’ Colonel Heather grasped the handle firmly with his bloodied glove, then carefully released it. The effect was satisfactorily gory. ‘Where do you want this now? On the floor or the bed?’