‘I rather think, Mrs Franklin, the story must begin with you,’ she said, addressing Iris. ‘Or at least, with your marriage to Mr Franklin.’
Iris looked at her enquiringly, but said nothing.
‘Your husband has a great interest in the Smithingham Collection,’ said Rose, ‘of which you are the custodian. Indeed, he has set himself the task of cataloguing the various articles within the collection. It is even generally supposed that this was the main purpose of his marrying you.’ She paused a moment before continuing, aware that she had caused offence, and hating herself for it. She was also painfully conscious that what she was on the verge of saying could equally be said of Cedric’s marriage to her. ‘It is generally considered, Mrs Franklin, that you have married beneath you.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raymond Franklin start and turn a deep shade of crimson. He threw a furtive glance in his wife’s direction.
‘Since your marriage you, Mrs Franklin,’ continued Rose, ‘are said to have developed ill-health and become something of a recluse, while you, Mr Franklin,’ she added, turning to address Raymond, ‘are rumoured to have engaged in an affair with your secretary.’
‘Look here,’ said Raymond, jumping up from his chair, ‘as I told Lord Belvedere and the chief inspector, and indeed you, your ladyship, there is no truth to those scurrilous accusations.’ His voice had risen almost to a shout. He lowered it abruptly and, turning towards his wife, said:
‘Iris, tell me you don’t believe a word of it?’
Iris did not respond. Instead she lowered her head and played with the fabric of her dress.
‘I do not suggest there is any truth to these rumours,’ Rose said, ‘merely that they were prevalent at the time of Miss Casters’ death. And now,’ she continued hurriedly, ‘I should like to come to the matter of your aunt’s visit, Mr Franklin, which one might say had the effect of setting in motion everything else that followed. For, although you were vaguely aware of what had been written about you in the penny press, it was your aunt who convinced you of the need to quell the rumours. In particular, the suggestion that there was an estrangement between you and your wife.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Raymond cautiously.
‘You had received an invitation to our masquerade ball, which provided an ideal opportunity for you and Mrs Franklin to be seen out together in company. Mrs Franklin was reluctant to attend the ball, having developed something of an aversion to society. You, however, were quite adamant that you should both go, even acquiring costumes in the same matching shade of blue to ensure you were seen together.’ Rose paused a moment before continuing, choosing her next words with care. ‘I ought to tell you that there has been talk that Mrs Franklin was frightened of you. In fact, her demeanour today,’ she said, looking towards Iris, ‘would seem to suggest that to be the case. Your wife’s lady’s maid went so far as to inform me that you were given to violent outbursts towards your wife and that she, Miss Crabbe, had seen the evidence of this violence with her own eyes in the form of bruises on her mistress’ arms.’
‘You filthy –’ began Hallam, scrambling up from his seat and advancing towards Raymond in a threatening manner.
‘We’ll have none of that language, thank you, Mr Atherton, not with ladies present,’ said the chief inspector hastily, going to stand between the two men to form an effective barrier. ‘Now, you go and sit down and listen to what else her ladyship has to say, Mr Atherton, there’s a good fellow. Happen things aren’t quite as bad as they’re painted.’
Hallam complied with considerable ill grace, while Raymond, who had risen to his feet the moment the young man had instigated his aggressive approach, sat down again, his face white and strained.
‘It’s not true,’ he muttered. ‘Iris, tell them it’s not true.’
‘Mrs Franklin doesn’t need to tell us anything,’ said the policeman curtly, ‘not if she don’t want to. Now, you’d do as well to take a leaf out of Mr Atherton’s book and be quiet. Listen to what her ladyship has to say, because she hasn’t finished.’
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector,’ said Rose, resuming her narrative. ‘I should like now to summarise briefly the events leading up to Miss Casters’ murder, as they appear to me. Firstly, there was Mrs Franklin’s visit to this house to ascertain the arrangements for the ball. It can quite reasonably be said that she left the premises quite convinced that she was unlikely to enjoy the event.’
‘I’ll have you know,’ said Lavinia indignantly, ‘that everyone else was simply dying to come to my ball.’
‘Quite literally,’ muttered Daniel Belling, to himself.
‘If you didn’t want to come, Iris,’ Lavinia continued, giving her friend a reproachful stare, ‘you really should have said. I’d have given your invitation to someone who would have appreciated it.’
‘At some point, Mrs Franklin,’ continued Rose, ignoring the interruptions, ‘you determined to ask Miss Casters to attend the ball in your place. According to what you have told me, you had done so prior to your visit. You realised, of course, that it would still be necessary for you to attend the very end of the ball. You had, after all, to change into your costume in time for the grand removal of the masks. But at least you would not be required to be present for the whole duration of the ball.’
‘To my mind’, said Lavinia, still a little put out, ‘it seems an awful lot of trouble to have gone to, with very little return. You still had to come to the ball. And really, darling,’ she said, looking at Iris, ‘as I have already said to you, did you think it awfully wise? I mean to say, throwing one’s husband and his mistress together is only asking for trouble.’
‘My relationship with Miss Casters was purely professional,’ Raymond said, eyeing Lavinia coldly.
‘There was no one else to ask,’ Iris said ruefully, as she had told Lavinia before, ‘and I was tolerably certain she’d agree.’
‘Well, of course she would,’ said Lavinia, making a face.
‘Anyway,’ said Rose, keen to progress, ‘Miss Crabbe advised me that she thought there had been a falling out between Miss Casters and her employer, which Mr Franklin has subsequently confirmed to have been the case.’
‘Not exactly a falling out,’ said Raymond hastily, ‘and certainly not for the reasons you all suppose.’
All eyes turned to stare at the man in question, who seemed to wilt beneath their collective gaze. Certainly he did not appeal to his wife on this occasion who, like the others, was regarding him with cool disdain.
‘Suffice to say,’ said Rose, ‘we can assume that Miss Casters was tolerably certain she had lost her position and also in all likelihood would not be provided with a reference. This is suggested by her subsequent actions. For one thing, everyone is agreed that she kept to her rooms, only venturing out to go to the ball. For another, she became a thief. For what it’s worth, I do not think she had it in mind to steal the jewellery from the cloakroom or the antiquity from The Retreat. The opportunities presented themselves, that is all, and she took advantage of them. After all, she was in something of a precarious situation. She did not know when she would next be in a position to earn her own living. The temptation was too great and really it took only a matter of seconds for her to pilfer the articles.’
‘I still say she was taking an awful risk,’ remarked Cedric. ‘Wasn’t she afraid of being caught?’
‘Actually, she was taking very little risk,’ said Rose. ‘If events had gone according to plan, no one would have known that Miss Casters had ever attended the ball, except for Mrs Franklin, of course, who could hardly have revealed the fact without disclosing her own part in the deception.’
‘Was it Miss Casters who slid back the bolts on the garden gate?’ enquired Hallam suddenly, as the thought occurred to him. ‘It was quite a shock, I can tell you, when I went in search of the fellow who’d stolen the papers and found the gate was unbolted.’
‘I don’t think we need make any mention of that business,’ said Commande
r Wrenfield hurriedly, ‘unless, of course,’ he added, looking at Rose, ‘you’re suggesting he had a hand in the murder?’
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘Though it was perhaps unfortunate that both the thief and Miss Casters chose the gardener’s shed as the place to change out of their costumes. It rather delayed proceedings, you see.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the chief inspector.
‘I believe it very likely that Miss Casters was rather late in going into the gardener’s shed because she found it already occupied by the thief. This is borne out by Miss Crabbe’s statement that she and Mrs Franklin were already waiting at the end of the lane when they heard a noise similar to some objects being thrown across the lane.’
‘Which of course they were,’ said Cedric. ‘It was the thief throwing his clothes into the hedge.’
‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘Anyway, it prompted them to delay making their way down along the lane for fear of discovery. In fact they only ventured to do so when they were quite certain they would not be spotted.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Iris, ‘I remember.’
‘By the time you did walk down the lane and in through the gate, Hilary Casters was in the shed, having unbolted the gate earlier in the evening.’
‘I peered in at the window,’ said Iris, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘There was something lying on the ground. The shed was full of people and someone was holding you,’ she paused to point at her husband, ‘very tightly by the collar. The others were bent over Miss Casters. She … she was dead.’ She gave a shudder.
There was a brief silence. Some of those present fidgeted, but no one uttered a word. In the end the silence was broken by Raymond Franklin, who groaned and lifted his head.
‘But are we any further forward?’ he asked. He raised his voice abruptly. ‘You said you knew the identity of the murderer. Presumably you were telling the truth?’
‘Yes, I was,’ said Rose. ‘The murderer is here in this room.’
‘But who is it?’ cried Lavinia. ‘Do tell.’
‘It was Miss Crabbe who provided me with the clue concerning the murderer’s identity,’ said Rose. ‘She was not able to tell me the clue, of course, but I guessed what it was from what she said to my butler on the telephone.’
As if on cue, the shrill ring of the telephone bell could be heard in the hall outside. Without exception they all started, their nerves now considerably on edge. The door opened and one of the footmen appeared. Rose suddenly felt dizzy, for it seemed an exact repeat of before. The footman went over to the chief inspector and whispered something urgently in his ear. He exchanged a fleeting glance with the commander and hurried out of the room, the eyes of the remaining occupants looking after him inquisitively. Eager to distract them from contemplating what had called him away at this pivotal moment, Rose continued hurriedly with her narrative.
‘At first I assumed Miss Crabbe must have seen something while she was standing at the end of the lane. Although she had told me that she did not venture down the lane to the gate to determine what was keeping Miss Casters, I thought it likely that she had walked at least a little way down. If so, it was quite possible that she had caught a glimpse of the murderer. In this assumption, however, I was mistaken. For I do not think that Miss Crabbe waited for Miss Casters to appear. Rather, I think she had already decided the secretary could make her own way home. To that end, as soon as her mistress had gone into the garden, I think Miss Crabbe went out into the street, hailed a taxi and returned to Sycamore House.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Cedric asked his wife curiously.
‘Because she didn’t see Mr Atherton come out into the lane holding up his torch. If she had still been standing at the end of the lane, she would certainly have seen him. That meant, of course, that something else had struck her, something not connected with the lane. It was only when I reflected on the words she had said to our butler that I realised what it was.’
The door opened and the chief inspector came back into the room. He gave Rose an almost indiscernible nod. Rose looked around her, conscious of the questioning faces staring from one to the other of them and continued with what she was saying with a growing sense of excitement.
‘Miss Crabbe told my butler that she had remembered something that might be important, though she didn’t know how it could be, seeing as it didn’t make any sense.’
‘It sounds to me as if the poor dear was talking in riddles,’ remarked Daniel Belling.
‘It certainly took me a while to realise what she meant,’ said Rose, walking over to Iris. ‘She was talking about the bruises on your arms, Mrs Franklin. You should have had a number of vivid ones still visible. I’m referring of course to the bruises you created with the aid of make-up. On the night of the ball you stayed here at Kingsley House. Your lady’s maid arrived in the morning unexpectedly, before you had had an opportunity to apply the make-up to your arms. I recalled that you let out a startled cry and pulled down the sleeves of your nightdress as far as they would go, thrusting your arms underneath the bedclothes so that only your shoulders were visible. You didn’t want Miss Crabbe to study your arms. Your lady’s maid had told me about your bruises and so I assumed, as she did, that you had wished to hide them from our sight. It only struck me later, as it must have done to her, that in those few moments before you had hidden your arms from view, there was no evidence of any bruises.’
‘Really, I have never heard anything so ridiculous,’ retorted Iris.
Rose marched over to her and, before the woman had the presence of mind to stop her, had pulled up Iris’ sleeve to reveal an arm quite absent of any contusions.
‘Really, your ladyship, what does that prove? Miss Crabbe did see some bruises on my arms, as you state, but it was quite a while ago. They’ve all healed and disappeared.’ Iris gave a shrill little laugh which seemed to cut through the room.
‘You wished to escape your marriage,’ said Rose, ‘and were determined that your husband should not benefit in any way from your alliance, but rather that his reputation should be ruined. It was then that the idea came into your mind that you would pretend your husband was violent towards you. It did not take much to convince Miss Crabbe. You merely had to say a few phrases in a shrill, frightened little voice when your lady’s maid was in the vicinity. Of course, Mr Franklin did not know what you were up to, but I believe he was wary of you. I don’t know when the idea of the murder first came into your mind. But what better revenge could you have than to frame your husband for the murder of the woman you assumed to be his mistress? You had very few qualms about killing Miss Casters. In your eyes, she had done you a considerable wrong. The murder itself was the work of a few seconds because the poor woman had no suspicion of your real intentions. Possibly you hit her unawares, or perhaps you asked her to turnaround so you could unbutton the back of her gown.’
‘I’m not staying to listen to this nonsense any longer,’ Iris said, standing up.
She turned to look at Hallam for support, but the young man averted his eyes, clearly considerably shocked by what he had heard.
‘You have no proof in relation to any of this,’ said Iris. ‘Not even that bit about the bruises. You are only speculating why Miss Crabbe should have wished to visit you. For all you know, it could have been to tell you something else entirely, something about the real murderer.’
‘Miss Crabbe did wish to consult me about your bruises,’ Rose said abruptly, ‘and what’s more, I can prove it.’
‘How?’ demanded Iris. Though her voice remained strong, she was visibly shaking.
‘Why, by asking the woman herself!’ said Rose quietly. ‘Miss Crabbe is not dead, as you suppose, Mrs Franklin. You only wounded her when you attacked her, though it was a pretty close thing. It was indeed fortunate for your lady’s maid that you did not stop to confirm that she was dead and that a constable, who happened to be out on his beat, spotted her a few minutes later.’ Rose glanced in the direction of the hall. ‘In case you
were wondering, that was a doctor from the hospital who telephoned. Miss Crabbe has at last regained consciousness.’
Chapter Thirty-two
‘I think it was jolly rotten of you to pretend that Miss Crabbe was dead when she wasn’t,’ said Lavinia, a day or two later when Rose and Cedric were preparing to leave for Sedgwick Court. ‘I was dreadfully upset. Particularly when you said she had been murdered just outside on the communal lawn.’
‘Well, it was the only way I could think of to ensure Miss Crabbe’s ongoing safety,’ replied Rose. ‘You see, I thought it very probable that the murderer would try again if he discovered she had survived. I can’t tell you how much I blamed myself when I heard that poor Miss Crabbe had been attacked, because really it was something I ought to have foreseen.’
‘I’m not at all surprised that you lied to Raymond Franklin. I would probably have done the same thing myself because, of course, at the time we all thought him guilty of Hilary Casters’ murder, but,’ said Lavinia, making a face, ‘I really think you might have told me the truth.’
‘You know full well why I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have been able to keep it to yourself for five minutes,’ said Rose laughing. ‘And you needn’t look at me like that, because you know I am right.’
‘I wonder what she will do now, Miss Crabbe, I mean?’ said Lavinia, looking at her reflection in the mirror and smoothing down one of her curls. ‘I wouldn’t blame her a bit if she never wants to work as a lady’s maid again. I know I wouldn’t, not if my mistress had tried to kill me.’
‘Well,’ said Rose, scouring the room for a book she had mislaid, ‘the poor woman needs to recuperate from her injuries first. They were pretty severe, you know. When she is quite fit and well, she has the offer of work at Sedgwick as a seamstress. She’s frightfully fond of sewing.’
‘I still can’t quite believe that Iris is the murderer,’ said Lavinia, sitting down on Rose’s bed and tucking her legs underneath her. ‘It doesn’t seem right, somehow. I’ve always thought of her as rather an insipid and pathetic sort of creature, certainly not the type to kill anyone.’
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 30