The Black Cat Murders: A Cotswolds Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 2)

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The Black Cat Murders: A Cotswolds Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 2) Page 15

by Karen Menuhin


  ‘Ha, my thoughts exactly!’ I grinned; now here was a far better solution. We set off at a cracking pace. ‘You’re sure the girls don’t want to come?’ I asked as we reached the village green.

  ‘They’ve got their heads full of flowers and flounces. I can hardly get a word of sense from any one of them,’ he said.

  He was wearing the blue trousers and jacket again today, and as it had started to rain he’d topped the outfit with a wide-brimmed hat. We drew some strange looks from the locals as we strolled through the village. Hiram raised his hat to all the ladies we met, making them giggle.

  He turned to talk to me. ‘Florence told me about the sword in the dead guy you dug up this morning. I think your friend Jonathan could have handled that situation a whole lot better.’

  ‘Swift has a tendency to suspect everybody,’ I told him. ‘Strange, though, the rapier being from Braeburn.’

  He glanced sideways at me, brows drawn together. ‘Why do you believe it came from Braeburn?’

  ‘The insignia on the handle, it’s the blazon of the Braeburns.’

  ‘Yeah …’ he held the word as if he were in thought. ‘But there was a Braeburn married to a Bloxford in seventeen hundred and something. Maybe it came here with that fair lady?’

  ‘Really?’ That made my eyes open, although I shouldn’t have been surprised: these old families were always intermarrying. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Ma’s an encyclopaedia on the subject. She knows every twig and branch of the Braeburn tree and she’ll lecture on it without end if you don’t stop her.’

  We reached the pub, my mind turning over this new piece of information. The landlord hailed us as we walked in and it wasn’t long before we each had a pint of beer in hand and a steaming steak and kidney pie with mash on the table in front of us. Heaven on earth for the paltry price of a shilling and sixpence apiece.

  We cleared our plates in no time and Hiram produced a heavy silver cigarette case and drew out a cheroot. He offered one to me, but having recently foresworn tobacco, I shook my head.

  ‘Don’t happen to have heard of the Bloxford Beauties, by chance?’ I asked.

  He leaned on the table, cheroot between his lips and looked me in the eye, then said slowly, ‘Yeah, I have.’

  ‘How did you hear?’

  ‘Lennox, the Beauties are a family secret and I’m sworn to keep it.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The Brigadier, my future pa-in-law,’ he drawled, smoke drifting from his lips.

  ‘Well, I know about them too. Did he show them to you?’

  ‘No. Like I told you, we’re not wed yet, so I ain’t family. I’m surprised to hear you’re in on the secret.’

  I returned his regard. ‘I was told in confidence. Listen, old chap, I think these murders could be related to the paintings. So I’d appreciate you opening up.’

  He thought about it, chewing on his cheroot. ‘I knew something about it before the Brigadier told me, but I didn’t let on. Like I said, Ma is an expert on anything pertaining to the Braeburns.’ He paused to take a draught of beer. ‘Florence’s father gave Ma the keys to the Castle’s muniment room and she spent many a day in there, taking notes and copying things out from all them old family papers. She said they’d been badly neglected and were going to ruin. Had new chests made for them – big wooden ones with fancy locks, although I don’t know why she thought they needed locking up. Anyway, in some of them papers she found a note about a young Braeburn bride, Lady Eleanor Braeburn, wedding a Bloxford man and having her portrait done. It was mentioned as being part of the Bloxford tradition. There was a note in French, which she gave to von Graf and he translated it. He laughed and told her these brides wasn't wearing any clothes.’

  ‘Hum.’ That gave me pause. ‘Why did she involve von Graf?’ I asked.

  ‘She involved them both,’ Hiram said. ‘Jarvis was real good at deciphering the lettering on old wills and deeds, and von Graf can translate Latin and French, so they spent a lot of time with her over them old manuscripts.’

  I eyed him over my tankard. ‘Any mention of Gainsborough?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure was. That was the name of the artist who painted Lady Eleanor Braeburn. Ma was very excited by that,’ he flashed a grin.

  ‘I can imagine,’ I replied. ‘And so she learned about the nature of the Bloxford Beauties?’

  'She did, and she asked Caroline if the tradition had been kept up. She told her it had, and that it was a secret, and not to spread the word about. Trouble is, it was too late: Jarvis and von Graf knew. She swore them to silence, but I wouldn’t trust either one of them an inch.’

  ‘But your mother did?’

  ‘She did,’ he nodded.

  ‘Did she speak to anyone else, such as the Brigadier, about it?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Ma for more on that, but I wouldn’t recommend doing it right now.’

  ‘Ha, no, I was planning on giving the lady a wide berth actually.’ I grinned, then turned my mind back to the matter – it did explain who’d let the cat out of that particular bag.

  He tossed the remains of his cheroot into the flames of the fire blazing in the hearth beside us, and looked momentarily glum.

  I eyed him, realising he was a fellow who had things on his mind. I may have been concentrating on tracking down a murderer, but Hiram was about to make a life-changing commitment.

  ‘Haven’t been a best man before, old chap,’ I began. ‘But I think one of the duties is to check that the groom is entirely filled with confidence that he’s made the right choice.’

  ‘You going to try to talk me out of it, Lennox?’ he laughed dryly. ‘Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if any of the gals get to hear of it.’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, ‘but I’d like to hear your side of it.’ I called the landlord over for another pint each.

  ‘I’ll reassure your mind, my friend. I couldn’t be happier in my choice of bride. She’s all a man could want, and more. A prettier, kindlier-tempered woman I never did meet. And clever with it, knows how to fix and mend just about anything – and she can ride a horse better than the cowpokes back home. That’s saying something, that is, cause them boys have been all but raised in the saddle. Amazing lady, my Caroline.’

  Well, the man really must be besotted, I thought; because apart from the horse riding I wouldn’t have recognised Caroline at all from his rosy-eyed description.

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ I replied, although I could still detect a certain disquiet in his demeanour.

  He let escape a sigh. ‘But I don’t like all this wedding fuss and bother. The women are all a-fluster, and we gotta sit through another darned opera. You know, Lennox, she’s got a mind to do it all over agin back at the ranch an I’m going to have to lay down the law. We ain’t doing it and that’s that.’

  ‘You mean Ruth wants to run your Texas ceremony on similar lines to this one?’

  ‘She sure does, but we’re having an old fashion hoe-down whether she likes it or not. No opera and none of this fancy-dangle dressing up. I just haven’t had the heart to tell her, but I’m going to have to do it.’

  ‘If I were you, old man, I’d wait until after this wedding is over and you’re on the boat home. That way she’ll have a few days to get used to the idea. If you do it now, she’ll be upset through the whole damn bean feast, and it’s bad enough as it is.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he drained his tankard. ‘I’ll take your advice. She can have her way over this wedding – but in Texas we’ll do it the way me and my lovely bride wants it.’

  ‘What are your plans for the future?’ I enquired. ‘Will you remain in Texas or make your home here?’

  ‘I’m going to leave that decision to Caroline. I’ve seen what it’s like to have a fretting wife in the house. Ruth’s got a good heart, but she just wants to return to her old homeland and my Pappy won’t do it. He agreed to come back here for a long vacation but that’s as much as he’ll do. His life is all about the ranch and tha
t’s where he’ll stay till his dying day. It’s caused a certain coldness in Ruth and I don’t want to see that in my wife. I’m not a betting man but I’d put my last dime on us settling in Bloxford.’

  I didn’t say anything, but entirely agreed with him. ‘You realise the Brigadier is in poor health?’ I asked him.

  ‘I do. We don’t aim to stay long in Texas, we’ll be back here right after our honeymoon.’

  I nodded, pleased to hear that they had thought about the old man.

  ‘Better be getting back, now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got another session with that uppity tailor from London this afternoon and I tell you, Lennox, he sore tries my patience.’

  We strolled back, replete and content in each other’s company. I must say I was relieved that Hiram was so taken with Caroline. He was a steadfast character and I doubt she’d be able to push him around. And he’d had experience of managing his strong-minded stepmother, which would serve him well when dealing with his determined wife. Fond as I was of my childhood friend, I knew damn well how difficult she could be.

  Benson opened the door and we entered the hall to encounter the soprano, Dame Gabriel Forsyth, clutching a damp handkerchief, her eye make-up smudged and rubbed.

  ‘Oh, Major Lennox.’ Her voice rose a notch. ‘I need your help. I am beside myself with trepidation.’ She appeared to be working herself into hysterics. ‘It’s Count von Graf – he’s disappeared, ‘ she announced through loud sobs. ‘I fear the worst!’

  Chapter 18

  Generally, the disappearance of a character such as von Graf would have been excellent news, but as he was our principle suspect, I was decidedly irked.

  ‘Damn,’ was the first word to escape my lips.

  ‘You must find him,’ the lady wailed.

  ‘We most certainly will,’ I responded. ‘I’ll have the police onto it right away.’

  ‘Oh, Major Lennox,’ she gasped, handkerchief clutched to her ample bosom, ‘how kind you are. To fling yourself into action on my behalf.’

  ‘What?’ I looked at her more closely. It occurred to me that she probably didn’t realise that I intended to have the bounder arrested on sight. I decided on reticence as the better part of valour, not to mention saving a great deal of tedious explanation. ‘Erm, I’ll go and telephone the police, Dame Gabriel. Perhaps you should go away…. to lie down, I mean. Wait for news and all that.’

  ‘Please find him. I don’t think I can go on without him,’ she cried.

  ‘Go on where?’ I asked.

  She looked at me blankly.

  Hiram stepped forward offering his arm. ‘Madam, I will escort you to my mother. She is of great help to persons in distress.’

  Well, that rather saved the day and should keep both ladies out of my way.

  For some unknown reason, the telephone was located in the butler’s pantry. It took minutes to get an operator to answer my call.

  ‘Hello, is that you, Mr Dawkins? It’s Nellie here.’

  ‘No, it isn’t – why do you think it’s Dawkins?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, he usually rings. Hardly anyone else ever does. Who are you, then?’

  ‘Major Lennox.’

  ‘Ooh, you do speak nice,’ she said with exaggerated enunciation.

  ‘Madam, um..Nellie, would you please put me through to the local police station, I need to talk to Chief Inspector Swift.’

  ‘It’s Inspector Watson at the station; never heard of no Swift, dear.’

  ‘Look, it’s an urgent police matter.’ I told her. ‘Someone is missing.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say. I’m connecting you now, hold on, dearie.’

  Really, rural telephone operators were a law unto themselves and no doubt she’d be listening in on the calls. There was a long pause and it took three more connections until I finally had Swift on the line.

  ‘How do you know he’s disappeared?’ he demanded.

  That gave me pause. Perhaps I should have searched first?

  ‘The soprano told me,’ I replied. ‘She seemed very certain.’

  The line crackled.

  ‘Swift, are you there?’ I called into the transmitter cup.

  ‘Yes,’ he shouted. ‘I was thinking. Look, Lennox, it could be an opportunity to search his rooms. And ascertain if he’s actually missing or has fled the country.’

  Actually, that seemed to me to be an excellent idea – it was probably why Swift had been made a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard.

  ‘And it might uncover anything he’s been hiding,’ I said.

  ‘Possibly. Why is the soprano so concerned about his whereabouts?’

  ‘I suspect there’s some sort of romantic connection between her and von Graf.’

  ‘Listen, Lennox. I found a message from Scotland Yard waiting for me. I’d asked them to go to the War Records Office. Jarvis was a charlatan. He joined a Sussex regiment in 1915 as Chaplain, supplying his own credentials. He had all the correct certificates – even had a letter from the local bishop recommending him.’

  The line crackled again and I hoped we weren’t about to be cut off. ‘Swift?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be quick. Geoffrey Jarvis had a brother, Simon, a known thief, whose only talent was art. He was the black sheep of a respectable family. Geoffrey was killed in a bombing raid; Simon took his brother’s papers and used his name.’

  ‘Interesting,’ I said, being rather impressed by the speed at which Scotland Yard appeared to work. ‘Have you contacted the family?’

  ‘The parents are dead. There’s a sister somewhere but they haven’t tracked her down yet. And Lennox –’ he was becoming faint as the line began to break up ‘– I’m tied up waiting for our experts to arrive, and then we’ll dig up what’s left of Bartholomew. Won’t be with you until the morning. You’re on your own, man.’

  ‘Fine.I’ll –’

  The line crackled and finally failed. I replaced the receiver on its hook, stood up, clapped my hands together and went up to my rooms. I removed the snoozing kitten from my desk, opened the drawer and took out my magnifying glass and tweezers and slipped them into the pocket of my shooting jacket, and shoved two jam jars into the ‘poacher’s’ pocket, for any evidence I might find. I ordered my sleepy dog and kitten to stay where they were, and set off for a spot of sleuthing.

  Von Graf’s rooms were north-facing, pokey, and verging on the decrepit. From the musty smell in the corridor, I’d say the whole section had been very little used over the past century or so. Whereas the front of the Hall had been maintained to reasonably habitable order, this part of the house revealed how low the family fortunes had fallen. Damp met me on the doorstep, chipped woodwork revealed a labyrinth of woodworm holes bored through the door jamb, the yellowed ceiling plaster was buckled and bowed where it had broken away from lathes, the floor was warped and sagging. I sincerely hoped Hiram’s wealth was as substantial as was reputed because an awful lot of it was going to end up buried in the crumbling stones and timbers of this house.

  There was a closet and small bedroom with a neatly made bed. A narrow wardrobe stood in the corner, a dressing table under a draughty sash window, a chair pushed against it and an iron-mantled hearth on the opposite wall.

  I stood in the centre looking about me. Toiletries were on the dressing table — a hairbrush, comb and shaving items were closely arrayed. These in themselves indicated he was unlikely to have fled. I hope he hadn’t just gone to Oxford and was about to reappear during my snoop - perhaps I should have brought Foggy as an early alert. The closet revealed nothing but shirts, trousers and the usual what-have-yous. It wasn’t quite as interesting as I’d hoped. I delved about in the dressing table with the same result. His empty suitcases were under the bed along with dust, mouse-droppings and balls of fluff that made me sneeze. I felt around the bed, down the sides, under the mattress and pillows – even sat on it and bounced. It squeaked; I felt rather deflated.

  Where would I hide something if I were von Graf? I eyed each nook and cranny
, which didn’t take long as there were only two, and neither produced a bean. An unlit fire was set in the hearth, I went over and knelt beside it. It smelled of damp soot, meaning it hadn’t been lit for a long time. That was peculiar because this room would always have been chilly at any time of year. I removed the sticks first, and then the twists of newspaper, until the grate was exposed. It was very clean, as though someone had carefully brushed it – I could almost imagine Dicks had been in here. I lifted out the grate to reveal the ash-pan. It was empty, so I took that out, too. It was heavy – heavier than it should have been; so I turned it over and finally found a clue. A slim metal box had been attached with small black screws to the underside. I grinned like a cat.

  I couldn’t open it: there was a brass lock attached and I hadn’t any tools to force it. I cocked an ear, listening for sounds of von Graf’s return; I didn’t want to remain in the place any longer than necessary, and he could be trotting up the stairs even as I paused to eye the box more closely. I replaced the paper and items pretty much as I’d found them – it was a bit hastily done and it wouldn’t take long for von Graf to realise that he’d been burgled. I trotted back to my rooms with a jaunty step and the stolen cache under my arm.

  I placed the box on my vacant desk and stared at it, rather cock-a-hoop at having uncovered vital evidence. I played my magnifying glass over the screws and lock. I had a toolkit for cleaning my guns in the dressing room, so I fetched it and used the small screwdriver to remove the box from the ash-pan. Then I stared at it again. I didn’t know how to pick the lock. I thought I might be able to force it – but would it damage the contents? I shook it – whatever was inside thudded and rattled, which didn’t help in the least.

  One name came to mind – Greggs. I knew my old butler had a knack with locks: his liking for whiskey had led him to develop unexpected talents. Another name followed, one who was a great deal closer – Dawkins. Benson may be slow and old but he wasn’t so decrepit as to leave the keys to the wine cellar lying around, so Dawkins must have picked the lock. I jumped up and went over to tug the bell pull.

 

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