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

by Karen Menuhin

  Once settled into a club chair in front of the blazing hearth I had little desire to move. Tubbs clambered up to sit on my lap and started purring; I think he had discovered his purpose in life, as he had developed the rhythm of a little engine. Dicks had left the stoneware jug of warmed whisky, lemon and honey on the tray beside me and I topped up my glass, sipping it appreciatively. Time was ticking by, I was aware how close we were to the wedding day and my mind turned over all the possibilities.

  I stared at the paint on my sleeve again. The Bloxford Beauties were in the Long Gallery and the door would be locked. But I had my confiscated lock picks, and I doubted that anyone would be up there to spot me. I put down my empty glass, removed Tubbs from my lap, told Fogg to stay, and set off with a determined step.

  Never having been there before, I wasn’t sure how to find it, but by tradition the long galleries in old houses were under the eaves so I trotted up as high as I could and followed a passageway along a meandering course. I ended at the back stairs next to the servants’ quarters, and got a ticking off from an exiting maid who wouldn’t listen to my well prepared lies.

  I ran my fingers through my hair. I could ask the Brigadier, but suspected I would be made to swear on my honour never to set foot in the place. I wandered back to the main staircase and leaned against a window seat. The corridors were swept clean and free of dust. If the Long Gallery was forbidden territory, then no one would be mopping it – so all I had to do was find a grubby corridor. Ha! Reading Sherlock Holmes brought some benefits. Congratulating myself on my fine powers of deduction, I once again set forth. I ended up back at the servants’ quarters.

  I returned to my perch by the window, inclined to give up and go back to the warmth of my room and join the little duo by the fire. But I told myself that Holmes would not have retreated, he would have been dogged in his detecting. I looked around. The walls were all wood panelled on this level, honey-coloured rather than dark oak; they must have been replaced sometime in the last century. Perhaps they’d built the door to the gallery into one of the panels. I knocked on a few; they all sounded hollow, so that didn’t help. There was a huge tapestry along one lonely corridor, so I scrutinised that. One edge was warped, as though it had been repeatedly gripped. I pushed it aside and there it was, a narrow door, barely visible within the panelling. It had a slim keyhole cut into the woodwork where the lock must be. I grinned like a fool and withdrew the lock picks from my pocket.

  Half an hour later my knees hurt and my patience had worn thin. How the devil did an idiot like Dawkins understand the art of picking locks? I’d shoved all of them in one by one and fiddled about waiting to hear the click as something moved, but not a thing happened. I withdrew my flashlight and stared at it, then chose a pick with a large tooth. I listened intently and felt rather than heard the snap of something metal springing back. I pushed the panel, but it wasn’t ready to open yet. I shone the torch back into the keyhole.

  ‘Sir?’

  That made me jump. I leaped to my feet. ‘Benson?’

  ‘Sir, I must tell you that this area is not accessible.’

  ‘I know it isn’t, Benson, I’ve tried my damnedest and I can’t get in.’

  ‘I mean, sir, that you are not supposed to get in. It is the Brigadier’s orders, nobody is allowed here, sir.’ Beneath the frizzy white hair and brows he looked quite stern.

  ‘Well, yes. But this is important, Benson. It might even be a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’ He was short of breath but determined. ‘But he would be terribly agitated, sir. I fear I must insist.’

  In the face of poor Benson’s disquiet I decided to accept defeat. Tomorrow I would choose my time more carefully.

  ‘Benson,’ I said as we descended the stairs, ‘I know Jarvis was restoring the Beauties – how did he get in there?’

  He stopped and looked at me narrowly.

  ‘His Lordship told me about it, Benson,’ I explained.

  ‘Very well, sir. The Gurkha, Kalo, unlocked the door for him. The Brigadier keeps the only key with him.’ He paused again on a step to catch a breath, then continued. ‘He would hand it to Kalo, who would escort the Chaplain to the Long Gallery. The man was permitted to bring his materials and easel with him. He set himself up, I believe, in the room and he would work in there.’

  Now that was strange, I thought, because he had Lady Grace at the rectory – so how did he smuggle her out? And why?

  ‘Really?’ I replied. ‘Did Kalo remain in the Long Gallery with Jarvis?’

  ‘No, sir. Kalo dislikes to be away from the Brigadier’s side. He would lock Jarvis in and return to his master. Then after a time the Brigadier would order him to let the Chaplain out, sir.’

  ‘Hum.’ This was food for thought. ‘Benson, old chap, you seem to be having a hard time of it,’ I told him.

  ‘Rain and damp. I have the rheumatics, sir,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Not thought about retiring, old chap?’ I asked. ‘To a cottage with a warm fireside? I’m sure there are plenty on the estate.’

  ‘I have been with the Brigadier man and boy, sir, in Bengal, Burma and the Boer War. He sent me home during the Great War after I was gassed. He has always ensured I was cared for. I will not leave this house until he does.’

  I nodded. Not much more I could say really.

  ‘Drinks will be in the drawing room, sir.’

  ‘Um. Not sure I can stomach much more in the way of opera singers, Benson. Might make it an early night.’

  ‘They will not be attending dinner, sir. They are in rehearsals for tomorrow evening. It is beef stew tonight. And dumplings.’

  ‘Ah, really? Excellent. Then I will put in an appearance. Rather peckish, actually,’ I told him.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He gave a short, stiff bow.

  We parted at my door and I greeted my little pets, then languished in a hot bath and changed for dinner, emerging just as the first gong sounded.

  The drawing room was the family cosy hole, a place of soft sofas filled with feather cushions, and deep chairs with small tables scattered about, where tea cups and brandy glasses found a place to rest. The fire was already burning with crackling yellow flames in the wide hearth.

  Hiram and his father had arrived for pre-prandial drinks; they told me the girls were still knee-deep in flounces.

  ‘I told Pa about those scoundrels and the thieving,’ Hiram confided as I strolled in.

  ‘Bad news, mighty bad news,’ Ford added. ‘We’d be looking for a hanging back home.’

  Dicks was presiding and offered us sherry but we asked for brandy. We raised our glasses in comradely salute and settled in comfort around the blazing fire.

  ‘We’ll keep it under our hats, Pa and I,’ Hiram told me. ‘About the paintings and Lord Braeburn losing out on all that money.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Best to leave it to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Do you think the police can recover anything? Braeburn’s artworks or the money?’ Ford asked.

  ‘That’s a question best put to Swift,’ I said, and switched tack. ‘The paintings from the hallway. Don’t happen to know anything about them, do you?’

  Father and son exchanged glances.

  ‘That was down to my Ruth - she purchased them,’ Ford told me, his mouth drawn tight. ‘She saw them paintings were missin’. When we was last here, they were up there, but they were gone when we got back. She figured they were bein’ cleaned, so she asked von Graf if that were so. He says that the Brigadier had asked for him to sell them - they was to pay for the mending of the theatre, and the wedding. Well, you can imagine what she thought about that! Von Graf said if she wanted to return them to their rightful place, maybe he could buy them back for her. Naturally, she said yes. Cost a pretty penny, as I later found out.’ He frowned.

  ‘They’re not in the ledger,’ I answered. ‘I checked.’

  ‘That don’t surprise me,’ Ford continued, 'because I don’t think he ever sold them. I th
ink he was holding onto them to offer them up to my wife, and she walked straight into their trap. Jarvis and von Graf got to know her pretty well, I guess, up in the castle at Braeburn.’

  I eyed him. ‘How did the paintings arrive back on the wall?’

  ‘I took them back to the Brigadier m’self. I said to him, we’re family now. The furnishings in this house is going to our children and grandchildren, I don’t want to see nothing sold off for the sake of paying for my wife’s fancy ideas. He asked me how I came by them and I came clean, said it was Ruth, and I insisted he tell me the price he received. It took a lot of arguing but eventually he agreed — showed me the papers from the sale to von Graf. There was a mighty big difference between what Ruth paid and what the Brigadier got.’

  ‘When did you discuss this with the Brigadier?’ I asked.

  ‘The same day you arrived here. It made me mad. Ruth and I had a big fight about it. I was all for calling the police, but the Brigadier said not to upset Lady Caroline and Hiram. He said we should wait until after the wedding.’

  That explained why Ruth was cold toward von Graf that evening at dinner, I mused. I turned to Hiram. ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘Not until today when I told Pa about that ledger you found. Neither he nor ma thought to confide in me.’ He gave his father a hard look.

  Ford turned to me again. ’Am I right in thinking the police believe von Graf murdered Jarvis?’

  ‘Keeping an open mind, old chap. Nothing determined yet,’ I replied.

  ‘You sound kinda doubtful, Lennox,’ Hiram said, swilling brandy in his glass. ‘And it seems to me, that if you don’t reckon von Graf did it, then you think it’s someone in this house.’

  I didn’t have an answer for that and held my tongue. He frowned from under lowered brows and then exchanged glances with his father. A certain froideur was cast in my direction, which made my shoulders slump a touch. I was beginning to understand how Swift felt – this sleuthing came with a certain amount of disapprobation.

  The girls arrived at that moment to provide a welcome diversion. We men stood, I offered my seat – Caroline gave me a hug and a bright smile and sat down next to Hiram; Lady Ruth took an upright chair near her husband, and Florence sat on a sofa looking lovely but rather subdued. I moved to sit next to her.

  Dicks furnished the ladies with sherry and topped up our snifters as we all settled around the warm flames of the fire, chatter and laughter filling the air. The room formed a comfortable haven as rain pelted against the windowpanes under darkening skies.

  ‘Florence, may I say something?’ I started.

  She glanced at me, then lowered her eyes and nodded.

  ‘You are not under suspicion. Swift was being hasty – it’s a bad habit he has.’

  ‘Lennox …’ She smoothed the fabric of her pale pink and blue dress, made of chiffon or some such material. ‘It was a terrible thing to say. Just horrid, and he had been so kind. Why did he say such a thing?’

  ‘Um, well.’ I sighed and tried to put some suitable sentiments together. ‘I think it’s because he likes you.’

  She laughed coldly and brought her large eyes to meet mine. ‘Rather a strange way to show it.’

  ‘I mean,’ I stumbled on, ‘I think he was frightened to lose you so he over-reacted. His emotions were running high and, well, it’s possible he wanted you to reassure him, really.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think he likes me at all.’

  She sniffed and took a handkerchief from her purse.

  ‘Truly, old girl. I don’t think he meant it as an actual accusation.’

  ‘Can you imagine being unjustly accused of murder by the police!’ She sniffed some more. ‘It’s simply dreadful.’

  ‘Well, actually …’ I was about to tell her that Swift had done exactly that last Christmas and that the blighter had had every intention of seeing me hang. But then I realised it wouldn’t help matters, so I switched tack. ‘It’s his job, you know. He’s supposed to flush out criminals and I think it makes him over-react sometimes. I’m sure he will apologise when he sees you again.’

  ‘He better had, because I’m not speaking to him until he does,’ she said with feeling. ‘The rapier was useless, you know. He doesn’t know anything about fencing.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, not knowing very much either.

  ‘It was unbalanced. The tip must have broken off by at least two inches, probably more. Somebody would have sharpened it afterwards. It’s a common problem when fencing, but as soon as I felt the weight I realised it had been damaged.’

  ‘Hum.’ Now this was more interesting than tedious lovers’ tiffs. ‘Would that affect the value of it?’

  ‘Of course. Anybody who collected antique weaponry would reject it instantly: the shortened blade made it worthless.’

  ‘Which could be why it was used as a murder weapon,’ I mused. ‘May as well bury it in a body if you were only going to throw it away anyway.’

  ‘Quite. And if either you or Swift had simply asked me, I could have told you. Instead, you stood by while he –’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do apologise old thing. And I will explain it to the Inspector,’ I told her in my best reassuring tone.

  Benson came into the room and spoke quietly to Caroline. She asked a few questions, and then nodded her head.

  The old butler shuffled off and Caroline jumped to her feet and clapped.

  ‘Everyone, listen now,’ she called out. ‘Daddy is eating in his rooms this evening and I think we should have a cosy dinner here, around the reading table. Benson is arranging it. Then we shall play cards and have fun!’

  And indeed we did. Florence won a few games and the hurrahs and laughter brought the colour back to her cheeks. Ruth ruled the roost, dishing out advice and enforcing the rules – Ford reined her in with a loving hand. I realised he knew how to handle her, and told myself that I should take note – although bossy women were better avoided, to my mind. Later, Hiram almost forgave me my suspicions, and clapped me on the back as we all parted company on the upper landing before we made our way to our respective rooms. It was a genial and jolly evening, well spent in the company of good people.

  Chapter 21

  My breakfast was taken in early morning sunshine at my reading table with Fogg and the kitten in attendance. We weren’t able to enjoy our solitude for long, however, because Swift marched in just as I was tempting Mr Tubbs with a sliver of sausage.

  ‘What did you find in von Graf’s rooms?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘And a very good morning to you, too,’ I replied. ‘Ledger and pistol.’

  I went to my desk, dug them out and brought them over to the table. He picked up the Walther, turning it over.

  ‘Not the murder weapon — the calibre is too small and it hasn’t been fired in a long time,’ he concluded.

  ‘My conclusions, too,’ I agreed. ‘He may have taken it with him, though. Or disposed of it — if he did kill Jarvis, that is.’ I didn’t really want to voice my doubts to Swift.

  ‘Hum,’ he grunted non-committal, then asked, ‘has he returned?’

  ‘Not according to Dicks.’

  ‘Did he take anything with him?’ Swift pulled the ledger over so that he could more closely peruse it.

  ‘Not as far as I could see,’ I told him as I finished my meal and gave the last rasher to Fogg. ‘Have you sent out alerts, or whatever you police chaps do?’

  ‘Of course,’ he muttered. He was leafing through the ledger, running a finger down the lists of items. ‘Sometimes there’s no sum entered against commission – they must have sold items directly to a buyer.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed, but there’s no indication who it was,’ I said, and then changed the subject to something more personal. ‘The rapier, the one that was used to kill Bartholomew – I think you’ll find it listed.’

  ‘Really. Why?’ He looked at me, hawkish as ever, with dark shadows beneath his eyes.

  I repeated what Florenc
e had told me about the shortened sword.

  Swift flicked back and forth through the pages.

  ‘This must be it: “Rapr, B.C. ins. c1820s. £12.4s.2d.” No sale price noted, dated in August last year,’ he read out. ‘I take it to mean it was never sold. But this is only circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s quite clear what it means ... I hope you’re going to apologise, Swift. Florence was terribly upset.’

  He stopped and looked at me. ‘Sent her some flowers this morning, and a note offering my sincere regrets. She’ll probably fling them back in my face.’ He turned pink about the ears.

  ‘She is most likely having breakfast in the morning room,’ I suggested. ‘Why not go and see her?’

  ‘We don’t have time. We need to go to Oxford today and pay a visit to the Black Cat Club.’

  ‘I’ve got other things to do, old chap,’ I told him, my mind being on the Long Gallery.

  ‘They’ve started decorating the house for the wedding,’ Swift replied.

  I looked at him. ’Ah, well …’ Images of women in full cry with armfuls of flowers came to mind. ‘Very well, I’ll come. But not until you’ve made your peace with Florence. Least you can do, Swift.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll go.’ He pulled the belt of his trench coat tighter, then hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Should I give her more time? You know, to calm down.’

  ‘Go, Swift.’

  He turned and went.

  Dicks came in almost on his heels.

  ‘Brought another set of cups, sir. Thought the Inspector would like some tea.’ He placed the china on the desk and began setting out the crockery.

  ‘He’s on a mission, Dicks.’

  ‘Lady Florence, sir?’ He tided the breakfast tray as he spoke.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘The maids chatter. They think they make a handsome couple – you know what girls are like, sir.’ He had moved to the bed and was smoothing the sheets and shaking the drapes, then tying them back to the bedposts.