He had my best formal morning suit ready, including grey tails, white waistcoat, notch collar and white bow-tie. He helped me into it, then grabbed the topper off the shelf.
‘It’s got mould on it, sir.’ He frowned in consternation as he turned it around in his hands.
‘Give it a quick dusting, then, there’s a good chap,’ I told him, and he grinned, briskly brushed it down and handed it to me with a wide smile.
Hiram strode in. ‘Ready?’ he asked. He was looking rather serious, probably had a touch of nerves.
‘Greeting, old chap,’ I replied as I pulled on white gloves. ‘As you can see.’
‘The ring?’ he asked.
‘Damn – just a minute.’ I found the box he’d given me in the desk drawer. Tubbs jumped in as I tried to close it and started flipping out the pens.
‘Dicks.’ I turned to him. ‘He’s all yours.’
Hiram and I took the stairs at a smart pace and looked down to see a crowd assembling in the hall. Apart from the servants, many of the guests were arriving and were being directed through to the chapel. Ruth must have been lying in wait, she came straight over to us as we stepped onto the black and white chequered tiles of the hall.
‘Hiram,’ she uttered, and stopped. I’d swear she had a tear in her eye. She broke into a smile and reached up to embrace him. ‘Hiram, you look simply glorious.’
‘Gee, thanks, Ma,’ he returned.
Ford found us, too, and shook my hand vigorously before turning to his son and dragging him into a bear hug.
We extracted ourselves and made our way through the crowd to the chapel, which, as Dicks had described, was liberally garlanded with wreaths and whatnots, and looking really rather splendid.
Candles had been lit in the sconces and the scent of beeswax mingled with the fragrance of abundant roses. Sunlight shone through the vibrantly coloured glass and the gilded frescos on the ceiling glinted in iridescent hues. More people crowded in, chattering quietly as they shuffled into the pews.
Hiram stood squarely facing the altar as the vicar from the village offered a muted greeting. He whispered a few words to the groom while I looked around at the congregation. Ruth and Ford took their places behind us, he wearing much the same get up as Hiram and myself, and she very smart in a tailored purple frock with a large diamond broach in the form of a thistle and crown. Miss Busby arrived looking altogether prettier and a lot less expensive in lavender blue. She gave me a bright smile and a cheery wave, which I returned, provoking a frown from Ruth.
The assembled were generally colourful, some highly polished in the latest glitzy fashions while the locals wore their Sunday-best tweeds and moleskin, and gazed around in wonder. I recognised a few faces from my and Caroline's past, mostly from our fox hunting days. Couldn’t recall any names, but I suspected that if they each mounted their horse I’d have placed them all instantly.
A note was struck on the organ, catching everyone’s attention, and the crowd fell into a hush, peering around toward the doors. Hiram remained stock-still at the altar and the vicar cleared his throat.
Suddenly the chapel bells rang out a tuneful clamour and more organ music struck up. The low hum of whispering suddenly became a gasp as the bride finally appeared, veiled in white, a coronet of pale pink roses on her head and a matching bouquet in hand. She glided down the aisle, her arm supported by the Brigadier, smartly turned out in full dress uniform — upright, stern, and very proud beside her. Florence and the other two bridesmaids followed wearing the palest pink silk, their hair woven with ribbons and roses. They made a truly beautiful procession, marred only slightly by a mulish-looking pageboy who sulked along behind the girls, scowling at the guests.
Hiram turned to face Caroline as she arrived at his side. The Brigadier formally placed her hand in her groom’s, and then she lifted her veil to gaze up at him. She smiled a dazzling smile as he grinned down at her, the light of love in both their eyes. A sigh echoed around the room as everyone watched the young couple, then drew their collective handkerchiefs and settled down to enjoy the spectacle.
Can’t say I’m much of a judge of the like, but by the sniffles, sighs and smiles I’d say it went off rather well. I handed the ring over when asked and was thereafter redundant, so it didn’t seem particularly onerous. Can’t imagine what was in the two pages of tasks Ruth had given me – really, some people do make a fuss about nothing. The whole caboodle drew to an end, the music played and we followed the happy couple through the hall, where rose petals were tossed in gay abandon upon our heads, a shower of fragrant delicacy and very prettily done.
Swift found me on the terrace sipping champagne.
‘Lennox.’
Swift?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Finish my drink.’
‘Then what?’
‘Tell Hiram to gather the family in the drawing room in half an hour.’
‘Is that all?’ He shook his head at a proffered glass of bubbly.
‘No. You need to find Dame Gabriel and Andrew Dundale, too. Did you bring the pieces of evidence?’
‘Yes, left them in the drawing room. I’m really not sure about this, Lennox. You could at least tell me what you intend doing.’ He scowled at me.
‘It’s a fishing expedition, Swift. I can’t be sure what will come of it. But we can’t stand by and risk another murder. Surely you can see that.’
He nodded but looked as doubtful as I felt.
Florence came over and slipped her arm through Swift’s as I went to drop the news into Hiram’s ear that we needed a family gathering rather urgently. He took some persuading: only the words ‘life and death’ finally swung the matter.
I left it to him to tell the guests whatever convenient excuse he could think of, and no doubt he’d have to calm his new bride, too, who would be livid. I went off with a heavy heart to retrieve the two Beauties from under my bed.
Chapter 25
It took an hour to get them all gathered in the drawing room. Caroline had given me some very choice words as she stalked in, still decked in her white wedding finery and looking quite delightful despite the fury in her eyes.
‘Lennox,’ she stormed. ‘What do you think you are doing?’
Ruth came over to join her in battle. ‘How dare you, young man. Do you know how long all this has taken to arrange? There are over a hundred people downstairs.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I replied between barrages. ‘Don’t worry, old stick. I’ve given instructions to Dicks and he’s quite capable of rounding them up. He’s going to send them off to eat, shortly.’
Swift arrived with Florence; he looked red-faced, and she had a very high colour, too. I assumed they’d had a tiff.
The Brigadier was the last to arrive, Kalo at his side.
‘Major,’ he snapped, ‘this is a court-marshalling offence. I’ll have your wings for this.’
‘It won’t take long, sir,’ I lied, and turned to the old butler. ‘Benson, would you ensure that the doors are closed, please.’
Swift came over. He indicated the items of evidence on the reading table – the sheaf of faked papers, the black-bound ledger, two wrapped canvases and the three shining swords – all illuminated by bright sunshine slanting through mullioned windows. ‘Everything’s there. You’d better know what you’re doing, Lennox,’ he warned. There wasn’t much I could say in reply, because I wasn’t sure that I knew either.
I’d had the sofas and chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing me, and the fire lit, despite the sun falling into the room, because I’d no idea how long we’d be here. The Brigadier, impeccable in his Army uniform, sat alone on a small, upright sofa in the centre; Kalo stood behind him. Miss Busby was closest to me. She looked bright and inquisitive and excited by the drama – she was the only one who was. Ford and Ruth Chisholm, frowning and angry, were seated next to her on the large, comfortable couch, then Hiram and Caroline on the smaller sofa, Caroline’s white bridal gown billowing about her.
On the opposite side, nearest the doors, were the two opera singers. Andrew Dundale looked like a dyspeptic cherub in a dark red velvet jacket and black corduroys. Dame Gabriel was beside him, rather more subdued in a muted green outfit that had seen better days. They both looked as though they were dressed for travelling, which no doubt they were, now that their operatic duties were done.
Swift and Florence sat together. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it, reconciled, although they were both looking daggers at me. Actually, they all were. Benson remained behind me so I couldn’t see his expression but I imagined he was as surprised as everyone else to be here.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I began. ‘I do apologise for this interruption to the day. I will not keep you any longer than is necessary.’ I reached for the old rapier, the one from Braeburn Castle, and picked it up, turning it over in my hands, and then placed it down again. ‘The reason we are here is because there is a murderer in this room and before this day is ended they have every intention of killing again. I will not stand by and allow that to happen.’ Shocked murmurs rose among them and I held my hand up for silence, looking at each of them as I did so.
‘Innocent blood has been shed and murder has followed upon murder.’ I paused momentarily, then continued. ‘This story begins during the War with the meeting of two men, neither of whom held a scruple between them. Jarvis and Count Gustav von Graf met while they were both attached to a Scottish Highlanders regiment. Geoffrey Jarvis had indeed been a priest, but he was killed in a bombing raid. His brother, Simon, stole his dead brother’s papers, and his identity with them. What better position to establish false trust and respectability than as a chaplain. Jarvis used this fraudulent identity for the rest of his life for exactly that purpose.’ The eyes of everyone in the room were now fixed firmly upon me.
‘He and von Graf built a lucrative trade in looted art. The soldiers supplied it, Jarvis made any necessary repairs, and von Graf sold it. Jarvis was an excellent artist and restorer; von Graf had owned galleries in Paris and London. For two crooked scoundrels, it was a perfect partnership.’
‘No!’ Dame Gabriel shouted. ‘You know nothing about him. Count von Graf is an honourable man, he is not –’
‘Quiet,’ I cut in. ‘Madam, you will wait until I am finished,’ I told her briskly, then picked up again.
‘The armistice brought their business to an end and they searched for fresh pigeons to pluck. They had encountered the Laird of Braeburn during the War and used this connection to inveigle themselves into Braeburn Castle, did they not, Florence?’
She regarded me warily, probably wondering where I was leading.
‘Your father had returned from the War to find the Castle falling about his ears. Actually, many of us found that our properties had suffered while we were away fighting. He’d met both Jarvis and von Graf, knew their talents – though almost certainly not their methods – and invited them to help him sell off some of the family artworks to shore the place up. He was duped to the tune of thousands of pounds. We found proof of it.’ I stopped to hold up the ledger.
‘Can I see that, young man?’ Ruth cut in.
‘No,’ I said, and placed it back on the sunlit table and continued.
‘Did he eventually realise what they were doing, Florence?’ I focused on her, beautiful in her rose pink bridesmaid’s dress, sitting with Swift.
She gave a slight nod of the head, looking a little flustered. She spoke quietly. ‘He wasn’t sure. When Hiram voiced concerns about the derisory amounts from the sales, I think he began to wonder if they had tricked him. But he found it terribly difficult to believe that two men in whom he had placed his trust and had invited into our home would have stolen from him – and one of them was a chaplain. When they left with the Chisholms he asked me if he should write to them, perhaps warn them.’
‘But he didn’t, did he?’ I remarked.
‘No.’ She shook her head, a delicate flush to her cheeks. ‘I told him he shouldn't. Nobody had believed Hiram. We were entirely ignorant of the art world and we thought it would sound like sour grapes if we made accusations we couldn’t support. Ruth had been utterly convinced by them. She was far more sophisticated and knowledgeable than we were, so I’m afraid we said nothing.’ Florence sniffed, holding back tears. Swift pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her.
‘Count von Graf was an expert in the rarefied world of art dealing,’ I stated. ‘Indeed, the Count was not only knowledgeable about the Great Masters, he was also highly cultured in other areas, being a connoisseur of the theatre, the classics and opera. And he knew how to charm – he was remarkably good at turning the heads of susceptible ladies. Wasn’t he Ruth?’ I stared directly at her.
‘Now you look here, Lennox,’ Ford growled. I waved him down with a calming hand.
‘Von Graf beguiled you, didn’t he, Ruth?’
She glowered at me but didn’t speak.
‘He was a European aristocrat, steeped in the culture you so craved back in the hot, dry desert of Texas. And you met him at your ancestral home, Braeburn Castle, didn’t you. He and Jarvis were guests of Lord Braeburn – a more respectable endorsement could not have existed in your eyes. And so they used you for their own ends.’
‘Are you saying my wife colluded with these crooks?’ Ford leapt to his feet, fists bunched.
‘No, I am not, Mr Chisholm, please sit down.’ He wasn’t inclined to do so, but I carried on anyway.
‘You didn’t realise they were using you. You were on your own quest, to discover the mysteries of your ancestry. The Laird gave you the keys to the muniments room, the very place where all the archives and manuscripts of the Castle were held, including titles, wills and inventories. Jarvis and von Graf offered their help, and as a consequence they were able to rifle through those papers to discover exactly what was held in the Castle and where it was, making their duplicity so much easier. And you also uncovered a secret of great value, didn’t you Ruth?’ Her colour became high and her jaw taut.
‘Lady Eleanor Braeburn had married a Bloxford. In the tradition of the Bloxford family she had her portrait painted by one of the foremost artists of the day, none other than Thomas Gainsborough himself. I’ve no doubt you were thrilled, Lady Ruth, to find a link joining your family to the Earl of Bloxford and, of course, to Lady Caroline.’ She watched me with ice in her eyes.
‘And through you, they uncovered the nature of the portrait and the secret of the Bloxford Beauties. And Jarvis and von Graf must then have devised a plan. They knew that by hanging onto your tailcoats they could worm their way into Bloxford Hall. And once in situ, they had the chance to lay their hands on a work of art of enormous value: an early Gainsborough, unknown in the art world.’
‘You are twisting the truth, Major Lennox,’ Lady Ruth asserted with tightly controlled venom.
‘I think not, my lady,’ I replied. Ford moved forward in his seat again, but I frowned a warning and he sat back, then took his wife’s hand in his and squeezed it.
‘Von Graf met you, didn’t he, Dame Gabriel?’ I now turned toward her and she straightened up in her seat, ready to do battle. ‘He charmed you with his knowledge of opera and his handsome looks. I doubt it took him long to extract the secret of Crispin’s rather ingenious method of acquiring art through his opera company. By all accounts, Crispin was a dilettante and a collector. He had set up the Black Cat Art Gallery, which allowed the great and the good of the district to sell pieces discreetly. Crispin made sure he had first choice of the offerings and took a cut of the sales. He was actually doing much the same as Jarvis and von Graf, but he was doing it legitimately and honestly. Von Graf seduced you, didn't he, Dame Gabriel? You became lovers.’ My eyes remained upon her. ‘That’s why you conspired with him.’
‘Really,’ Ruth Chisholm snapped frostily. ‘How vulgar.’
‘I – we … Major Lennox, you are indiscreet,’ Dame Gabriel stammered.
‘Quiet, woman,’ the Briga
dier suddenly bellowed. ‘You are a brazen hussy, madam.’
Dame Gabriel’s chins wobbled, and then she burst into tears.
‘Oh do shut up, Gabby,’ Andrew Dundale snapped. ‘Pull yourself together.’
‘Quiet!’ Swift stood up and yelled. ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we.’
‘Yes,’ Caroline interrupted, ‘because it’s my wedding day and I don’t see why it should be spoiled by that dreadful old bat. Why don’t you just arrest her and let us all leave?’ She was fuming, but I could hear the tremble of anxiety in her voice.
‘Silence!’ I yelled. Good Lord, it was turning into mayhem. ‘Sit down, now.’
They sat down and mostly shut up. I tried again.
‘Von Graf saw opportunity in abundance. The Cotswolds are awash with old mansions, virtual treasure houses, and many of them are owned by people with diminishing incomes. Control of the Noble Opera would garner an entrée to those houses, many of them ripe for exploitation. And of course, there was the greatest prize of all – the Gainsborough. For that, von Graf needed access to this house. He already had Ruth’s trust, but gaining the Brigadier’s trust would take more than charm alone. Jarvis was already masquerading as a man of God, and how better to wheedle his way into the family’s confidence than as their Chaplain.’
I paused for a glass of water and stared around me. Up to now, little of this had come as news to anyone, except possibly Benson. The poor old chap was standing by the door, sleeves falling over his wrists, bent of back and knee. I wished he’d sit down. I let loose a sigh and turned back to the assembled throng.
‘Von Graf and Jarvis devised a plan, as sickening as it was simple. Murder Bartholomew and step into his shoes. And having murdered once, the second time becomes so much easier, and so eventually Crispin’s death followed.’
A gasp rippled around the room as the weight of the words fell.
‘That’s not true! It isn’t true, you dreadful man,’ Dame Gabriel shrieked.
‘Yes, it is,’ Andrew Dundale got up and moved to another seat. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t see it before, you wicked harpy. Poor Crispin. You’re as bad as they are,’ he shouted at her from a safe distance.
The Black Cat Murders: A Cotswolds Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 2) Page 21