Bunburry--Murder in High Places

by Helena Marchmont

  The first notes of the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” thudded out.

  “Sorry,” said Marge. “My phone. Excuse me a second. Hello, Dorothy? Yes, yes, we are. No, you never said. We only knew the principle, not the specifics. That’s definite, is it? Right. I see. Oh? Elsie’s grand-daughter?” There was a lengthy pause while she listened to what the caller was saying.

  “She’s a sensible girl,” she concluded. “Yes, terrible. But that certainly casts – anyway, I’d better go, Mr Savile’s here and I’m sure he needs to get on. Yes, of course I’ll let you know. And thank you.”

  She ended the call.

  “That was Dorothy,” she said.

  Dorothy from the post office, who seemed to know everything about everybody.

  “Mr Savile,” she continued, “since we’re here, do you think you could introduce Liz and me to Dorian? We’re huge fans.”

  “I’m really not sure-” said David. Oscar realised his friend was taken aback by the insensitivity of the request.

  “I’m sure Dorian would love to meet them,” Alfie said. “A little bit of adoration will help cheer the mood.”

  Oscar saw a look of complicity pass between Alfie, Liz and Marge. The Bunburry Triangle was in operation.

  “You’re right,” said David. “Let’s go and find him.”

  “And I wonder, might we have some tea?” Marge went on.

  “Of course,” said David.

  “Is it Mrs Savile who deals with staffing matters? It’s just that Dorothy reminded me that our friend Elsie’s grand-daughter Charlene is working for you at the moment. She was here yesterday for the dinner, and she’s back again today. Elsie’s so proud of her. Perhaps she could bring the tea, and then we can tell Elsie we’ve seen her, and how well she did. Assuming she doesn’t spill the tea.”

  “Certainly.” David was polite but Oscar sensed his underlying exasperation.

  David led the way out, but when Oscar and Alfie paused to let the ladies precede them, Marge motioned them to go ahead and had a whispered conversation with Liz.

  Oscar lifted his eyebrows questioningly at his friend, but Alfie simply shrugged.

  The ladies had caught up by the time they reached the library. Dame Evadne was holding court, sitting in regal isolation on a leather sofa. There was a large glass-topped coffee table in front of her, and behind that, a group of the remaining guests in a respectful semi-circle. Paige and Dorian were seated by the window, and Anthea the suspected glue-sniffer investigated the library shelves.

  “Poor, poor Johnnie,” Dame Evadne was saying. “So terribly flat-footed. Ivor Brown said he had the most embarrassing legs imaginable.”

  Oscar realised with delighted shock that she was talking about Sir John Gielgud.

  “Let me introduce you to Dorian,” said David.

  “And then perhaps you could ask Mrs Savile to get Charlene to bring in the tea.” Marge wasn’t giving him an opportunity to forget.

  As they got closer to Dorian and his wife, Oscar saw that Paige was huddled into the side of her chair, looking almost as though she was trying to get away from her husband, while he was reaching towards her, his face tense. As he realised people were approaching, he snatched his hand back and his expression smoothed. Oscar was impressed by the speed of the change.

  “Dorian, these ladies are the Bunburry chapter of your fan club, Margaret Redwood and Clarissa Hopkins.”

  Dorian stood up and Marge immediately started gabbling about how marvellous he was.

  Liz, with an apologetic smile, said to David: “Some tea would be lovely.”

  The ladies were very good at getting what they wanted.

  “Your film,” said Marge, “is going to be a classic.”

  “A classic?” Dame Evadne’s voice rang out in much the same way as it did when she was Lady Bracknell. “Time alone will tell. But the black and white version, starring dear Larry – now that was classic. Do you know, the original plan was to cast Clark Gable as Darcy? An American playing an Englishman! Can you imagine?”

  “I can indeed,” said Dorian. “Robert Downey Jr, Johnny Depp. And a host of Americans playing Englishwomen, Meryl Streep, Renee Zellweger, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie …”

  “Dorian, you are thoroughly provoking,” complained Dame Evadne. “Come here and sit beside me.”

  “So that I can provoke you from closer by? Only too happy.”

  Oscar could see that the pair were enjoying putting on a show, the guests listening rapt to the stars’ banter. He guessed that Dame Evadne demanded more deference on set.

  “All of you!” she commanded imperiously, gesturing to Oscar’s group. “Come, come.”

  Oscar joined Alfie in adding chairs to the gathering, while Dorian was allowed to sit on the sofa.

  “Dame Evadne,” declared Marge, “I have not the slightest doubt that your film will become a classic, even greater than the Olivier version, because of your performance as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. If you don’t win Best Supporting Actress, there’s no justice in this world.”

  “Of course, in the 1940 film, Lady Catherine was played by Edna May Oliver. An American.” Dame Evadne shot a challenging look at Dorian before giving Marge a gracious smile. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Marge Redwood, and my friend Liz Hopkins. We make the fudge.”

  Oscar watched Liz blush delightedly as they all vied with one other to praise the fudge. Dame Evadne could only dream of such an enthusiastic response for her acceptance speech.

  “We got a bag to take home,” said someone, “but I’ve eaten it already.”

  “Then you’ll be glad to hear there’s still some left,” said Rosemary Savile, appearing through the door from the staff corridor with Phoebe and a young woman who Oscar deduced was Elsie’s grand-daughter Charlene. All three were carrying large silver trays with the tea things, including plates of fudge. David, carrying nothing, brought up the rear, but after a look from his wife, he rapidly placed some small tables beside the guests who were too far from the coffee table.

  Tea, cups and saucers, milk, sugar and fudge were quickly set out. The Saviles were obviously well used to organising things themselves, rather than being waited on hand and foot.

  But even so, there was a palpable difference between Phoebe and Charlene. Oscar reckoned they were around the same age, in their late teens, but Charlene lacked the Saviles’ daughter’s poise and self-confidence. She looked as though she wanted to do her work unobserved and then flee back downstairs.

  “Charlene!” said Liz and the girl flushed scarlet. “Lovely to see you.”

  Charlene mumbled something, obviously unsure as to whether she could talk to the guests.

  “Come and sit down,” said Liz. “Alfie, get Charlene a chair.”

  The girl was now in an agony of embarrassment, but Rosemary Savile was already getting chairs for herself and Phoebe. It struck Oscar that although Rosemary hadn’t met Liz and Marge before, she was much more attuned to following their lead than David. Perhaps it was some sort of female intuition.

  Marge took a sip of tea. “Goodness,” she said, “all of us sitting here in the library after a body was found in the hall. It’s like something out of Agatha Christie, waiting for the detective to reveal the murderer.”

  There were sharp intakes of breath. David Savile looked horrified. Rosemary looked intrigued.

  “Really, dear,” chided Liz. “You make it sound as though the police haven’t solved it. Someone is in custody.”

  “You’re right.” Marge sighed. “Of course everyone here will have been interviewed and told the police where they were at the time.”

  Alfie gave Oscar an almost imperceptible nod.

  “I haven’t been interviewed,” said Oscar.

  “Nor have I,” said Dame Evadne.

  “Me neither,” said Phoeb
e.

  “So who has been interviewed?” Dame Evadne said.

  “I’ve spoken to the police,” said Alfie.

  “I have too,” said David. “And so have some of the staff.”

  “And that’s it?” said Dame Evadne, in full Lady Bracknell mode. “Surely everyone should have been interviewed.”

  Oscar noticed Charlene shifting uncomfortably.

  “I had retired to bed,” Dame Evadne declared. She pointed at a guest. “You – where were you?”

  “On the terrace watching the fireworks, Dame Evadne.”

  “And you?”

  “I was with him, Dame Evadne.”

  Everyone had been watching the fireworks, apart from Liz and Marge who had been in Bunburry, Charlene who had been helping organise coffee in the library, and Rosemary who had been downstairs in the kitchen.

  “Well, there we are,” sighed Dame Evadne. “No further forward.”

  “No,” agreed Marge. “Although at least one person here is lying.”

  10. Detection in the Library

  Alfie kept a close watch on the group during Dame Evadne’s interrogation. The young waitress, Charlene, became increasingly agitated as it continued. When she was questioned, her answers were edgy and almost inaudible. Liz took her hand, apparently reassuring, patting it gently, but Alfie realised this also prevented Charlene from escaping.

  “Charlene,” said Marge. The girl cringed. Marge looked at her dispassionately. “I think it’s time to admit what happened last night.”

  Charlene squirmed on the chair, but Liz didn’t let go of her hand.

  “I told you,” Charlene mumbled. “I was bringing cups and glasses into the library.”

  “And was there anybody in the library?”

  “Yes. Mr Savile’s cousin.”

  “And how did he seem?”

  “He was angry. He told me to bring him a glass because he wanted some whisky.”

  Dame Evadne tutted.

  “So you were ready to serve the guests coffee and liqueurs when they came in after the fireworks,” Marge continued.

  “No, after I set things out, I got ready to go home. My dad was coming for me.” She glanced anxiously at Rosemary.

  Rosemary gave her an encouraging nod. “Yes, we knew you were leaving at ten thirty. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Charlene gulped and dropped her head, muttering something.

  “Speak up,” said Dame Evadne.

  “My dad was picking me up at the front of the house,” Charlene said, only slightly more loudly. “I knew I was supposed to use the staff corridor, but I went across the hall because it was the quickest way to the door. I didn’t think it would matter because everyone was watching the fireworks.”

  “But they weren’t, were they?” said Marge.

  Charlene shook her head.

  “So who did you see?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.” She paused, then added miserably, “Not to begin with.”

  Liz patted her hand again. “You’re doing very well, Charlene. Just tell us what happened in your own words.”

  “I heard two people arguing. At the top of the stairs. I still had to change into my boots, but I was worried in case they saw me, so I went into the alcove near the door.”

  There was silence from the others. Alfie quickly glanced round the room. A muscle was pulsing in Dorian’s jaw.

  “So you put your boots on and you left.”

  “No. I … I listened.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  Charlene gave a small whimper. “Because of what they were saying. I’m sorry.”

  Liz patted her hand. “No need to be sorry, dear. This is very helpful. So do you know who these two people were?”

  Charlene nodded. “When I was in the alcove, I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. It was Mrs Tennison. And Mrs Stevens.”

  “That’s not true!” said Dorian loudly. “It couldn’t have been Paige. She was with me the whole time the fireworks were on. Weren’t you, darling?”

  “You were standing beside me,” said Oscar slowly. “And David. We were talking about Japanese art. Paige was with us when you introduced me to Dame Evadne, but I can’t remember whether she was still with us during the fireworks.”

  David hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “Of course she was there,” snapped Dorian. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Alfie remembered how he had failed to register her presence when he had first met Dorian. She could easily have been there and simply gone unnoticed.

  “So what makes you think the person with Mrs Tennison was Mrs Stevens?” asked Marge.

  “I recognised her. And because of what Mrs Tennison said.”

  Dorian jumped to his feet. “I don’t know why we’re listening to this. She’s making the whole thing up. Charlie Tennison’s probably paid her to do it – we all know what he’s like.”

  “Sit down.” David Savile’s voice cut across him. “Charlie Tennison is my cousin, and if there’s anything to suggest he shouldn’t have been arrested, I want to know about it.”

  Reluctantly, Dorian sank back on to his chair.

  Liz was at her most comforting. “You’re being very brave, Charlene. And Mr Savile’s just explained how important it is to hear what you have to say. Tell us about the conversation.”

  “I can’t,” Charlene whispered.

  “Get it over with, dear, and you’ll feel much better. I promise.”

  “I really can’t. It was awful.”

  “Just tell me, dear. It’s all right, nothing you say will shock me.”

  That was probably true, thought Alfie.

  Charlene lowered her head so that she couldn’t see anybody. “Mrs Tennison said … Mrs Tennison said … She said that Dorian Stevens was the best lover she’d ever had and he could go on for hours and hours. And then she said he told her he was bored of his wife because she only did vanilla sex, and he only slept with her when he couldn’t get anyone else. And Mrs Stevens was crying.”

  Paige was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks, her shoulders heaving.

  “And then?” Liz prompted.

  “Mrs Stevens called her an evil bitch.” Charlene said something else but so low that it couldn’t be heard.

  “Sorry, dear, you’ll have to speak up a little.”

  This time it came out almost as a shriek. “And she slapped her across the face.”

  “She didn’t mean it, did you, darling?” shouted Dorian. “It was that woman’s lies, they upset her so much, it was instinctive, the whole thing was an accident, not deliberate.”

  Alfie was shocked to hear what had happened, but even more shocked that Charlene had witnessed the fall? Murder? Manslaughter? And had alerted nobody. Perhaps if Isobel had been found earlier, she could have been saved. But by the time Charlie Tennison was found with his wife’s body, it was half an hour after she had fallen.

  “Charlene,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “After the slap, why didn’t you go and get help?”

  Charlene gazed at him pleadingly. “I thought I might get in trouble for being in the hall. I didn’t want anybody to see me. And my dad was waiting for me. I had to go.”

  This was beyond belief. “You didn’t even check whether she was still alive?”

  She looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. “Of course she was alive.”

  “And you just left her?”

  “Charlene, dear.” Liz’s voice was perfectly calm. “Help us to get this straight. There was the unpleasant discussion between Mrs Tennison and Mrs Stevens. And then Mrs Stevens slapped Mrs Tennison-”

  There was a gasp from Paige, and Charlene said, “No, she didn’t. It was Mrs Tennison who slapped Mrs Stevens. For calling her an evil bitch.”

&
nbsp; “And then what did Mrs Stevens do to Mrs Tennison?”

  “Nothing,” said Charlene. “She was crying. She went away down the corridor. Mrs Tennison was going to come down stairs, and I was scared she would see me, and I ran out to meet my dad.”

  Dorian looked dazed. “You didn’t-?”

  “I didn’t what?” Paige flared. “You thought I’d killed your mistress? Is that why you’ve been telling everyone I was with you all the time at the fireworks?”

  “You were crying. You were crying all night. You wouldn’t talk to me. I thought you-” His voice tailed into silence.

  Paige ignored him. She turned to the group, tears still glistening on her cheeks, her expression defiant. “Yes, I went to the firework display. With my husband. And then I wanted to go back to the room, to the bathroom. I was halfway up the stairs when Isobel Tennison came out of her room and went to the top of the staircase. She seemed to be looking for someone.”

  She was looking for me, thought Alfie.

  “I said to her: ‘If you’re looking for my husband, he’s no longer available.’ And I think you know the rest of the conversation.”

  “Darling.” Dorian’s voice was shaking. “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about all this. You really thought I was having an affair with Isobel Tennison?”

  She gave a short laugh. “You mean you weren’t?”

  “Of course I wasn’t. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, all the gossip is pure fantasy. People get paid for telling lies to the tabloids, it’s nothing but an incentive to make things up. That woman hounded me, got a kick out of pretending there was something going on between us. And then – those vile things she said - my darling, I know the woman’s dead, but that is unforgivable.”

  He looked at his wife with such love and honesty that Alfie couldn’t imagine how Paige had doubted him.

  Marge was less susceptible to the tenderness of the moment. “So who did push Isobel downstairs?”

  “Anthea,” said Liz.

  Anthea looked startled. “I didn’t push her downstairs.”

  “Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to suggest you did. I was just trying to attract your attention. You were looking for glue before the dinner. Why was that?”