The Bagington Hall Mystery

by N. C. Lewis

  "Returning from Norwich, sir."

  "Ah, sad news strikes hardest when one is toiling away from home." The chief inspector, motionless, continued to face the window. "This is a rather sticky wicket, a difficult business, indeed. But I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation."

  It seemed like a strange way to proceed, but I knew from reading newspaper reports there was always a method to a great detective's madness.

  The chief inspector said, "Sergeant, I consider Sir Sandoe a friend. He overdoes it; I've told him as much… at a business meeting in Norwich, I suppose?"

  Sergeant Pender gave a little cough. "No, sir. At the races."

  The chief inspector spun around. He reached for his top pocket then for his left side pocket, finally his right. He pulled out a ragged betting slip. "Knew it was in here somewhere. Now, I wonder if Fancy Pants won, an insider tip from Sir Sandoe. Not that they've been much good of late."

  Sergeant Pender took a quick gulp from his mug and said, "Sir, I've taken statements."

  "Good." The chief inspector eased the betting slip back into his pocket. "There is no need to mention the whereabouts of Sir Sandoe in your notes. It is not relevant to today's events."

  "Are you sure, sir?"

  Chief Inspector Little tilted his chin upward. "Thanks to Lady Herriman, I have a full command of the facts. We know Miss Antoinette Sandoe disappeared around three years ago, believed to have run off with a disreputable fellow to America. We now know she never left the confines of these walls." He shook his head as if in disbelief. "I hope Sir Sandoe will find some relief in the knowledge his daughter's character remains intact."

  Dolly said, "That will also be of great comfort to Lady Herriman."

  Chief Inspector Little said, "Now I shall question the witnesses." He raised his index finger and pointed at me. "Mrs Mullins, can you walk me through your discovery."

  Sergeant Pender coughed. "Sir, that is Miss Maggie Darling."

  "Then who the devil is Mrs Mullins?"

  Mrs Mullins raised her hand and, still full of plum wine, giggled, "That would be me, Sir Sherlock."

  The chief inspector peered at the woman. "Ah, yes. Now tell me how you came to discover the body."

  She let out a drunken giggle. "Gawd help us! Do you want me magnifying glass?"

  Chief Inspector Little straightened. "What did you say?"

  "I didn’t discover no body. I discovered the person who found the body."

  Chief Inspector Little gave her an incredulous stare. "What on earth are you babbling about, woman?"

  Sergeant Pender said, "Miss Darling found the body, sir."

  I raised my hand. "That's me."

  The chief inspector's mouth dropped open. "You discovered the body?"

  "That is so."

  His forehead wrinkled. "On the bed, if I recall the facts of the case correctly."

  "Under the blankets."

  "Ah, yes." He closed his eyes as a child might to block out the scary dark. Then in a halting voice he said, "Did you notice anything unusual in the room?"

  "No."

  "Good, good." Now came his second question, once again asked in a halting voice. "Or on the bed?"

  "No."

  "Good, very good." The chief inspector's voice brightened. "What about the body? Anything strange about it?"

  I said, "Perhaps you should take a look for yourself. I'm not an expert in such things."

  The chief inspector's eyes narrowed. "Please answer my question. Was there anything strange about the body?"

  "I didn’t hang around to investigate. I'm not a police officer."

  He changed the subject. "And the air, did it smell of anything unusual?"

  "Mould, damp, and the like."

  "But that is not unusual, is it?"

  "No."

  There was a pause while Chief Inspector Little looked slowly around, first at me, then at the other ladies sitting at the table and finally at Sergeant Pender. He touched his cheek. "Sergeant Pender, we can put this one away."

  "We can, sir?"

  "Have your report on my desk in the morning."

  The sergeant took a swig from his mug. "What should I write, sir?"

  "Good heavens, man, it is obvious. The eyewitness found nothing unusual about the body or surrounding area. Further, we believe the body is of Antoinette Sandoe. Of course, Dr Swensen will confirm. Now think, man. What do you think happened to the poor girl?"

  "I dunno."

  Chief Inspector Little lowered his angular brows. His squirrel-like expression became intense. "Antoinette wandered into the room and climbed the stairs. Do you see it?"

  "Ah, yes, sir, that makes sense."

  Chief Inspector Little smiled. "Now what does the bed tell us?"

  "That she sat down, sir."

  "Exactly! I'll make a detective of you yet." The chief inspector's eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands. "Antoinette sat and began to sing."

  "Sing, sir?"

  "Lady Herriman says she loved to croon popular songs sitting on her bed. Sad songs about things going wrong and people dying. I suspect when she finished singing, she lay down and fell asleep."

  "And never woke up," added Sergeant Pender, helpfully.

  "Not quite so fast, Officer. We first need to tackle the question as to why she entered the room."

  "Righto, sir."

  The chief inspector raised his index finger like a science professor about to make a key point. "We must remember Antoinette Sandoe was a lady. It doesn’t take much to realise she entered the room for a little solitude and prayer. I suspect it was then she changed her mind about running away. Then after a little more singing and prayer, she found herself trapped in the room."

  "Ah, yes, sir. I kind of see your logic… and there was a small hole at the bottom of the door. The door that led to the attic."

  "A hole in the door, you say?"

  "Yes, sir," said Sergeant Pender. "Rotten wood, tiny hole. Antoinette must have caused it in her desperate attempt to get out. But she was too slight a figure to shove the entire door open."

  "Bingo! Add that to your report. I shall investigate the door before I leave." The chief inspector shook his head. "Nothing but a tragic accident. Once Dr Swensen has finished his examination, I'll pass on the report to the county coroner, and we'll close the case. Lady Herriman and Sir Richard Sandoe have been through quite enough turmoil."

  Chapter 24

  Uncle Tristan put his foot against the pedal, and the old motorcar took off along the narrow lane, flinging up a trail of dust in its wake.

  I jammed my feet against the floorboards, hands curled tight, with Swiftee clinging to my lap. What with the cider still sloshing around in my stomach, the discovery of Antoinette Sandoe's body, my new kitten, and the Norfolk countryside whistling by, I was in a daze.

  Uncle Tristan wound his window down, tipped his head back, and let out a drunken roar. "This is the life, Maggie, can't beat the Norfolk countryside."

  The road opened up before us. Green and brown fields, hedgerows with cattle grazing. It wasn't until Uncle Tristan slowed the motorcar on a tight bend that I spoke.

  "I can't decide what to make of today. It's been so confusing."

  Uncle Tristan turned to face me. "A wonderful day to leave the past."

  I said, "Keep your eyes on the road, Uncle."

  He yanked on the steering wheel. The motorcar swerved. "Tell me again about Lady Herriman and the body."

  As he slowed the vehicle to a crawl, I recounted all that had happened. When I finished, he let out a long sigh, and a hint of apprehension entered his voice.

  "Maggie, are you sure it is the body of Antoinette Sandoe?"

  "Who else could it be?"

  He shrugged and said in a wistful voice, "I don't know… "

  The motorcar came to a stop while a herd of cattle crossed in front of us. The farmer gave a wave as he hurried the stragglers on.

  Uncle Tristan said, "If it really is Miss Antoinette, things might
be slow around Tristan's Hands for a while. I expect Sir Sandoe will put a hold on any hiring, at least until after the funeral and mourning period. I can pay your board at Mrs Rusbridger's for a week or two, but with this turn in events… maybe you should go back to London."

  The thought had entered my mind. There were always jobs to be had in the capital city if you looked hard enough. The problem was wages were barely enough to cover your living costs. And there were the crowds and the noise. Here in Cromer, the air was fresh and everything so still. I'd been away for seventeen years and wasn’t ready to go back.

  But if Uncle Tristan wanted me to return... I said, "There is always Mr Pritchard's pie-and-mash shop."

  Uncle Tristan let out an angry grunt. "On bended knee back into that dog's den, eh? I thought my sister made you of sterner stuff."

  He was right. I said, "Mother brought me up to be independent, so did Father. No, I'm not ready to leave Cromer. I want to help you build the business."

  Uncle Tristan's lips curved into a grin. "Very well. It is gruel for us both until our boat comes in."

  "When do you think that will be?"

  "I shall find an opportune time to speak with Sir Sandoe soon after Antoinette's body is laid to rest."

  Uncle Tristan steered the motorcar around another tight bend. The road dipped down, running alongside a narrow stream. He said, "Did Chief Inspector Little give any word on his investigation?"

  I let out a sigh. "The man is hardly Sherlock Holmes."

  Uncle Tristan eased the motorcar up a steep incline. "It seems you have his number."

  I said, "Do you know he will close the case tomorrow?"

  "Thank God. That means the funeral will be this week. Only a few days on gruel, my girl!"

  "The thing I don't understand," I said, speaking slowly as my thoughts formed, "is why the chief inspector didn’t visit the body."

  Uncle Tristan slammed on the brakes. "Why not?"

  "Lumbago."

  "Eh?"

  "The chief inspector didn’t want to climb the stairs on account of it. Anyway, he believes the death was a tragic accident. He might be right, but what if…" My voice trailed off. I wasn’t ready to speculate just yet.

  Uncle Tristan gave me a knowing look. "Maggie, this is Cromer where things get swept under the carpet. A young lad lost his feet last harvest. The official line is he was drunk, but I heard it was faulty machinery. The landed gentry get away with all sorts that would put the ordinary man behind bars. One rule for the rich and another for the poor. That has always been the way."

  I said, "All I'm saying is that Chief Inspector Little should have ruled out all other possibilities before jumping to the conclusion that it was an accident."

  Uncle Tristan put his foot on the gas. The motorcar shot forward. "Do you know Sir Sandoe didn't get along with his daughter?"

  "That's not a surprise," I said, hanging on to the seat and Swiftee. The vehicle rocked from side to side. I stifled a sneeze. "The man's views are from the ancient past."

  Uncle Tristan yanked the steering wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a pothole. "They fought over their political differences, but that wasn't their biggest problem. Miss Antoinette Sandoe"—he spoke slowly like he thought I needed time to digest his words—"wasn't Sir Richard Sandoe's child."

  Astonished, I said, "What are you saying?"

  "Sir Richard was Lady Sandoe's second husband. Antoinette was her only child. Her first husband died in the war. Sir Richard married into Lady Sandoe's money."

  The road levelled off. The motorcar picked up even more speed.

  I said, "What happened to Lady Sandoe?"

  "Vanished about five years ago. Local rumour says she was taken by Black Shuck on account of marrying beneath her status."

  Chapter 25

  I'd heard many stories of Black Shuck when I was a child. The tales recounted around an evening fire, in the dead of winter, involved a shaggy, black dog with fiery eyes. Black Shuck was responsible for uncountable mysteries in Norfolk.

  And in my family too.

  When Mother's apple pie went missing, Father said it was Black Shuck, and that everyone knows dogs have a sweet tooth. Then there was Father's ragged cloth cap. It vanished one night from the coat stand. Mother said Black Shuck took it for a dead squirrel and tossed it into the sea. Now Lady Sandoe had been taken by the creature, but that wasn't an opinion I could accept.

  "Surely there was a police investigation?"

  Uncle Tristan let out a cynical chuckle. "A flurry of activity over a week or two, but they never found any trace of her. There was more interest by the local constabulary in finding Albina's Hoard."

  "Albina's what?"

  "Ancient Roman treasure buried on the Bagington Hall estate. There was an article about it in the parish magazine. Poked around the estate after dark myself but didn’t turn up anything but mud."

  I feared Uncle had gold fever and changed the subject back to Lady Sandoe. "Did the police find a body?"

  He shrugged. "The woman simply disappeared. It was as if Black Shuck devoured her, bones and all!"

  "That is a rather odd coincidence," I said, my mind whirring. "Both mother and daughter dead in a handful of years."

  Uncle Tristan took both hands off the steering wheel and waved them in the air as if it might help me understand his point. "Maggie, let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know what happened to Lady Sandoe. The woman might still be alive. She could be in America."

  There wasn’t much chance of that in my mind, but I said, "Uncle, keep your eyes on the road and hands on the steering wheel. Did Sir Sandoe inherit his wife's wealth?"

  Uncle Tristan replied, "I don't know."

  I'd read stories in London newspapers of husbands killing their wives for their money, with the help of corrupt police officers, and said, "Did the police investigate Lady Sandoe's disappearance?"

  "Chief Inspector Little took personal charge."

  I shook my head in shock. "Do you know the chief inspector is good friends with Sir Sandoe?"

  Uncle Tristan nodded. "They are often together at the horse races. It is a small community. Everyone knows everyone else."

  This didn’t smell right. I said, "Don't you think his friendship might cloud his judgement as a police officer?"

  "What are you saying?"

  "The whole situation makes me uneasy. If it were natural causes, then so be it. But if there was foul play, Antoinette deserves justice."

  It was as if my words were bolts of electricity. Uncle Tristan stopped the vehicle, flung open the motorcar door, and pranced back and forth at the side of the road waving his hands about as if on fire.

  When he returned to the motorcar, he said, "Bravo, Maggie! You sound like your mother. My sister always had a keen sense of justice. Wrongdoings got under her skin, and her ideas to put things right always seemed to involve me and trouble! Now what are you saying?"

  I knew what I thought, and so did Uncle, but I didn’t want to say. "I don't know."

  His eyes drifted skyward in thought. Then his voice dropped. "Maggie, you might be onto something."

  Swiftee wriggled.

  I sneezed.

  Uncle slammed his hands on the dashboard.

  I jumped.

  "Maggie, you didn’t ask me about my day."

  "You made me jump for that?"

  "Ask me?"

  "Uncle!"

  "Okay, I'll tell you anyway. Do you know Frank Perry?"

  "I was there when he got into the scuffle with the gatekeeper."

  "But did you see everything?"

  I rolled my eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone. "Frank Perry climbed on the back of the truck and jumped off. Then he got into a scuffle with the gatekeeper. I saw the whole thing."

  "You missed something."

  "Don't be silly. I can even recall the words of George Edwards: 'We are 'ere to peaceable protest.' What on earth could I have missed?"

  "When I worked as Lord Avalon, Man of Mystery, I learn
ed to observe everything. Magicians have to see what others miss."

  "I'm all ears."

  "When Frank jumped off the truck, he crouched low and pulled something from his jacket pocket. I saw the flash of silver and kept my eyes focused." Uncle Tristan reached into his cape and yanked out a silver envelope. "I watched this flutter to the ground and picked it up during the scuffle with the gatekeeper's men."

  I gaped at Uncle Tristan in astonished disbelief. "Sergeant Pender mentioned Frank had a letter for Sir Sandoe, but his pockets were empty!"

  Uncle waved the envelope. "Well, here it is."

  I snatched a hand at the envelope and missed. "What does it say?"

  "Maggie! You can't expect me to open another man's private correspondence. I shall return it to Mr Frank Perry at the first available opportunity."

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, there was an excited buzz in the small dining room at the boarding house. Mrs Rusbridger flitted around the long single table with a tray of breakfast plates. Although there were only four guests, everyone talked at once and about one thing—the events at Bagington Hall.

  I sat quietly, eating a bowl of porridge, while they continued their conversation.

  "Did you hear," said a long-faced woman with a little sour mouth, "that the servant's room was filled with bodies. Wall to ceiling, like a church crypt."

  "Oh my goodness," replied her companion, a stout woman with small eyes. "A gentleman close to Bagington Hall called out to me in the street yesterday evening. He mentioned the place has always been short of staff. Now I can see why. Did you know Sir Sandoe's wife disappeared a few years back?"

  "Dear God!" The exclamation came from the long-faced woman with the little sour mouth. "Three shillings they'll find her body amongst the bones in the servant's room. Any takers?"

  There were none.

  "The whole thing is a disgrace!" The third woman, tall and elegant with full eyebrows, added, "There'll be no arrests, you know that, don't you? Sir Sandoe has the local constabulary in his back pocket. I doubt we'll even read about it in the newspapers. In a week it will have died down, in a month forgotten, and in a year the cover-up will be complete, and locals will put it down to Black Shuck."