Walking Into Murder

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Laura looked up as the door burst open. Lord Torrington stood there, holding the tea tray and smiling affably. His large bulk seemed to fill the doorway.

  For the first time since she had known her, Laura saw the grande dame’s face collapse with an emotion so strong she had no power to control it. Fear. The Baroness was terrified.

  Abruptly, menace pervaded the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Lord Torrington set the tray down on an old table near the door. He was still smiling affably. Laura relaxed a little. Maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her. She glanced at the Baroness and changed her mind. The grande dame hid her terror well, but it was still there under her guarded look. Laura’s tension deepened.

  “Thought I’d save Murphy the climb,” Lord Torrington announced genially. “She’s looking a bit peaked, so I gave her a cup of tea and sent her off to have a rest. Ought to get off her feet once a day, I told her. None of us as young as we once were.”

  “That was thoughtful of you, Charles,” the Baroness replied. Lord Torrington looked startled at her use of the name Charles.

  “It’s quite all right,” the Baroness assured him. “Laura already knows a great deal. She has no intention of using that knowledge.” She stared at him intensely as she spoke, as if willing him to agree.

  “Just as you say, my dear,” Lord Torrington replied, and began to pour the tea into first one cup, then the other two.

  The Baroness watched and so did Laura. She could see no sleight of hand to suggest that he was pouring powder into the cup intended for her. Did that mean it was already there? Or was she imagining things again?

  No, she wasn’t. Milk and sugar – and possibly ground-up sleeping pills – were already in the cups, as the ritual of English tea making required. They went in first and the tea was poured over them.

  A chill settled over Laura despite the heat of the attic room. Could he really mean to kill her?

  With a gallant gesture Lord Torrington handed a cup to the Baroness. Then he crossed the room to hand one to Laura. His back was to the tea tray.

  “Thank you, Charles,” the Baroness said politely. Her hand flashed out as she spoke. With a deft movement she put her cup noiselessly back on the tray and took the one Lord Torrington had poured for himself.

  Laura’s eyes widened. Was that a warning not to drink her tea? The Baroness looked straight at her and Laura knew that it was. But what did it mean? Was the Baroness on her side, after all?

  She picked up her tea, pretended to take a sip, and then managed to pour some of it into a box of old clothes while Lord Torrington returned to the tray. The Baroness saw her do it, and looked relieved.

  Laura watched Lord Torrington surreptitiously as he sipped his tea. He looked younger now, and very alert. Why hadn’t she noticed the intelligence in those sleepy blue eyes before? Probably he was far more capable than he pretended to be. He knew the value of fine art, too. The Baroness had just told her that. Maybe he had been working with Antonia and Stewart all along, only none of them had guessed. If so, he was vulnerable to exposure on two counts: his involvement in the forgeries and the all important secret of his true identity. Both were excellent motives for murder.

  Lord Torrington interrupted her thoughts. “Well, all settled now, problems over,” he said cheerfully. “Must say, Laura, you’ve been a great help. And Thomas. Good to have the foxes out of the henhouse finally, so to speak. Had to get rid of them of course, but hard to know how.”

  “Thank you, Lord Torrington,” Laura said faintly. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly get out the words. She coughed harshly. “I’m thirsty,” she explained, pretending to take a big sip of her tea.

  Lord Torrington looked pleased. Smiling, he turned to the Baroness and patted her arm. As he did so, Laura quickly dumped out more of her tea.

  “No need to worry any more, m’ dear,” he told the Baroness gruffly. “All over now. Antonia’s gone, Roger too. “Good thing, too,” he added. “Didn’t know one end of a shovel from another.” Laura flinched, remembering the bloodied shovel and Morris’s battered head.

  Her eyes widened in shock. Could Lord Torrington have done that to him? Antonia and Roger still insisted they hadn’t killed Morris.

  “Stewart too,” Lord Torrington grumbled. “Fine painter but a terrible groom. Not good for the horses. Got to find one who knows his stuff. Have a superb pair of trotters in mind, doncherno. May need help with them.”

  “I am indeed relieved to think that we might be able to lead normal lives for a time,” the Baroness said with a trace of her old acerbic humor. “These last days have been most trying.”

  “There, there, m’ dear,” Lord Torrington comforted, patting her hand again. “All simmered down now. Got to get you a rest.” Tucking a finger under her chin, he kissed her on the lips. Laura upended her cup into the clothes.

  “Maybe a little trip together, eh?” Lord Torrington continued. “Haven’t been away for a long time now. Due for a holiday, I’d say. Greece, maybe, or the Mediterranean.”

  He acted as if he knew she was aware of his real relationship with the Baroness, Laura realized. How long had he been outside the door listening as the grande dame told their story? The tea had felt quite cool when she had held the cup to her lips, so he must have been lurking there for quite a while. What else had he heard?

  The Baroness noticed, too, and for a second the terror was back in her face. She controlled it quickly, and turned to look straight at Laura. Her gaze was so intense that Laura was unable to look away. And then she realized that there was a message in those brilliant eyes. Take advantage of the opportunity I have offered you, the Baroness was telling her. It is time to get on with the play. You must be the actress now. If you can do that, you might save your life.

  It was a chilling message.

  Laura took a deep breath, trying to control her racing heart and the thudding in her veins. Never in her life had she been so terrified. All that lay between her and death was this flimsy chance.

  She must try anyway. Yawning ostentatiously, she slumped against the pile of musty clothes. “Sleepy,” she muttered apologetically. “So sleepy suddenly…”

  She yawned again, a real yawn this time that stretched her mouth so wide it hurt, and sank further into the soft clothes. As she did so, she pulled a lacy bit of blouse over her face in a way that she hoped looked inadvertent. She intended to watch as well as listen, and she didn’t want Lord Torrington to see her alert eyes.

  One limb at a time, she willed her muscles to go limp, the way she’d been taught years ago in a yoga class. How strange that those half-forgotten lessons might save her life now. Perhaps there was more to yoga that she had thought.

  After a suitable interval while sleep presumably overtook Laura, the Baroness took her cue. “You know this must stop, Charles. It is getting out of hand,” she rebuked, taking a sip of her tea.

  Lord Torrington looked astonished. “Of course it will stop, my dear. Very soon, I promise you. I thought you understood that. But I had to do what was necessary to protect us. People who know about us cannot be permitted to speak. We have no choice.”

  Laura realized that his voice, even his diction, had changed completely now that he thought she was asleep. He was no longer a typical country gentleman who mumbled in short “barks”, but a sophisticated man with a clipped upper-class accent and a mellifluous voice that would have enhanced any Shakespearean role.

  “Antonia could never keep her thoughts to herself under pressure, and Roger was a weakling,” he went on. “I dared not take a chance. It is not difficult to arrange accidents when you know how, but I was damned lucky that this one worked as well as it did. One can never be quite sure until afterward, which is a nuisance.”

  How cold-blooded he sounded! Laura tried not to shudder. So Lord Torrington had engineered the van’s crash, probably by tinkering with the brakes as Roger said. She peeked at the Baroness and saw that she was startled. Maybe she had
n’t thought of that possibility.

  The grande dame’s surprise showed for only an instant. “And the others?” she prompted.

  “Damned cook was trying to blackmail us,” Lord Torrington burst out, reverting to his bark-like speech in his agitation. “Can’t have that! Had to be stopped. Would have stopped it myself but Morris gave her a good push first. He liked that sort of thing. It did the trick, too. Great help, that, since I didn’t have to. Morris was a menace with that knife of his, but he had his uses. Still, he had to go in the end.”

  He glanced at Laura, now supine on the floor, before he continued. “We had to get rid of him. You know how volatile he was.” His tone was persuasive and entirely reasonable. “Morris knew too damned much about everything, and he could wriggle information out of Antonia like a snake charmer. He would have blackmailed us as well if I had given him the chance. Stewart is hopeless at that sort of thing and so was Roger, under all that bluster, and Antonia didn’t even want to hear about it. So I had to. No choice.”

  He shook his head sadly, appealing to her. “I don’t like it, you know, but it simply had to be done. Morris was a devil,” he added. The venom in his voice made Laura cringe.

  “And once it starts it’s hard to stop,” the Baroness murmured, so softly Laura barely made out the words. “I should have realized that for you it would be like an addiction.” For an instant, her face was desolate.

  “Nonsense,” Lord Torrington repeated, reverting again to his country speech. “That’s the lot, I should think. No need for any more after today, and that will be over soon. So cheer up, darling girl. After this, everything will go back to normal.

  “Except better, much better.” His tone was unabashedly cheerful, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Plenty of money, an excellent stable, valuable art collection. Paintings hardly hurt at all. In the back, tied in. Antonia was always good about that.

  “All ours again, too,” he added triumphantly. “Adrian left them to you in his will, m’ dear, did you know that? Solicitor told me in confidence. Poor man – shot in the chest as well as hit on the head, so he didn’t last long.”

  He smiled affectionately at the Baroness. “No more nosy guests, either,” he added with a snort of disdain. “Still, I rather liked the American woman over there. Thomas too; he was a great help to start with. Showed up Antonia at least. Too bad they have to go.”

  The Baroness didn’t respond directly. "The tea is very bitter,” she commented instead, taking another sip. “I feel remarkably sleepy.” Suiting action to words, she closed her eyes. Perhaps she couldn’t bear to look at him any more, Laura thought with sympathy.

  Lord Torrington looked uncomfortable. “Never could fool you, could I? Sorry about that, my dear. But I couldn’t let your tender feelings get in the way now. There is too much at stake to take any chances.”

  He indicated her cup. “I only put a small amount in yours. You’ll soon be right as rain again.”

  Alarm shot thorough Laura. That meant Lord Torrington wasn’t getting a very strong dose of whatever it was. She had hoped he would soon be incapacitated or at least weakened.

  The Baroness didn’t answer. Laura stole another look at her and saw that her eyes were still closed and her face devoid of expression.

  Lord Torrington stood up. “Time to finish up. Won’t take long,” he assured the unresponsive Baroness.

  Crossing the room, he hauled Laura to her feet and grabbed her under the shoulders. Still feigning unconsciousness, she let him pull her out the door to the stairs. Clumsily, she let one foot slide after the other as he half-lifted, half-dragged her down one step at a time, grunting with the effort. Maybe she could wear him out, Laura thought desperately. Unobtrusively, she allowed her feet to tangle in the banister, then wished she hadn’t when one of them got stuck and he yanked it out with rough impatience.

  Where was everyone anyway? Surely someone had heard their noisy progress down the stairs. And then she remembered. No one else was here. Thomas was probably still with the police, Nigel and Catherine were in the woods looking for suitable sculpting stones and Mrs. Murphy was no doubt sleeping off her own cup of drugged tea. Even Angelina was away, so another unexpected rescue from that quarter wasn’t going to materialize.

  Laura decided the circumstances were dire enough to mention that Antonia was alive. If she wanted to live, she had no other option. “Talked to Antonia,” she mumbled, trying to make her voice sound drugged. “Didn’t die…talking…police…”

  Lord Torrington stiffened. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

  Laura frowned, as if unable to think clearly. “Thomas… Thomas said…”

  “Thomas told you? Damnation!” Lord Torrington grabbed her arm so tightly that Laura cried out. “Down!” he ordered, and dragged her toward the last flight of stairs. Laura let him propel her awkwardly down, certain that if she didn’t he would simply push her instead. She thought she heard quiet footsteps behind them. The Baroness?

  The front door was already open and Lord Torrington pushed her through. Thomas’s car was parked just in front of it. The motor was purring and Thomas was lying motionless on the back seat. Laura’s heart sank. He must have come back, and Lord Torrington had found him. What had he done to him? How was she to get out of whatever it was he planned to do next with Thomas unconscious or even dead?

  She tried again. “No point,” she muttered. “They know…police waiting… over there…” Vaguely she pointed into the trees, wishing that her bluff was true.

  Lord Torrington peered into the woods. There was no sign of movement, not even an unusual shape. He yanked her upright. “A bluff,” he said furiously. “Always knew you were too smart for your own good.”

  Viciously he shoved her into the front seat. Laura’s head cracked hard against the steering wheel, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. Then the car started moving and she jerked herself upright.

  She froze, horrified. The car was pointing straight down the hill toward the big tree at the bottom, the one that Lord Torrington feared had fallen over and brought down the telephone wires.

  The car gathered speed as it careened down the hill. Grabbing the wheel, Laura yanked with all her strength. It was useless. The steering was broken. She pumped on the brakes instead. Maybe if she brought the car to a screeching halt it would swerve. The brakes didn’t work either. She tried the handbrake, but that had been disabled too. Desperate, she flung the door wide open. Maybe she could jump out, open the back door and haul Thomas out somehow. Could she do it in time? Do it at all?

  The car suddenly twisted sideways. Laura tensed. Why had it done that? She looked at the door. It was bent backward and down, as if it had become stuck on some large and unyielding object that had wrenched it away from the car. It was dragging against the ground, making a ghastly scraping sound.

  She watched wide-eyed, caught between horror and wonder as the car twisted again and headed drunkenly for a field filled with grazing sheep and cows. It slowed, bumped heavily over the earth, splashing mud all over her as it ground through the puddles, then came to a gentle stop against a bale of hay.

  The sheep scattered, bleating indignantly, but the cows barely moved. If they were startled by the sight of a car leaning against the haystack, they didn’t show it. Lowering their heads, they resumed their contented munching.

  Laura sat perfectly still, frozen in place. Shouting aroused her and she stumbled out of the car, still stiff with shock. Who was shouting?

  Lord Torrington. Screaming obscenities, he ran headlong into the house and came back with his shotgun.

  Holding it straight in front of him, he lumbered down the hill towards the field. His face was purple with rage. “Not going to get away with this,” he shouted. “Not after all this… get you yet…”

  The Baroness came up behind him and clutched his arm. “No Charles, no more. You can’t do that. They’re here, watching. Thomas called them.”

  Lord Torrington see
med not to hear her. Brushing her hands away, he kept running. A rock tripped him and he fell. He got up again, swearing mightily, but Laura saw that his legs were unsteady. The Baroness stooped, picked up the rock and chased after him again.

  Why was she just standing here? Wrenching the back door open, Laura shook Thomas. Let him just be drugged, not dead…

  Moaning, he rubbed his eyes. He tried to sit and fell back again. “What’s happened?”

  “Lord Torrington, shotgun, after us,” Laura panted in staccato fashion as she struggled to haul him out of the car and onto his feet. “Get behind those bales of hay. Protect us.”

  Thomas looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Then her meaning dawned on him. He grabbed at his chest and Laura was afraid he was having a heart attack. Instead, he pulled out a whistle hanging around his neck and blew three long blasts.

  The sound pierced through Lord Torrington’s unintelligible curses and brought him to a startled stop. He peered around as if trying to get his bearings. Then his eyes focused on Laura and Thomas. Raising his shotgun triumphantly to his shoulder, he pointed it at them.

  Thomas moved – not toward the concealing bale of hay but up the hill toward Lord Torrington.

  “Thomas! You can’t get to him in time,” Laura screamed.

  He didn’t need to. The Baroness got there first. An expression of anguish so terrible Laura knew she would never forget the sight crossed her aristocratic face before she raised her arm and hit Lord Torrington over the head with the rock. The gesture seemed to Laura less an intent to harm than a benediction.