The Major cleared his throat, producing a card from the pocket of his battered green velvet jacket. “Righto – just to get you all thinking, here’s clue number one: HERBS TO INFUSE THE POT, TO GIVE A FIG FOR OLD BLACKSTOCK.”
Before the words had even registered in her obfuscated brain, Diane shrieked, “What on earth does that mean? Sounds to me like some kind of riddle!”
Lily beamed as recognition dawned. But she lacked the confidence to speak up among people she didn’t know, especially as Diane might bite her head clean off. Lacing nervous hands in her lap, she caught Peter’s persistent blue gaze on her.
“Do you know what it means?” he whispered. The tickling breath on her ear sent butterflies riotously cavorting around Lily’s midriff. She nodded gently but kept her red curly head down. “That’s really clever of you,” he encouraged. “Why don’t you share what you’re thinking?”
Remembering that the idea was to just do it, even if it scared her, Lily took courage and voiced her thoughts. “Blackstock is a compendium of natural herb remedies from the 1800s – we have a copy at the library and it makes fascinating reading. Did you know, for example, that the common–”
“Not much use to us in the library,” Frank interrupted her.
Lily quickly became red again, judging that she’d been unfairly stamped upon. The idea had been to meet new people to help overcome shyness. But if people don’t care whose corns they tread on, how can I ever be confident and put myself out there? Sensing her discomfort, Peter Beresford spoke up, feeling the need to make things better. “That gives us a suggestion of how to solve the clue.” He peered around the people seated at the table, his gaze resting on Frank. “We can look in the book, see where it takes us.”
“There’s no need to go eagerly trotting off to Milford library,” Cecelia said calmly, having already had quite enough of the slow-witted people around her. “I noticed a copy in the library here. And besides, Milford library’s shut,” she glanced quickly at Lily, “so we’ll have to concentrate on what’s available to us.” She noticed that everyone in the room, with the exception of Simeon Bailey, seemed surprised. A wry smile crept across his thin lips, but his eyes remained cold as a lizard’s.
“It might sound like a silly question” Diane said smugly, ultimately pleased at her own intelligence, “but how do we know what page to look at in this book? What was it again – to find the origin, or something?”
The Major and Lady Felicity exchanged excited glances as the discussion began. This was just the type of response they had hoped for.
Seb was seated at the kitchen table, polishing cutlery. He paused, a silver knife held mid-air. “All I’m saying is, her suitcase was very heavy. Don’t know what she’s got in there, but I bet it’s something interesting,” he grinned.
“Perhaps Miss Cecelia isn’t all she seems then, according to you?” Nella said, bustling across the earthy hues of the flagstones, her striped apron flapping wildly as she moved.
“Perhaps not.” Seb replied, knowing Nella didn’t approve of his gossiping. He lowered his head, vigorously rubbing the knife blade.
Kitty observed the proceedings like a tennis fan watching a rally as Nella cleared her throat and admitted, “Fig Tree Hall has always had its secrets. Right back to when it was originally built, hundreds of years ago.”
“You remember that far back then, do you?” Seb teased, although Nella ignored this.
“A few hidden rooms were added so the eccentric Professor, who had this place remodelled in the 1920s, could do all his strange experiments,” Nella told them.
Kitty couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Gossip about Cecelia’s bag was one thing, but secret rooms definitely appealed to her excitable nature. ‘What sort of secrets are kept here?’ she quizzed, waggling her fingers as she swayed from side to side, hoping she looked mysterious and ghostly.
Nella gave in to the pressure, as keen to share what she knew as Kitty was to hear it. “Professor Thaddeus Ambrose, the former owner, used to work for the Government on something hush-hush to do with poisoned gases and the like,” she revealed. “Experimenting, you know?”
“Inside the secret rooms?” Kitty asked.
Slightly irritated at the interruption, Nella continued, “So the rumour goes. But it gets even stranger than that. He kept rare creatures here, but his wife didn’t like that. Then one day, in July 1934, he just disappeared without trace!” Nella saw that Kitty was fascinated, her hazel eyes darkening, growing huge as she imagined it. She concluded, “Some say he disappeared within this very house, although no one has ever found his body.”
Kitty shivered. “I’ll have nightmares now, just thinking about it.”
Seb rose from his chair to put the cleaned silver away in the dining room. Turning to see Kitty’s ashen face, he wondered whether the tale should have been kept quiet.
But Kitty was full of questions and had other ideas, her words tumbling out in a garbled rush. “Didn’t anyone even try and look for the Professor? What about the police,” she interrogated, “didn’t they have any ideas about where he’d gone? Do you think one of the animals might’ve eaten him?” Kitty finally took a breath.
Thinking that she should have known better, Nella stared at the inquisitive monster she’d released and suggested, “You should go and get a good night’s rest so you can act the part of Lydia Beaumont tomorrow.”
“Remind me what that clue was again,” Diane commanded of her husband as she surged towards the library after dinner like a galleon in full sail.
Frank, following dutifully in her wake, muttered, “Herbs to infuse the pot, to give a fig for old Blackstock.”
“How on earth did you remember that?” Diane exclaimed, her sparse eyebrows emphasising the question as she swung around, demanding her husband supply the answer.
“Wrote it down,” Frank said simply.
“Oh, very clever! Why didn’t I think of that?” Diane scowled as she saw Peter Beresford heading towards them, his stocky frame filling the available space like a gas. Lily followed behind, while Cecelia padded, languid as a cat with a full stomach looking for somewhere to sleep.
Completely out of character, Lily boldly suggested that – as she was a librarian – she should be the one to handle the very old book.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Diane snapped without thinking, “library books can be handled by anyone. What makes you so special?” She thrust open the solid oak library door, doing her very best to block Lily’s path. As the fusty smell of old books hit her, she wrinkled her nose, peering keenly around as though Blackstock would leap out and make itself known.
“These things have an order to them,” Lily said in a remarkably resilient tone, staring around the marvellously well-stocked shelves. “I expect the book we need will be with others in the same subject area.” She finally managed to get past Diane and began searching the shelves, her librarian’s instinct like a compass.
Diane gave Lily’s back a scornful look. I hate it when other people are so much brighter than me, she fumed, it feels like a snub. In a loud voice, she announced, “Of course, this isn’t a public library with an actual librarian, so the books could be arranged in order of size or even colour. I think that makes them look so much more–”
“Look, some books on botany,” Lily noticed, suddenly not caring what the abrupt Diane Pargitter had to say. “I think a tome on herbal remedies is likely to be . . . Ah, here’s the very item!” She carefully selected a book bound in emerald green cloth with gold writing on the spine. It was well-worn and quite large, meaning she had to support it with both hands to carry it to a nearby table.
For once, Diane didn’t try to take charge, allowing Lily to carefully turn the pages.
“Here! There’s a scrap of blotting paper marking this section.” Lily leaned in closer, scanning the two open pages in front of her.
“What’s it about? Let me see!” Diane squealed. She roughly pulled the book towards her to get a better view, deliberately
preventing Lily from selecting a passage she considered to be relevant and reading it aloud.
“I’ve forgotten my glasses!” Frank exclaimed, “Back in a tick.”
Lily regained control of the book, politely waiting for Frank to return as Cecelia and Peter shuffled behind her to get a better look at the pages.
Diane barked the order, “Oh, don’t wait for him, silly old buffer! Let’s get on with it!”
Flinching slightly, Lily felt it best, under the circumstances, to press on regardless. She cleared her throat and read: “Fig wood, derived from the bark of the mature fig tree, can be used as a pick-me-up tonic to bring vitality. Adverse effects include an altered heart rhythm in those with weak cardiac function.”
“What does that mean?” Diane demanded.
Peter explained, “It means that Fig Tree Hall is named as such because it has a huge fig tree in the grounds. Didn’t the clue say something about ‘the origin’?”
Lily clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Oh, very clever!”
Peter grinned at Cecelia, who nodded in agreement, whilst Lily gave him a shy look, pleased that everyone seemed to know what the clue meant. Diane scowled, not getting it at all.
“It also means,” remarked Cecelia, spelling it out clearly for Diane’s benefit, “that the bark can be used to make a health tonic, but be careful if you’ve got a dodgy ticker!”
“Right then – we’ve managed to solve our first clue!” Peter cried, beaming triumphantly. He was thoroughly enjoying himself and Lily Green was a distinct bonus.
“What’s happening?” Kitty asked Seb. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to start ‘til tomorrow morning.”
“In the library solving clues, apparently.”
Nella gave a huge sigh of relief as she lowered her sturdy frame into a kitchen chair. She had been on her feet all day and they were throbbing like nobody’s business. To no one in particular, she announced, “The Major said that, once they’d solved this first clue, I was to make a pot of fig wood tea so they could all try it.” She gave Kitty a look suggesting compliance. “Boil the water for it, would you? It has to form an infusion before you drink it.”
Kitty turned up her small nose without having even tried it, asking, “What’s it like? Sounds horrible, making tea out of tree bark!”
Nella fixed the maid with an owlish glance through her huge round spectacles. “Couldn’t tell you,” she said.
A bell rang, alerting the staff that someone was wanted.
“I’ll go,” said Seb, lifting his skinny bottom reluctantly from his chair. Minutes later he returned, puffing after exerting himself on the journey from the Major’s study. “We can serve the tea now. Doctor Death was standing in the study, peering out the window like he didn’t want to be here. There’s definitely something creepy about that man.”
Nella rose to her feet and took a tin from one of the larder shelves. “Luckily, I dried some fig bark last week, as the Major likes it as a pick me up.” She spooned some of the contents liberally into a huge brown teapot.
“Do you think he’s got something to do with the mystery?” Kitty asked of Simeon Bailey, both intrigued and frightened by his peculiar command over other people with just a look or something in his manner.
Nella concentrated on pouring boiling water over the dried bark. “Who are you talking about now – the Major or the doctor?”
Kitty blinked. “You said the man who redesigned this place did lots of funny experiments. Just wondered if the two were connected, is all.”
“The Professor’s wife died several years before him from some kind of heart difficulties – around 1928, I think it was. They had two children, although one died – the other was packed off to boarding school when the Professor disappeared a few years later.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of fish?” Seb asked.
Nella parried the comment with a cool glance as she prepared a tea tray. “I’m giving Kitty some background information. She might be right.”
Seb took up the heavy tea tray and headed for the library muttering, “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
The north-facing library, positioned to prevent the books becoming faded by the sun, was buzzing with chatter, predominantly Diane’s. As Treadmill placed his burden down on the table, he saw Lily lovingly close the emerald cover encasing Blackstock, carrying it back to its home on the shelf.
“The Major thought you might like to try some fig wood tea,” he said.
Diane peered sceptically at the arrangement on the tea tray, observing, “No milk or sugar?”
Seb Treadmill repressed a sigh. “No, Madam. It’s traditionally taken as a tonic, just
as it is.”
“You’re not from round here, are you?” Diane’s inquisitive little eyes bore into him.
Treadmill, who had not been expecting questions, forced a polite reply. “No, Madam.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Cecelia said with authority. Treadmill nodded his head at the very attractive woman and made his escape.
“How exciting,” Lily exclaimed, “to try a recipe from such an old book.”
Peter moved forward to claim a cup. “I could certainly do with a pick me up, that’s what you said, isn’t it Lily?”
Lily gazed shyly in his direction as she sipped the hot, slightly metallic-tasting liquid that reminded her of the smell of crushed nettles. “Yes, a tonic, so it says.”
“Scuse I,” trilled Diane, “must visit the little girls’ room!”
Frank watched his wife’s retreating expansive behind then poured himself a generous cupful. “I could certainly do with a tonic – always feeling weary these days.”
Cecelia was perched by the marble fireplace, a smaller version of that in the drawing room, when Frank ambled over to join her. “You’d think they wouldn’t bother with a fireplace in a room designed to store books,” she commented conversationally. “I’ve heard the dry air and smoke can cause terrible damage.”
Lily nodded from her position by the table, suddenly more confident now the tiresome Pargitter women was temporarily absent. She felt sorry for Diane’s husband who, now she knew him better, seemed like a very nice man with an awful lot to contend with.
“I’m really looking forward to getting properly started tomorrow,” Peter commented before taking another sip of his tea. The taste was acquired, but not unpleasant. Lost in thought, the sound of china clattering to the floor made him spin around to see Frank clutch at his chest, clawing his throat for air as his face turned an unsightly puffy magenta.
Lily gave a scream as Frank Pargitter crumpled, his legs buckling under him rather neatly for a person of quite ample build.
As he went down, Frank veered slightly to the right, his skull striking the edge of the fireplace with a sickening thud. The man lay slumped on the polished wood floor, thick blood beginning to trickle from both of his ears to form viscous scarlet pools.
“Jesus, he’s had a heart attack and knocked himself out!” Peter cried, rushing forward to check for a pulse.
Diane suddenly reappeared, bulldozing her way through to her prone husband. She let out a shrill cry, causing Lily to cover her ears and run from the room. Diane’s face was deathly pale as she stroked Frank’s ashen cheek. “Frank! Oh, Frank – what have you done?” she wailed, turning her head to glare savagely at the others. “Why didn’t anyone stop him having that damn tea? He’s got a weak heart!”
Cecelia and Peter exchanged glances as the Major, Lady Felicity and Simeon Bailey burst into the room to investigate what Lily had told them. The doctor moved deftly to Frank’s still body and Diane began to sob uncontrollably by his side.
“D-d-d-do s-something. Help him!” Diane cried, burying her face in her husband’s chest.
Frank’s intelligent brown eyes stared straight ahead, his lifeless face the colour of clay.
With uncharacteristic compassion, Simeon Bailey placed a hand on Diane’s quivering shoulder. “I’m a
fraid he’s gone – it’s too late. My condolences.” He made to move away, but Diane had other ideas.
Grabbing Simeon Bailey’s right trouser leg, she wailed, “You can’t just leave him like this!”
He shook her loose as one would an amorous dog. “I must report the death to the coroner, Mrs Pargitter. Then there’s the small matter of contacting an undertaker.” Simeon Bailey’s face remained expressionless as he peered down at the weeping female before striding purposefully from the room.
The general consensus was to have an early night as everything would be decided in the morning. Diane was understandably distraught and, although Lady Felicity had distinctly taken against her, she guided the much larger woman up the stairs and along the corridor towards the guest bedroom containing the Pargitter’s luggage.
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 4