The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall

by Prudence Ambergast

  “I can’t even drive!” Diane sobbed into a very damp floral handkerchief, one of Lady Felicity’s hand-embroidered originals. “Frank did all that. How am I going to get home again?” Her sobbing rose to a more substantial torrent, her bellows akin to a wounded buffalo.

  Lady Felicity increased the pressure on Diane’s ample arm in what she hoped was a comforting way. The scene could almost have been comical in different circumstances, she thought, with the thickset barrel of a woman almost smothering her own petite frame.

  Diane Pargitter emitted what sounded like an elderly donkey’s bray as her erratic breath rushed in and out.

  Thankfully, she isn’t leaning on me too heavily, Felicity considered. I would instantly collapse, defenceless to the William Morris patterned carpet like a crumpled paper bag.

  “Here we are then,” Lady Felicity announced, managing a dextrous manoeuvre to open the door as she continued to guide Diane forwards, “this is your room.”

  “But Frank’s suitcase is here! I can’t have that in here with me,” Diane cried. She glanced around the very attractively laid out bedroom, with its decorative blue and white porcelain jug and bowl on the washstand; the tapestry counterpane in vivid autumnal colours; the expensive rugs on the polished wood floors. A generous bowl of fruit even adorned the chest of drawers.

  Lady Felicity repressed a deep sigh . . . one must make allowances, she thought. “I’ll get Treadmill to take your husband’s case down to the boot room. Are you sure there’s nothing in there that you might need?”

  Diane shook her head forcefully, but there was no word of thanks.

  “Then I will arrange that and in the meantime, you should try and get some rest. Would you like some warm milk and a sleeping pill?” Lady Felicity arched hopeful eyebrows. At least sedating the woman with Valium would keep her quiet for a few hours – as one would with a belligerent hippo.

  “Y-yes, I think that would be a good idea.”

  Felicity nodded and hurried away so she didn’t have to spend any more time with Diane Pargitter than was strictly necessary.

  POIGNANT PLOTS & CUNNING CLUES

  Saturday, September 25th, 1957

  “She wants warm milk, Kitty,” Nella instructed the maid. “Do it for her, will you? My feet are agony.”

  Kitty nodded and moved quickly to where the milk pan hung on the wall. “Must be horrible, finding her husband dead like that,” she commented, peering over her shoulder at the older woman. Nella remained quiet and Kitty took this to mean the subject wasn’t up for discussion, seeing the other woman deep in thought.

  Seb arrived, slightly out of breath. “Just brought the husband’s case down. It’s a bad business . . .”

  The remark hovered ominously in the air.

  “That poor woman will wish she’d never come here and that’s a fact,” Nella agreed.

  Peter mounted the stairs, following Lily’s trim figure. He was too distracted to attempt sleep. As if to confirm his thoughts, the grandfather clock in the hall boomed out the time, making Peter wonder if it would be presumptuous to suggest he and Lily chat for a while.

  As they reached the first twist in the staircase, Lily hesitated and turned. “Please say if you’d rather not, but I thought we could talk for a bit. I mean, I’ve got a good book and everything, but it’s not the same as speaking to a real person.” Lily knew she was going red again, but hoped he wouldn’t notice in the gloom of the staircase.

  His heart did a strange leap and Peter had to concentrate hard to control his breathing. “Good idea. It’s only ten o’clock, after all.”

  She turned back to the stairs, her step now far lighter. “Your room or mine?” Lily giggled, wondering if this sounded far too brazen.

  The two rooms, thoughtfully labelled with their names, were separated by another that had been allocated to Cecelia Morris. Lily pondered briefly where the other woman had disappeared to after the incident in the library, concluding that Cecelia must have gone to bed without saying goodnight. Lily had seen the Major come upstairs, and Lady Felicity with a tranquiliser and some milk for Mrs Pargitter. The unsettling Simeon Bailey had slunk up the stairs, puffing on one of his smelly cigarettes. Lily decided she definitely did not like him.

  “Mine’s first, so shall we?” Peter opened the door, switched on the light and stood back so Lily could go in first. She found the room delightful – all rugs and tapestries in bright colours, offset by natural wood floors and furniture. Lily hoped her own room was in the same style. She rubbed her hands together against the chill in the air, spotting a small gas fire in the corner.

  “Let’s have the heating on!” Peter moved forward and bent to turn the knob, igniting the gas. “So, what do you think about all this then?” he asked, straightening up to see she was now standing by the mullioned window, staring out into the inky blackness of the grounds to the back of the Hall. He moved to her side, pulling the tapestry curtains to keep the heat in.

  Lily turned and gave him a curious look. “Poor Mr Pargitter, you mean? Unless that was part of the murder mystery. . .”

  Peter settled himself in a wood-framed chair upholstered with yet more tapestry fabric, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Lily seated herself opposite him on the edge of the bed, crossing her ankles neatly.

  “Very realistic if it was.”

  “Well, I wondered why Mrs Pargitter thought someone could have stopped her husband drinking that tea. It was just unfortunate he didn’t hear me read the bit about its effects on a weak heart, and Mrs Pargitter had left the room before he drank some.”

  Peter nodded. “Do you think there’s more to it?”

  Her pale blue eyes widened. “Like what? Surely you don’t believe it was done on purpose? How could anyone have–”

  “I’m pretty certain it was just a terrible accident, although a real murder at a murder mystery weekend would be most convenient. Why would they serve a tea that could kill someone?” he pondered. “You’d think Cook would know all about herbs and their properties.” Peter assumed an unreadable expression. “Fig wood tea, Fig Tree Hall – it signifies the name of the house, but surely it can’t have been deliberate,” he added, shaking his head.

  “We’ll probably all be packed off home again now,” Lily said sadly.

  “I don’t know about that. I overheard Mrs Pargitter tell the Major she felt comforted, being in the place where Frank died.”

  “So, you don’t think she wants to call the

  weekend off?”

  “Not from what I heard. Cecelia seems keen to stay too – she was bemoaning paying out two guineas for a non-event. Bit insensitive, but I can see her point, I suppose.”

  “I’d be disappointed if we all had to leave so soon, but these things can’t be helped,” Lily agreed. “I was hoping to meet new people as I don’t get much opportunity at the library – it’s always the same old faces.”

  “I can’t see the likes of Cecelia being friends with another woman – she seems to have her own agenda, but you’ve met me!” Peter reminded Lily, hoping she liked him too.

  She smiled shyly, meeting his gaze. “Then I’d love to stay . . . It feels as though we’ve only just got started, uncovering the layers of this place – I expect you feel the same, being a policeman.”

  “That’s why I came and I’d hate to just pack my bag and go back to my flat. There was an unsolved disappearance here, many years ago. The owner of the Hall just vanished without trace! I want to get my teeth into that mystery – it would do my career no end of good if I could solve it.”

  “So, we’re agreed – we stay on if possible?” Lily asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “We certainly will!” Peter smiled, hoping for more than a boost to his career.

  They chatted on for another hour about anything and everything.

  “Like I say,” Peter told her sadly, “I don’t even know who my Dad was, but I know he’s dead. Mum told me.”

  Lily caught the sorrow in his blue eyes and her heart fil
led with compassion. Although she was tempted to talk long into the night, she rose, looking straight at him. “Better get off to bed as it’s way past midnight. Thanks for telling me about your family.”

  Peter bounced out of his chair, hovering by the door as she made to leave. “I’ll see you to your room,” he announced.

  “It’s only next door but one,” Lily giggled, but allowed him to anyway.

  Standing outside Lily’s room, they heard raised voices coming from a bedroom further along the corridor. Peter crept towards the sound, beckoning that she should follow.

  The Major’s voice was raised and angry. “The whole weekend’s ruined and after all that work on the script!”

  There followed a loud “Shush” from Lady Felicity. “Keep your voice down, Reggie. Someone might hear.”

  “All I’m saying,” the Major blustered, still loud enough for the eavesdroppers to catch, “is that I wanted to do the weekend we prepared, not have a game of blasted Cluedo!”

  Lady Felicity mumbled something unintelligible. Then she raised her voice fractionally. “I know you’re disappointed, but you know why we’re doing this. It doesn’t matter that it’s not what we planned. They’re here now and I just know it’s one of them . . . How sad that the wrong one had to die.”

  Lily and Peter exchanged glances, her mouth hanging open in amazement. He signalled that they should tiptoe away, one finger to his lips.

  “What do you think she meant – ‘the wrong person died’?” Lily whispered as they stood outside her room, shivering now in the chilly moonlight. She heard deep snores coming from Diane’s room a few feet away.

  Keeping his voice low, Peter said, “Not sure, but I intend to find out. I’ll think it over and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  From behind the middle door, Cecelia moved silently away, having overheard everything the pair said. She climbed back into bed, arranging her emerald green nightgown and matching bed jacket just so. Putting on the reading glasses that she was too vain to wear in public, Cecelia returned to the really rather fascinating little book she had come by.

  The morning was raining a persistent grey drizzle and Lily found she was first to arrive in the drawing room, joined shortly afterwards by Peter. “What should we do?” Lily asked him, her blue eyes huge as she glanced around the cold, unwelcoming room. She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing them for warmth. The pale green blouse she’d chosen to wear was completely inadequate for autumn in the huge house.

  “Would you like my jacket? I suppose we’ll just have to wait as it’s down to the Major, although from what we overheard, I don’t think he wants the weekend to be cancelled either.” Peter handed her his navy-blue blazer and Lily took it gratefully, relishing the residual warmth of his body as she put it on.

  “I ought to fetch something more substantial,” she said, looking down at her cotton blouse.

  “Any more thoughts on what we heard last night?”

  At that moment, Lady Felicity swept into the room wearing a flowing dark pink skirt and a matching paler pink twinset, set off by a row of pearls at her neck. She carried an anxious expression but fixed a smile to her lips and enquired, “How are you both this morning – did you sleep well?” Her kind blue eyes searched first Lily’s face, then Peter’s.

  He cleared his throat. “We were wondering what happens now, although it’s best to let Mrs Pargitter decide.”

  Lily nodded as Cecelia entered the room wearing an immaculate white linen suit teamed with a vivid peacock blue blouse and matching heels.

  “What’s going on?” Cecelia asked as she approached, her wide green eyes curious.

  “We were just saying . . . Where do we go from here?” Peter supplied. He gazed at his feet considering that as a death had occurred, the Hall should be a hive of police activity. But clearly, it was just a terrible accident . . .

  “And then there were four . . .” Cecelia’s face was fixed as she made the observation, watching Lady Felicity’s carefully plucked eyebrows shoot rapidly to her hairline.

  The heavy tread of heels on the wooden floor grew closer and nervous looks fired among the occupants of the drawing room. Diane entered, looking as though she’d barely slept; her small puffy eyes tired and sore. She wore a dark, sensible skirt and navy-blue blouse in respect of Frank’s passing.

  Stepping forward, Lily placed a comforting hand on Diane’s arm. She smiled gently, her eyes nervously meeting those of the grieving woman, greeting her softly.

  “Morning Diane, how was your night?” Diane’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes widened slightly and she raised her ample chin. Lily gave Peter a faltering glance while Diane remained unusually silent. “Did you manage to get much sleep?” she asked.

  Diane Pargitter fixed Lily with a look loaded with blame, responding in bitter tones, “The room was rather stuffy. I’m also a very light sleeper and thought I heard someone creeping down the corridor several times in the night.”

  Not entirely sure how she should respond, Lily continued, glancing around to ensure sure she was speaking for everyone, “We were wondering what you’d like us to do?”

  Diane’s puffy face assembled itself, leaving no doubt about her level of contempt. She spat out the words, “Do? What do you mean, do?”

  It’s definitely time, Lily thought, for the floor to open and swallow me up. But she said kindly, “Err, about this weekend. Sorry to sound heartless, but we didn’t know if you wanted to go home.”

  Diane stood squarely like a surly bulldog in heels, fixing Lily with small eyes, unadorned with make-up so they appeared even more insignificant. When the tension had reached its peak, she replied, “You mean, is it all right for the fun to continue because you don’t want Frank’s death to spoil your enjoyment?” Diane sniffed loudly, bringing out a large white handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse.

  Lady Felicity stepped forward bravely and ventured, “We do need to know, dear. The Major can arrange for you to visit the, err, undertaker – after breakfast if you wish.”

  “Yes, perhaps I will. Or maybe not. I noticed you got him out of here sharpish.” Diane looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued, “I suppose we should all carry on as though nothing has happened because Frank wouldn’t want to spoil the fun. Plus, it will take my mind off things and I’d rather stay put – I’ve nothing to go home for. He should have known better, but he didn’t know, did he?” She peered around her, hoping for answers that no one could give.

  Lady Felicity nodded. “As you wish.” Inside, she was pleased at the turn of events: the Major had been fuming at the ruination of his longed-for play; a reminiscence of the theatre life he missed desperately.

  Diane fixed Peter with a gimlet stare. “You must know what to do – you’re a policeman!” she challenged.

  Not expecting to have to provide answers, Peter muttered, “That’s not necessarily the case–”

  Theatrically, Diane threw her head back and sniffed. “I often think my life story would make an absolutely fascinating play – the tragedies I’ve suffered . . .” She smiled, although it manifested as more of an ugly rictus grimace. As Diane trotted past Lily into the hallway, she threw over her shoulder the

  words, “Need a woolly – it’s cold in here.”

  The Major appeared after everyone had breakfasted, having partaken of his own with Simeon Bailey in the seclusion of his study so they could discuss a business matter. He grasped some papers in one huge hand and, as was usual, his psychiatrist confidant lurked close behind him like a dark shadow.

  Raising his voice, the Major shouted, “Ladies and gentleman – I’m aware that yesterday’s unexpectedly sad events have altered our plans somewhat. I’ve spoken to Mrs Pargitter,” he gave Diane a nod of acknowledgement, “and she wants to continue with our weekend.”

  A low murmur of relief came simultaneously from Lily and Peter.

  “However, Mrs Pargitter does not, understandably, feel as though she wants to follow a script as her mind is
naturally elsewhere.”

  With an unreadable expression, Cecelia turned to regard Diane’s wide profile.

  The Major continued, “Mrs Pargitter likes the idea of solving the prepared clues, so the next two days will hopefully be both stimulating and interesting.”

  A loud noise came as Lily clapped her hands together with excitement and exclaimed, “Like a game of Cluedo! Miss Scarlet in the library with a candlestick!” Her face then fell as she instantly realised what she’d just said.

  Cecelia examined her exquisitely manicured nails and hissed, “A little insensitive, if you think about it.”

  In an effort to draw the attention away from Lily, who’d now gone a startling shade of crimson, Peter cleared his throat.