The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall

by Prudence Ambergast

  Falling asleep reading, she had left it under the pillow the night before, forgetting all about it until after lunch. When she came back to her room to fetch her coat, Cecelia had locked the diary in a safe place. I really must be more careful . . .

  “Of course, my apologies for detaining you.” Lady Felicity fixed a genuine smile in place, derived from having discovered something very useful indeed. She made to sweep down the carpeted steps in her long skirt, regretting the missed opportunity to push that smug young female down the steeply winding staircase to the hard wood hallway below.

  Diane stood like a statue outside the Major’s office. The argument within was heating up nicely.

  “I didn’t think . . .” The Major’s voice rose petulantly.

  “That’s patently obvious,” accused Simeon Bailey. “Look what happened when Margaret–”

  “For heaven’s sake! That was an unfortunate accident. You were the one–”

  “How dare you blame me?” Simeon exploded. “After all I’ve done for you. You’re treating this situation like a rehearsal!”

  “What are you doing, Mrs Pargitter?” Lady Felicity’s voice was low and sharp, her cool blue eyes boring into the other woman’s insignificant features.

  “Oh, I–I got rather lost. There are so many rooms!” Diane’s voice rose in fake embarrassment as she shuffled on the spot. “Is it this way?” She gestured loosely towards Lady Felicity’s sewing room as the other woman’s eyes flashed.

  “Not exactly. Turn around and keep on walking the way you came. You’ll find the staircase to your right and the drawing room to your left.” Lady Felicity scowled after Diane’s waddling backside, then bent to listen at the study door to see what the woman might have overheard.

  All was irritatingly quiet.

  Peter stared at the back of Lily’s bobbing head as she replaced the parish register on the high shelf. Should I offer to take her out somewhere now, or keep quiet until we leave the Hall tomorrow? If I make the wrong move. . .

  “So, we know the names of the children, or rather, the remaining adult. What do we do now, I wonder?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Diane must be bored rigid and Cecelia too. Let’s head back and go from there – it’s all a bit disjointed with everyone in different places.” Peter wrapped a protective arm around Lily’s shoulders and she made no attempt to remove it.

  “The thing is,” Lily hesitated, biting her bottom lip as they walked, “the man doing the research had no theory about how Professor Ambrose managed to vanish inside his own home. I mean, did he do it on purpose, or was it an accident?” She turned to look at Peter, whose thoughts seemed elsewhere.

  “Sorry? I was thinking about the clue,” he lied.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying!” Lily shook her head as she tried to find the answer. “And why would the Major set a clue about the Professor’s children? It’s a bit like that origin clue and our names – all very strange.”

  Peter stared happily ahead, daydreaming of a potential future with the wonderfully astute librarian. The only women he usually met were through his work, and they tended to have just been arrested. “It’s part of the weekend, the history of the Hall and what happened to the former owner.”

  “It was just lucky I knew that piece of information because of my job, though. Seems a bit obscure . . .” Lily paused, still happy to have his arm adorning her shoulders. “But if I hadn’t known about the Professor’s disappearance, that clue wouldn’t have fitted together.”

  “Perhaps it’ll all make sense at the end. It’s my experience,” he swelled his chest with pride, “that the parts of an investigation eventually come together like a jigsaw, but you need all the pieces to be able to see the bigger picture.”

  Lily snuggled closer to Peter’s chest as a gust of wind took her olive-green scarf. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr Policeman.”

  Cecelia retrieved the old diary and skimmed yellowing pages until the text seemed unfamiliar. After the strange event with Lady Felicity on the stairs, she couldn’t quite remember where she’d left off. Certain words stood out as she eagerly searched for a pickup point: ‘children’; ‘Evelyn’; ‘experiments’; and most fascinating of all, ‘illegitimate’. But Cecelia had difficulty finding a reference to the circumstances. Irritated, she became resigned to having to skim the entries systematically to get the proper context. Cecelia read:

  ‘Today, I received news that both pleased and saddened me. I am once again a father to a baby boy and my heart could not be gladder. Alas, I cannot hear this news without thinking of my dear Nathaniel and his cruel passing. Perhaps this child has been sent to comfort me, as now there is a truemale heir to Fig Tree Hall.’

  Cecelia stared in disbelief. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Who is this mysterious individual and is he even aware of his birth right? She crossed her slender ankles in contemplation of the problem. If he knows then surely, he would have emerged before now? Is it safe to assume that neither the heir, nor the Major and his wife are aware of this? The prospect added a new dimension that Cecelia certainly hadn’t been expecting. She read further:

  ‘In recognition of the wonderful news, I have drafted a new will which I shall conceal in a secret place for safekeeping until the time comes. The family is sparse and I cannot expect Dorcas to run the estate. The news of a boy, although unorthodox, is surely the answer that I needed.’

  Hearing a noise on the landing, Cecelia rose quickly from her chair, fumbling to lock away the diary in her vanity case before anyone knocked and entered. Holding her breath, she stood stiffly, straining her ears for the slightest sound. Catching the faint cadence of rhythmic breathing, she deduced that someone was standing directly outside her door, perhaps also listening to see if she was sleeping. In one fluid movement, Cecelia grasped the handle and flung the door open.

  “Oh!” Lily cried. She stood completely still, a hand raised to her chest, freckly face shocked.

  “Yes?” Cecelia said sharply.

  “I, err, we wondered whether you’d like to come down? The Major has persuaded Dr Bailey to do a little demonstration of hypnotism before dinner.” Lily found herself rooted to the spot as she nervously imparted the information.

  “I see,” said Cecelia, fixing Lily with an ice-chip stare. Without moving from the doorway, she ran her fingers through her hair, a well-practised manoeuvre with no need for a mirror. Ushering Lily out of the way, Cecelia pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Why not? It’s better than continually solving clues based on blasted books.”

  The Major’s shiny round face was an unhealthy magenta as he choked on his sweet sherry. Lady Felicity thumped his back, although the effect was similar to a humming bird trying to thwack a whale. Eventually the Major recovered, gazing around him in the hope that no one had really noticed his spluttering and desperate fight for breath.

  “I really don’t see what can be achieved by demonstrating my skills but I assure you, hypnosis can reveal some deeply-buried secrets.” Simeon Bailey played down his talents, regarding his audience with ill-masked cynicism. His modesty was at odds with his body language, which clearly told of a desire to show off because he knew he was good at what he did.

  Lily stared at Peter with a mixture of amazement and concern. There had barely been a word from the doctor until now. Suddenly, he seemed to want to perform his party piece. This could go badly wrong and for someone as fragile as Diane, it could be a really dangerous tipping point. Lily hoped – with little confidence – that Bailey knew what he was doing.

  Simeon Bailey fixed Lady Felicity with an undisguised glare as he continued to speak.

  “There are famous cases where suicide and murder have been committed due to a person seemingly not being in control of their own body. If you sneeze when holding a gun, for example, it can be said the trigger was pulled due to an involuntary act . . .”

  Peter was transfixed, drinking in every fascinating word.

  “Simila
rly,” Simeon went on, “murdering someone when sleepwalking is a valid defence, as the person is not subject to conscious thought.”

  Lady Felicity clutched the arms of her chair tightly as she spoke. “Simeon, I urge you to reconsider, given what can so easily go wrong–”

  The Major looked first at his wife, then his friend. He desperately hoped this would be a bit of light-hearted fun to take them up to one of his favourite dinners – rabbit casserole. There’s no need for these people to know about the unfortunate incident involving Simeon and Felicity’s sister.

  Dr Bailey was a fox in the hen-house, searching for a victim. “Now, I need a willing volunteer . . .”

  Lady Felicity became suddenly animated. “Why don’t you choose Cecelia? She looks like the type of young woman with a well-rounded personality and no secrets to hide.” Her blue eyes suddenly glinted with malice.

  Like a shot from a gun, Cecelia bolted upright. This is a huge insult – I’m being picked on for the purposes of entertainment.

  “Why me?” she cried. It’s the persecution of someone who clearly doesn’t enjoy making a fool of herself.

  Simeon mused on the idea of taking over

  Cecelia’s thoughts and it appealed to him greatly. “Come, come, there’s nothing to fear

  – these are just mind games.” His tone was low and smooth, dripping like honey; completely at odds with his usual monosyllabic, icy conversation.

  Cecelia looked around, feeling distinctly cornered. She caught Diane’s small, penetrating eyes almost willing her to say yes – probably because she doesn’t want the unsettling man to pick on her instead. Peter and Lily appeared to almost merge together, their faces an expression of mock concern.

  Cecelia watched as the Major blew his continually streaming nose into a huge white handkerchief, the noise resembling a warthog’s bellow.

  “It’s what you wanted,” Diane jeered hypocritically. “You’re the one who’s been saying you’re bored and can we do something different? If you disapprove,” her dark eyes glinted, a conspiratorial grin dominating her wide mouth, “why do you stay?”

  That’s a very interesting question, Peter thought.

  Cecelia ignored everyone in the room. I’ll have to be very careful indeed not to give anything away. Lost in indecision, she was suddenly aware of a commanding voice addressing her with an element of urgency:

  “Could you come and sit on this chair?” Simeon indicated a straight-backed dining chair, facing outwards in front of the fireplace – the best possible position for everyone else in the room to have an excellent view of any terror or distress he may incite for the purposes of entertainment.

  “Fine,” she muttered, rising steadily from her seat like an automaton and stepping carefully towards the circus ring. Scooping her skirt neatly under her, Cecelia sat rigidly upright, staring ahead and waiting for what would happen next. If he touches me I’m out of here, she decided, no question about it.

  “Close your eyes and try to clear your mind of all thoughts.”

  His hot breath was on her slender neck and Cecelia fought a natural reaction to cringe and pull away. She was desperate to open her eyes, the ridiculous scenario making her feel hugely vulnerable.

  “How do we know that she’s not faking it?” Diane heckled. But Cecelia was glad of the interruption, giving her the time to take several deep, calming breaths.

  “There are subtle signs that only I am aware of,” Simeon announced to what, he considered, were his awe-struck onlookers. “I’ve done this numerous times and never failed in my attempts to penetrate the deep subconscious mind.”

  Cecelia sat self-consciously in a sea of blackness, a surge of panic rising again as she thought of what might be revealed. Her breathing became increasingly difficult to control.

  “Now, feel the chair under you and listen to my voice . . . I want you to relax totally and let yourself slip into a place where your present mind is not in control.” The rich, smooth voice came again, urging her to submit.

  What does that actually mean? Cecelia felt the sudden urge to cry out, wanting to be as far from the awful charade as possible. But instead she nodded gently to convey her understanding.

  “I’m taking you back, back to a time in your childhood. You are seven years old – can you describe how you’re feeling?” He added a statement for the benefit of onlookers. “It’s my belief that how we think and act now is based upon the way we were encouraged to think and act as children.”

  Cecelia was unaware if this had impressed Simeon’s audience as she couldn’t see their faces. What’s really behind taking me back to my childhood? Cecelia suddenly had a flashback to the moment on the stairs. Has Felicity asked him to question me like this?

  From nowhere, Cecelia spoke in a small, frightened voice that scared her. “I’m sad, very sad. My brother has died and now I’ve no one to play with.” Shocked, she tried once again to control her breathing but found she could not, taking huge gasps as the panic surged.

  “Why did he die? Was he young like you?” Simeon persisted, his hot breath now brushing her cheek. She unwillingly registered the smell of coffee and the pervading aroma of his cigarettes.

  Again, the unrecognisable voice spoke for itself in what Cecelia imagined was similar to an out-of-body experience. I’m rushing headlong out of control, but I’m too afraid to look away or tune out. “He was ill . . . He was younger than me.” She hated herself for being his puppet, but could do nothing.

  “And what of your parents? Where are they?”

  “My mummy died too. She had a bad heart, my Daddy said.”

  “And is there another?”

  I’m being sucked down into a dark, airless tunnel. “Another what – what do you mean?” Simeon Bailey leaned even closer so that Cecelia could almost hear his heartbeat. Her own heart continued its frantic tattoo as the terror escalated. “Tell me if there was another child – a child who was not your real brother. . .”

  Cecelia’s eyes shot open. “I don’t know, I don’t know!” she wailed, running terrified from the room, her heels noisily rebounding up the carpeted staircase as she flew to her bedroom.

  “What on earth was that?” Peter asked, totally mystified and slightly shocked by what they had just witnessed. He’d heard of people being questioned in such a way by psychological specialists during a difficult police case, but had never seen it in action.

  “That was frightening, really scary,” Lily said, stunned. “It almost sounds like the information we’ve just found, about the little boy having scarlet fever and the mother dying. Perhaps it is all about that – but why, and why would Cecelia be involved?”

  Peter remained puzzled. “I really don’t know what to make of it – it’s completely out of my league.”

  As the evening grew darker, the occupants of the drawing room remained unsettled, unsure of what would happen next. Even the irrepressible Diane Pargitter had nothing to say.

  “I should really go and check on Cecelia,” Lily whispered to Peter. “And I don’t know if I can take the stress of another clue today.” She rose from her seat, giving him a brief smile before leaving the room. At the top of the stairs, Lily thought she could hear sobbing coming from Cecelia’s room but drawing nearer, she found she was mistaken.

  Knocking gently on the door, she whispered in soft tones, “Cecelia, it’s me, Lily.”

  “What do you want?” Cecelia snapped.

  Not willing to hold a conversation through a closed door, Lily turned the handle firmly and entered the room. “I wanted to see if you were OK.” She hesitated, peering at Cecelia’s limp form on the bed. The other woman was facing away, so Lily could not see what she was feeling.

  “I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse.” Cecelia didn’t move and Lily wondered what to say next. Suddenly the prone figure asked her a direct question. “Do you think there’s something strange going on here?”

  Lily stared, noting the vulnerable waiver in Cecelia’s despondent voice. The same question
has obviously occurred to us both since we arrived at the Hall.

  “In what way? Do you mean about the clues?” she asked carefully, leaving the subject open.

  “Yes, they always come down to who we are and Lady Felicity actually asked my age earlier . . . As though she was trying to see if

  I fitted the outline of the clues properly.”

  After a long moment, Lily replied, “I suppose the clues are overly concerned with names and birth rights.” Thinking of Peter’s words, she added, “Perhaps it’ll all come together in the end and there’ll be a very simple explanation. There’s obviously a bigger picture.”

  Cecelia curled into the foetal position. “That man’s so horrible. He made me look such a fool in front of everyone.” Her voice trembled with hurt.