“I think the Major is fond of him, but Lady Felicity doesn’t seem to like him very much.” Lily pulled the baggy arms of her mustard jumper down over her hands, feeling the chill of the room.
“I’m not surprised,” Cecelia sniffed. “Will you answer me one question?” Her head turned to look at Lily for the first time, her immaculate complexion flushed. “Why did you come here this weekend, truthfully?”
Lily saw confusion in Cecelia’s green eyes, realising how much the experience with Simeon has unnerved her. “I-I thought it would be a good idea at the time. I find it hard to meet people because I’m quite shy and there’s little opportunity through my work. I love detective novels, so this seemed like something I could try, where everyone would have a common interest. I’ve never had an adventure outside of books before.”
Cecelia let out a sigh that Lily couldn’t interpret. “And you’ve got the additional benefit of meeting Peter, of course. I assume that’s why you decided to stay on, other than curiosity?”
Lily felt herself going red. “Oh, he’s nice, but I don’t think he’s interested in me in that way . . .”
“He’s mad about you,” Cecelia replied candidly.
“I was so rude to him in the chapel.” Lily shook her head. “He invited me to meet his mother, but I was too concerned with finding the names of the children in the parish register.”
“What children?” Cecelia was puzzled, having left the chapel before Lily found the answer to the clue.
“Well, we’re not sure if it’s what the clue meant us to find, but Professor Ambrose, who re-designed this Hall, had two children and records show that the boy died young of scarlet fever. The girl is still alive, so that means she’s in her early thirties now. Anyway, I was so taken up with finding that out, I didn’t give Peter a proper answer.”
Cecelia, snapped back to her old self, swinging her legs around to sit upright. “He’ll get over it. Now, let’s go and get some dinner.” She raised the corner of her upper lip in a sneer. “We’ll need something to help us face the next clue.”
The rabbit casserole managed to cause an argument all on its own.
“All I’m saying,” said Diane, examining a forkful with forensic precision, “is it looks very under-done to me. Look how pink that is – I don’t think I’ve ever seen pinker.” She held the exhibit aloft, dripping gravy over the clean white linen tablecloth.
“I can assure you, Mrs Pargitter, that Cook has been serving up rabbit casserole for the past twenty years, as it’s one of the Major’s favourites,” said Lady Felicity, irritated to the point of bursting.
Diane sneered, seemingly unafraid of offending her hosts. “That may well be the case, but just look at it!” A piece of the offending animal plummeted back to her plate, dispersing peas in a scatter pattern and causing another explosion of gravy.
Lady Felicity gritted her teeth as the rest of the table remained deathly quiet. She rounded on the accuser. “Would you like Cook to prepare you something different, if our meal is not to your taste?” The question was high-pitched as she dared the other woman to make a fuss to see where it got her.
“Just eat the potatoes and dumplings,” hissed Lily, raising her eyes sympathetically to view Lady Felicity’s seething expression.
“That,” Diane pointed a chipped red fingernail, “is positively bloody.”
There isn’t enough space beneath the table for everyone to get safely out of the line of fire, Lily thought, holding her breath as tensions escalated.
“What exactly do you want, Mrs Pargitter?” Simeon Bailey’s very dark eyes penetrated Diane’s in a way that frightened her. In an instant, she became as passive as a darted wildebeest.
“I-I don’t know. Perhaps I was exaggerating slightly.” Head down, she began to cut into a boiled potato, lifting it to her mouth. Chewing thoroughly more times than was necessary, Diane swallowed as if she were being asked to take a dose of poison.
There was no more trouble from Diane Pargitter that evening.
TRUTH OR DARE?
In the kitchen, Kitty reported back her findings without thinking of the consequences.
“It’s all kicking off in the dining room.” The young girl’s sharp face became animated as she eagerly shared the gossip. As a link between the guests and the kitchen, this was something she saw as her duty.
Nella Barnes was busy clearing away detritus from the meal and failed to give her full attention to what the excitable maid was telling her.
“I overheard Mrs Pargitter, that’s the hefty one whose husband just died, saying she thought your rabbit casserole was very under-done, but Dr Bailey put her in her place and stopped her being rude about it. I think he was actually controlling her mind,” Kitty said, hazel eyes sparkling with mystery, oblivious to the insult.
“Cheeky mare! How dare she? I’ve been making rabbit casserole since before you were born.” Cook was not easily rattled, but after the untimely death of Frank Pargitter – something for which she still felt responsible – her defences were down. Kitty realised that this time, her eagerness for gossip had gone too far as Cook stormed through to the pantry and began crashing and thumping like a caged animal as she searched for nothing in particular.
Oh dear, this isn’t good. Wanting to salve the situation, Kitty yelled through the pantry door, “But Constable Beresford said your apple pie was absolutely wonderful – he had two slices.” She held her breath for several moments before adding, “The cutlery drawer is nice and noisy, if you slam it.”
Nella smiled to herself and said, “Bless him,” under her breath.
Seb crept up behind Kitty, bending his head towards hers to mutter, “Shouldn’t have told her the bad news. You’ll never learn, will you?”
“I had a quiet word with Cecelia and she thinks there’s definitely something strange going on.” Lily whispered into Peter’s ear as everyone congregated in the drawing room after dinner. She was now acutely aware that he really rather liked her, as Cecelia had pointed this out. He seemed somewhat distracted as Lily awaited his reply.
Peter had secretly enjoyed the sensation of her soft breath in his ear, temporarily forgetting to respond. To be on the safe side, he belatedly said, “There’s definitely something odd about this place. But you know what actors are like – it’s their job to be someone they’re not.”
Lily’s blue eyes became like saucers. “So, what is it? I can’t put my finger on it.” She gazed past Peter as Diane threatened to draw dangerously near them and demand to know what they were talking about. “It’s like we’re being watched all the time,” Lily hissed.
Observing Diane warily, Peter nodded. “There’s certainly a strange atmosphere here. I don’t feel as though I can truly relax and certain people,” he checked again for the advancing Pargitter, “seem to always appear, just to keep you on your toes.”
Lily opened her lilac notebook, concentrating on reviewing the entries. “All the clues so far seem to relate to establishing who people really are. It’s like a test so the Major and Lady Felicity can find out certain details about us, or what we might be hiding.
Cecelia thinks the same.”
Peter was very interested in this theory, a pensive expression taking over his face. “So, who do you reckon?”
Lily giggled, quickly glancing around in case it attracted attention. “Well, it’s definitely not me and I’m pretty certain it’s not you.”
“True. Well, at least,” he paused for effect, “I don’t think it’s me. And it can’t be Simeon Bailey, as he’s an old friend of the Major. Unless it’s all designed to get the person to own up to something, rather than conceal it. Could be a long-lost relative, do you think?”
“So,” Lily surmised, nodding as the thought took hold, “that leaves Mrs P and Cecelia. And,” she said far too loudly as the memory came back to her, “they are or were both named Miss Morris at one time.”
“Is that relevant, if it was only a maiden name?” Peter’s eyebrows rose as he cons
idered it further.
“Don’t know yet. Hush up, Diane’s coming over.” Lily smiled widely, canting her head in greeting. “Diane, how are you?” Her overemphasis to cover embarrassment raised Diane’s suspicions instantly.
“What are you two whispering about?” Her piggy eyes shrank even smaller as she squinted at them both with ill-disguised wariness.
“Nothing special,” Peter replied. “What do you make of it all?” His question was friendly so that Diane would respond openly.
Good save, Lily thought.
Diane paused, her mouth hanging open as thoughts churned. “Well, it’s all very strange . . . Of course, I’m devastated by Frank’s death, which has changed my opinion of this place dramatically. But there’s no point in me going back home, brooding about it all. I’d only be on my own.” She assumed a far-away look.
And now I feel terrible. “You’re very brave, Mrs Pargitter.” Lily said, stepping forward and touching Diane’s arm with her outstretched hand in a gesture of compassion.
Horrified by the show of unnecessary emotion from the young woman, Diane visibly flinched, pulling her arm away. She glared miserably, announcing, “Of course, there’s the insurance policy to root out. Apparently, if someone dies suddenly, that’s the first thing you should do.”
“Not try to give them first aid or call an ambulance?” Peter asked in a bemused voice.
Diane’s wide face grew scornful. “It’s a joke, you stupid man. In actual fact, that originally came up when I was attending a first aid class, can you believe? The instructor asked us what we would do if someone collapsed, meaning checking whether they were still breathing. Some bright spark at the back shouted out that he would check their life insurance was up to date and we all laughed like drains.”
Lily smiled uncertainly.
A long pause developed.
Looking irritated, Diane declared, “Oh, I don’t know why I bother with some people – absolutely no sense of humour at all!” She announced this in a loud voice, hoping to attract attention.
But Diane’s attention seeking was promptly ignored by the remainder of the room, who had all undoubtedly heard her.
Peter leaned in conspiratorially, mustering all his police-taught techniques to get a suspect to talk. “Do you think, Mrs Pargitter, that there’s something odd going on here – I mean the clues and the way the weekend has been planned?” Although she’s brash and insensitive, she might yet come out with a little gem of insight.
Diane instantly took umbrage. “What you mean is, an unexpected death has completely spoiled this weekend because we’re not doing the stupid murder play. It’s hardly my fault that poor Frank dropped dead in the library because someone,” she drew her hand to her chest in indignation, looking wildly around to cast blame, “gave him that fig tea.”
“Fig wood tea,” corrected Lily, instantly regretting it.
“Whatever it was,” Diane snarled, fixing Lily with a basilisk stare, “it caused him to have a fatal heart attack. If only I’d stayed in the room at the time and hadn’t needed to visit the lavatory. I’m an absolute martyr to my bladder . . .” She placed a hand over the offending region, expecting instant sympathy. Instead, her captive audience simultaneously recoiled with distaste.
Please don’t let her have any lurid gynaecological tales to tell, Lily prayed.
In an encouraging voice, Peter said, “Why was it that you came here, you and Frank?”
Diane was completely taken aback by the change of subject matter, taking several moments to respond. “Well, I persuaded him to come because I really wanted to see inside the Hall. There was a magazine feature I read recently in the doctor’s surgery when I visited him about my womb. Do you know–”
Here we go . . . Lily rolled her eyes but tried to make it look as though she was thinking. We’re about to be regaled with tales of Mrs Pargitter’s mis-firing reproductive system . . . Nodding her encouragement, Lily interrupted the other woman before she had a chance to get into her stride. “Go on – tell us what made you decide to come here.”
Diane sniffed loudly. “I–I suppose I was just being nosey, simple as that.” The confession seemed to surprise Diane as much as it did her listeners. “Frank wanted to play golf, but I said he could do that anytime. If I’d let him do what he really wanted, he’d still be alive now . . .” She looked in danger of exploding into tears.
With a completely misplaced observation, Peter ventured, “But he might have had a heart attack on the golf course. These things can happen at any time.”
Well, that was subtle as a brick, Lily concluded, but kept it to herself.
Horrified, both Diane and Lily stared at him.
“W-what I mean is,” Peter rapidly backpedalled, “his heart was clearly not in good shape. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”
“Well, you are!” Diane snapped, sharply turning her face away as though he’d slapped her.
Lowering her head, Lily flashed wide blue eyes at him, beseeching Peter to try and make amends. We need to seek out as much information as possible, she hoped to covey, it might help us find out what’s really going on.
As it was, Diane continued to hold court, evidently keen on the sound of her own voice. “As I was saying, there was this article. It said Fig Tree Hall was purchased by the Major, a distant relative of the original owner. But,” Diane looked around, this time to check for eavesdroppers, “there’s apparently a daughter from back then who could, if found, have a strong claim to the Hall under inheritance laws.”
Lily feigned shock, having already discovered the existence of Dorcas Ambrose. “Really? So, you thought you might find out more if you came here?”
“Well, yes and no,” Diane admitted. “I’m not the sort of person who could investigate properly, even if I did discover anything interesting. But I thought it’d be a good idea to attend when I saw the advert in the Milford Advertiser, so I could put it all into context.”
“And?” Peter said with a hint of irritation.
“And what? I’ve told you what you wanted to know. That’s the trouble with policemen – they think they can intimidate people into talking when they don’t know anything. It’s called getting a false confession.” She looked aggrieved.
“Mrs Pargitter, please believe that’s not the case.” Peter wheedled, trying his best to repair the damage.
“Actually, Diane, that’s helped a lot,” Lily confided. “You’ve been really useful.”
Looking mystified, Diane blinked. “I have?”
Arms deep in soap suds, Kitty had her back to Cook. She nervously addressed the older woman, growing bolder as she asked, “What does your son do then?”
Taken aback by the subject matter, Nella, clenched then released her fists as she sat at the kitchen table. I’m exhausted after a day preparing meals for more people than usual – meals that are obviously not appreciated by some. “What about my son?” Nella played for time, knowing it was her own fault for bringing the subject up earlier.
Once an idea was planted, it was rare that Kitty Walker let it drop until she was completely satisfied with the answer. “Well,” the maid continued, “I was thinking it all makes sense now, from what I read in the Professor’s diary. Especially what you said about having a child . . .”
Cook fixed her sights on the twisted straps of Kitty’s creased white apron. The girl’s recent discovery had completely shocked Nella and she reacted now by becoming defensive. “Your apron’s a mess,” she muttered gruffly. “Sort it out before someone sees you.”
“Who’s going to see me? There’s only you and Seb and I’m going straight up to bed shortly.” Being extremely bright with a very active imagination, Kitty saw straight through the delaying tactics.
“That’s not the point – it’s a matter of standards.” Nella sighed deeply before adding, “And never you mind about my past neither. What’s meant to come out comes out, the rest stays silent.”
Kitty knew this was the only dollop of informatio
n she was going to get; she had to content herself with drying the dishes instead.
The Major banged his fist on the drawing room table, making Lady Felicity jump. “My wife has brought it to my attention that another clue may not be welcome at this time so, in another departure from the plan, we’ll now be playing a game of truth or dare.”
Oh, no. That’s a terrible idea! Lily decided, staring at Peter in disbelief. This was surely just another way of finding out certain information about the people in the room. She bet her job at the library that Simeon Bailey would not be joining in.
Cecelia tried to remain outwardly calm, but the panic she’d felt earlier surged again to grasp her stomach like an unyielding iron fist. Why am I even tolerating this situation? At any other time in her life she would denounce it as idiocy and leave, proudly retaining her dignity. Yet there was so much to be gained by staying . . .
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 13