The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall

by Prudence Ambergast

  Diane clapped her podgy hands together in delight at the prospect of a parlour game. It was right up her street, finding out secrets and probing into things people would rather keep hidden. She trotted towards a comfortable chair and settled herself in, ready for the fun to begin.

  “We will decide,” the Major announced in a clear, carrying voice better suited to a large auditorium, completely unnecessary for the size of the drawing room, “who will go first by spinning this knife.” He held a bone-handled letter opener aloft and waved it to emphasise exactly what he meant.

  “Hang on a minute,” Peter interrupted. “Who sets the questions and what happens if the person doesn’t want to answer them?”

  Simeon Bailey’s mouth curved upwards with difficulty in what appeared to be an unfamiliar half-smile. He fixed Peter with a steady, no-nonsense gaze. “Then we will assume – as well you should know being a member of the police force – that the person has something to hide.”

  “But,” protested Peter, unhappy at being put on the spot, “that’s not fair if the subject is very personal. It’s all just supposed to be a bit of fun.”

  “The questions,” the Major continued, “are not designed to be intrusive, merely curious.” In other words, the questions will be highly personal and could potentially upset people, Peter thought, knowing he could do little more than sit back and wait for the inevitable.

  “Right,” said the Major in a falsely jovial tone, “let us begin!” He placed the letter opener on the oak table next to him and gave it a hefty spin, the momentum sending it clattering to the floor.

  Lady Felicity’s eyes rose to the ceiling before she calmly suggested, “Gently Reggie, gently!”

  As he retrieved the knife, the Major cleared his throat. He had a second attempt with more caution, spinning it steadily. The blade made several complete rotations before coming to a shuddering halt facing Peter.

  Here we go, something about my surname or where I was born . . .

  “Ah! Now then, my question to you is . . .

  truth or dare?” The Major’s face glowed as if he was in his element.

  Peter blanched. This is not fun.

  “Ask him what his true feelings are for that ginger librarian!” Diane heckled cruelly from her seat, a wide, malicious grin on her face because she knew his answer would make Lily go the colour of ripe beetroot.

  Please don’t ask that, Lily begged silently.

  The Major ignored the suggestion, fixing Peter with a firm gaze. “Well, what’s it to be?” he demanded.

  Peter tried desperately to hide his growing sense of panic. Goodness only knows what questions have been cooked up and if Cecelia’s earlier treatment is anything to go by, there’s not much compassion involved regarding the effects.

  The Major’s penetrating black stare held firm and Peter experienced a subconscious push to say something to get it over with. “I choose truth,” he said bravely.

  “Very well then.” The Major looked thoughtful and suspense mounted as the room unanimously held its breath.

  “How long have you been a policeman?”

  With a deep sigh of relief, Peter replied, “Two years this November, and I’ve loved every minute of it!” Pride shone in his eyes at this achievement, while Lily shot him a look that conveyed sheer admiration.

  The mood in the room instantly became more relaxed. Lily took a long, slow breath. Obviously, the questions will be fairly innocent and not at all intrusive. She watched as the Major spun the letter opener once more, and it again came to a shuddering halt in the direction of Peter.

  “Oh, that’s just not fair!” Peter joked, secretly hoping that he wouldn’t have to face another curious question, or worse, a dare. He looked directly at the Major for clarification.

  “I think we’ll take it that the knife is pointing slightly more at Miss Green, as it appears to have stopped somewhere between the two of you.” The Major cleared his throat once more in order to ask how Lily wanted to play.

  “From where I’m sitting,” came Diane’s persistent, hectoring voice, “the point of the knife is directly opposite the policeman and I think Mr Beresford should answer another question, or take a dare.”

  The Major turned his head swiftly, fixing Diane Pargitter with a hard, withering look. “Thank you for your input, but as I’ve said, from this position, the knife is clearly pointing more towards Miss Green than Mr Beresford.”

  Cecelia gave a huge sigh. “What does it matter anyway? It’s only a stupid game.” She glanced at Lily’s worried face and retained her own bored expression, considering making polite excuses and having an early night with the diary.

  The Major smiled broadly at her. “Let’s continue, as it’s supposed to be fun.”

  Cecelia glared at the Major with ill-disguised contempt, this time unwilling to be swayed so easily. “But it’s not really fun, is it? We already know certain things about one another because we’ve talked between ourselves. It’s all really rather tedious.” Her look was challenging and the Major turned to his wife, pleading with his eyes for some assistance.

  “Why don’t you spin the thing again, Reggie? Then there’ll be no doubt.” Having given her judgement like a Roman Empress, Lady Felicity sat back and waited for the outcome.

  The Major promptly did as he was told and the letter opener came to a quivering halt. It was pointed directly at Diane Pargitter.

  “Oh!” Her doughy face fell as Diane realised she was now on the receiving end of the proceedings.

  The Major took great delight in drawing the whole production out to create as much tension as possible. “So, Mrs Pargitter . . . Would you like to answer a question truthfully, or would you like the excitement of a small dare?” I very much doubt whether you are actually capable of telling any truth without embellishing the facts to make yourself sound better. He waited with baited breath for her answer. This could be very interesting indeed . . .

  Diane mused over the limited choices, taking her time to answer, infuriating the Major to boiling point. Having debated whether she wanted to be asked any sort of question about herself or her life – assuming it will probably be cruelly barbed and probing because, for some reason, people don’t seem to like me much . . . she settled on the dare option.

  “Are you completely sure, Mrs Pargitter?” The Major asked, surprised at the outcome and having to think on his feet as he hadn’t actually prepared any dares.

  Diane looked apprehensive, her mind recalling similar situations. It’s like being a small child again, goaded by bigger youngsters to do something I’d been forbidden to by my parents – like when I played too near the lake in the park, or when I stole those apples from that grumpy old man’s garden . . . Her round face grew pale, wide mouth gaping open, bare of scarlet lipstick today. But as Diane wrung her plump hands in her lap with anticipation, she mentally prepared herself for the commitment.

  “Very well then . . .” The Major tried to keep the amusement from his voice, thinking of a particularly unkind dare he judged Diane Pargitter wouldn’t wish to go through with.

  “Just tell me what it is and I’ll do it,” she barked, apprehensive now. I’ve painted myself into a corner, so there’s no going back.

  The Major fixed the woman with his beetle-black eyes. You deserve this dare because you’ve completely ruined this weekend for everyone, what with your decision not to participate so the play had to be cancelled, and for your continual whinging and carping. He addressed Mrs Pargitter in a clear voice as he gave the verdict, “I dare you to go down to the cellar on your own and stay there for ten minutes.”

  Adrenaline pumped through Diane’s body, her mouth becoming horribly dry; she was forced to breathe increasingly rapidly through parted lips. Alarmingly, Diane found she was unable to speak coherently, the sickening feeling tightening her insides.

  “Oh, come on now!” Lily objected. “That’s not really fair now, is it? Diane’s had a very sore ankle today and that’s a horrible dare for anyone to have to
do.” Poor woman, what an awful thing for him to choose! But, Lily secretly thought, at least I’m not facing the same consequences.

  “She was walking on it perfectly well when she rushed over to pick an argument with me earlier,” Cecelia scoffed. “Even put on an exaggerated limp and, from what I could see, she wasn’t in any pain at all!”

  “I-I’ll do it.” Diane scowled at her accuser, determined to carry out the assigned task showing no fear. “Is there a light-switch down there?”

  “There is,” said Peter helpfully, “but the bulb’s a bit temperamental. You’d be better off taking my torch.” He handed it to Diane but she gave no word of thanks.

  The Major stood to emphasise his authority. “I think it would be better with no light at all as this is supposed to be a dare – much better to show the true calibre of a person.”

  Diane stared at him in disbelief. “B-but how will I find my way?” Her small eyes were pleading, but the Major refused to yield.

  “You know where the stairs to the cellar are, Mrs Pargitter – I saw you poking about near there yesterday when I said you were all free to look around the Hall. You can feel your way down with the thick rope banister. The set of steps goes down into a circular area with several doors coming off it. All you need do is stand in the circle for ten minutes, then you can come back up. Even you can manage that . . .”

  “But I might fall!” Diane cried indignantly. “My ankle is much better, but it’s still a bit sore. Surely you can’t expect–”

  “Just do it, Mrs Pargitter. Take your time and feel your way. Blind people manage it – why shouldn’t you?”

  Diane shook her head with the outrage of it all. How can this man be so horrible to me and not even consider that I’m very recently widowed? Sniffing loudly, she walked slowly from the room with her head hung low, hoping for a last-minute reprieve.

  But it did not come.

  EAVESDROPPING & FIREWORKS

  Diane felt very sorry for herself. That and sheer annoyance for getting herself into this situation. She made her way very slowly down the back corridor and, in the lit area, found she could still see very well. But Diane knew that once she descended beneath the ground level her vision would disappear totally. As a woman who prided herself on being strong and uncomplaining about her health, Diane had not raised the subject of her night blindness when the dare was set. She doubted if it would have made the slightest difference to the heartless Major and his wife. Perhaps night blindness might even be an advantage, Diane told herself as she approached the cellar door.

  With panic growing, Diane fumbled for the door handle. The old wood creaked stiffly ajar as she gave it a push. Trying to switch on the torch, it fizzled and died. As her anxiety increased, Diane ran a hand against the cool, clammy stonework inside to get her bearings, using her foot to feel for the first of the uneven steps. The rope bannister rail provided absolutely no assistance as it snaked this way and that under the pressure of her hand, making Diane feel totally vulnerable. Instead, she resumed contact with the chill of the old wall. The slow descent of her clacking heels resonated loudly around the chamber below and she fought an increasing sense of foreboding with every step. This is a horror film and I’m about to enter a crypt. No doubt something other-worldly will touch me on the shoulder at any moment so I’ll scream out in terror . . .

  The smell below ground was damp and earthy, reminding Diane of the mossy garden well, but this time with a strong mixture of old rotting wood and decay thrown in. The fear, she told herself, comes from the unknown, because I didn’t accompany the others down here earlier. Even with other people to keep her company, the experience could not be made any better. Diane had little idea how far down she was now, or what would meet her when she got there. And that was the problem.

  Trying to be positive, something that was sadly lacking in her nature, Diane proudly told herself she’d reacted very well to the subject of the dare. She was now doing exactly what was asked of her. And an extra pat on the back because she was newly bereaved, and as a result of coming to this very house. The thought of Cecelia Morris or Lily Green doing this task willingly made her smile – they just didn’t have the guts.

  A noise from several feet away made Diane freeze in alarm. Have I just unknowingly disturbed something? Frozen to the spot, an ominous silence followed as the air grew palpably colder and she became certain that the ‘something’ was now blowing gently on her face. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, prickling as every nerve ending twitched, alert and on fire. There was definitely a presence and right now, it felt as though it was standing directly in front of her, its face, if it had one, almost pressing into her own.

  Diane suppressed a small cry and clutched the wall for support. A centipede with many legs crawled over her hand; she pulled it away in fright, losing her balance and falling hard.

  Extremely shaken and with her right ankle throbbing, Diane sat in a heap at the bottom of the steps, still clutching the useless torch. She knew that in all likelihood, she would cry; pressure built up painfully behind her eyes and a fat tear plopped out, running down her cheek. She realised with desperation that no one was going to come and help – if they even cared. I must rely on my own judgement to get out of this situation . . .

  Another tear rolled down her miserable face and she brushed it away viciously with her free hand. These people and their cruel, twisted ways are not going to beat me. But rising fear and acute anxiety eventually won out and Diane sobbed silently, every painful breath a supreme effort.

  “Help me . . . Please help me!" The words were spoken softly as Diane knew there was very little point. She peered upwards, seeing nothing but the oppressive darkness, wondering if Frank could see what was happening to her.

  A scuttling sound from a far corner boded a rat for company. Diane stiffened, feeling around her for something substantial to throw; she considered Peter’s torch but thinking better of it. The floor was icy cold, covered with a layer of what felt like earth and small pebbles. She’d hoped for a piece of wood or a half-brick to launch, but there was nothing suitable in the vicinity. Maybe some form of deterrent lay further into the cellar, but Diane certainly wasn’t going to go searching for it.

  How am I supposed to know what time it is? Diane thought suddenly. Estimating when ten minutes had passed was very difficult without light, even when trying to count the seconds away. As a distraction, she had started to count slowly to sixty repeatedly after descending into the cellar, but the fall had made her forget the total. Diane assumed she had been in the cellar for roughly five minutes and tried to relax. Half the time gone already, and it won’t be too bad if I can keep my mind occupied.

  “Stuff them all!” Diane shouted into the darkness, “I’ll never see any of them again when I leave this place tomorrow, and I could leave today – if I wanted.” She paused for a moment as the scuttling sound resumed, nearer this time. How exactly I’ll get home with no means of transport, heaven only knows . . . sooner or later, I’ll have to call a taxi. Unless the policeman and that librarian would go out of their way to help me . . .

  Diane’s fingers idly brushed the dusty floor as she considered how her life would change dramatically now without Frank. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped them away resentfully with a balled fist.

  Must be almost time to go, she thought, laying down the torch to put both palms flat on the floor in order to push herself up as best she could. She became aware that the fingertips of her right hand were touching something jagged and metallic. Scrapping it out of the dirt with her nails, she ran her index finder over the bumpy exterior at one end. Diane discovered the object also had three prongs at the other. It was only a couple of inches long and it intrigued her. As she could not make a full inspection until there was sufficient light to see by, Diane dropped it into the pocket of her skirt, patting it for safety.

  Time to go back upstairs and face the horrible, uncaring, thoughtless people in the drawing room. “Bet you’ve all had
a good laugh at my expense and now you’ve completely forgotten about me,” Diane bitterly told the blackness around her, feeling for the torch again. In some ways, the time alone – deprived of sight – had been beneficial, enabling thoughts to float into her mind without the distraction of other people. Although she’d found that the negative atmosphere in the cellar seemed to suck any joy from her.

  The scrapping in the corner came again, followed by a scuttling. That was enough for Diane, who tentatively located the first step with the toes of her left foot. As she turned her back on the cellar the ominous presence came again, ready to trip or push or intimidate. Did something really just touch me on the back of my neck? She was not going to hang around to find out.

  Charging upwards, leaving the position of the steps and the coordination of her feet to her subconscious, Diane shot towards the doorway and the ground floor of the Hall. As she climbed, the doorway appeared to be closing slowly and she redoubled her efforts to get to the top before she became trapped underground. Perhaps that’s what the stupid clue meant all along – a joke to be played on Diane Pargitter because my husband is dead – ‘IN DEEPEST DARK THE JOURNEY’S END, PACKED OFF TO VISIT SOME OLD