FRIEND’.
Her memory for the clue was rapier sharp as she ascended the last few steps, the adrenaline rush masking the pain from her ankle. Perhaps, she thought with horror, they all want me dead too. Gasping and clutching one hand to her chest with the effort of dragging air into her lungs, Diane barrelled towards the diminishing opening, leaving whatever was playing with her – natural or supernatural – in no doubt that she was coming through.
This house, Diane considered as she regained her composure and tiptoed down the corridor towards the drawing room, is very odd. The building is odd and the people living here are odd. If they want to finish me off by pushing me down the well, or locking me in the cellar, they’ll have to try harder than that to beat the iron will of a Pargitter, by marriage, but nevertheless . . .
Pausing for a moment, Diane was aware the others probably weren’t expecting her. She managed to rapidly convince herself that the weekend may well have been designed purely for the purposes of murdering first Frank and then herself. The facts were indisputable: fig wood tea had been given to Frank while she was out of the room and therefore, not able to stop them. It was also the case that the weekend was a murder mystery event, so what better to have at one of those than a real murder?
Diane had also been shoved very hard as she peered into the well, and could quite easily have toppled in. Added to these injustices was the attitude of the Major and Lady Felicity towards her. And now, the final straw – sent to the cellar on a dare designed to frighten her to death.
Although now considering herself very clever indeed for gathering this evidence together, Diane, was not possessed with any true analytical ability. Rather, these events had been cobbled together in a seething mass of resentment and bitterness at the actions of what she considered hard-hearted, indifferent people.
Unable to see each event as a separate incident, Diane bundled together everything that had happened since she and Frank arrived at the Hall, coming to the conclusion that it was all a despicable plot against husband and wife. With paranoia building, she could see no other explanation and vowed to lock her bedroom door that night. That way, at least I’ll be safe.
Inching closer to the drawing room, Diane toyed with calling a taxi right away, but felt too scared to go through with it. Something also stopped her walking confidently back into the drawing room having completed the dare, imagining she would meet with hostility.
Hovering indecisively, she became aware of a heated discussion taking place that intrigued her greatly, mainly because she heard her own name being mentioned several times. Although Diane’s sight had now returned in the glowing, artificial hall lights, the object found in the cellar and placed in her pocket was completely forgotten. She crept near the door jamb, trying to control her breathing.
“I don’t think I want to tell you!” Lily Green’s voice rose with a note of finality. “But it’s part of the game, that’s all. Where’s the harm in it? Besides, Mrs Pargitter didn’t seem to mind.”
Diane assessed that the Major’s voice had risen steadily because he was clearly not getting his own way.
“What you’ve done to Diane,” Lily stood her ground, “is despicable. The poor woman has just lost her husband in your library and she has a sore ankle after a fall in your garden, yet she’s sent down into the cellar for some sort of twisted punishment.”
“I agree.” The sound of Peter’s evaluating comment met Diane’s ears as she clutched the door frame, trying to remain out of sight. “You really didn’t have to do that to her, no matter how difficult she is.”
Difficult?
Lady Felicity spoke next, her soft mumble of contrition only just audible. “Perhaps, under the circumstances, we could have picked something different for her to do. But the whole point of a dare is to push someone beyond their usual boundaries.”
“Sounds like you’ve been talking to your psychiatrist friend!” Cecelia sneered with what Diane recognised gratefully as some degree of empathy. “Whilst Diane can be demanding and tiresome, what on earth did you think could be achieved by sending her off to the cellar?”
Demanding and tiresome? Bitch! Diane seethed, biting her lip.
The Major responded instinctively, unable to keep his cool. “What you all fail to accept is that Mrs Pargitter willingly went off and did what I suggested without question or complaint. She didn’t have to, but she did it.”
Diane peered through the crack between the hinges and the frame of the door to see the Major simmering, a hurt expression on his face.
The evening has clearly taken a turn for the worse, Diane observed. Obviously, no one’s really enjoying themselves.
“What I’d really like to know,” said Lily bravely, “is why you asked about my–” She stopped abruptly, staring at the doorway, seeing a shadow move.
“What is it?” Peter whispered.
Lily shook her head. “Nothing. I just thought I saw . . .” She paused as the fire went out of her argument, wondering whether she should challenge the Major. It was completely out of character, shocking her greatly. This house and the people in it seem to make me behave in a way I just don’t recognise.
The Major hung his head. “Well, I’m sorry this has happened. I can truly say it wasn’t planned.” He looked downcast. “Ever since the death of Mr Pargitter, the whole weekend hasn’t been what I wanted it to be.”
Diane’s eyebrows rose. Is this yet more evidence of why the Manners-Gores appear to dislike me so much?
“Reggie!” Lady Felicity’s tone was suddenly sharp, in warning rather than comfort.
Changing demeanour, the Major stood abruptly, snapping back into his usual bonhomie. “Well, let’s proceed with another question and we’ll leave the dares alone.”
“I think,” said Peter decisively, “I’d rather like to ask you a question.” He smiled confidently, knowing that at least Lily would be on his side.
The Major seemed briefly taken aback, but smiled widely to reveal yellowing teeth in an altogether unattractive grimace. “By all means – fire away!”
Peter took his time, choosing the words carefully. “There was recently a magazine article about the Hall, mentioning a daughter of the former owner who may have an inheritance claim – if she could be traced.”
Diane shifted her ample weight, needing to redistribute the pressure on her sore ankle. She continued to view the sliced scene, witnessing the Major’s usually ruddy complexion become the colour of porridge. Equally strangely, Lady Felicity let out a strangled gasp, the healthy glow draining from her features. Reginald Manners-Gore grasped the edge of the drawing room table as he sat down heavily, clearly not trusting his own legs to hold him.
When he was settled, the Major addressed Peter gruffly. “And your question?”
“Well . . .” Peter paused, his ambitious nature keen to get to the bottom of things. “I wondered if it bothered you at all – that there could be someone out there right now with a legitimate inheritance claim to Fig Tree Hall.”
Turning paler still, the Major spluttered, “Don’t be ridiculous! The paperwork is all above board – I bought the Hall fair and square as a distant relative of Professor Ambrose. Even if his daughter did come forward now, she wouldn’t stand much of a chance in making our home hers. It’s all sensationalism – put in place by the magazine to make a good story.”
“Is that really the case?” Peter challenged. “It seems to me the clues you’ve devised are exactly the kind of questions someone might ask if they felt threatened, perhaps by the unwelcome possibility of an inheritance claim.”
Diane, still earwigging outside the door, couldn’t believe her luck at what she was hearing. Relaxing slightly, her ample left hip pushed the door so it swung inwards.
“What on earth is that!?” Lady Felicity cried, almost jumping from her seat. “Is someone there? Treadmill, is that you?”
Remaining quiet, Diane held her breath. If she volunteered herself and came forward, the conversation topic would cha
nge abruptly and she couldn’t have that.
“It’s just a draft blowing the door, my dear, nothing to worry about.” The Major reassured his wife, welcoming a break from the subject.
Felicity’s sapphire eyes remained full of alarm. “But there are no windows open to cause a draft, unless a member of staff has opened one to air a room upstairs–”
“Anyway–” Peter interrupted, wanting answers, unconcerned with the movement of the door.
The intermission had allowed the Major time to think of a believable response. I won’t give that cocky policeman the opportunity to suspect anything. “This weekend is – as you know from your trip to the attic – all loosely based on a play my wife and I once starred in. I believe you are familiar with Miss Carstairs is Dead?” His glare was obstinate as he challenged Peter to object.
Instead, it was Lily who countered the argument. “Yes, we are. But the last few pages of the play had been ripped out, so we couldn’t find out what happened.”
Lady Felicity, seemingly back to her usual self, cleared her throat before speaking in a voice laced with surprise. “Really? I wonder who on earth could have done that?” Her performance was exceptional.
Diane tiptoed painfully back towards the cellar door. If I appear now, it’ll look for all the world like I’ve just got back from completing the dare.
The evening had been a damp squib, Simeon Bailey considered, or alternatively, a lively fireworks display. The characters present were really emerging now; so interesting, it was untrue. That obnoxious widow has shown unexpected courage and bravery, but also nosiness and immeasurable stupidity in listening at the door. From the angle of his chair, Dr Bailey had seen her through the small gap where the hinges met the door frame.
Then there was the rather beautiful woman, quietly observing . . . The shy, precise little librarian who stood up for herself by adamantly refusing to answer a question set by the Major, as if anyone actually cared about the answer . . . The stocky policeman, who had slipped into interrogation mode when he detected a whiff of a lead based on gossip printed in an inferior magazine. Typical of the police to pursue something so trivial that was clearly already public knowledge and only half-true in any case.
The most delightful part of the evening had been Felicity – no better than she ought to be and hardly a Lady, only by affectation. She’s over-reacting at every turn rather than calmly dealing with issues so as not to give anything away, even though she knows nothing.
Simeon, of course, was aware of the Major’s priorities and also knew they were much at odds with Felicity’s. But then, to be sure of one’s path, one needed to be in full possession of the facts. The culmination of events, as things hurtled desperately to a close, would all no doubt make for an entertaining finale.
Hurt that not one person, not even Lily, had bothered to come and see if she was all right, Diane made her way slowly up the staircase, sticking to the carpeted areas where she’d memorised there would be no creaks: she didn’t want to give herself away. For all they know or care, I could have broken my leg, falling in that cellar. Insteadf forcing herself to be sociable, Diane opted to tuck herself up in bed, having another look at the very magazine article that was causing all the trouble. She congratulated herself for stealing the magazine from the doctor’s surgery without the receptionist noticing. The busy young girl had been otherwise engaged with a mother of three, suspecting her children might have the measles – their spottiness suggesting this could well be the case.
As the eventful evening drew to a close, Diane heard snatches of muted conversation while people climbed the stairs and said goodnight. She glanced at her wristwatch, seeing it was almost half-past ten. Idly wondering exactly how long she’d spent in that creepy cellar, Diane became aware of a creaking floorboard she knew was directly outside her own door. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was people creeping about during the night, especially when she wasn’t party to it. From the light tread, it sounded like a woman, although Diane could not be sure.
“All I’m saying,” Lady Felicity whispered as her husband clambered into bed without removing his paisley dressing gown, “is that it’s now getting too close for comfort. That blasted policeman knows something, I’m sure of it.”
The Major settled back on a mountain of crisp white pillows, giving a deep sigh. “He knows nothing. It was just a lucky guess because of that damned magazine article.”
“But I don’t trust any of them!” Felicity wailed, loud enough for someone in the next room to hear. Due to her Ladyship’s foresight, the bedroom next to theirs was assigned to Simeon Bailey, while the other side was a huge bathroom. Felicity fumed inwardly, assuming the guests had used the facilities before retiring, while Simeon Bailey already knew all about the problem. She relaxed a little as the Major gave her a look, waving a dismissive hand.
“Perhaps you’d better let me deal with it all, my dear. The stress seems to be getting to you and we don’t want anything to slip out.”
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Felicity mused on the comment with irritation. Is this an unnecessary criticism of my acting ability?
“Don’t be so utterly ridiculous!” she snapped before lowering her voice, aware she was becoming fractious. “I know as much as you do, don’t I?” Felicity looked directly to her husband for reassurance, but his face gave nothing away.
“It’s those two, Holmes and Watson,” the Major grunted. “If she says something, he immediately backs her up and vice-versa. They’re very good at finding things out and we don’t want it all revealed until the very end. Trust our luck to get a keen policeman and his trusty librarian sidekick answering the advert.”
“Lily Green certainly has tenacity, I’ll give her that,” Lady Felicity grudgingly agreed.
“We’ve got to think of something different – no more book clues as she’s a natural at sniffing them out quickly. We’ve only got one more day, but let’s make it a good one!”
“It’s not a pantomime, Reggie,” his wife reprimanded.
“Then come on! Put your thinking cap on. How can we find out what we need to know without raising more suspicion? Simeon’s had a go and they saw straight through it. I’ve had a go and we both know how well that went.”
“If I knew that,” Felicity snarled, “we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we? Are you sure we both want the same thing here? Sometimes I wonder if you’re keeping something from me.”
Gazing at his wife’s expectant face, the Major responded: “Of course not, dear.”
NOSINESS & INTERROGATION
Sunday, September 26th, 1957
Without the assistance of Valium, Diane slept fitfully. As she lay dozing intermittently, the creaking outside her door came again, jolting her wide awake. Someone was creeping about in the corridor and Diane intended to find out who and why.
Throwing back the covers, she lowered her plump legs to the cold floor, searching around with icy feet for her tatty blue slippers. She chose not to switch on the bedside light in case there was a gap under the bedroom door. Instead, Diane stood and thrust her hands straight out in front of her, feeling the air. Night blindness, she told herself, is a distinct disadvantage when you’re trying to cross a room quickly at gone midnight.
Cannoning painfully into the corner of the chest of drawers and catching her left hip, Diane yelped, then stood stock-still while the offending area throbbed viciously.
An ominous silence met her ears. Unwilling to return to bed, Diane decided to investigate further. She carefully sidestepped the piece of furniture that had attacked her, slowly unlocking and easing open the bedroom door.
Blindly, she crept out from her darkened room into the moonlit corridor. Diane discovered that despite the creaking floorboards, the corridor was completely empty, bar anyone crouching furtively in the shadows. She held her breath but heard no hint of a living presence. As her heart pounded wildly, Diane edged forward, hip twinging.
No sound came as she passed the other bedro
oms, so she continued until the top of the staircase came into view. The vast mullioned landing window bathed the twisting flights of steps in a sea of bleached ethereal light. Time for me to make a decision. Back to bed or go and explore?
Placing her left hand purposefully on top of the balustrade, Diane noticed, for the first time the feel of silky-smooth oak, worn with decades of use. Frank probably grasped this very same rail, thought Diane sadly. And the old Professor who’d re-designed this wonderful country pile.
Her right slippered foot descended the first step, the momentum of curiosity driving her on. I wish I’d brought the policeman’s torch with me, but that would only arouse suspicion. I could always claim to be lost, if caught, she considered, but not with a lit torch in my hand . . .
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 15