Every creak of the settling house made Diane tense her muscles, waiting to see if anyone stirred. Any helpful moonlight diminished again as she reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the windowless hallway, knowing an empty drawing room was directly to her left.
The ticking grandfather clock nearby suddenly gave a loud, resonant boom announcing half-past one, making Diane almost cry out in fright. She crept slowly along the hallway, wondering where to explore first.
As Diane Pargitter reached the Major’s study, her plump hand encased the defenceless door handle completely. She gave it a turn but met with resistance, discovering with disappointment that the door was unsurprisingly locked.
Bored now and realising she had probably descended the stairs for nothing, Diane tiptoed to re-trace her steps, entering the pale drawing room. No one appeared to have closed the curtains and beams of eerie moonlight streaked across the wood floor and furniture, casting a monochrome scene. She rubbed her hip as it throbbed painfully. I’ll have a nice purplish bruise in the morning after hitting the corner of that solid oak beast.
Crossing eagerly to the sideboard, Diane slowly lifted the two brass rings at either end of the first drawer front, pulling gently. The drawer yielded only slightly, suggesting to Diane that it needed a firmer tug.
The resulting sound was loud and she froze, imagining the doorway filled at any moment with every single resident of the Hall, keen to see what on earth was occurring. Lady Felicity is so jittery, she might even be brandishing a poker . . .
After a long moment, Diane assessed she’d gotten away with her primary act of nosiness, judging that no one seemed to have heard her. Cursing frustrating night-blindness, she squinted aimlessly at the contents of the drawer before her.
The vast majority of the assessment was achieved with Diane’s hands as she pulled objects out of the drawer, feeling their shape and size. She quickly lost interest in the task after locating a wooden wedge doorstop, a ping-pong ball with a dent, a pack of playing cards, a huge magnifying glass and a set of woven drinks coasters.
The second drawer gave way far more easily, revealing nothing of interest: a folded linen tablecloth and place mats of varying sizes and textures that did not constitute a matching set. The final drawer was also stiff but moved noiselessly when the ring handles were yanked by an eager Pargitter. The exercise was rewarded with the discovery of three tasselled photograph albums in varying states of dishevelment. With all their money, you’d think they’d replace these tatty old things, Diane thought, running a hand over the cracked front cover and worn spine of the top album.
Lifting it, Diane flicked enthusiastically to the first page but was disillusioned to find her vision too poor to pick out much detail. She took her find into a stream of moonlight and began turning the musty old pages. The photographs appeared to be of a wedding; the subjects, although much changed in the case of the slim young man, were without doubt Lady Felicity and the Major. Lady Felicity’s slender waist was instantly recognisable and Diane grudgingly admitted that the woman had certainly kept her figure.
She skimmed forwards to see if there were any snapshots of children playing, but the album contained none she could make out. Theatre productions and reviews filled most of the pages, with images of elaborate costumes and scenery taking Diane to the end page.
As she unsuccessfully attempted to wedge the album back into the bottom drawer – a difficult task as the available space appeared to have shrunk considerably – Diane lost her patience, giving the book a substantial shove. The two resident albums jostled for space and the one she’d returned now stuck up at an awkward angle, making it impossible to close the drawer.
A square, tinted photograph fluttered to the floor, coming to rest under the sideboard, although Diane failed to notice it as she grappled with the unruly drawer. A nasty crack came from the vicinity of the back of the sideboard and suddenly, the whole front cover of the album parted company with its binding edge. Shutting the drawer briskly on the problem, Diane walked calmly away as if nothing had happened.
The muffled sound of a human voice drifted from the direction of the kitchen. Diane, making her way back towards the main hallway, pricked up her ears with inquisitive joy as she stopped dead to listen. Unusual, she thought, knowing the kitchen walls were around a foot thick. The room had been specifically designed that way – the Major had proudly boasted during dinner on Friday evening – in order to obliterate the crashing of pots and pans when the Professor was working in his study. This could only mean one thing: the kitchen door is open . . .
Diane remained still, holding her breath for as long as she was able. But eventually, she was forced to breathe out and change position as her ankle and hip protested in the strongest terms.
What would clever-clogs, Lily Green do in these circumstances? Diane wondered briefly, knowing the other woman had a keen mind and an eye for a mystery. With a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration, she had to admit that Lily was sure to solve everything by the end of the weekend, leaving The Hall victorious. The praise vanished as another vicious twinge of pain sparked her thoughts in a different direction.
Diane ignored the pain, registering instead that she suddenly felt overwhelmingly peckish. Still with bitter memories of the rabbit casserole debacle, Diane shuffled her way towards the centre of culinary creation. Oh, for a slice of cold apple pie with a generous dollop of cream, or several roast beef and mustard sandwiches to keep me sustained until breakfast . . .
Salivating madly, Diane quickened her pace. Only a few feet away from the open doorway, her ears tuned into a full-blown conversation. Hanging back in the shadows, she realised that a woman she didn’t recognise was speaking. Obviously quite common, Diane judged. Perhaps, she considered, it’s because the woman was normally encouraged to speak proper.
“Have you told her anything yet?”
There came no response, but Diane guessed the woman was not talking to herself in the middle of the night. Her stomach gave a rumble of expectation and she panicked that it would be heard, giving her position away.
“Well, you shake your head, but I know you. Don’t say I told you to come to this place, or else she could ruin the whole thing.”
Again, there was deathly silence. Diane, agog to know who was speaking, dared not move any nearer in case she was spotted.
“This isn’t easy and I don’t want anyone getting hurt, but what’s right is right – I know there’s evidence. Seems to me the blonde one’s being very cagey, as I heard it. Just you keep on doing what you’re doing . . . We’ll pick the right time tomorrow.”
The grandfather clock, a three-holed timepiece, sounded a chime denoting it was now a quarter to two in the morning. The woman spoke just a few more words, suggesting she and the listener get some sleep, going by the back stairs to their rooms.
Diane realised she wouldn’t be able to see who the pair were without moving into the kitchen doorway. And that could get me into a lot of trouble. She heard a chair scrape backwards on the tiled floor and the sound of someone rising, letting out a muted exclamation at the effort. A door then opened quietly. The sound of retreating footsteps placed carefully on the evidently uncarpeted back staircase told Diane she was now alone on the ground floor.
The large kitchen was bathed in moonlight and as she entered, Diane saw where the kitchen chair hadn’t been pushed in at the table. Desperate now for sustenance, she crossed to the large refrigerator, eagerly pulling open the door. Inside there was an array of left-overs but, to her disappointment, no chicken legs, apple pie, baked ham or any variety of roast meat that could be made into a snack. She grazed on a four-inch block of
Cheddar that didn’t seem to be bursting with flavour. Diane finished it anyway, her appetite only whetted by the mere morsel.
Closing the door on the cold interior, Diane padded over to the pantry in hopes of finding something more sustaining. Much to her delight, the small room contained several offerings that she liberally helpe
d herself to.
She munched on a sizeable pork pie, delighting in the richness of the hot water crust pastry and the saltiness of the pork and jelly within. She located a tablespoon and helped herself to most of a gooseberry tart, savouring the sharpness of the fruit against a sweet casing and filling. Perhaps I should take a couple of apple turnovers for the journey back to bed? Diane considered, but contented herself with just the one, dropping a trail of sugared pastry shards as she went.
Cecelia listened with interest to the muffled noises further along the corridor. Being a light sleeper and benefitting from excellent hearing, she identified the sound of footsteps on the stairs and in the corridor. Heavy in tread and probably the Major. Turning the page of her bedtime reading, she found herself right in the middle of a description of Professor Ambrose’s daughter:
‘She really is the gentlest of creatures, with her wonderful green eyes and golden hair, just like her mother’s. She has been the most loving of daughters and seems instinctively to know how much I miss Evelyn and Nathaniel. Dorcas is growing into quite a young lady and for that I’m truly grateful.’
She then read further diary entries and the similarities became startlingly apparent. The female offspring of Thaddeus Ambrose appeared to be the spitting image of Cecelia herself when she was a child. Lily and Peter had mentioned the magazine article, telling of a relative with a claim on the Hall – if that person could be found. Now, what if I were to be that relative, back at the Hall to see what I was entitled to?
Cecelia smiled widely as something clicked very wonderfully into place. The Lady of the house was clearly already scared – scared that Cecelia was in fact the heiress to the Hall. Tracing the missing daughter is the purpose of the weekend – why else would all the clues be about names and birth rights? Why else detain me on the stairs to ask my age?
And all the questions and commands, rather than suggestions, from Simeon Bailey during the hypnosis session about the unfortunate death of Cecelia’s brother slotted into place; it all made sense suddenly. This is an opportunity too good to miss – the fit is too perfect. The physical similarities between Dorcas Ambrose and Cecelia Morris were uncanny. Her instinct had told her to remain at the Hall after Frank Pargitter’s death and for a practised confidence-trickster, it was an opportunity too good to miss.
Hearing elephantine creaking outside her room, Cecelia guessed that Diane was up and prowling about. She waited until all was quiet again, slipping from under the bedclothes to sit for a moment in contemplation. There’s absolutely no reason why I can’t try to fool Lady Felicity and maybe, in turn, the Major with some persistent persuasion. The diary told of the circumstances, relevant dates and names. It will be relatively simple to put all this together and do a piece of acting of my own . . .
Still concocting her master plan, Cecelia rose from the bed, located her emerald silk dressing gown and ivory ballet slippers and made her way to the large bathroom for some water. The corridor outside the room was empty and moonlight cast menacing shadows, although nothing could distract her. The plan was perfect and Cecelia’s mind engaged in the intricate details of what she would say and how she could bring the subject up. She pushed open the bathroom door, discovering the large window allowed enough natural luminescence for her to find a clean glass and the tap.
Holding the half-full glass in her right hand, Cecelia stared into the mirror over the sink, marvelling at how her face seemed to aptly morph into someone completely different the longer she stared at her reflection. Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open and the silhouette of Lady Felicity stood framed there, bringing Cecelia to her senses. She was unsure whether the older woman’s arrival was pure coincidence, or perhaps she was watching and had followed her.
“Oh! You startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be around at this time of night.” Cecelia turned, speaking in a voice loaded with accusation.
Lady Felicity appeared un-flustered. My arrival is not mere chance. “I will come straight to the point.” She entered the substantial bathroom, closing the door behind her, coming to rest in front of her target. Felicity’s slippered feet glided with an ethereal quality across the expanse of pale stone floor.
Unnerved by the sight of the woman before her, whose ghostly white nightdress glowed in the moonlight, while dark hair flowed loose about her shoulders, Cecelia attempted to break the tension. “It wasn’t a long chat I was after anyway.”
Lady Felicity failed to smile in response, continuing determinedly onward in her quest for information. “I want to know if you’re the daughter of Professor Thaddeus Ambrose.”
Cecelia couldn’t believe her luck, although the confrontation robbed her of sufficient time to prepare. “And why do you think that might be the case?” Remaining cool, Cecelia fixed Lady Felicity with an unrelenting stare.
“Ha! So, you’re obviously not denying it!”
“It depends on whether you’ve got sufficient evidence. I could say I was absolutely anybody, just to fit the part. Surely, you’re more than familiar with that concept, given your own background?”
Felicity assumed an expression of defiance, her brain rapidly searched for a suitable response. “When it’s necessary, of course. But in your case, it is not.”
“What do you want me to say?” Cecelia’s face assumed an equally defensive expression as she waited for the requested evidence. But what you don’t know is the present location of Thaddeus Ambrose’s diary, Cecelia thought with smug satisfaction.
“I can’t ignore the certain similarities between yourself and Professor Ambrose’s only remaining child. Since that dreadful magazine article blurted that the true heir could potentially have a claim on this house,
it’s become public knowledge.”
Ha! You’re rattled. “Quite.”
“One must,” Lady Felicity continued with tedium, “ensure that any person staking a claim is genuine, so appropriate legal steps can then be taken.”
Cecelia stood stock-still, enjoying the game immensely. “So, why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking and I can put you right – although I don’t feel it’s wise to rake up the past.”
Lady Felicity seethed inwardly, feeling the cold chill of the bathroom. I know you’re merely playing with me, you hateful creature. “I think,” she said evenly, mustering her collective evidence, “you fit the age bracket for the daughter. You said you were mid-thirties. I happen to have seen a photograph of the young lady and you have certain physical similarities. In addition, your surname is Morris – the name assumed by the daughter, as Ambrose was far too distinctive.”
“And for those three reasons, you’re sure I’m the woman who’s going to take the Hall away from you and the Major?” Cecelia mocked, shaking her head vigorously.
“I also suspect you were not schooled in England, because of a certain way you have about you . . . Is that the case?”
Cecelia was on fire now, desperate to lay more bait. “As you’ve so cleverly detected, I wasn’t schooled, as you put it, in England. I was sent to a boarding school in America at a young age.”
Lady Felicity’s eyes shone with the discovery. “And during the hypnotism with Simeon, you mentioned a brother who died?”
Cecelia shivered at the memory of the intimate probing of her personal experiences. It was true that her brother had also died young, but not in the same way that Lily Green described from the parish records for young Nathaniel Ambrose. Instead of a sad death aged six from scarlet fever, Cecelia’s own brother, Thomas, has drowned aged nine in the garden pond one frosty November morning. He’d stood on the frozen water to see if it would take his weight, then slipped through the ice as it cracked, his thin, asthmatic body no match for the penetrating cold waters beneath.
Nodding vigorously and wearing a sad expression at the memory, Cecelia said with conviction, “Yes, he contracted scarlet fever when he was only six. I was a bit older and luckily didn’t come down with it as well.”
Felicity wrung her hands together,
all thoughts of the cold bathroom now forgotten. The evidence is plain to see and by her own admission, too many coincides in events mean Cecelia Morris is the one we’re looking for. I must tell Reggie immediately.
Controlling an emerging smile as she began to formulate a plan, Felicity asked one final question to ensure there was absolutely no doubt. “As you already know, the young woman had her name changed. Thaddeus’s brother thought it a good idea, for reasons best known to himself. Could you tell me – what was your full birth name?”
Cecelia stood up straight and assumed a believable pose as she answered with
sincerity, “Dorcas Elizabeth Ambrose.” I will lock my bedroom door tonight to ensure I’m safe, Cecelia decided.
Snuggling back under the covers, Lady Felicity firmly planted her cold feed on her husband’s toasty warm legs. With a yelp of surprise, the Major sprang upright and fixed his wife with a severe frown, causing his caterpillar eyebrows to knit together.
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 16