“What the blazes! How many times have I asked you not to do that, Felicity?” The Major rubbed the backs of his legs in an effort to regain some circulation and peered at his wife resentfully.
“I’ve just discovered something extremely interesting indeed. Oh Reggie, do stop fussing – you’ve pulled all the covers off me!” The Major dumped a portion of sheets and blankets onto his wife’s side of the bed and she tucked them around herself as he settled back down, trying to get comfortable.
“Where on earth have you been? I thought you were visiting the bathroom, or so you woke me up to inform me. And then – after I finally manage to doze off – you torture me with those ice block feet of yours.”
“I’ve just been speaking with Cecelia Morris,” Felicity announced excitedly.
“What – in the middle of the night in the bathroom?”
“Why not? It was an opportune moment. Anyway, stop talking and listen. She, it turns out, is the one – the heiress to Fig Tree Hall.
The long-lost daughter of Thaddeus Ambrose!” Lady Felicity sank back onto her pillows, inhaling deeply with relief after releasing the exciting bubble of news in one breath.
The Major sat bolt upright again. “What do you mean? She can’t be!”
With a look of satisfaction, Lady Felicity switched on her bedside lamp. “Why can’t she be? I can assure you, she is! All the details fit. It’s obvious that’s why she’s here after seeing our advertisement. I always knew the true heiress would make herself known at some stage. We’ve just struck incredibly lucky to get her here on our first go!”
The Major stayed very quiet for a long moment, then whispered, “Are you completely sure?”
“Yes, Reggie, completely.”
The Major sighed deeply. “Well, the question is, what on earth are we going to do about it?”
Nella Barnes entered the pantry early the next morning and let out a cry. “Who’s been at me gooseberry tart?”
Kitty came running, not altogether sure what sort of answer she could give. She found Cook looking puzzled and angry, a worrying combination at the best of times, but especially dangerous as Nella was grasping a sharp knife in her right hand.
“And there’s a great chunk gone out of the pork pie!”
“One of the guests? Or the Major – you know how he likes your pork pies,” Kitty ventured bravely.
“Funny how Seb’s nowhere to be seen.” Nella looked about her suspiciously. “He likes a bit of pork pie an’ all.”
Kitty raised her thin shoulders high around her ears in a shrug. The evidence was plain to see – the food had gone and no amount of wishing would bring it back.
“That was supposed to be for today’s lunch with some boiled potatoes and salad – the tart was meant for afters. Now I’ll have to think of something else – I haven’t got the time to make another one.”
Kitty wasn’t sure if Cook was referring to the pie, the tart or both, but tried to help by offering a suggestion for the lunch menu. “You could do a curry – that would go down well.” Her large hazel eyes looked hopeful.
“Not much meat to do it with. It’ll have to be mainly turnip,” Nella grumbled.
Kitty gave a wude grin. "Who's going to know, with all the spices to cover it up?"
Nella grudgingly agreed, setting to work to marshal together the available ingrdients.
THE DEAD WILL NEVER TELL
During a restless night, the Major and his wife used the time to plot and plan their course of action. In the cold light of day, however, doing away with Cecelia without raising suspicion presented many problems, akin to the labours of Sisyphus. Felicity urged the Major to think again, although there was no clear way forward. At the breakfast table, resentful glances passed between Felicity, the Major and Cecelia Morris.
The true purpose of this weekend, Lady Felicity told herself, was to identify the heir with a legitimate claim to the Hall, but not what to do after that. Her sole aim had been to find the person via advertisements in the local press, luring them to the Hall on false pretences. But how to keep the discovery from the remainder of the group?
Autumn sun shone through the dining room window, casting bright shards of light across the wooden floor, although the mood was less than enthusiastic. Now that Cecelia Morris was identified as Dorcas Ambrose, Lady Felicity no longer cared whether the guests enjoyed their final day. She glanced at the Major’s empty chair, having predicted his retreat as soon as possible with Simeon to update him on events.
“So, what’s in store this morning?” Lily asked brightly, in contrast with her mood. Staring into space, Lady Felicity seemed unaware she was expected to provide an answer.
Cecelia fixed the older woman with a catlike stare, observing, “I think she’s talking to you.”
Felicity Manners-Gore was brought up sharp, disturbed out of her private thoughts. “Oh, I . . . The Major has gone off with the clue, I’m afraid – so forgetful at times.” She shook her head gently and rose from the breakfast table, grateful to get away. And especially from that money-grabbing little witch . . .
Headed towards the Major’s study, a surge of sudden panic made Felicity feel rather unwell. She clutched the wall for support and slowed her pace, taking several deep breaths. Reggie and Simeon will be discussing the proposed deed and I’m supposed to carry on as normal. She knocked on the study door and waited. Felicity had dreamed of this for months – since the magazine article revealed the truth.
A gruff response demanded, “What is it?”
She moved her face closer to the door and spoke in hushed tones: “It’s me, Reggie.”
“Come!” The command was sharp and insulting, as if summoning a faithful hound.
Entering, Felicity saw that Simeon Bailey stood by the Major’s desk, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glowing cigarette. He shot her a withering look as she neatly advanced into the room, sliding around the door to close it. Her husband, staring fixedly out of the study window, remained with his back to her.
“You left with the clue,” she hissed, although she knew that Simeon’s ears missed nothing. “They’re all expecting today to be an interesting climax to the final curtain.”
“Don’t fuss with me, Felicity. I’m sure you can manage them perfectly well by yourself.”
Taking the irritated tone as a criticism, she bit back. “Not without the damn clue I can’t!” There seemed little point in mentioning Cecelia’s overwhelming air of smugness.
The Major extracted the card from his pocket, holding it out without looking at her. She took it and left, closing the door quietly. Banging it in protest would ultimately lead to even more tension.
Marching quickly back along the corridor, Lady Felicity heard voices coming from the drawing room and scowled resentfully at how freely these people moved around her home. A joyless thought made her footsteps heavy, her pace reluctant. Cecelia as Lady of the manor – over her dead body!
Preparing herself for a grand entrance as she had always done before every performance, Felicity fixed a generous smile across her frosted lips, trying to make it appear genuine. This, she considered, was preferable to manifesting a rictus grimace with her lips drawn back over her teeth.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Felicity announced as she swept into the room, halting all conversation. “The Major sends his apologies.” Positioning herself by the fireplace she held up the card, avoiding the intimidating scrutiny of Cecelia Morris. “This is almost the last clue of the weekend and it requires you to work in pairs.” Felicity waved the card for added emphasis, gazing at the group to ensure she had their undivided attention.
Lily grinned with immense satisfaction, secure in the knowledge that she would be spending her last day with Peter. The thought made her happy. He looks so smart today in black trousers, royal blue lamb’s wool V-neck jumper and navy-blue blazer. Funny how we both live in Milford but have only just met . . .
The thought sent a tingle down her spine that surprised and delighte
d her. She pulled her butter-coloured cardigan around herself, covering a vast proportion of pumpkin-orange, brushed cotton blouse and the growing pink blush on her neck. The outfit was completed by a black jersey skirt, but with the warm glow she was experiencing, Lily Green doubted she would feel the cold that day.
Cecelia instantly knew her choice of partner – given Lily and Peter’s inevitable twosome – left only Diane Pargitter. The thought depressed her immensely, but Cecelia felt heartened by the fact that she now had the owners of the Hall well and truly rattled.
Standing elegantly in a tailored lilac wool suit and ivory silk blouse with cream shoes, Cecelia towered above Diane Pargitter, assessing the other woman candidly. She appears to have chosen an outfit comprising a worn brown wool skirt that’s seen better days, and a baggy Aran pullover. Her red nail varnish is almost completely chipped away, while her dark curly hair sits dishevelled like a wildly unravelling ball of hairy string . . .
Lady Felicity cleared her throat because prolonged nervousness meant it needed clearing. She stood ramrod straight in a similar outfit to the day before, only today it was a turquoise-blue twin set with aqua skirt.
Tiny seed pearl earrings sat like dots on the lobes of her delicate ears.
“The clue,” she announced, “is as follows – ‘DRAWN IN THIS ROOM A PICTURE FINE, REVEALS A SECRET OF HEARTS ENTWINED’.”
Lily rapidly copied this into her lilac notebook and waited with expectation for the action to start.
With hesitation, Lady Felicity added, “If you wish, you could work in different rooms to discover what you might find.”
“What was it again? I don’t know how you expect us to remember all these things.” Diane’s protesting voice rose up as Lily handed her a piece of notepaper where she had kindly copied out the clue. Without thanking her, Diane trotted into the furthest corner of the room, beckoning Cecelia to join her.
Repressing a deep sigh, Cecelia followed, knowing that undoubtedly, she would get little peace as the other woman wittered on inanely for the best part of the morning.
Cecelia shrugged, her mind on bigger things. “We should get out of here,” she suggested, observing the easy friendship between Lily and Peter and feeling a strange prick of jealously. The person most closely suited to me among this odd group is Simeon Bailey, although I can’t imagine cosying up to him, giggling in corners as we work out how to solve this banal clue. “Remind me again of the clue – my brain’s gone all foggy,” Cecelia muttered. She heard Diane recite it again but wasn’t really listening. To appear as though the information had registered, Cecelia commented, “It’s something a bit different, at least.”
Diane nodded, but offered no further insight.
Lily and Peter left the drawing room suddenly, both wearing irritatingly smug expressions as they headed up the passageway towards the library.
“Suits her,” Diane said bitterly. “Lily Green in the lacklustre library with policeman Peter.”
“Why, Mrs Pargitter, I think you’ve just solved the murder by alliteration!”
“I have?” said Diane, puzzled, not picking up on the Cluedo reference.
Cecelia gave her a pitying look. “Never mind.”
“Well,” said Lily excitedly, “here we are again!”
“Here we are again,” echoed Peter, peering around the library and wondering what on earth they could find in a room almost completely lined with books and devoid of pictures, as the clue had indicated.
The lilac notebook emerged again as Lily attempted to make sense of the clue. It sounds much more interesting than the other clues, and at least I can get away from those two tiresome women who seem to cause all the disruption in this house. It was almost like a little holiday – just her and Peter and a good clue to get their teeth into.
“As far as I see it,” said Lily, feeling completely at ease as she took the initiative, “the picture could be inside a book.” Peter nodded, letting her amazingly analytical brain do its thing. Lily continued, “Finding it seems easier said than done, of course, but I think in connection with the rest of the clue, it might mean a book of love poetry. If that’s correct, the book must be in this library somewhere,
unless it’s by Lady F’s bed.”
“Right, but what about the ‘drawn’ part?” “Not sure yet, but this method of deduction hasn’t failed us so far!”
Standing directly behind Lily, Peter leaned his head over her left shoulder to get a closer look at the notebook. In return, Lily felt her spine become fluid again as she tingled with delight at his closeness.
“Well, there are definitely no drawings on the walls in here, but maybe it means to be drawn towards something. Or you can draw water from a well, or draw a fire to get it started.” Peter approached the fireplace, leaning on the mantle in deep contemplation. This is puzzling – there has to be more to it than coming into a room and starting a fire.
Lily sat on a chair upholstered in worn maroon velvet, idle fingers finding a frayed hole in the fabric. “Let’s just let the clue sink in for a moment.” She stared at the fireplace, lost in thought, seeing no trace of a blood stain as she replayed Frank’s tragic demise. Trying to focus on the clue, another thought entered Lily’s mind.
“What is it,” Peter turned, smiling at her, “not another book reference you just happen to have remembered?”
Lily stood abruptly, continuing to fix the fireplace with a hard stare. “Actually, I was just recalling something Cecelia said on Friday night.” Lily, who prided herself on her excellent recall of past conversations, paraphrased what the other woman had said. “She very observantly pointed out that it’s strange to have a working fireplace in a library because the heat damages the books, drying them out. But there always seems to be a working fireplace in big houses with a library, doesn’t there?”
“Amazing that something like that would occur to Cecelia, a fully paid-up member of the book-haters guild.”
Lily laughed. Not everyone appreciates the fantastic world of books, so I should make allowances, she thought, imagining Cecelia’s London flat completely devoid of serious reading matter. “So why put a fireplace in this extensive library? Just for show, or was there another purpose altogether? It doesn’t even look as though it’s ever been used.”
“What other purpose would a fireplace have – apart from decorative and as a source of warmth?” Peter asked.
She scanned the white marble surround carefully from her seat opposite. “Can you run your hand under the mantle to see if anything feels strange?”
Peter felt the smooth, cool expanse under the prominence of the shelf, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“What about those escutcheon mouldings at either side of the hearth? And – they’re heart-shaped, so that might fit,” Lily said, undeterred.
He dutifully pressed the left moulding but it didn’t yield in any way. He tried the right and this time the central prominence gave slightly. Beside the fireplace, a small adjacent bookcase swung stiffly aside to reveal the entrance to another room within.
Lily squealed with delight. “I knew it – a secret chamber! It stands to reason Professor Ambrose would build in a secret area as well as his laboratory and cellar rooms.” She was thrilled her hunch had proved correct, imagining that even Cecelia would be mildly impressed.
“Wow, this is amazing!” Peter enthused, forgetting the clue and peering into the newly-revealed gap.
Lily rose unsteadily, holding the back of the chair for support. “I don’t think we should go in there,” she cautioned, suddenly turning very pale so that her freckles stood out. “There’s a horrible musty smell coming from inside – goodness only knows when it was last opened.” She hung back, her earlier enthusiasm falling away.
Peter addressed her excitedly over his shoulder. “Where’s your sense of adventure? This is fascinating – I’m going in to explore!” Suddenly he stopped dead. “I wonder if it’s meant to be part of the mystery weekend – the fact that we discover a s
ecret room?”
Lily’s concern grew as the stale, pervasive odour crept out more forcefully to meet her, grasping the back of her throat like rancid, putrid fingers. “If this was all planned by the Major and his wife,” she spluttered, “they’ve been extremely thorough in conjuring up this authentically old, unused space.”
Taking shallow breaths and raising her left hand over her nose to avoid the rank atmosphere, Lily inched towards the fireplace while Peter stepped into the gap; his large frame ludicrously squeezed through the tight space that formed the doorway. She retreated back to stand behind the chair, its frame offering little protection.
“Smells really stale – like mouldy old material, mildew and rotting paper,” Peter shouted as he disappeared within, his visible left hand searching in his trouser pocket. “Got my torch back from Diane this morning
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 17