The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall

by Prudence Ambergast

  “Detective Sergeant Craddock and Constable Robinson,” the more senior of the newcomers said by way of introduction.

  Lady Felicity bustled past Treadmill, her hand comfortingly resting at her throat. “Do come in, Detective. We’re in the drawing room.” She gestured ahead and led the way as Treadmill hung behind, hoping for some more juicy information he could later share.

  “Major Manners-Gore telephoned us earlier to say the body of Professor Thaddeus Ambrose has been found in a secret room behind the library. Although this discovery seems very straightforward, we’ll need to examine the scene and interview each of you in turn.”

  The Major rose, his face turning rapidly florid. “Is that really necessary? Ambrose left a letter of explanation – he took his own life because of a degenerative nerve disorder, simple as that.”

  “I understand, having read a recent article about the Hall,” Craddock summarised, “that you are a distant relative of the deceased. Is that correct?”

  The Major shot a hunted look at first his friend, then his wife. Simeon Bailey gave an almost imperceptible nod. “That is correct,” the Major grudgingly admitted, “a very distant relative.”

  “And you were completely unaware of the existence of this secret room?”

  “Of course. We’ve only recently – due in fact to this murder mystery weekend – come across the architectural plans for the Hall, redesigned by the Professor in accordance with his research work.”

  “That,” the Detective Sergeant continued,

  “answers my next question, which was to ask who these people are and why they’re gathered here. Could you take me through exactly how the body was discovered?”

  The Major appealed to Peter Beresford with an expectant look, as he hadn’t personally experienced the unexpected encounter with Professor Ambrose in the hidden study.

  Rising from his chair, Peter introduced himself. “I’m Peter Beresford, a Constable with the local police. I came here for the purpose of taking part in a murder mystery weekend after seeing an advertisement in the Milford Advertiser.”

  Craddock nodded for him to continue.

  “One of the clues led us into the library and concerned looking for entwined hearts. We,” he indicated Lily, “thought it might relate to a book of love poetry, so we explored that option, then Lily coincidentally spotted the heart-shaped mouldings on the fireplace. The grate looked clean, as though a fire had never been lit, so Lily suggested I press the mouldings, which seemed quite prominent. No one knew what it would uncover . . .”

  The explanation sounded odd to Peter, but as he remembered it, the events had been a natural progression.

  “I pressed one moulding,” Peter continued, “and nothing happened. But when I pressed the other, part of the wall swung open. I was able to get inside the space behind and that’s when I discovered the body.”

  The Detective Sergeant wrote quickly in his police-issue notebook. “And it was just yourself and this young lady who found Professor Ambrose?”

  Peter nodded firmly, recalling the discovery in vivid detail. “Lily Green stayed in the library and once I’d discovered the body, I told her not to come into the hidden room as it was a bit grisly. Then Miss Cecelia Morris and Mrs Diane Pargitter entered the library.” Peter indicated the two women who sat listening intently. “Mrs Pargitter was keen to view the body, out of curiosity you understand?”

  Scanning the plump woman with the small beady eyes, keenly watching the action unfold, Craddock nodded as he established exactly what sort of woman she was. There was always one of that type – usually because there wasn’t room for two.

  “Constable Robinson, could you round up the members of staff for questioning?” The efficient police Constable left promptly as the DS continued his questioning. “And you mentioned the Professor left a letter – where was that exactly?”

  Peter proudly took centre stage again, much to the relief of everyone else in the room. “The body was slumped over the desk after having apparently taken poison – the suicide letter on the desk was partially obscured. I managed to carefully extract the letter and read it, although it’s written in elaborate copperplate. It says the Professor took deadly frog toxin in the knowledge that he was dying of a progressive nervous system disorder.”

  Craddock nodded, assured that Peter Beresford would have done his best not to disturb the scene as per police protocol. He wasn’t sure that the Pargitter woman seated beside Peter had been so careful. “I’ll need to see the letter in situ and I will need to take it away as evidence, then we’ll arrange for the body to be removed for post mortem.”

  The Major rapidly became animated, unsure he could take much more disruption in his life. The weekend had certainly been an eventful one. “Is a post mortem examination strictly necessary if Ambrose admits he killed himself in the letter and gives his reasons why?”

  Reginald Manners-Gore could, if it were physically possible, have kicked himself for raising the level of suspicion and asking stupid questions.

  Lady Felicity shot her husband a look.

  “I’m afraid,” Craddock affirmed, “that if there’s been a suspicious death, no matter how long ago – a post mortem is performed to establish the exact cause. Even,” he fixed the Major with a firm gaze, “when there’s documentary evidence detailing exactly the substance and method causing death.”

  “I understood,” said Simeon Bailey coolly,

  “that suicide is not a police matter.”

  Craddock fixed the psychiatrist with a direct look as he replied, “Technically, no. But this is a very high-profile case as Professor Ambrose was something of a celebrity, well-known for his amazing contribution to the war effort with his outstanding research into nerve gas. His numerous inventions–”

  Diane, judging she hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to have her say, swiftly injected another angle into the enquiry. “I’m the wife of the man who died on Friday night,” she said importantly, staring straight at the Detective Sergeant with the assumption that Frank Pargitter’s case was bound to be known throughout the county.

  Lily looked from Craddock to Diane, wondering if she was going to insist Frank Pargitter was the innocent victim of a cruel plot.

  Craddock’s brow furrowed as he struggled to place the incident.

  “With some authority on the subject,” Diane continued egotistically, “I would urge you to consider murder as an alternative explanation for the Professor’s death.”

  Smiling in a self-satisfied way, she folded her arms across her ample chest, simultaneously shuffling her vast behind to settle in comfortably for the show.

  Lady Felicity’s eyebrows shot to her hairline in horror at the suggestion, whilst Cecelia smiled like a contented cat as the drama unfolded before her. Shocked at Diane’s boldness, Lily was unsure if she should comment. She was in no doubt, however, that given the extent of the rank, stale smell emanating from that little death cubby and its mummified occupant, the body had certainly been in there for a very long time.

  Robinson found Kitty working in the kitchen and Seb loitering with intent. The excitable maid almost jumped a foot in the air when she turned to see the young policeman advancing towards her, unaware her mind was on the intricacies of vegetable preparation and her worrying interaction with Cook earlier.

  Coming to a halt in front of the startled girl, Robinson asked, “How many staff do you have here, Miss?”

  Kitty stared as she found the constable’s kind brown eyes on her. Now is not the time to come face to face with a good-looking young policeman, she told herself, completely flustered. My hair’s a mess, escaping everywhere from under my cap, and my apron is badly creased after that mammoth cleaning session. What terrible timing!

  “Just me, Kitty and Cook,” Seb said, stepping forward to take charge, considering himself the most senior in Nella’s absence.

  “And where’s Cook right now?” Constable Robinson’s question was obvious, but Kitty hadn’t realised Nella was absent,
until now.

  “Not sure exactly,” muttered Kitty, roughly manhandling a large swede from the vegetable rack. “Unlike her to leave the kitchen though – unless, of course, she’s had to pay a visit . . .”

  Robinson gave a look of confusion, prompting Kitty to supply the answer that Cook could well be in the outside lavatory.

  “I’ll wait then,” he said with some embarrassment. “My Guv’nor wants to interview everyone about the body found in the library, or just near it.”

  Ten very awkward minutes passed during which the constable, who had seated himself purposefully at the kitchen table, was offered a cup of tea by a blushing Kitty. He declined. Seb then attempted but failed miserably to engage him in conversation about horse racing, a sport in which Robinson did not take an interest.

  “I really don’t know where she can be. I’ll go up to her room and have a look, if you like. She was quite upset earlier, so Nella might have needed some time to herself.” Kitty made to leave, but not before Seb’s interest was fuelled.

  Eyes wide, he asked, “Was she? What was she upset about – did she say?” His face was animated, but not by concern.

  For once in her life Kitty showed a great deal of maturity and shook her head in a noncommittal way.

  Putting on what he considered a posh voice for the benefit of the policeman, Seb continued to take charge. “I apologise for this. If I’d known Cook was upset, I would have suggested we look in her room straight away. The Major and Lady Felicity are very generous, allowing her to have time to herself if she needs it – on account of her age and the number of years she’s been here. Longer than they have, in fact!” Seb gave a harsh bray of amusement, but this was met with a straight face from the humourless constable.

  Kitty voiced the suggestion again, clearing her throat nervously. “I’ll just go up and tell Nella you want to speak with her. Seb, why don’t you check the garden, in case she’s getting some herbs or something?” She knew Seb hated being told what to do, but hoped he’d grasp the opportunity to get away from the sullen policeman. Good-looking he may be, but no sense of humour – a definite no-no, Kitty decided.

  Robinson found himself suddenly alone in the very well-equipped kitchen. He crossed to the stove, lifting the lid on a lone pot to peer in. Finding a mound of raw potatoes in water, he replaced the lid and examined the shelves of the dresser. Nothing there took his interest. He was just toying with searching the pantry and its edible contents when Kitty burst back into the kitchen.

  “She’s gone! Nella’s taken her coat and a photograph album. The drawer was left open, where she keeps it in the cupboard by her bed. Looks like she was in a rush.”

  Robinson’s face assumed a mask of mild panic and he hurried out of the kitchen without a backward glance, heading directly up the corridor to report this latest finding to his superior. Kitty – full of self-blame that she’d caused this awful situation by bringing up that stupid will – bit her nails and tasted onion.

  BLACKMAIL & BONHOMIE

  “Sir, it appears that Cook is missing.” Robinson imparted the information for everyone to hear, earning him a scowl from DS Craddock.

  “Oohh! How thrilling – another strange occurrence in this creepy house,” Diane brayed loudly, irritating Lady Felicity anew.

  Peter’s expression was odd, Lily considered. It seemed to show deep concern, only it was much more than that.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” said Cecelia, sporting a wide Cheshire cat smile. I wish my body could disappear in the same ingenious way, she mused.

  “What’s wrong?” Lily whispered in Peter’s ear.

  “I’ll tell you in private,” he replied. “Right now, it might just make things a whole lot worse.”

  Diane chose that moment to aim her parting shot. “This must mean Cook had something to do with the Professor’s death – she’s disappeared because of a guilty conscience. But far more serious than that,” a crucial thought suddenly occurred which Diane just had to voice, “who’s going to cook our dinner tonight?”

  “Right!” Peter clapped his hands angrily together, simultaneously making both Lady Felicity and Diane jump. “We’re going to split into small groups to look for Cook.” His face was anxious as he hurried to motivate people into action.

  “I like the way you think,” purred Diane. “The sooner we find her, the sooner our dinner can be prepared. It’s getting on for four o’clock – where do you think she’s gone?”

  Peter rounded on Diane Pargitter, his face thunderous. “Is there any time when you’re not thinking of yourself?”

  Diane cringed as though she’d been physically slapped. “I-I don’t know why you’re so worried she’s gone. If it’s a matter of knocking up a bit of dinner, I’m sure I can–”

  “Stop!” Peter held up a hand to silence her. Everyone stared in astonishment as the gentle policeman assumed the qualities of a raging tornado.

  “You’re right, of course,” DS Craddock added, although he was unsure why the younger man was so keen to organise a search.

  Peter barked orders. “Diane, you go with Cecelia and search the upstairs – I’ll go with Lily and search outside. Major, if you can have a look around the ground floor with Dr Bailey to see if she’s hiding anywhere? She could be upset and doesn’t want to be found.”

  “And what about me?” Lady Felicity asked, alarmed at the transformation in Peter and slightly hurt not to be included in the instructions. “Perhaps Cook’s gone for a walk and could be back at any moment to find everyone making all this fuss.”

  Craddock peered around the room. “Is it usual for Cook to take herself off on walks without telling anyone?”

  Lady Felicity shook her head, unsure of which policeman she should answer to. She glanced nervously at Peter for clarification.

  “You,” Peter suggested, “can stay here in case she does come back.” He cradled the back of his head with laced hands in an effort to calm himself as thoughts whizzed through his brain. “None of you have any idea . . . Let’s just hope there’s no lasting damage.”

  Lily had to run to keep up with Peter’s long, determined stride. “What on earth is it?” she called after him. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” There had been no opportunity to grab her coat against the penetrating chill late afternoon air. Peter seemed oblivious as he ventured tenaciously onward.

  “Where are we going anyway?” Lily shouted. There was something very important going on, but she didn’t know what. I must be patient, she told herself as they continued their breathless pursuit through the sodden leaves – all will become clear in time.

  Reaching the clearing where they’d been the previous day with Cecelia, Lily saw the white stone of the chapel shining like a beacon in the fading light. Its square hewn walls and squat presence there among the trees was somehow comforting, and Lily realised this was exactly where Peter was heading.

  Abruptly he turned, assured that no one but Lily was in ear shot. “It’s Cook . . . there’s a reason why I’m so concerned. Sorry if I’m behaving out of character, but if she’s got it into her head–”

  Clasping one of his cold hands in hers, Lily stared directly into Peter’s determined blue eyes. “Just tell me,” she said.

  “The cook here at the Hall is my mother. She’s been here forever and I think she was very close to the Professor . . . Extremely close, if you know what I mean.”

  Struggling for something sensible to say,

  Lily came up with nothing. “So, you think she’s upset because we found his body after all this time?”

  He held her at arm’s length, taking in each of her features as though he was trying to commit them to memory. “There’s more to it than that, I’m not entirely sure myself yet. Believe me, when I know, you’ll be the first person I’ll share it with.”

  Lily felt a glow spreading throughout her whole body. Peter smiled and together, they headed towards the little chapel. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when they arrived, but she was a
willing passenger.

  They found Nella hunched over in the front pew, her grey hair wild after its battle with the autumn winds. She didn’t hear their approach, so engrossed was she in her task. On her lap sat a photograph album and a book of parish records, the door of the small room where they resided left hurriedly ajar.

  “Mum?” Peter said softly, making Nella shoot bolt upright so she almost dropped both register and album in fright. Gazing with wild eyes at first her son and then Lily, Nella resembled a cornered animal.

  “It’s OK,” Lily said gently. “Everything will be fine.”

  “What have you told her?” Nella barked accusingly.

  “Only that you’re my mother. What else is there?” Peter looked confused and Lily had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that the situation could turn quite explosive if handled incorrectly.