“There’s something I need to tell you,” Nella said, sounding anxious, “but I don’t think that now is the proper time.” She looked up from her lap, eyes huge behind her glasses. “How did you know to look for me here?”
Peter shrugged. “Just a feeling. When it transpired that you weren’t in the house, I knew there wasn’t really anywhere else you could be.”
Nella looked proud. “My clever son. That’s why I always knew you’d make a fine policeman.”
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Lily felt she was intruding.
“It was Mum who suggested I come here this weekend,” Peter revealed. “Mum, this is Lily Green.” He grinned, indicating like a magician introducing his lovely assistant. “She’s a librarian.”
“I’m sure she is,” Nella smiled, patting the pew next to her.
Peter shook his head. “We should really head back. It’s getting dark and everyone’s looking for you.”
Nella stood, resigned to the fact that she was not going to get any more time alone with her thoughts.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Lily asked kindly.
Nella looked down at the register in her hand as though she’d forgotten it was there. Nodding, she handed it to Lily without explaining her intention in seeking it out. Peter linked arms with his mother, making Lily feel strangely excluded once again. She stepped ahead of them to open the chapel door.
Outside, the light had faded considerably in the short time they were with Nella; Lily was left to make her own way when she would have preferred Peter’s arm around her. The journey back to the Hall was silent, Lily guessed, because what Nella had to say to her son was deeply private.
The small, cramped room was a masterpiece of design, Craddock thought, deeply impressed by the ingenuity of concealing such a space behind a fireplace. The fact that the body had remained undetected for twenty years showed just how secret it was. In the room, glass-fronted specimen cabinets held numerous squat little jars of liquid in an array of colours. A chemistry set, assembled for distillation, sat waiting to be made use of.
Craddock and Robinson examined the scene of Professor Ambrose’s strange death while the household searched for Cook. The wizened yellowing corpse had been photographed and was finally removed unceremoniously from the home he so lovingly created.
“What did you observe about the body?” Craddock asked directly, making Robinson distinctly nervous. He hated being put on the spot, his brain always refusing to offer up an answer.
“It’d been in situ for a long time,” he provided.
“Clearly. What else?”
Robinson struggled to find something further. “It’s mummified,” he said bluntly.
Craddock tapped his top lip with the forefinger of his left hand, his other arm folded across his body. “Good, go on.”
“He was slumped over his desk so it doesn’t look like he’s been moved by anyone – the dust isn’t disturbed – except where the letter was extracted.”
“I don’t think there’s been any interference.” Craddock took a couple of steps forward, which was all that the space allowed. “The Major says they found the plans to the Hall in the Professor’s desk, but I don’t think there’s more to it.”
Robinson nodded, sensibly staying quiet.
“Still an odd case though. I remember reading that the brother went through all the money, paying off his own debts and creating new ones.” Craddock looked pensive as he stared around the dim, wood-panelled room.
“Do we need to remove all these papers?” Robinson asked, scanning the teetering pile of journals and notes with dismay.
“We have the Professor’s letter – that’s the main piece of evidence.” He squeezed past the constable to quickly examine the tall pile of papers in more detail. “Looks like this was all to do with his work. That’s the trouble with academics – always so many documents.”
Robinson made a great show of being interested in the large pile, not entirely sure if that was a yes or a no.
“I remember a different case,” Craddock recalled, “concerning a university don who was poisoned by a jealous colleague over research funding. Took months to go through all the paperwork from his office and none of it was relevant in the end.”
This case was before Robinson’s time, so he nodded again, trying to find something intelligent to say.
“But you always have to look, don’t you?” Craddock fixed the constable with an uncomfortable stare, suggesting that whilst Professor Ambrose’s death wasn’t recent, this wasn’t an opportunity to cut corners.
Peter ushered his mother through the kitchen door to the relief of Kitty and the interest of Seb. “She’s had a bit of a shock,” he explained by way of explanation, pulling out a kitchen chair and guiding Nella expertly into it.
Seb hovered like an excited hornet.
“Do you want a stiff sherry?” Kitty offered kindly, having heard this was the sort of thing one did in cases of shock, “Or perhaps you’d rather have a cup of tea?”
Lily viewed the butler-cum-valet from her position by the Aga. He looks as though he wants to say something, but he’s keeping his mouth firmly buttoned.
“I’ll fetch the Detective Sergeant,” Lily offered, desperately wanting to be useful. Peter nodded and she left with no idea of where Craddock might be.
“What’s going on then?” Seb blurted. “Kitty said you were upset . . .”
Kitty flashed him a warning look, but he’d already asked the question so it was too late to take it back.
“You’re nosey for a cabbage,” Nella observed acidly, not in the mood for Seb’s unbounding curiosity.
“Just taking an interest,” Seb sniffed, leaving the room to busy himself elsewhere.
“I think I will have that tea,” Nella said calmly. “By the way, this is Peter – my son.”
Feeling privileged to be given this information, Kitty’s hazel eyes widened to a point where they were almost out on stalks. As she turned her back to make the tea, her brain fired rapidly. But some things were better left unsaid.
Lily found the rest of the search party back in the drawing room. “It’s OK,” she announced breathily, “Cook’s fine.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Diane whispered loudly to Cecelia, spoiling it with, “at least we won’t starve tonight.”
Lady Felicity turned on the increasingly annoying guest. “Mrs Pargitter! Do you ever think before opening your mouth? The poor woman is clearly shocked by the discovery of Professor Ambrose. As a very valued member of my staff, I don’t expect her to set about cooking dinner to please the likes of you!”
Diane’s face fell, registering the testy gruffness of the post-menopausal woman. This place really is the pits and Frank and I actually paid to come here – not that he had his money’s worth. She would leave tonight with a sense of relief as well as sadness that, in actual fact, she was saying goodbye to the last place Frank had been alive. They obviously aren’t sensitive enough to think of that though . . .
“And,” Lady Felicity continued determinedly, “I hope you’ve made suitable arrangements regarding leaving here this evening, as there are no spare beds – in case you were planning on extending your stay.”
Cecelia grinned maliciously and Lily’s face assumed a pitying look.
“Where’s the detective?” Lily enquired, almost forgetting her offer to tell him Nella had been found.
Relieved to have her attention diverted away from the Pargitter female, Lady Felicity relayed in a somewhat fraught tone, “He’s in the library with that unfortunate little constable, examining the scene of the. . . what would you call it. . . incident, I suppose. Reggie and Simeon are ensconced – as per usual – in the study and I’m left, once again, to deal with everything else.”
“Right,” said Lily, feeling awkward all over again. “Should I go and tell him about Cook, or will he come back in here to speak to you?”
“How on earth should I know the man’s
intentions?” Lady Felicity exploded anew, sending Lily scuttling back to the kitchen.
“So basically, he’s on to me now,” Nell faltered, starting badly as Lily re-entered the kitchen.
It’s official, Lily thought, I’m obviously not welcome in any room of this house. She caught Peter’s encouraging smile, opting to stay put.
“Where is that useless article?” Nella exclaimed, peering around as if expecting to see Seb pop out of a cupboard.
With an anxious look, Peter covered his mother’s hand with his own. Lily saw the similarities in the shape of their faces as they sat virtually side by side. “Are you quite sure about all this? It might not go down too well,” he asked.
Nella shook her head. “No matter – I have to tell them so they know where they stand. But now we have the proof, I daren’t think about the consequences . . .”
Lily made a hand gesture indicating she would leave them to it, but at that moment, a breathless Seb arrived, having almost been caught in the act of listening at the entrance to the hidden room in the library. His cover story of needing to fetch a book, concocted in case of emergencies, had almost been necessary.
“So – what did you manage to hear?” Nella smiled, knowing Seb’s antics of old.
The inquisitive butler-cum-valet shook his head, a horrified expression on his face. “I wasn’t listening in deliberately… a little bird told me they’d finished in there and I needed to fetch a book on ornithology. There was a bird this morning with brown feathers and a blue throat. . .” He looked embarrassed for the benefit of Peter.
“This little bird,” Nella said, her mouth a flat line, “that would be a tell-tale tit.”
“Where is it, then?” Peter asked, amused by his mother’s witticism and the odd man who worked alongside her.
“Where’s what?” Seb looked around him exaggeratedly.
“The book.”
“Oh, I wasn’t able to get it – the police were still busy. Apparently debating whether to remove the Professor’s papers or not.”
Nella’s face became a mask of shock. “What, all of ‘em?” she said, her eyes darting wildly towards Peter.
“What is it?” he asked with concern.
“I think I’d better tell you the whole story, as this makes things even more complicated.”
Seb absent-mindedly polished an area on the oak dresser with his sleeve, hoping beyond hope to be included in the revelation. Nella shot him a look that told him everything he needed to know.
And he left without another word.
Cecelia knocked quietly at the study door and waited to be invited in. On receiving the order, her hand shook slightly as she turned the brass handle. Inside, Simeon Bailey stood with a cigarette poised in one hand like a film star. The Major, his back to the door, turned his swivel chair to face the newcomer.
“Ah, Miss Morris. And what can we do for you?” The Major’s bushy eyebrows rose like rampant caterpillars with the question and Cecelia was surprised at how friendly he appeared, given everything that had gone before. Simeon Bailey, however, was another matter entirely.
Clearing her throat, Cecelia began the speech she’d rehearsed several times to herself in the drawing room. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’ve become party to a certain interesting item left by the Professor.”
The Major’s expression did not change. “Oh?”
“The item in question,” Cecelia continued,
“was in the old laboratory in the cellar and I’ve read every word. I know there was an illegitimate child born with a right to this property.” Cecelia searched the Major’s face but he gave nothing away. She dangled an apology in the hopes of getting a reaction. “It was an error of judgement, attempting to pass myself off as the Professor’s daughter,
Dorcas.”
The Major nodded and Simeon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Both men gave no clues.
How far can I go with this? Cecelia wondered. “It’s my belief,” she continued, “that you’ve also read the diary, although I don’t think you shared the knowledge with your wife.”
Simeon Bailey coughed and Cecelia instantly knew this was true. I’m admitting weakness in an attempt to bargain, but the rewards could be very sweet if all goes to plan.
“If that’s the case, you’re already aware of this male child – an adult now of course – and you’ll be anxious about him coming forward. His claim would be greater than that of Dorcas, being a male heir,” she supplied.
The statement hung in the air like a pervading gas, penetrating every thought process, scrambling the senses. Finally, the
Major spoke. “And what business is it of yours?” The question wasn’t aggressive, but Cecelia couldn’t blame him for his tone.
Looking first at Simeon Bailey, then the seated man, Cecelia went in for the kill. “I believe I can help with your problem.”
If I ignore the fact that you must have forced entry into my desk to obtain the key to the cellar laboratory,” said the Major, keeping his voice uncharacteristically calm, “how on earth could you manage to achieve that?”
A superior smile spread across Cecelia’s frosted coffee lips. “I have a second document – one that’s far more important, making the difference between you remaining in your home here. . . or not.” Cecelia let the last words hang for emphasis, sure she couldn’t lose in the bargain she was about to strike.
The Major glanced at his friend and Simeon spoke for the first time, his voice devoid of emotion. “And what, exactly, are you proposing?”
Unnerved by the turn of events, Cecelia kept her cool, carefully displaying her ace card. “I’m in possession of the last will and testament of Professor Thaddeus Ambrose.”
Silence met the revelation, making Cecelia distinctly unsure of her next move.
“I don’t believe your claim,” Simeon decreed. “There is no will, only research documents and patents. They’re stored in the ante-chamber,” he indicated the cubby behind the globe where Cecelia had spent an extremely uncomfortable few hours.
“That’s exactly where I found it. While I was in there – and I’ll cast no blame – I found the document tucked behind one of the wooden beams. It was out of sight, but because I felt around for the candle and the matches in the dark, I was fortunate enough to locate it.”
The Major appeared stunned by the information. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” he said, moustache bristling menacingly.
Cecelia steepled her fingers as she faced her seated nemesis. “I have the document locked in my room. I’ve taken the liberty of breaking the seal and reading the contents.”
Unable to maintain a calm exterior, the Major’s face turned dark pink as he exploded. “And what did it say, you infuriating creature – is there nothing you won’t do in an effort to disrupt our lives?”
Cecelia smiled contentedly as Simeon Bailey locked eyes with his friend, seemingly achieving a calming effect via thought transference. “I can produce the will at any time,” she persisted, “and you can see for yourself that it leaves everything – the Hall and all income from the Professor’s invention patents – to his son, not Dorcas. That librarian told me about the parish records they found, saying that one boy died of scarlet fever at a young age. This will is dated just before the Professor’s suicide.”
“So, what’s in it for you?” Simeon summed up succinctly.
“Well, as I’ve so kindly brought this to your attention – after discovering the document you never realised even existed – I think that a large cheque would be very much in order, don’t you?”
“You scheming little bitch!” The Major’s blood pressure visibly escalated so that, purple-faced, he shot from his seat, one hand raised to strike. Simeon Bailey intervened, subduing the anger within moments. The Major sat heavily back down, staring ahead as though stunned by a physical blow.
“And exactly how much were you hoping for?” Simeon continued the negotiation, unflustered.
“Well
, let’s see.” Cecelia swayed the top of her body at the waist like a small child choosing a bag of sweets. “I’m not a greedy woman, so shall we say £5,000?”
Like an automaton, the Major opened his desk drawer, laying a hand on his army revolver. Simeon shook his head and Reginald Manners-Gore reached instead for his cheque book. “This almost clears me out, you know,” he muttered gruffly, completing Cecelia’s name and the amount in a spidery scrawl before tearing out the cheque and handing it to her.
“Very nice doing business with you. You shall have Ambrose’s will when the cheque clears.”
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 23