“B-but,” the Major spluttered, “that means taking the document away with you tonight. I can’t allow my property to be removed.”
“On the contrary,” said Cecelia, tapping the cheque with greedy fingers as she fixed the Major with wide, innocent green eyes, “to secure your property, I have to ensure you won’t cancel this the minute I step out of the door.”
THE TRUTH WILL OUT
“It’s for the best, Mum,” Peter advised. “If you hand the will over to the police, at least it’ll be safe.” Nella nodded. But although she’d told her son that Thaddeus Ambrose’s will was important, that wasn’t the whole story.
In his study, Major Reginald Manners-Gore was rapidly losing his cool. “If what that scheming Madam says is true,” the Major barked with concern, “I’m done for anyway. This new will turns the income from the invention patents over to the heir. Even if by some miracle I get to keep the Hall, I still need that source of income!” Banging his fist on the desk, the Major’s cheeks assumed a startling purple hue.
“Who is this heir, that’s what we have to ask ourselves, and does he know what he’s entitled to?” Simeon mused, pacing his friend’s study in languid strides, his cunning mind whirring to concoct a plan of action.
“You have a point there, old man,” the Major agreed eagerly. “If he doesn’t know about his sudden good fortune, he can’t come forward. And long may it remain that way.”
Simeon nodded at this new perspective.
“Think, think!” The Major cradled his forehead in cupped hands. Moments later he announced, “I’ve got it! The diary in the cellar – Cecelia’s reminded me that it mentions the birth of an illegitimate son. I discovered the diary on a shelf in a little room down there when we first moved here, but I never thought much of it. Felicity wouldn’t go down in the cellar on principle, but I had a mooch and flicked through the small tome. Mostly sentimental stuff about Ambrose’s daughter and how the wife had died unexpectedly. Then this birth . . .”
“And?”
“And nothing,” the Major snapped, “that’s just it. The entry only said the Professor was happy to be having another boy.”
“Who was the mother?”
“She was barely mentioned – very cryptic. Someone in the house who gave him comfort when his wife died.”
“Think logically,” Simeon instructed. “Who was here at the time – a family friend buzzing around, trying to be helpful, or a relative of the dead wife? One of those insufferable females who bustle in and inflict themselves in the belief they’re being useful, trying their best to persuade that their presence is necessary.”
The Major shook his head slowly, failing to make a connection.
“How did the wife die – perhaps there’s a link?” Simeon Bailey persisted.
“As far as I can remember, it was a heart complaint,” the Major finally managed “There was much talk of it not being due to natural causes, I remember that, but it all came to nothing as no wrongdoing could be proved.”
“What was said?” Simeon’s dark eyes shone at the prospect of an unnatural death.
“Something about ingesting a substance that brought about the heart attack. Fig wood tea was blamed, of course.”
“So, Cook was under suspicion?”
“Do you know, I think she was?”
Simeon steepled his fingers. “And did she have a heart complaint before the tea?”
“Who?” the Major looked confused, wondering if Simeon was referring to Cook.
“Is it possible the wife was disposed of so Cook could ensconce herself as wife number two?” Simeon asked, causing the Major to frown deeply. “Are you completely sure Cook isn’t connected – it all seems to fit. Firstly, the wife dies rather suspiciously. Secondly, a woman conveniently gives the Professor some ‘much-needed comfort’. Thirdly, a mystery heir is left everything in a new will made just before the Professor commits suicide.”
The Major nodded, seeing the sinister picture Simeon was painting. “But I’ve known Cook for years, inherited her with the Hall, as it were. She’s never given us any trouble.”
“Until this weekend and a man drops dead after drinking her tea, then she dramatically goes missing for no apparent reason. Oh, and don’t forget that one of your guests just happens to be a policeman who finds the Professor’s body in a secret room behind the library – it can’t all be a coincidence.”
The Major pursed his lips. “What you say is, of course, true. Are you of the opinion that the woman offering comfort to the Professor was Cook? I find it rather hard to believe he’d look below stairs for someone to turn to in his grief.”
“My dear friend, Cook was familiar, she was there and she was willing – what more do you need?”
The Major stared into space for a long moment before saying, “If this is true, we must stop her making things a whole lot worse.”
“Relax,” Simeon crossed the room to place a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The latest will is safely with Cecelia Morris and the deal is done – she won’t risk losing that windfall you’ve negotiated. The recipient’s also unaware of his fortune. Without either the document or the heir, there’s no evidence and you can sit tight.”
“I understand that Constable Robinson has already taken your names and addresses, should we need any further information,” Craddock said.
Robinson nodded importantly.
Peter moved silently into the drawing room with a silver-haired plump woman in tow. She wore owlish glasses, pushed up to the very top of her nose with a stout finger to ensure she saw everyone clearly.
“Detective Sergeant Craddock, can Cook have a word before you leave?” Peter asked.
“Of course.” The DS consulted his notebook, “Mrs Barnes, isn’t it?”
Nella shook her head, “Not Mrs . . .”
Craddock smiled, “What is it you’d like to say?”
Nella cleared her throat, stunned momentarily by the avid audience waiting on her words with bated breath. “I think this would be far safer with you,” she said, handing over the sky-blue envelope and its precious contents to the Detective Sergeant. The Major spluttered uncomfortably and shot to his feet. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Don’t get involved, Reggie,” Lady Felicity suggested, unaware of the document’s crucial impact on their home and income.
“And what, exactly, do you think this document is, Major Manners-Gore?” Craddock enquired, fixing the large man with a steely glare. But before Reginald could answer, Nella provided the necessary information the drawing room residents craved so desperately.
“So, if this is the only copy of the Professor’s last will,” the Major blustered, “why the devil have I just given you £5,000?” He shot a look of pure hatred at Cecelia, who in turn remained outwardly serene, seeing absolutely no need to draw undue attention to the situation.
Craddock held the costly blue envelope in one hand, tapping it against his other. “Perhaps you’d like to explain how this document has just lost you such a large sum of money?”
The Major immediately turned an unattractive shade of crimson. “This young lady,” he spat, indicating Cecelia, “attempted to blackmail me to extract the payment, in addition to carrying out a very elaborate fraud attempt earlier.”
Craddock’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Do go on, Major.”
“This devious, underhand creature tried to pass herself off as Professor Ambrose’s long-lost daughter with the purpose of obtaining Fig Tree Hall as her own,” the Major blustered, watching as the Detective Sergeant nodded, his expression stoical. “Cecelia Morris convinced me she possessed Ambrose’s latest will and said if I paid her £5,000, she would hand it over when the cheque had cleared.”
Lady Felicity gasped, genuinely astonished by the further betrayal.
“And how did you come by the will, Miss?” Craddock asked Cecelia, who was staring innocently out of the window into the voluminous darkness as Lily and Diane’s eyes bored into her. She r
esponded with a shrug and said nothing.
“She claims to have found it in a small room off of my study – told me she had the will locked away in her bedroom, if you can believe that,” the Major supplied.
In an unreadable voice, Cecelia offered, “I did, but clearly someone took it.”
Craddock turned back to Cook. “So how did it come to be in your possession, Ms Barnes?”
Nella cleared her throat again, squaring up to her accuser. “The housemaid came across it in the course of her duties and saw that the wax seal was already broken. She thought it best that I take care of it.”
Craddock stared, eyebrows raised above questioning gun-metal grey eyes. “And why would that be?”
“It’s a long and complicated tale that I don’t want to share with everyone here, if it’s all the same.”
Peter stepped forward. “The long and the short of it is, Cook felt you ought to have the will after the maid gave it to her. Isn’t that enough?”
“I’ll have my cheque back as well!” the Major exclaimed, now sporting a patchy cerise with a hint of violent violet on his cheeks.
Cecelia reached into the pocket of her tailored jacket and withdrew the folded cheque between her exquisitely manicured forefinger and middle finger. Theatrically, solely for the Major’s benefit, she tore it into tiny pieces and threw them to the expensive carpet, making Lady Felicity gasp again in horror.
Diane could not resist a damning observation. “I bet she’s done this before. You ought to check your records for fraud and blackmail attempts at all the big country houses – the clothes she wears don’t come cheap.”
Cecelia shot Diane an icy look and tossed her head away from the thickset, unkempt image that offended her vision. Lily shook her head, unable to believe what had just happened.
Turning to the stylish young woman with the extraordinary green eyes, Craddock addressed his words carefully. “Miss Cecelia Morris, I am arresting you under suspicion of fraud and blackmail offences. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Without turning a hair, Cecelia faced the room. “And so, the final act ends,” she announced, before being unceremoniously escorted to the police station for further questioning.
In the aftermath as the whole sorry situation sank in, Diane turned to Lily and voiced what she considered everyone was thinking. “Perhaps that’s now an end to it. I never took to her, with her airs and graces. She obviously thought she was better than everyone else and it turns out she was just a blackmailer and a fraud! Of course, I can always tell when–”
“Mrs Pargitter, please!” Lady Felicity appealed to the other woman. “The whole weekend has been extremely trying and it will take me months to get over the trauma.”
“I merely said . . . Anyway, what about dinner? I’m happy to do it if Cook’s not up to the job.”
Nella scowled at the woman who she instantly recognised as the casserole criticiser. “I am up to it, as you so blatantly put it, it’s just that I’m choosing to go and lay down instead.” With that, she left in a flourish, with Peter following close behind.
Lily cringed at the tension in the air, acknowledging another stab of jealously as Peter departed at the heels of his mother. Perhaps I should offer to help with the evening meal too? she thought with mixed feelings. Once that was over, they would all be returning to their own little worlds, although Lily very much hoped that Peter would continue to be part of hers.
“Of course,” Diane continued relentlessly, “we now know there’s this will, so that puts a whole new slant on things.” She stared at the Major for his reaction.
“It certainly does, Mrs Pargitter,” he confirmed gruffly, rising from his seat and gesturing for Simeon to follow to the study.
“Do you know,” Diane concluded, presuming that Lily Green was still listening,
“I was going to suggest where she went wrong with that rabbit–”
Lady Felicity’s eyes were furious and she only glanced at Diane before muttering, “Perhaps, as you have so much to say on the matter, you’d like to show us all how it’s done?” The gauntlet was well and truly thrown down and Diane bustled towards the kitchen like a woman possessed. Lily, increasingly apprehensive of the outcome, followed in her wake.
Firmly shutting the study door behind them, the Major whirled around to face his ally. “This changes everything!” For once, Simeon Bailey was not the first to realise the possibilities. “You see, Felicity never read the diary–”
“So, ignorance is bliss.” Simeon shrugged.
“The ones who know all the facts – that the heir is set to inherit the Hall and the Professor’s ongoing patents income – are Cecelia, who’s now completely out of the picture, Cook and us. The others only have half of the story. The ball’s in our court and we have room for manoeuvre.”
“So, we destroy the patent documents,” Simeon said simply.
The Major shook his head sharply, sinking heavily into his chair. “There’ll be copies at the patent office. Probably with the authorities too as one of the documents contains formulae for the production of animal vaccines to prevent bovine tuberculosis . . .”
“But as you’ve said, no one really knows, so your income is safe.”
“. . . There’s some sort of licensing agreement in South and North America, so the Professor’s estate receives a fee every time the vaccine is manufactured,” the Major blustered. “And that’s just one of his inventions–”
“But, as I say, nobody else knows.”
Lowering his voice, the Major glanced around furtively. “That comes to thirty-thousand a year! If I lose it, there’s no way I can afford to run this place . . .”
Simeon considered that if the truth came out, the Major would lose both his income and the Hall, making this a moot point.
“And don’t forget where the funding for your Harley Street clinic comes from!” he reminded as Simeon’s mind probed the infinitely unsavoury prospect of losing the Major’s backing. “Another possibility,” the Major continued torturously, “is that Cook may well spill the beans, take it upon herself to tell the police all she knows about my income.”
“Then,” said Simeon, matter-of-factly, “there’s only one way forward.” The Major looked at his friend, desperate for a solution as Simeon announced: “You must silence Cook.”
“Just look at the size of these potatoes – they’ll never soften up!” Diane observed, taking a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and viciously hacking at each vegetable as it lay defenceless in the pan of water. “You’d better get the Aga going, otherwise that pheasant will be undercooked and you’ll ruin the meat.” Lily doubted that such an inadequately-sized bird needed three hours, but she bowed to Diane’s superior judgement.
Kitty and Treadmill had been ordered by the Major to take the night off, although Kitty was horrified to hear that Diane was in charge of the evening meal. Lady Felicity had withdrawn with another migraine that she privately predicted would last until well after the guests had departed.
Guided by his torch, Peter lit four fat candles in the shadowy chapel. “We had to come back – I forgot my photograph album!” Nella whispered, retrieving it from the front pew. They both sat and Peter placed a protective arm around his mother as they huddled in the stillness.
“I expect it’ll all come out now,” Nella muttered, hanging her silver head and staring at the quarry tiled floor with regret. “Everything will be as it should be now the police have the will,” Peter said assuredly.
“That’s just it,” Nella said, meeting her son’s eyes with the same blue stare. “The will is the key to it all. You see, you’re the one who gets it all.”
Peter’s muscles tightened, taking in the enormity of the news. He said nothing, his mind working busily to understand what he was being told.
“The Professor was so down after his wife died –
and I didn’t kill her, although that’s what some wicked people in the village were saying.”
“What are you saying, Mum?”
“I’m saying,” Nella replied nervously, “that Thaddeus Ambrose was your father, although you never got to know him, which is such a terrible shame – he was a lovely, kind man and clever too. He was delighted when I told him about you and even more so when you arrived.”
“I can’t believe–”
“The Professor was very understanding – when I couldn’t work anymore, he got someone in from the village. Told her I was unwell and had gone to stay with my sister.”
“But you haven’t got a sister!”
Nella looked scornful. “Oh, keep up! I was up in the guest room where you’ve been sleeping this weekend – that’s where you were born.”
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 24