Stunned, Peter slowly shook his head.
“Of course, after you arrived it was difficult, so the village girl stayed on, but it was hard, keeping you a secret. She was a chatterbox and didn’t keep it to herself for long.”
“I don’t remember a thing–”
“I’m ashamed to say, I sent you to live with an old and trusted friend in the next village. You called her Aunty Dot . . . she did all she could to be a mother to you and I saw you every night. The residents of Wenham aren’t so interested in other peoples’ business. The arrangement worked very well and here you are, a fine policeman.” Nella’s eyes shone with pride behind her owlish specs.
“Just a minute, you didn’t let me see the will – because of all this?”
“The will doesn’t actually mention you by name, but as soon as Kitty told me she’d found it in Miss Morris’s room, I knew everything had been left to you. A son you see, he wanted another son . . .”
“So, the police won’t know I’m the heir to Fig Tree Hall?”
“They won’t.”
“And it’s just you and me then – like it’s always been,” Peter whispered, seeking reassurance.
Nella looked alarmed as she added the final piece of long-buried information. “Not quite. You see, I know the Major and that horrible friend of his have their suspicions because of village gossip. The shame, you see . . . I was an unmarried mother with the audacity to become pregnant by her employer.”
“But it wasn’t like that–”
“That’s how it was in those days, frowned upon if a young woman found herself in that position. So, I kept quiet, until now.”
“And you think the Major will react?”
“React! He’ll be furious – you get everything according to that will, the Hall and all revenue from the Professor’s inventions.”
“This is unreal. . . So, the Major’s been creaming off the money all these years, treating it as his own private income. He doesn’t just lose his home because of this will but a nice little earner too.”
“Exactly that,” Nella Barnes nodded.
“You’d better stay with me until we leave.
Who knows what the Major might do?”
“Knowing his temper, it could be lethal.”
As Diane basted the unappetising-looking pheasant, Lily heaved a sigh. This weekend has definitely been the strangest experience of my life . . .
Exploding into the kitchen, the Major’s face was magenta and critical. “Where’s Cook?” he demanded, staring straight at Lily.
Standing her ground, she answered truthfully, “I have no idea.”
“Cook has obviously been removed for her own safety,” the Major announced to Simeon, flailing his arms wildly and adding, “I’m sure your policeman friend must have confided in you about all this.”
Diane, who’d been leaning into the Aga, closed the door and straightened up. Her round face resembled a sweating beetroot, only just surpassed by the Major’s own complexion.
Lily fixed the Major with her librarian stare, adopting a stern tone of voice to go with it. “I have no idea what Mr Beresford has planned. I know exactly what you know – that Cook opted not to be in the kitchen this evening.”
The Major shot Simeon Bailey a sideways glance, then snarled menacingly. “I’m sure there’s more to this than you’re letting on.” Exiting the kitchen as only the Major knew how, he headed out of the back door, leaving it to swing dramatically. Simeon followed silently, striding fast in an effort to keep up.
“Well,” Diane exclaimed in a shocked tone, “and him an army man!”
Lily pulled out a kitchen chair and flopped down, exhausted. “Actually, I heard on the grapevine he was in the Home Guard during the war – flat feet apparently.”
Diane hurled herself into the opposite chair. “Explains a lot!” she bellowed.
The chapel door burst open and a blast of cold air pervaded the small space. The Major stood framed in the doorway exuding a huge and angry discharge of energy. As he approached with menaces, Simeon Bailey followed, assured that this could only end badly.
Springing bolt upright, his senses alight, Peter had been expecting just this. “What do you think you can achieve?” he asked the Major in all honesty. “I’m the heir and I think it’s time to admit you’ve had a good run, living off the Professor’s patents income.”
The Major inflated with rage. The heir evidently knew of his legacy, so there seemed little point in trying to silence Nella Barnes. “You must be very pleased with yourself indeed! Coming here for the weekend with the intention of solving a few clues, ultimately gaining a beautiful new home and enough money to live in a manner to which you will quickly become accustomed.”
Electrically-charged looks shot between Nella and her son as Peter nodded his agreement and said, “It’s been a great shock. But surely you can’t deny you’ve acted fraudulently over many years to remain at the Hall. You knew this day would come as it couldn’t last for ever.”
A look of mild contrition crossed the Major’s face, some of the anger slipping away. “I did what I had to do. Then Felicity grew agitated when that magazine article appeared, implying there could be a legitimate heir out there somewhere. She became obsessed with the idea of finding that person, although I told her it wouldn’t end well for us. She’s never been fully au fait with the ways of the world – I think she believed we’d always continue to live a charmed life here. If I hadn’t been persuaded to host this weekend, you would never have known–”
Nella’s small voice cut through the captivating atmosphere. “But I would have known. I was the one who told my son to come here . . .”
Peter moved towards the Major, suspecting the man knew his time was up. “I think we both realise, I now ask you to come quietly with me to the station and you agree.
We’ll take your friend along for good measure – I’m sure he knows everything about what you’ve been up to.”
With a snarl, the Major suddenly lunged forward, swiftly for a man his size, taking Peter by surprise. In a flash, Nella was on her feet, wielding the brass candlestick that sharply made contact with the Major’s right temple. He staggered back, losing his footing to land slumped and stunned on the worn stone floor.
Simeon Bailey strode forward with an outstretched hand to haul the Major upright, shaking his head as he urged him not to try anything else. “Felicity will be devastated. Try not to make it any worse for her,” he muttered, in case there was any doubt.
Diane peered towards the Aga in horror as black smoke filled the room. “Weren’t you keeping an eye on the time?” she cried, blaming Lily completely for the pheasant’s sad cremation.
Shaken from her thoughts, Lily registered the acrid smell of burning. “Have you turned the oven off?” she enquired, too tired to argue.
Hands on hips, Diane glared in response. “Well, I did my best with what was available, but dinner’s ruined! This whole weekend has been terrible from start to finish.”
Before Lily had time to answer, the back door flew open and a sullen-looking Major marched in, followed by Dr Bailey, Peter and finally Nella, who instantly determined the fate of the pheasant, shaking her head knowingly.
“I’ll see if Lady Felicity’s awake, as I expect she’d want to be here,” Lily offered. Anything was better than listening to Diane’s excuses over the demise of their final meal. She climbed the stairs wearily, her head buzzing with questions she would probably never know the answer to. Noises from Cecelia’s room told of the older woman’s whereabouts. Lily flung the door open wide without knocking, all manners and civility having already gone to Hell in a handcart.
“Oohh! Is there something I can help you with?” Lady Felicity shrieked, startled and clutching the pearls at her neck for comfort. “I was just getting Miss Morris’s possessions together – I’ll ask Treadmill to drop them off at the police station tomorrow.”
Unsure of how to respond, Lily nodded, determined to discover the truth before
she left that evening.
“Was there something in particular?” Felicity Manners-Gore questioned with an unfriendly glare that could curdle milk.
“I just came to tell you that everyone’s in the kitchen. It appears that Mrs Pargitter’s had an unfortunate issue with the pheasant, so dinner’s off.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Lady Felicity said curtly, giving up on the task she only really had half a mind to do. “Shall we?” she suggested, in an unnerving pleasant tone.
“Am I the only one who’s confused about what’s going on here?” The self-appointed Lady of the manor stood in the spacious kitchen – where she rarely ventured – gazing at her uncharacteristically submissive husband.
Peter cleared his throat, only too willing to oblige with an explanation. “I’m afraid the Major and Dr Bailey have admitted to long-term fraudulent activity concerning the proceeds from Professor Ambrose’s invention patents.”
Lady Felicity gave a theatrical gasp.
“Furthermore,” Peter continued without enjoyment, “the rightful owner of the Hall has been informed. As a result of this deception, it’s now my duty to escort the Major, Dr Bailey and yourself down to the police station for questioning.”
Lady Felicity’s sapphire eyes grew huge in disbelief. “M-me? I haven’t done anything wrong! Who is this rightful owner anyway?”
“All I can say at the present time is that the new owner will be taking over shortly. You won’t be living here any longer.”
“B-but where will we go if we don’t have the Hall?” She turned to Simeon with a pleading expression, her performance at its finest. “Perhaps you’ll let us stay with you in London, just until we find our feet?” she wheedled, wringing her hands.
After a suitable pause to digest the large dose of ham acting, Peter delivered his coup de grace. “What I’m trying to tell you, Lady Felicity, is that your husband will most likely be in prison for the foreseeable future, as will his accomplice. You’ve been living off immoral earnings, although until the case comes to trial, the outcome is down to the judge.”
In true theatrical fashion, Felicity performed her best swoon, falling neatly to the flagstone floor.
Delighted by the continuing drama, Diane declared, “I knew it would all come down to money!” She bent to pat the prone woman’s delicate face with her pudgy left hand, shouting, “Lady Felicity, can you hear me?”
Felicity groaned, fluttering her eyelids.
“Do we throw a bucket of water over her?” Diane asked hopefully. “It’s such a terrible shock for her Ladyship.”
Lily muttered, “Actually, she’s not a real Lady. The Major isn’t a Lord so that means that Felicity isn’t a Lady – there’s no title. She just called herself Lady when they moved into Fig Tree Hall because the affectation gained her some respect. Just airs and graces, that’s all.”
Diane’s mouth hung open. “How on earth do you know that?”
Shrugging, Lily didn’t bother to explain any further.
“That really sums up what this whole weekend has all been about,” Peter told Lily to confirm her suspicions. “The whole thing has just been an elaborate deception from start to finish. A hidden agenda and people pretending to be what they’re not to get what they wanted” He moved forward, indicating that the Major should stay put.
“Can I just point out,” said the Major gruffly from beneath his unruly moustache, “that we bought the Hall legitimately when the Professor’s solicitor approached us. We were the closest living relatives of Thaddeus Ambrose, so Fig Tree Hall became ours. Felicity knew nothing, I can assure you.”
Peter regarded the other man with something approaching pity. “That may be true. But I have a stronger claim to the Hall and your purchase price was only a nominal sum to cover legal fees.”
Beetle-black eyes fixed Peter with a look full of hatred. “Enjoy your new-found wealth while you can. It comes to something when the son of a mere cook, fathered from a minor indiscretion with an eminent Professor, pulls rank with his claim to the Hall,” the Major muttered with bitter resentment.
Heading out of the kitchen as the Major squirmed and blustered with anger, Peter threw him a parting comment. “I suggest your wife joins us on our trip to the station, as she now seems fully recovered from her histrionics.”
EPILOGUE
Gaping tea chests cluttered almost every room, with precious possessions and household items piled to overflowing; a whole life reduced to nothing but memories. But the new owner of Fig Tree Hall was prepared to be patient as the bailiffs determined what would be sold in order to recoup a sum equal to that of the embezzled income.
The trial of Major Reginald Manners-Gore had been a very public affair, a shameful spectacle attended by almost every resident in the village of Milford. His ultimate imprisonment without the opportunity of bail, came as no surprise to most, earning the Major a full five years to regret his deception at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
Dr Simeon Bailey, the Major’s partner in crime, was convicted of aiding and abetting, in addition to a charge of unduly benefitting from Professor Thaddeus Ambrose’s stolen income in order to set up his exclusive psychiatric clinic in London’s Harley Street. For this, Bailey received a prison term of three and a half years without remission, although Milford residents were united in their belief that Dr Bailey would no doubt use his manipulative skills to gain an early parole. A glimmer of hope and belief in the justice system came, however, with the news that the Harley Street clinic was to be sold.
I feel strange, Peter Beresford considered, being back at the Hall under these circumstances. There was something ultimately surreal about the series of events leading to this unexpected acquisition; a magnificently quirky house in its own grounds and the knowledge that he had a secure income for life.
As Peter looked back on how it had all come about, he felt nothing but pity for the Major. There was no doubt the brusque, fame-obsessed man had been goaded, cajoled and manipulated by the unpleasant psychiatrist so income from Professor Ambrose’s invention patents benefitted the doctor’s own interests.
Felicity Manners-Gore commanded the most pity, however, being completely naïve and unaware of her husband’s nefarious actions for twenty years. She was found innocent of any wrongdoing, never having questioned how she and Reginald could possibly afford three full-time staff at the Hall. In addition, despite having discussed the hypothetical disposal of Cecelia Morris, this was a non-event; there was not enough proof Felicity was involved.
The post mortem findings declared that, without any shadow of doubt, Thaddeus Cornelius Ambrose had taken his own life, ending any lingering suspicion of foul play. It was a sad state of affairs that a degenerative nerve disease had driven such an intellectually brilliant man to his death.
Peter didn’t allow himself to dwell on the sadness for too long. Never having known his father, Peter was objective, imagining the desperation; how the debilitating disease had forced him to death’s bed. In reality, to be discovered in a convulsed, mummified state in a secret room of his own design made the passing of Thaddeus Ambrose all the more tragic.
Considering how the dice had fallen, Peter relished that his career was now on the up. His success, down to Lily’s analysis and intuition, in locating Professor Ambrose’s body earned Constable Beresford several brownie points with the Chief Inspector, meaning more than a whiff of promotion in the air.
Although the outcome hadn’t occurred as Peter would have liked, he now knew he had the luxury of choice because he’d been extraordinarily lucky. Giving up my job is not an option, Peter decided. I’d rattle around this substantial old property, bored out of my skull. After discussing the matter at length with Lily, Peter felt it was only right to share his new-found fortune. He had big plans for a small proportion of the funds already liquidated from certain assets.
As a gesture of goodwill, Peter invited Felicity Manners-Gore and Diane Pargitter to the Hall, offering the promise of a tantalising p
roposition to put to them. Both women accepted the invitation with bewilderment, crunching up the length of gravelled driveway to Fig Tree Hall with a mixture of wonder and growing dread. Treadmill ushered the two women inside with a smirk, deliberately lurking in the hallway in the hope of overhearing some of the finer details to explain their presence.
Seated stiffly upright in a leather armchair that was far too big for her, Felicity Manners- Gore fixed Diane with a nervous look. “Do you know what all this is about?” she asked. But Diane shook her head, shocked to see Nella Barnes entering the bright drawing room with a huge tray of tea and cakes as the afternoon sun lit up the huge windows, bringing a welcome sense of peace and calm to the occasion.
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 25