The Midnight Peacock (The Sinclair’s Mysteries)

by Katherine Woodfine

  ‘I say – look at the seal,’ said Leo, turning the envelope over and touching the red wax with a gentle fingertip. ‘Doesn’t it remind you of anything?’ She held out her cane. ‘Look.’

  Sophie stared from the lion’s head on the red wax seal, to the lion’s head on the handle of Leo’s cane. She remembered that cane had first been given to Leo by the Lims when her old crutch had been broken. ‘It used to belong to Grandfather Lim,’ she said slowly. ‘Both lions . . . do you suppose there is some kind of a connection between them?’

  ‘Maybe Colonel Fairley was the one who gave Grandfather Lim the cane in the first place,’ said Leo, her eyes widening. ‘But what on earth could a retired Army Colonel living in Alwick possibly have to do with an elderly man in a grocer’s shop in Limehouse?’

  Sophie got up and went over to the fire. ‘My papa was a friend of Colonel Fairley’s – and Colonel Fairley knew Grandfather Lim,’ she mused slowly. ‘What’s the one thing that Grandfather Lim and my papa have in common?’

  It was Lil who answered her. ‘The Baron,’ she said.

  They stared at each other for a few moments, puzzled and alarmed. Sophie felt startled when the gong sounded, reminding them that it was time to dress for dinner. Her fingers felt stiff and awkward as she hurried once more into her evening dress.

  Downstairs in the Drawing Room, they discovered that a number of extra guests had been invited to join them for a Boxing Day dinner, including a group of ladies and gentlemen from a neighbouring estate, and several people who lived locally, including the vicar and the doctor.

  ‘Of course, I wouldn’t usually invite a doctor to dine,’ Sophie heard Lady Fitzgerald murmuring discreetly to the Countess. ‘But it’s one of our traditions to have some of the local people here on Boxing Day.’

  ‘One never knows who one might be expected to dine with these days,’ said the Countess, with a poisonous glance in Sophie’s direction.

  At the head of the table, Lord Fitzgerald had been seated once more between the Countess and Mrs Whiteley, whilst Lady Fitzgerald had Mr Sinclair on one side, and a gentleman from the neighbouring estate on the other. Her charming smile was briefly interrupted by an irritated glance at Vincent, who had casually swapped his name card in order to seat himself beside Lil.

  The other guests were ranged around the table: Sophie found herself between Mr Pendleton and an elderly gentleman who spent most of the soup and fish courses relating his experience of shooting wild game in India in his youth. It might not be very interesting, but by arranging her face into a polite expression and nodding occasionally, Sophie managed to give the impression she was listening, while allowing his words to wash over her. She was still thinking hard about their discoveries. Besides the Baron of course, the other connection between Papa and Colonel Fairley and Grandfather Lim was that they had all died within a month or two of each other. No one had suggested that there was anything at all suspicious about Grandfather Lim’s death – he had, after all, been very elderly. But what about Colonel Fairley? She had a sudden idea:

  ‘My trusty old Lee-Enfield rifle would have done the job of course,’ the old gentleman was saying, squinting fiercely through his monocle. ‘But this fellow had only a feeble little Browning. And at those distances, you absolutely must have a long-range rifle if you want to achieve any degree of accuracy.’

  Sophie smiled and nodded, and then tentatively changed the subject: ‘This seems to be a very beautiful part of the countryside. Have you lived here long?’

  ‘Long? I’ve lived here most of my life!’ said the old gentleman, scowling as though she had insulted him.

  ‘In that case, I suppose you must know everyone hereabouts,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I wonder – did you know Colonel Fairley?’

  ‘Fairley? Of course I did! Known him for years. Acquainted with him, were you?’

  Sophie murmured something about him having been a friend of her late father’s.

  The old gentleman’s stern face softened. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said, sighing as he dabbed his walrus moustache with a napkin. ‘Eccentric old buffer, of course – that mad business of leaving everything to a cat. Perfectly idiotic, if you ask me! But he was a decent sort, for all that – and a damn fine shot. Of course, he took a scholarly fit after he retired from the Army, always shut up in that Library poring over old books and fussing over paintings. Can’t see the appeal myself. But Fairley was well liked around here. People were quite cut-up when he died.’

  ‘It was an accident with a revolver, wasn’t it?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘That’s right. Dashed unpleasant business.’ The old gentleman leaned forward, and addressed the doctor, who was sitting opposite him.

  ‘Hi – Bates – you attended poor Fairley, didn’t you? What was it that happened to him?’

  The doctor looked up from his fish. ‘Oh, he’d been cleaning one of his little revolvers, and the thing had gone off in his hands. Poor fellow was killed instantly.’

  ‘You know, I’d never have believed it of Fairley,’ said the old gentleman, shaking his head. ‘Very thorough, steady sort – not the type to make a mistake, especially a dashed stupid mishap like letting his gun go off like that. And by Jove, he knew his way around a firearm. Well of course he did – he’d been a military man. Showed me his medals once – a dozen of them, he had. And do you know, he had one of the finest gun collections in the county . . .’

  Sensing that her companion was about to revert to his favourite topic of shooting, Sophie hastily interrupted: ‘Do you mean to say that there might have been something – well – unusual about his death?’ she asked.

  The old man raised his eyebrows, and then squinted at her again through his monocle. ‘Unusual? I’m not sure what you mean, my dear.’

  Across the table, the doctor grinned at her. He had already heard a little about Taylor & Rose, and now he said: ‘Foul play, do you mean? The body in the library, and all that sort of thing? I suppose that would be very much in your line.’

  Sophie blushed. ‘All I meant to say is that if the Colonel really was so careful and so knowledgeable about guns, it seems rather surprising that he could have been the victim of an accident of that sort.’

  Dr Bates nodded. ‘Well yes, you’re quite right there. It’s true that we might have asked some questions about Fairley’s death – were it not for one very simple thing.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Colonel Fairley died in the Library,’ explained the doctor. ‘At the time of his death, the door of the Library was locked from the inside, and the windows were shut and locked too. He couldn’t possibly have been shot through a locked door now, could he?’ He grinned and took a sip of his wine. ‘Besides I can’t imagine a fellow less likely to be murdered than old Fairley. I never knew someone so universally liked – I don’t think I ever heard a word said against him.’

  ‘Very true, very true,’ murmured the old gentleman.

  ‘And Fairley was getting on, you know,’ said the doctor, warming to his subject. ‘His sight was beginning to fail – his hands not as steady as they once were – and he was becoming forgetful as he got older. These things do happen as people age.’

  ‘Yes thank you, doctor,’ said the old gentleman tartly. ‘Some of us are still in full possession of all our faculties. Why, I can tell you my dear, that –’

  But Sophie never did hear what the old gentleman had to tell her about his faculties. Their hostess had turned away from her right-hand neighbour, to Mr Sinclair, who was sitting on her other side. This was the signal for the other guests to ‘turn’ too, and all down the table, everyone followed suit.

  Opposite her, Sophie saw Veronica turn, and look expectantly at Vincent, but in direct opposition to correct dinner etiquette, he was still talking to Lil. Veronica looked annoyed, and down the table, Sophie’s keen eyes saw that Lady Fitzgerald looked annoyed too.

  Before the doctor turned to address Miss Selina, who was seated on his own other side, he leaned fo
rward across the table, and spoke again to Sophie. ‘Do you know, there was one rather queer thing about Colonel Fairley’s death that no one could ever fathom. Of course, there was an awful fuss when the will was read. Fairley was a rich fellow, and there were noses out of joint. There was a great-nephew who stood to inherit the majority, and he had lawyers brought in to look into it all. He kicked up quite a stink, insisted on all of Fairley’s assets being properly inventoried – antiques, art, books, the silver, the whole of his gun collection. And do you know, there wasn’t so much as a single pearl-headed pin missing – except for one thing.’

  ‘What was it?’ asked Sophie, growing more intrigued by the minute.

  ‘A small painting that hung in the library. Oh, it wasn’t anything special. A rather dirty old thing, that no one knew much about – likely some piece that he’d picked up in a saleroom somewhere. It had completely vanished. It was quite the mystery,’ he said with a wink.

  Sophie’s heart began to thump. ‘Oh – how peculiar! Did they know who painted it?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice light and casual.

  The doctor shrugged. ‘No idea, I’m afraid. But I don’t believe it was anything of value. I daresay perhaps the old chap gave it away to someone before he died – or simply got tired of it and threw it away.’

  He grinned at her again and turned to Miss Selina, but Sophie had to ask one more question.

  ‘Excuse me – I don’t suppose you remember what it was a painting of, do you?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ The doctor took a sip of his wine. ‘It was a dragon – a sort of gold-coloured dragon.’

  Sophie sat back in her seat, stunned. Beside her, Mr Pendleton had turned in her direction, but he wasn’t looking at her: he was staring at Vincent. Even the plate of roast chicken with bread sauce that had been set down in front of him by a footman did not distract him.

  ‘I say, Miss Taylor,’ he began. ‘I know it’s not the done thing to criticise when you’re the guest and all that, but I can’t help thinking that’s rather bad form. I know Miss Rose is jolly good fun, but dash it all, Miss Whiteley is a fine girl too. It’s simply not cricket to leave her languishing like that.’

  Sophie only half heard him. Her thoughts were in a tangle. Across the table, Great-Aunt Selina was talking loudly to the doctor.

  ‘Of course, I do struggle . . .’ She raised her voice a little further, and cast a quick, sharp eye along the table towards Lord Fitzgerald. ‘My medical bills cost me a good deal. My doctor insists on regular trips to the seaside. Fresh air, he tells me, is essential. But the costs mount up – the expense is so difficult for a person in my position. I may even have to curtail my visit to Brighton this year,’ she said with a regretful little sigh.

  Along the table, Lord Fitzgerald was talking to his neighbour, clearly not listening to a word that Great-Aunt Selina had said. Nettled, she looked over at Sophie.

  ‘Miss Taylor, I hope you don’t mind me saying so but you are extremely pale,’ she said, attacking her chicken viciously with her knife and fork. ‘Are you sickly? I hope you are not outgrowing your strength. That can happen to young girls, of course. Especially if they are not getting enough fresh air and exercise.’ She glared at Sophie. ‘I daresay you would benefit from a good strengthening tonic. That would give you a little more colour. A young girl ought to be hearty and healthy.’

  ‘Oh, I say – I think Miss Taylor looks in absolutely splendid health,’ insisted Mr Pendleton gallantly.

  But Sophie only smiled at him absently. She could hardly tell Great-Aunt Selina the truth about why her face was drained of colour: the sudden realisation that Colonel Fairley’s death had been no innocent accident. The doctor might well grin at the notion of foul play, but from everything he had told her, Sophie now felt certain that the Colonel had been murdered by the man who called himself the Baron.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘Why did I ever think this was a good idea?’ complained Lil, as she, Jack and Sophie stood in a huddle in the darkened grounds of Winter Hall. It was bitterly cold, and in spite of having bundled themselves up in as many warm clothes as possible, they were all shivering. It did not help that in the silent winter moonlight, everything in the grounds looked strange – the shapes of ordinary trees transformed into something eerie and peculiar. Beyond, a little distance away from them, the old folly loomed like an unearthly apparition in the dark.

  ‘For all we know the ghost isn’t even planning to make an appearance tonight,’ Lil went on. ‘If they’ve got any sense they’ll be tucked up nice and toasty in bed.’

  Sophie rubbed her hands together in an effort to try and warm up. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Listen. I’ve got to tell you about what I found out at dinner.’

  Lil and Jack listened in astonishment, as Sophie unravelled the doctor’s story. ‘If Papa and Colonel Fairley died at the same time, and Papa was murdered by the Baron – I think perhaps Colonel Fairley was too,’ she finished up. ‘The accident was unlikely and out of character. And then there’s the business of the missing painting.’

  ‘Do you really think it could have been one of Casselli’s dragon paintings?’ asked Lil eagerly.

  ‘The doctor said it was a painting of a golden dragon – small and rather old. That sounds exactly like one of the dragon paintings to me.’

  ‘There was a golden dragon in the original sequence,’ said Jack, getting quite excited now. ‘Though no one knew what had become of it.’

  ‘Well perhaps the Colonel had it – and was keeping it secret,’ suggested Sophie. ‘We know the Baron was obsessed with those paintings. There’s some kind of secret information in them that he wants very badly. I don’t doubt that he – or one of his men – would have killed the Colonel to get hold of one of them.’

  ‘But what about the locked Library door?’ said Lil.

  ‘You know as well as I do that the locked door means nothing. This is the Baron we’re talking about. A locked door is hardly going to pose a challenge to him.’

  Lil nodded. ‘He might have got hold of a key,’ she mused. ‘Or what about this? At first the door wasn’t locked. The Baron came in, shot the Colonel and then left, locking the door behind him. It would be a simple thing for him to push the key back under the door into the room. Then, when people arrived on the scene, they’d all be desperately trying to get through the door. When they finally broke through, they would assume the door had been locked all along – and the key had fallen out of the lock when they’d been jiggling at the door handle.’

  ‘Yes – there are half a dozen ways he could have done it,’ agreed Sophie. ‘The point is that the Baron – or even one of his men – could easily have murdered the Colonel and then set the whole thing up to look like an accident.’

  Her thoughts were whirling: it had been a long day, and all at once she felt very tired. She wished that she was tucked up in her big bed with its lavender-scented sheets, not standing out here in the dark and cold, waiting for a mysterious person who was up to no good – and who possibly wouldn’t turn up at all. But just then she felt a sharp dig in her ribs.

  ‘Look!’ Lil murmured. ‘I think I can see someone!’

  They all stared ahead of them, and Sophie had to swallow a gasp. A figure could be seen picking its way down the path. In the dark, it was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman – but there was no mistaking that they were headed straight for the folly. A moment later, the figure went up the steps and disappeared inside.

  Sophie felt wide awake at once. ‘Come on!’ she whispered, and the three began to hurry over the snowy grass. But when they had climbed up the steps, they saw that there was no one inside the folly.

  ‘I told you!’ said Lil excitedly. ‘They’ve disappeared! They must have gone into the secret passage – we have to find it and follow them!’

  But finding it was not quite as easy as they had anticipated. Tilly had provided them each with a small candle lantern and matches – but even once the lanterns had been lit
and were shone carefully over the floor, it was not at all easy to identify a secret entrance in the dark. At last, Jack’s keen eyes spotted a small metal ring set into the mosaic. Prising it upwards carefully, they saw to their excitement that it opened a small trapdoor in the floor.

  Sophie peered down into the darkness, listening for the echo of footsteps. But there was no sound to be heard, and one by one, they crept carefully down some stone steps. They found themselves standing in a tunnel: wide enough and tall enough for them to stand upright, stone-flagged and with walls of roughly hewn stone.

  ‘It’s the secret passage. I knew it!’ whispered Lil. Her face looked unearthly in the dark, lit up by the light from her candle-lantern. ‘Come on!’

  ‘But what about the trapdoor?’ murmured Jack. ‘Should we leave it open? Or might that give us away?’

  ‘Let’s leave it as it is,’ whispered Sophie. ‘The last thing we want is to get trapped down here.’

  She shivered as she spoke. It was very cold in the tunnel, and she did not like the look of the dark passage looming before them. For a minute, she looked longingly back at the steps leading towards the folly. Then she remembered the shadowy figure they had seen, and squared her shoulders. They were detectives, after all – and they had a job to do.

  Lil’s teeth had begun to chatter. ‘I jolly well hope this ghost is worth it,’ she muttered, as they stepped forward into the dark.

  For several minutes, they walked in silence, listening intently, but all remained silent. Lil shone her lamp into all the dark corners, but there wasn’t so much as a footprint on the stone floor.

  ‘What a peculiar place,’ said Jack at last in a low voice. ‘Do you suppose this was built by Walsingham too?’

  ‘That would make sense,’ said Lil. ‘After all, Walsingham was a spymaster? I suppose a secret way in and out of the house must have been awfully useful for all his clandestine business. Then perhaps the other man, Henry Fitzgerald, added the folly later to mark the entrance to the passage?’ She broke off. ‘I say – look ahead. What shall we do now?’