The Castle Mystery

by Faith Martin

  Bishop groaned. ‘And I thought we were onto something then. But wait a minute, this “Minute Waltz” thing — what if Lady Roberta played it too slowly? Made it a three-minute waltz?’

  Jenny smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t know all that much about music, Inspector, I have to admit, but I think you’ll find that the “Minute Waltz” is taught to young pupils in order to get them used to tempo. If I remember correctly, it is called that because, played right, it is about a minute and a half long. Only a rank amateur would get the timing wrong. Somebody as advanced as Lady Roberta should, by now, have impeccable timing.’

  As if to confirm her words, a dramatic and famous piece from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony wafted out of the music room.

  Bishop sighed. ‘So Powell-Brooks was gone for only a minute. Nowhere near enough time to kill the governess.’

  ‘No,’ Jenny agreed thoughtfully.

  Bishop would do the timing again. Do a bit of exploring. Perhaps there was a shortcut to the conservatory. But he was sure there wasn’t, and half an hour later had to admit defeat.

  Malcolm Powell-Brooks had had nowhere near enough time to kill Ava during that minute or so.

  Yet another dead end.

  Jenny, ignoring the inspector’s efforts, continued to contemplate the dagger for a long, long time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  That evening, Inspector Bishop tramped wearily into the kitchen. As usual, whenever Inspector Bishop came in, everybody else went out. Dinner had just that minute finished, and Elsie hastily wiped the last plate and stacked it. Janice and Malcolm glanced at each other and grimaced, whilst Meecham and Gayle rapidly pushed away from the table.

  They were all used to the inspector’s odd little talks with the cook by now. But word had filtered down, as it always seemed to, that their employers blessed this arrangement, so nobody mentioned it. At least, not openly.

  ‘Well, I think I’ll read a book and have an early night,’ Malcolm said, stretching and yawning a little too enthusiastically.

  ‘Ah, and I’ve got some knitting to do at home,’ Elsie put in quickly. ‘Now that I’ve bought a new number ten, that is. That knitting needle of mine never did turn up,’ she grumbled dourly, reaching for her cardigan.

  ‘Never mind, Elsie,’ Janice said, winking at Gayle, who for once didn’t respond. Instead she followed her father quickly out of the door. From there on, it was a mad rush to see who could get out next. Bishop watched the last departing back and smiled grimly. Jenny eyed him sympathetically, and poured fresh boiling water in the teapot.

  Outside, the evening light was beginning to turn golden. She looked out of the narrow windows towards the lowering sun, and sighed, not unhappily. She liked the long summer nights.

  ‘Here you go, Inspector. A piece of plum cake? I made it this afternoon.’ Inspector Bishop did not pass up on the cake, but then, he wasn’t expected to. ‘No Myers tonight?’ Jenny asked, letting one eyebrow rise interrogatively.

  ‘No. I’ve sent him off to check up some facts with an electrical shop. It seems your kitchen maid and her mother spent the morning buying a new television. Digital whatnots galore, apparently,’ Bishop explained, without rancour. He’d gradually found it less and less of a chore to confide in Jenny Starling so that now he did it automatically. And he had to admit, she’d steered him all right so far.

  ‘Which makes me wonder,’ he continued thoughtfully, reaching for the sugar bowl and heaping two teaspoons into his mug, ‘how it is that Elsie Bingham can suddenly afford it.’

  Jenny smiled and sat down. She gave a mighty yawn behind her hand and then settled back. If the inspector wanted to spar, she had no objection to obliging him. ‘I imagine her father paid for it,’ she said mildly, and gave him a reproving look. ‘As if you hadn’t already figured that out for yourself.’

  Bishop looked a shade abashed, then shrugged. ‘Blackmail?’ He said the one word tonelessly.

  Jenny frowned. ‘I prefer to think of it in a rather more charitable light, Inspector. More a case of belated child maintenance, I think.’

  Bishop conceded the point. He had no sympathies with a man who got a woman pregnant and then abandoned her and his own child. ‘Serve him right,’ he agreed heavily, then frowned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought our Basil was the type to stand for it though,’ he added, voicing something that had been puzzling him all afternoon, ever since Myers had reported on the delivery van and television set.

  ‘No,’ Jenny agreed with him thoughtfully. ‘I’m worried about Elsie.’

  Bishop chewed on some cake, his taste buds going down on bended knees to thank him. ‘It’s especially odd since we don’t know what she’s blackmailing him about exactly,’ he aired his thoughts out loud. ‘I mean, what is she holding over him? We don’t believe Basil killed his own daughter. Do we?’ he asked sharply. When Jenny shook her head, he carried on thoughtfully. ‘And if Elsie killed Ava, it would give Basil the opportunity for blackmail, not the other way round. So how’s she wringing the cash out of him?’

  Jenny shrugged. She felt as weary as the inspector. And she was anxiously awaiting word from Lord Avonsleigh. ‘Well, my guess is that she’s indicated a certain cat might be let out of the bag regarding her true parentage, and that won’t have gone down well. When Ava was first murdered, it didn’t really affect Basil financially at all — I imagine, if anything, he’s even attracted a few more clients to that art gallery of his than usual. Some out of genuine sympathy, but more, I expect, out of morbid curiosity. A little risqué glamour wouldn’t hurt — I daresay being associated, however tenuously, with the father of a murder victim goes down well in some ghastly social circles. But with Elsie threatening to make a far more sordid scene — go public about her father’s actions, hint at something dastardly in the house of Simmons — well, risqué glamour is one thing, but ridicule is another. No one wants to risk being made to look foolish — or crooked.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Bishop said non-committally, finishing his cake and looking longingly down for another piece. The cook instantly cut him another chunk. She couldn’t stand that ‘where’s all the food gone?’ look. It was the one thing guaranteed to cut her to the quick.

  ‘I suppose the gallery would lose a lot of its customers if Basil’s reputation as an upper-crust gent took a bashing,’ Bishop conceded. ‘But I don’t think he’ll stand for blackmail for long. If I were you, I’d have a word with your Elsie and persuade her that enough’s enough.’

  Jenny nodded. She’d already made up her mind to do just that.

  Bishop stared forlornly at his cake, his appetite temporarily deserting him as his troubles came flooding back. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Miss Starling, this case has got me tied up in knots.’ He pushed his plate away, clearing room on the table, and reached for the condiments. He put a salt cellar down in front of him.

  ‘We have the dagger. The blood on it was Ava Simmons’s, no doubt. The lab confirmed the stab wound more or less matched the dagger blade in every aspect. It has an usual rounded edge and a sharp point, as we know. So we know Ava was killed with the dagger.’ He reached for his cake and put it to his left. ‘We have Ava’s body in the conservatory. The amount of blood and lack of any traces anywhere else means that she had to be killed in the conservatory. But’ — he reached for the mustard, pepper, Jenny’s cup of tea and his own mug — ‘we have four witnesses, not twenty-five yards away, who saw nothing.’

  For a moment, Bishop stood staring at the scene in front of him. ‘We know the dagger was clean and bloodstain-free at three o’clock. At half past, the deed had been done and it was back in its place, bloodied and guilty as sin.’ He paused, took a bite of plum cake, and sighed. ‘We’ve eliminated the garden staff, the Avonsleighs and guests, and the daily women. That leaves the main suspects. You’re out,’ Bishop said, complimenting her without thinking about it. ‘That leaves the Meechams, who had a tenuous motive but also a tenuous alibi; Janice, who had a motive and a slightly stronger alibi — although sh
e was seen in Ava’s room, she was also seen in town at what could have been the time of the actual murder; Elsie, who had a motive and a middling alibi. She could just have killed Ava, according to our timing.’ He paused to sigh, then shook his head. ‘Lady Roberta and Malcolm Powell-Brooks both have a very tenuous motive and an all but rock-solid alibi. Unless they were in it together. I’m beginning to think, you know,’ Bishop said heavily, ‘that our killer is going to get away with it.’

  Jenny reached for the teapot and renewed his mug. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, Inspector,’ she said softly. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it at all.’

  * * *

  Inspector Bishop had just gone on his weary way home when Meecham came and informed her that his lordship would be pleased if she would join him in the breakfast room. His voice rose on the final two words, since it was now nearly nine o’clock at night.

  Jenny let him lead the way, knowing how much the butler needed to feel that his position wasn’t being usurped. Once at their destination, George thanked him gravely and sincerely, further bolstering Meecham’s fragile ego, and he retired looking a little happier with himself and the world in general. From a shadowy corner, a man moved and came into the light.

  ‘Hello, Mr Grover,’ Jenny said quietly, then glanced at Lord Avonsleigh who nodded to a nest of chairs by a blazing fire and made sure Anthony Grover had the one nearest the flames. Even in summer, the thick castle walls retained their chill, making fires a year-round necessity. The rest of them grouped around the old man.

  The cook caught Lady Vee’s eye. In the firelight, she looked older than usual, her eyes deeply shadowed. Jenny glanced again at his lordship. ‘My lord?’ she said quietly, and he sighed deeply, but nodded.

  ‘You were right, Miss Starling,’ he said heavily. ‘Quite right.’ For a moment, nobody spoke. Jenny stared into the hypnotic flames, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Then she sighed. She glanced at Anthony.

  ‘There’s no mistake?’ she asked softly, but already knew the answer.

  Anthony Grover shook his head. ‘No. I was most thorough.’

  ‘How many?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Five, that I’ve found so far. But I imagine there’ll be more,’ Anthony said. Avonsleigh had explained much of what had been going on, and Anthony had been only too eager to help. Anything to get justice for Ava.

  Jenny imagined there would be more too. ‘I see,’ she said flatly. Although she was being proved right, she felt no satisfaction.

  Lady Vee stirred. ‘Miss Starling, have you, er, found out yet how it was done?’ she asked hopefully, and Jenny sighed.

  ‘Not yet, no. It’s maddening,’ she went on, ‘since I know that somebody, somewhere, has said something vitally important. But I just can’t think what.’

  Avonsleigh shook his head. ‘Vee and I have been going over it all day. We just can’t see how it could have been done. Knowing who did it, you’d think we’d be able to figure it out. It is so frustrating, as you say,’ he finished, giving the fire a ferocious prod with the poker. Some sparks flew out, and the English Setter, who’d sprawled out on the hearthrug, gave a sudden yip and jumped up, manically shaking off an ember that was singeing his fur. He gave his master a baleful look, heaved a massive sigh, and promptly re-sprawled himself.

  From beneath Anthony’s chair, Henry began to crawl towards the dog. The glow from the fire bounced off his dark brown shell, turning it a deep blood red.

  Blood red. Jenny stared at the tortoise, her gaze transfixed. Because, suddenly, she knew. She remembered Lady Roberta, swinging her legs as she chatted on, her young voice carefree and happy. She remembered Elsie’s missing knitting needle. She remembered a jar of red paint. And she remembered the dagger.

  Her mouth fell open. ‘Good grief,’ she said. For a moment, she could think of nothing else to say, her mind was so stunned. ‘The dagger. It was the dagger all along.’

  Lady Vee was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, staring intently at the cook. She knew that look. And although the actual words made no sense, she knew that their time was almost up. She glanced at her husband.

  Lord Avonsleigh blinked. ‘But we always knew it was the dagger,’ he said. Had Miss Starling flipped her lid? But that particular thought had never so much as crossed his wife’s mind. Instead, she felt her muscles tense. No matter how painful and scandalous it was going to be to them personally, she and George had discussed this at length. Ava Simmons had to have justice.

  As she looked into Miss Starling’s glittering eyes and waited, she knew it was coming. Soon. And her heart ached.

  ‘Miss Starling?’ Anthony Grover broke the silence, his voice puzzled and slightly worried.

  ‘Hmm?’ Jenny started and stared blankly at Anthony. Then she shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Grover,’ she murmured solicitously. ‘We shouldn’t really keep you,’ she added warmly, and Lady Vee twigged at once.

  Her ladyship rose and pulled the bell rope. ‘It is getting late, and I know how much we need our beauty sleep these days,’ she said, the picture of a concerned hostess. ‘Mr Grover, we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. I can’t explain everything now, of course, but . . .’ She caught Miss Starling’s eye. ‘Perhaps I can call on you sometime soon and then we can have a little chat?’

  Meecham arrived at that moment and Anthony Grover rose painfully to his feet, looking a little bemused but knowing a gracious dismissal when he heard it. ‘You’re very welcome, your ladyship. I was glad I could be of service. And yes, of course, please do call on me any time.’

  ‘Thank you again,’ Avonsleigh said, holding out his hand. A little flustered, Anthony shook it, and Meecham escorted the old man out. ‘The car will take you back, Mr Grover,’ his lordship assured him, and gave a glance to Meecham, who nodded.

  When they were alone once more, Lady Vee glanced at her husband, then at her cook. Without a word, the three returned to their chairs and sat down.

  Jenny said again, ‘Good grief. It’s so simple. Of course it is.’

  His lordship stared at her. He was not quite as quick on the uptake as his wife. ‘You mean you know how it was done?’ he squeaked, his voice incredulous. To him, the problem had seemed beyond solving.

  Jenny nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ she said artlessly. ‘And I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before,’ she added, beginning to sound angry at herself. ‘I’m such a dunce. It was all so easy.’

  This time it was his lordship’s turn. ‘Good grief,’ he said. ‘Was it?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘And now,’ she said coldly, her voice becoming icy with determination, ‘all that’s left is to get the proof.’

  Lady Vee leaned back in her chair. She felt chilly. ‘How are you going to do that?’ she asked, squashing — for the moment — her rabid curiosity. ‘I mean, murder is hard to prove, isn’t it? How are you going to gather enough evidence to convince a jury?’ she wondered aloud. She, too, had been beginning to think that the killer of Ava Simmons was going to be too clever for them.

  But no longer.

  ‘Basil Simmons is going to get all the evidence I need for me,’ Jenny said determinedly, a hard glint in her lovely blue eyes.

  ‘Good grief,’ Lady Vee echoed. She reached across, grabbed a cushion and put it behind her back. Then she shuffled in her seat, retrieved the tortoise from behind her and reached for a more comfortable cushion. This time made of feathers, not of reptile.

  ‘But how was it done?’ Avonsleigh demanded, not sure yet whether their total faith in the cook was justified. Besides which, he, too, was feverishly curious.

  So Jenny told them how it was done.

  When she was finished, they managed it in unison. ‘Good grief!’

  * * *

  Inspector Bishop awoke suddenly to the accompaniment of his wife’s elbow buried deeply in his ribs, aided and abetted by an awful racket. He winced, half sat up, and heard his phone ringing. He glanced at his clock, saw that it was 6:30, and groaned.

  His wi
fe gave him another nudge with her killer elbow. Bishop grunted, got out of bed and rubbed his side as he galloped downstairs in an old-fashioned set of pyjamas that would have had Myers howling in mirth. ‘Yes?’ he all but bellowed into the instrument.

  ‘Inspector?’ Jenny Starling’s voice came over loud and clear. ‘I’m about to prove who killed Ava Simmons. I think, perhaps, the police had better be here, don’t you?’

  Bishop stared into the phone. He blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  He hung up without a word.

  * * *

  Jenny waited until Bishop and Myers arrived. They rushed into the kitchen like two dogs called late to dinner, their faces a picture of anticipation and anger. By the stove, Jenny was just starting the sausages.

  She looked up and nodded. ‘Inspector. Just in time. See that these don’t burn, will you?’

  Bishop stared at her, then at the pan full of sausages. ‘Where are you going?’ he yelped as she turned and headed for the door.

  ‘To call Basil Simmons, of course,’ she said. ‘He’s coming over. Didn’t I tell you?’

  Bishop swore. He swore about once in a blue moon, and Myers, who’d just begun to obligingly turn over a sausage, stopped and stared at him. Hard. ‘No, Miss Starling,’ Bishop said through gritted teeth, as both his sergeant and the cook gaped at him in amazement, ‘you didn’t tell me. In fact, you told me nothing of what’s been going on.’ He ended on a sweet, sweet smile.

  ‘Oh well. I’d better explain then,’ Jenny said crisply. ‘But first, let me call Mr Simmons. I want to get it over and done with before any of the others come down.’

  Bishop couldn’t argue with that. He turned, caught a grin on Myers’s face, and swore again. Myers hastily turned back to the sausages. A few minutes later, the cook returned.