The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries)

by Challis, Joanna

  “That’s what I dread the most,” Ellen confessed. “He just doted on her. After having no father and then finding him … they had a year together at most but in a strange way she became closer to him than to me. Oh, Aunty Muriel, she’s in denial. She still thinks he’s gone to the hospital. She still thinks we are going to America.”

  “Let me try with her tomorrow,” my mother said softly. “But she will notice everyone’s faces and she will have heard things. She’s not a little girl anymore.”

  Ellen cast a look at her daughter. “No,” she agreed, somber. “She is not.”

  * * *

  “I may have limited experience with children,” said the always opinionated Clarissa Fenwick at luncheon, “but isn’t it better to tell the truth?”

  “We don’t know what the truth is yet,” I reminded her, keeping watch for Ellen’s entrance.

  We were all assembled in the great dining room; the silverware laid out and hot and cold aromatic dishes arriving from Nelly’s kitchen. For Ellen’s sake, I made an effort to speak with the enemy camp. I decided on the less austere of the two sisters first.

  “Mrs. Fairchild, I trust all is in order in your room? You must let me know if there is anything you need as I will be staying on to see to everyone’s comfort and to help Ellen.”

  “Oh?” The thin-pencilled brow lifted. “You’re the poor cousin, are you?”

  My cheeks flamed hot. “Certainly not. I am no relation. I’m Daphne du Maurier.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember.” She smiled anew at me. “Please forgive an old woman’s memory, child, for I am quite old, you know. I am the eldest in our family and Teddy ten years younger than I. I had my children late, as you can see.” She indicated to where Mr. Dean Fairchild and his sister Miss Sophie Fairchild sat on a Louis XVI couch.

  “How is Miss Rosalie coping, Mrs. Fairchild?” I whispered, now that we had established an acquaintance.

  She didn’t need to answer for the answer stared back at us. Scowling as Ellen came into the room, Rosalie jumped out of her chair.

  “Well, if you think I’m going to sit around and eat with her, you’re all mistaken. I’m leaving this place.”

  Pushing past Ellen at the door, she ran off, her cousin Amy Pringle hard on her heels. Miss Sophie Fairchild also made to follow if her mother hadn’t indicated she return to her seat.

  Lunch commenced then, nobody speaking except out of absolute necessity, like to pass the potatoes and so forth. Occasional remarks were made about the weather between Mr. Dean Fairchild and Charles Fenwick who planned, I suspected, to hunt in the woods this afternoon.

  From what I gathered of the American camp, none of them appeared to have had a close relationship with Teddy Grimshaw. His sisters rarely saw him above two times a year; the persons who saw him most proved to be his nephews, Dean and Jack, by way of business. Dean Fairchild managed one of Teddy’s companies and Jack was an assistant-manager at another.

  I hated to think how their uncle’s death affected their livelihoods. Neither seemed concerned. Was their anxiety concealed behind a nonchalant facade? Or, I wondered, were they too good-natured to show it?

  Miss Amy Pringle soon returned and resumed her breakfast.

  “Isn’t she pretty?” Jeanne elbowed me under the table.

  Observing the golden locks, pert mouth, short nose, and sky-blue eyes, I did concede a certain prettiness to the debutante. If she hunted for an English husband, I had no doubt she’d find one. And from what issued out of her mother’s mouth, I knew the lucky man had to possess a title or he would see the road.

  However, Amy Pringle, independent of her mother’s designs and wishes, seemed stuck to her cousin Rosalie Grimshaw. Also an only child, Rosalie did exactly what she wanted, no more, no less.

  “I cannot understand you English,” Sophie Fairchild murmured to me after breakfast. “You never talk in the mornings. Everywhere we go, the breakfast rooms are full of English couples sipping their tea and reading the newspapers. Don’t you ever talk?”

  I smiled. “Yes. Have you noticed us at parties?”

  She considered, tilting her curly brown hair to one side. “I haven’t been to many English parties; I only came out this year.”

  “Ah, then I suggest you befriend Megan. She knows all the best people.”

  “But Mother says your family is,” she blushed, “I mean, oh, you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I think I do.” I smiled again, beginning to like the girl. She had none of the pretentions of the others and, as we continued talking, it became clear that she adored her brother, Dean. I wished I had a brother. How my father would have delighted to have had a son.

  As we turned the corner to go upstairs after breakfast, a commotion occurred in the foyer. Rosalie Grimshaw and her maid … flinging her luggage out of the door. I thought she’d care more for her fine things, but no, she intended to make a point. She wanted everyone to know she was leaving the house because of Ellen.

  A mild frown passed Sophie’s face. Was it embarrassment?

  “Do stay, Rosalie,” she addressed her cousin. “Where are you going to go?”

  “Anywhere but here,” came the sharp retort, those fierce blue eyes detecting me. “Tell Ellen I’ll see her in court after Daddy’s will is read.”

  A car’s engine started up outside and I peeked through the window. Cousin Jack sorted out Rosalie’s luggage before jumping in the front seat to drive. Rosalie and her maid climbed in, Rosalie tossing her red scarf behind her neck as they hurtled down the drive.

  “What a relief.” My mother echoed the sentiments of all remaining guests. “Poor Ellen doesn’t need trouble like that. It’s enough to grieve and look after Charlotte.”

  “Didn’t Rosalie’s mother come over from America? Perhaps Rosalie is going to stay with her?”

  “Probably,” my father snorted. “I don’t like to say it, especially not with Ellen around, but she’s going to have a fight on her hands.”

  “You mean about the money?”

  “The money. It’s always about the money.”

  “Do you think she caused a scene because she actually truly believes Ellen killed her father? Or because she fears the sudden loss of her inheritance?”

  “The suddenness of her father’s death has put her in shock,” my father said in the privacy of our rooms. “Unfortunately, if her mother has anything to do with it, she’ll use the poor girl.”

  I gaped at him. “It’s not an idle threat then? How can she take Ellen to court?”

  “Oh, she’ll make a noise. An unpleasant noise.”

  “Poor Ellen,” sighed my mother. “But surely, Rosalie’s father would have left her something? Someone should tell the poor girl it simply isn’t worth making a big fight over.”

  “When there’s millions at stake, yes, there is,” Sir Gerald overruled. “Yes, there is.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “So she’s left?”

  “Yes, she’s gone. Jack took her. Where do you think they’ve gone? Back to the city?”

  “Her mother’s in London,” Ellen replied, pausing to open the old rusty gate at the start of the medieval pleasure garden.

  I’d persuaded Ellen to seek some fresh air and the trip did us both good. “My goodness, Ellen, you’ve been busy!” I gazed around in wonder at the vast changes. Once a labyrinth of overgrown hedges and weeds, it now housed a series of gardens, mostly rectangular with one large oval garden in the center.

  “Harry and I worked together on this,” Ellen said, guiding me through. “We’ve incorporated some Renaissance features but I wanted a structured wildness to remain as in the medieval era. That’s where I got the idea for the walled garden and gazebo.”

  I stopped to admire the pond in the oval garden brimming with all kinds of pink and yellow flowers.

  “Yellow is happy so I wanted lots of yellow flowers.” A sad smile turned up the corners of her lips. “My mother also liked yellow roses. If you remember, she had a rosebush by the st
ables.”

  “Yes, I remember. What happened to it?”

  “There was a fire. We managed to put it out and repair the stables, but there was no hope for the garden. And it was in an odd place.”

  “Very odd,” I agreed. “It’s nice you have the yellow roses growing here along the wall.”

  “I knew you’d love the walled garden. There’s also a hidden seat in the middle there. It’s an ideal place to spend an afternoon reading a book.”

  “You shouldn’t give me ideas,” I warned. “You mightn’t see me for month.”

  “Oh, Daphne.” Choking back a sob, Ellen crashed into my arms. “My heart feels dead and I feel lifeless. I don’t want to go on living. If Charlotte wasn’t here, I’d…”

  “But Charlotte is here and even if she wasn’t, as hard as it is, we must go on. That’s what Teddy would have wanted. Have you heard from Charles for the funeral arrangements?”

  “He and Clarissa are organizing it. I couldn’t bear to do so. Oh, how I wish we hadn’t had separate rooms those last two nights! Then I could have made certain he took his heart medicine. But he was always so diligent, Daphne. Something about it doesn’t ring right to me.”

  I examined her carefully. “Do you think somebody tried to murder him?”

  She looked away. “We have been receiving threats. Well, to be more accurate, Teddy received the threats. He never wanted me to know about them but one day, about a month ago, the mail came to me first. In it was a note with cut-out letters from the newspaper saying, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay.’”

  I stopped short to blink. “Isn’t that from the Bible?”

  Ellen shrugged.

  “Did you go to the police?”

  “No. Teddy didn’t want to. He laughed; he wasn’t concerned about it at all. He said he’d received many such threats since he became rich. You see, Teddy’s investors and his companies are intertwined. While they usually make profits, sometimes they invested poorly.”

  “And some people lost a great deal of money,” I finished for her.

  “It doesn’t seem fair, but Teddy maintained he conducted all his businesses in an equitable manner and he’d never stoop so low as to cheat to make money. People trusted him, you see, that’s why, if anything, he got annoyed when paper threats arrived in the mail. He said it was from people who didn’t possess all the facts.”

  “What did he do with these threats?”

  “Toss them in the fire,” Ellen answered, gazing down at the ground. “But I did keep one or two of them without his knowledge. I don’t know why. Maybe because I thought they might be important one day.”

  “And you are so right…” I began to see Teddy Grimshaw’s death differently. I no longer believed he died of natural causes.

  Punching her hand through the hedge, Ellen wept. “I believe he may have been murdered. That somebody killed him. Somebody who was at the wedding…”

  “At the wedding.” My echo faded into the breeze. “But who could want him dead?”

  “Those after his money: his family. They all stand to benefit, you know. All of them. I know because Teddy had a new will drafted this week. He said he made many changes but his second witness couldn’t sign it until next week.”

  “But surely the new will will take precedence?”

  “If the matter is taken to court, I stand to lose everything. Not that I want even a dime of it for myself. If it weren’t for Charlotte, I’d wish them all well, greedy vultures.”

  I was horrified. I knew little of these affairs. The writer in me had always wanted to watch a squabble after a death, greedy vulture-like relatives, as Ellen said, clawing over the money. However, I never expected to land right in the middle of one. “Ellen, don’t give up without a fight for Charlotte’s sake if naught else.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Ellen muttered under her breath. “But it would give me great satisfaction to spit the money right in their faces.”

  * * *

  I had grave reservations about locating Major Browning on Ellen’s behalf.

  I didn’t want to go, foremost.

  What kind of friend was I, though, if I did not?

  Swallowing my pride, I asked the remaining guests if they knew of his whereabouts. Apart from the Fenwicks, ourselves, Megan, and the American camp, all had now removed from Thornleigh, shaking their heads sadly as they left.

  “I believe Major Browning has rooms at Jamaica Inn,” Colonel Ramsay said. “We ourselves are heading in that direction if you’d like a lift?”

  I hadn’t anticipated such a quick departure from Thornleigh. No time to see to my hair or dress. Not that I cared for the major’s good opinion but I had intended to go properly dressed. As it stood, I’d simply thrown on a nondescript day gown and my hair lacked luster. It needed a good wash after the wedding-hair arrangement which left it positively coarse and wiry. I’d pulled it back into a severe knot at the nape of my neck and Jeanne said I looked like a governess.

  Governess or no, I accepted the colonel’s offer. He preferred an open motorcar and to drive himself. I sat in the rear with his wife who frowned at her husband’s desire for speed.

  “Oh Leopold, you’re such a child!”

  His grin broadened in the side mirror. “Daphne doesn’t mind, does she?”

  “No,” I shouted back, “but if I had a hat I might.”

  He laughed at this and I begged him to slow down when we neared the township. There were so many interesting cottages dotted alongside the beautiful countryside. My heart ached to live here, to breathe in the lavender fields each day, to own my own rose garden, to live in a house as grand as Thornleigh. But my heart belonged in Cornwall.

  “How will you get home, my dear?” the colonel’s wife asked when we motored into the village.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way.”

  I reassured them both, waving them off as my feet landed on the cobbles outside Jamaica Inn. Blushing scarlet as I caught a glimpse of myself, I hurried inside the reflector doors and marched straight up to the lady at the reception desk.

  “Hello, would you please tell Major Browning he has a visitor?”

  The lady eyed me suspiciously. What did an unaccompanied young lady want with Major Browning, her demeanor insinuated. I refused to give her the satisfaction, drumming my fingers on the desk instead.

  “Ye can tell him yeself,” she eventually snarled. “Room two, upstairs on the left.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled serenely.

  I half expected her to say he was out, dining with his fiancée or touring the countryside. She must have known he had a fiancée and that was why she was curious as to my visit. No doubt she’d ask him upon his return and I wondered what answer he would give. “Oh, she’s a friend.” “Oh, she’s my cousin.” “Oh, she’s the love of my life I have recently betrayed by my engagement to Lady Lara Fane.”

  Room two beckoned. Scraping my fist across the wooden door, I glanced around, glad nobody had seen me, though I could hear the maids downstairs whispering.

  “One minute,” said the voice inside and I cringed.

  I almost darted back down the stairs. Coward, coward, I told myself. Remember why you’ve come. Remember.

  His face gleamed behind the opening door. Half undressed and halfway through his shaving routine, he invited me inside. If I hadn’t blushed because of his deshabille, I might have insisted he see me downstairs.

  I tried not to look at him as he floated around the room, happy and relaxed at his leisure. He continued shaving. “I am most privileged to receive you this morning.”

  “I am here on Ellen’s behalf.” I got to the point.

  “Ah.” He scraped a spot on the left side of his face.

  “She’ll see you.”

  He paused, glancing at me through the mirror. “That’s good.”

  “Come to the house at three o’clock this afternoon. Good day.”

  I hastened to the door but he caught my hand.

  “W
here are you going so early? Won’t you at least share my breakfast with me?”

  Share his breakfast with him? “Share your breakfast with you,” I echoed in utter disbelief. “Share your breakfast with you?”

  “No need to reiterate the invitation,” he joked, toweling dry his face. “Here.” He brought the chair from the window to sit opposite his tiny breakfast table. “That’s nice and cozy, isn’t it? Coffee or tea? No, you take your coffee black and strong in the mornings.”

  That he’d remembered this minor detail only served to increase my fury. “No, I’ll have tea, white and weak. No sugar.”

  He lifted a devil-may-care eyebrow and I realized the folly of my situation. What was I doing here alone and unaccompanied in the private rooms of a bachelor?

  I lingered because I wanted an explanation.

  I lingered because I wanted to hurt him as he’d hurt me.

  I didn’t care a fig for propriety.

  Resuming his devil-may-care attitude, he poured his coffee and bit into his buttered toast. “Hmm, a bit cold. I like my toast warm. You?”

  Since he wished to play pleasantries, I went along with him. “I prefer a boiled egg.”

  “Do you?”

  I glared at a corner of the tablecloth. He had such a way of showing interest when he didn’t mean it.

  “Oh, come now. Don’t you dream of a nice warm brioche smothered with strawberry jam and whipped cream?”

  “No. I’d prefer bacon and mushrooms.”

  “And spinach? Kippers?”

  “No kippers.”

  “Excellent.”

  He selected another piece of toast and lathered a good spoonful of plum jam on it. Before biting into it, he offered me half. I declined.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he murmured, keeping his gaze upon me as he devoured slowly, licking his fingers at the end.

  “I suppose you do this routine with your fiancée? Where is she? Hiding behind a curtain?”

  The very notion of Lady Lara Fane hiding behind any curtain was ridiculous and we both knew it. He laughed and I managed a miniscule smile.