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

by Challis, Joanna

  “Possibly,” Megan confirmed. “Whatever went on there, I can tell you Lady Lara wanted your Major Browning at any cost. I can’t blame her. He is devilishly handsome,” she sighed, “but not as handsome as my Mr. Fairchild. Mrs. Fairchild! Ha! How positively proper that sounds. He hasn’t a title but he has a good heart and I love him the more and more I get to know him. Is that how it is with you and the major?”

  I didn’t answer straight away. What I felt for the major was an intensely private thing. I couldn’t explain the feeling into words. Somehow, my love for him went beyond words. Yet I scarcely knew him.

  “I suppose you need to spend more time with him,” Megan began helpfully. “Dean and I have been thrown together so much I feel I’ve known him my whole life! Even Mother is warming to him now. He brings her flowers every time he calls. He’s so gentlemanly and I love his accent. It’s the twang and the drawl.”

  “Does his mother know of your engagement?”

  “Yes. He telephoned her before he left Germany. She’s thrilled.”

  I hung my head. “I have yet to meet the major’s parents.”

  “I’m sure they’ll love you.”

  “It’s not so easy. I have a prejudice against me from the start, having to compete with the illustrious Lady Lara. His parents will think him a fool.”

  “The Rutlands aren’t always what they seem. Don’t be afraid of them. My father says the earl is mixed up in some kind of nasty business. I don’t know what that means exactly but—”

  Megan went on but I had since tuned out. The earl of Rutland mixed up in some kind of nasty business.

  Dare she mean the Salinghurst shares?

  And a reason for wanting Teddy Grimshaw dead?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Where shall we begin?”

  “The stairs. Let’s go up the stairs. Did you find out which room?”

  Megan gave me a furtive nod. “Four twenty-seven. The maître d’. They don’t usually give the numbers out but I know him. The police haven’t finished with the room.”

  “Naturally.” There, we paused outside the hotel room number 427. No doubt it had a lavish interior but I couldn’t help but wonder, what clues remained inside? What of Mrs. Grimshaw’s maid? Her daughter? From last reports, Rosalie rented her own apartment on the east side of the city.

  “I’d say Mrs. Grimshaw’s maid is with Rosalie,” I said to Megan, moving a little to the left of the room. “She must have been lured out of her room and met her assailant on the top of the stairs.”

  “Or,” Megan suggested, “they had an argument inside the hotel room and carried it out to the stairs where she fell to her death.”

  “Pushed to her death, I think. Or maybe we are both wrong and she’d had a little too much champagne and tripped?”

  “It does happen,” Megan agreed. “But for her neck to snap, she must have fallen with some force. It doesn’t add up to an accident, does it?”

  “No,” I agreed. “I wonder if the police met the same conclusion.”

  “Hello?” said a timid voice. “Can I help ye?”

  A maid carrying fresh towels in a prim white uniform curtsied. Since a faint suspicion registered in her eyes, I wondered if she’d been ordered to keep watch outside Mrs. Grimshaw’s room. I decided to take a risk. “Hello, there. I am looking for Miss Rosalie. Is she here?”

  “No, miss.” She frowned, curious as to who I was.

  “Such a tragedy,” I went on, using blithe babble to lower her defenses. “Though, Aunty Cynthia wasn’t much liked, was she?”

  The maid’s eyes brightened. “Ye’re family, are ye?”

  “Yes, I am … family.” I paused, shaking my head. “Who found her?”

  “One of the other maids.” She glanced toward the stairwell and shivered. “It’s the first guest to have died ‘ere…”

  “Accidents happen … were you on duty when she fell? Did you see anyone or hear anything?”

  Looking about, perhaps for her disapproving superior, she thought about the wisdom of answering my question. “I don’t know anything, miss.”

  “But did Aunty receive any visitors that day? Do you know if someone came to the hotel?”

  She shook her head. “Madam threw a cup at one of the maids, that’s all I know.”

  “A cup? She did have a temper … do you know which maid she threw the cup at? I’d like to speak to her.”

  “No, miss, I don’t know which one. I only heard it from Emmy, an undermaid.”

  “Emmy,” Megan echoed. “Where can we find Emmy?”

  “She don’t work today, miss.”

  “I really must speak to her,” I said. “I’d like to apologize for my aunt and maybe learn something about her last movements. It’s important to me.”

  “Well,” she paused after a time, “I’ve got to be gettin’ back to work. Ye can look for Emmy on the portside where she lives. The Marchman building.”

  * * *

  “I don’t think this is the best part of town to be in.…”

  I didn’t have to look at Megan’s anxious face. Her voice trembled as she uttered the very words on my lips.

  “Perhaps we took a wrong turn?”

  We’d come to the end of a lane. Old derelict buildings stared down at us and from one of those windows echoed a chilling sound. Tensing, I seized Megan’s hand. Above us, the young men continued to whoop and whistle and worse, spill out onto the street in a leering line.

  “What ye doin’ here, fancy pieces? Don’t see much of ye in these parts.”

  “Ah, fine!” One of them touched Megan’s lace shawl.

  Cringing, she stepped back into the arms of another.

  “My pretty! I ’ave ye now!”

  Screaming, Megan clutched her handbag to her breast. “Stay away!”

  “Let her go,” I interposed, terrified but hiding it. “I’m here to see Emmy. Which is the Marchman building?”

  The lads glanced at each other. I hoped, prayed, one of them recognized the name.

  “Emmy? She’s my sister,” one spoke up. “What do ye want with her?”

  He was not to be easily persuaded. “My business is personal. Please, I’ll give five pence to anyone who is willing to take us to Emmy.”

  At the look on their faces, I questioned my action.

  “Oh, dear,” Megan gushed a second later when several fights broke out.

  “Let’s run,” I whispered to Megan and we set off during the distraction. Emmy’s brother ran hard on our heels and puffing, finally caught us.

  “I won’t hurt ye!” He stopped, catching his breath. “Sorry for me friends.”

  He was an unruly lad, to be sure, but I admired his moral strength.

  “If ye follow me, I’ll take ye to Emmy. She went to the markets, should be home by now tho’.”

  We weren’t far off our destination. Three blocks south and the Marchman building rose up above a busy street filled with noisy vendors. Pulling my hat down, I squeezed Megan’s hand. The entire incident had frightened her and she wanted to catch the first taxi out of there.

  Up a set of grimy stairs, we followed Emmy’s brother into a roomy apartment filled with screaming children. Two sets of families, and they all stared at us in utter disbelief as we came through to the kitchen.

  With her back to us, Emmy jumped when her brother smacked her bottom. “Friends to see ye.”

  “Friends?” Her brow furrowing, she gaped at us.

  “We’ve come from Claridge’s, Emmy,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear a cup was thrown at you. I’m connected to the family and offer my apologies.”

  Eyes widening, she examined our clothes.

  “I need to know if you saw or heard anything in or near that room on that day. What happened, Emmy?”

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “I’ve had me fair share of these fine madams. This one, though, this one was really bad. From when I saw her come, I says to meself ‘this one’s trouble.’ And trouble she was. Nothing was ever righ
t. She complained about everythin’. And temper! She was always throwin’ things around. And all the time I heard her she were complain’ about money.”

  “Money.” I paused, glancing at Megan. “Do you think somebody was trying to blackmail her?”

  “I dunno, miss. Maybe. She were involved in some court case where she reckoned she’d get more money.”

  “Did she have any visitors that day?”

  Emmy thought hard. “None that I saw but one of the other maids heard voices in Madam’s room. It weren’t the sound of her daughter’s voice, but it was female.”

  “Did the voice sound young or old?”

  Emmy shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Ye could just make out there were someone in there talking to her.”

  “Were the voices heated or raised?”

  “No, miss. But afterward, Madam rings for tea. So I take her tea. And she says it weren’t hot enough. She threw the cup at me. I left the room and next thing I know Madam is lying dead at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “How horrible for you, Emmy.”

  “I’ve told all this to the policemen.” She frowned. “Did they question you, too?”

  “Not yet,” I answered truthfully.

  “I don’t think she were murdered,” Emmy said, escorting us downstairs to catch a cab. “I think she just tripped and fell. There’s a raised bit in the carpet there. I’ve snagged on it before. I told the police that.”

  “Thank you, Emmy. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Before we got into the cab, she waved her hand. “What’s ye name, miss?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to give her my real name should she quote it to the police. “Rebecca Simmons,” I said on inspiration, liking it. I made a note of it. The name sounded perfect for a character.

  * * *

  I returned to find my mother in great distress.

  “Two cancellations. Two. And on the flimsiest excuses. They must be friends of the Rutlands. It’s a snub, a very direct snub.”

  “The Rutlands aren’t the most important people in England, Mama,” Angela soothed, the eldest of us three girls and more sympathetic to such a social catastrophe.

  “They have influence. I didn’t think Lady Holbrook would cave to their pressure.”

  “I don’t like Lady Holbrook,” I said, thinking of the long-pointed-nose woman.

  “Daphne.” Angela frowned. “That’s hardly helpful.”

  “I have a set dinner for sixteen,” our mother lamented, “and now I have seven empty places. Seven. Who can I get on short notice? Everyone is busy or otherwise engaged.”

  Angela and Jeanne thought hard.

  “What about the Darlingtons?”

  “Or the Cartwrights?”

  Shaking her head, my mother waved her objection. “The Darlingtons don’t mix with the Harrods and the Cartwrights,” she shivered, “and not altogether whom one invites to a small dinner party.”

  I sat on the couch, detesting these kinds of affairs. I liked dinner parties, if interesting conversations carried their course with interesting people. However, designing a dinner party to impress left me not wanting to attend at all. They only spoke of what people had and who they knew and what people those people knew and so forth.

  “Daphne can invite Megan and her fiancé,” Angela prodded.

  “He’ll mix well with Ellen,” Jeanne put in. “And out of all the Grimshaws, he’s the nicest.”

  “We ought to include Alicia, too,” I said, “if you are inviting Mr. Fairchild. It’s only right as she is his cousin.”

  “But she’s a nanny.” My mother was not convinced. “Even if she has means not to be one, she has chosen that profession.”

  “It’s more about her connection with the child, Mama,” Angela advised. “And things might change in the next year or so. Who knows, perhaps Nanny Brickley will make a grand match and then you’ll be sorry you didn’t include her.”

  “True,” my mother acquiesced. “But that fills only three or four places at most. Who else can we get?”

  Having heard enough, I left the room to make a telephone call. Two days, three hours, twenty-six minutes and still I hadn’t heard from him. Surely, he’d made it back to his hotel by now.

  “George Hotel. May I help you?”

  “Yes, hello.” I cleared my voice. “I’d like to be connected to Major Browning’s room, please.”

  “Do you know the number?”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “Wait a moment, please.”

  I waited there in the hall, speaking as softly as I could manage. I didn’t want anyone to catch me or to hear our exchange. Such may smack of desperation but I had to know. I had to know he was safe.

  “Yes, madam, we have a Major Browning in two forty-one. I’ll connect you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I began to feel a little hot. Leaning into the corner, my fingers anxiously wound around the telephone cord. Please pick up. Please pick up.

  “Browning here.”

  His voice! I heard his voice. Closing my eyes, I whispered: “Tommy, it’s me.”

  “Daphne?”

  “Yes…”

  “How’s my girl?”

  He sounded the same. Slightly amused, tired. “I’m good. I’ve been worried. I didn’t hear from you.”

  “Miss Impatient. I was going to call on you this afternoon. Are you free tonight for dinner?”

  I bit my lip. “I wish I was. Mother’s got a dinner party and she’s short already. If I beg out…”

  “How many is she short?”

  “Six at the moment. I’m going to ask Megan and Dean Fairchild. They probably already have plans but I’ll try. Everyone is busy, it seems. Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry I can’t get out of this—”

  “Don’t worry. I want to see you. I’ll come for dinner, if your mother will have me,” he added with a sardonic pleasure.

  “Oh, perfect!” I hugged the phone with glee. “You don’t know anyone else, do you? We had late cancellations from Lady Holbrook and friends, loyal to your Lady Lara. Apparently, I am the girl who felicitates broken engagements.”

  The phone went quiet and I thought I heard him curse under his breath.

  “How many more do you need?”

  “Another two, if possible.”

  “Leave it with me, darling…”

  We hung up then and I put the receiver down and sighed against the wall. He was home and he wanted to see me. I was a little piqued about the intimate dinner I was missing out on but he was as graceful as ever. If I put myself in his shoes, the last thing I’d want to do is go to dinner with prospective in-laws after coming home tired from a mission in Germany.

  I went in to report to Mother.

  I swallowed, unable to contain my excitement. “Major Browning is coming and he’ll bring two. So there, you should have your sixteen.”

  I turned to sweep upstairs, in a rush to find something to wear.

  “Oh, excellent work, Daphne. You’ll make a fine hostess one day,” my mother called out.

  I smiled.

  It was the first time in my life I actually felt useful in the sense of being a lady.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I stood in front of my wardrobe. I had nothing to wear.

  Ellen discovered me thus. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t find anything. I imagined the velvet but it’s a trifle too tight.”

  Grinning, Ellen stepped forward to inspect my wardrobe. “You’re not comparing yourself to that Lady Lara, are you?”

  “Yes,” I moaned, miserable. “She’s so elegant. I’m not. I don’t know what I am or what my style is. Awkward, I suppose.”

  “The only awkwardness I’ve seen in you is when you look at Major Browning,” she teased, looking better than she had in days. “Why don’t you survey my wardrobe? It’s a fortuitous thing my maid packed for me otherwise I’d have nothing to wear, either. Come. Hop to. We have much to do.”

  Going into the guest room, we p
assed Charlotte and Alicia at their lesson.

  “I hope you’re joining us tonight,” I said to Alicia. “My mother expects you.”

  “Yes.” She smiled, quietly turning the page of the book Charlotte was reading aloud. “But I’m afraid I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  Since she was taller and thinner than me, I offered her my velvet dress. “It’s emerald green and the length won’t matter. I’ll bring it back for you to try on.”

  Her doe-brown eyes widened. “Nobody’s ever done anything so kind for me before. Thank you, Daphne.”

  “She’s so odd, I can’t make her out,” Ellen murmured to me, shutting the door. “Teddy’s left her a small fortune but she seems to want to remain in service. Why? Doesn’t she desire a husband and children of her own?”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “One doesn’t ask Alicia Brickley anything. Teddy used to call her Alicia Prickly. And I know some of the cousins call her the same. She is prickly when it comes to her private life.”

  “I think she likes cousin Dean and he’s engaged now.”

  “Oh, how sad. He’s the best of the bunch. And fancy, Jack will be here tonight. I don’t know whether I quite trust him.”

  “Father’s invited him early for a drink. Perhaps we ought to eavesdrop?”

  We both burst out laughing and Charlotte rushed in.

  “What is it, Mummy? What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, nothing, petal. Aunty Daphne and I were just laughing at this silly feather.”

  I picked up the diamond feather comb and slipped it in my hair.

  “It looks pretty. Are you going to wear it to dinner?”

  “No.” I looked away, horrified. “They always slip out of my hair.”

  “This dress is the ticket.” Pulling out the apricot cashmere and lace, Ellen spread it over her bed. “And I’ve diamond stud earrings and a bracelet to match. Quick. Do try it on so we can attend to that mop of your hair.”

  “It is a mop,” I lamented, slipping on the dress, delighted that it fit me. Moving to the mirror, I liked how the material accentuated the small curves I possessed and enhanced my bosom. I’d never have a large bosom like Lady Lara and this I must accept. However, I reflected, she couldn’t run as well as I, could she?