Dizzy Dilemmas

by Mary Beeken

  “So what went wrong with his plans? Why does it take three generations before the truth is discovered?” Erica asks now fully caught up in the story.

  “Ah that is the twist in the tale. The man cannot help but love the boy and before long sees him as his own son and therefore his plans for revenge go awry. He feels it is not enough punishment to have deprived the lord of his heir and so he persuades the wife to have an affair and gets her with child. He no longer wished for the secret to be revealed as his own child would inherit and what sweeter revenge than that?”

  “Sweet indeed but who then murdered the victim, all these years later?” asked Genevieve.

  “That would be the current lord of the manor who would lose everything if the truth was to come out,” said Robert, who thought he had it all sewn up.

  “Actually no for that would be too obvious. I have decided to make his valet the murderer.”

  “The valet did it? To protect his master whom he holds in high regard?” asked Ross with a frown.

  “No because he was well paid and comfortable so did not want to apply for a new position!” Dizzy said and then laughed at their expressions. “It is a twist on the theme of the ‘the butler did it!’”

  “It would serve you right if we murdered you!” cried Genevieve “What an abysmal ending!”

  “What pray were you expecting on such short notice?” Dizzy enquired still amused by their reactions to her story ending.

  “You have not explained how the mark got on the painting? Was it the victim from beyond the grave or did someone else know of the murder?” Robert asked.

  “It was damp, just as Mrs Harris told you!”

  “A good effort Gherkin,” Glenmore said putting his arm around her shoulders in a manner that could only be described as condescending, “but there were not enough bodies!”

  Dizzy pushed him off “What do you mean not enough bodies?”

  “You need at least four bodies littered around the place to make a good murder story,” he joked.

  “Yes and the more gruesome the better!” added Ross “Eyes popping out and that sort of thing.”

  “Every time a new suspect appears on the scene you could have him scythed down,” Robert joined in.

  “Goodness and I thought you were bloodthirsty Dizzy!” exclaimed Genevieve.

  “All this bloodletting has made me thirsty so let us adjourn to the round room for that tea Mrs Harris promised us,” Erica suggested and they all readily agreed and turned back towards the entrance but as they drew near she said “You do not think the tea will have been poisoned do you?” to which there was a collective groan.

  When the carriage pulled up outside the front of the Brockton residence, Glenmore insisted on accompanying the girls up the steps to where Coulton stood at the open door.

  “Thank you Glenmore for a wonderful day,” Genevieve said holding out her hand to him which he took in his.

  “You are more than welcome, Lady Genevieve.” he assured her.

  “Yes, thank you Glenmore, I have had a great time,” Dizzy said then pulling a face continued; “But now we must hurry because the Dowager insists we attend the Fenchurch ball tonight.”

  “Then I must insist you save the supper waltz for me.” When she still looked disgruntled he added “Come it will not be so bad will it?”

  “The ball will be tedious as you very well know but that is not why I object to attending. Aunt Tess has arranged for a Bow Street Runner to give a talk on the latest investigative practices and techniques; linking them to some of their old cases. It promised to be a riveting evening but Grandmamma is adamant.”

  “Is that not being hosted by Stephen and Fiona Pearson?” Dizzy nodded. “They only live a few minutes walk from the Fenchurch’s. I do not see why we cannot arrange to slip away from the ball and return in good time for you to accompany the Dowager home. Leave it to me,” he told her.

  “Do you mean it?” she asked and when he in turn nodded she said, “You are becoming a useful ally. I may be forced to publicly acknowledge you as a friend rather than a mere nodding acquaintance!”

  “So I can act as your lovesick suitor then?”

  “No, that would be going too far!” she admonished but he merely laughed and tripped lightly down the steps.

  “Until tonight dear heart!” he called.

  “You up to mischief again, my girl?” Coulton asked as he closed the door.

  “Coulton, you will not mention it to Grandmamma?”

  “Since when have I run to the Dowager with your misdemeanours? Never! If I disapproved I would deal with you myself as I have always done! But as it happens I cannot see any harm in you attending a talk on crime as it interests you so much. The only thing I might let slip to her ladyship is him calling you ‘dear heart’. She would be delighted with that little snippet of information.”

  “Thank you Coulton. You are most assuredly the best butler ever!” she declared, kissing his cheek.

  “Flattery will only get you so far but chocolate; now that would get you to the moon!”

  “I shall have some fetched straight away!” she laughed as she darted up the stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  For the first time in a long while, Dizzy was happy to be going to a ball and looking forward to the evening ahead but so as not to raise any suspicions in her Grandmother’s mind, she uttered a few pithy remarks about balls in general and a couple more specific ones about the upcoming event. As normal the Dowager blatantly ignored them and gave a monologue of all the eligible bachelors and widowers likely to attend citing their wealth, title and prospects.

  “Of-course you are as good as affianced to Glenmore who is quite smitten with you but it never hurts to have a second suitor on the cusp of being happy to be snared; just in case.”

  “’On the cusp of being happy to be snared’? That does not even make sense!” Dizzy told her.

  “Yes it does!”

  “To begin with, it is a contradiction; nobody would be happy to be snared!”

  You understand perfectly well what I mean!” the Dowager huffed.

  “Yes I do understand and believe me I find that very disturbing; I must be as batty as you!” Dizzy lamented.

  “Batty people have more fun, my girl and don’t you forget it!” she informed her, “One day you will recognise that as the truth and thank the good Lord that you took after me.”

  “And there you have it!” Dizzy retorted; “Condemned in two sentences. As for the good Lord he must have a tremendous sense of humour!”

  Genevieve could not contain her mirth any longer and laughed out loud which set them all off and thus it was a very jovial group which alighted outside the Fenchurch town house and it remained so throughout the twenty minute wait in the receiving line. As they neared the front and were about to greet their host and hostess, Dizzy noticed Glenmore leaning nonchalantly against a pillar just inside the ballroom ignoring the batch of hopeful young debutants who hovered nearby; all trying to gain his attention without success. She could not help but feel a burst of happiness when he unfolded his arms, straightened up and came to greet her with a smile of welcome that set her tingling.

  Moments later, having left the Dowager conversing with Lord Hadley; a sprightly widower in his senior years and potential replacement for Colonel Thwaites, Glenmore and Dizzy casually strolled around the side of the dance floor until they came to the refreshment room. A large number of people had already gathered here and were busy sampling the beverages and took little notice when Glenmore led her to a door that was partially concealed in an alcove and was used by the footmen as they ferried drinks and glasses to and from the kitchens below-stairs.

  “Lady Fenchurch is a member of Aunt Tess and when I explained the situation to her she immediately took charge and has made our escape ridiculously easy,” Marcus explained as he led her along a service corridor counting doors as he went. “Here we are; third door on right.”

  Stepping through the door, they found the
mselves back in the main part of the house in a wide carpeted corridor with a door opposite which stood partially ajar and revealed a small sitting room beyond.

  “This room has direct access to the back garden and Lady Fenchurch has arranged for the gate into the mews to be left open so we can go along there to the Pearson’s. We will be less conspicuous than walking out the front door and along the street,” Marcus told her. “She has also left this for you to wear.”

  Marcus draped a black domino over her shoulders, thus covering her dress from view and she pulled up the hood to hide her hair and cast her face into shadows. “She is very good at this sort of thing isn’t she? Do you think she sneaks off in a similar fashion on a regular basis?” Dizzy asked. “Though I cannot think why she would.”

  “Can you not?” he replied with a knowing smile.

  “No but obviously you do so you had best tell me!”

  “My lips are sealed for as a gentleman I could not possibly betray a confidence!” he said.

  “So she has a lover,” Dizzy stated and then as a thought came into her head that made her stomach lurch she could not stop herself from blurting out “Is it you?”

  “Of-course not!” he spluttered, half amused; half annoyed. “You are jumping to conclusions, my girl. I said nothing about lovers or anything else. There could be lots of reasons why people sneak out of their own houses.”

  “The most obvious being to meet a lover!” she said.

  “Most obvious perhaps but not the only one and with your imagination for stories I would have thought you could think of a few more.”

  “You are right and I apologize.” Dizzy uttered ashamed that she had done the very thing that she often accused the ton of doing; namely making assumptions and then pronouncing judgements based on them, whether they were accurate or not. “It is very kind of Lady Fenchurch to help me like this and I should not be casting aspersions. After all anyone seeing us sneaking off could imagine the worst when in actual fact it is all quite innocent.”

  “Exactly!” Marcus agreed.

  “So why is she sneaking out?” Dizzy asked after a short pause.

  “To silence nosey young women!” he told her firmly whilst drawing his finger across his throat like a knife and then before she could say anything more, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the door and into the garden.

  The moon, although several days past being full, still provided enough light to make traversing the garden possible without a lamp. Its silver rays created a magical, ethereal world of calm and mystery where one could believe in the faeries that were almost visible as they flittered around the plants and shrubs; their delicate wings whispering in the still, fragrant air. Light from the ballroom did not extend beyond the patio that ran the width of the house but the music weaved around the shadows and danced lightly along the moonbeams accompanying them to the gate with a gentle murmur of farewell.

  Glenmore seemed impervious to the enchanted garden maintaining a brisk pace and not slowing up until he reached an entrance a hundred yards or so along the cobbled mews.

  “Here we are Gherkin. If we hurry we should just be in time to catch the beginning of the speech.”

  Fiona met them at the window to the library which at its bottom stood just eight inches from the ground and was therefore easily stepped over.

  “A clandestine entrance I know, but it is the quickest, easiest route in from the garden when one is in a hurry,” she explained as she greeted them. “I have saved you some seats near the front which is good as it is incredibly busy. Who would have thought crime would be so popular.”

  “It is very kind of you to help me, Mrs Pearson,” Dizzy said as she removed the domino.

  “Not at all,” she replied, “Though I must insist you call me Fiona for I am going to drop the ‘lady’ and call you Dizzy. I cannot possibly remain so formal now you two have gone beyond being on nodding terms only; well beyond or so I am told.”

  “I cannot think who told you that but we are only marginally beyond,” Dizzy quickly responded throwing a warning look at Marcus who reacted by taking her hand and, turning it over, pressed a kiss onto her palm.

  “Would you say only marginally, sweetheart?” he asked, a twinkle of suppressed laughter appearing in his rich, brown eyes.

  Dizzy muttered something under her breath.

  “Sorry darling I didn’t quite catch that?” which he hadn’t but could nevertheless have had a very good guess as to what she had said.

  “Come along. You can satisfy your curiosity regarding his parentage later.” Fiona told her with a laugh and took them through to take their seats for the talk.

  The Bow Street Runner proved to be an entertaining and informative speaker; interspersing a wry humour into an otherwise sombre and sometimes gruesome subject. John Baxter had joined the Runners in his early twenties and had quickly established himself as an excellent detective. His observational skills were second to none and his ability to sift through information and detach the evidence from it made him a formidable officer of the law. His audience sat spellbound as he described the crime scene and then disclosed how clues and evidence were gathered and used to lead them to the perpetrators.

  “Standing here now I can understand why some people think it is exciting but rest assured a lot of the work is painstaking and dull but unless it is done thoroughly, clues can be missed and the guilty could quite literally get away with murder,” he finished his speech to a round of applause and then agreed to answer questions before refreshments were served.

  Dizzy had a marvellous time and enjoyed talking to fellow enthusiasts as much as she did listening to John Baxter’s speech. It was incredible what one could learn and she even met one or two published authors of crime stories who were only too happy to share their expertise with her; describing how they approached their planning and writing as well as the names of contacts should she ever wish to see her own stories in print.

  “I believe bringing her here will have raised you considerably in her estimation, Glenmore,” Fiona said as she offered him a glass of wine which he took with a smile of thanks.

  “It is the romantic in me, Fiona. Let know one say I do not know how to court a girl. Flowers and pretty compliments are all very well in an ordinary sort of way but grisly murders are something else altogether; which girl could resist?”

  “Indeed! Certainly not one you would want to court anyway!” she replied seriously with no hint of the amusement bubbling beneath. “And is that what you are doing then? Courting her? It must be quite a challenge when you are only marginally beyond nodding terms!”

  “Even more so when you consider that she remains unaware of the fact that she is being courted,” Glenmore muttered, taking a sip of wine. “She thinks I am using her as a shield against matchmaking mammas and their avaricious daughters.”

  “Which you are not.”

  “Which I was!”

  “Caught by your own deviousness then!” Fiona observed.

  “You are very astute,” he replied.

  “So how and when do you intend to tell her the truth?” she enquired.

  “Oh not yet; I am having far too much fun!” he grinned at her and she returned it.

  “You are incorrigible, Marcus. Be careful that it does not all go awry,” she warned swapping her empty glass for a full one as the footman walked past with a laden tray.

  “I am intending to hold a house party in a couple of weeks from now. Would you and Stephen care to attend?” he asked. “It is going to be a little different from the norm but it should prove entertaining.”

  “We would not miss it for the world!” she assured him before tasting her drink.

  The pace back along the mews was much more leisurely and occupied with a discussion about the more bizarre crimes they had been told about but upon entering the Fenchurch’s grounds they became quiet, lest there be anyone walking around outside. The moon, although higher now, still cast its silvery mantle over the garden; an enchanted spot w
ithin space and time amidst the mundane. Although a couple had ventured onto the terrace, the main gardens remained free of revellers and even as they watched the man and woman returned to the ballroom leaving them once again alone in the fairy light. Within moments the opening bars of a waltz enveloped them.

  “What perfect timing,” Marcus murmured as he swung her around and into his arms and he began to lead her around the lawns, pulling her close when she stumbled. Of course if anyone were to see them it would be considered scandalous that their bodies were touching, but with her so tightly wrapped in his arms she was less clumsy and the injury to his trampled feet was hardly worth noticing when compared to the pleasure afforded by having her in his embrace. Although together they danced with neither grace nor elegance, there was something hugely satisfying about gliding around the moon-caressed garden; just them and the faeries.

  The final bars of the dance were fading when Marcus came to a standstill and lowered his head to kiss her upturned face. It was, or so Dizzy thought, in perfect harmony with the setting; gentle, mystical and other worldly. Already standing in the circle of his arms Dizzy pressed closer raising her hands to place them at the nape of his neck and responded to his caress. She knew that it was dangerous to be kissing him but did not seem to be able to help herself even though ultimately she would be very badly hurt. Whilst he amused himself with a dalliance, she knew that she was falling deeply in love and the more time she spent with him; the more kisses they shared, the harder it was going to be when he walked away at the end of the game. As his lips sent delicious shivers of delight through her body, Dizzy found it hard to think, to rationalize, only wanting to lose herself in his embrace. She poured all her love into that kiss and involuntarily bared her heart and soul to him.

  Although she was unaware of how much she was giving away, Marcus could be left in no doubt of her feelings and silently rejoiced. The ritual of courtship had certainly taken on an unusual slant and would have to be played out to the end, but he was increasingly hopeful that very soon Dizzy would become his partner in life and he would prove to her that he was a much better choice of husband than the silent, supine Mustapha Mummy.