Another Little Christmas Murder

by Lorna Nicholl Morgan

  ‘In that case … Raddle, you will please attend me to my room. We have work to accomplish.’ At the door he turned for a parting shot at degenerate youth. ‘If there is no possibility of moving my car within the next few hours, we shall commence to walk home.’

  ‘Hey, just a minute,’ Charlie Best said. ‘I’m not letting myself in for that, Mr Howe. I’m sufficiently interested in your theories to write about them, but I’m not aiming to get any first-hand experience.’

  ‘Just as you please, Mr Best. If Mrs Brown has no objection, you can stay here until such time as the car can be moved, when you can drive on to my home, charging all expenses to me. I will give you a map of the route, but if you do not overtake us, you should have no difficulty in finding Higher Uplands. It is known for miles. There is not another house like it in England.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Best said, as Mr Howe made his exit. ‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t started on this lark. I shouldn’t wonder if I finish up with pneumonia. The things we journalists suffer for the sake of our art. And then people think we get an easy living.’

  Theresa said to Inigo, with some reproach:

  ‘You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that, my dear. After all, the man is a guest.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fly at him. But the fellow’s getting on my nerves. Why doesn’t he keep his views to himself? I thought he was harmless enough at first, but now I suspect he’s a liar and a charlatan, and I wish I’d never brought him here.’

  ‘It was your idea,’ Theresa said. ‘Personally, I admire his spirit. And if he wants to walk home, he should be encouraged, not ridiculed.’

  It seemed to Dylis that she was still very anxious to be rid of them all. Even Inigo was not beyond criticism. She wondered if Theresa would have done anything to dissuade him, had he said he was leaving that day. But perhaps she should make allowances for Theresa’s nervous condition. After all, it was not her business, and in similar circumstances she would not be overkeen on entertaining visitors. Inigo said, rising:

  ‘Well, I’ll get out and see what I can do with the car.’

  Best offered to help, and Dylis said she would go, too. Mr Howe was right, up to a point. The room did seem uncommonly warm. She would be glad to get some air. Inconsequently, she thought of his supposition that the fires must have been kept in all night. If that were so, could it be possible that Ledgrove had been in the drawing-room all the time she had been searching for him? She had descended to the kitchen by the back staircase and had returned the same way, so she would not have been able to see the light, had there been one in the drawing-room. But why should a conscientious valet, as Ledgrove was supposed to be, sit comfortably by the fire downstairs, while his dying employer knocked for him in vain? She wished she could control her thoughts, so that they would not keep returning to the subject.

  ‘I shall go up to my room and try to rest a little,’ Theresa said. ‘But I’ll send Vauxhall out to give you all the help he can, and he’ll show you the empty garage.’

  Inigo thanked her, suggested that she should take a sedative to ensure a few hours’ sleep, and added:

  ‘What’s happened to Mr Carpenter? I haven’t seen him this morning.’

  ‘I thought I would leave him undisturbed. He’s had so many sleepless nights lately, poor man. And I’ve no wish to pass on the bad news before it is necessary. It will be a terrible shock to him. He and Warner spent so many happy evenings together.’

  She looked very sad and very lonely as she went up the main staircase ahead of them and disappeared into a room situated a few yards along to the right. Charlie Best was accommodated in an apartment almost opposite to the bathrooms. If only, Dylis thought wistfully, she had known just where they all were last night. Best said, when they emerged later dressed suitably for the outside world:

  ‘I bet I know what’s wrong with old Carpenter. He hit the bottle once too often. I never saw a worse soak. Sleepless nights my foot! I should say his only trouble is trying to keep awake. Not that I’ve seen him trying very hard.’

  ‘If they get many winters like this up here,’ Dylis said, ‘it’s not surprising. I’m beginning to see why drinking vodka is an old Russian custom.’

  The snow, they found upon investigation, was even deeper than they had imagined. Stepping out from the shelter of the front porch was like plunging into an icy ocean. Furthermore, large flakes were beginning to fall again, in desultory fashion, but the heavy greyness of the horizon promised greater things to come.

  Vauxhall joined them, a thick muffler filling the space between overcoat and chin, his hat pulled well down over his eyes. Seen thus in the morning light, he was even less prepossessing, but his manner had undergone a distinct change. Though far from deferential his attitude was one of extreme politeness, and his willingness to help almost embarrassing. This was, perhaps, his method of showing respect to the dead, although last night Dylis could have sworn that he had no respect for anyone. He appeared, also, to have amazing reserves of energy, for it was largely due to his efforts that between them the three men managed to shift the car from its sunken position on the snow-covered flower bed, to the comparative firmness of the equally snow-covered area in front of the house.

  But when it came to moving it farther, even Vauxhall had to confess himself beaten. For the engine was cold and refused to respond to any kind of treatment, neither did the trio pushing from the rear achieve much in the way of results.

  ‘We’ll have to get some of this snow cleared away,’ Inigo said. ‘How did that fellow manage to move his van?’

  ‘He did it last night,’ Vauxhall said. ‘Me and Ridley helped. It wasn’t so bad, then.’

  ‘I suppose I ought to have done something about it last night, too. But I didn’t realise we were in for such a storm. Still, it can’t be helped.’

  They stood breathing heavily and wiping sweat from their foreheads, for their exertions had been great. Then they began to tramp round and about the immovable monster, frowning, debating, shaking their heads, and Dylis could not help smiling a little, as she always did when witnessing the earnest struggles of men versus machinery.

  ‘I think,’ she said suddenly, ‘that help is on the way. Unless they’re in need of it themselves.’

  They all straightened up and looked in the direction she indicated, and saw two men emerging slowly from the tree-fringed drive.

  ‘More trouble, like as not,’ Vauxhall observed gloomily. ‘This dump attracts it like a magnet!’

  Chapter VII

  Dylis, watching the two men approach, was surprised to see that neither of them was Ledgrove. One was tall, and of somewhat nondescript appearance, dressed in a heavy tweed overcoat, a trilby hat and carrying a small suitcase. The other was shorter, broad, and though also muffled up to the chin, he wore no hat and his curly brown hair looked wild and uncombed. He walked with a slight limp and his companion had hold of his arm. Vauxhall said, in a gruff tone evidently meant to be confidential:

  ‘That’s the customer that went to get help. Don’t think much of what they’ve sent, I must say.’

  ‘Which one?’ Inigo asked.

  ‘One that’s lost his hat.’

  He had hardly said it before the gentleman thus described hailed him with a shout.

  ‘Watcher, matey! Better late than never, as they say. You wouldn’t be ’avin’ a spot of trouble, would you?’

  He was grinning widely as they reached the group about the car. He had a lively face, good looking in a rather crude way, and exuded health and good spirits. The face of the other man, considerably older, looked pale and desperately tired in comparison, particularly about the eyes. Observing himself to be the main centre of interest, he submitted:

  ‘I just came up to see if I could phone for help. My car’s stuck up on the road and I had to kip down in it for the night. But I overtook this gentleman, on the way, and he tells me you haven’t a telephone. Is that right?’

  ‘Quite right
,’ Inigo said. ‘I’m very sorry, but there it is. As a matter of fact, there are several people here in the same trouble, and we’ve been expecting help from the garage at Cudge. But it’s a long time coming, unless …’

  He looked enquiringly at the other man, who continued to grin, evidently deriving immense enjoyment from the situation.

  ‘Should be ’ere any minute, guv’nor,’ he said. ‘Fact is, I didn’t get there meself. I started out all right, but it was gettin’ dark, and I slipped with me foot under me, like. Fair turned me up, it did, it was that painful. So I says to meself, Bob, I says, that’s me name, Bob Snell, Bob, I says, you’ll never do it. So with that I sees a light a bit off the road and I makes for it, and it turns out to be a farm. So up I goes and knocks, and they says come on in, nice and friendly, so in I goes and stops, and I don’t ’ave to be asked twice. And when we gets up this mornin’, you could ’ave knocked me down to see the snow all piled up, and no chance of gettin’ out except by diggin’. Bein’ in an ’ollow made it worse, see? So the farmer, ’e looks at me and I looks at ’im, and ’e says, Bob, ’e says, We was nice and friendly by then …’

  His narrative went on for some time, and from it they gathered that he and the farmer, having called for all male help available, and armed themselves with the necessary tools, finally tunnelled their way out, after which the farmer, who had urgent business to transact in Cudge, which he proposed to reach by means of horse and cart, offered to pass word to the garage that help would be appreciated at Wintry Wold.

  ‘So I come on ’ere to tell me mate, see, so ’e wouldn’t be gettin’ stewed up. Then this gentleman comes along be’ind, out of nowhere, you might say, you could ’ave knocked me down …’

  Here Inigo felt bound to interrupt, lest the suggestion to knock him down might be taken literally by one of the group about the car. For the snow was falling in earnest now, and their tempers, already worn thin, were becoming more frayed every moment. And there was no point in continuing, beneath the impact of the wind that had again arisen, a discussion which would be more profitably carried on inside. This idea being carried unanimously, they abandoned the car, and made for the rear of the house in a straggling line, and entered the kitchen, to find the indefatigable Ridley already preparing lunch over a glowing kitchen range, and seated at the table the man in the driver’s cap. It was a particular point of interest to Dylis that he should still be wearing it, also that before him were again laid the newspaper, a half-empty bottle of beer, a glass and a pile of cigarette ends in an ashtray.

  Upon seeing this sphinx-like personage, Bob Snell emitted many ejaculations of pleasure, shook him by the hand, swore that he had never expected to see him again, and proceeded upon an enlargement of his adventures, not in the least put out that his hearer listened with a marked lack of interest. Indeed, the only time the latter opened his mouth to speak was when he remarked:

  ‘Thought you’d gone and drowned your ruddy self.’

  Vauxhall gave them a look of serious displeasure, and stamped out of the kitchen. Charlie Best said:

  ‘I suppose there’s no doubt about these Cudge people getting here? I mean, is this farmer likely to slip on the way or lose his memory?’

  ‘Quite likely, I should think,’ Inigo agreed wearily. ‘In fact, I can’t understand a farmer starting out with a horse and cart in weather like this. The best thing I can suggest is to get over there myself. But first we’ll all have a drink, because we need and deserve one. I expect you feel the same?’

  He glanced at the man with the suitcase, who smiled.

  ‘I could certainly do with one,’ he admitted. ‘But it seems a bit thick, descending on you like this.’

  Inigo politely waved the matter aside, but Dylis, ever conscious of Theresa whether or not she were present, wondered what their hostess would think about it. She was not long left in doubt. Bob Snell, who had sat down on the edge of the table and helped himself to a friendly glass of beer, had just interruped his discourse to say:

  ‘Don’t mind about me, Guv’nor. Me and matey’ll be all right ’ere,’ when the door opened and Theresa entered. She was still very pale, her hair a little untidy, and the shadows about her eyes looked genuine. She asked in a strained voice:

  ‘Please, what is going on?’

  Inigo, Best and Snell all started to tell her at the same time, from which confusion Snell’s voice emerged an easy winner. She listened in silence, her hand upon the door-knob, a frown drawing her fine brows together. She was not looking at any of them, but was staring directly at the man with the suitcase, and from her expression Dylis gathered that his presence was not a source of pleasure to her. For once, Dylis could see her point of view. It must be disquieting, to have people piling up on the doorstep at this rate, with no deliveries of fresh food in sight, the weather showing no sign of improvement, and the death of her husband, with all its complications, still in the foreground. The man, sensing her inimical look, turned and said, with the respect usually paid to her:

  ‘So sorry to butt in like this. I understand you’ve been having quite a bit of trouble round here, and no wonder, with the roads in such a mess. I thought if I could just hang around until I can get help … My name’s Ashley, by the way.’

  His remark called for general, if somewhat vague introductions, and Inigo repeated his suggestion of immediate refreshment. Bob Snell said, waving his glass of beer:

  ‘That’s right, Guv’nor. Nothin’ like a drop of tiddley’; and burst into loud laughter. Theresa’s frown deepened. She said frigidly:

  ‘I must ask you to be a little more restrained. There has been a death in the house.’

  If she had said that Death was standing at his elbow, her words could not have been more effective. Instantly the man’s face underwent a change. His eyes opened very wide indeed, and his expression suggested the solemnity of funereal rites. He muttered:

  ‘Very sorry, Ma’am. Very sorry, I’m sure. Didn’t mean no offence.’

  A flicker of interest had entered Mr Ashley’s tired eyes. It seemed to Dylis that death must be the one thing that had the power to bring him to life. He, too, offered his sympathy, but made no enquiry as to the identity of the deceased. Theresa turned away, and there was a general move in the direction of the drawing-room. Inigo asked:

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep, Theresa?’

  ‘Only for a few minutes, dear. Then I woke up and heard a lot of noise down here, and wondered what had happened. I’m so on edge …’

  ‘Why don’t you try again? You ought to get some rest, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps I will presently. But I must give Ridley instructions about lunch. We’ve plenty of stores, thank heaven, but he’ll want to know how many will be here.’

  She paused and looked as if she were going to faint, and Inigo put a steadying arm about her, and insisted that she should return to her room immediately. The others had already gone ahead to the drawing-room, but Dylis lingered, and as the only female member of the party, felt bound to offer her assistance. Inigo said:

  ‘That’s the idea. You take her upstairs and see that she goes to bed, Dyl, and I’ll look after everything down here. I’ll cook lunch myself if necessary. But we shan’t be bothering much about what we eat, as long as we get something.’

  ‘So sweet of you,’ Theresa murmured, and allowed Dylis to take her by the arm and assist her up the staircase. Her room proved to be large and very beautiful, furnished and decorated in a style rather more up-to-date than the rest of the house. The curtains were partially drawn, and a fire burning in the extensive grate threw out a cheerful glow. Vauxhall, Theresa said, had insisted upon lighting a fire for her, although she had told him not to bother. He was being so helpful.

  She climbed into bed, took three aspirins with a little water, thanked Dylis for her help, and lay back upon her pillows. A quiet, sombre scene, the widow seeking temporary respite from her sorrow. But why, Dylis wondered, passing the open wardrobe, was a man’s dark-blue suit thrown car
elessly in below a hanging row of feminine garments? An old one belonging to Mr Brown, perhaps. But it did not look old, and it was an odd place to put it, anyway. Mechanically she closed the wardrobe door and glancing across at Theresa, saw that her eyes were closed. Making an effort to dismiss from her mind this young woman and her troublesome affairs, Dylis left her and went below to join the others.

  They were sitting round the fireplace in the drawing-room: Inigo, Mr Ashley and Charlie Best, with cigarettes and glasses of whisky in their hands, three men in amiable debate upon the subject of cars. They looked up as she entered, and Inigo said, drawing forward a chair for her:

  ‘You’ve got competition, Dyl. Mr Ashley is also on the road.’

  ‘Really?’ She took the chair and accepted a glass of sherry. She felt very tired and ill-disposed towards polite conversation. She was glad that her fellow traveller also looked as if he were suffering from extreme fatigue and was not, moreover, of that breezy, energetic personality sometimes encountered in commercial hotels.

  ‘Positively. So perhaps you’d like to swap stories while I go and investigate the lunch situation. Although there’s not much fear of Ridley walking out on a day like this, it’s just possible he might go on strike if someone doesn’t say a friendly word to him.’ He finished his drink and added: ‘We’ve decided to wait until after lunch, before tackling the transport problem. By then the garage people may have turned up. I don’t think so, but we may as well give them the chance. Is Theresa tucked up all right?’

  ‘She was when I left her.’

  ‘Good.’ He rose and went to the door, and Charlie Best sauntered after him, saying:

  ‘I’ll just nip up and see if old Howe is going to take his grass on toast with us.’

  ‘He’ll have to dig it himself then,’ Inigo said, with some rancour.

  Dylis glanced at the other man when they had gone. He was leaning back in the chair that almost faced hers, his eyes half closed. He really did look very tired. Becoming aware of her scrutiny, he roused himself to say: