The Winter Garden Mystery

by Carola Dunn

  Lady Valeria came in. Daisy could have killed her.

  She looked as if she could have killed Daisy. If looks could kill, Alec would have had to dig up another body in the Winter Garden.

  “So, Miss Dalrymple, you have taken your accomplice’s place in victimizing my son.”

  “Oh no, Mater, Daisy … .”

  “My poor boy, you have been hoodwinked in the most despicable fashion. Miss Dalrymple is in league with the police. Don’t worry, your mother will make sure no harm comes of it. Miss Dalrymple, I must ask you to pack your bags at once. If Inspector Fetter refuses to allow you to leave, no doubt you will be able to persuade the Cheshire Cheese to give you a room.”

  “No!” said Sebastian loudly, stepping between Daisy and his mother. “Daisy isn’t trying to hoodwink me. She has told me she’s acquainted with Chief Inspector Fletcher.”

  “Nonetheless, she cannot remain at Occles Hall.”

  It was against Daisy’s principles to let a man defend her, but she decided the experience was good for Sebastian. She congratulated herself on the unexpectedly rapid effect of her words of encouragement.

  “You’d never let Bobbie stay alone at an inn,” he expostulated.

  “I see no reason why Miss Dalrymple should not, since she chooses to set herself up as an independent woman. I dare say she frequently puts up at hostelries, and at least one of her gentleman-friends is already in residence at the Cheshire Cheese.”

  “Oh yes, Petrie. Then she can’t possibly go there.”

  “Of course she can, Sebastian. She claims Phillip Petrie is like a brother to her. Don’t be difficult, there’s a good boy.”

  Treated as a child, Sebastian lapsed into childish sulkiness. “But I want her to stay here. I like her. She’s a friend. You never let me have any friends.”

  Lady Valeria threw Daisy an ingratiating smile, which nearly succeeded where her murderous look had failed—in killing Daisy from shock. “Now stop being silly, dear,” she said. “Of course you may have friends. I suppose it can’t hurt if Miss Dalrymple stays another day or two. I expect you have work to do on your article, Miss Dalrymple,” she added pointedly. “Shall you and I have a nice, quiet game of backgammon, Sebastian?”

  He looked as if he’d have liked to refuse but under his mother’s gaze, at once steely and indulgent, he wilted and agreed. Daisy went upstairs, wondering whether Lady Valeria would let her little boy win the game.

  She did in fact have work to do on her article, so she sat down at her typewriter, rolled in a blank sheet of paper—and sat staring at it. What on earth had Sebastian been talking about? If he had enough to live on, what other problems had he besides his inability to withstand his mother’s ragging? Why was he so nervous and so desperately miserable?

  All she could think of was that he had killed Grace and lived in imminent expectation of arrest.

  After half an hour, the sheet of paper was no longer blank. One and a half sentences stared back at her. Nor was she any wiser with regard to Sebastian or the murder, having passed the time watching a pair of newly arrived mallards swimming happily on the moat in the rain. In spite of the continuing drizzle, she decided to go to meet Alec.

  Leaving her room, she saw Gregg just going into Bobbie’s room with a pile of clean laundry.

  “Oh, Gregg, has Miss Roberta come home?” she called.

  The maid turned, looking flustered. “No, miss.”

  “Do you happen to know where she went?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say, miss.” Her gaze dropped evasively.

  “You mean you don’t know?” Daisy demanded.

  “That I don’t, miss, honest.”

  “You know something about her absence though, don’t you?”

  “Oh miss, she made me swear not to tell, for fear her ladyship’d find out.”

  “You must be aware the police are in the house, asking questions,” Daisy said sternly.

  “Yes, miss, I already saw that Detective Piper, but it wasn’t today he asked about. He wanted to know did I see Miss Roberta or her ladyship the evening Gracie disappeared. Or anyone else, come to that.”

  “And did you?”

  “No, miss. I packed her ladyship’s trunk, but she always takes just the same stuff every year so she didn’t have to be on the spot. Then I went to pack my own bag. They don’t neither of them hardly ever need me at bedtime so I stayed in my room, resting up for the journey. Travelling with her ladyship’s no picnic, miss.”

  “The very thought boggles the mind,” Daisy conceded with a shudder, and she went on her way. She couldn’t see how extracting Bobbie’s secret from Gregg would help Alec, since all he had to do was ask Bobbie when she returned, if he was interested. A secret to be kept from Lady Valeria was not necessarily of any significance to anyone else. Under her red umbrella, she set off down the path Ben had described. It took her through a copse, winding between leafless oaks and ashes, and hazel bushes bright with dangling yellow catkins. She emerged from the trees to the sound of cattle lowing. A slow procession of black-and-white cows, followed by a matching dog and a man, was approaching a collection of low brick buildings surrounded by a wooden rail-and-post fence. As they entered the enclosure by a wide gate to Daisy’s left, Alec came through a kissing gate straight in front of her.

  She wished she had arrived just a few minutes sooner. Of course, Alec was a townsman and might not know the swinging gate in the V-shaped enclosure was called a kissing gate, and even if he did … .

  He raised in greeting the hand that wasn’t holding up a huge black umbrella. “Hullo! Nothing the matter, I hope?”

  “No, I just felt like a breath of fresh air.” She turned back as he joined her.

  Their umbrellas kept bumping, so she closed hers and moved under his. Walking became much easier when she tucked her hand through his arm. He smiled down at her.

  “Did Sir Reginald say anything useful?” she asked, trying to pretend they always walked arm in arm.

  “Not a word. Grace’s disappearance and the departure next day of his wife and son altogether failed to impress December 13th on his memory. His records did confirm that it was a mild day, and revealed that a champion milker by the name of Gloriosa had a near-record percentage of butterfat in her milk.”

  Daisy giggled. “I can’t say I’m awfully surprised.”

  “He’s a nice old buffer with a one-track mind, who goes to bed at ten because his cows get up early. How did Sebastian take your confession?”

  “Actually, he didn’t care. He really has the wind up and he seemed to think my part in your arrival was pretty irrelevant.” She decided Sebastian’s troubles with his mother and her own advice were irrelevant to Alec.

  “Do you think he’s in a flap on his own account? Or because he knows or fears his mother or sister killed Grace for his sake?”

  “Goodness only knows! I should think that might be enough to give him the willies.”

  “Incidentally, is Miss Parslow back yet?” Alec asked as they left the copse and approached the house.

  “She wasn’t when I left.”

  “I’ll have to leave her until tomorrow, then. I must see what Piper has to report, and this evening we’re hoping to pump the villagers.”

  “The pump being a beer-pump, no doubt,” Daisy said tartly.

  Alec grinned. “Yes, of course. Alcohol lubricates tongues. I’ll come back up here as early as is decent in the morning.”

  “If your head allows.”

  “Mine’s a hard head. As I was saying, I’ll be here early because there’s the funeral later on.”

  “I don’t think I’d better go. It would look a bit pushy as I didn’t know her. Not that I’m exactly keen on funerals at the best of times.”

  “Unfortunately, attending the funeral of murder victims is one of the inescapable duties of a detective. Someone just might break down and confess.”

  “You’re out of luck if you’re hoping to catch anyone from the Hall. Lady Valeria has said
no one’s to go, neither family nor servants. It’s a bit thick really, considering Grace worked here for several years and the other maids were her friends.”

  “It does seem rather harsh. Well, I’ll have to go anyway. We can’t be sure yet it was someone from the Hall, and I want to catch Moss for a word afterwards. He sounds like a thoroughly awkward customer—a rude mechanical, you might say—but … .”

  “A rude mechanical?” She looked at him enquiringly, her head tilted in a way that for some reason made him want to kiss the tip of her nose.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” he said briefly. “But I hope his daughter’s funeral will make him anxious to cooperate in catching the murderer.”

  Daisy took her hand from his arm as they reached the shelter of a small back porch. “I should think Moss’ll be overjoyed to find you suspect Lady Valeria!” she observed.

  “I’m not.” He groaned. “Why do I always end up dealing with the nobs?”

  “According to Piper, because you have a degree and talk posh.”

  Laughing, Alec shook and closed the umbrella. “There are occasional compensations,” he conceded with a smile. “Some of the nobs are really quite nice to know.”

  They went into the house and made their way to the Long Hall. Before going to look for Piper, Alec once more warned Daisy against meddling, thus ruining the effect of his compliment.

  Piqued, she went off to the Yellow Parlour. She was glad to find Phillip there. Having called to thank Lady Valeria for last night’s dinner, he had been pressed to stay for afternoon tea. His presence did much to lessen the inevitable sense of constraint.

  Neither Bobbie nor Ben came in, but Sebastian appeared to have recovered his equanimity, at least outwardly, and Lady Valeria had donned a veneer of cordiality. As she sat there dispensing tea and cake, no one would have guessed how recently she had freely dispensed hints of an improper relationship between Daisy and Phillip.

  Her ladyship’s assumed complacency was not destined to last. Phillip started talking about his motor-car, always one of his favourite subjects of conversation. Stan Moss had not only tuned up the Swift so that the engine ran as smooth as silk, he had taught Phillip how to do it himself. Stan Moss was a mechanical genius. Stan Moss could make a fortune if he just had a proper service-station with modern equipment.

  Lady Valeria’s face regained its familiar thunderous aspect. Sebastian looked more and more amused, and Daisy had to avoid his eye or she’d have burst into fits of giggles.

  “Dash it,” said Phillip, “just think how convenient it would be for you to have a petrol pump on your doorstep instead of having to drive into Whitbury to fill up.”

  “Never,” pronounced Lady Valeria in tones of doom, “never shall there be a petrol pump in Occleswich as long as I … that is, as long as Sir Reginald owns the village!”

  “Right-ho,” Phillip obligingly agreed. “Smelly things, what? The whole village belongs to the estate, does it?”

  “Sir Reginald was unwise enough—before we married—to dispose of the leasehold of the smithy and the inn in order to finance modern equipment for his dairy. Even with a clause forbidding material alterations without permission, it has caused nothing but trouble.”

  Phillip nodded. “You lose control,” he said. “The gov’nor sold quite a bit of the freehold of Malvern Green to pay the death duties when my grandfather died.”

  A discussion of the iniquities of death duties and the income tax so far restored him to Lady Valeria’s favour that she invited him to Sunday lunch. “If you are still in the neighbourhood, Mr. Petrie,” she added with a peevish glance at Daisy.

  Phillip also looked at Daisy, but anxiously, as he answered, “Thanks awfully, I’ll be here and I’m happy to accept, but I’m going to have to toddle off back to town on Monday. Business, and I didn’t bring my man with me. Simply can’t do without him much longer, don’t you know.”

  He was reluctant to leave her here with Alec and with the murder unsolved, Daisy guessed. However, she didn’t see how she could decently prolong her own stay at the Hall beyond the weekend, whatever Sebastian and Bobbie wanted. Alec’s insistence on her remaining didn’t really hold water, and the dairy excuse was not simply wearing thin but already in rags—she’d had plenty of time to inspect the place. And though considerations of propriety wouldn’t stop her staying at the inn, she couldn’t really afford even the Cheshire Cheese’s modest tariff.

  At least she’d be able to bag a lift with Phillip and get a refund on her return ticket, she thought, brightening. Of course she’d pay him back the difference between first and second class, but she’d still come out a few shillings ahead. A new pair of silk stockings?

  Phillip rose to take his leave.

  Sebastian stopped him. “I say, won’t you hang about a bit longer and give me a game of billiards?” He was like a little boy begging for a treat.

  “Right-ho, old man.”

  A flash of dread crossed Lady Valeria’s heavy features, so quickly suppressed Daisy wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. Her ladyship’s mouth opened, but if she meant to voice a protest she was forestalled as Phillip went on, “What d’you say we make it snooker and ask Daisy to play with us? She’s not bad, for a girl.”

  “Not bad!” Daisy squawked. “I’ve jolly well trounced you more than once.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I’d have asked you before, Daisy, as a change from backgammon, if I’d known you play. Come on.”

  Could that possibly be relief on his mother’s face now? Disconcerted, Daisy went off with the men, feeling thoroughly perplexed.

  Lady Valeria’s curious reactions faded from her mind as she struggled to persuade both Sebastian and Phillip not to cheat in her favour. The result of her efforts was that they continued to do so with more and more outrageous openness, until they were all so helpless with laughter they could barely hit the balls.

  Daisy had never seen Sebastian so relaxed and happy; she was pretty sure he rarely had the opportunity to enjoy himself with his peers. It was criminal the way his mother kept him mewed up at her side. No wonder he had turned to an unsatisfactory affair with a sympathetic parlourmaid, with such disastrous results.

  She couldn’t believe he was a murderer. He simply hadn’t the spunk. Someone else had done the deed.

  Lady Valeria? Bobbie? The mysterious commercial traveller? Surely not Bobbie. Girls one had been to school with didn’t turn out to be murderers, especially forthright, sporting types like Bobbie. Murder just wasn’t cricket.

  Yet murder had been done, and its daunting effects settled once more on Daisy and Sebastian when Phillip departed. They went up to change for dinner in dispirited silence.

  The grey silk frock matched Daisy’s mood. Anticipating another long and uncomfortable evening, she went down to the drawing room. As she approached the door, she heard Moody’s cheerless accents within and hesitated a moment.

  “No, my lady, Miss Roberta hasn’t come in yet. Miss Gregg asked me to give your ladyship this note she left for you.”

  “Note? Roberta left a note? And Gregg has only just decided to give it to me?” Lady Valeria sounded astonished, indignant, and apprehensive all at once.

  “I understand, my lady, that such were Miss Roberta’s instructions.”

  “What does it say, Valeria?” Sir Reginald asked, mildly curious.

  Daisy couldn’t have stopped eavesdropping to save her life. Fortunately Lady Valeria didn’t send Moody out before she read Bobbie’s note and in her shock she relayed the contents to her husband without considering the butler’s presence.

  “Good heavens above! Reggie, she’s staying away tonight!”

  “Where?”

  “She doesn’t say, and she can’t say for sure when she’ll be able to come home!”

  Bobbie fleeing the police? But she had nearly fainted when Daisy told her Grace had been murdered—or was it because Grace’s body had been discovered?

  However treacherous she felt, Daisy had to tell A
lec.

  12

  When Alec and Ernie Piper left the Hall, the rain had stopped and a streak of red from the setting sun showed below the clouds in the west. Petrie’s elderly Swift was parked beside the Austin, which looked nice and new but very staid next to the nifty two-seater. As Alec started up his practical family car, Piper pulled out his notebook.

  “I covered the lot, Chief,” he said with satisfaction. “All them questions you had.”

  “They actually talked to you, in spite of Lady Valeria?”

  “That butler said they was told not to talk to the police, so I up and says we’re not just police, we’re Scotland Yard and we don’t pay no heed to country bigwigs. So he looks gloomier than ever and tells the rest to cooperate.”

  Alec grinned. “A bit of an exaggeration, but well done. Just run through what you’ve written down. We’ll sort it out later.” It was no good asking Piper to pick out the relevant bits, as he would with Tring. The lad hadn’t enough experience to know what might be significant.

  “Moody, that’s the butler, after dinner he served coffee to Sir Reginald and Miss Parslow in the drawing room and her ladyship and Mr. Goodman in the library. Then he went to his pantry and put his aching feet up till he went round locking up at half eleven.”

  “He locked up at half past eleven?”

  “Yes, Chief, same as always. There’s a side door with no bolt, just a Yale lock and the family all has keys, so I didn’t reckon much to that.”

  “Except that if Grace came back into the house at all, it must have been before eleven thirty—unless for some reason she came in with one of the family. Suppose young Parslow met her in the village and took her for a drive in hopes of sorting things out, then returned home and told his mother or sister he’d failed. How many motors do they own, and were any out that night?”

  “I dunno, Chief,” said Piper, anguished. “I didn’t even think to see the showfer.”

  “No one ever asks all the questions first time round,” Alec told him bracingly. “That’s what tomorrow’s for. Let’s get back to Moody.”