The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6)

by Clara Benson

‘That I cannot tell you. I love all my guests, of course, but not all of them are as friendly as you and Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Marchmont. If they choose not to talk to me then that is their right.’

  From the coolness of his tone, Angela surmised that Morandi’s friendly approaches to La Duchessa had been rebuffed.

  ‘Ah, eccola! Here is Mrs. Peters,’ said Mr. Morandi in a more cheerful voice, as Elsa just then came in from the garden. ‘Now signore, I insist you both come and have a drink with me. Have you tried Campari? It is a little drink we make here in Italy and I assure you it is quite delicious on a hot evening such as this.’

  They went out onto the terrace. Dense, black clouds had begun to move across the sky in sharp contrast to the blazing sunshine of only an hour earlier, and the atmosphere was starting to feel close and stifling, even outside.

  ‘I’m glad I got back when I did,’ remarked Elsa. ‘It looks as though it’s going to rain soon.’ And indeed, as she spoke the first fat drops of a summer downpour began to land spat on the canopy above their heads. Their drinks arrived and they sat comfortably under the shelter and prepared to enjoy the sight of everyone else getting wet but themselves.

  The shower soon eased off but the clouds did not dissipate and the weather looked set to be dull and overcast for the rest of the evening. Angela saw two people she recognized, and watched as Christopher and Francis trooped dejectedly along the lake-front, having presumably given up any attempt to paint the sunset for that day.

  ‘Do you think it will be like this tomorrow?’ said Elsa. ‘It won’t be much of a picnic if it is.’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Mr. Morandi. ‘The weather is very changeable at this time of year, but I hope it will be fine.’

  He then got up and went off to harangue the waiting-staff, as dinner-time was approaching, and Angela said to Elsa:

  ‘By the way, I’ve made us an appointment to sit for Mrs. Quinn tomorrow morning. I hope you’re still keen.’

  ‘Am I!’ said Elsa. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What are you going to ask her?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Angela. ‘I haven’t quite decided yet.’

  ‘You said something about inventing a dead husband. Presumably that means your husband is still alive,’ said Elsa.

  ‘He was alive and well the last time I saw him, but that was quite a long time ago,’ said Angela. ‘We’re separated, I’m afraid,’ she explained as she saw her friend’s curious look, ‘but as a general rule I try not to bring it up in conversation, since people can be rather tiresome on the subject.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Elsa sincerely. ‘Well then, let’s forget the live one and think up a really good dead one for you.’

  Angela laughed and agreed, grateful for her friend’s tact in not inquiring further.

  ‘But we must come up with something convincing,’ she said. ‘I’ve the feeling that Mrs. Quinn isn’t so easily taken in.’

  ‘Yes, and that daughter of hers too,’ said Elsa. ‘She makes one quite uncomfortable with that way she has of making one feel as though she’s staring into one’s very soul. Do you suppose she really does have second sight?’

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Angela.

  They put their heads together, and after rejecting several tales about buried treasure and missing heirs as being anything from somewhat unconvincing to plain absurd, they finally agreed to tell Mrs. Quinn that Angela’s husband had died suddenly while she was away with friends, and that Angela had always felt guilty about her absence and wanted to be sure that he did not think too hardly of her.

  ‘There, that will do nicely,’ said Elsa. ‘It has the ring of truth about it and won’t require you to tell too many lies.’

  ‘True enough. And what shall you say?’ said Angela.

  ‘Well, what I’d really like to do is give Tom a piece of my mind for being stupid enough to go up in that plane of his during a storm, but I shan’t. Instead I shall put on my saddest widowly face and say merely that I want to be sure he is well and that the children send their love.’

  She assumed a doleful expression, then giggled mischievously.

  ‘I think this might turn out to be rather good fun,’ she said.

  EIGHT

  The next morning Angela threw open the doors to her balcony and discovered that the weather was once again fine and sunny, although grey clouds hung over the mountains on the other side of the lake, away in the distance. Angela squinted at them and hoped they would dissipate soon rather than drifting across to spoil the picnic, which Mr. Sheridan had confirmed was to take place that afternoon. There was to be a little group of them, and Angela was rather looking forward to seeing the Villa Pozzi and its grounds, of which she had heard so much.

  After breakfast, Angela and Mrs. Peters returned to Angela’s room and waited with some trepidation for the arrival of the Quinns. Although they had been laughing about it the day before, both were feeling slightly nervous, and Angela in particular was worrying that they would spot her lies immediately and that she would be exposed as a fraud—which would be ironic in the circumstances, she thought with a wry smile.

  At ten o’clock prompt, Mrs. and Miss Quinn knocked on Angela’s bedroom door and were admitted.

  ‘Here we are, as promised,’ said Mrs. Quinn, as cheery as ever, while Asphodel Quinn stood by, a silent presence in a dark and heavy worsted frock. ‘And good morning, Mrs. Peters. Are you joining our sitting today?’

  ‘Yes, if you don’t mind,’ said Elsa.

  ‘Oh, there’s no problem at all,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Four is a nice, convenient number.’ She looked about her. ‘Now, we’ll need a table,’ she said. ‘A round one would be best.’

  ‘What about this one here?’ said Angela, indicating a little table which stood to one side of the window.

  ‘It’s a bit small,’ said Mrs. Quinn, regarding it with her head on one side, ‘but since there’s nothing else it will have to do.’

  She carefully put down the bag she had brought with her, pulled the table away from the window and into the middle of the room and then set out three chairs around it.

  ‘There are no more chairs, so one of us will have to sit on the bed, I’m afraid,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Asphodel.

  Mrs. Quinn now busied herself about the room. First she closed the curtains and switched on the lamp, then she delved into her bag and brought out several candles, which she placed here and there and then lit. The room immediately seemed smaller and stuffier, and it began to feel rather warm.

  ‘Does Mr. Ainsley know you’re doing this, Mrs. Marchmont?’ Mrs. Quinn said as she worked. ‘I gather he and his wife are friends of yours.’

  Angela started guiltily at her words, but luckily neither of the Quinns was looking in her direction.

  ‘I haven’t mentioned it,’ she lied. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No particular reason,’ said Mrs. Quinn blandly, ‘except that we’re not exactly favourites of the reverend, are we, Saph?’

  Miss Quinn gave a short laugh.

  ‘You might say that,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ went on Mrs. Quinn. ‘He doesn’t hold with the Art, and he’s taken very much against us since we came, although it’s not as though I’ve done anything to interfere with him. As a matter of fact I understand he’s been spreading all sorts of rumours about us in the town—which I call uncharitable, as I’ve never said a bad word about him. I’m a good Christian woman, I am, and I do my best to love my neighbour, even if he doesn’t think much of me.’ She straightened up and looked about her with satisfaction. ‘Now, then, that ought to do the trick,’ she said. ‘For my part I’d happily let the light and the fresh air in but the spirit guides don’t like it, you see, and they’re the ones in charge so we have to go along with it.’

  ‘What is your spirit guide’s name?’ asked Elsa, who had been watching the proceedings with interest.

  ‘Thutmose. He’s an Ancient Egyptian,’ replied Mrs. Quinn. She sa
w Mrs. Peters’ sceptical look and said amiably, ‘Yes, dear, they so often are, aren’t they? It’s a bit hackneyed, I know, but that’s what he told me and I can’t prove otherwise so I don’t bother arguing with him. Now then, shall we sit? Mrs. Marchmont, it will be best if you and Mrs. Peters sit opposite each other.’

  Angela and Elsa glanced at one another and sat gingerly in the chairs indicated, and Mrs. Quinn burrowed in her bag once again and brought out an object, at which they gazed curiously. It was a flat, wooden board, rather chipped and battered, with rounded corners, on which the alphabet was printed in large, black letters in two curved rows, with below it the numbers from one to ten. On the board the medium placed a smaller, heart-shaped piece of wood which was mounted on three little casters.

  ‘Why, it’s a talking board,’ said Angela.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘You can buy these in the shops, but I had mine made especially to my own design. It’s ash, which I always find is the most powerful wood for clearing a channel between this world and the next.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Angela, glancing at Elsa again.

  ‘Are we ready to begin?’ said Mrs. Quinn, sitting down. Miss Quinn followed suit and perched upon the end of the bed.

  ‘What do we have to do?’ asked Elsa.

  ‘Oh, it’s easy enough,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘First of all I’ll summon Thutmose—always assuming he’s in the mood to join in, of course. He can be a bit mischievous at times, I’m afraid, and sometimes he flatly refuses to help. There used to be another guide who came occasionally—a Roundhead from Norwich, he was, and much more sensible—but I haven’t seen him recently. Anyway, I shall ask Thutmose if he knows of anyone who would like to give you a message, and then we’ll see what happens after that. It’s best to give the board its head, by the way,’ she went on. ‘I don’t say you ladies would do it, naturally, but there are some people who think it’s a good idea to try and direct the planchette to their own advantage, so I’m just giving you a friendly warning to advise you not to do that, as no good ever comes of it.’

  The sitters promised solemnly that they would not attempt to influence the board in any way, and Mrs. Quinn nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Very well, then, let’s start. Now, everyone place two fingers on the planchette, please, and let’s see if Thutmose is nearby.’

  Angela did as instructed and waited as Mrs. Quinn closed her eyes and began to sway gently. After a minute or two her eyes snapped open and she said, ‘Nothing there yet. Let’s try again.’ She closed her eyes again and this time began to hum tunelessly under her breath.

  Angela was so busy watching her that she was caught completely by surprise when the planchette jolted suddenly and began to zigzag wildly across the board—so much so, in fact, that her fingers lost contact with it altogether.

  ‘Connection’s lost,’ said Mrs. Quinn briefly. ‘Let’s try again.’

  Angela looked at Elsa and saw that she looked as startled as Angela felt. They all placed their fingers back on the planchette and Mrs. Quinn began again. This time, when it began to move Angela was more prepared and kept her fingers on it.

  Mrs. Quinn said, ‘Thutmose, is that you?’

  After a short pause the planchette began to move across the talking board. It came to the letter Y and stopped.

  ‘Are you able to speak to us today?’ said Mrs. Quinn.

  Again the planchette moved, and this time it spelt out a longer message: ‘W-H-O A-R-E Y-O-U.’

  Mrs. Quinn gave an impatient noise.

  ‘You know very well who I am, Thutmose. It’s Adela. Are you going to be a naughty boy today? You know how cross I get when you play tricks.’

  There was a pause, then the board spelt out ‘H-A H-A.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I have the feeling he isn’t going to be very helpful,’ and indeed the planchette was now jerking backwards and forwards repeatedly between the W and the Z.

  ‘Wzwzwz,’ said Elsa. ‘Is that a word? Perhaps it’s Ancient Egyptian.’ Angela glanced up at her. Elsa’s face was perfectly serious but there was a glint in her eye.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Let’s do it one last time and if it’s no good then we’ll give it up. Thutmose,’ she said more loudly, ‘Mrs. Marchmont is here, and she would like to speak to her husband. Is anyone there with you?’

  This time there was no reply.

  ‘Well—’ began Mrs. Quinn, but was unable to finish as the planchette suddenly sprang to life and began to spell something out rapidly. All eyes were upon it as it moved across the board and paused for a split second at each letter, then came to a halt. There was an embarrassed silence, then Elsa began to giggle uncontrollably.

  ‘That was very rude of you, Thutmose,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I’ve told you before not to use words like that in front of the ladies. I won’t speak to you any more if you’re going to be like that.’ She picked up the planchette and set it firmly on its back. ‘Well, that wasn’t much help, was it?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about that, but sometimes it does happen, I’m afraid.’

  Angela was also having great difficulty in keeping a straight face.

  ‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really have much hope, to be perfectly honest.’

  Mrs. Quinn rubbed her chin.

  ‘I don’t like leaving a client with nothing to show for our efforts,’ she said, ‘but when Thutmose is in that kind of mood there’s not much I can do with regards to speaking to the dear departed. I know it’s not the same, but I could read your cards if you like. A lot of people look down on fortune-telling but it can be useful sometimes.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Angela, who thought she may as well experience all the services on offer while she was there.

  Mrs. Quinn delved into her bag again and brought out a crumpled and greasy pack of playing-cards that looked as though they had seen better days. She handed them to Angela.

  ‘Now, dear, give them a good shuffle if you please, and then cut them,’ she said.

  Angela did as she was instructed, and then Mrs. Quinn took the cards and laid them out in three rows of three. She turned over the first row and regarded the cards closely, muttering to herself.

  ‘Now, this represents your past,’ she said. ‘Here, the cards tell us where you have come from and the events leading up to your present situation. Now you see there the Five of Diamonds. That means happiness and success, or it can refer to the birth of a child. You don’t have children, I suppose?’

  Angela shook her head.

  ‘Well, then, you have had success in the past, perhaps in business. But here is the Two of Spades. Spades are bad luck, in general. This one’s a bad card. It denotes deceit or separation. Someone in your past has deceived you.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Angela, and indeed it was true enough, although the same might be said of most people, she thought.

  ‘Hmm. Hmm. Ten of Diamonds. Money. No surprise there,’ said Mrs. Quinn almost to herself. ‘Now, let’s look at your present situation,’ she went on, and turned over the second row of cards. ‘Jack of Clubs. Have you an admirer, Mrs. Marchmont?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Angela, and exchanged glances with Elsa, who raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Then it must refer to a friend,’ said Mrs. Quinn, and went on, ‘Three of Hearts. You must think twice before giving your heart.’

  ‘Excellent advice at all times,’ said Elsa.

  ‘Eight of Diamonds,’ continued Mrs. Quinn. ‘That means travel and a new love. Well, the travel part is right enough.’

  ‘So it is,’ said Angela. So far she was not especially impressed by the reading, which seemed to be very vague, and might apply to almost anybody.

  ‘And it looks as though you’re going to fall in love, too, Angela,’ said Elsa slyly. ‘Who shall it be? My money’s on Mr. D’Onofrio.’

  ‘He seems pleasant enough, certainly,’ replied Angela, ‘but I shall try and resist him if I possibly can, since I do
n’t think his wife and seven children would be particularly happy about it.’

  They all laughed and Mrs. Quinn began turning over the last three cards.

  ‘Now, these represent your future. Dear me,’ she said, as the last spread revealed a row of Spades. ‘Dear me.’

  Angela had no time to ask her what she meant when her attention was arrested by a sudden movement and a noise like a groan. They all looked up and saw that Asphodel Quinn had fallen backwards onto the bed and was lying there, rigid, staring at nothing and twitching slightly. Angela and Elsa jumped up, exclaiming in surprise and concern, but before anyone could do anything Mrs. Quinn said comfortably:

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to worry. Just leave her be. She’s having one of her turns. She’ll come out of it in a minute or two.’

  ‘Oughtn’t we to fetch a doctor?’ said Angela. ‘Does she often get these fits?’

  ‘It’s not a fit—at least, not as such,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘It’s a vision, or a visitation, or whatever you care to call it. She’ll come to soon enough.’

  They all gazed at the girl, and sure enough, after a short interval she stopped twitching, blinked once or twice and then sat up.

  ‘Too late!’ she cried in distress. ‘Mother, it’s too late! Something has happened, I know it, but what? It was there, just out of reach and I tried and tried to see it but I couldn’t. Oh, why couldn’t I help him?’

  Her face crumpled up and she put her hands to her face and began to weep.

  ‘Are you quite certain?’ said Mrs. Quinn. Under the rouge her face had gone quite pale.

  ‘As certain as I can be,’ said Asphodel. ‘And it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Hush, child, of course it’s not your fault,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘You can only help those who choose to listen. The rest is out of our hands.’

  ‘I must go,’ said Asphodel. ‘I can’t stay here a moment longer.’

  ‘Very well, dear,’ said Mrs. Quinn. She turned to Angela. ‘You won’t mind, will you?’ she said. ‘Saph is unwell and I’d better take her home now.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Angela. ‘Is there anything I can do?’