Rose nudged her and inclined her head towards Justin, who was still gazing broodily at the fire. ‘Childhood Trauma Causes Lovers’ Tiff,’ she intoned.
Daisy grinned but then the smile faded as she glanced at Violet. Her sister’s eyes were wet with tears as she looked under her eyelashes at Justin. Slowly she got up, walked across and knelt on the floor beside him, pretending to hold her hands out to the flames. He sat stiffly, but Daisy saw the expression on his face change and soften. After a minute, Violet put her hand on his arm. He didn’t look at her, but he lifted his own hand and covered hers. They sat very close, almost as though they were on an island of their own in the midst of a sea of laughing, joking people.
Chapter Twelve
‘Yes, yes, of course I’ll play,’ said the Earl impatiently. ‘I was the one who invented the game. Guy will too, won’t you, old man? Many’s the game we played when we were young. We start in the library after dinner,’ he explained to Justin, the only one present who, he thought, did not know about the famous Murder in the Dark games at Beech Grove Manor. ‘There’s one victim, and the rest of us are murderers. The victim declares himself and then has five minutes to hide before the hunt is after him. The detective does not stir from the library until the murder is announced by Bateman. He’ll sound the dinner gong, so when you hear that everyone comes back to the library and the detective has to guess who committed the dastardly crime.’
‘And Bateman will sound the gong after one hour if the victim manages to escape the murderers.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said Justin amiably. ‘So we all go off and hide in dark places. How is the victim chosen?’
‘We draw lots,’ said the Earl.
‘And when you’re murdered you must count to ten and then scream,’ Rose told him.
‘And the victim, whoever it is, has to be dumb after that one scream,’ put in Daisy. ‘You’re not allowed to say who murdered you, even if you know.’
‘And you can hide anywhere?’
‘Anywhere in the house,’ said the Earl. It was understood by all those who had played the game before that the servants’ quarters were not intruded upon. Daisy was counting on that.
‘Come on, then – hand out the cards, Daisy. Let’s know our fate.’ The Earl was eager to get on with the game.
‘You do it, Justin; I’m still stiff after hunting first and then dancing.’ Daisy had given the pack of cards to Justin earlier and wasn’t too sure what he had done with them. He had laughed off her concern that the right card might not go to the chosen victim, Sir Guy, and on hearing how much the Earl fancied himself as a Sherlock Holmes, had promised to make sure that her father would be detective.
‘Easy to tell that you haven’t been to school,’ he had said. ‘That was one of the first things I learned when I went to Harrow. I can guarantee to give any card I choose to anyone.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, you will each get a card,’ intoned the Earl. ‘If you get an ordinary card, then you are a potential murderer, the Joker goes to the victim and the ace of spades is the detective. These are the only picture cards. Have you counted them out, Daisy?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy. She hoped everything would go well. Justin was making a great pantomime out of shuffling and reshuffling the cards, then cutting the pack and asking Rose to cut it again. At last he advanced upon the guests, all seated around the table in the library.
‘The victim has to declare themselves immediately; the detective keeps quiet. Once everyone has their card, Bateman turns out the lights.’ The Earl was impatient to get on with the game. Daisy tensed. Justin was overplaying his part and her father was getting irritated with his continual shuffling of the cards. He pressed the bell and Bateman appeared almost instantly, just as if he were standing in the back hallway awaiting the summons.
‘Just going to play Murder in the Dark, Bateman. Have you been told all about it?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Bateman respectfully. ‘The usual candles are placed on landings of the stairways so that no one stumbles. Otherwise the house will be in complete darkness. I have warned the kitchen staff.’
‘So here goes,’ said Justin. ‘One last cut and shuffle for luck and now you take the top card, please.’ He went around the circle. Each person took a card, glanced at it and held it concealed. Justin himself took the last card and then looked around.
‘Poker faces,’ he said. ‘Someone must have received the Joker. Come on, now, admit it.’
‘I did,’ said Sir Guy dramatically after a couple of moments. ‘Well, there you are. I had a presentiment today, when I was being hurtled through the woods by that brute, that this would be the day when I would see my last sundown.’
‘Except that you were asleep for sundown – what a shame,’ said Rose sweetly.
‘Well, that’s a bit of luck for you,’ said the Earl heartily. ‘Being chosen as victim, I mean. It’s ever so jolly lying there in the dark and waiting for someone to come and murder you.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Sir Guy resignedly.
‘Get the scarf, Rose. You have to tie this white silk scarf around your neck, Guy, so that you can be identified as the victim.’
‘The sacrificial lamb,’ said Rose with satisfaction.
The scarf, a present to the Earl by an elderly cousin about ten years ago, had never been worn by him on the grounds that it was too flashy, but it was ideal for the game. Even the slightest glimmer of light made it shine out like a beacon.
‘Knot it so that it can’t fall off. Let me do it.’ The Earl tied the scarf in a noose-like fashion around his friend’s neck.
‘Well, there we are then. Right, Bateman, the fuse box, if you please. Off you go, Guy.’
‘Sprint as though you are the fox and the hounds are after you,’ Baz could not help advising, adding with his amiable smile, ‘Sorry, sir; just a joke, sir.’
‘Tarantara!’ Edwin blew an imaginary hunting horn and Sir Guy, his white scarf gleaming, cast one look of exaggerated indignation over his shoulder as he strode out of the room at a stately pace.
‘All ready for the filming?’ whispered Justin in Daisy’s ear and she nodded. The camera was upstairs. It had been put carefully into position, ready for action. She hoped that no one had heard him. She wanted expressions to be natural.
‘Three more minutes to go,’ said her father, watch in hand.
And then it was two more minutes. Daisy began to feel a tingle of excitement. This was what the hounds felt on drag-hunting mornings.
‘One more minute,’ said the Earl. He began to count aloud. This was also part of the tradition and somehow it heightened the tension as those measured digits came forward one after the other.
‘Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!’ And just as the last number was called the gong in the hall began to sound. Bateman was enjoying himself.
And then there was the sound of the door to the servants’ passageway being opened and shut softly. Presumably Bateman had retired to the kitchen. The whole company turned to face each other.
‘Look for one last time on the face of a murderer,’ intoned Baz.
‘Prepare to meet thy doom, Sir Guy Beresford,’ said Rose dramatically.
‘And there she goes,’ shouted Baz as the room was suddenly plunged from brightly lit solidity to darkness. It was odd how darkness disorientated people, thought Daisy as she groped her way to the door. It didn’t do that to animals, just people. Once, when the Earl was the victim, she and Poppy, for a joke, had fetched her father’s favourite hunting dog from the stables. He found his master instantly and their father was furious and said he would never allow them to play again. He did, of course – his bark was always worse than his bite – but she and Poppy kept out of his way for a while and were extremely well-behaved until he forgot about it.
Daisy wished that she had a dog with her now. Everything seemed fluid: furniture was in odd places as she groped her way to the door.
As usually happened everyon
e made instantly for the doorway to the staircase, stumbling over each other. Once that was opened a faint gleam of light came down from the large window in the landing above. No chance of a hiding place in the gallery – that had only two upright chairs and hundreds of paintings and photographs. The bedrooms were the usual places to hide and for the murderous throng to seek the victim – though Daisy had overheard Great-Aunt Lizzie, who was away for the weekend visiting a friend, telling the chambermaid to lock her bedroom door so that the hunting party would not go stumbling around, knocking over her bottles of scent and things like that.
Soon just she and Justin were left standing by the library door. ‘You managed that very well,’ she whispered, smiling in the darkness.
‘Pity your father always fancies the part of the detective,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve given it to him, but I rather fancied doing that myself. Perhaps I’ll reveal myself as a detective sent down from Scotland Yard to keep an eye on old Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Follow me,’ she whispered back. ‘I know a place where you can keep an eye on all the comings and goings and then you can slip down to the basement once they’ve all had a bit of a hunt around.’ She hoped that she could get a few shots of him with Violet later on, but since the quarrel earlier in the day they were avoiding each other.
Daisy’s eyes were now getting accustomed to the dark. Quickly she led Justin through the door to the servants’ passageway and then up the servants’ stairs. She herself had planned the placing of the candles, and the small light in the old-fashioned bedroom lamp gleamed from a windowsill at the top of the uncarpeted stairs.
‘Where are you going?’ said Justin in her ear.
‘The linen cupboard,’ she whispered back. ‘You open the door to the gallery. Hook it back so that no one closes it.’
The linen cupboard, or hot press, as Mrs Pearson always called it, stood opposite to the door from the servants’ stairway to the gallery. Daisy took her camera from the windowsill near the candlestick, then opened the doors, allowing out a rush of hot air and the delicious smell of ironed linen. The shelves were much emptier of sheets and bedclothes than usual – she and Poppy had made up five extra beds on the top floor so that Justin and the jazz band boys could stay the night. Daisy climbed the slatted shelves easily until she was about halfway up, then she propped open the two top doors.
‘Pull the bottom doors shut once you’re up here,’ she whispered. Now the two of them were on the top shelf, looking down. The hot press couldn’t be better placed. From the shelf it commanded a view of the servants’ staircase, the main staircase, the gallery and the six doors leading to the bedrooms on that floor. Dark shadows darted in and out. Daisy arranged a pile of pillowcases in front of her, building them up to eye level, placed the camera on them, opened the shutter, detonated the percussive cap in the trough of flashlight powder and pressed the button.
‘There was a scream when the first flash came –Violet by the sound of it, thought Daisy. A slim figure looked around fearfully – yes, it was Violet. Daisy thought she would spot her and Justin in the hot press, but she went towards the staircase leading down to the ground floor and Daisy could hear the sound of her shoes tapping on the oak boards.
‘Any luck, Baz?’ That was Edwin. Daisy had the camera in position as they both came out of Sir Guy’s bedroom. She ignited the flash once more and giggled silently as Edwin said: ‘What was that? A touch of lightning. I say, that will be fun.’
‘I’m going to try the back hallway – thought I heard the door go to the servants’ quarters when he left the library.’
‘That was probably just Bateman – I’m going to have a go at the front attics, Baz. Obvious place really – full of old junk up there. Probably find him in an old trunk.’
And then there was a figure that came slowly and cautiously up the back stairs – a heavy figure, moving slowly, unlike the others, who were galloping exuberantly, leaping from stair to stair, rushing into rooms.
‘This is getting a bit boring,’ said Justin in Daisy’s ear. ‘I think I’ll be off. Pity I can’t do a real murder. I must say that I feel like it,’ he added as he slid down.
Probably fed up about Violet, thought Daisy. He, too, must have thought that Violet had seen him and then turned her back and walked away. She would give him a minute and then follow. It was time for her to play her part before anyone decided to try the basement.
She leaned over, pushed open the lower doors of the hot press and climbed down, reaching up for her camera when she was near the bottom.
‘And now for the wash-house,’ said Daisy aloud.
The wash-house at Beech Grove Manor was a small suite of rooms. There was the drying room with its enormous clothes horse suspended on ropes from the ceiling, its solid pine table and its heavily blackleaded stove in the corner with a set of Victorian flat irons and box irons neatly ranged in size on top. The next room was the mangling pantry where the water was squeezed from the clothes by a huge old mangle. Daisy put a candle on the floor in front of it – the wheel made an interesting shadow on the wall and she filmed that before passing through into the inner room, the wash-house itself with its pump and washboard and its set of enormous tubs for soaking and washing clothes.
She entered the large room to to see a figure slumped on a chair with his head on the pine table. Only the back of the head was visible but by the candlelight she could see the red stain that smeared and clotted the white hair.
Daisy ran outside into the stone-fagged passageway and screamed ‘Murder!’ at the top of her voice.
And then there was a moment’s silence. Daisy shivered but waited until she heard the first sounds: doors being opened, light and heavy footsteps running down the grand staircase, exclamations, and then the first footsteps sounding on the servants’ passageway. They would all be here in a moment. She stepped back until half-hidden by the shadow of the door and began to film, turning the camera first to the dead body, sweeping it in a large arc around the whitewashed walls and then coming back to the table again.
Justin was the first one through the door. Daisy filmed him frantically, praying that she had caught that first moment of shock in his eyes, that slackening of his jaw.
And then the others came – Baz and Poppy giggling together and then stopping abruptly; the Earl frowning, taken aback by the silent figure slumped against the table; Edwin, Simon and then Rose, who screamed loudly and with great drama. Daisy carried on filming – great expressions, she thought exultantly: the stunned disbelief, horror, shock, fear and dread seemed to flit from one face to the other as people in the room moved and shifted from pools of light into dark shadows, their unease and dismay translating into these abrupt changes of position.
And that was the moment when Violet came in. Thinking about it afterwards, Daisy realized that Violet was tired and very strained these days. As soon as she saw Sir Guy she started violently, then burst into tears, sobbing hysterically. Justin’s arm went around her immediately and Sir Guy, hearing genuine sobs, sat up and said jovially: ‘“Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” I’ve always envied Mark Twain the opportunity to say that wonderful line,’ he added.
‘Oh, bother,’ said Daisy. ‘You could have stayed dead for another few minutes – still, I think I have some good footage.’
‘You’ll have to forgive us the trick we played on you all,’ said Sir Guy. ‘It was Daisy’s idea. Dry your eyes, Violet. When you are a film star earning millions in Hollywood, you will look back at this film as the first step on the ladder of fame. Get that film developed as soon as possible, Daisy. I’m really looking forward to seeing myself in a starring role.’
‘I’ll never forgive you,’ said Violet, but she said it with a smile. Justin’s arm was still around her, noticed Daisy. They seemed to have forgotten their quarrel at the hunt earlier in the day.
‘Let’s go and have a brandy, Guy,’ said the Earl when his friend had finished vigorously towelling the sparse remains of his hair.
/> ‘I say,’ said Baz when the two men had departed in search of the library fire, ‘let’s have a party. I don’t want to go to bed – bit tame after all that fun.’
‘Our dresses are already packed away,’ said Violet, but she sounded tempted.
‘A pyjama party,’ said Baz. ‘Just pyjamas and dressing gowns. It’s all the thing in London these days – my brother tells me all about them.’
‘Jazzy!’ Poppy did a little twirl on the tiled floor then kissed Basil’s cheek as sign of her approval of his genius.
‘A pyjama party,’ echoed George. ‘That would be the bee’s knees! Edwin and I will go and get Morgan and bring back the drums and the double bass from his cottage.’
‘And I’ll be able to stay up all night as Great-Aunt Lizzie is away,’ said Rose and then added, predictably: ‘Deprived Child has Glimpse of Paradise.’
‘Violet looks cold; she’s had a shock. Should we light a fire in the ballroom?’ asked Simon. He was so shy and quiet normally that Daisy looked at him with surprise.
‘Wonderful idea!’ Violet beamed at him. ‘Thank you, Simon.’
‘I’ll help you.’ Justin squared his shoulders, giving Simon a cold look. ‘Where’s that axe?’
‘There’s chopped wood in the timber store,’ said Daisy. ‘Take a basket each. Poppy, you go and have a quick word with Father. Promise to keep the music low.’
‘But I don’t like low music,’ declared Poppy with a note of surprise in her voice.
‘Just say it,’ said Daisy firmly.
‘Let’s go and talk to Mrs Beaton, Daise,’ said Baz. ‘I bet she has a few goodies hidden.’
‘No, don’t,’ said Daisy. She didn’t want the elderly cook to be disturbed and there was little to spare in their cupboards, except eggs, of course. She and Rose had collected a large basketful yesterday.
‘Eggs,’ she said aloud. ‘I have a wonderful idea. Let’s make a Spanish omelette. Come on, everyone – you can all help. Basil, you do the eggs – Poppy can help you when she comes back. Two for each person and two for the pan – oh, just put in a couple of dozen. Violet, will you do the potatoes? Rose, help her while I find that huge old frying pan.’
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