Hasty Death

by M C Beaton

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Here we are! here we are!! here we are again!!!

  There’s Pat and Mac and Tommy and Jack and Joe.

  When there’s trouble brewing,

  When there’s something doing,

  Are we downhearted?

  No! let ’em all come!

  Charles Knight

  Farthings was a pleasant Elizabethan manor-house. A beautiful old wisteria covered most of the front, its delicate purple blossoms moving gently in the lightest of breezes.

  As they went through the usual arrival ritual of being shown to their quarters, Daisy fretted about that car which had been behind them all the way. Whoever was driving it wasn’t a guest because it had driven on past the gates. The driver was wearing goggles and a muffler up round his face and he had a cap pulled low down over his forehead.

  In her new status as companion, she would no longer eat with the servants and so would have no chance to tell Becket of her fears.

  They had been given two bedrooms and a little sitting-room. Rose stood by the window, watching the other arrivals.

  ‘Good heavens, Daisy. There’s Tristram Baker-Willis, Freddy’s friend. And here comes Mrs Jerry and her husband. You know, I’ve just thought of something. With Freddy’s flat being searched when he was shot, one assumed that the murderer had taken away any incriminating papers. But what if Freddy did not keep any evidence he was using to blackmail in his flat, but had it somewhere else? I must ask the captain. Or, wait a bit, what if the murderer found the evidence, took away his own stuff along with the others and then decided to do a bit of blackmailing himself?’

  ‘There’s the dressing gong,’ said Daisy.

  ‘The arrivals are going to have to look sharp. Ring the bell for Turner.’

  Daisy could never get used to the fact that she was expected to avail herself of Turner’s services as well. Not that Turner presented any difficulties. Being lady’s maid to an aristocrat was a step up for her. Her last job had been as lady’s maid to an elderly widow in Bournemouth. She was in her thirties, polite and correct and self-effacing.

  But Daisy loved the luxury of having someone to do her hair and mend and clean her clothes.

  When they were ready, Rose in a low-cut white silk gown and Daisy in dark grey silk which Lady Polly considered suitable to her station, they rang the bell for a footman to guide them downstairs, because it was one of those old rambling mansions with many odd staircases.

  Lady Glensheil moved forward to meet them, or rather she glided, as if on castors. She was a high-nosed aristocrat with a noble bosom. She was dressed in lilac taffeta and a great rope of black pearls hung round her neck.

  ‘Glad you could come, Lady Rose, and this is . . . ?’

  ‘My companion, Miss Levine.’

  ‘We are a small party. May I present Lord Alfred. Lord Alfred, Lady Rose Summer and Miss Levine.’

  ‘Charmed,’ he said in a voice heavy with boredom.

  ‘And Mr Baker-Willis.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ said Rose curtly.

  And so the introductions went on. Apart from the suspects, there were two ladies Rose already knew from the house party at Telby Castle, Frederica Sutherland and Maisie Chatterton. She had also met two of the gentlemen before, Sir Gerald Burke and Neddie Freemantle. Harry was the last to arrive.

  ‘That awful bruise has nearly gone, I see,’ he remarked.

  ‘I’ve been wondering what happened to papers or letters or whatever Freddy was using to blackmail people.’

  ‘Maybe the murderer took the stuff away with him.’

  Daisy whispered, ‘A motor car followed us all the way here.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Daisy is worried that the horrible doctor is coming after me.’

  But Harry did not laugh. ‘I’ll keep a look-out.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Rose, looking towards the new arrivals. ‘I’d forgotten about them.’

  Mrs Angela Stockton and her son came into the room. ‘My dear, what are you wearing?’ demanded Lady Glensheil in ringing tones.

  Angela’s high-waisted gown looked as if it had been made out of William Morris wallpaper. A huge silver crucifix hung round her neck. Her hennaed hair was topped with what looked like a small green witch’s cap.

  ‘I am an aesthete,’ said Angela.

  ‘Oh, pooh, greenery-yallery,’ said Lady Glensheil. ‘At least young Peregrine is properly attired.’

  ‘Tell her we’re no longer vegetarians,’ hissed Daisy, ‘or we’ll need to eat nothing but vegetables while we’re here.’

  ‘I outrank her,’ said Rose, ‘so I won’t be sitting near her when we dine.’

  ‘But I will,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, well, I’ll think of something.’

  Lord Alfred took Rose in to dinner. Tristram Baker-Willis was seated on her other side.

  Rose turned to Tristram first. ‘What a terrible business about poor Mr Pomfret.’

  ‘Eh, what? Oh, yes, frightfully sad.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘Blessed if I know.’

  ‘Probably a burglar,’ said Lord Alfred languidly.

  ‘But nothing was taken. I mean, nothing of value.’

  ‘You seem remarkably well informed, Lady Rose.’

  ‘It was in the newspapers. The only thing they did not mention was a servant or servants,’ said Rose eagerly. ‘Mr Baker Willis, did not Mr Pomfret have a manservant?’

  ‘Yes, he did. Chap called Murphy. But he’d got the night off.’

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘How should I know?’ demanded Tristram rudely.

  ‘If Lady Rose goes on interrogating us during the meal,’ drawled Lord Alfred, ‘we won’t be able to eat a darned thing.’

  Rose noticed Angela Stockton was drinking a great deal of wine. Still, she supposed, wine was vegetarian.

  Daisy was tucking into roast beef with pleasure when Angela, defying custom, said right across the table, ‘My dear Miss Levine, I thought you were one of us.’

  ‘Lord Hadshire insisted we eat meat. Lady Rose could hardly defy her father.’

  ‘How very sad. Don’t you think Lady Rose and my son have a great deal in common?’

  ‘No,’ said Daisy bluntly.

  Rose watched the three suspects closely after dinner, but there was nothing to show that they had a common problem or, indeed, knew one another very well.

  She had pinned her hopes on those three. But what if there had been others? Others who might have paid cash?

  Card tables were being set up. ‘I think some music would be pleasant as well,’ said Lady Glensheil. ‘Whom do we have? Why, Miss Levine, I have never heard you sing.’

  Rose closed her eyes. She knew Daisy loved to sing.

  ‘Do you want someone to play for you?’ asked Lady Glensheil.

  ‘Yes, I would like Becket.’

  So Becket was summoned and told to bring his concertina.

  Daisy whispered to Becket and then threw back her head and began to sing.

  If you saw my little backyard, ‘Wot a pretty spot!’you’d cry

  It’s a picture on a sunny summer day;

  Wiv the turnip tops and cabbages wot people’s doesn’t buy

  I makes it on a Sunday look all gay.

  The neighbours finks I grow ’em and you’d fancy you’re in Kent,

  Or at Epsom if you gaze into the mews.

  It’s a wonder as the landlord doesn’t want to raise the rent,

  Because we’ve got such nobby distant views.

  Rose suppressed a groan. The card players sat as if frozen. Daisy was getting into her stride, marching up and down and swinging her skirts as she roared into the chorus.

  Oh it really is a wery pretty garden

  And Chingford to the eastward could be seen;

  Wiv a ladder and some glasses

  You could see to ’Ackney marshes,

  If it wasn’t for the houses in between.

  Rose and Harry applauded loudly and the ot
hers followed suit. ‘You do that Cockney bit very well, my dear,’ said Lady Glensheil. ‘But something more soothing now, I think. Miss Chatterton, perhaps you would oblige?’

  Maisie sat down at the piano and began to murder Chopin.

  Daisy came and sat next to Rose, her face flushed and her eyes shining. Rose was going to give her a lecture on her behaviour, but then thought that in her music-hall days Daisy had known a freedom denied to society women.

  Harry had joined the card players. Rose thought he might at least have joined her. They were, after all, supposed to be investigating this murder. She felt tired and sulky.

  ‘I think I’ll retire now,’ she said to Daisy.

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Daisy, but only because she had agreed to meet Becket in the gardens later.

  Harry covertly watched Rose and Daisy leave the room. What a bore these cards were, he thought. He played another hand and then got up from the table and excused himself.

  An hour later, Daisy, with a shawl over her head, waited in the garden at the back of the house. The air was full of the scent of lilac. She jumped nervously as Becket appeared in the darkness beside her.

  ‘I never heard you coming,’ she whispered. ‘Have you found out anything from the servants?’

  ‘Only that Lord Alfred plays backgammon.’

  ‘So do I!’

  ‘I mean, how shall I put this – he prefers gentlemen to ladies.’

  ‘Ah, now there’s something someone could have been blackmailing him about.’

  ‘Exactly. But what sort of proof would they have?’

  ‘There are brothels, you know, for that sort of thing.’

  ‘You’ve led a rough life.’

  Daisy shrugged. ‘Comes in handy sometimes.’

  ‘But I still can’t see how it would work. Someone goes to Lord Alfred and says, “I saw you go in the door of such-and-such a place.” He’d deny it. Can’t ask the people who run the place, if it’s a high-class one. They keep their trade by shutting up about their clients.’

  ‘Photographs. What about photographs? Someone with one of those Kodak cameras.’

  ‘Could be. If that’s the case, I wonder if they were destroyed.’

  Daisy sighed. ‘I’m beginning to think the murderer did destroy them and that’s the end of it. Then the three have alibis. But how do they know what time he was actually killed? Rose told me after dinner that Freddy had given his manservant the night off and yet it was the manservant who found the body.’

  ‘The manservant would sleep there, so he’d come back later – anyway, that’s what it said in the newspapers – find Freddy dead and call the police. The manservant left at six in the evening and returned at eleven, so they’ve been collecting alibis for that time.’

  ‘Where is the manservant? Do we know?’

  ‘I asked the captain. He says the manservant made a statement and then disappeared.’

  ‘Wait a bit, flats like his would have a porter on duty.’

  ‘Porter didn’t see anyone apart from the residents. The door to Mr Pomfret’s flat wasn’t locked. He must have let his murderer in.’

  ‘People must have heard the shot.’

  ‘StJames’s is a noisy place. The residents above and below were abroad. A Mr George Bruce at the top of the building heard something, which, in retrospect, he believes might have been a shot, but he says at the time he thought it was one of those nasty new-fangled motor cars.

  ‘Mr Kerridge says that the murderer must have shot Freddy as he opened the door and searched frantically through his papers and then ran out.’

  ‘But the porter must have seen someone running out.’

  ‘He says he didn’t, but it turns out he often nips round to the pub in St James’s Lane. The landlord seems to be a friend of the porter and both are sticking to their stories that the porter wasn’t in the pub that evening. Frightened of losing his job.’

  ‘I’d best be getting back,’ said Daisy.

  Becket was just plucking up courage to kiss her on the cheek when they heard a stifled sneeze in the shrubbery behind them.

  ‘Who’s there?’ demanded Becket sharply.

  He ran towards the shrubbery and parted the branches but could see no one.

  ‘Could have been a cat,’ said Daisy uneasily. ‘Cats don’t sneeze like that.’ Becket looked uneasily about. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  The country house party developed into a sedate and often boring affair: croquet and cards and long heavy meals.

  Harry covertly watched the three suspects. The only thing suspicious about their behaviour could be that they avoided one another. And yet what did they have in common? Lord Alfred could not be expected to enjoy the company of a gross glutton like Mrs Jerry any more than Mrs Stockton would. Nor would he approve of Mrs Stockton with her faddishness and ridiculous clothes.

  Her son, Peregrine, was always trying to engage Rose in conversation but she seemed to be successful at snubbing him.

  Rose had at first toyed with the idea of flirting with Peregrine to see if she could find out anything about his mother but found the young man too repulsive.

  Harry had only the meeting with Kerridge to look forward to.

  He had held back from presenting the bicycles to Rose and Daisy, feeling that, after all, the presents were a bit too expensive for a gentleman to present to two unmarried young ladies.

  But Rose was being singularly pleasant to him – because she wanted to break his heart although he did not know that. So on the morning of the fourth day of the visit, he said a trifle awkwardly, ‘Lady Rose, I may be doing the wrong thing but I did bring you and Daisy a present.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Rose.

  ‘I bought you a bicycle each.’

  ‘Oh, how simply marvellous. Daisy, the captain has bought us bicycles. May we start to learn to ride them right away?’

  ‘You will need to change,’ said Harry, looking at Rose’s white muslin gown with its flounces and frills.

  ‘Come, Daisy,’ said Rose, ‘I cannot wait to begin.’

  So Becket’s dream of holding Daisy’s waist while he taught her to ride came true. Both girls were wearing divided skirts, white blouses and straw boaters.

  There was a wood on the estate with a bridle path running through it. To the disappointment of both men, the girls proved to be quick learners.

  ‘Daisy and I will go for a run on our own,’ said Rose. Only after the pair had gone flying off did Harry regret not having brought bicycles for himself and Becket.

  Lady Glensheil came up to them as they were walking back to the house. ‘I saw you gentlemen wheeling bicycles. Where are the young ladies?’

  ‘Gone off cycling. They learned very quickly.’

  ‘Oh, this cycling craze,’ sighed Lady Glensheil. ‘I keep a few for guests.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Harry eagerly.

  Lady Glensheil turned to her ever-present maid and footman. She said to the footman, ‘Paul, fetch a couple of gentleman’s bikes.’

  Rose felt dizzy with happiness as she and Daisy flew down the bridle path. It was such a delicious sense of freedom. At last they stopped. ‘I think we should go back,’ said Daisy, anxious to see Becket again. ‘We didn’t even thank the captain properly.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ They turned their bikes around when a man stepped out from the shelter of the trees and held a pistol on them.

  ‘Dr McWhirter,’ gasped Rose.

  His eyes glowed in the green gloom of the forest with a mad light.

  ‘It was all your fault,’ he said. ‘You ruined me. Me. I was once the most courted doctor in Mayfair. My business is ruined. I am ruined. But I’ll take you with me, you nasty, scheming little bitch.’

  Daisy felt she should stand in front of Rose, but that would mean he would shoot both of them. She was terrified and her bladder gave.

  He smiled and cocked the pistol.

  Harry, speeding along the bridle path with Becket behind him, saw Rose and Daisy, white
and petrified, and the figure in front of them. Kerridge had shown him a photograph of McWhirter, and looking at that thick white hair, Harry was sure it was the doctor. With one hand he fished out his own pistol from his pocket. A brief memory of riding a horse in the veldt during the Boer War and leaning forward over the pommel to take aim came back to him.

  Praying he hadn’t lost his skill as a marksman, he fired directly at the doctor’s back.

  McWhirter dropped to the ground.

  Daisy burst into tears and Becket dismounted and ran to her. Rose stood where she was, very still, staring straight ahead.

  Harry dismounted. He knelt down beside McWhir-ter’s body and turned it over.

  ‘Dead,’ he pronounced.

  He got to his feet. ‘Lady Rose,’ he said. ‘Go back to the house. Do not tell anyone of this.’

  Rose said through white lips, ‘Why? The police will have to be informed.’

  ‘Well, that’s the problem. Why did he attack you of all people?’

  ‘He blamed me for everything. So what are we to do?’

  Harry turned his head. ‘Becket, go back to the house and find two spades.’

  ‘But this is criminal!’ protested Rose as Becket left Daisy, mounted and pedalled off.

  ‘I am trying to avert a scandal. If this became known, your parents would summon you home. One of their servants who had not been in their employ very long might decide to earn some money by talking to the newspapers about your visit to the asylum. It’s better this way. Take Daisy and go back to the house.’

  ‘No, I want to see it through to the end,’ said Rose.

  ‘But I’ve wet meself,’ wailed Daisy.

  A hysterical giggle escaped from Rose’s lips. ‘Then you go back, Daisy.’

  ‘Not without you.’

  They waited uneasily for Becket. ‘I hope one of the guests doesn’t decide to go for a ride,’ said Harry.

  At last they saw Becket speeding down the path towards them with two spades balanced on the handlebars.

  ‘Right,’ said Harry, taking the spades from Becket. ‘Let’s drag this body into the woods.’

  Daisy and Rose, clutching each other, followed them.

  Rose suddenly released Daisy and turned away and vomited.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Harry. ‘Back to the house with both of you. Daisy . . .’