Murder Goes Mumming

by Alisa Craig

  “Mrs. Clara is sometimes inclined to meddle. Mr. Lawrence is considered to have done himself well in marrying her and thus securing the large business connected with the Condrycke interests.”

  “Does he have much other business?”

  “I believe not. Most folk in these parts prefer to employ a French lawyer.”

  “The Lawrences are at Graylings a great deal, are they not?”

  “Far too often, in the opinions of the staff.”

  “What do you think?”

  Ludovic shrugged. “I should say Mrs. Clara wishes she were in her sister’s shoes, and possibly vice versa. Clara envies May her position as mistress of Graylings. I suspect May sometimes envies Clara’s being able to come here and enjoy the amenities, then go away and leave May stuck with the responsibility. Her position is a confining one, as you must realize, despite its many perquisites.”

  “Squire expects a lot of May, does he?”

  “Squire is an autocrat. He is an intelligent man who gave up whatever other opportunities he might have had to marry Miss Dorothy and settle down at Graylings, so he has funneled all his talent and ambition into making a success of the venture, and he has succeeded. He has, I may say, more brains than any of his children. His is the brain that controls Donald’s activities in the company. He is quite aware of Donald’s limitations.”

  “What are they?”

  “Charm of manner, a good memory, an ability to look intelligent, and a marked lack of practical acumen. Donald is what is known, I believe, as a front man.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Janet. “Somebody once told me,” it had been Roy but she needn’t go into that, “Mr. Condrycke was the one they depended on to keep the customers’ wives happy. I assume that means he and Babs handle the entertainment part, giving dinners and so forth. Do they bring people to Graylings much?”

  “Often. Squire relies on Donald for distinguished company.”

  “And other things.” Janet smiled. “Too bad I let him down.”

  “Only in one respect, miss. As a prospective member of the Rhys family, you would have been welcome in any case. Squire likes being surrounded by celebrities and persons of rank. Your name will no doubt be mentioned on any number of occasions, though your husband’s profession may not.”

  “Well, I’m used to being talked about. In Pitcherville it happens to everybody. By now Sam Neddick must have told the whole town Janet Wadman’s fixed it up with that Mountie who pinched him in Moose Jaw.”

  Her imitation of her brother’s hired man wasn’t too far off the mark. “They must be taking bets already about when the baby’s due. It’s going to come as a nasty shock to the ladies down at the Tuesday Club when they find out we haven’t jumped the gun.”

  Ludovic laughed outright. He said something in Welsh and Madoc laughed, too.

  “I’d better not translate that. She blushes easily. Getting back to Squire, any idea where he came from?”

  “His origins are shrouded in obscurity, sir. By now, in my opinion, he’s managed to convince himself he is in truth a Condrycke. I have sometimes wondered whether he might once have been a member of a traveling theatrical company.”

  “His penchant for pageantry?”

  “Precisely, sir. I should venture to guess that he invests the role of squire with a good deal more grandeur than would be found, for instance, in your own family.”

  “You wouldn’t be far wrong. My father’s about as awesome as a church mouse and my great-uncle is often mistaken for one of his own sheepmen. Squire must indeed be an able manager if he can handle a complexity of business interests and remember to be impressive at the same time. Does he ever slip? When one of his playful offspring is putting a rubber lizard down his back, for instance?”

  “Putting rubber lizards down Squire’s back is not the done thing, sir. Mr. Cyril’s antics this evening were the first episode of anyone’s making sport of Squire that I can recall. I am bound to say that Squire handled the situation with a greater degree of tolerance than I should have expected.”

  “What might he otherwise have done?”

  “Thrown a temperament, which he manages with truly frightening dramatic effect, and banish Cyril from the revels.”

  “Assuming that Cyril had not been suffering from a temporary mental aberration brought about, in my opinion, by the ingestion of drugs, would Cyril have allowed himself to be banished?”

  “It has happened before, sir, though Mrs. May and Mr. Herbert are usually able to handle him well enough as they did at luncheon today, merely by letting him get drunk to the point of incapability. Mr. Cyril is not as a rule a boisterous drunk. His temperament leans more to the phlegmatic than the choleric.”

  “You’ve never before seen him act as he did tonight?”

  “Never, sir.”

  “What did you think about it?”

  “I thought Herbert’s lads had slipped something into his drink.”

  “You know what they’ve been up to, then?”

  “It’s part of my job to know what people are up to at Graylings, sir. And to keep my mouth shut about it, which I should normally do. You no doubt realize that I’m laying my job on the line by talking to you in this way. I am supposed to represent the feudal element among the paid help,” Ludovic added in a totally human tone.

  “Your feudality is safe with Jenny and me, as you made damn sure it would be before you opened up,” Rhys answered. “Are they all in bed?”

  “As to that I could not say, sir. The family are somewhat addicted to holding private conferences in each other’s bedrooms. I should venture to speculate that a certain amount of tiptoeing back and forth is still taking place.”

  “We had some of that last night, too,” said Janet, cutting another sliver of fruitcake.

  Ludovic was amused. “Miss Val’s having a thin time of it this trip. I trust you were not seriously incommoded, Miss Wadman?”

  “It wasn’t the sort of thing I’ve been brought up to expect in decent people’s houses,” she replied in that prissy little way that so delighted her husband-to-be. “Back home it only happens in haylofts when the girl’s none too bright and the man’s none too particular. Maybe you’d better make up a bed for Madoc on the chesterfield here in case I have to evict him again.”

  “I doubt I shall be sleeping much tonight,” said Rhys. “If I do, I shall lie across my Jenny’s threshold like a Russian serf in the time of the czars. Why do you think old Mrs. Condrycke was murdered, Ludovic?”

  CHAPTER 17

  “I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Adelaide was not a Condrycke. Her family name was Stebbins.”

  “Thank you, but I am not referring to Miss Adelaide Stebbins. I meant her sister Rosa, who predeceased her by, I should say, just about twenty-four hours.”

  “But Mrs. Condrycke—you—you did say murdered, sir?”

  “The evidence indicates that Mrs. Rosa Stebbins Condrycke was assisted to her demise by violent methods.”

  Ludovic was visibly rattled. “Is it permitted to ask by what methods, sir?”

  “I should say she was smothered with a wet towel or something of the sort while under the influence of that pitcherful of wassail you took up to her.”

  “Then you’re accusing me of...” Ludovic swallowed hard.

  “Should I? You didn’t, did you?”

  “I’m not a complete fool, sir.”

  “I didn’t think you were. That’s why my Janet is pouring your tea. As a matter of professional curiosity, what were you sent up for?”

  “Forgery, sir. I got into a spot of bother with the bookmakers. I was only a footman at the time,” Ludovic added by way of excuse. “Unfortunately, my then employer was in very deep water himself just then. My dipping into his bank account interfered with an elaborate system of check kiting he’d worked quite successfully for some while. He naturally welcomed the opportunity to cover his own maneuverings by accusing me of grand larceny. Being a sporting man himself, he then offered to rig a
n escape for me, thus allegedly confirming my guilt and getting him off the hook while saving myself a longish holiday at Her Majesty’s expense.”

  “He provided me with a forged passport and a ticket to Canada. I wrote myself some excellent references promoting myself to butler and obtained this post at Graylings. My intention was to move on once my credibility had been established, but as you see, I never did. The pay is excellent, the work is not arduous by and large, and, entre nous, some of the ladies in the area are most obliging.”

  “But don’t you miss your family back in Wales?” cried Janet.

  “I had not been in contact with them for some years prior to my abrupt emigration. I had run away from home at twelve to avoid going down into the mines. As there were at least eleven other children at the time, I doubt whether my parents ever noticed my absence. I order gift packages to be sent them from time to time, but as circumstances prevent my enclosing a return name and address they never know where to reply and probably don’t much care.”

  “The warrant for your arrest has no doubt expired some time ago,” said Rhys. “I’m sure you could return unchallenged if you so desired.”

  Ludovic shrugged. “Perhaps I will, someday.”

  “If you care to give me a name and address, I will have discreet inquiries made.”

  “Thank you.” The butler didn’t sound overcome by gratitude. “I suppose it would be as well to know whether anybody is left to receive my packages.”

  Janet shivered and Rhys noticed.

  “Tired, my darling?”

  “Not particularly. Maybe a goose walked over my grave. Life’s a complicated business, isn’t it? That’s a trite and silly thing to say.”

  Janet straightened up and adjusted her skirt. “Why don’t you tell us who killed Mrs. Condrycke, Ludovic, so we can all get some sleep?”

  “I should be more than willing to tell you if I knew,” the ex-forger replied. “It is shocking to me that such a thing can have happened here without my knowing.”

  He rose and returned the empty teacups to the tray, as if to reassure himself that he was still able to function. “May one ask, Inspector, whether your presence here is an indication that you anticipated some such occurrence?”

  “You may ask, but the answer is no. Our coming is simply a result of my mother’s never-flagging urge to make cozy arrangements for people. I had never met any of the Condryckes till the night Donald and Babs asked us up here, and it appears Donald knew more about Janet than she did about him.”

  “At least Donald and Babs couldn’t have been planning to kill Granny if they invited strangers into the house for the purpose of separating Val from Roy,” said Janet. “Don’t you think that lets them off the hook?”

  “Never let anyone off the hook till you’ve got somebody else safe in the net,” Rhys answered. “That’s what we learn in detective school, love.”

  “Sounds like some of the neighbors back in Pitcherville. Guilty till proven innocent and even so there’s no smoke without fire. You were just lucky enough to get away with it and you needn’t think you can pull the wool over their eyes because they know better. All right, then. Donald’s guilty, so is Babs, and everybody else is even guiltier. I’ll take Roy for a starter. Since he probably never set eyes on Granny alive, he’s sure to be the likeliest suspect.”

  “And his motive?”

  “Easy. He wants to marry into the firm and Granny was out to put a spoke into his wheel because she didn’t think he was good enough for Val.”

  “Do you?”

  “They look to me like two peas in a pod.”

  “Is Roy capable at his job?”

  “So-so. He’s clever enough, I suppose, but he’s inclined to be lazy. The secretaries have been covering for him because he butters them up, but his charm’s begun to wear thin in spots. I think he might be good at the public relations stuff, like Donald. And I noticed Val started being awfully sweet to Uncle Cyril once she found out he holds the purse strings, or thinks he does, so I suppose she could do the same with the big butter-and-egg men from Manitoba. What do you think, Ludovic? Am I just being catty because Val dresses better than I do?”

  “That is open to dispute, Miss Wadman. I have not seen you other than appropriately and attractively dressed. Miss Val is inclined to err on the side of fashion as opposed to taste, as she has perhaps done with Mr. Robbins. In fairness to that young man, I do not see how he can have become a serious bone of contention between her and her grandmother, although Mrs. Condrycke did in fact meet him at tea the day he arrived. As far as I could see, they got along well enough. Mr. Robbins is only one in a long string of suitors Miss Val has brought here, and Mrs. Condrycke was more amused than annoyed by them, as a rule. Only a couple of months ago, Miss Val was crowing that she was virtually engaged to the distinguished tenor, Mr. Dafydd Rhys.”

  “Many young women have made the same mistake,” said Madoc. “By now, Dafydd has probably forgotten her name, if in fact he ever remembered. He writes them on his shirt cuffs to remind him, usually. By the time his laundry is done, so is the romance.”

  “I must remember to keep writing my name on your cuffs,” Janet observed.

  “And I must remember not to let my brother borrow my shirts. How did Val get on with Granny, by and large?”

  “As well as could be expected, sir. The late Mrs. Condrycke was not a particularly amiable old lady, and sometimes diverted herself by encouraging Miss Val’s more outrageous antics while her parents were endeavoring to restrain her. On the other hand, Mrs. Condrycke scorned the laxity of the modern generation. To be sure, she scorned every other generation, including her own.”

  “Did she have any special animosity toward Val’s parents?”

  “When it came to animosity, Mrs. Condrycke did not play favorites. She thought Donald a fool and Cyril a sot, Lawrence a pettifogging bootlicker, and Herbert a gladhander with an eye to the main chance. She frequently berated May and Clara for letting themselves be taken in.”

  “What about Babs?”

  “She had a grudging respect for Mrs. Donald. She once asked why Mrs. Babs hadn’t held out for a better offer.”

  “And what did Babs say to that?”

  “She said, ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might be in love with your grandson?’ Mrs. Condrycke emitted what I can best describe as a snort and inquired what love had to do with marriage. Mrs. Donald then replied, ‘I’m afraid you’re too advanced in your views for me, Granny,’ and the episode ended with general merriment, in which the elder Mrs. Condrycke joined.”

  “Did she generally laugh at the jokes they seem to be so fond of around here?”

  “One could never predict how Mrs. Condrycke would react. In general she appeared to enjoy other people’s discomfiture.”

  “Do they do it all the time, or is it laid on for company?”

  “The jesting is customary, sir. Squire is greatly taken with stories of the late Queen Alexandra and her royal brood engaged in innocent merriment.”

  “I suppose he doesn’t have the scope up here to do an Edward VII.”

  “That, sir, is about it. So long as Squire has a regal precedent to follow, he doesn’t much care who set it. On the whole, I think he also realizes the continual horseplay provides a more or less healthy outlet for the hostilities that might otherwise become aggravated by so confined a situation.”

  “That’s good sense. Instead of ripping somebody up the back with a butcher knife, you put a spider in his soup. There’s a motto for the force, Madoc.” Janet yawned. “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Stab and you stab alone.”

  “Darling, you’re barely keeping your eyes open. Come over here on the sofa with me,” Rhys coaxed. “Ludovic won’t mind if you nap a bit.”

  “Perhaps Miss Wadman would allow me to tuck the afghan about her,” the butler suggested gallantly.

  Miss Wadman would. With her head cradled on her sweetheart’s manly bosom and her nether limbs swathed in crocheted wool, she
dropped off to slumber as decorously as the heroine of any Victorian novel. Ludovic surveyed the charming tableau with parental benignity.

  “It is a great pity that Miss Wadman could not have paid her visit to Graylings at a more auspicious time.”

  Madoc smoothed the soft bronze-brown curls away from Janet’s clear forehead. “Poor Jenny. She’s not had a decent night’s sleep since we got engaged. I wish this storm would break so we could airlift her out of here.”

  “She appears content to be where she is at the moment, sir.”

  “Ah, she’s a good little woman, my Jenny. Would you happen to know, Ludovic, whether Babs Condrycke is much of an athlete?”

  “Meaning would she at this time be capable of opening that door against the wind, sir? I should be inclined to think not. Last winter the family took up snowmobile racing and Mrs. Donald took a bad spill, sustaining a fractured arm and torn ligaments in her left shoulder. She was in a cast until Eastertime and did therapy for some time afterward. I believe she has still not regained total command of the arm. I noticed this morning that she had to leave off trimming the Christmas tree as the reaching and stretching bothered her.”

  “She carried all those trimmings down from the attic, though.”

  “Yes, sir, but only to the foot of the attic steps, which is a short flight. That appears to have been all she could manage. I believe she made some comment to that effect.”

  “So she did, and stuck me up on the ladder while she sent Jenny off with that Robbins chap to bring them down. A fat lot of good it did her.”

  Rhys snuggled his sleeping beauty with pardonable selfsatisfaction. “Babs was quite right about being in a spot, you know. After all, she and Cyril were the only ones out there with Aunt Addie, and Cyril was in no shape to remember what might or might not have happened.”