On a beautiful day in late August detective Jules Poiret and Captain Harry Haven sat together over breakfast in Poiret’s salon. The butler, Stanley Kai, had just brought in the letters and Poiret was leafing through the mail while Haven was sipping at his tea. “Quelle surprise!” Poiret said suddenly and held up an envelope with a French stamp. Haven looked up at him, observing how he opened it neatly, unfolded the letter contained within and started to read. His delighted expression widened into a smile as his eyes darted over the words and Haven could not help smiling himself despite the early hour of the morning. Seeing his friend in such high spirits made for a good start to the day. “How do you feel about a holiday, mon ami?” Poiret finally asked.
“A holiday?” Haven asked, “In France?”
He had come back to London not long before after barely saving his life and money. He had made a small fortune importing tractor parts into the Colombian jungle, but had to flee after a particularly nasty coup attempt turned into a full-fledged civil war. Haven had to swim the Orinoco River under a hail of bullets to escape into Venezuela.
Poiret waved the letter cheerfully in the air. “Non, she and her sister will return to England soon for her thirty-sixth birthday.” “I say! Anybody I know?” “It’s my dear friend Lady Anita Malvern. She has invited me to stay at Malvern Manor in September.” “Oh. I'm very pleased for you,” Haven said. He had mistaken Poiret's initial question to mean a holiday for the two of them and although he was inwardly scolding himself for believing Poiret would invite him on a trip that was other than professional, he still felt a little disappointed. Poiret looked at him for a few seconds. Then he said, “You will not come with me, Haven?” Haven merely blinked at him.
“Lady Malvern positively encourages me to bring the company.” Haven laughed. “Well, in that case, I'd love to come along.” “Poiret can assure you, Haven, Lady Malvern is not the ordinary woman. Au contraire!” Poiret meticulously folded the letter he still held in his hand, slipped it back into the envelope and placed it on the table and with that, the matter was settled.
Over the course of the following weeks they prepared for their short stay at Malvern Manor. Poiret was in good humour, almost excited and Haven found his cheerfulness to be rather contagious. It did not take much reasoning to deduce that Poiret was very fond of Lady Malvern, a fact which sparked Haven’s curiosity, because there were not many women he knew, who had this effect on his friend. In fact, he could not remember that Poiret had ever mentioned a woman with whom he had been particularly close. Yet the name Lady Malvern sounded vaguely familiar and Haven wondered where he had heard it before.
The remainder of August passed quickly and the second week of September found Poiret and Haven seated in a train heading out of London in the direction of Andover. “I say, Poiret, this Lady Malvern of yours, who is she? How long have you known each other?” Haven asked when they had left the last houses of London behind. “You might have heard of her,” Poiret answered. “She is the fashion designer and well-established at the fashion houses in Paris.” “Oh!” Haven said, surprised. “Why yes, the name did sound familiar to me. I just couldn't place it.”
Ever since the first mention of Lady Malvern, an image of her had started to develop in Haven’s mind, partly because of Poiret’s taste in women, partly because Poiret was an old-fashioned gentleman in many aspects, Haven’s idea of a woman, who was in Poiret's good graces inclined to the more conservative and modest specimen of the fair sex. Haven certainly had not anticipated a successful fashion designer, who must have stood up to many a man and many a social convention to reach her current position. Poiret watched him with a mixture of scrutiny and amusement and like so often before, Haven had the feeling he knew exactly what he was thinking. “It is as Poiret told you,” he said, “She is not the ordinary woman. Poiret, he met her during one of his first cases here in England. Her knowledge of fabrics was of the most helpful to him and we soon became good friends. We have been writing to each other ever since and met on some occasions, although not as often as Poiret would have liked. Lady Malvern is a busy woman.” “And you are a busy man,” Haven remarked. “C'est vrai,” Poiret stated. “Poiret does not ask for them, but somehow the cases, they always seem to find Poiret.” The little man sighed dramatically then fell silent. After a few minutes he said thoughtfully, “Poiret wonders what her latest project is. Poiret has always tried to keep up with her work. She has not shown anything in a long time.”
When they arrived at Andover station, Lady Malvern's car was already waiting for them. The young chauffeur introduced himself as Alfie. Their route quickly brought them out of town and into the country, where they encountered only a few lonely farmhouses. The afternoon sun caught in the yellows oranges and browns of the autumn trees bordering the road, a sight so lovely and peaceful that Haven felt all the more content for having been invited on this trip. He let his eyes wander to get a first glimpse of the Malvern estate through the branches of trees flying by and he was impressed by its size and the neat state in which it was kept. They passed wide pastures on some of which horses grazed and finally reached a group of three buildings, the spacious main building with a stable to its left and a barn a small distance away.
The car stopped in front of the main entrance. The chauffeur opened the door. “Lady Malvern is waiting for you,” he said with a perfect bow and gestured towards the building. Poiret thanked the chauffeur, who was now busying himself with their luggage. They turned to climb the few steps leading up to the door. Barely inside, they were greeted with a delighted little scream. “My dear Monsieur Poiret!” “Lady Malvern, ma chère!” Poiret answered with equal pleasure. Lady Malvern was a tall, slender woman. Her long dark hair was gathered in an artistic knot at the back of her head. Her face was not one Haven could describe as conventionally beautiful, her nose was a little too long, her mouth a little too wide and there was a line between her brows which was too deep even for a woman claiming her age, but still it held something that fascinated the eye. He was not sure whether it was her elegant, high cheekbones, the delicate curve of her upper lip or her intense eyes that intrigued him so. Perhaps it was a barely noticeable hint of an interesting personality displayed in her features.
Poiret took Lady Malvern's hand bowed and kissed it gallantly. Lady Malvern laughed. “Monsieur Poiret, ever the perfect gentleman! I'm glad you haven't changed a bit!” Then she pulled him close and kissed him gently on the cheeks. “And you look beautiful as always,” Poiret said. “Ah, don't flatter me. We both know that's not true,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand and turned towards Haven. Before Poiret had the chance to introduce him, she asked, “Captain Haven, I presume?” Haven nodded and they shook hands. Her grip was warm and firm.
“I've heard much about you.” Lady Malvern smiled. “Have you indeed?” Haven asked, pleasantly surprised. He threw a sidelong glance towards Poiret, who looked a little sheepish and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Well, it's almost time for dinner already,” the hostess remarked. “Let Alfie,” she nodded towards the chauffeur, who was carrying their luggage, “show you to your rooms and let’s meet in the dining room at seven o'clock. You can then meet the rest of the family.” “Formidable!” Poiret said.
Once in his room Haven swiftly unpacked his suitcase and made quick work of dressing for dinner. Knowing that his friend with his fanatic affection for order and a neat appearance would take much longer than he did, he looked around his room wondering what to do with the rest of the time before he decided to go down early. The other guests seemed to be still out as the hous
e was quiet except for the sound of a clock chiming half past the hour. Haven idly strolled into the salon and only after he was halfway across the room did he notice that a group of armchairs in the far corner was already occupied by a man reading a newspaper. The person behind the newspaper did not seem to have heard Haven so he cleared his throat audibly. Instantaneously the tabloid slid down and the face of a man only a few years younger than Poiret appeared. “Good evening,” Haven said when he approached the man. “If you say so,” the man grumbled and looked him over with what could only be described as bored arrogance. Haven tried not to be taken aback and introduced himself as pleasantly as he could, but his eyes had already darted back towards the article he had been reading. “Terrance Damian,” was the only thing he said by way of introduction before he held up the sheet once more as if the matter were settled. Haven stood indecisively for a few seconds then sat down in an empty chair across from Mr. Damian. His eyes fell on the newspapers still lying on the table. “May I?” He asked and picked up the topmost section. Mr. Damian from behind his sheet gave a noise Haven interpreted as an affirmative and so he settled into a comfortable position and began reading. Before he could finish the first page, however the front door clattered and the hall filled with chatter and laughter. A female voice called out, “Father!” and steps approached the salon. Haven stood up, happy to meet the other guests of the house and hoping for some company more talkative than Mr. Damian. “Father, we have...” A young lady, probably around twenty came flying in and stopped in her tracks, when she saw Haven. “Oh!” she said, breathlessly. She was a real beauty. Blonde, wavy hair framed a perfect face with dark blue eyes and her cheeks and lips were flushed in an attractive way. Her figure was slender, but womanly belying the childish excitement with which she had stormed into the room. The young woman smiled at Haven then threw an expectant look at Mr. Damian. From the way she was trying to discreetly get his attention, Haven wondered if he was her father and if it was him she was searching for, when it was clear that Mr. Damian showed no intention of introducing them and she started to fidget in embarrassment, Haven boldly stepped forward, holding out his hand towards her. “Good evening. My name is Captain Harry Haven and you are?” “I'm Tulisa Damian,” she replied with relief. “I see you’ve already met my father?” Though Haven found it hard to believe that such an unpleasant man could be father to such a divine creature as Tulisa Damian, there she was, smiling affectionately towards Mr. Damian, obviously used to his cranky demeanour.
The rest of Tulisa's company poured through the door and Haven was quickly introduced to Mrs. Norma Damian, mother of Tulisa and sister of Lady Malvern and to Peter Rosewell, Lady Malvern's nephew. Mrs. Damian had red hair, eyes as blue as her daughter's and the same long nose and wide mouth as her sister, but lacking Lady Malvern's charisma, the awkwardness of her face was much more noticeable despite her younger age. Looking at Peter, Haven saw that the nose was a family trait. While it looked too long on the women's faces, however, it suited the male face perfectly and combined with his dark hair and athletic figure Peter was a handsome man. He greeted Haven warmly, “Welcome to the house. I live with Anita.” A small smile flashed across his face. “At least during the time I don't have courses to attend.” “Oh, do you go to university?” Haven asked. “I would love to be a doctor one day.”
Haven immediately liked Peter. The young man had an honest air about him and he was reserved in a pleasant way. Haven could picture him very well as a doctor.
One of the servants brought in lemonade of which Haven gratefully accepted a glass. He remained in Peter’s company and while he enjoyed their conversation he couldn't help throwing admiring glances at Tulisa every so often. She had sat down next to her father, recounting to him the details of her day and it was the first time Haven saw Mr. Damian smiling if only briefly.
The time passed quickly and just when their little group was moving into the dining room Poiret came down the stairs, punctual to the second. Haven noticed the attention his entrance provoked among the other guests. In their defence, it must be said that Poiret was, as always, rather an extraordinary sight.
He was small and rather heavyset, hardly more than five feet, but moved with his head held high. The most remarkable features of his head were the stiff military moustache. His apparel was neat to perfection, a little quaint and frankly, dandified.
There were a few more introductions made and hands shaken before they finally settled down at the long dinner table. The meal was delicious and French. The atmosphere was friendly and the formal conversation at the dinner table soon evolved into more lively debate, when they moved into the sitting room. Lady Malvern, after she was satisfied that all her guests were content and in good humour allowed herself to sit down on the sofa with Poiret and once in a while Haven heard her laughter ripple through the room. He found himself in a conversation with Peter, discussing some aspects of medicine he had learnt about while working with Poiret but of which he wanted to acquire a deeper understanding.
It was without doubt a pleasant evening, but the longer they sat together, the more he had the impression that something was strange about the situation. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, however and promised himself to be watchful.
But try as much as he might, at the end of the evening he was none the wiser. Maybe Mrs. Damian was a bit too cheerful, Peter a bit too quiet, Tulisa a bit too occupied at being lovely and Mr. Damian a bit too grumpy, but since Haven hardly knew them he could not be sure about what exactly it was that was unusual.
He told Poiret about his observations as soon as they were alone and he beamed at him proudly. “Ah, you have noticed it too, mon ami!” “I feel rather paranoid for brooding over strangers, when there isn't even a case at hand,” Haven stated. “But a detective, he can never be too paranoid!” Poiret replied. Haven smiled. After a while, he said, “Your friend is a remarkable woman.” “Yes, she is. So you like her? How do you like Mademoiselle Tulisa?” Haven blushed. There was little Poiret would not notice, even when his attention was focused elsewhere. Moreover, he knew Haven far too well so although he had not spent much time with Tulisa, Poiret had still observed that he was fascinated by her. Haven was not willing to talk about the matter, however, so he ignored his second question and simply said, “Yes, I do like Lady Malvern.” “Bon,” Poiret said and Haven could not help wondering why Poiret would want to seek his approval. “Is there a Lord Malvern?” Haven asked. “No, not anymore. He died very young. Long before Poiret, he met Lady Malvern.” “Ah,” Haven said, suddenly at a loss for words. He had finally realized why his friend wanted his approval of her. Here was Poiret and a lady he obviously adored, who returned his feelings, who was available and very suitable for his friend. “Mon ami,” Poiret said, “are you not well?” “Why, yes, I'm fine. A little tired, that's all,” Haven lied. Poiret looked at him, eyebrows raised. Haven stood up and excused himself, not able to bear his piercing gaze any longer, knowing all too well how easily he could see through his lies.
Haven fled into his own room where still slightly out of breath, he tried to gather his thoughts. Of course Poiret had always admired true love and wanted some of it for himself. Haven wondered whether his friend was capable of living with a woman, though. All the traits that made him a great detective made him an obnoxious friend and Haven could hardly imagine a woman accepting his foibles. Haven felt sad thinking about his friend. He knew Poiret accepted only perfection in his life, which he sought in symmetry in things, in seeking the truth in his work, but what woman could ever attain his ideal of perfection?
When Haven finally prepared for bed and closed the curtains, it was already late and he was so tired worrying about his friend that the fact that he saw the chauffeur running across the lawn away from the house in the middle of the night did not strike him as odd.
The next morning his impressions of the day before were almost forgotten. He had slept longer than he had planned, which was not a surprise seeing how late he had gone to
bed and had to hurry in order to be in time for breakfast.
Poiret's disapproving gaze across the table told him that he had been careless with his appearance. Probably the collar was in disorder or his tie a little askew. For Poiret neatness and order were of the utmost importance and seeing clothes and things disarranged, even when they were not his own, pained him. In front of the other guests he kept silent, but Haven could see how his fingers twitched to tug the offending part of clothing into place, whenever his eyes fell on him. Haven promised silently to have a look in the mirror as soon as they had finished breakfast. “I think I will go for a ride,” Peter said. “The horses could do with the exercise.” “Oh, Tulisa dear!” Mrs. Damian said sweetly. “Why don't you accompany Peter?” “Well, actually I was thinking of taking the long route through the woods, which isn't exactly suitable for a lady,” Peter said. The moment the words were out of his mouth, however he was shocked at himself and looked genuinely uncomfortable. To make things worse, Tulisa shot Peter a look and opened her mouth, but then she thought better of it and pressed her lips together with a suppressed snort.
“But if you want to come with me,” Peter hastened to add, “I could always change my plans of course.” “No, no, it's fine,” Tulisa replied coolly. “Are you sure?” Tulisa nodded emphatically.
“In that case,” Haven interjected, “would you care to show me the grounds, Miss Tulisa?” Several pairs of eyes suddenly rested on him. Poiret's were amused, Peter’s relieved, Mrs. Damian looked at him with newly raised interest and Tulisa just smiled at him. “Why not?” she said.
It was a perfect day for taking a walk around the estate. It was unusually warm for September, but not too hot, with a gentle breeze rustling through the withering leaves. Haven offered Tulisa his arm and they followed one of the paths through the woods. “I hope I didn't intervene with your mother's plans for you and Peter,” Haven said. “Oh, are her intentions so obvious?” Tulisa rolled her eyes. “She is convinced that Peter is the perfect match for me. He comes from a respected family. He has inherited a great deal of money from his father. He is going to be a doctor and he is the nicest man there is.” Feeling her reluctance, Haven asked, “But?” “I don't love him. He’s so ... boring!” Haven laughed. “I'm not sure how exciting I am, either.” She looked at him and laughed too. “Well, your friend is a detective. That’s rather unusual. He’s rather unusual.”
The Murder of Lady Malvern (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 2) Page 1