Seven Steps to Murder

by Benjamin Ford

  The walls are filled with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases, each almost completely filled with books. It’s really a quite remarkable room. There is a set of library steps attached at the top by a runner that completes a circuit of the room from one side of the double doors to the other. The track grazes the tops of the three windows in the room – smaller than most in the house, but still enough to allow ample light into the room.

  Interspersed amongst the bookcases are wall lamps at two different heights, and from the ceiling hang two magnificent chandeliers. There are three large leather settees in the room, a number of fireside chairs arranged around the huge fireplace at the far end – which, apart from the windows and the doors is the only break in the bookshelves – and two tables, upon which are scattered a number of books and newspapers.

  “This is truly an impressive library, Mr Waterfield,” I whisper in awe.

  Waterfield smiles at me. “Why thank you, young man. It is perhaps my favourite room in the house. I spend more time here than anywhere else.”

  “Do you actually read these books?”

  Waterfield glances at Mrs Draper. “I browse them mostly – usually when attempting the crossword in The Times. I do read books in the fiction section properly though. I quite often have as many as four books on the go at any one time.”

  “How do you manage that?” asks Dr Runcible. “Do you not get confused with multiple plots?”

  Waterfield shakes his head. “Not at all.”

  He stops to the left of the fireplace and reaches to the back of one row of books and fiddles with something hidden there. There is a gentle click, and one of the lower portions of bookcases swings open into the hidden room beyond. Waterfield reaches to his left, snapping on a light which illuminates the study. There is one window – which I suddenly realise isn’t a window at all, but rather a tromp-l’oeil painting of a sea vista with gardens in the foreground and a pergola covered in vines.

  The room is fairly small, probably around nine feet square, in the middle of which stands an immense ornately carved oak desk, inlaid on top with green leather. Low bookcases line the wall behind, with a few paintings adorning the wall opposite the ‘window’. There is a typewriter on the desk and various other bits of writing paraphernalia, and a silver salver with glasses and decanters on top of one of the low bookcases.

  And there in the corner of the room, completely smashed to pieces, lies the remains of the radio.

  “Bloody hell!” exclaims Waterfield.

  “Well, I guess that means we’re well and truly cut off,” says the Major.

  Waterfield is shaking his head in disbelief, and I can understand exactly why. Neither the Major nor the doctor knew of the existence of the secret office when they checked the library earlier.

  But the destroyed radio clearly indicates to everyone that somebody else did.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Poor Mrs Draper. Now that we have no means of contacting the outside world she’s in hysterics. We are totally cut off from civilization. No-one’s going to come and rescue us anytime soon, and we’re going to have to fend for ourselves.

  The woman’s making so much noise that it’s a toss-up between Waterfield and me as to who’s going to slap her first. I don’t want to be seen as a woman-beater, though, and thankfully Waterfield beats me to it, silencing her with a stinging blow to the cheek.

  Dr Runcible comes to her aid, seating her on one of the settees in the library and comforting her whilst she sobs, clutching a hand to her cheek. Runcible glares at Waterfield in open outrage. “What the devil did you do that for, you brute?”

  Waterfield waves a hand at Mrs Draper. “The woman was hysterical. If we’re going to get through our ordeal, then we’re going to have to remain calm. Full blown hysteria won’t help one jot.”

  I am in agreement with our host. A wailing woman doesn’t make a noise that’s pleasing to the ear, and Mrs Draper was particularly shrill.

  “Well, just don’t you go hitting her again, d’you understand? Otherwise you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Waterfield remains surprisingly calm and collected. “As this is my house, if anyone is answered to it’ll be me. Don’t any of you forget that you were invited here under false pretenses. When we get to the bottom of that particular mystery, someone’s going to pay dearly.”

  Runcible stands and rounds on Waterfield, his face puce – I cannot decide whether from apoplexy or from alcohol. Either way, his face has taken on a rather nasty countenance and doesn’t do him any favours.

  “Don’t you dare threaten us, you oaf! If it weren’t for your stupid idea of seclusion we wouldn’t be in this pickle in the first place.”

  Herbert wades in, separating the two men before they come to blows. “Come now, you two, let’s not lose our civilized nature shall we? We are here together through no fault of our own, and until we are rescued we’re going to have to get along.”

  Waterfield stands down. “You’re right, of course, Bertie.”

  Herbert laughs gaily. “Aren’t I always, Bert?”

  I feel my head beginning to spin slightly. “Listen, you two – you can’t both call each other Bert or Bertie. It’s going to get confusing.”

  Herbert grins. “That’s why we used to do it as children. All three of us actually. It drove Nanny bonkers, didn’t it, Bertie?”

  Waterfield nods. “Well I guess we should call one another what our parents called us.”

  “Which is?”

  He looks at me with a mischievous grin. “Cuthbert and Herbert of course!”

  I sigh. It’s clear that the pair are trying to make light of our precarious situation, and I suppose we should applaud them for it. But this isn’t the time for levity. We’re trapped in a house, with no means of escape and no means of communication, with a dead body outside on the beach and a potential killer still on the loose.

  “What are we going to do about our situation?” asks Mrs Draper quietly.

  Waterfield looks down at her. “You must forgive my earlier rudeness.”

  She nods mutely. Although calmer now, she is still a little teary. I cannot blame her really, but at least the wailing has ceased.

  “Well, the first thing I have to say is that you shouldn’t worry about starving. I have a full pantry and cold-room, so other than fresh vegetables there’s enough food to last a good month.”

  “Good Lord, you don’t think we’ll be stuck here that long, do you?” exclaims Major Simmons.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” says Dr Runcible. “My receptionist knows precisely where I am, and when I don’t go in to the surgery on Monday, she’ll realise something is wrong and call the police. So we only have to wait until then for rescue.”

  Rashid says: “So, two days of boredom lie ahead of us then!”

  “Now then, M. Rashid, let’s not be such a pessimist,” says Dr Runcible, waving his arms around the library. “I’m certain you’ll find something in Mr Waterfield’s marvellous library to keep you occupied!”

  Rashid snorts contemptuously and departs the room without a word. From his reaction, I rather gather he’s not one for reading. Perhaps he’s unable to read? He wouldn’t be the first person I’ve met who’s illiterate.

  I go over to the window and peer out. The wind and rain, though lessened in ferocity, precludes any outdoor activities, so it would seem that we are all still stuck in the house with each other for the foreseeable future.

  “Were you playing cards last night?” I ask, turning to the others.

  Waterfield nods. “Would you like to play something now? Poker perhaps, or bridge?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not all that good with card games actually. I was going to ask whether you have any board games – like backgammon or chess, or draughts even.”

  Waterfield grins. “As it so happens, yes I do.” He turns to the others. “Please, treat the place as your home away from home for the next couple of days. The only two rooms that I ask you stay out of are my bedroom
and my office. You have carte-blanche to wander freely about the rest of the house, and if the weather ever improves, please explore the grounds. Feel free to read any of the books here in the library, and anyone who wishes to play games to pass the time, follow me back to the drawing room.”

  Mrs Draper brings up the rear, still morose. I allow her to catch up with me. “What’s the matter?” I ask softly.

  “How can you all think of playing games at a time like this? Poor Mrs Hardcastle lies dead at the bottom of the cliff, and all you want to do is play bloody backgammon!”

  I touch her arm gently. “I feel sorry for Mrs Hardcastle, I really do, but if we’re to be stuck here for the next two days then I have to do something. I can’t just sit and mope all that time for someone I barely knew.”

  “Besides,” calls back Herbert, having overheard our exchange, “it’ll take our minds off the fact that there might still be a killer loose somewhere in the grounds.”

  “I’ve decided that’s unlikely,” I say. “M. Rashid and I made an extensive search of the grounds when we were looking for Mrs Hardcastle. We didn’t find anyone lurking out there, and I assume that none of you found anyone else hiding inside the house?”

  “Not that anyone has mentioned.”

  “Then I think it’s safe to assume that if someone did deliberately sabotage the steps then they probably did so from underneath, and they were probably long gone by the time Mrs Hardcastle had her tumble.”

  Herbert nods. “Perhaps. But there’s another possibility. That–”

  I shake my head sharply at him. I know exactly what he’s about to suggest, and the last thing I want is for Mrs Draper to descend into hysteria again.

  “You think it could be one of us, don’t you?” whispers Mrs Draper.

  “Well, actually I was going to suggest that it was nothing more than an accident after all, but now that you mention it, yes – that thought had also occurred to me, and it’s not a very pleasant thought.”

  “No, it’s not,” says Mrs Draper moving swiftly off into the drawing room to join the others.

  I glare at Herbert, who merely shrugs, exclaiming: “What? She’d made the assumption herself already!”

  Shaking my head in mild disgust at his cavalier attitude, I march on into the drawing room, leaving him standing in the hallway.

  Waterfield is setting up a backgammon board on a small pedestal table that he’s brought over to sit between two of the fireside chairs, whilst over by the window Rashid and Dr Runcible wrestle with a card table. Mrs Draper goes over to them, accompanied by Major Simmons – once more with a glass in his hand.

  “What are we playing?” asks Mrs Draper.

  “What’s your game my dear?” says Major Simmons gallantly.

  “I like bridge myself, Major.”

  “Then bridge it shall be.” The Major turns to Rashid and Runcible. “How’s that with you two fellows?”

  “I’m in,” says the doctor, settling down into one of the chairs.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how to play,” says Rashid sadly.

  “It’s really quite easy,” sighs Mrs Draper, and proceeds to give the Arab a crash course in the rules of bridge.

  “Well, lad, are you ready for backgammon?”

  I return my attention to Waterfield, who has finished setting up the playing pieces on the board. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, taking my seat.

  “Would you like to take the first move?”

  “Thank you.” I move the first of my pieces, and become aware of a presence by my shoulder. I turn to find Herbert standing behind me. “Are you not playing anything?” I ask.

  Herbert shakes his head, brandishing a book that he’s taken from the library. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on the games and read instead.”

  Waterfield motions for his brother to come and sit beside him on the spare chair. “Come, let us chat,” he says. “We’ve barely said a word to one another since you arrived. We have so many years of catching up to do.”

  I wag my finger at him with a sly smile. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

  Waterfield shakes his head. “Not at all, young man. I’m fairly certain we can hold a conversation without distracting you. As it happens, my brother and I really haven’t seen one another for a number of years. I was surprised to see him here.”

  “Not as surprised as I was to receive the invitation in the first place,” says Herbert. “And, of course, I now realise it wasn’t you who sent it.”

  I lean forward eagerly. “Why haven’t you seen each other for such a long time?”

  Cuthbert and Herbert Waterfield exchange a glance. “It’s quite a story,” says Herbert.

  “Well, we seem to have plenty of time, so why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Too many years ago to remember exactly, so the brothers say, there was a girl called Annie. She was initially a part of their lives through their brother, Albert. Albert and Annie were very much in love, but it was a romance doomed from the very start.

  The brothers Waterfield were born into a world that frowned upon carnal desires of the flesh - so much different from the more permissive world of today. It’s hard to believe that such a short time ago, Victorian values still persisted.

  Their parents shared a great love for one another, and an equal passion for the arts. They were both performers of the stage and screen, and were, in their day, the theatrical equivalent of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Their love for one another and for their craft meant they had little time for their three children, and so the brothers spent their formative years in the custody of their very strict nanny and then their even stricter governess, before finally being packed off to a boarding school somewhere in the heart of the country.

  The brothers lost their father during the Great War. It was a tragedy from which their mother never recovered, and she succumbed to a broken heart within a decade.

  Their deceased parents had amassed a great fortune from their investments in various companies over the years – companies that prospered in the years between the wars. The inheritance was held in trust for the three young men equally, until the youngest – Cuthbert – reached the age of twenty-one, and then they would each gain a controlling share of one third of the companies.

  A clause in their mother’s will forbade the sale of any part of the companies without the express agreement of all three, and that upon their deaths the companies would be controlled by their own children – unless there were no children, in the event of which it would be divided equally between the surviving brothers.

  Even back then, the brothers were jealous and spoilt. They fought constantly and argued about which of the companies each should take charge of. It never occurred to any of them to work together and run the companies as a team. Each wanted to outdo the others; each wanted to be the best – and their jealousies would ultimately prove their undoing.

  Enter Annie.

  She was wildly beautiful. Of Scottish ancestry, she had the wildest head of red curls that matched her untamed temperament. Oh, she had a fierce temper – which her mother said came from her father (who had also died in the Great War) – and she was tempestuous, but when she fell in love, it was forever.

  And she fell in love with Albert Waterfield.

  They met whilst he was on holiday in Edinburgh. They were staying at the same hotel, but actually met whilst out one day exploring the nearby countryside. Albert said he’d rescued her after she’d fallen down an escarpment, but Annie said that it was she who’d rescued him from the same predicament.

  Whoever did the rescuing, their love for one another blossomed from that initial meeting, and within weeks they were inseparable. To the consternation of his brothers, Albert moved from London up to Scotland to be with Annie. He ignored their pleas to return to help with the running of the companies once Cuthbert turned twenty-one. He made it clear that he had no interest in them. He’d decided t
o make a new life on the outskirts of Edinburgh with Annie.

  They became engaged, and when Herbert and Cuthbert found out they ordered him back to explain himself. Naturally Albert didn’t take too kindly to being treated in such a manner by his two younger brothers, and so he cut off all ties with them. Neither of the brothers was invited to the wedding, and although they outwardly maintained that they were pleased they hadn’t gone, both secretly regretted their impulsive actions.

  Cuthbert went to Scotland in secret to meet with Albert and Annie to make his apologies, but only Albert would see him. He told his brother that his wife wanted nothing to do with her husband’s family. Cuthbert couldn’t blame her, and said he’d stay clear, but if either of the newlyweds wished to reconcile then he would be open to the suggestion.

  The outbreak of the Second World War prevented any such reconciliation from taking place. It was a war that changed the world, and it was also a war that changed the brothers in more ways than one.

  Due to childhood ill-health, Cuthbert had been left too weak-chested to go to war, but he did his bit for King and country in the Home Guards, and was very proud of himself for doing so.

  Herbert on the other hand went into occupied France with Albert, having found themselves in the same platoon. It was here that they briefly reconciled before Albert’s tragic death shortly before their scheduled return to England at the end of hostilities. Their platoon captain, Julian Simmons, left it to Herbert to relay the news to Albert’s widow, little realising the bitter feud that had barely passed.

  Annie was initially hostile towards Herbert. She seemed to blame him for her husband’s death, but she later admitted that this had just been her grief speaking. She hadn’t seen Herbert since the altercation that led to the fraternal estrangement, and if it hadn’t been for the reason of his visit, she’d have sent him packing without even meeting him.