Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

“It’s all painful,” she said with a quivering smile. “But if you can somehow figure out who killed Gerald and why, perhaps that will make it a bit easier to bear.”

  He patted her hand and released it. “Now, tell me what you told the police.”

  She was silent for a long moment, smoking and considering. “They really didn’t ask me much that they hadn’t asked before,” she said at last. “They wanted to know if I knew who’d killed Gerald. They wanted to know if I had killed Gerald. They wanted to know when Joanie had gone to Cannes and when she had come back. And if she and her father had quarreled. And if I and her father had quarreled.” She sighed and then spoke more rapidly. “Did I know of anyone who had any reason to have killed him? Did he have a reason to want to kill anyone? How were we doing financially? Were we very happy in our married life? Was Joan happy at home? Did any of the servants feel they had been treated unfairly? Was Clarridge happy being our stable master? Did I know anything about the saddle?” She breathed out an exasperated cloud of smoke. “I can’t remember it all. I couldn’t tell them anything anyway. Gerald and I got on well. We always have. Not to say we haven’t had the odd spat now and again, but who hasn’t? I can tell you and Madeline are just mad about each other, but I expect even you two don’t always agree.”

  “We have our little tiffs, to be sure. Forgive me for asking, but I understand you and his lordship had your own disagreement the Wednesday before his death.”

  Her pale cheeks reddened. “That—that was nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “I would very much like to know.”

  Lady Louisa pressed her lips together, and Drew wondered if she would speak at all. Then she threw up her hands. “It was about Elspeth’s protégé, Count Kuznetsov. Gerald said he thought the man was taking things, little things, from the house. I told him not to be absurd. He said he was going to have to ask the count and the Pikes to leave. Well, I couldn’t insult Elspeth like that. She would have been mortified. I told Gerald that if he made the Pikes leave, I was going with them. He grumbled about it a bit and said he would tell Twining to keep a close eye on the silverware, and that was that. He put some of my jewelry in the safe in his study. It’s still there.”

  Drew frowned. “And that was all there was to it?”

  “I told you it was less than nothing.”

  “And neither of you said anything to Mrs. Pike?” he asked. “Or Mr. Pike?”

  “Good heavens, no.”

  “Mightn’t he have spoken to the count himself?”

  Louisa looked as if she were about to protest, but then she checked herself. “I thought the matter was settled between us, but he was always one to give the other fellow a friendly word of advice. You know, just to let him know whatever he was doing wasn’t going to be tolerated. I don’t know for certain.”

  Drew gave her a look that encouraged her to continue.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him, “but I just don’t know anything more to say.”

  “It’s all right. And you didn’t tell the police about any of this?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see any reason to. It wasn’t a proper quarrel at all, and it can’t have anything to do with Gerald’s death.”

  “I can’t guarantee that part,” Drew told her. “What do you suppose would have happened if you hadn’t objected to the count being put out of the house?”

  “I don’t know. I know Elspeth would have been humiliated. Mr. Pike might have sent the count away entirely, and she probably would have never spoken to me again after that.”

  “I suppose Kuznetsov himself wouldn’t have enjoyed that aspect of it, losing his comfy little nest and all.”

  Lady Louisa’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “You’re not saying he might have killed Gerald. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s perfectly harmless.”

  “I’m not saying anything. Just trying to hunt up any possibilities.”

  She put her cigarette into the ashtray and rubbed her eyes with both hands. “It seems so farfetched for him or anyone we know to be a murderer. It just doesn’t happen to ordinary people like us.”

  “I’m afraid it often does. But if you’ll allow me, I’ll do my best to shed a bit of light on this particular one, for Lord Rainsby’s sake.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t possibly ask you to stay up here and investigate. You’ve got your wife and Miss Holland and Dennison . . . it would be the most awful imposition.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her, smiling as he stood. “Not at all. Now, I want you to try not to worry. I’m just going to snoop about a bit, nothing indiscreet.”

  “I suppose you are the expert in these matters.”

  “Not really, but I’ll do what I’m able. If you happen to think of anything that might help, or anything that just seems odd or out of place, do let me know.”

  “I will. Certainly. But I’m sure the poor count has nothing to do with it.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I suppose Mr. Dennison and Miss Holland were expecting something a bit more cheerful when they came to the Open.”

  “They’ll be all right. So long as they’re together.”

  She got up and came to his side of the desk, one hand outstretched to take his. “It’s very good of you.” She smiled and briefly touched his cheek. “You’re so like your father.”

  His face turned warm. “I’ll take that as a great compliment. Thank you.”

  “He used to blush, too,” she said with the lightest of laughs. “When we were children.” She exhaled, still smiling. “It is good to have you here, Drew.”

  Seven

  When he came back downstairs, Drew found the drawing room dark and empty. Twining informed him that Mr. Dennison had walked down to The Brassie and Cleek, the village pub. He hadn’t said when he meant to return. Drew took a walk of his own and found Nick sitting alone in a dim corner of the pub, an untouched mug of cider sitting before him on the table.

  “What’s this?” Drew thumped himself into a chair, earning a scowl from his friend.

  “Go away.”

  “That’s not very pleasant of you.”

  Nick’s scowl deepened. “You’ve spoilt everything. You and your investigating. Why couldn’t you have let well enough alone?”

  “Not exactly the reunion you had pictured, eh?” Drew spied a grimy pack of cards on the sill of the shuttered window and snatched it up.

  Nick propped his chin up with one hand. “Not half.”

  “Sorry.” Drew started shuffling the cards. “At least she’s here and not four thousand miles away.”

  “For all I’ve seen of her, she might as well be.”

  “Now, now,” Drew said. “Faint heart and all that. Are you going to let Bunny beat you to the altar?”

  Nick huffed. “Bunny. I can’t imagine the sort of ninnies he and Daphne will produce.”

  “Be kind.”

  “I thought ‘ninnies’ was kinder than ‘imbeciles.’”

  “Let’s deal with the matter at hand,” Drew said severely. “You and Carrie had three very nice days together before all this happened. Are you saying you’ve made no progress in all that time?”

  “All that time? We’ve been apart two years and I’m supposed to convince her to marry me in three days?”

  “You’ve had letters, haven’t you?” Drew rifled through the deck until he found and removed the queen of clubs, then shuffled once more and dealt them each a hand. “It’s not as if you hadn’t kept in touch with her.”

  “I know.” Nick frowned as he picked up his cards. “What’s this?”

  “Old Maid.”

  Nick snorted but made no further protest.

  “And be honest,” Drew said, taking up his cards and sorting through them, “don’t you think she’s come here not just to visit but to decide whether or not she’ll stay?”

  “I hope she has,” Nick said, putting down the red jacks, the black twos and the black tens, “but I can’t say for certain that’s what she has in m
ind. Especially now.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her?”

  Drew discarded five pairs, two black and three red, and selected a card from the ones Nick held. Not finding a match, he offered up his own hand.

  “I’ve tried.” Nick selected a card and put down the red kings. “Every time I gather up my courage, something seems to interrupt us.” He repeated the process three times more with black aces, black nines, and red threes.

  “Then don’t let it.” Drew chose a card from Nick’s hand, then let him draw again. “Who’s master here? You or those infernal interruptions?”

  “Well, there has been a murder, you know. I couldn’t very well make an impassioned declaration in the face of that.”

  “I’ll grant you, but you had three days before to do your wooing. Why didn’t you punch anyone who disrupted your plans?”

  Nick looked at the card he’d drawn and scowled. “The main one was you.”

  “Me?” Drew smirked, glad to be rid of the queen of spades, the Old Maid herself. “I never.”

  “You did. It was when Carrie and I had gone to get a choc ice. I’d just worked up my courage to really and truly say something, and you came galloping over and dragged us back to the first hole.”

  “But Henry Cotton was about to tee off.”

  “That’s as may be,” Nick said, letting Drew choose another card from his hand. “Carrie and I never had a moment to ourselves all the rest of the day and precious little of the time since.”

  “Dash it all, man, then take the time. She doesn’t want anything to do with . . . Hullo.”

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “No, don’t look round. Just keep talking. But don’t make yourself noticeable. He hasn’t seen us, and I’d rather he didn’t.”

  “Who hasn’t seen us?” Nick demanded. “What’s he doing?”

  “Keep it down,” Drew hissed. “It’s MacArthur. He’s going to the telephone.”

  MacArthur leaned against the wall, his back to them, and picked up the receiver. When he spoke, Drew heard only a low murmur, words here and there.

  “. . . since the death . . . staying on . . . won’t leave it to them . . . could be awkward . . .” Then Mac’s voice grew more urgent. “No, no, it’s too late now. We must go on with it. Tomorrow, yes. Thought you’d want Schmidt to know.” Once again his words became less distinguishable. “. . . as usual . . . yes, here. They know . . .” He was silent for several seconds, his expression intent. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll—” He broke off.

  “He’s seen us,” Drew murmured, and then he smiled and raised his mug.

  Mac gaped at him and gave a little wave. “Right,” he said, his voice clear and hearty now. “That’s fine then. Tomorrow afternoon. Should be a fine day to play. Cheerio.” He rang off and came to Drew’s table. “Didn’t see you young fellows there. Usually quiet in here this early on. Thought I’d have a round of golf with some old school chums of mine. Either of you played Muirfield? It’s a fine course. Old Tom Morris’s, you know.”

  “It’s been a bit awkward to bring up that sort of thing at the Hall,” Drew said. “Lord Rainsby’s death, as you can imagine.”

  “Oh, of course. Of course. But Rainsby would have wanted us to carry on.”

  “I daresay.”

  “Not the sort to sour anyone’s enjoyment,” Mac said, “especially when it came to a round of golf.” His smile was unsteady. “Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way. Now that poor Gerald’s gone, the company always seems to have one loose end or another that wants tying up.”

  Not waiting for a response, he hurried across the room and out the door.

  “Joan said he’s been rather odd lately,” Drew said.

  “He certainly was just then.” Nick leaned back in his chair so he could get a better look at the telephone. “I wouldn’t half like to know who was on the other end of that line.”

  The next morning, in the lull between breakfast and lunch, Drew went up to Lady Louisa’s sitting room and peeked in through the open door. Her ladyship was seated at her desk, pen in hand as she read over what she had written.

  “‘It is very good of Your Eminence to remember us in prayer. We take great comfort—’” She broke off, seeing Drew there.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Perhaps I should come back another time.”

  She sat up straighter and stretched her shoulders. “No, no. I think I need to stop anyway, at least for the present. I don’t know how many of these condolences I’ve answered and how many more there are to do, and it’s not something one leaves to a secretary.”

  “I don’t doubt his lordship was greatly admired and is even more greatly missed.”

  A look of pain and pride crossed her face, and she held out her hand to him. “Come sit down and tell me what you’ve all been doing. I’ve been an abominable hostess, I know.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her, sitting across the desk from her. “We couldn’t very well abandon you in a time of crisis, could we?”

  She looked down at the paper she’d been writing on. Drew remembered the invitation she had sent, asking them to come up for the Open. He remembered Madeline remarking on the loveliness of Lady Louisa’s copperplate script. This now was a rather unsteady imitation.

  “I suppose it’s easier to do the little mundane things than think too much of what’s happened.” She ruffled a stack of letters in the tray beside her. “Or of all the important things that will have to be seen to. Death duties and a million other legal matters I know nothing about. Gerald always saw to everything.”

  “Your solicitor should be able to guide you through it,” Drew said. “He’d be the most familiar with the details. But if there’s any way I can be of help, do let me know.”

  “But that’s not what you came to see me about.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I was just wondering about something Lord Rainsby said to me.”

  Her dark brows lifted. “About what?”

  “You were kind enough to invite me and my wife to stay for the Open, and even more kind not to object to us bringing along our friends.”

  She laughed softly, and some of the tiredness in her eyes eased. “I told you I love having company.”

  He nodded. “But I want you to think very carefully now. Whose idea was it to invite us?”

  “Whose idea was it? I . . . I suppose it was both of ours. I was looking at the Times about Lord Hurstlyn’s wedding, and Gerald pointed out that photograph of you and Madeline. She looked so lovely. The description said she wore rose satin. Anyway, he said we ought to have some young people come up to the Hall. For Joanie, you know. And we talked about getting reacquainted with your branch of the family and that we’d both seen your photograph in the papers when you were in some of the charity tournaments, and it just seemed a brilliant idea to have you come for the Open.”

  “He told me he suggested it.”

  Louisa shrugged. “It could have been.”

  “He also said he suggested it for a particular reason.”

  “You mean because of Joan.”

  “He didn’t mention that to me, no.”

  “Then why?”

  Drew pondered what to say next. Lord Rainsby hadn’t wanted to trouble his wife, especially with unfounded gossip. But now he was dead, and there was obviously more going on at Thorburn Hall than first met the eye. The master of the house was no longer available for questioning, but the mistress was. “Did your husband ever mention being concerned about Mr. MacArthur?”

  “About Mac? No, of course not. Concerned about what?”

  “That’s just the problem,” Drew admitted. “He didn’t actually say. He told me he didn’t want to stir up trouble if there wasn’t any, and that he didn’t want to worry you for no reason. And he didn’t want to put ideas in my head about what might be going on.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” She tapped her lips with one finger. “I don’t know of anything, but then Gerald was always keeping things f
rom me.” She smiled. “Nothing scandalous, so don’t get that look on your face. You told me yourself he said he didn’t want to worry me. That’s why I know next to nothing about his business affairs or the estate. Now I wish he’d taught me how to look after it all.”

  “So he never mentioned MacArthur? They didn’t have a falling-out?”

  “Of course not. They’d been the best of friends since before the war.”

  “And his lordship never got cross with him? They didn’t have words, even something that’s been patched up since?”

  She waved one hand negligently. “Even the best of friends have their fallings-out, don’t they?”

  “Tell me what you remember your husband complaining of about him.”

  “Oh, little things mostly. Mac wanted to expand the business and sell to some foreign companies, but Gerald didn’t think the trouble of dealing with all the regulations would be worth it. They quarreled about politics sometimes, but men always do.”

  “What about politics?” Drew prompted.

  “I really don’t know,” she said, exasperated. “That sort of thing bores me to distraction, and the minute they’d start bickering over it, I’d stop listening.”

  Drew thought back on what MacArthur had said about politics the morning Lord Rainsby died. “What was his lordship’s opinion of Mr. Hitler in Berlin?”

  “Not a good one. I thought he’d order Mac out of the house over it the last time.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “They didn’t come to blows,” she said. “Only just nearly. Mac said he thought maybe Mr. Hitler was strong enough to stabilize Germany and keep the Bolsheviks at bay. Gerald told him Hitler was a bully who ought not to be humored.”

  “And then . . . ?”

  “Then we didn’t have him to dinner for some time. But it blew over, at least for the most part. Gerald liked him. Always had. But, really, who wouldn’t? I never had a disagreement with him. Well, except once. He always tells me I spoil Joan, and I suppose he’s right, but what’s a little girl for but to be pet and spoilt?”

  “To be sure,” Drew said with an indulgent smile. “Has she quarreled with MacArthur?”