Mrs. Malory and a Necessary End (Mrs. Malory Mystery)

by Hazel Holt

  To my surprise I saw that the pianist was Margaret Curtis When the class was over I went over to have a word with her.

  “Hello, Margaret. I never knew you had this hidden talent—so clever. Playing for dancing must be very tricky!”

  She looked pleased at this mild praise. “Oh, I don’t know. I love playing and Maisie needed someone when Brenda could only come part-time, so I’m filling in for her. I come on the days when I’m not at the shop. I like to be busy, and it’s lovely to see all the children.”

  “Well, good for you.” I looked around the room. “Goodness, how it all takes me back! I used to come to ballet classes here well over fifty years ago. Nothing seems to have changed, except that your playing is so much better than the pianist then. Gladys Middleton!” I brought the name out triumphantly. “A disagreeable woman, very bad tempered, with a perpetual cold.”

  Margaret laughed. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how vivid childhood memories are. While I can hardly remember what happened last week, I can still remember every detail about my first music teacher. She was very strict, picked you up on every tiny fault, but she was a wonderful teacher and a single word of praise from her was something you really worked for!”

  “Well, it’s certainly paid off for you. But I’d better go,” I said, conscious that Alice was hopping up and down with barely contained impatience. “My granddaughter seems to want to tell me something.”

  Alice grabbed my arm and almost pulled me out of the room. “Gran, Gran, Madam says I can dance one of the fairies in the end-of-term display. She only chose four of us; she said we were the best. Mummy has to make me a costume. We’re all different colors—I’m blue—and we’re going to have wings, you know, fastened to our wrists so we can flutter.” She waved her arms up and down. “Like this.”

  “Lovely, darling. We’ll all be very proud.”

  “I love ballet. Not as much as riding—I’m better at that—but it’s such fun and, besides, Hannah does ballet.” Hannah was Alice’s new best friend. “She’s very good. Madam thinks she might be ready to go up on her pointes quite soon. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Very exciting. Now, do get into the car. Mummy will have tea ready.”

  “I have to go out,” Norma said, “so I’ll leave you to hold the fort.” She glanced out of the window at the driving rain. “I don’t expect you’ll be very busy.” She picked up her umbrella and departed.

  “Gone to have coffee with her friend from Malvern,” Jean said sourly. “Well, she’s not the only one who wants coffee. I’ll go and make some for us.” She appeared soon after with mugs of coffee and a tin of biscuits. “Her ladyship’s special chocolate digestives. Here, help yourself. I’d better put the tin back.”

  Norma was right about not being busy. We sipped our coffee and ate our biscuits while we watched passersby with their heads down hurrying past, only concerned with getting in out of the rain, certainly unwilling to stop and look in our window.

  “I didn’t know that Margaret played the piano for Maisie Fletcher’s dance class,” I said idly. “I saw her there when I went to pick up my granddaughter.”

  “Oh, she’s a very good pianist. Not concert standard, of course, but very good. I think she’s glad of the extra money.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, you know she retired early from her teaching job—some sort of sinus trouble—so her pension isn’t that much, and I think she finds it difficult to make ends meet. She used to give music lessons, but they sort of tailed off. Well, people don’t have the money these days, do they?”

  “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realized.”

  “Oh, Margaret’s a great one for keeping up appearances. And, of course, she’s still in that old cottage where she used to live with her mother. I believe she contributed a bit to the upkeep, but when she died I think Margaret’s found it difficult. Well, you know how these old places always need something doing to them.”

  “Only too well!”

  “But, like she said, it’s her only asset so she has to keep it in good order. I mean she might have to sell it if she has to go into a home or anything.”

  “I suppose so. Poor soul, it must be such a worry.”

  “It certainly is. She told me—” Jean broke off and lowered her voice. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know you won’t let it go any further. She was desperate for money, to do with the wiring of the cottage. I don’t know the details, but it was something that had to be done. Well, she happened to be in the shop on her own when some china came in, a whole box of it. She was just putting it in the back to be looked at when one of our experts came, when she noticed one piece. A vase, nothing much to look at—you wouldn’t get more than 60p for it—but Margaret had seen one just like it on one of those antiques programs on TV, worth hundreds.”

  “Good heavens!”

  “The same mark on the bottom and everything. Well, she was desperate, like I say, and she says she just gave in to temptation. She hid it outside in the shed with all the books to go for salvage, so that she could find out what it would go for at auction. Mind you, you never do get what they say, do you? And then there’s the auction fee. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Desmond found it.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “The trouble was, he knew that Margaret had unpacked that box.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He confronted her with it. Very unpleasant, you know what he was like. Said he ought to call the police.”

  “No!”

  “He laid it on very thick. Said they’d take a very dim view because she was defrauding a charity. She begged him not to, of course, but he went on at great length. Finally he said he hadn’t made up his mind what to do and he’d think about it and let her know. Oh, he was enjoying it, all right. You know how he liked to have a hold over people.”

  “When was this?”

  “Quite a while ago. She asked him several times what he’d decided but he kept on saying he hadn’t made up his mind.”

  “How vile!”

  “She told me about it one day—I think she had to talk to someone. She said that, anyway, when she’d thought about it, she’d already decided not to go through with it after all, not to take the vase. She was at the end of her tether, I can tell you, and I do believe she was on the point of going to the police herself when, luckily for her, Desmond died and she was able to breathe again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jean’s last words hung in the air, and for a minute we were both silent. Then Jean said, “Of course, I never meant to suggest that Margaret…”

  “Good heavens, no.”

  “The last person.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Mind you,” Jean said, “if Desmond behaved like that to Margaret, goodness knows what he might have done to someone else. I mean, there might have been something really serious, so that whoever it was felt they had to kill him to stop him saying anything.”

  I thought of George Arnold. “That’s true,” I said. “After all, we don’t know that much about Desmond; he hadn’t been in Taviscombe very long.”

  “You’re right. How do we know what he was up to before he came here!”

  I think we both felt that it was comforting somehow, the thought that whatever caused the murder, and whoever did it, was from the past and from somewhere else.

  The sound of Norma opening the shop door and shaking her wet umbrella outside broke up our conversation. Jean snatched up the mugs and disappeared into the storeroom, and I hastily picked up a duster and began polishing the counter.

  “Oh, Sheila.” Anthea accosted me as soon as I entered Brunswick Lodge. “I was just going to ring you.”

  “Yes?” I said warily.

  “It’s about this book sale.”

  “What book sale?”

  “The one on the nineteenth. It was all decided at the last committee meeting—the one you didn’t come to.”

  “No, I explained to George—I’d arranged to babysit t
hat evening.”

  “Yes, well, the sale is going ahead, and we all agreed that since you know all about books, you should be in charge.”

  “But I won’t be here on the nineteenth,” I protested. “That’s a Saturday and Thea’s got tickets for all of us to go to the matinee in Bristol. I can’t possibly cancel that.”

  “Well,” Anthea said grudgingly. “I don’t suppose it matters if you’re not here for the sale—anyone can do the actual selling. No, what we want you to do is go through the books people bring in and price them.”

  “Oh, I can do that,” I said, relieved to have got off relatively lightly.

  “We’ve had a very good response so far, though, of course, those charity shops of yours have taken a lot of the ones we might have had.”

  “When do you want me to come?” I asked, refusing to take responsibility for all the charity shops in Taviscombe.

  “I’d think next Monday would be all right; we should have quite a few books by then. And bring in as many books as you can from people you know. Not those literary things of yours—no one will want them.”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” I said cautiously.

  The books were neatly stacked up in the small committee room. I was pleased to see that the heating had been put on and thought more kindly of Anthea for thinking of it. I was crouched down on the floor examining the books when Marcus Stanley came in.

  “Oh good,” he said. “It’s warmed up nicely—that’s really quite a good heater.”

  I got awkwardly to my feet and he said, “I’ll just put the books on the table so we can get at them.”

  “Anthea didn’t say you’d be helping,” I said. Then, thinking that sounded a little ungrateful, I added, “It’s very good of you.”

  “Norma thought you might need a hand.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see. Well, thank you very much.”

  “Such a good idea, this book sale,” he said. “Norma suggested it and the committee were very keen. As Norma says, I’m sure we all have books on our shelves we hardly ever read.”

  “I have many books on my shelves that I hardly ever read,” I protested, “and it’s so delightful when you suddenly come across an old friend you haven’t looked at for ages. No, I find it very difficult to get rid of any book, however little I may read it.”

  “But surely paperbacks?”

  “Some of my greatest treasures are paperbacks. I still have some of those old Penguins with orange covers and detective novels with green ones. It gives me so much pleasure to remember how I saved up for them when I was young and where I bought them and who with.”

  “You must have a lot of books,” Marcus said respectfully.

  “Bookshelves in every room,” I said proudly. “No space for any more, so the books are mostly double stacked—almost impossible to find anything. Michael says they’re the only thing holding the cottage together—if we took them down the whole place would collapse.” He laughed politely. “Still,” I said, “I did manage to find a few books—mostly things people thought I ought to read—as my contribution.”

  I sat down at the table and pulled a pile of books towards me. “Right, then,” I said. “Shall I do the hardbacks while you do the paperbacks?”

  He hesitated. “To be honest,” he said, “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to charge.”

  “Oh.”

  It became obvious to me that Norma had sent Marcus along (presumably without Anthea’s knowledge) as her representative, to stake her claim, as it were, on Anthea’s territory.

  “I could make us some coffee,” Marcus suggested.

  “That would be marvelous,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  When he came back with the coffee, in cups not mugs, with separate milk and sugar and some biscuits on a plate—Norma had trained him well—I’d marked up quite a few of the books.

  “Some quite good things here,” I said as I cleared a space on the table for the tray. “No valuable first editions, alas, but lots of interesting stuff. Several I’d quite like myself; I daresay I could squeeze in a couple more volumes.”

  I poured some milk into my coffee and took a biscuit, and Marcus did the same and sat down at the table opposite to me.

  “How do you like living down here?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’ve always loved it. My parents spent a lot of time abroad. My father had business interests in the Middle East. I was at boarding school so I spent most of the holidays here with my aunt. I always thought of it as my home. When I was at Oxford, though, my parents settled back in England so I didn’t come down here as much.”

  “What was your aunt’s name? I wonder if I knew her.”

  “My mother’s sister, her name was Seaton. Edith Seaton.”

  I thought for a moment. “Oh yes,” I said. “My mother knew her slightly. They used to play bridge together occasionally.”

  “She was a great bridge player,” Marcus said. “She tried to teach me to play, but I never really got the hang of it.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. I’ve never been any good at card games. Not that you can call bridge a card game, more of a religion. Your aunt died quite recently, then?”

  “Yes. She left the house to me because I was her last living relative—though I think she was fond of me as well. She was rather an austere sort of person—it was hard to tell what she felt.”

  “And did you and Norma come down quite often after you were married?”

  He hesitated. “My work was rather demanding. It was difficult to get away, so we didn’t get down as often as I would have liked. And Norma had so many interests….”

  “Of course. Still, it’s nice that you’ve finally come home, as you might say. As I recall, it’s a big house with a lot of ground.”

  “Yes. We had to have a great deal done to it before we moved in. My aunt had rather let things go—you know how old people don’t care to have things changed. Norma said it was like living in a time warp, everything so old-fashioned. The kitchen and bathroom had to be completely remodeled and everywhere else redecorated. The grounds were well kept—my aunt had two gardeners—but Norma has got a garden designer in and she’s having a tennis court laid out and possibly a swimming pool. She’s very keen that we should take plenty of exercise.”

  “Goodness. What energy! All that and what she does here, at Brunswick Lodge, not to mention the charity shop. I don’t know how she fits it all in.”

  “She’s very well organized.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve noticed that at the shop. I suppose that’s why she was at odds with Desmond.”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. Two strong-minded people, each with clear ideas of how things should be done. But, of course, Desmond was a very difficult person, not just to work with but in every way. I think we all had our problems with him. He must have made lots of enemies, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t really know him. I used to see him briefly when I went into the shop, but we never saw him socially.”

  “No, nor did I.” He nodded. “But it was such a dreadful thing,” I went on, “his dying like that…. We were all so shocked. We couldn’t believe how something like that could have happened.”

  “Norma was very upset.”

  He was obviously disinclined to say more, probably because of the delicate situation between Norma and Desmond. “Anyway,” I said, “things are certainly running very smoothly now Norma’s in charge.”

  He looked pleased. “She does seem to have a gift for that kind of thing. I believe they’re going to put her in charge—officially, that is—though nothing’s been confirmed yet.”

  “That’s good,” I said, putting my cup on the tray. “Well, we’d better get on. Could you sort out those paperbacks into piles: detective fiction, other fiction and nonfiction? Oh, and there’s a good lot of Mills and Boone. They always go well; put them in a separate pile.”

  Just then the door opened and Norma came in. For a moment sh
e looked disconcerted at the cozy scene—the tray with the cups and plates, the gas fire casting a warm glow and Marcus and I seated at the table obviously chatting and not suitably employed.

  Marcus got to his feet and looked flustered. Norma ignored him and said, “I just looked in to see how you’re getting on.”

  “Oh, splendidly,” I said airily. “I’ve nearly finished the hardbacks, and Marcus is just going to sort out the paperbacks into categories.”

  “Excellent,” Norma said graciously. She came forward and picked up the tray. “I’ll just take this out of the way to make more room for you,” she said and went out, not quite shutting the door behind her. I wondered if she’d left it open on purpose in case we made any remark after she’d left. But I just smiled at Marcus, who smiled, rather hesitantly, back.

  “You might find it easier to sort those paperbacks into piles on the floor,” I said. “If you don’t mind. And I’ll carry on here.”

  We worked on in silence for a while, both rather expecting another visit, and indeed there was. This time it was Anthea.

  “Nobody told me that Marcus was coming,” she began.

  “Yes, wasn’t it kind of him?” I said. “It’s been such a help. There now, I’ve finished these, so, Marcus, if you could take them and put them on that broad windowsill over there and arrange them in alphabetical order by author. And if you just bring me those separate piles of paperbacks, I can get on with those—that’s right, thank you so much.”