by Dean James
Nodding curtly in my direction, Cliff stalked from the room and closed the door behind him with a barely perceptible thump.
I took care not to let Giles see how pleased I was that he had got rid of Cliff. “What is it, Giles? What is there to say for my ears alone?”
Giles rubbed his forehead again. “There is something I have to decide whether to reveal to the police, Simon. Something that could make things look very black indeed for my mother.” He sighed deeply. “Of course, by now Mummy may have saved me the trouble and dug the hole even deeper.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Then you have quite a quandary before you.”
“Yes, and I need your advice.”
Having said so, he lapsed into silence, staring down at his hands. He was clearly torn. Not, I think, about confiding in me, but once he told me whatever it was, he knew there would be no going back.
“Do you have any idea,” I asked gently to ease him into it, “why your mother would have gone to speak to Harwood in the first place?”
“That blasted red paint,” Giles said bitterly. “All she could think about was Harwood painting the room red. And then of course there was that ridiculous video he had of her. She was furious about that, and I can’t say that I blame her in the least.”
“But how would she have gained access to the drawing room in the first place?” I asked. “Did she get the master key from Thompson? I can’t imagine that Harwood would have let her into the room, given how he carried on earlier about keeping everyone but his crew out of there.”
Giles sighed. “That’s where my dilemma lies, Simon. I know how Mummy got into the room. She didn’t need a master key.”
He paused, and I could have screamed in frustration. “Don’t tell me—there’s a secret way into the drawing room.” I said this half-jestingly, but from the unhappy expression on Giles’s face, I knew I had guessed correctly.
“Oh, my,” I said. “Shades of Nancy Drew and The Hidden Staircase. That does make things a bit sticky.”
“What on earth are you yammering on about, Simon? Who is bloody Nancy Drew, and what does she have to do with anything?” Giles was not best pleased with my moment of whimsy.
“Nancy Drew is a famous girl detective in American children’s books,” I said, “and in one of her cases, she investigated an old house riddled with secret passages.”
“You do say the oddest things sometimes, Simon,” Giles complained. “If we could come back to the point at hand?”
“Certainly, Giles,” I said placatingly. “I didn’t mean to make light of the situation.”
“The master bedroom is directly above the drawing room, and the passage is a staircase connecting the two.”
“When was it built?” I asked.
“The original part of the Hall dates back to the seventeenth century,” Giles said, “so I expect it had something to do with the civil war. The Blitherington of that time was a devout Royalist, but he played at Puritanism as long as Cromwell was in power, in order to keep the family fortunes intact.”
“Are there any other secret rooms or passages?”
Giles nodded. “There is a secret cellar, not terribly large, and the entrance to it is from this same secret passage.”
“Who else knows about the passage, besides you and your mother?”
“Thompson probably does. He’s been here forever, and most likely my dear departed father confided in him.” Giles considered for a moment. “Other than that I shouldn’t think anyone else knows.”
“But perhaps someone found out.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “We’ll have to find out It’s just possible someone used it to murder Harwood, and the matter of the drawing room key in Harwood’s pocket was nothing but a red herring.”
Giles brightened. “That’s true.”
“Moreover,” I continued, “the fact that Lady Prunella was seen coming out of the drawing room by the conventional means should argue in her favor.”
“Ah, yes,” Giles said. “I was in such a funk, I hadn’t thought that through. Someone would have had to lock the door behind her, which means Harwood was still alive when she left him.” Giles stood up, relief written large across his face. “Simon, I could kiss you. I knew you’d help me make sense of this bloody mess.”
“Glad to be of service, as always,” I said modestly. I too stood. “Now, about that kiss.”
Giles smiled and moved closer. He obliged quite nicely. If I were still a breather, I do believe I should have been a bit short of breath at the conclusion of that little interlude. Giles certainly was. So much for Cliff Weatherstone!
A discreet knock sounded at the door, and Giles stepped back and straightened his tie. “Yes?” he called.
Thompson opened the door. “Beg pardon, Sir Giles, but the detective inspector wishes to talk with you in the library.”
“Yes, of course,” Giles said. He offered me a sweet smile as he left the room. Thompson stood aside for him, then turned to look at me.
“Professor,” he said. “If you would be so kind, Lady Prunella wishes to speak with you in her sitting room.”
“Certainly, Thompson.”
“If you’ll come with me then, Professor, I will show you the way.”
I followed the butler up the stairs to the first floor and down the corridor. I had half-expected to see a police guard posted at the door of the master bedroom, but there was none. Evidently Lady Prunella had not told Robin Chase about the secret passage.
Thompson paused in front of a door across the hall from the master bedroom and knocked. Responding to a summons from within, he opened the door and announced me.
I stepped inside, where I found Lady Prunella collapsed upon a divan. Advancing toward her, I held out my hand. “My dear Lady Prunella, Giles called to tell me that the police were questioning you. I trust that you didn’t find the interview too upsetting.”
Lady Prunella shuddered as she clasped the proffered hand. “It was quite unpleasant, though the detective inspector behaved in a more gentlemanly manner than I had supposed he would.”
Her hand was ice-cold. I patted it reassuringly. “Detective Inspector Chase is quite clever, Lady Prunella. I’m certain he will have all this sorted out quickly, and you need not worry.”
“I wish I could share your confidence in the man, Simon,” she said. Releasing my hand, she indicated that I should sit down in a nearby chair.
“Now, what is it that you wished to speak to me about?” I asked.
“I wish to retain your services, Simon,” she said. “You must solve this murder before the noble name of Blitherington is irrevocably besmirched!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I don’t know which surprised me the more, the unaccustomed familiarity with which Lady Prunella had addressed me or her plea for me to play amateur detective.
“I shall certainly be more than happy to do whatever I can, Lady Prunella,” I said, “but there is no need to speak of ‘retaining’ my services. I assure you that I would never seek any kind of remuneration for whatever assistance I might render.”
I could sense her relief. The Blitheringtons were comfortable, but by no means wealthy, for the maintenance of Blitherington Hall consumed much of their income. Were I to be so uncouth as to charge Lady Prunella for what I planned to do anyway, with or without her invitation, she could not afford me.
“You are very generous, Simon,” she said. “In times of such travail, it is most heartening to know that one may rely upon one’s friends. ” She beamed at me.
Dear me, I thought, the old girl really is softening.
“If I am to assist you, dear lady, then I am afraid we must get down to brass tacks, as they say.” I regarded her kindly but sternly. “And that means, of course, that you must tell me everything. No holding anything back.” She bobbed her head up and down. “Quite. You may rely upon me, dear boy.”
I sat back in my chair. “Then let us begin with the incident about which Detective Inspe
ctor Chase has just questioned you.”
Lady Prunella inclined her head. “What do you wish to know, Simon?”
“Giles told me about the existence of the hidden staircase that connects the master bedroom to the drawing room. Did you make use of it last evening?”
“To my deepest and most sincere regret, I did.”
“Tell me what occurred.”
“I was most concerned,” Lady Prunella said after a moment’s pause to gather her thoughts, “about what that wretched man planned to do to my drawing room. I rue the day I ever succumbed to the mad idea of writing to him to invite him to Blitherington Hall. But that cannot be helped now. ”
I waited, trying not to fidget. Getting Lady Prunella to proceed from point A to point B and so on, without digressing mightily, would be a good test of my patience.
“I had overheard Mr. Harwood tell one of his staff, Mr. Limpley, I believe, that he would be working in the drawing room on his own for a half hour or so before dinner.”
“Where did you hear this? And when?” I asked.
“I was passing by Mr. Harwood’s bedroom—my bedroom, I should say! The nerve of that man!—and the door was open. I could hear him quite plainly.”
“And the time?” I prompted her.
“I am not completely certain,” she said, “but it was perhaps half an hour, perhaps slightly more, before we were to gather in the library before dinner.”
“About seven-thirty then,” I said, “but maybe a few minutes before that.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“What did you do then?”
She studied her hands, resting in her lap. “I am not proud of my behavior, Simon. It ill becomes a woman of my stature to have behaved in such a common fashion, but I plead the excuse that I was so worried I quite forgot myself.”
I kept quiet, though it was a struggle.
“After hearing that Mr. Harwood planned to work on his own for a bit,” Lady Prunella went on, “I went back to my temporary quarters, rather than downstairs as I had planned. I had meant to consult with Thompson about something, but it quite slipped my mind after that.” She looked wretchedly embarrassed, and I maintained an expression of concern, trying not to yield to the impulse to laugh. “I lurked in the doorway of my room, peering out and waiting for Mr. Limpley and Mr. Harwood to depart from the master bedroom.”
“How long did you have to wait?”
“Mr. Limpley left right after I reached my room and settled myself at my vantage point Mr. Harwood left a minute or two later.”
Really, these regular pauses were beginning to get annoying. “And then?”
“I stuck my head out and looked up and down the hallway. I did not see anyone about, so I moved quickly to the door of Harwood’s room and opened it. My heart was pounding so, I could hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. I was nearly overset, I must tell you, by the shameless audacity of what I was about to do.”
“Quite understandable under the circumstances,” I assured her.
She spared me a glance of gratitude before she continued. “I opened the entrance to the secret passageway, and to my surprise, it opened quite easily. I can’t think when someone might have used it last, and it was always wont to be a bit stubborn.”
That point definitely bore further investigation, but I didn’t want to interrupt the flow to question her about it now.
“I made my way carefully down the stairs,” Lady Prunella went on, “and at the bottom, I paused by the door into the drawing room. There is a peephole there, and I stood for several minutes, watching for Mr. Harwood.”
“How much of the room can be seen from the peephole?” I asked.
“Only a small portion, I fear,” Lady Prunella answered. Tor a few minutes at least, I caught no glimpse of Harwood. I could hear him moving around, but he must have been on the side of the room nearer the French windows. That part of the room is not visible through the peephole.”
“Do you have any idea of what time it was by then?” Lady Prunella shook her head. “I’ve really no clear idea, though I would say that it was no longer than ten minutes after I had first heard Mr. Limpley and Mr. Harwood speaking upstairs.”
That would put us at about seven-forty.
“Do continue,” I said.
“Mr. Harwood came into view, and he was carrying a tin of paint. I had little doubt that it was that red paint, and he was about to start painting with it.” She paused, and an expression of disgust crossed her face. “I quite forgot myself at that point, and I burst out of the passageway and startled Mr. Harwood so that he dropped the tin of paint on the floor and a bit of it spilled out.”
“And was it the red paint?”
She nodded. “He recovered himself quite quickly, and he began speaking to me in the most offensive manner. ‘What the devil do you mean, woman, popping out of the wall and frightening me like that?’ I believe those were his exact words.
“I did not deign to apologize, for I believe his behavior to me and his actions did not warrant such a concession on my part. Instead, I pointed to the red paint and accused him of deliberately planning to ruin my drawing room with it.”
“What did he say to that?'”
“He laughed and said that there was nothing I could do to prevent him because of the contract we had signed. He was most offensive, Simon. He said a number of derogatory things about the decor of the room and that anything he did to it could only improve it Moreover, he said that I had all the taste of a pickled herring.” Her face burned with shame at the memory. “Then, I’m afraid, I quite forgot myself and slapped his face.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “That was most unfortunate.”
Lady Prunella detected nothing of the amusement I felt as she continued. “At that point he used even more offensive language, which I would not care ever to repeat, had I even recognized the words! He grabbed me by the arm and frogmarched me to the drawing room door. He opened it, thrust me out of the room, and locked the door behind me.” She shuddered. “It was most humiliating.”
“That was when someone saw you and reported it anonymously to the police.”
“And I cannot think who might have done that,” Lady Prunella said, obviously puzzled. “There was, fortunately, not a soul in the hallway when Mr. Harwood so viciously thrust me out of the drawing room. Who could have seen it?”
I had an idea about that, but I didn’t want to share it with Lady Prunella just yet.
“Let’s come back to that,” I said. “Once you were out in the hallway, what did you do next?”
“I collected myself,” Lady Prunella answered, “and proceeded to the library, where I indulged myself in a spot of brandy. I do find that, on the exceedingly rare occasion that necessitates it, a bit of brandy does wonders for the state of one’s nerves.”
“Yes, it is quite the restorative,” I said. “And after what you had just suffered, it is certainly understandable.”
“I do so appreciate your understanding, Simon. I quite believe I have heretofore rather misjudged you, dear boy.”
“Thank you, Lady Prunella,” I said, inclining my head modestly. I decided to ignore the condescension with which she just favored me.
“How long was it before anyone else appeared in the library?” I asked.
“Several people arrived at once, just a few minutes before eight. Giles, with that young Weatherstone, who seems to be always hanging about him. And Mrs. Rhys-Morgan.” She paused, considering. “Then Mr. Limpley and Miss Harwood came in together, and you arrived shortly after that.”
I sat thinking for a moment. If the murderer were one of Harwood’s associates, then the murder had taken place sometime between the time Lady Prunella had made her undignified exit from the drawing room and Limpley, Cliff, and the two women arrived in the library. That didn’t allow much time for the murder to take place.
“Did you notice anything odd about any of the members of Mr. Harwood’s staff?” I finally asked.
Lady P
runella shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I was still rather shaken by what had occurred in the drawing room. I paid very little attention to any of our guests.”
“No matter,” I said. “I shall ask Giles if he noticed anything. Now, Lady Prunella, I must ask you, did you tell everything that you’ve just told me to Detective Inspector Chase?”
Lady Prunella blushed. “Oh, Simon, I did not, but perhaps I should have. I find myself in the quite absurd, position of having tied to the police.”
“In what manner did you lie to Detective Inspector Chase?”
“I did not tell him the truth of how I gained entrance to the drawing room. I told him that I had knocked upon the door and that Mr. Harwood had let me in.”
It would really have been easier, all round, if Lady Prunella had told Robin the truth. Her having lied only complicated matters unnecessarily, I feared. Robin would not look kindly upon her attempts to lead him astray, but before I took her to task over this point, I wanted to ask some more questions.
“Let us go back, Lady Prunella, to when you first burst—your word—into the drawing room from the secret passageway. Obviously Harwood was startled by your sudden appearance.”
“Yes, he was,” she acknowledged.
“I think it rather odd that he made no other remark about the existence of the secret passageway. Or did he?”
Lady Prunella was most emphatic. “No, he didn’t say a word about it He paid no attention to it. Even in the circumstances one would think he might have taken notice of it”
“If he knew about it already, he wouldn’t,” I said. “You also told me that when you opened the door to the passage in the master bedroom, it opened quite easily, and that normally it did not do so.”
“Yes,” Lady Prunella said. “Usually it made a bit of a squeaking noise, but this time it didn’t.”
“Then we must conclude that Harwood himself had already discovered the passageway,” I said. “The questions are how and when?”