by Dean James
“Moira didn’t strike him,” Piers said in considerable agitation. “Dittany and I did. It was just as you said. Moira helped us, but she didn’t kill him.” He began to sob. Moira reached over to stroke his arm.
“You bloody fool,” Dittany hissed.
“Tell me, Miss Harwood, did you plan to murder your father before you came to Blitherington Hall? Or did you simply seize the moment, once you found out about the secret staircase and realized its possibilities?” Dittany just sat and glared at me.
“Yes, well,” I said. “Either way, it was premeditated. I’ve no idea how the courts here treat that, but it will be a significant point for the prosecution, no doubt.
“Moving on, then. With the three of them acting in concert the whole episode worked much more easily. They could accomplish everything and still get back upstairs in time to be seen coming downstairs to the library, if necessary. Mr. Limpley was even seen in the upstairs hall, ostensibly coming out of Mrs. Rhys-Morgan’s room. The witness, Mr. Weatherstone, has confirmed, however, that Mr. Limpley could just as well have been coming out of one of the other doors a bit farther down the hall.”
I paused, shaking my head as if in admiration. “It was a bold and daring plan, and it took great nerve. If anyone had seen you darting about in the hallway upstairs, that would have put an end to it, very quickly. But luck was with you, for a time at least.”
Robin stepped forward, about to proceed with the arrests, but I held up my hand.
“I just thought of one more thing; a small loose thread, if you will.” I had almost forgotten it, I had been so hot on the chase. “The drop cloth you used to remove the dust from the secret stairs. It was found in the drawing room. Of course it had to be left there, but if you used the stairs after you used the drop cloth, you ran a greater risk of leaving some kind of evidence behind. Tell me, Mrs. Rhys-Morgan, it was you, wasn’t it, who came back down the stairs with the drop cloth after Miss Harwood and Mr. Limpley went up the stairs to their rooms? And then you waited until the right time, took the key from Mr. Harwood’s pocket, let yourself out of the drawing room, locked it behind you, and proceeded calmly to the library. Later on, when we discovered the body, you slipped the key back into his pocket.”
I nodded my head admiringly. "That was quite a nice touch, actually, all of you rushing forward like that to render aid to a man you all knew was already dead. That way you could explain it later to the police if you just happened to have any red paint on your bodies or your clothes. Very clever, very clever indeed.”
This time when Robin stepped forward to begin the process of arresting them for the murder of Zeke Harwood, I did not stop him. When the formalities were concluded, Robin and Sergeant Harper escorted them out of the library.
“I think brandy all round might be a good idea, if you don’t mind, Giles,” I said, and he moved quickly to comply with my request. I assisted him in passing round the glasses, and Jessamy downed hers in a single gulp. My, that must have burned, but at least it brought some color back to her ravaged face.
Lady Prunella was uncharacteristically silent. I could see her sitting there, mentally working through it all as she sipped at her brandy. It might take her awhile, but eventually she would have it all sorted out.
Cliff Weatherstone came to me with grudging admiration in his eyes. “Damned if Giles wasn’t right, Simon. You did get it all sorted out. And what an unholy mess it all was, too.”
“Thank you, Cliff,” I said. “It was rather complicated, but the police were bound to figure it out sooner or later. I just helped them get there sooner.”
Cliff laughed. “I’m just pleased it’s not my neck in a noose.” He sipped his brandy. “I’d never have thought Piers had it in him. Dittany, yes, she was always a deep one. To think she was that creep’s daughter. And Moira, too. I was quite shocked at that.”
“They must all have hated him quite terribly,” Giles said, frowning. “He was extremely unpleasant, but to have people hate you that much. That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is,” Jessamy spoke up. “But Zeke was like that. He took what he wanted, and be damned to the rest of us. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving that poor child with him.”
None of us could think of a response to that. “I believe the police will find,” I said, to cover the awkward pause that had ensued, “Harwood was planning to leave them all behind when he went to America. I doubt he wanted to be encumbered with any of them, and not just you, Cliff.”
“Bloody bastard,” Cliff said. “Frankly, I can’t say that I blame them for what they did.”
“If you’ll all excuse me,” Jessamy said, “I think I’ll be going home.” She got shakily to her feet and stood there, looking quite forlorn.
I wondered whether someone should offer to drive her home, for her own safety, and to my surprise, Cliff Weatherstone offered to do just that. In grateful surprise, Jessamy accepted his offer.
“And then I think I’ll stop in the village for a few pints,” Cliff said as he followed Jessamy out the door of the library. “If anyone wants to join me, that’s where you’ll find me.”
“I shall be so terribly glad when these people are gone from my home,” Lady Prunella announced. “But whatever are we to do about the drawing room, Giles?”
Giles sighed and set down his brandy snifter. Over his mother’s head, he caught my eye and smiled. “I rather think, Mummy, that we’ll have to have the decorators in.”
I will never repeat the word that Lady Prunella uttered then. Dead I may be, but I am a gentleman still.
SNEAK PEEK FROM BAKED TO DEATH
Chapter One
Giles decided to remain with me at Laurel Cottage until it was time to leave for Totsye Titchmarsh’s dinner party. He wanted to delay having to talk to his mother as long as he could. Besides which, he was still feeling the effects of his hangover, despite the dose of aspirin. Between groaning over his aching head and mumbling over the perfidy of Millbank, he was rather miserable company. Finally, in exasperation, I gave him a few bits of research to do and sent him to his office while I attempted to focus once more on writing.
Without Tris in the cottage and with Giles at last occupied by something other than complaints, I applied myself to writing. By the time I emerged from the fifteenth century and the perils of Perdita, my latest heroine, it was after six o’clock. Shutting down the computer with a sigh, I got up and stretched muscles grown stiff from my having sat hunched over the keyboard for so long.
“Giles,” I called. “It’s time to get ready for dinner.” Hearing no response, I walked out of my office to the next room, which served as Giles’s office space. It was actually little more than a glorified closet, but it was large enough for a desk, a computer, and a couple of shelves. Giles was sound asleep and snoring softly, his head cradled in his arms atop the desk.
I reached forward and gently shook him awake. “Giles, wake up,” I said. “Time to stir. We need to prepare ourselves for dinner.”
Giles sat up and turned around in his chair, rubbing his eyes like a schoolboy. I resisted the impulse to smooth the tousled hair back from his forehead. He smiled warmly at me as he came more fully awake. “What time is it, Simon? I’m sorry I fell asleep. I don’t think I got much work done.”
“That’s quite all right, Giles,” I said. “It’s a bit after six, and we’re supposed to show up for dinner at seven.”
Giles glanced down at his rumpled clothing. He groaned. “If I appear looking like this, Mummy will think I went on a bender for sure.”
I laughed. “Well, you did, in a way, Giles. Not much of one, but enough for you. Why don’t you run up and have a hot shower, and hang your clothes in the bathroom while you do it. The steam will get rid of some of the wrinkles, and you’ll feel much better yourself.”
Grinning, Giles stood up. “A capital idea, Simon. I could do with a bit of freshening up, and a shower sounds jolly good.” He moved past me, then paused at the foot of the stairs, just outside
his office door. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?”
I was sorely tempted, I must admit but I knew that if I did, things might go too far too fast Instead, I smiled and said, "Thank you, Giles, perhaps another time.”
He didn’t sulk, as once he would have. Instead, he merely grinned again and said, “I’ll hold you to that Simon.”
“Be off with you, varlet,” I said, and I watched him appreciatively as he moved up the stairs away from me.
I waited until he was safely in the shower with the water running before I too ascended the stairs. In my bedroom I changed back into my medieval clothing. Fully dressed, I surveyed myself critically in the mirror on the inside of one of the wardrobe doors. (Sorry to shatter the illusion, but, yes, we can see ourselves in the mirror. That we can’t was just a myth invented by Hollywood.)
Actually, I thought I looked quite dashing in the arcane clothing. The colors flattered my dark complexion, and when I assumed an austere mien, I appeared quite like a medieval nobleman. Then I laughed at myself. It wouldn’t do to take this dressing up too seriously. I couldn’t envisage myself becoming a regular member of the GAA, no matter how good I looked in this outfit.
By the time Giles reappeared downstairs, refreshed and ready to go, it was a few minutes before seven. We would arrive only a bit late. I let Giles drive us through the village, and we parked in the forecourt of Blitherington Hall. The late evening sunshine was still warm as we ambled down to the meadow toward the encampment. The sun wouldn’t set until around nine-thirty, but the intensity of the light had lessened, thankfully for me.
The guard posted at the entrance simply waved us through. I supposed he figured if we were dressed appropriately, we had legitimate business here, or else someone—Luke, probably—had put us on the list to be admitted freely.
All around us, the members of the G.A.A. were relaxing after a long day’s work. Here and there groups sang as they sat in front of their tents, quaffing beverages that would no doubt make them even merrier as the evening—and the drinking—wore on. As Giles and I turned down the lane leading to Totsye Titchmarsh’s pavilion, an ill-mannered brute brushed hard against Giles. He glared at Giles as if it were his fault, then stomped off.
The rag-mannered ruffian was none other than Sir Reginald Bolingbroke, erstwhile pretender to the throne. I resisted the urge to call after him. “Bloody idiot!” Giles said, rubbing his arm.
“Yes,” I said. “I wonder what put him in such a foul mood.” We continued our progress down the lane.
As we reached Totsye’s pavilion, Harald Knutson barreled out, straight into me. Close on his heels was one of his henchmen, the one called Guillaume. Knutson glowered at me. “Get out of my bloody way,” he barked.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you prat.” Giles was angry now and spoiling for a fight
Knutson paid no attention and strode off down the lane, his companion right behind him.
“What is wrong with these people?” Giles shook his head.
“Perhaps they equate living in the Middle Ages to acting in a boorish manner,” I said. “After you, young sir.” Giles grinned and stepped into the pavilion.
Inside stood a large table, set to accommodate eight and lit with candles. Totsye was scurrying about setting pewter cups at each place. A young woman dressed as a servant was carefully placing what looked like pastries at each place.
“Good evening, Dame Alysoun,” I said loudly, and Totsye paused in her work to beam a smile of greeting upon us. She set the last cup at one end of the table and came forward with outstretched hands.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said. “I am delighted that you could join us tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Giles said, doffing his hat and bowing.
She tittered with delight as she curtsied in return.
“Your mother will be most impressed, Sir Giles,” she said, a little breathless from merriment
“Has my mother arrived yet?” Giles asked.
“Oh, yes,” Totsye said. “She’s here, in the other chamber of the tent. She’ll be out in a moment” She turned to check on her serving girl and nodded her approval. The girl curtsied, then disappeared into the back of the tent
I turned to grin at Giles. Evidently Totsye had prevailed upon her old school chum to dress up, too. The thought of Lady Prunella garbed as a medieval lady amused us both.
“We ran into the king as we arrived,” I said. “He seemed to be in quite a hurry.”
Totsye snorted. “I should think so. I put a flea in his ear. As if I would switch allegiances, especially after he accused me of attacking him earlier today. He’s quite deluded poor man.” Then she smiled. “I seem to be quite popular tonight. Not only Harald, but poor Reggie Bolingbroke as well, one right after the other. Both petitioning me. I must have more influence than I thought”
Evidently Totsye had sent Reggie away with his own flea, which explained his ill humor. Such drama!
While we waited for Lady Prunella to appear, I stepped forward to examine ornate cards laid at each place at the table. I picked one up, because the writing was too cramped to read without holding the card closer.
Adele de Montfort’s name was inscribed across the top of the card, in spiky calligraphy. Below the name was tonight’s menu. I frowned as I read. This would be a rich meal, and I would have to nibble carefully. It doesn’t take much food for a vampire to feel stuffed, and I would have to take care not to offend my hostess. Tonight we would be offered:
LAMB STEW
BRAISED SPRING GREENS
MUSHROOM PASTIES
HADDOCK IN TASTY SAUCE
FRIED FIG PASTRIES
ALMOND MILK MEAD
“Quite an impressive menu, Dame Alysoun,” I commented, setting the card back in its place. “You must have been working all afternoon to prepare such a feast.” At each place was a small dish of pastries, two each per person. The fried fig pastries, I cleverly deduced.
“I’m very fond of cooking,” Totsye said, smiling, “but I can’t claim credit for having prepared everything for tonight’s festivities. I must confess that I ordered some of the dishes from one of the best cooks in our society.”
“Let me guess,” Giles said, frowning a bit. “The person who cooked this is no doubt someone who would be working in the restaurant that Millbank is planning to build here.”
“Why, yes, very possibly,” Totsye said, startled. “But how did you know about that?”
“I’m afraid the secret is out, Dame Alysoun,” I said. “Professor Lovelace let it slip earlier today when we were chatting. You’ll find that Lady Prunella and Sir Giles are not keen on having a restaurant in their back garden, as it were.”
Totsye’s face mirrored her considerable distress at this news. She held out a hand impulsively to Giles. “My dear boy, I had no idea you would find the plan so repugnant.” She frowned. “In fact I would swear that Murdo Millbank told me you and dear Prunella had been apprised of the plan and were not in the least bothered by it”
“Then Millbank has misled you completely,” Giles said, taking her hand and patting it.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” she said. “Prunella will never speak to me again.”
That was of course the cue for Lady Prunella’s entrance.
“Why shouldn’t I speak to you, Totsye dear?” Lady Prunella trumpeted. “Good evening, Giles, Simon. My, how positively medieval you both look tonight.”
“And you as well, Lady Prunella,” I said, sweeping forward into an extravagant bow. She giggled and grasped the skirts of her substantial houppelande in her hands and almost pranced about with glee. She was like a giddy schoolgirl going to her first grown-up party.
“Mother, you do look lovely tonight,” Giles said. “Your dress is most becoming.” This was no mere filial flattery, I noted. The deep claret of the houppelande, trimmed with black silk, highlighted the vivid coloring in Lady Prunella’s hair and cheeks. A simple headdress complemented
her robe, and she could easily have taken her place at the royal court.
“Thank you, dear boy,” she said. “How handsome you both look. And what a handsome couple.” She tittered.
I glanced at Giles, who turned an innocent gaze to meet mine. What had he been telling his mother?
“Certes, milady, you do us both great honor,” I said, offering her another bow.
Once she had recovered from her merriment, Lady Prunella turned once more to Totsye. “Totsye, my dear, why shouldn’t I speak to you? Have you done something naughty?”
Totsye twitched about, refusing to meet Lady Prunella’s eye. “Now, Prunie,” she said, and Giles and I avoided looking at each other, “please don’t be angry with me. It’s none of my doing, I assure you, and had I known the truth about how you feel, I would never have encouraged the idea.”
“What idea?” Lady Prunella said, all trace of amusement gone. She had assumed her fiercest lady-of-the-manor glare, and Totsye withered from it.
Giles laid a warning hand on his mother’s arm.
“Now, Mummy, do think of your blood pressure. It won’t do to upset yourself.” He paused for a long breath, and Lady Prunella made a visible effort to calm herself. Giles continued, “Murdo Millbank is planning to build a restaurant here, a sort of medieval banqueting hall.”
Lady Prunella blinked rapidly as her mind struggled to cope with the news. Finally she found her voice again. “That’s outrageous! A commercial establishment in our back garden. Preposterous! What is the man thinking?”
“Oh, Prunie, I’m sorry,” Totsye wailed.
“Nonsense, Totsye,” Lady Prunella replied. “It’s not your fault that that vulgar businessman wants to destroy our peace and quiet.”
“I beg your pardon,” came a huffy voice from behind us.
We all turned to behold Murdo Millbank, simply dressed in a peasant’s tunic and cap. I was mildly surprised, for I would have expected him to choose something more ornate and lordly.