Murder on Bonfire Night

by Addison, Margaret

  ‘Well, I’ll be blowed! That looks jolly like the major’s tweed jacket.’ He edged closer to the guy. ‘Dash it all, it is. I’d know it anywhere, the fellow never seems to wear anything else. Well, I never; I wonder what made him donate it to be worn by one of the guys? It’ll end up on the fire as likely as not if he’s not careful.’

  ‘Perhaps the lining’s ripped, or there’s some other damage to it that we can’t see,’ said Rose, though she felt the hairs begin to stand up on the back of her neck. There was something about the effigy that made her suddenly feel apprehensive. The temptation was to walk on to look at the next guy, but something was all wrong. ‘Darling –’

  ‘I know,’ said Cedric quickly, as if she had given voice to her fear; or perhaps he sensed it, or shared it even. For he held up the oil lamp and she was aware that his body stiffened. A moment later, and he had darted forward and was standing over the guy. The effigy’s head was all but covered by a flat cap pulled down well over its face, obscuring the painted or moulded features if indeed there were any. To remove the cap was the work of a moment, and with trembling hands Cedric did so, lifting up the lamp with his other hand so that it was only a few inches from the effigy, its glow falling full upon the guy’s face. The lamp wobbled precariously in his hand and Rose thought she heard him utter a noise that sounded like an exclamation. Listening out keenly as she had been, it sounded very like a stifled cry quickly checked. With a growing feeling of apprehension and dread, she found herself by her husband’s side, tugging at his arm to get his attention.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ And then when he didn’t say anything: ‘Is it a … a body?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cedric abruptly. Even in the weak glow from the lamp she could see that his face was set in a rigid expression. With an odd sense of detachment, she watched as he proceeded to examine what, up until a few moments before, they had thought to be a guy.

  ‘There’s no pulse,’ said Cedric. ‘He’s dead all right.’

  It was perhaps only then that they remembered they were being observed. For they had all but forgotten the crowd of villagers gathered in a semicircle some way behind them, the children watching excitedly and with something akin to bated breath, eager to find out which guy would be announced the winner.

  ‘We must get the children away from all this,’ said Cedric hurriedly. He moved a little further down the line, selected a guy at random and held it up. ‘This one’s the winner,’ he declared in a loud voice. A cheer went up from the crowd. ‘Who made it? Very well done. Now if you go and see Mrs Broughton over there, she’ll give you the hamper. Very well deserved; give them a round of applause.’

  The excited winners, a group of three boys, whooped and shrieked and tore off to the refreshment tables, eager to get their prize. The crowd followed at a slower pace, many curious to know what delicacies were in the hamper. For others, the end of the judging of the effigies marked the beginning of the refreshments and they surged towards the trestle tables, keen to have their fill. And so it transpired that in only a few moments the earl and countess were all but alone, standing beside the discarded guys.

  ‘Has he been –’

  ‘Murdered?’ finished Cedric. ‘I’d say! Someone’s done quite a good job at bashing in the poor fellow’s head. It was all covered up by the cap, thank goodness, otherwise the children might have spotted something was amiss when they were lining their guys up beside him.’ He made a face. ‘What I’d like to know is who could have done such a thing? Someone rather sick in the mind, I’d say.’ He moved to his wife and put an arm around her trembling shoulders, steering her away from the corpse. ‘Don’t look, darling; it is all rather horrid.’

  Rose required little encouragement to move away from the body. She had encountered a number of murders and bodies in her time, but the horror of it all did not lessen; she had no wish to view the battered remains of the deceased.

  As she and her husband retraced their steps, they were arrested by a lone voice in the dark. Had Rose been alone, she might very well have screamed. One thing she knew for certain was that someone was making their way towards them, a tall figure with a purposeful stride.

  ‘I say, Lord Belvedere, is anything wrong?’

  ‘Oh, lord,’ said Cedric, ‘that’s all we need. I had hoped we’d be able to get through to the police first before we had to tell him about the body.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Rose asked curiously.

  ‘Major Spittlehouse.’

  ‘Major Spittlehouse? But I thought that was his body,’ cried Rose, inclining her head in the direction of the corpse.

  ‘No. I say, Spittlehouse,’ said Cedric turning his attention towards the approaching figure, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some very bad news. Something rather awful has happened.’ He paused until the man drew level and lowered his voice. ‘Someone has murdered your manservant.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the immediate aftermath of the discovery of the murdered servant, events appeared to Rose rather fractured and disjointed. She found herself in something of a dreamlike state looking on, an observer of sorts as snatches of images caught her attention before her focus drifted elsewhere. There had been a murder; the words stuck in her brain. Amid all else, she was aware of the smell of the smoke and the noise of crackling sticks from the bonfire. The pale faces of her husband and the major, highlighted in the darkness, glowed in the weak light from the oil lamp.

  Since Cedric had informed the major of his devastating find, they had spoken in hushed tones, turning every now and then to glance at the body. Major Spittlehouse, his face strained but controlled, had knelt beside the body and felt for a pulse, perhaps hoping that Cedric had been mistaken in his presumption of death. Meanwhile, Rose had shivered in her thick coat, rather wishing that, despite Edna’s concerns regarding the smoke, she had worn her furs.

  A hoot of laughter had suddenly filled the night air and Rose was brought sharply back to the present. She remembered vaguely that they were gathered there for a celebration, and that she was surrounded by a crowd of people who were quite oblivious to the recent turn of events. The laughter, however, still sounded unnaturally loud and inappropriate given the circumstances. She realised also that she had all but forgotten that there were children there. They were in high spirits, busy stuffing toffee into their mouths, eagerly awaiting the start of the fireworks, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded at the other end of the field.

  The laughter had also roused Cedric and Major Spittlehouse from their whispered exchange. If their conduct since discovering the body had been muted and constrained, now there was a sense of urgency to their actions, as if they had been awoken from a stupor. With surprising quickness, Cedric had summoned together some of the house servants, issuing them with instructions concerning the dispersal of the crowd. Rose watched as the food was hastily packed away in wooden crates and the trestle tables dismantled. She had expected to hear cries of protest from the children, but there were none. Instead, an air of excitement had overtaken the crowd, as if they were awaiting the next part of the festivities.

  ‘Darling, are you all right?’ Cedric appeared at her shoulder. ‘You look frightfully cold. It’s beastIy that you had to see the body like that.’ He glanced at his servants, the majority of whom were busy rounding up the villagers. ‘We’re moving the festivities to Sedgwick Court.’

  ‘Are you really?’ Rose found it hard to hide her surprise. It had not occurred to her that the firework display would continue in light of the death.

  ‘It seemed to be for the best, to get everyone away from here, I mean. The children don’t know what’s happened and I should like it to remain like that for as long as possible.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Imagine, Rose, how awful it would be if they all came galloping over to gawp at the corpse.’ Cedric passed a hand through his hair so that it stood up on end.

  ‘But to go on with the firework display –’

  ‘The ma
jor thinks me quite mad, and I daresay you do too, and perhaps I am a little, but I don’t want the whole evening to be ruined.’ He looked at her earnestly. ‘It means so much to the children, you see; they’ve been looking forward to it for months.’

  ‘Perhaps it is for the best,’ Rose admitted rather grudgingly.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Her husband’s face relaxed into something approximating a wan smile.

  ‘I think perhaps I do.’ Rose said with greater enthusiasm, putting out her hand to him; for a moment they seemed to cling to each other, oblivious to all else. ‘Cedric, I’m so terribly sorry about all this.’

  ‘Well, you are hardly to blame,’ Cedric said, squeezing her hand. ‘Now, as my old nurse would say, this won’t put socks on the children.’ His voice was artificially bright, like his smile, as he turned to survey the crowd. His following words, however, were addressed exclusively to his wife. ‘Naturally we’ll be taking down the names of everyone here tonight before they’re permitted to leave. The fireworks will be let off down by the lake. I’ve asked Manning to take charge of things because of course Spittlehouse and I will stay here with the corpse until the police arrive.’ He bent his head to her and lowered his voice. ‘He’s pretty cut up by it all, poor fellow, though he won’t let on. He’s not the sort of man to lose his head and go to pieces.’

  They stood together, their hands barely touching, each reluctant to break away from the other. At last Cedric said: ‘I’d better get on. But I’d like you to go with them, darling. There’s no need for you to stay.’

  Rose made to protest but thought better of it. Instead, with weary steps she followed the long procession of servants, children and villagers as they made their way to Sedgwick Court. Before they were quite out of sight, she turned to cast a last glance at the scene. The bonfire was still burning brightly, lighting up the night sky with its flickering flames, casting alternate shadow and light on the two men standing guarding the corpse.

  Turning her attention to the procession, Rose was relieved to find that the children were in fine form, though she thought some of the villagers were vaguely aware that something was afoot, for their chatter had become more muted and remained so until they arrived at Sedgwick Court. There, however, they busied themselves with various tasks, among which was helping the servants to unload the trestle tables and food, and carrying the fireworks down to the lake.

  Before Rose could decide how best she might help, she was conscious that a woman had appeared at her shoulder, clearly agitated.

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ The voice was breathless, as if the woman had been running. ‘My brother won’t tell me. He told me to come here and wait for him.’

  ‘Miss Spittlehouse, is that you?’ Rose stretched out a hand to grasp the woman’s fingers, which were icy cold. It occurred to her then that the major would not be the only one distressed by the identity of the corpse. ‘I am afraid I have some rather distressing news. I think we had better go into the house.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Daphne said for what seemed to Rose the umpteenth time. ‘Why would anyone want to kill Masters of all people?’

  They were seated in Rose’s boudoir, drinking hot, sweet tea that scalded their mouths and brought a flush to their cheeks after the cold.

  Daphne, Rose noticed, could not sit still. She held her cup at a precarious angle as she gulped down her tea, spilling some of it in to the saucer. It was something of a relief when the woman discarded her cup on a convenient occasional table and took to pacing the floor. There was a restive air about her, as if she were roaming the room looking for occupation. Certainly she picked up ornaments at random, and stared at them absentmindedly, before putting them back carelessly. Rose watched her curiously, feeling herself on edge, as if she had caught some of the woman’s jittery mood. She reflected that Daphne was understandably agitated by the news, but thankfully not distraught. It had not been necessary to send for the doctor to prescribe her a sedative.

  ‘This must all be very distressing for you,’ said Rose. ‘Had Masters been with you very long?’

  ‘Oh, for simply ages,’ said Daphne rather carelessly. ‘Well, that’s to say he had been my brother’s servant for years. He was his batman in the army, or whatever they call it. They served together during the war.’ She paused and added almost as an afterthought: ‘I suppose Linus will be very upset by all this. I didn’t really think about that.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure he will,’ said Rose, pondering at the lack of feeling displayed by his sister for the fate of their servant. It was possible that Daphne read her mind, for she added: ‘I suppose you think me rather heartless? The truth is that I didn’t much care for Masters. He considered himself very much my brother’s servant, not mine.’

  Daphne walked over to the window and looked out, seemingly attracted by the noise of the fireworks which were now in full flow, ravishing the night sky, lighting it up for a few moments with each burst. The colours reflected off the lake so that the spectacle had something of a magical, fairy-tale feel to it, so at odds with the sombre mood that filled the room. Something else caught her attention. Straining her ears, she could discern noises from within the house itself. In the distance, behind the green baize doors, was the sound of small running feet, clattering about on the wooden staircases and on the old linoleum worn smooth by usage and the passage of time. Here and there a door banged, accompanied by the sound of giggles and the raised voices of admonishing servants.

  ‘What’s that? What’s that noise?’ There was a note of fear in her voice, which was not lost on her companion.

  ‘It’s only some of the village children,’ said Rose. ‘I expect they’re playing a game of hide and seek.’

  ‘Don’t you mind?’ asked Daphne incredulously. ‘If it were me, I should mind terribly.’

  ‘They are in high spirits, that’s all. Besides, they are tearing about the servants’ quarters, not the main house. Mrs Broughton will soon bring them to heel when she lays the food out for them in the servants’ hall.’ She stared at the restless woman. ‘Won’t you sit down and have another cup of tea, Miss Spittlehouse? There is plenty left in the pot and, if there isn’t, I can always ring for some more.’

  ‘I don’t seem able to sit still,’ admitted Daphne, flinging herself down on to the chair she had recently vacated and tapping a beat with her fingers on its arm. ‘I suppose it’s all this waiting. Do you think my brother will be very long?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Rose, though she was far from certain. For she thought it unlikely that Cedric and Major Spittlehouse would be content to forsake the scene before a policeman of appropriate rank had arrived from Bichester to take charge of the investigation. The village constable was an able enough fellow, but he was more used to dealing with incidents involving drunk and disorderly conduct than suspicious death. They might, therefore, be reluctant to leave the body under his sole charge or, at the very least, feel obliged to remain with him until reinforcements had arrived. Fleetingly, she wondered if Inspector Connor would be assigned to the case. She shuddered at the thought that he might be accompanied by the objectionable Sergeant Harris.

  Rose was roused from her musings with a start by the sound of hurrying footsteps on the floor of the landing outside. Both women stared at the door expectantly, anticipating the arrival of the earl and the major. When the door opened, however, it was Mrs Simpson who entered the room.

  ‘Rose, I came as soon as I could,’ Rose’s mother marched straight up to her daughter and embraced her. ‘Oh, my dear, is it true?’ It appeared only then that she noticed that Rose had a guest. ‘How do you do, Miss Spittlehouse?’ She turned her attention again to her daughter. ‘Your footman was all for announcing us, but I told him I knew the way. They really have got their hands full looking after the children. They appear to be running amok in the servants’ hall and causing no end of mischief. Still, Mrs Dobson will soon have them under control. She insisted on coming with me when we hear
d the news. We were a little late setting off for the bonfire and ran in to one of your servants. He was carrying some more oil lamps to the field.’ She paused a moment for breath. ‘It is all most unfortunate. How has poor Mrs Masters taken the news? Is someone sitting with her?’

  ‘Masters was married?’ cried Rose, looking aghast.

  Their eyes turned to Daphne, who began to look uncomfortable under their accusing looks.

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’d quite forgotten about her.’ Instead of blushing at her unpardonable oversight, Rose noticed that the woman had gone quite pale. ‘I suppose she’ll have to be told. How awful.’

  ‘Surely she knows about her husband’s death?’ demanded Mrs Simpson.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Daphne, sounding doubtful. ‘She won’t have been at the festivities because she can’t abide the fireworks on account of the noise. She is always going on about it to anyone who’ll listen.’

  ‘Well, I never did! I’ll go over there myself,’ said Mrs Simpson, gathering up her things. ‘And you needn’t trouble yourself to accompany me, Miss Spittlehouse, though you might think you ought. I’ll take Mrs Dobson with me. She happens to be by way of being a friend of Mrs Masters.’

  With that, she threw Daphne something of a dismissive look, tinged with contempt, hugged her daughter briefly, and hurried from the room.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ enquired Cedric, holding up the oil lamp and looking about him for anything that would double up as a seat. ‘It could be quite some time until the police arrive. You’ve had an awful shock, old chap. I daresay you could do with a brandy.’ He glanced over to where he knew the trestle tables had been standing only a half hour earlier, but which was now in pitch darkness. ‘I should have asked them to leave a bottle of that cider.’