Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  ‘You always were a nosy brat,’ Bracenose’s harsh laugh made the scar whiten, but his tone was more of resigned amusement than insult. He stood with his feet splayed and his hands tucked into his pockets, both thumbs outward. ‘Lord Vaughn knows I do work here on occasion. I’ve been out making checks on the fences.’

  ‘I see. Well good day to you.’ She made to push open the gate in the hope he might take the hint and leave, but instead, he grasped her upper arm and levelled his face close to hers. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I-I beg your pardon?’ She ducked in her chin and tried not to flinch at the smell of tobacco on his clothes.

  ‘I don’t want any careless talk about me with Mrs Mountjoy.’ He cocked his head toward the house.

  ‘I can assure you, you’re the last subject we intend to discuss.’ She eased her arm from his hold and ostentatiously brushed the fabric of her sleeve. ‘Unless there’s something you wish to say to me.’

  The horse took a step forward, lowered its head and nibbled at his fingers. His belligerence dissolved, his eyes softening as he stroked the soft muzzle

  ‘Is there something worrying you Mr Bracenose?’ Flora couldn’t be afraid of a man to whom animals gravitated. Even the estate dogs came running for petting and treats when he appeared. Maybe she could even forgive his ‘nosy brat’ comment if he was scared.

  ‘You’ve been asking about those men who fell sick after the fête.’ He licked his lips, as if he knew he ventured onto sticky ground. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I only did what she told me. Those barrels were sealed when I collected them and still sealed when I handed them over at the Abbey. If they were tampered with, it wasn’t me. I’m blowed if I’m taking the blame for what happened to John Hendry.’

  The horse dipped its head and ripped tufts of grass from the verge, chewing noisily. Flora glanced at the road behind her on which no traffic had passed since their conversation began.

  ‘Why should anyone blame you?’ Flora tried not to let her voice shake. Eddy had been right, Caroline had bought the beer for the fête. If she didn’t put the arsenic in it herself, she surely knew who did.

  ‘Maguire suspected there was something wrong with the beer.’ He cocked a thumb in the direction of the fence. ‘She’s going to blame me, and get me into trouble. I know she is. And you’re going to help her.’

  ‘If you had nothing to do with it, of course I wouldn’t get you into trouble,’ Flora insisted.

  ‘Hah! Who’ll they believe? Mrs lah-di-dah, or an estate worker? I know how these things work.’ He stepped closer, sending Flora back against the hedge, but his voice when it came was soft, almost ingratiating. ‘Look, Miss Flora, I might have got this all wrong, but if you’ll take my advice, turn that gig round and go back to the Abbey. That woman isn’t right. She’s got a mean streak in her.’

  ‘Did she poison the beer?’ Then a thought struck her and before she could stop herself, blurted. ‘She got you to do it? Is that why you carry on working for her? Because she has a hold over you?

  A shadow passed across his features, as if he was trying to work out which question to answer first. ‘I didn’t see her do it, but she was there when the pitchers were set out on the picnic tables. She said if I told anyone, she would say I did it. Tell them she saw me.’

  ‘I heard Lord Vaughn’s son almost died.’ A flash of fear entered his eyes. ‘I would never have let him be hurt. I’ve known the lad since he was a baby.’

  ‘Then maybe you have no need to worry about what she says. After all, only a few people were affected, and they recovered. Except Mr Hendry of course, but he had a heart condition.’

  ‘Ay, well. Nice of you to understand, Miss.’ The colour left his face as he relaxed and bobbed his head in an embarrassed nod.

  Flora moved toward the gate but he slapped a hand the size of a small shovel on her forearm. His face loomed close, the scar on his nose large in her vision.

  ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, but you need to be careful with that woman. I think she knows.’

  ‘Knows? What does she know?’ She glanced at the hedge that separated her from the house and back to his face again. The pressure of his hand hot through the fabric of her sleeve. ‘If something is worrying you about Mrs Mountjoy, shouldn’t you speak to her about it. I really don’t know what this has to do with me, I—’

  His grip tightened. ‘I didn’t mean to let it slip. I liked your mother. Lily, was a sweet girl and always respectful to me.’

  Flora froze and stared at him. How had the conversation taken such a turn? ‘What has Mrs Mountjoy have to do with my mother?’ She glanced pointedly down at his hand hooked round her arm, then back up at his face. He flushed and removed it.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Flora. I’m not doing a very good job at explaining.’ He licked his lips and glanced back at the gate. ‘Just do as I ask and go back to the Abbey.’

  ‘Mr Bracenose? Do you know what happened to my mother?’

  ‘Nay, Miss I don’t.’ He met her eager look with confusion. ‘She was just gone one day without explanation. Anyway, you watch that Scrivens, he likes to goad people.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind, thank you.’

  ‘I haven’t finished, Miss.’ He stepped closer, and she recoiled, the tobacco stench stronger than ever. ‘Think on this. Scrivens boasted that he was going up in the world, very soon.’

  ‘I know you’re trying to be helpful, but none of this means anything to me unless…’ Did Caroline ask Scrivens to poison the beer for her and threaten to blame Bracenose instead? Or was there something else?

  The plea in the man’s eyes told her he was telling the truth. Making up her mind, she tugged the rein of the gig clear of the fence post and began to pull the horse round back the way she had come. If Caroline Mountjoy was devious enough to threaten the estate manager, and also had dealings with Scrivens, this was the last place Flora wanted to be.

  ‘Flora, is that you out there?’ A strident female voice called from beyond the rhododendron bushes.

  Flora froze. A cold sensation ran through her veins despite the bright afternoon sunshine, and torn, she hesitated. Should she make an excuse and leave, or brave it out with Caroline? Why hadn’t she listened to Bunny and waited until he could accompany her?

  ‘Mr Bracenose,’ she whispered, taking a gamble, ‘would you do something for me?’ At his nod she rushed on in a whisper. ‘Go back to the Abbey and ask my husband to come for me? Tell him it’s urgent. And hurry.’ Her fear had transferred from the scared looking man in front of her to what awaited her on the other side of the shrubbery.

  ‘I don’t like leaving you here, Miss Flora.’ His voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘There you are, Flora!’ Caroline appeared on the other side of the wrought-iron gate, her fingers of one hand curled on the upright as she pushed one side open. Her penetrating eyes slid from Flora to the workman and back again. ‘What have you been saying to my guest, Bracenose? She looks positively anxious.’

  24

  ‘As you are here, Bracenose,’ Caroline said over her shoulder as she propelled Flora across the gravel, ‘would you take Mrs Harrington’s gig to the stables?’ Her fingernails dug into the flesh of Flora’s upper arm. Fear gripped her, and her heart pounded. She debated whether to resist, but a deeper part of her said if she wanted the truth, she needed to hear what Caroline had to say. Forcing herself to relax, she turned to where the man hovered, the reins in his hand and mouthed, ‘Go!’

  His worried expression changed to one she hoped was of understanding, but before she could see if he had obeyed, she lost sight of him as Caroline swept her around a curve in the drive to the open front door.

  If the danger was real, at least she would have sent back a message.

  The house was newer than Cleeve Abbey by several hundred years, and more compact, with honey-coloured ashlar stonework that bore signs of decay round the windows and where it met the slate roof. Two deep bay windows sat on either side of a front door, giv
ing it a symmetrical, slightly smug look. On any other day, Flora would have found the house delightful, but just then she wished she was anywhere else.

  ‘My butler has the day off,’ Caroline said in response to Flora’s nervous glance at the empty hall into which she was almost dragged. ‘What were you saying to Bracenose just now?’ Caroline demanded.

  ‘Um – I ran into him on the road. He thought I was lost, but I told him I was coming here.’

  ‘I see.’ Caroline closed the front door with a final click. Without releasing Flora’s arm, she led her to the back of the house through a gloomy hallway devoid of decorations. No pictures graced the walls or even a mirror; simply an uncarpeted floor and paintwork that had begun to peel.

  In contrast, the sitting room held all the trappings of a lady’s private haven; an assortment of sage green sofas in different styles vied for dominance with upholstered chairs. Two sets of French windows lined one side of the room opposite a marble fireplace that had begun to yellow with age.

  ‘It was kind of you to invite me.’ Flora perched on a small sofa Caroline indicated. Her voice sounded normal but her stomach knotted.

  ‘I’ll ring for tea.’ Caroline twisted the handle in the wall, confirming Flora’s suspicion she was the only guest.

  Her brief examination of the olive walls revealed several mediocre pastel drawings of local beauty spots, and a square of lighter paint on the far wall, indicating where a painting had been recently removed. The curtains were patched in places, as if the house had not been refurbished in some time, and she detected an underlying tang of mildew.

  Its slightly shabby appearance reminded her of what Jocasta said about Caroline Mountjoy and her two husbands. Perhaps they weren’t as rich as the lady wished everyone to believe?

  ‘I don’t envy you being garbed in black bombazine in this weather,’ Caroline said without a trace of real sympathy. ‘Mourning is such a trial, don’t you find? I had to endure it twice.’ She broke off as a nervous-looking maid trundled a laden tea trolley into the room, caught the door frame with a corner, and then almost tipped the entire contraption on the edge of a rug.

  Caroline gave a frustrated sigh, at which the maid abandoned the trolley, bobbed a hasty curtsey and retreated.

  ‘At least the inquest on Maguire is over with.’ Caroline poured tea and handed Flora a cup without asking how she took it. ‘What was the verdict again? Misadventure?’

  ‘As we expected, yes.’ Flora took a surreptitious sniff of the tea, but the brew, though dark brown didn’t smell of anything but tea. Did arsenic have a smell? She pretended to take a sip but did no more than wet her lips.

  While returning the cup to its saucer, she caught sight of a copy of the Cheltenham Examiner that sat open on a side table. The inquest had made the late edition. Had Caroline checked the facts before asking, or was she reassuring herself there had been no surprises?

  ‘Such an unpleasant necessity, don’t you find?’ Caroline paced the room, her skirt rustled as she walked.

  ‘I’ve only attended one,’ Flora said carefully.

  ‘I hope you’ve dropped the idea there was something suspicious about your father’s demise?’ Caroline slowly stirred her tea.

  ‘What made you think that?’ Flora returned her steady look, though her heartbeat rose a notch.

  ‘Someone must have told me, though I cannot recall who.’ She gave an unconvincing shrug and regarded Flora over the rim of her cup. When she lowered it again, her lips were dry. ‘I expect Bracenose was gossiping about me outside just now. The man’s a positive menace.’ Her features hardened. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Mr Bracenose?’ Flora held her breath, aware of an air of menace that permeated the room. The French ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, one of the better pieces, stood at a little after four. How long would it take Bracenose to reach the Abbey. Another five minutes? Ten?

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Caroline’s voice broke into her frantic thoughts.

  ‘Er, sorry, no.’ Flora jumped slightly, sloshing tea into her saucer.

  ‘I said, dissembling isn’t your forte, my dear.’ She placed her cup and saucer gently on the mantle. ‘I’m sure you must have heard all the rumours since you arrived. About me and Mr McCallum.’ She didn’t pause long enough for Flora to respond and rushed on, ‘I was genuinely in love with him, you know, but marriage was out of the question. The brewery was not a success and he doesn’t even own the house he lives in. Such a dreadful shame, when I was prepared to do whatever he wanted of me.’

  The hairs on Flora’s neck prickled and she eyed the door. She would make an excuse as soon as possible and leave. Or forget the excuse and simply get out of there.

  ‘Mrs Mountjoy,’ Flora began, aware her voice sounded higher than normal, ‘I appreciate you trusting me with a confidence, but this has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Has it not?’ Caroline circled the sofa like a restless cat, then perched her hip on an arm of the sofa. ‘I assumed otherwise since you’ve been asking all sorts of questions. I hope I haven’t been left out, or I shall feel quite neglected.’

  Flora returned her cup to the saucer with a sharp click, tired of feigning ignorance, which wasn’t working anyway. ‘All right,’ Flora began. ‘I’m curious as to why Mr McCallum would put arsenic into his own beer?’

  Caroline’s eyes widened with something like admiration. ‘Well, I didn’t expect you to be quite so forthcoming. I imagined we would have this protracted accusation and denial session before we reached the true purpose of the meeting. I quite like your directness.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Flora moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘You don’t deny it, so why not explain his reasons?’

  ‘Now you are being naïve, dear. It was for the insurance of course.’ Caroline’s condescending tone implied Flora was being slow. ‘It was supposed to be a contained incident. He didn’t want to start an epidemic, simply provide evidence of contamination to verify his claim. The brewery would recover eventually as one of the main employers in the town.’

  Flora gasped. ‘Mr McCallum is a fraudster?’ she blurted before she could stop herself.

  ‘An ugly word, but accurate I suppose.’ Caroline pursed her lips as if the thought had only that moment occurred to her. ‘Graham thought his scheme was infallible until Maguire paid a visit to the brewery. That man was far too intelligent to be a butler. He went sneaking round the warehouse and guessed immediately that it was empty and concluded the business was in trouble. How could Graham claim for contaminated goods he hadn’t bought?’

  ‘That’s a good question. How could he?’

  ‘The receipts of course. Faked naturally, but no one would have suspected but for Maguire’s meddling.’

  ‘Was Mr Bracenose involved in this scheme of yours?’

  ‘My, you have been busy.’ Caroline fiddled with a jewelled necklace at her throat. ‘I suppose he was useful at first. Quite enamoured of me actually, which is why I was able to manipulate him. That didn’t last though, and now he’s become – difficult. He’s developed a conscience and wants to pour out his soul.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything to me, which is why I asked,’ Flora lied, more as an attempt to keep her talking.

  ‘You’re not a good liar, my dear.’ Caroline sighed. ‘Not that it matters now.’

  Flora wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but chose not to ask. Caroline skirted the sofa and when her back was turned, Flora upended her teacup into a nearby vase.

  ‘Why did Brasenose put the arsenic in the fête beer?’ Flora asked. ‘I assume he did so on your instructions, but what for?’

  ‘Quite genius really in its simplicity. Graham was bound to be asked by the insurance assessors why he had destroyed the sugar.’

  ‘Sugar he had never actually purchased?’

  ‘See, you do understand?’ Her ingratiating smile made Flora want to slap her. ‘He would cite the incident at the fête as proof the sugar was contaminated with arsenic
. Just like it was in that Manchester brewery a couple of years ago. The insurance would pay up and all our problems would be over.’

  ‘We were careful about the amount of arsenic. I only put in enough to make people ill for a few days. No one actually died.’ She broke off with a frown. ‘Oh yes, one old man did, didn’t he? Still, one cannot control everything. It worked out well overall.’

  ‘But something went wrong? My father discovered what you were doing?’ Or why was Flora here?

  ‘Exactly. Those newspaper clippings Graham gave him fooled him at first, but not for long. Not when Maguire insisted on visiting the factory and saw the warehouse was empty. Then that fool doctor misdiagnosed those men as having neuritis.’ She tutted, impatient. ‘Graham couldn’t insist the reason was arsenic, or it would have looked suspicious.’ Caroline returned to the trolley and retrieved her cup. ‘More tea?

  Flora handed over her cup automatically, resolving to consult one of Bunny’s books on human behaviour by Freud. Was it normal to discuss fraud, death and tea in the same sentence with no trace of conscience? Was the woman ruthless, or merely blind to her own actions?

  ‘No sugar for me, thank you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Too late, I’m afraid.’ She handed Flora the newly filled cup.

  Flora slid a look at the vase at her elbow, satisfied it could accommodate another cup without being noticed in case Caroline had planned a similar prank for her with any spare arsenic she had lying about.

  ‘I had a special reason for inviting you here today,’ Caroline began. ‘One which I hope you’ll find it in you to understand.’

  ‘Why would you need me to understand anything?’ Flora fidgeted. One moment the woman issued veiled threats and in the next breath exhibited a desire to be understood.

  ‘I realize that after all your enquiries, yours and your husband’s, that it’s only a question of time before Graham’s crime is discovered.’

  ‘My husband’s?’ Flora frowned. Was that what Bunny was doing today? Delving into Mr McCallum’s activities? If so, why hadn’t he told her?