Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  “I see, but even so, a hundred thousand pounds is not a small amount of money.”

  “No, of course not, but from what I gathered they had over one million pounds just before the turn of the millennium.”

  “And was the money they left Madge the only money they had left?”

  “Yes, from what Margaret told me, nobody else got anything.”

  “That would make for some unhappy relatives.”

  “I imagine that it would.”

  Frances leaned in and took a sip of port and then a bite of Savarin.

  “But we never had any trouble when we were together. At least not that Margaret ever shared with me. Though on one occasion she did receive an alarming letter.”

  “How so?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me about it, but I could see that it upset her greatly. She said someone was demanding money from her. Hiram, I believe his name was, if I recall correctly. Jasper... maybe, something like that.”

  “Hiram Gaspar?”

  Harry nodded his head to the side and stuck a piece of Savarin on his fork and held it steady.

  “Could be, I can’t recall.”

  Then he popped the cake into his mouth.

  “She practically ruined Harry though, in those three years. Didn’t she darling?” said Gladys.

  Harry looked over at her and smiled.

  “She certainly knew how to spend money very liberally.”

  “Back to Hiram. Did she ever mention him to you again? Tell you who he was?”

  Harry shook his head.

  “No, she didn’t. To this day I have no idea who he is or was. I only remembered now that you asked. It was one of the few times when I felt I was able to comfort her. It was one of the few times that we had any emotional connection in a kind and caring manner.”

  “Hiram Gaspar came to see her again quite recently. At the end of last year.”

  Harry nodded politely. It didn’t really make any difference to him.

  “I see.”

  “Hiram is Madge’s cousin. Slightly older than she, from what I understand.”

  “Interesting. I suppose it makes sense now. He might feel entitled to some of their grandmother’s money.”

  “Exactly. He was the son of Jasper Gaspar. Jasper was the brother of Phoebe, and Phoebe as you might know, was Madge’s mother.”

  Harry was nodding his head while stuffing his mouth full of the last morsel of Savarin. He scraped the strawberry puree onto his fork and put that into his mouth, too.

  “Like I said, though, I’m pretty certain that Margaret got everything, including the house. The funny thing is,” Harry put his fork down on the plate, picked up his glass of port and leaned back into the couch, “that Margaret didn’t even get along very well with her grandmother, from what I recall.”

  “That’s interesting. I wonder why she was left the estate, then?”

  “Good question. I’m not sure. Margaret's parents were both dead, but I don’t know about her uncle. This Jasper chap. Margaret never made any mention of him and certainly no mention of his son Hiram, other than on that one occasion when she mentioned him in passing relating to that letter.”

  “You’d think that the son would be first in line rather than the granddaughter,” said Frances thoughtfully, sipping on port.

  “Could be bad blood, I suppose. Margaret’s not a nice woman. Perhaps it runs in the family, maybe it’s in their blood. Maybe between her son and granddaughter, the granddaughter was the lesser of the two evils? I’m just speculating of course.”

  “You could be right.”

  “Here’s another idea, seeing as how I seem to have a few of them available this evening. Maybe the grandmother had always favored her daughter. She got her son first, as you said, he’s older than Phoebe, so perhaps when she got her daughter, the son had to play second fiddle or no fiddle at all really.”

  “But the daughter died.”

  “Exactly so, but she left a granddaughter who perhaps was enough of a replacement for her dead daughter. Either way, the son still gets spurned and the daughter’s lineage, ending up at the granddaughter, gets the spoils.”

  “I do like how you think. You’d make a pretty good detective, I do believe,” said Frances, smiling whimsically and looking off in thought.

  “That’s a very great compliment, coming from you. Thank you.”

  “I had the sense, speaking to you earlier, that you had a soft spot for Lula, Madge’s granddaughter.”

  “I still do,” said Harry.

  “And yet, I wonder. Did you know that Madge hits her?”

  Frances steadied her gaze at Harry. He centered his on his port which he swirled slowly around in the glass. He then looked up at her.

  “Yes,” he said nodding slowly, “and that’s been one of my deepest regrets that I’ve had to live with. I tried to protect her when Margaret and I were together, and believe I had some success. Very seldom did she hit Lula when I was around. But when I left... I feared for that you know.”

  He took a sip of port and stared solemnly into his glass.

  “Did you do anything about it?”

  “Yes, I did. I called upon the police and they investigated on two occasions, but Margaret has always been quite clever and it was never the physical abuse so much as the mental cruelty that upset me the most. It leaves marks, though they can’t be seen. As such, on each occasion that the police interviewed both Margaret and Lula there were no physical marks to back up my story. And Lula, bless her heart, always denied it. Still, to this day, she thinks well of her grandmother.”

  “I know.”

  Harry leaned in and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked up at Frances, and for the first time that evening his eyes were damp with sadness.

  “I’ve always done what I could under the circumstances. I’ve spoken to Margaret. I’ve warned her that I’ll take the child away, but I have no legal standing and they’re hollow threats. She knows it, but still, it seems to help minimize the abuse she heaps upon Lula. But you must understand. It wasn’t like Margaret was terribly abusive. She just got carried away on occasions with the wooden spoon or ruler. Her abuse was always mostly mental. And I’m not diminishing that; perhaps in some ways it is worse.”

  Harry hung his head, and slowly shook it from side to side. He looked up again and drank the rest of his port. He decided he needed more fortification so he poured himself another. He offered it around but Lady Marmalade and Alfred were still busy on their first. Gladys, who had been rubbing his back, held hers out which he topped up.

  “Did you know, that Madge is not feeling as generous with Lula as her grandmother was to her.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Harry.

  “I’ve spoken with Dr. Dankworth. Do you know him?”

  Harry nodded.

  “He told me that he witnessed Madge’s will and she’s bequeathing her whole estate to Barts. Worse than that, she’s made sure that everyone is evicted on her death, including Lula.”

  Harry turned his mouth upside down and nodded his head.

  “That’s not surprising. Perfectly in character for her. But I’ve been taking care of Lula for some time.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, ever since I left I made a commitment to her that I would always watch out for her. I’ve sent her letters at least once a month, often biweekly to stay in touch. And since she became the age of majority, we’ve met once a month for tea.”

  “That’s very decent of you.”

  “Yes. When she was younger I set aside one hundred pounds each month in an account for her. When she turned eighteen I transferred that over to her and I’ve been giving her three hundred pounds since then. When Margaret found out, she got absolutely furious and demanded that Lula start paying for room and board. An outrageous one hundred pounds from her own granddaughter, and she requested it to be backdated to when Lula turned eighteen.”

  “As you said before, that fits into her character.”

 
Harry chortled as Frances smiled.

  “Yes, but still. That’s over twelve thousand pounds that Lula paid Margaret. In any event, I implored her to leave and set herself up in a nice flat. Three hundred pounds would get her something nice. I offered five hundred if she needed, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I think she’s a saint, that poor Lula. She said she needed to be there for her grandmother as thinks Margaret needs her help. Poppycock, I say, but she won’t hear of it. What can you do?”

  “I don’t think there is much else that you can do. You’ve done the decent and kind thing.”

  Harry shook his head.

  “Yes, well, I just wish sometimes she’d pop off. I’m sorry, but I do.”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” said Gladys squeezing his shoulder, “but you can’t blame him. Margaret has been such a thorn in his side, ever since he met her.”

  “Yes, I sometimes think I’m sorry for that. For having met her. But Lula is sweet and makes up for it.”

  “Actually, that’s where I wanted to get to with this conversation. You speak of wishing that Madge would step off this mortal coil and that is my concern.”

  “Well, yes, but I wouldn’t do anything of the sort to usher her untimely end.”

  “I know, but I believe there is someone else who does wish for that.”

  “Really,” said Harry raising his eyebrows. Gladys’ interest pricked up too.

  “Yes. Madge has been receiving letters every month since the beginning of the year that are quite threatening. She’ll receive one more, I believe, likely on Thursday, and then after that I fear her very life could be in trouble.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Frances nodded her head.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I can’t say I’m astonished. A little surprised to be certain, but Margaret has a way of turning people against her. What do these letters say?”

  “They quote Deuteronomy chapter five verse nine,” said Frances, waiting to see if Harry knew of it. Harry shrugged.

  “I’m afraid I barely have a nodding acquaintance with the bible.”

  “Deuteronomy five verse nine speaks of the sins of the father being punished through the third and fourth generations of the children.”

  Harry nodded.

  “Yes, I think I might have heard that before.”

  “What do you suppose it might mean?”

  “I can’t say. I have no idea, really. Though I do recall Margaret not getting along well with both her mother and father.”

  “But they were both dead by the time you met her, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, long dead. I never met them.”

  “But you knew she never got along well with them?”

  Harry looked at Frances and took a sip of port. He nodded at her.

  “Yes, more than that really. It was odd, but Margaret told me one of the happiest days of her life was when she found her parents murdered.”

  Frances knitted her eyebrow and took a drink from her port. Alfred looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “That’s quite dreadful, really.”

  “I agree,” said Alfred.

  “Yes. I was quite shocked. I didn’t know what to say, but then, that was a long time ago. What do you say to someone who’s happy their parents were murdered?”

  Frances kinked her head to the side.

  “I can’t imagine there’s anything to say really.”

  “I guess what I’m saying, is that perhaps there's a story there about someone’s father. Maybe Margaret’s.”

  “But why Margaret’s father. If Margaret had been abused by her father, why would someone else want to punish her for it?”

  “Perhaps because the treatment she received at the hand of her father she meted out on others?”

  “That’s an interesting thought. I think I’ll need to focus on that aspect a little more.”

  “Makes me think that we should seek out Hiram,” said Alfred.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why Hiram?” asked Harry.

  “Hiram said he knew of a secret that Margaret had,” said Alfred.

  “That could be your answer then, I suppose.”

  Frances nodded.

  “I wanted to ask you about Madge’s children. You mentioned Celia. Did she have any other children?”

  “No, she never had any other children, and we never had any either.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d know if I had fathered any children,” said Harry, chuckling and then taking a drink of port.

  “So it would surprise you then that Lula found a picture of Madge with a son named Michael. At least we suspect he was her son.”

  Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned in a little, away from the back of the couch.

  “Wonders never cease. I suppose she wasn’t all that honest with me, completely, as you would expect a wife to be with her husband. Like Gladys is with me.”

  Harry looked over at Gladys and gave her a peck on the lips.

  “We don’t have any secrets from each other,” said Gladys.

  “Then you wouldn’t be of any help in identifying the father of this young Michael.”

  “To this day, I still don’t know who Celia’s father was. And frankly, it’s not that important anyway.”

  “Now, you mentioned earlier that you knew Dr. Dankworth.”

  Harry nodded and sat back into the couch.

  “Dr. Kenyon Dankworth used to be my physician. I found him in 1919, shortly before I met Margaret. He was setting up a practice, having just received his degree to practice.”

  “And so what happened?”

  “Well, Margaret was adamant that she would continue seeing him as her doctor after we broke up. I wasn’t crazy about that idea, and so I decided to start seeing Dr. Williamson who was Gladys’ doctor.”

  “I see, and there’s nothing else that you might like to add about that?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “I don’t know what else there is really. Dr. Dankworth always seemed like a terrific surgeon to me. His bedside manner could use some polishing, but that seems to be an endemic problem with doctors across the board, not just with him.”

  Frances nodded.

  “I did find him a little aloof,” she said.

  “That’s a good way of putting it. Perhaps withdrawn and aloof. Certainly he doesn’t exude warmth.”

  “No, I didn’t get that impression. Did he treat Lula, too, while you were with Madge?”

  “He did. For all I know he still does.”

  “If I might ask, Harry, what sort of business are you in?”

  “I’m in the business of providing smiles to children and patients to dentists,” said Harry laughing heartily. “I own a sweet business. Beckenswidth’s Bonbons.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them around.”

  “I have a whole bunch of new flavors if you’d like to take some home.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Harry got up and left the living room to collect them.

  “He’s a good man, Harry,” said Gladys. “Margaret, on the other hand, is just short of evil if you ask me.”

  “I think people are often molded from a young age into the monsters they become, if I can call it that.”

  “Perhaps. But she just seems to rub everyone the wrong way.”

  Harry returned carrying a small packet in his hand. It was a white packet with Beckenswidth’s Bonbons written in a stylish cursive. It had not been opened.

  “I hope you enjoy them. These are a new collection of toffees that we’re trying out. Mint, chocolate, both white and milk, as well as double cream.”

  Harry handed the packet of sweets to Frances.

  “Thank you so much, I’ll be sure to try each one.”

  “I was just telling Frances how evil Margaret is,” said Gladys looking at Harry. “When they divorced, she took him for all his life savings.”

  “Well, almost. The two hundred thousand pounds was practically my life savi
ngs then. But we’ve done very well since then, haven’t we sweetpea?” said Harry looking at Gladys.

  “So your business survived?” asked Frances.

  “More like it thrived after Margaret left. She was like an anchor in many ways, I suppose, looking back now. Beckenswidth’s Bonbons did even better during the depression. Strange as it might seem. But I suppose during difficult times people are comforted by sweets and sweets are very inexpensive.”

  “And where were the two of you living when you got married?”

  “Where Margaret is currently. She wouldn’t hear of moving. And as I had just bought this place, I decided to rent it out. It was an easy transition to come back here.”

  “Were there boarders when the two of you were married?”

  “Good grief, no. I would have put my foot down about that. But as soon as my bags were packed she practically started inviting them in.”

  “Boarders?”

  “Yes. Good heavens knows why. It’s not like she needed the money.”

  “I think it’s because she no longer had anyone to boss around and so she started taking in boarders to replace you in a way, darling. So she could continue to be mean spirited,” said Gladys.

  Harry smiled at her. Frances thought for a moment. The one thing she’d gotten out of this meeting with him was his innocence. At least she was fairly certain he wouldn’t have been the one to send the letters. Though the stylish cursive on the packet of sweets he had given her looked very similar to the handwriting of the letters that Madge had received.

  “Harry and Gladys,” said Frances. “The two of you have been most kind, and I thank you for your time. I fear that we have overstayed our welcome.”

  “Nonsense,” said Harry, “you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

  Frances took the last sip of her port and put it down. Alfred who had sat silently by her the whole evening had been, for some time, holding an empty port glass in his hands like a begging bowl. Frances got up.

  “I hope that our conversation has been helpful, at least,” said Harry standing up and walking around to Frances’ side of the table.

  “It has been. At the very least, I think I’ve eliminated you from the list of suspects.”

  “Ah ha, so this was more about me than Margaret,” said Harry with the twinkle back in his eye.