A Strange Manor of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 3)

by R. A. Bentley

  'Sleeping, mostly. Why then?'

  'Because by the wonders of modern science we know more or less when Sir Jasper died. What time did you turn in?'

  'About eleven. The others had all gone up, I think. They weren't in the great hall anyway. We sat and talked for a bit and then we went too.'

  'Who were "we"?'

  Vanda hesitated. 'Me and Roger FitzGreville.'

  'She said defiantly,' smiled Felix. 'Are you together again?'

  'Yes, since yesterday. We joined forces for that stupid quiz and it just happened. It's the only good thing to come out of this. I know you didn't like him.'

  'I wouldn't say I disliked him. So you talked and then went to bed. Separately?'

  'Of course, separately! What sort of girl do you think I am?'

  'I don't make moral judgements, Vanda, you know that.'

  'No, you don't, do you? Well all right, we were together. But don't tell anybody.'

  'I won't unless it's material to the case. Together all night?

  'Not all night, no.'

  'When did he leave? Where did he go? Or was it you that left?'

  'Has no-one told you what happened?'

  'You're the first person I've spoken to.'

  'It was a rather eventful night! He got into a fight with his brother, Tony, and it woke everyone up.'

  'Roger left you to have a fight?' said Felix incredulously. 'When was that?'

  Vanda blushed. 'I don't know when exactly. About one o'clock I think. I woke up and he'd gone and then I heard them fighting.'

  'What was it about?'

  'I think you ought to ask him that.'

  'All right. Did you see this fight?'

  'No. By the time I got there it was over. Tony got hurt. Not badly, but he bled a lot so we had the local doctor out.'

  'Fisticuffs?'

  'Swords.'

  'Swords!'

  'They were in the great hall. There are suits of armour in there.'

  'In the middle of the night, they decided to set about each other with swords? Who witnessed this?'

  'I don't think anyone did. We all arrived later.'

  'Did Roger go back with you afterwards?'

  'Yes.'

  'Straight afterwards — you went up together?'

  'Yes, but not straight after; we were all milling around for an hour or so, in the great hall.'

  'His room or yours?'

  'Mine.'

  'So from after the fight until this morning you were always together?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did anyone see you go up?'

  'I don't know; I don't think so. We hung back, so they wouldn't do.'

  'Yes, I suppose you would.' Felix observed her thoughtfully. 'What was this quiz you mentioned?'

  Vanda explained.

  'You believed all that? Didn't you think it might be a hoax?'

  'We had no reason to think so until today. Mr Killigrew the family solicitor was here. He's executing the will.'

  'Here yesterday?'

  'And last Thursday.'

  'Killigrew and Walters?'

  'Yes, I think so.'

  'Then you was 'ad. I happen to know he's on holiday. Got another week to go, I think.'

  Vanda groaned and put her head on her arms. 'Oh God, this is a nightmare. I'll wake up and find it's not true!'

  Leaning across the table, Felix patted her gently on the shoulder. 'Come on pal; it's not that bad. I don't suppose you've ever seen me working, have you?'

  'No, and I don't like it! You're usually such fun. You don't really think it was murder, do you?'

  'A man's dead, Vanda. I can't make it fun. I don't know whether it was murder or not at the moment; my job is to gather evidence. That means, I'm afraid, that I'm going to have to interview everyone who was here last night. Now tell me, is there anyone in the house who has expressed a dislike of Sir Jasper, or worse? Anyone you might suspect of murdering him?'

  Vanda raised her head and stared at him. 'Nobody liked him, Miles! He was a horrid, wicked old man. Also, he made fools of us.'

  'But you didn't know that when he died, did you? That he'd made fools of you.'

  Vanda considered this. 'No, that's true, we didn't.'

  Chapter Eight

  Coming into the room, Rattigan looked a question at his boss.

  'She's rattled,' said Felix. 'Confounded nuisance she had to be involved.'

  'You don't suspect her?'

  'Lord no! Well, one shouldn't rule her out, I suppose, but she's probably just frightened of the publicity. Either that, or she's concerned for her boyfriend, Roger FitzGreville, whom I also know. In fact, we were out on the town together when we first met her. That was in nineteen-sixteen. He was wounded and I was on leave. We'd gone to a rather indifferent play. She was only a minor member of the cast but she stole the show. Roger wondered if she was his cousin, which she turned out to be, and that gave us an excuse to go backstage. She thinks I didn't like him but actually there was a bit of rivalry there.'

  'Over Miss Beaufort-Smyth?'

  'Yes. But then I met Lois and that was that. I'm very fond of her, Teddy. This is difficult.'

  'And she's been with this fellow ever since?'

  'No, not at all. They were off and on for a bit and then she married Cyril Hausmann, the impresario, who later died. She claims she only met Roger again last week, at the funeral. There have been others over the years but she seems to have fallen hard this time. She's probably about ready to settle down, though I'm not so sure about him.'

  'What's he like?'

  'Brash, confident, a risk-taker. Bit of a ladies man. I've seen him around from time to time, always with someone different on his arm, but never exchanged more than a word or two. How did you get on with the servants? Did they know Jasper was still alive?'

  'Miss Matthews did – Nanny Matthews, as they call her – and the butler, Fudge. They seem to have been rather reluctant confederates, if that's the right word. The others knew nothing.'

  'How did they manage to keep it from them?'

  'Seems a bit unlikely, doesn't it? However, I'm inclined to believe them. He really did go off somewhere for a few weeks, destination unknown, and crept back just before his funeral, so he hadn't been here for very long. There's a lot of fancy panelling around the place with little narrow spaces behind it; a bit like priest-holes, I suppose. He'd get in there and watch developments. He's got a self-contained apartment, so it wasn't hard to keep out of sight. Even the daughter, Joan, didn't know, or so they reckon; although hers is close to his.'

  'Where are they?'

  'His is opposite the library and hers is next door to it.'

  'Handy for the murder. Did they like him?'

  Rattigan smiled wryly. 'No they didn't, and made no bones about it either, apart from Fudge, although I suspect he feels the same. He's the ancient retainer type; probably served the title rather than the man. He buried the old baronet and his missus and was very fond of Lady FitzGreville, which they all were. They want to know if they'll get the money they were supposedly left in the will. Some had started to spend it.'

  'Doubt it. Did they tell you about the treasure hunt?'

  'Oh yes. Lots of fun and games with a fair amount of cheating and some bad feeling by all accounts. They were playing for big stakes, of course.'

  'Silly beggars! You'd think one of them would have done some checking up. They thought they were dealing with old Killigrew, by the way.'

  'The Bolton case?'

  'That's the chap. I happen to know he's on holiday, so someone was impersonating him. We ought to be able to get a decent description, given he was the centre of so much attention, but where we'll start looking goodness knows.

  'Out of work actor? Bit risky with Miss Beaufort-Smyth being here, I suppose.'

  'Well she didn't appear to know him, so he might have been. I wondered about a legal clerk or struck-off lawyer, someone who'd be familiar with the jargon. He may not know anything useful, of course; probably just e
mployed to play a part. I should imagine the will was a fake, so we'll need to know who actually inherits. I'll have to see the real Killigrew, assuming he really was his solicitor.'

  'If he was, that might be why Jasper chose last week to stage the funeral and will-reading, hoping he wouldn't hear about it. Do you want me to make an appointment for you?'

  'Yes, you'd better had. Make sure he's our man though.'

  Nash and Yardley came in.

  'Library done, body done, fingerprinting mostly done,' announced Yardley.

  'Preliminary on the gun?' asked Felix.

  'All Jasper, as far as I can tell, and ditto the cartridge, although I'll need John's enlargements for one or two of them. He appears to have been holding it by the barrel with both hands but moving his fingers about. Toying with it, as you might say, or perhaps examining it. There's a partial print on the trigger, probably his.'

  'Contemplating whether to use it?' suggested Rattigan. 'And then did.'

  'Well it fits,' agreed Felix. 'Any grumblers?'

  'Not really,' said Nash. The servants are worried about their dabs being everywhere, as usual. I think we reassured them.'

  'What about the family?'

  'They're not too desperate to leave yet. It helps that it's Sunday. Miss Beaufort-Smyth looks pretty miserable and chain-smokes. The Colonel, who is getting on a bit – late sixties, I should imagine – really didn't like Sir Jasper, and doesn't care who knows it. Lady FitzGreville was his sister, by the way. She died about five years ago. The Tony FitzGrevilles have their nine-year-old son here, name of Emmett. He's a knowing little scamp apparently, and Mrs FitzGreville, wants to take him out of this and also get back to her four-year-old, who's at home. There's also a bit of tension between the brothers. Nothing's been said; you just feel it. But I wouldn't say anyone is behaving guiltily, would you, Paul?'

  'Not really,' agreed Yardley. 'No-one seems exactly heartbroken, but I suppose you'd expect that, under the circumstances.'

  'What about the daughter, Joan?'

  'I haven't seen her yet. She's taken to her bed. Nanny Matthews asked if I could go back later. She's called Nanny, by the way, because she used to be her nanny and now she's her personal maid. I got the drift there's not much difference from her point of view. Rather a difficult sort, by all accounts.'

  Felix Chuckled. 'According to Vanda she's a royal pain in the backside. You can do her when I interview her, if necessary. However, I think we'll take a look at Sir Jasper's apartment now, and set you on that. Then I'll get to work on the clan. The problem will be to prove any of them knew Sir Jasper was alive. If we can't, and they're not prepared to admit it, we'll probably have to let them go for now, which isn't going to be very helpful.'

  Though forever dubbed the "new wing," the crenellated southward extension to Knapperton manor house was itself nearly four hundred years old. Almost as large as the pre-existing building, it was set at right-angles to it, forming an L-shape. Much altered internally over the centuries it presently had the house's entrance-hall, the grand drawing room and sundry smaller rooms on the ground floor, while above them were three self-contained apartments and the library. Access to the upper floor was via the minstrels' gallery, giving onto an equally broad corridor; a stone arch allowing passage through the wall of the original house. Upright chairs had been placed at intervals, and there were some passable watercolours on the walls. Light was provided by a tall and handsome oriel window at the gable end.

  Those entering the wing would find the entrance to Joan FitzGreville's apartment immediately on their left, followed by the library. On the right was Lady FitzGreville's apartment (long unoccupied), a maids' room, and Sir Jasper's apartment beyond. The maids' room was fairly large, with a gas ring and kettle, washing and ironing facilities, airing cupboard and so fourth. It was clearly intended to service the immediate needs of the family without recourse to the kitchens. A cursory investigation revealed doors opening directly into the two adjoining apartments without the need to go into the corridor. A further door gave onto some backstairs, no doubt leading to the kitchen complex below.

  Sir Jasper's apartment comprised a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, and a small study, and being in the southernmost corner of the building commanded pleasant views to the south and west over the gardens. No doubt he had spent happy hours observing his victims' attempts to decipher his clues. The living room was somewhat over-furnished in the Victorian manner, with armchairs, a sofa, several cabinets and some small occasional tables. There was also a dining table and two chairs, no doubt intended for solitary meals or entertaining more intimate guests. Heavy brocade curtains framed the windows, and the inevitable equine and hunting prints vied for wall-space with numerous photographs of Sir Jasper — Sir Jasper on horseback, Sir Jasper shooting at the butts, Sir Jasper posing proudly beside his steam car.

  'Smart-looking fellow in his youth,' observed Felix. 'But where are the ladies in his life? No wife, no daughter, young or old.' He stopped to peer at an intricately constructed dodecahedron in three distinct species of wood. Every horizontal surface in the room was replete with similar three-dimensional puzzles, many of them appearing to be oriental in origin. One was in the form of a Chinese junk, a full two feet long. 'Taste for chinoiserie,' he added, nodding towards an unlovely pagoda-like cabinet.

  'What's this thing?' said Yardley.

  'It's a puzzle box; you have to try and open it. You're going to have fun dabbing this lot, Paul, but it'll have to be done.'

  'No evidence of occupation,' said Rattigan. 'You wouldn't know anyone was living here.'

  The bathroom was equally tidy, with nothing out of place.

  'Not so much as a toothbrush,' observed Felix. 'That's a bit queer.'

  The study contained the usual appurtenances, including a large, leather-topped desk with numerous papers scattered upon it and in trays. The bedroom door was locked.

  'Have we got a key?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Damn! It's probably the one on the body. Put your shoulder to it, Teddy.'

  The door itself was sturdy enough but shrunken with age so that the ill-fitting deadbolt yielded readily to Rattigan's weight.

  'Phew! Stinks,' said Yardley.

  'Camping in here, by the look of it. He wasn't taking any chances, was he?'

  'What a mess!'

  A small table was set with a bowl and spoon, a packet of cornflakes and a half bottle of milk, now on the turn. Dirty crockery and cutlery from previous meals was piled on a blanket chest, all mixed with discarded shirts and underwear. The room was dominated by a magnificent four-poster bed, the sheets and blankets in some disarray, as if they had been slept in for a night or two without being made up. A bedside cabinet contained a clock, an electric-lamp, a glass of water and a couple of paperback westerns, one lying open.

  'Stagecoach to Pecos,' noted Rattigan.

  'All this points to a man looking after himself,' said Felix. 'I hate to think what's under the bed. Well, I can guess.'

  'Fudge said they weren't allowed near him for fear of giving the game away,' said Rattigan. Jasper could move about the house to some extent using those backstairs. You can get behind the panelling in the great hall apparently, and he was in the habit of eavesdropping on their meals.'

  'Crouched in a priest-hole and spied on his mourning relatives,' marvelled Felix. 'Extraordinary!'

  Returning to the study, he donned some cotton gloves and leafed quickly through the papers. 'Bills, the income-tax. Nothing much here. Bit untidy though, possibly a search by someone. Have a good go at these, you two. Come on, Teddy, let's have a mooch around the library, as we're here.'

  They crossed the corridor to where Constable Davies stood patiently on guard.

  'Anyone tried to come in, Davies?'

  'Only a small boy, sir. Cheeky little beggar with one of them cap guns. I asked him his name and he said it was Wyatt Earp. I sent him packing. They took away the body just before he came, fortunately.

  'I suppose
it might have been suicide,' mused Rattigan, wandering about the room. 'But why the library? Would you shoot yourself in the library? Most of the ones I've come across have shut themselves in their study or done it outside somewhere. Pity there's no note, unless he's hidden it.'

  Bending over the now-vacated chair, Felix began rooting down the sides of the seat cushion. 'I shouldn't have thought he was the type, frankly. Then again, who knows? Wait a minute, what's this? Aha! sixpence.'

  'Congratulations, sir. Perhaps it'll bring us luck. I suppose we can't trust the dabs on the gun?'

  'Probably not, though if it's murder they've done a good job. Does anyone do that in real life though? I've always thought it would be quite tricky in practice, putting some nice ones in the right places. Not something you could do in a hurry. And if he was murdered, it surely wasn't sitting in this chair, unless he let the killer just walk up to him and shoot him.'

  'Likely he was shot and then dragged into it, to make it look more like suicide,' said Rattigan. 'That's unless he knew and trusted the killer, of course. But again, why here, in the library?'

  'Happened to be where they found him? Choosing a book perhaps.'

  'He hadn't finished the one by his bed, and it was quite late at night to go looking for another.'

  'He had to wait until everyone had turned in, don't forget.'

  'True.'

  'Sir,' said Davies.

  'Yes, Davies?'

  'I wondered about that myself, sir, and I noticed Sir Jasper didn't have any reading glasses with him, which with him being an elderly gentleman you might perhaps expect. They're not in here anywhere or I reckon we'd have found them.'

  The two detectives looked at each other.

  'Davies,' said Felix. 'That's most observant of you. Well done. He didn't wear glasses normally, presumably?'

  'No, he didn't, sir. Not whenever I saw him anyway, which was quite often, coming and going.'

  'You're local?'

  'I'm the village bobby, sir.'

  'Oh, I see. With an eye to greater things perhaps?'

  Davies smiled shyly. 'I shouldn't mind that, sir.'

  'I'll see that they look for them, sir,' said Rattigan.