The Trouble with Harriet

by Dorothy Cannell

  Suddenly the curtains were opening on the third act. I was now completely numb. Or so I thought until I saw what was now on the mantelpiece alongside the row of books. It was supposed to be an Indian vase containing incriminating evidence against Malicia Stillwaters and bequeathed to Reginald Rakehell by Major Wagewar. As I found myself rising up in my seat, I remembered what Mrs. Malloy had told me about what was to happen next. Malicia Stillwaters would produce a gun and shoot at the vase. Shattering it into shards.

  In reality, it would probably be made to fall by being poked at by a stick from behind the paper-thin wall because the gun would be a stage one. Not the real thing. Except for this particular performance, that is. Mrs. Malloy, who at the worst possible moment had sunk herself into her role as Malicia Stillwaters, was pointing—I recognized with the awful clarity bestowed by ice-cold fear—Mr. Price’s small, almost-toy-sized gun at the urn.

  I knew now what had happened. Mrs. Potter had not only helped herself to some books; she had also found the urn, which she understandably thought was so ugly, we had hidden it away and would not be upset if it were sacrificed in a good cause. As for the gun, hadn’t Kathleen asked me if I might happen to have one of those gimmicky cigarette lighters?

  I was on my feet, but I couldn’t open my mouth to shout out. Never mind. There were two other people who weren’t at such a loss for words. One was the woman in the camel coat. The other was Mr. Price. Mrs. Malloy was so startled by their frenzied yells and their assault upon the stage that her arm swung wide and the gun went flying straight into my father’s hand. Thank God for his oversized reach and for the aplomb with which he turned it on a pair of villains. For once he didn’t emote. He didn’t cry out the name Harriet. There was a very good reason for that, because the Hoppers rose out of their seats as one.

  “That’s Herr Voelkel’s wife,” said Cyril in an aggrieved voice, pointing at the Gypsy woman.

  “So it is.” Edith nodded her wooden head.

  “It most definitely is,” said Doris. “I remember that Harriet brought her to the flat once and we didn’t like her.”

  “She laughed at us,” Cyril agreed, “but she’s not laughing now, is she?”

  Chapter 26

  “You’re going to have to explain things to me very slowly. I didn’t get more than a wink or two of sleep last night.” Freddy was sitting at our kitchen table the following afternoon, tucking into his third piece of Frau Grundman’s delectable blackberry-and-apple strudel. He deserved to pamper himself after spending the better part of the last twenty-four hours listening to his mother’s tearful assurances that finding herself in danger of being shot in the fray at the church had cured her of kleptomania. It was clear he had minded very much having to wait so long to get the story. “Who was the Gypsy woman?”

  “Anna Voelkel,” I told him.

  “Herr Voelkel’s wife?”

  “His widow; he was killed along with his mother when that car went over the cliff near the Old Abbey. His body wasn’t found at once because miraculously he managed to crawl out of the wreckage into a cave a few yards away. It was dark, and I don’t suppose the rescuers thought anybody could have survived the impact.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Freddy sat tugging at his beard, a sure sign he was perplexed. “You say Herr Voelkel’s mother was in that car with him?”

  “That’s right.” I took the cup of tea Ben handed me and joined my cousin at the table. “She was the housekeeper, the old woman dressed in black who opened the door for Daddy and took him into that room with the picture of the dead cat.”

  “But, Coz, aren’t you missing someone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought Harriet was killed in that accident.”

  “That’s what the Hoppers thought because it was her car, but Harriet was already dead, murdered by the Voelkels in Germany.”

  “When did you find all this out?” Freddy, finding himself in need of a restorative, drained his teacup and picked up mine.

  “At the police station. They were pretty decent to Morley because he did save the day down at the church hall,” Ben spoke from over by the Aga. He was stirring a saucepan that contained ingredients for a recipe Frau Grundman had given him, and he hadn’t been able to wait to try it. He had told her that if it worked out as he hoped, he would put it in his new cookery book and give her credit.

  “The detective told Daddy that he’d known people charged with stupidity to get twenty years, but he smiled when he said it.” I smiled too, remembering. “And Mrs. Potter’s nephew kept coming in with cups of tea. That’s Chitterton Fells for you. All rather friendly and casual. Although I don’t suppose Anna Voelkel had much of a good time.”

  “There is something about having the handcuffs snapped on that kills the ‘we’re all mates together’ feeling,” Freddy agreed.

  “I don’t think anyone’s wasting time feeling sorry for her.” Ben spooned the contents of the saucepan into a baking dish and sprinkled on a generous handful of buttered bread crumbs.

  “I expect those were her cigarette butts that Daddy said stunk up the room the day Ingo Voelkel told him Harriet was dead and that his wife was too upset to come down and talk to him.” My mouth twisted in distaste. “Poor Harriet. It’s impossible not to feel terribly sorry for her. When Sir Casper hired her to steal St. Ethelwort’s relic from the Christ Kirche in Loetzinn, he didn’t know that it was a reliquary. At the Old Abbey it had been stored in a simple wooden box. So Harriet wasn’t prepared for the discovery that she couldn’t simply slip the relic into her makeup bag. It was this complication that made it necessary for her to find someone who wasn’t known to the authorities to smuggle St. Ethelwort—or rather, his finger—out of Germany into England. Daddy, with a daughter living in Chitterton Fells, must have seemed like the gift of a kindly fate. Things could be done pretty much in one spot.”

  “Convenient. But as things turned out, not such a bright idea.” Freddy had extracted a few crumbs of strudel from under his plate and was again munching away.

  “Poor Harriet. The Hoppers said she was tired of her way of life,” I told him. “She really had been seriously ill, and that had caused her to rethink things. She refused to up the price she had agreed on with Sir Casper before she knew about the reliquary. But she didn’t count on the outrage of the Voelkels, with whom she had worked, on other jobs involving art and jewelry thefts. They weren’t content with a percentage of fifty thousand pounds. Not when they knew the reliquary would be worth infinitely more to a collector willing to forgo asking too many questions.”

  “They really were an evil trio.” Ben joined us at the table. “From the sound of it, the foul old mother pulled the strings, but the other two seem to have been more than willing to dance. They decided to murder Harriet in the manner that was to have been staged for Morley’s benefit. Anna and Ingo persuaded her that it would be a smart idea to drive the route to be described to Morley on informing him of her supposed accident. They stopped the car at a suitable spot, delivered her a blow to the head, and sent the car off the road into the river.”

  “I want to think it was quick and she didn’t suffer,” I said, and felt Freddy reach for my hand.

  “Then what happened?” he asked.

  “The Voelkels proceeded with the plan as scheduled.” Ben again picked up the story. “I suppose it made good business sense for them to offer the reliquary to Sir Casper at an inflated price, rather than to an outside buyer, because his instigation of the theft placed him in an extremely vulnerable position. Besides which, a man in search of a miracle isn’t likely to count pennies. They must also have thought it a good move to let the Hoppers proceed as arranged to collect the urn from Morley. After all, who would suspect those simpleminded characters of being up to no good.”

  “So how did the Voelkels—mother and son—come to be in Harriet’s car the evening of the crash?” Freddy stood up, stretched, and sat back down.

  “They collected it from the garage of he
r flat,” I said. “They had a key. It probably seemed less risky than renting a car and giving someone the chance to identify them later if things went wrong. Anna phoned while Daddy and I were at the Old Abbey to speak to Mr. Jarrow and confirm the appointment for that evening. He was acting for Sir Casper in the matter and had been over to Germany, as we suspected, to keep an eye on Harriet to make sure that she was doing what she had been paid to do. But sensing that Sir Casper might balk at coughing up more than the fifty thousand, the Voelkels decided that Ingo’s mother—who presumably was the most adept at turning the screws—would accompany him to the meeting. And if all went well, arrange to hand over the urn. Anna had been to Cliffside House that morning hoping to see the Hoppers and advise them how to behave when they came to Merlin’s Court to collect it. But they had already left to come here. It was then that she dropped the button from her coat. The one Doris later picked up and put in her handbag, meaning to give it to Mrs. Blum in case someone was looking for it. That sent me down the wrong track, because it matched the one the Gypsy gave to me supposedly for a good-luck charm and I leaped to the conclusion that the Gypsy was Harriet.”

  “I wonder why she spoke to you in the square that afternoon.” Ben got up and poured the three of us more tea.

  “I think she did it on a malicious whim,” I said. “She must have recognized me from the family photo Daddy gave Harriet and was able to reel off information about my life from what Harriet had told the Voelkels about her conversations with him. Probably she got the idea from Harriet’s own meeting with a true Gypsy, but didn’t give enough thought to the possibility that she had told Daddy about it. And that the coincidence would set off alarm bells. Cold-blooded murderers must have enormous egos. I lay in bed last night wondering why she became worried when I said we were going to France, Ben. And I think it must have been because she was afraid that if we were gone, Daddy would head out of the area, and there would be all the bother of tracking him down. And it must have already been crystal clear to all three of the Voelkels—having met them before at Harriet’s flat—that Cyril, Doris, and Edith were not readily adaptable to a change of plan.”

  Freddy leaned forward in his chair. “But there still remains one burning question. Was the car crash the other night an accident that couldn’t have happened to two nastier people, or was it another murder?”

  “Desperate to save herself from what she considered a fate worse than death,” I continued, “Lady Grizwolde went out onto the cliff road, hoping to confront the Voelkels before they had a chance to see Sir Casper or Mr. Jarrow. Her idea was to talk them into giving her the relic and taking its container away with them to sell to someone else. Whichever one of them was driving, either mother or son, must have swerved toward the cliff edge when she appeared as a dark shape in their path. Her ladyship twisted her ankle and wrenched her back in avoiding being run over. Mr. Jarrow, who had followed her when she left the house, took her back inside. At which point there followed a scene with Timothia Finchpeck, who had been out in the garden spying on her ladyship and seen enough to be convinced she had witnessed her enemy shove the car over the cliff. But the police have now assured Miss Finchpeck, on the basis of skid marks, that she was indulging in wishful thinking.”

  “And that about sums it up,” Ben said, eyeing the kitchen clock.

  “Except to say,” I reminded him, “that Lady Grizwolde hired Mr. Price’s boss to steal the urn for a second time—from Harriet and company, before it could be handed into Sir Casper’s eager clutches. Her ladyship might not believe in the St. Ethelwort legend, but she understood the power of suggestion upon a susceptible mind. Sir Casper was already capering after her with renewed, if wobbly, vigor, and talking about installing fairy lights in the matrimonial bedchamber. And this only in anticipation of the relic’s return! How could she not be terrified that with the thing actually back in the chapel he would become sufficiently energized to make repulsive attempts at restoring connubial relations?”

  “It’s a sad thing when husband and wife are at cross-purposes,” Freddy said, looking dolefully around for something else to eat. “But there is a lesson to be learned in all this if we will but heed it. You get what you pay for in life. I expect Lady Grizwolde had to hire Mr. Price out of the housekeeping money. And a right mess he made of things.”

  “Well, you do have to bear in mind that he is, as Ben guessed, a butler who happened to work for a crook,” I pointed out. “He only took over when his boss was injured trying to get hold of Daddy’s suitcase on the escalator. So it isn’t all that surprising Mr. Price bungled his attempt to snatch Frau Grundman’s canvas bag. And when his second attempt at acquiring the reliquary resulted in finding the silver powder box filled with fireplace ash, he must have thought we had tried to trick him. So when he heard about the church service for the accident victim he showed up first in the church and then at the dress rehearsal, planning to nab Daddy and get him to see sense. He must have got the shock of his life when Mrs. Malloy pulled out that gun onstage.”

  “Desperation tends to do away with common sense,” said Ben. “Hence Anna Voelkel showing up.”

  “Oh, I think—from her Gypsy stunt—that she was probably always the loose cannon among the Voelkels.” I stood up and stretched. “That’s probably why Ingo didn’t have her come down and speak to Daddy when he broke the news to him about Harriet’s death. And with him and his crone of a mother gone there was no one to keep a reign on Anna.”

  “Imagine what she had to be thinking when Mrs. M. fired and hit the reliquary.” Freddy had wandered off to help himself to the last slice of strudel.

  “Luckily, the only damage was to the plaster casting that had been put on to camouflage it. And hopefully Father Bergdorff will get it back safe and sound after the powers that be at this end are done with the red tape.” Ben handed Freddy a plate to prevent a trail of crumbs, and we both followed him to the door, where he bade us an affectionate farewell.

  “Don’t count on seeing much of me in the immediate future,” he called back as he went down the steps. “I’ll be on the go every minute keeping Mumsie up to scratch and doing the play. I suppose you’ve heard that Mrs. Potter is taking over the role of Malicia Stillwaters. As prop manager she’s been at all the rehearsals and knows the part backwards and forwards.”

  We hadn’t heard, but we doubted that Mrs. Malloy would be horribly disappointed.

  “See you at opening night!” Freddy’s voice faded into the dusk, and Ben and I quickly went inside. Moments later, we heard footsteps out in the hall. We found my father and Frau Grundman standing there with their suitcases at their heels.

  “You’re not going yet?” I exclaimed.

  “We thought you were staying at least another couple of hours.” Ben eyed them worriedly. “I was just about to put the casserole in the oven for dinner. It won’t take more than forty-five minutes.”

  Frau Grundman nodded at us. “This I know, but Morley”--she blushed— “Mr. Simons, he thinks we should be on the road if we are to catch our plane in good time.”

  “Ursel can’t continue to delay in getting back to the guest house in Schonbrunn.” Daddy cleared his throat. “And I have to say, I want—need to return and confront my memories in order to try to put them behind me.”

  “We’ll miss you.” My smile included Ursel as Ben bent to pick up both suitcases.

  “My dear Giselle.” I was relieved to hear that Daddy was back to emoting. “I lament the need to part with you and Bentwick after so short a duration, but if kindly providence allows, we will be reunited before too long.”

  “And you make the promise to write?” Ursel was misty-eyed. “I want to know all about how life stays here at Merlin’s Court and if there should be any interesting news from the Old Abbey now that the relic is back in the little chapel.”

  “It was good of Father Bergdorff to agree to that,” Ben said. “Mrs. Malloy, being practical to the core, thinks Lady Grizwolde should take the miracle into her own hands
by being artificially inseminated before Sir Casper passes on.”

  “Alas, charming as it is to do so, we can’t stand here saying good-bye all day.” Daddy kissed my cheek, dashed a few drops from his eyes, and told me not to come outside. So I stood waving at the door while Ben went with them to stow the luggage in the boot of the Rent-A-Wreck. Unable to stay watching as they drove away, I retreated into the drawing room and sat in what I had come to think of as Daddy’s chair, staring at the floor until Ben came in.

  “Don’t say it, Ellie,” he admonished with a lowering of his black brows.

  “Say what?”

  “That Ursel would make your father a splendid wife.”

  “But she would,” I protested, getting to my feet. “She’s in love with him. And she’s patient. She’ll be willing to wait until one morning he looks at her across a crowded breakfast table and realizes she is the love of his life. But I must say that being who he is, he’s bound to give her a lot of trouble from time to time.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” He lifted my face to his kiss. “Life without trouble isn’t worth living.”

  “Are you sure of that?” I asked him tenderly.

  “Quite sure.”

  “Good,” I said, “because I just looked out the window and a taxi has deposited two Asian gentlemen on the drive. I have this sinking feeling they are the Japanese ones Daddy spent an evening chatting with at the guest house and graciously invited to come and stay with us at Merlin’s Court for as long as they like.”

  “They do have rather a lot of luggage with them.” Ben drew back after taking a cautious peek out the window. “Quick, we’ll have to hide in the pantry in case they come around looking in the windows.”