The Case of the Missing Morris Dancer

by Cathy Ace

  ‘Aye. Best thing I can do is to take photographs of a few letters and email them off to her. See what she says. As for the Welsh? You have a lot of staff whose first language is Welsh – there’s Ian, sitting just outside here in the car, for a start. But I’d rather not get any of them mixed up in this. These letters might contain some personal and private information about a man they know. Carol’s mentioned that, since she’s returned to Wales, she’s regaining her Welsh vocabulary. She might be able to help, and she’s one of us. That would be best, even if she can only give us the gist of the Welsh parts. Let’s get the photographs taken, then I can send them off. I’ll just open a few more in case any of them are in English, though, given Aubrey’s proclivity for Roman history, and the fact he clearly shared that passion with this female, I doubt we’ll find any. The idea that he made a pact with a girl at school, as mentioned by his old teacher, makes a good deal of sense. And it seems to have been an enduring relationship. Hopefully, by the end of the day, we’ll have an insight into the nature of that relationship, even if we don’t know who this Boudica is.’

  Althea nodded and helped Mavis with her photographic task. Half an hour later Mavis had spoken to Christine, who explained she did, indeed, feel she might be able to tackle the translation of the Latin, but it would have to wait until she’d driven home from Brighton. Mavis couldn’t get an answer on Carol’s mobile, so she left a voicemail message and sent the photos. ‘I hope she checks her messages soon,’ said Mavis as she and Althea made their way back to Ian and the car.

  ‘She’s a good girl,’ noted Althea, ‘and diligent too. I’m sure she’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Meanwhile, why don’t we go back to the Dower House and clean up a bit before dinner? I feel rather grubby having poked about Aubrey’s house for ages.’

  ‘You’re right,’ replied Mavis. ‘Poking about in people’s lives can make a person feel that way.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Unable to take tea in the lower library – as was usual – Henry Twyst looked across the morning room at his fiancé and thanked everything holy he’d chosen to marry this woman. They’d been discussing the problems in the kitchen, and Stephanie had already managed to talk him down from one of the highest levels of anxiety he’d ever felt.

  ‘Cook Davies will come round, Henry, you know she will. She’s got a bark, but no bite. She indulges you, you know that, so you’re the one who has to talk to her. You know she’s still struggling to accept the fact I’ve been here for a couple of years as “one of them” and now I’m going to be “Your Grace” along with you and the dowager. Mrs Davies has been here quite a while longer than me and sees the kitchen as her domain. It’s only natural. I know she initially agreed to the idea of having the caterers come in and use some of her facilities, but it’s beginning to irk her. You need to talk to her, dear.’

  Henry watched as Stephanie replaced her cup and saucer on the tea tray. The firelight reflected off her dark hair, and he smiled inwardly as she pushed up the sleeves on her serviceable brown polo-necked sweater. Having grown up at Chellingworth Hall he knew how difficult it was to dress in the winter – most of the time your teeth were chattering because cold air seeped into the place somewhere in every room, but when you did manage to get close to a source of heat you’d end up pink-faced and glowing within moments. He’d learned how useful cardigans could be, and was confident Stephanie would too, with time. He liked the idea they’d both end up getting old together, wearing cardigans.

  ‘You’re not thinking about what you’re going to say to Mrs Davies at all, are you?’ observed Stephanie with a smile.

  ‘Pardon? Oh, yes, of course I was,’ spluttered Henry.

  Stephanie shook her head. ‘I’m delighted to say you’re a terrible liar, Henry dear. Now come along, focus. Mrs Davies. What will you say to calm her down?’

  Henry stood, replaced his own cup and saucer on the tea tray and moved to stand in front of the fireplace. Despite the fact the fireplace in the morning room wasn’t as grand as the one in the drawing room, it was a position he liked to adopt. It made him feel at peace with the world because, as he stood there, he could imagine his forbears having done exactly the same thing for the past few hundred years. He enjoyed the sense of continuity and depth of connection to his home it gave him. ‘I shall remind her she said she understood she couldn’t cope with feeding a few hundred people who’ll all be looking for as much free food as possible after our wedding, and that she even had a hand in selecting the catering company we’re using. I’ll further remind her she’s the one who insisted she’d find the arrangements to be perfectly acceptable.’

  ‘Maybe you could be a little more generous than that, Henry? Maybe begin by thanking her for all she’s done, and for all she’s going to do. I think you should also suggest she finds time at the end of the reception to be able to be brought into the gathering to be thanked in public.’

  Henry beamed at his bride-to-be, ‘She’d like that,’ he said warmly.

  ‘I know,’ replied Stephanie.

  A knock at the door of the morning room was immediately followed by the sight of Edward’s head peering in. ‘Might I interrupt, Your Grace?’

  Henry’s tone was puzzled. ‘Come in, Edward. What’s the matter?’

  Edward’s usually neutral expression had been replaced by a pink face and a frown. He entered the room carrying an awkward load.

  ‘Good heavens, you look as though you’re off on your holidays, Edward. What on earth is all that? Is that a suitcase?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace, I believe it is a suitcase. An extremely old one,’ said Edward evenly, placing the items close to his employer’s feet. ‘These items were discovered outside the door of the New Buttery. A note said “For the duke’s wedding”. Since the items weren’t wrapped as gifts, nor delivered by the usual methods, I thought Your Grace might want to see them now.’

  Stephanie stood next to her betrothed as she and Henry stared at the strange collection; a battered, hard-sided leather suitcase, a long columnar brown leather case and a small wooden box, bashed at the corners. ‘Henry – you know what it is, don’t you?’ squealed Stephanie.

  Henry regarded his future wife with what he suspected was a quizzical look. ‘Haven’t the faintest.’ He gave the matter some thought. ‘Some sort of painting kit?’

  Henry noted Edward staring at the ceiling when Stephanie said, ‘Painting? How do you get “painting” from that lot?’

  Henry knew his voice sounded defensive when he replied, ‘I used to paint, you know. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I don’t think I was too bad at it. I can quite imagine an easel being in the big long case, paints and brushes in the suitcase and a pot for water and so forth in the little box.’

  Stephanie’s gaze lingered on Henry’s face for a few seconds, then his heart warmed as she smiled and said, ‘How clever. Yes, it might well be. I tell you what, why don’t we open everything and find out?’

  Henry agreed, and he moved toward the suitcase.

  ‘Would Your Grace like me to do that?’ asked Edward.

  Henry replied coolly, ‘I think I can manage to open a suitcase myself, thank you, Edward. But, please, stay while we see what’s here. I’m sure the entire household is desperate to know what this is all about.’

  Henry suspected Edward’s completely unchanged demeanor resulted from decades of service rather than a lack of interest, so he leaned down and lay the suitcase on the rug. Feeling the rolls around his middle as he bent, Henry struggled with the brass latches that seemed determined to frustrate him.

  Finally managing to open the case, Henry lifted the lid to reveal … a collection of battered wooden batons. ‘Oh.’ Henry was terribly disappointed.

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Stephanie with what Henry could only assume was mock-enthusiasm.

  ‘It’s a suitcase full of sticks,’ said Henry, unafraid of stating the glaringly obvious.

  ‘They’re the Anwen Morris sticks,’ said Stephanie.

  H
enry was truly puzzled. ‘The what?’

  He thought Stephanie sounded a little annoyed when she replied, ‘The sticks that Aubrey Morris had as part of the kit the Anwen Morris dancers use. You know very well what I mean, Henry. When Aubrey disappeared the kit went too. Tudor told us about it.’ Henry could see the light of hope in her eyes as she said to Edward, ‘Did anyone see who left these items?’

  Edward shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Stephanie, nobody did. I already asked. You know how it’s been here – all sorts of people coming and going all over the place. And you can’t see the entrance to the New Buttery from anywhere.’ He cleared his throat politely, ‘It has been suggested that that’s why the items were placed there – out of sight, and where no one could see who left them.’

  Stephanie nodded, and Henry thought it best to follow suit. ‘Let’s open the rest, just to be sure,’ he said, determined to retain control of the situation.

  When everything had been opened it was clear that all the missing items were present, and in good order. ‘Well, this is quite a turn-up for the books,’ observed Henry. ‘I dare say someone should be informed.’

  ‘Your mother told me she has taken on the responsibility of retaining the women of the WISE Enquiries Agency to track down Aubrey,’ said Stephanie thoughtfully. ‘I suggest you give her a quick ring.’

  Henry checked the time on his pocket watch. ‘I’d expect her to be at home taking tea at this time of day. I’ll ring the Dower House. Edward, why not take these items out into the …’ Henry paused. He’d been about to instruct his butler to deposit the Anwen Morris artefacts in the great hall, where they could stay until someone was able to collect them, but he was painfully aware of the frantic level of activity out there, what with all the decorating and placement of what seemed like an extraordinary amount of furnishings for a simple toast or two and some nibbles upon the return of the happy couple from the church to the hall. ‘I tell you what,’ said Henry with uncharacteristic certainly, ‘leave it all here, but tuck it away in a corner somewhere so one doesn’t run the risk of tripping over it all. I’ll get in touch with the dowager duchess and we’ll take it from there. I dare say someone will be along at some point to do something or other with it. Thank you, Edward.’

  Edward nodded and followed his instructions. Henry, meanwhile, strode to the corner of the morning room where a telephone sat upon a hexagonal table inlaid with the most exquisite marquetry. A few moments later Henry rejoined his fiancé beside the fireplace. ‘Mother is in Hereford. At the hospital.’

  Stephanie’s reaction was more passionate than Henry could have imagined. ‘Oh no, Henry. What’s wrong with her?’ She grabbed his hand and squeezed it with a ferocity that quite took him aback.

  Surprised that his statement had elicited such a response, Henry realized, too late, that he sounded dismissive when he said, ‘Nothing at all. Carol Hill has taken a fall and Mother has seen fit to drive Carol’s husband David to the hospital. It would appear he had no means of conveyance available other than Mother’s car, driven by Ian. It’s quite extraordinary that she puts herself out so much for those people.’

  Just one look at Stephanie’s face told Henry he’d done something reprehensible, but he wasn’t at all sure what it was. His bride-to-be didn’t leave him in any doubt for long.

  ‘Henry Twyst,’ said Stephanie forcefully, ‘sometimes you are quite unbelievable. First of all Carol is pregnant, so of course her husband would be worried sick about her and the baby, so why wouldn’t your mother want to help out the poor man? And secondly, “those people”, as you casually put it, are your mother’s friends. Haven’t you noticed a change in her since Mavis MacDonald took up residence with her at the Dower House? Your mother seems as though she’s ten years younger. There’s a spring in her step, she has some real interests in life now that she’s “enquiring” with the other women and she’s not just hanging about talking to McFli all the time. She converses with a woman close to her own age about things that, presumably, interest them both. Mavis MacDonald and the other WISE women have done your mother the world of good. She knows it, and she’s admitted them all into her life as friends – especially Mavis. The least you can do is recognize that, Henry.’

  Henry felt the warmth of the firelight suffuse him with more heat than he thought natural, and he suspected he was blushing. He nodded and replied quietly, ‘You’re right, Mother has changed.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not always sure it’s for the better, because she sounds as though she’s enjoying snooping into other people’s lives on occasion, but I agree, she does seem to have more vim and vigor these days. She never ever used to back down in an argument, but, recently, I’ve noticed she doesn’t seem to have them so often. Maybe she’s too busy meddling in other folks’ business to be too bothered with mine, I don’t know. But it’s certainly a noticeable difference. I shouldn’t have spoken that way about the women, you’re right.’

  ‘You’re the one who introduced her to them, Henry, after all,’ noted Stephanie.

  Henry sighed. ‘Right again.’

  ‘And you were quick enough to ask her to ask them to help us when Aubrey went missing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They are a part of the fabric of our lives now, especially since you’ve given them the use of the barn and the cottages in the village.’

  ‘That was all Mother,’ said Henry quietly, ‘though she wanted them to think it was me.’

  Henry noted that Stephanie twirled her hair as she gave the matter some thought. She sounded quite cheery when she replied, ‘I think your mother was right about that. You are the duke, she is merely the dowager duchess. You really are the one who makes the decisions about the estate, or at least you should be – but I see why she wanted to do what she did, and you were right to agree with her.’

  Henry felt as though he’d been patted on the head – which he realized wasn’t a bad feeling. Indeed, it reminded him of how he and his mother had interacted when he was a boy. He smiled at Stephanie. Life with her would be good.

  ‘So, if we don’t know the situation regarding the location of Aubrey Morris, should you telephone Tudor Evans to tell him that the Anwen Morris now have their original artefacts to use on Saturday?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Henry brightening.

  ‘And then we can go to talk to Mrs Davies in the kitchen,’ added Stephanie.

  Henry immediately felt his mood darken. ‘That could wait until after we get rid of this stuff, and maybe even until Clemmie arrives. She should get here from the hospital in London soon. What time did the agency say the nurse would arrive?’

  Stephanie checked her watch. ‘I requested the person they are sending to be here by five o’clock, so not too long now. Oh Henry – I think I just had an idea that could help out a lot of people all at once.’

  Henry felt apprehensive – sometimes Stephanie’s bright ideas involved quite a lot of participation on his part. ‘Yes?’ He tried to sound encouraging.

  Stephanie gave the matter some thought. Henry realized her eyes twinkled a good deal when she was thinking something through, and he enjoyed watching her formulate a plan.

  Lifting her head Stephanie said, ‘We’ve been talking about how we can assuage Mrs Davies’s anxiety in the kitchen, and we both know Edward could do with some help. What about inviting your mother and Mavis to decamp into the hall here from the Dower House until Monday? If they shut up the Dower House that would release your mother’s cook Mrs Wilson, as well as Ian Cottesloe, who could back up Edward’s work, and your mother’s aide, Lindsey Newbury who is an extremely capable woman. They could all be accommodated here quite easily. Also, we are retaining a nurse to attend your sister, who has a broken leg. That nurse could also oversee any post-hospitalization attention that Carol Hill might need. If Carol and David Hill stayed here through the wedding weekend as well, that might help everyone concerned. What do you think?’

  Henry gave the idea some thought. His initial reaction was to not like it one li
ttle bit, but he’d learned that Stephanie didn’t care for it when he gave an immediate negative reaction to something she’d said, so he tried to make his face look as though he was thinking hard. He furrowed his brow, and pushed his lips together. Eventually he dared, ‘I think the idea of everyone moving to the hall is very good. As for the Hills moving in? I’m not so sure about that. For one thing I know they have a cat which would need to be catered for – and I dislike cats enormously. And then, of course, there’d be the question of Clementine “sharing” her nurse.’ He paused and felt a wash of turmoil in his tummy. ‘She wouldn’t like that, and she can become quite dramatic when she doesn’t like something,’ he concluded nervously.

  Rising from her seat and straightening her brown corduroy slacks Stephanie said, ‘You’re right. She does.’ Henry wondered if he’d caught a glimmer of a wicked twinkle in her eye as she spoke, or if it was merely a trick of the firelight. ‘And maybe that would be an imposition on the Hills in any case who would probably prefer to be in their own home at a time like this. You’re right, Henry. Good thinking. Why don’t you speak to your mother about everyone from the Dower House moving here as soon as possible? But, for now, why not phone Tudor Evans and make arrangements for someone to collect all that—’ she waved toward the pile of bags in the corner – ‘then we’ll have a nice chat with Mrs Davies downstairs in the kitchen and by then, I dare say, we’ll have a nurse and an ailing relative to deal with.’

  Henry nodded and made his way back to the telephone. He realized how wonderful at all this Stephanie was. Thank heavens!

  EIGHTEEN

  When David Hill was allowed into the curtained cubicle where his wife had been stripped, swaddled in a backless paper garment and hooked up to various machines, it was clear to Carol that the sight of her laying there horrified him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ were the first words out of her mouth.

  ‘You can’t know that,’ replied her distraught husband. Turning to the tall, lank young woman who was reading something off a monitor David said sharply, ‘What’s wrong with her? Is she alright? Is the baby alright?’