by Diane Janes
‘No one. The property will be entirely virginal, even if the bride is not.’
Fran felt herself blushing and tried not to show that she was shocked. He had spoken so casually. She had heard that the upper classes could sometimes be unexpectedly liberal in such matters. Who knew what rackety, racy lives the young Edgertons lived, getting up to all sorts of things when they went up to their house in London?
‘Thank you for showing me around,’ Fran said. ‘I suppose we had better be getting back.’
‘Of course. The days go by so quickly, don’t they? You know, I really must take you out for a run down to Frencombe and into Avemouth one of these days. They’re both quite pretty in a rustic sort of way. And we could pop over to Baddeley Court. Young Rhona and Frank are both away at school, but Colonel Baddeley’s a fascinating chap and they always have afternoon tea in the great hall, in front of the fire. The fireplace dates from the sixteenth century or something like that. We Edgertons are far too nouveaux to be able to offer anything half as splendid.’
‘Mmm,’ said Fran, who was vaguely wondering how much longer she could usefully stay at Sunnyside House, once she had interviewed just about anyone there was to be interviewed. ‘Perhaps tomorrow …’
‘Oh, it won’t be tomorrow, I’m afraid. Didn’t I mention that I have to go across to Winchester for a funeral? It’s my old headmaster – a splendid fellow. Roly never got to know him as he only arrived the same year that I joined the school.’
‘Oh.’ Fran tried not to show any disappointment. An excursion to take tea in a sixteenth-century great hall was not to be sniffed at.
‘You will have to manage your sleuthing without your would-be Watson. Not that I’ve been any help at all. Not that you need any help. You’re quite marvellously independent, aren’t you? And I expect you’ve uncovered all the family skeletons.’
‘So far as I can see, there are no family skeletons.’
‘Well, only the Sidmouth business.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Sidmouth business.’
There was a moment of awkward silence. ‘Oh. I thought that Roly … Oh, I see.’ He faltered to a halt.
Fran decided to leave the matter hanging in the air. Left to his own devices, Eddie might well explain what he was talking about of his own accord.
After another few strides, Eddie said, ‘You see, Roly mentioned this morning that you had asked him about Grandfather’s will, so obviously, I thought …’
He got no further, because they were interrupted by a cheerful hail from a pair of figures, which were approaching across the field.
‘It’s your sister, Hen,’ said Fran, recognizing the tall, slender figure on the right. ‘But that isn’t Mellie with her, is it?’
‘No,’ said Eddie, a touch grimly. ‘It’s Mabel Trenchard. What on earth is Hen doing, bringing her up here after us? Look here, Fran, please don’t ask Mabel any direct questions about the day of Grandfather’s death if you can possibly help it. I’ll try to steer her on to the subject if I can, but it would be far better if she doesn’t suspect why you’re here. The Trenchards know everyone and Mabel’s mother is the most fearful old gossip. The whole business would be all over the county by teatime tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Fran said quietly, for she knew how sound tended to carry over open ground. ‘Complete discretion, I promise you.’
‘Here you are, Mabel,’ Henrietta said cheerfully as the two pairs met. ‘I told you this was where we’d find them. Mabel, this is Fran Black, who is down for a few days from the barren north. Fran, meet Mabel Trenchard, one of our oldest friends.’
The two women shook hands politely, each covertly appraising the other for entirely different reasons. Fran decided that Eddie’s assessment of Mabel Trenchard’s looks had been less than kind. She was a handsome, broad-shouldered girl, with dark curly hair, cut in a boyish style and a face lit up by a ready smile.
‘Mabel has come over to show you her new car, Eddie. An early birthday present from her parents.’
Fran noticed that in spite of Eddie’s earlier irritation, he managed to adopt a warm smile and a friendly tone to match. ‘A new car? What sort is it?’
‘It’s a blue one, of course. My favourite colour.’ Mabel grinned, while Fran tried to decide whether she was being an idiot on purpose. ‘I wanted you to be one of the first to see it. Promise me that you’ll come back to the house right away and look it over.’
‘Of course. We were on our way back to the house in any case.’
Having paused to effect introductions, the party turned and headed back the way they had all come. In a neat sidestep, Mabel placed herself next to Eddie, looped her arm through his and started to chatter about her new car. ‘It positively whizzed along the Frencombe road. I got her up to fifty on the straight bit above Rigg’s Farm.’
‘Actually Mabel, it’s funny you should turn up just now,’ Eddie interjected, when the young woman at his side paused momentarily to draw breath. ‘You might be able to settle something for me. Just before you and Hen appeared I was telling Fran about the afternoon when Grandfather died and I was trying to remember exactly who was there that day. Hadn’t you and Vicky come across to play tennis?’
‘What a curious thing to be talking about!’ exclaimed Mabel. ‘Why yes, Vicky and I were certainly over here. We stayed for tea, but we’d motored home before anyone realized that anything was wrong. It was a terrible shock when we heard what had happened. To think that we were all sitting out on the terrace, munching madeleines and tea bread when the poor chap … well, you know … and to imagine him shouting for help, and no one hearing a thing.’
‘What makes you think that he shouted for help?’ Fran asked, trying not to sound too interested.
‘Well, I supposed that he might have done. If he had realized that his bath chair was getting out of control and running away with him.’
In her mind Fran pictured the path. There was really no question of a downward slope which would have provided the necessary momentum to carry the chair over the edge, particularly as it would have met the resistance of the long grass which grew for a good foot or two between the path and the drop.
‘Anyway,’ Mabel said briskly, ‘I’m sure no one wants to dwell on horrible things like that.’
They had reached the gate which led back into the trees and she was forced to let go of Eddie’s arm while he unlatched it. ‘I say, are you coming to the Lyndons’ dance on Friday evening? Vicky is going as Britannia, which will be hellish difficult from the point of view of dancing, I should say, though we do so love getting ourselves up in fancy dress.’
‘And what are you going as?’ asked Henrietta.
‘It’s a secret,’ Mabel declared archly. ‘Wait and see. You are coming, aren’t you?’
‘Are we invited? I’d forgotten all about it,’ Eddie said.
‘Of course we’re invited.’ His sister sounded exasperated. ‘In fact, I must ring the Lyndons and ask if we can bring Fran along. Oh, it’s all right,’ she added quickly, waving away Fran’s attempted protest. ‘The Lyndons won’t mind at all and we can easily find you a costume. It’s a bit late to send away for something, but we’ve got heaps of stuff from previous parties – or we can just adapt something.’
Eddie’s attempt at drawing Mabel Trenchard into conversation about the day of his grandfather’s death had been a complete failure, Fran thought, deciding that it probably didn’t matter very much anyway, as Miss Trenchard was neither a suspect nor the sort of person who might have made a particularly good witness.
When they reached the house, Mabel led Eddie off towards the front of the house in a manner which did not encourage his sister and their visitor to follow. As Fran and Henrietta entered by the garden door they met Lady Louisa. ‘Ah, so Henrietta and Mabel found the two of you.’ She smiled. ‘Mabel would have been so disappointed if she hadn’t been able to show off her motor car to Eddie.’
‘Poor Eddie.’ Hen grinned. ‘M
abel has her hooks pretty firmly into him.’
‘Mabel is a very nice girl,’ her mother said firmly. ‘Any young man could do far worse.’
It transpired that after minutely examining the car’s various features, Mabel insisted on taking Eddie for a drive in it, which on their return naturally led to her being invited to stay for tea. Fran observed the scene with well-concealed amusement, as Lady Louisa – for once in the drawing room, rather than overseeing operations in the garden or otherwise engrossed elsewhere – made polite conversation with Mabel, while her older children mischievously exhorted Eddie to pass Mabel the tea cakes, the sugar and every other possible thing which could engineer extra contact between them.
When Mabel had finally been waved off up the drive, the conversation returned to the subject of the fancy-dress party.
‘Fran could wear that Pierrot costume,’ Mellie suggested. ‘I’m going as Ophelia. I’ve ordered a red wig specially, so that I’ll look like the woman in the painting. The famous one that’s in the National Gallery.’
‘Lizzie Siddons,’ said Fran.
‘Who?’ Mellie’s brow furrowed in some confusion.
‘She was the model with the red hair. The one who posed as Ophelia,’ Fran explained. ‘You know, I really don’t feel that I should come to this party. I don’t know the people and I will probably have done all I can here by then.’
A chorus of protests greeted her at once.
‘Oh, but you can’t possibly leave before the weekend.’
‘It doesn’t matter a bit you not knowing the Lyndons. Friends’ houseguests are always included.’
‘There’s no need to be shy. We’ll introduce you to everyone. You’ll have a splendid time.’
Fran – who had no desire to make a fool of herself by dressing as a Pierrot – held her peace, while silently deciding that something might need to happen back at home which would call her away before the event in question took place.
FOURTEEN
The pattern of the evening diverged somewhat from the previous one. After a perfectly delicious dinner prepared by Mrs Remington and served by Jamieson, the family retired to the drawing room, where they were joined by Imogen and Miss Billington, and Roly produced a wind-up racing game which required four participants at a time to frantically rotate a handle in order to make small mechanical horses move along a metal course. The competition was enlivened by placing bets in spent matchsticks, a supply of which had been stored in a little wooden box, along with the game. Imogen was inclined to become overexcited when her horse did well, and plunged into depths of despair after failing to mark up a win, but Fran was amused to see that the other Edgertons, even Lady Louisa herself, were prone to yelling encouragement at the painted tin mounts, coupled with insults at those who failed to work their handles fast enough. Only Miss Billington remained completely calm, taking victory or defeat with equanimity.
Eventually it was decreed to be Imogen’s bedtime and Miss Billington led her away, not without protest on Imogen’s side and reassurance on Miss Billington’s that the game was being put away and all the excitement was consequently over. Lady Louisa also retired to her room, saying that she wanted to finish a book she was reading.
‘Goodness,’ said Hen, collapsing on to a sofa after putting the racing game back into one of the sideboards. ‘Will you play for us, Eddie, or is someone going to get some gramophone records out? I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m exhausted after all that. I thought my arm would drop off during that last race.’
‘I’ll play if you want me to,’ Eddie said, glancing around to receive general affirmation before he stood up and went across to the piano. ‘Any requests, boy and girls?’
‘“I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate”,’ Mellie called out. ‘And make it good and lively.’
Eddie obliged them with one tune after another, some suggested by his listeners, some produced of his own volition. No one suggested dancing. After the frenetic atmosphere of the racing game, it was very pleasant to lean back against the cushions and be entertained. Fran let the music wash over her. It was true, she reflected, that Eddie really did have talent. He ran his fingers across the keys, bringing out the best in the instrument as he launched into ‘If I Had You’, one of the big hits of the previous year. Fran had not asked for the song, but he sung it as if to her, looking directly at her as he crooned, ‘If I had you by my side …’ It was nice to be flirted with once in a while, she thought. Though, of course, Eddie was not really flirting with her, just showing her what he could have done for a much wider audience, if ever he had put his mind to it.
By the time Fran joined the family at the breakfast table next morning, Eddie had already set out for Winchester. Roly was, as usual, reading out snippets from the newspapers to Hen, and Mellie had yet to appear.
It was just after eight thirty when Jamieson appeared at Roly’s elbow. ‘Excuse me, Mr Edgerton, but there’s a gentleman asking for you on the telephone. A Mr Dod, sir.’
Fran glanced up from her poached egg and then back down at her plate. There was more than one Mr Dod in the world after all. Roly carefully refolded his paper and placed it to one side of his plate, while setting his napkin at the other and simultaneously getting up from the table.
‘I was wondering,’ Fran said, once Roly had left the room, ‘whether it would be possible to speak with Miss Billington this morning?’
‘Of course you can,’ said Hen. ‘In fact, this would be the perfect morning, because Imogen goes for her riding lesson at ten, isn’t that right, Mellie?’
Mellie, who had just entered the room, nodded, before asking, ‘Where’s Roly?’
‘Called to the telephone. Pass the milk please, Roly has been hogging it down at that end.’
‘I thought I ought to speak with Imogen too, later on,’ Fran said.
‘Oh, I’m sure there won’t be any point in doing that,’ laughed Mellie. ‘Imogen can’t be trusted anyway. She’s a dreadful fibber.’
‘I’d prefer to call it imagination,’ Hen said, deliberately not catching her sister-in-law’s eye. ‘And if Fran wants to speak with Imogen, we really must not attempt to dissuade her.’ Turning to Fran, she said, ‘Suppose we tell Billie to come to the library at ten and then get her to buzz Imogen along as soon as she’s back from riding?’
‘Thank you.’ Fran sensed a slight frost in the atmosphere. Mellie was nominally the lady of the house but Hen had lived there much longer. She wondered whether Mellie was really happy to leave the running of everything to her mother-in-law, still less stand contradicted by her husband’s sister.
Roly reappeared a few moments later, announcing cheerfully, ‘That was your friend Mr Dod, Fran. Apparently he is in the area visiting growers and someone has told him about our Woolbrook Pippins. He’s keen to pop down for a chat, so I’ve arranged to meet him at the orchards this morning and invited him to stay for lunch.’
‘Our Woolbrook Pippins? Why on earth is he interested in those?’ asked Mellie.
‘Because his father is the head of a big wholesale fruit and vegetable concern, my darling. Dod and Sons may give us a far better price than we are getting locally.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘And it will be nice for Fran to see her friend,’ said Hen.
‘Indeed.’ Roly had eased back into his place at the head of the table. ‘Mellie, be a dear and ring the bell for some fresh toast. This has gone cold.’
Fran didn’t know what to say. It was really very naughty of Tom to engineer a visit like this when the whole object of coming down here had been to prevent any potentially suspicious meetings at all. Then again, perhaps he genuinely did have business with the Edgertons and it was not as if they would be alone together. Having a well-chaperoned lunch in the company of mutual acquaintances hardly constituted suspicious behaviour. Aloud, she said, ‘Please pardon my ignorance, but what are Woolbrook Pippins?’
‘They are a variety of apple, native to Devon.’ Roly smiled. ‘The produ
ctive orchards came as part of the estate. We also grow pears here and Tom Putt apples. The Tom Putts go for cider making, but the Woolbrook Pippins are eaters.’
‘I must let Mrs Remington know that we will be one extra for lunch,’ Mellie said. ‘Does Mr Dod have any particular preferences, do you know?’
‘Not that I know of.’ Fran felt her colour rising for no particular reason. ‘I don’t really know him all that well.’
‘Oh.’ Mellie sounded surprised, almost put out. ‘We were given to understand that you and Mr Dod were old friends.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we were Mellie,’ said Hen, who seemed determined to correct her sister-in-law that morning. ‘Didn’t you and Mr Dod meet through your sleuthing?’ she asked Fran.
‘No, we met through the Robert Barnaby Society.’
‘What in the world is that?’ asked Mellie.
Fran explained, feeling more foolish with every word, for Mellie’s social life would never have encompassed joining ‘a book club’, as she thereafter referred to it, where one might presumably bump into all sorts of people of the kind who might not be welcomed at the Lord Lieutenant’s Ball. Nor was Mellie the sort of woman who would see the point in discussing children’s literature, once one had reached the age of twelve or thirteen.
Fran was quite relieved to excuse herself from the table and go out on to the terrace for a breath of fresh air. The garden soon restored her equilibrium. It really is lovely here, she thought. Far too nice a spot for anyone to commit a murder.
After a short stroll, she returned to the library, where Miss Billington joined her soon after ten, having handed Imogen over to the visiting riding instructor for her lesson.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ said Fran. ‘I realize that this must be one of the few times you have to yourself.’