Dancing with Death

by Amy Myers

  ‘Even more interesting.’

  ‘Miss Checkam and Mr Briggs apparently weren’t present in the main house during the evening but Mr Peters was. He says he saw no one, though. I do get the impression that he and Miss Checkam are holding something back.’

  ‘I too have that impression from my own humble efforts,’ Arthur said. ‘I have spoken with my nephew, Richard – that is how I like to consider him, not altogether to Gerald’s approval as he is Hugo’s son. Richard is torn between sorrow at his friend’s death and bewilderment as to Charlie’s behaviour in keeping him away from his beloved Miss Harlington. That seems to be all he has against Charlie or all he is willing to tell me. Lady Helen is even more muted on the subject. She is not at all well, and no mention of Charlie must be made, according to Lord and Lady Ansley.

  ‘Lady Sophy is much more forthcoming,’ he continued. ‘She was not an admirer of Charles Parkyn-Wright. On the other hand, she definitely does not wish to discuss what happened on Saturday evening. Rex Beringer is more outspoken. He disliked Charlie and extends that to Miss Harlington, based on their behaviour to Lady Helen, he says. There may be more. The ghost hunt, Nell. It comes back to that. Not everyone knew the design of the gallery. Not everyone knew that Charlie would hide there. Those who did were almost certainly in that first group and therefore the reason why he died seems to me to take second place to who killed him. Would you not agree?’

  ‘Up to a point,’ she conceded, ‘but you can’t have the gravy without the meat. There’s nothing so far that gives anyone a real motive for killing him. That first group might indeed hold the answer but it does include three of the Ansleys – four if you include Lady Clarice.’

  ‘Indeed it does, but I take it that we do not consider her as a suspect?’

  ‘I think not,’ Nell agreed solemnly. ‘Lady Clarice was leading her group and if she had designs on Mr Charles then she would have taken a less conspicuous role in it.’

  ‘I admit I am most relieved. I do not see dear Clarice wielding a dagger. Even if she mistook a live man for a ghost as he was clad in Egyptian costume, I fail to see why she would have taken a dagger as part of her equipment.’

  Nell smiled. ‘Let’s assume then that whoever killed Mr Charles had good reason to do so in their opinion. They would need to know how long the ghost hunt would take. My group took half an hour to go round the west wing and return to the great hall, and when we arrived the other group was already there so their tour took a little less time. We set off together in our different directions.’

  ‘Had the first group returned long before?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they were all there. Lady Clarice would have noticed if any of them had vanished.’

  ‘Not necessarily. But they would have had to have known about Charlie’s whereabouts, which unfortunately brings us back to Helen, Richard and Sophy.’

  ‘And whomever they told,’ Nell said.

  ‘Would that include chambermaids?’ Arthur asked mildly.

  ‘No,’ Nell said wearily. ‘We’re back at the beginning, Arthur. There has to be a lot more to learn about Mr Charles than his attacking one chambermaid.’

  SIX

  The upper floor of the Coach and Horses Inn, which stood by the entrance gate to Wychbourne Court, did indeed look transformed since Nell’s last visit there for the Wychbourne village dance. That had been wizard fun – a mix of folk dances and inexpertly performed modern dances, together with some jigging about to ragtime. It bore no relation at all to the dancing she had seen at the Carlton or at Wychbourne Court and was much closer to her childhood memories of wild jumping around to music hall songs being belted out in local East End pubs.

  On this Wednesday morning, the Wychbourne village dance was also consigned to memory. The platform where the band had played was now occupied by a large table, at which the coroner would no doubt soon take his place. To one side was a seat, probably for the coroner’s officer or his clerk; the latter’s job so far was as a sheepdog herding people into their rightful positions for the inquest. There was a lectern – presumably the witness stand – and chairs ranged along part of both walls. Nell had been conducted to the witness rows, and the jury would presumably file in to the opposite row. The rest of the hall was packed full of the very eager press and public.

  ‘I feel like a pea in a pod waiting to be shelled,’ Nell whispered to Lady Clarice, who was sitting next to her.

  Among her other fellow peas were Miss Harlington, dressed as if for Ascot with the largest brimmed hat Nell had seen for many a long year. Trust her to wear a brim among a forest of cloche hats. She was languidly talking to Lord Richard, who was sitting with obvious pleasure at her side and looking more cheerful than of late. Perhaps Mr Charles’s behaviour last Saturday had opened his eyes to his so-called best friend. Best friends were all very well, Nell reflected, but as with pork, garlic and rosemary, best friends could still fall out if they had too much of each other.

  She could see Inspector Melbray further along the row, sitting next to the local doctor. On Lady Clarice’s far side was Lady Helen with Lady Sophy next to her. The press was occupying the front row of the public seating and behind them was a row that seemed to be reserved by unspoken assent for the Ansley family, including the dowager. Nell craned her neck to see whether Arthur was present too and picked him out two or three rows back, between Mr Beringer and Guy Ellimore. Typically for Guy, he was next to Lady Warminster. Was this by accident or design? Nell wondered, and if the latter, was it by Guy’s or hers? Guy was a great ladykiller but surely he wouldn’t have had a yen for Lady Warminster. Not his style at all.

  ‘Nell,’ whispered Lady Clarice, ‘can you sense him?’

  ‘Sense who?’ Nell asked blankly.

  ‘Charles Parkyn-Wright. He is with us, I am sure. He is the most vibrant person here.’

  Fortunately the jury and then the coroner chose to enter at that point. He wasn’t from Wychbourne so perhaps with a death at the prestigious Wychbourne Court to investigate he had come from Sevenoaks or Tonbridge.

  ‘In a way, Lady Clarice, I do agree with you.’ Their entry had given Nell time to reply diplomatically. ‘Absent but present in our minds.’

  ‘He is waiting to join our family,’ Lady Clarice told her proudly.

  It took a moment for Nell to tumble to what Lady Clarice meant. ‘He’s becoming one of the ghosts of Wychbourne Court?’

  ‘He is about to do so,’ Lady Clarice said gravely. ‘He will be joining Sir Thomas with whom he has an affinity.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Who knows, but soon, I believe. It is not for us to meddle. Once justice has been done and his killer discovered, then Charles may choose to leave us again, of course. It is his decision.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Nell said gently. The tension in her stomach grew as the coroner opened the proceedings and evidence of identification of the victim was given to the jury, including that of Mr Charles’s father. Would she be next? She was so busy preparing herself for that that she wasn’t prepared for the coroner’s next pronouncement. The cake then well and truly sank in the middle as he announced that the inquest had been adjourned until Tuesday, 7 July at the request of the police.

  What the dithering dumplings was the reason for that? She had nerved herself up to give evidence, only to have to do so again in just under two weeks’ time.

  She glanced along the row but Inspector Melbray’s face was, as usual, impassive. Common sense told her that he couldn’t have revealed news of this adjournment earlier, but her irritation was exacerbated just because she knew it was irrational. A worse thought struck her. If there was to be an adjournment, didn’t that mean the inspector must know who the killer was? If so, she needed to work quickly if she was to be any use to Lady Ansley. What would happen to the guests at Wychbourne Court? Would they stay or return home? What would happen next?

  That, at least, was answered. Upon the coroner’s departure, the Honourable Elise Harlington climbed
on to her chair with her flimsy chiffon skirt fashionably flaring around her elegant legs.

  ‘Let’s party!’ she cried, throwing her arms up in ecstasy.

  Party? Where? Was she crazy? Nell trembled for the reputation of Wychbourne Court. Lady Helen burst into tears, Lord Richard looked dumbfounded, and from the public seats Lady Ansley was hurrying towards her daughter. The press were crowding round with interest and those about to leave stopped gathering jackets and belongings to stare at the spectacle. Someone then caught the mood – or Miss Harlington’s mood, at least. ‘Let’s do it!’ he roared.

  Oblivious of this distraction, Lady Clarice began to make her way out. Should she go with her? Nell wondered. No, she might be needed here. ‘Why don’t you stay, Lady Clarice?’ she urged her as the shouting continued. ‘Mr Parkyn-Wright might welcome that.’

  Lady Clarice stared at her. ‘Very well, but they simply don’t understand, do they?’

  Did anyone understand anything in this bedlam? A few people were yelling approval, some disapproval, others just staring. The clerk of the court seemed to consider his role over and was making a speedy exit. She noted that fortunately Inspector Melbray was keeping an eye on the proceedings, as the Honourable Elise was still dancing on her chair.

  ‘I’m going to party with the peasants!’ she shouted, clapping her hands in glee.

  At that the said peasants revolted with an outburst of protests.

  ‘Let’s do Charlie’s dance!’ Miss Harlington shouted over the noise, ignoring the fact that the ‘peasants’ had opted to stomp out of the room. ‘Ye old village green,’ she continued, not a whit perturbed. ‘Under the spreading chestnut tree. Fiddle. You!’ She pointed at Guy Ellimore. ‘You’re the fiddler.’

  ‘I play the clarinet,’ he called back to her.

  ‘Then find the fiddler for me,’ she ordered in grand style. ‘We must celebrate the end of Charlie’s dance as he would have wanted.’

  She began to sway and Inspector Melbray helped her down from the chair without a word. He didn’t even object, Nell noticed, when the Honourable Elise Harlington swooned in his arms. Or appeared to do so.

  ‘Mulligatawny mussels,’ Nell muttered to herself. ‘What’s that woman going to do next?’

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Inspector Melbray deposited his burden – somewhat ungently, to Nell’s pleasure – on to the nearest seat, upon which she came to her senses and pointed at Nell. ‘You,’ she said grandly, ‘prepare us a picnic. Serve it on the green.’

  Nell declined this unwelcome offer, and was about to guide Lady Clarice to the protection of Lord and Lady Ansley when Lady Sophy came over to them.

  ‘Miss Drury, I think everyone here has gone cuckoo,’ Lady Sophy announced, ‘but if Elise is really going to do this Charlie’s dance, whatever it is, I should be here, if you wouldn’t mind escorting my aunt home.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Lady Clarice informed her niece with asperity. ‘If Charles is dancing then I must be present. He will expect to see me here.’

  ‘I’ll take you home, Clarice.’ Arthur must have spotted what was going on and came over to them. ‘Charlie will want to speak to you confidentially, not at a party. Miss Drury, I believe you might find the village fiddler most entertaining. Do stay.’

  His heavy hint was endorsed by Guy Ellimore, who seized the moment to join them. ‘Do stay, Nell,’ he urged her, taking her arm.

  She removed it. ‘I suppose I should. I’ll arrange the picnic with the inn. Not much is going to happen otherwise.’

  At least Inspector Melbray wasn’t clamouring to join the party.

  It should have been idyllic, Nell thought. Grouped around the village green were half-timbered cottages. There were other cottages whose beams had been covered with weatherboard and plaster but which had wisteria and roses climbing over them. There were one or two Georgian homes among them and several of the cottages served as shops on their ground floors. On the opposite corner to the inn was St Mary’s Church with its rectory tucked behind it. All a glorious sight and a splendid place for a picnic – on a normal day, which this was not.

  The chestnut tree that Miss Harlington had been glorifying to the courtroom was actually an oak tree which spread its majestic branches regally, ignoring the excesses of the interlopers beneath them. No village smithy stood here as in Longfellow’s poem, however, though there was a blacksmith-cum-garage out on the Hildenborough road. Even if Longfellow’s smith had been present, his attitude of ‘Something attempted, something done, has earned a night’s repose’ would be doomed to failure today. She hoped for his sake that his nights had been uninterrupted by ghosts or murders – or his days by idiotic bright young things like Miss Harlington.

  The required picnic had challenged the innkeeper’s wife. Not only was she unaccustomed to providing lunch for passers-by, but the thought of pleasing not only the guests from Wychbourne Court but Miss Drury herself overwhelmed her. Nell solved the problem. Pip, the young son of the inn, was despatched on his bicycle to the baker’s for bread, his sister to the grocer’s for ham, the dairy for cream and cheese, and to Mr Barney, the greengrocer, for cucumber, lettuce and strawberries. All bills to go to Wychbourne Court.

  Once they had arrived, Nell rolled up her sleeves. ‘Right,’ she said to the innkeeper’s wife, ‘tell me what you want doing.’ Somewhat dazed, the lady found she could cope after all with Nell’s help.

  Cider and beer were flowing by the time Nell rejoined the party outside. To her amusement, she could see that the village fiddler, who must have been pulled off his seat at the bar to rush home for his fiddle, was now playing for the Honourable Elise Harlington and Lady Helen, who were performing the Dashing White Sergeant all by themselves.

  Guy strolled up to meet her. ‘Is it usual for village inquests to end up like this?’

  ‘I doubt it, but if it keeps Madam Elise quiet it’s worth it, whether the village approves or not.’ Nell couldn’t see Lord and Lady Ansley or the dowager, although Arthur and Lady Clarice were still here – the latter probably waiting for Mr Charles’s ghost. Altogether between twenty and thirty people were gathered.

  The sandwiches were being brought out now and by the time Nell had helped with their distribution Guy had returned to Lady Warminster, to Nell’s relief. She needed time to get her breath back. Instead, the minute she began to tackle her own plate of sandwiches, Lady Sophy came over to her. ‘Can I sit with you?’ she asked wistfully. ‘You’re sensible,’ she added as Nell waved her down on the grass beside her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Nell said.

  ‘It’s Richard and Helen who aren’t,’ their sister said gloomily.

  ‘Ah. Careful, Lady Sophy.’

  ‘I’m always having to be careful. Careful about getting in Richard and Helen’s way. Careful about not upsetting Mother, careful not to bother Father with matters he won’t understand. People aren’t his stock-in-trade. He’s good at buildings, though.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about his not understanding people.’

  Lady Sophy ignored this. ‘My brother and sister have both been acting oddly since Charlie died. I just want to be sure …’

  ‘That they don’t know anything about his death,’ Nell finished for her when she came to a halt.

  ‘Well, they did plan it – not his death, of course, but the moans and groans and Pepper’s Ghost and all that.’

  ‘They weren’t to do with his death. It was just a joke and the police know that.’

  ‘Do they?’ Lady Sophy didn’t seem convinced.

  ‘Did you talk to anyone else about the joke beforehand?’ Nell asked. ‘Or did Mr Parkyn-Wright?’

  ‘Oh, yes. To Queen Elise for one, and lots of people giggled when we heard the groan just after we set off, so they must have guessed. After all, Charlie was dancing with Elise right up to the time he left to go and play the stupid joke.’

  ‘That would be not long after eleven thirty?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lady Sophy gave her a
curious look. ‘You’ve got a very enquiring mind, Nell. Is that because those cooking recipes of yours need careful timing?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nell said cautiously. ‘But I did find the body. I suppose because of that I feel some responsibility. Why did someone want to kill him? He seemed popular in his own set.’

  ‘Seemed,’ Lady Sophy said darkly. ‘But he was one of those people whom one feels one ought to like. Does that make sense?’ When Nell nodded, she continued, ‘So many people were busy saying how nice he was that everyone else thought they must be wrong if they didn’t agree.’

  ‘Is that how your sister felt?’ Nell tried not to sound too interested and helped herself to another sandwich. Not bad for a hurried job.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lady Sophy said simply. ‘Richard flies off the handle so easily nowadays you can’t talk to him about things. He was furious with Charlie for dancing with Elise all evening. And Helen – well, she was upset but I can’t believe she really loved Charlie. He was fun but no more. Just a bit swept off her feet, and at the dance she found herself stuck with poor old Rex Beringer.’

  ‘Why poor old? Just because his affection isn’t returned?’

  ‘Yes. I like Rex. He’s a real person. As I hope I am. He’s not at all like all those debs and flappers and jolly young men. Stage-door johnnies, Mother still calls them. Rex doesn’t live in one of those balloons floating through the sky until someone pricks it. He does love Helen, though she’s in a balloon most of the time and doesn’t even notice him. She used to like real people, not people like Charlie or Elise or Lady Warminster. I say, she could have killed Charlie, couldn’t she?’ she added in sudden excitement. ‘She was on the ghost hunt.’

  ‘Why would Lady Warminster want to kill him, though?’ Nell asked practically.

  ‘She’s ageing for a flapper,’ Sophy said eagerly, ‘but she could have had her eye on Charlie.’

  Nell decided to ignore the fact that Lady Warminster must be roughly the same age as she was. ‘Lady Warminster is married,’ she pointed out. Not that that seemed to matter overmuch nowadays.