by Amy Myers
Today she was Miss Plod, Nell quickly realized, and took a brief pause from the raspberry fool to see what was happening at the old dairy. She must tell the inspector about her appointment with Arthur. Mr Peters had reported that the police were moving back into the morning room. That put an end to Nell’s forlorn hope that Lady Ansley’s tramp had already been arrested, and when she reached the vegetable garden gate she could see that investigations were still in progress at the dairy. People were swarming everywhere, on the road leading to the rear exit from the estate, on the narrow path leading to the dairy and in the bushes surrounding it.
The dairy had been built in the coldest corner of the garden in the eighteenth century, and was so tucked away that it was hard to see it from where she stood. No one would go there by chance, which made it all the more probable that Miss Harlington had known of her planned rendezvous with Arthur but not of its cancellation. But why would Miss Harlington want to eavesdrop on them? Was she hoping for blackmail material? Had she a companion with her who then murdered her or had someone followed her?
Stop speculating, she told herself, and get moving. Tell him now. She could see the inspector by the roadside talking to a group of officers. At least he wasn’t going to think that she and Arthur were lovers. But she remained frozen to the spot. Go, she ordered herself, but then she saw Arthur walking towards her.
‘My dear Nell,’ he said, ‘what splendid good fortune. I wanted to talk to you and to see what was going on here, being a nosy fellow, and here you are already. This is bad news, Nell. Very grave. I have left a message for the police that I can be found here. Have you spoken to them yet?’
‘No, I needed to talk to you first. Jimmy tells me Elise delivered my message to you yesterday.’
‘Did she? It came through the door as usual.’
‘Could it have been opened and read?’
‘I recall it was unsealed. How unfortunate. I presume she did not know that our meeting was later cancelled. What could have interested her in our arrangement, Nell? I saw the police just now gathering clues in their little test tubes and glass bottles. They seemed also to be taking plaster casts which I presume are of footprints. Ours, do you think?’
‘Perhaps, but unlikely. It was dry when we met here last week. There’d be fingerprints, though.’
‘Ah. They will still no doubt have ours on record adorned with that nasty black powder. I see that Inspector Poker-Face Melbray is still here.’
He was rather poker-faced, now she came to think of it. ‘Yes, so he must believe the two murders are connected.’
‘It looks that way, Nell. Was the body found inside the dairy?’
‘I don’t know. They seem to be working inside, though.’
‘Perhaps Miss Harlington sought the diary out as a convenient if uncomfortable place for love and therefore it has nothing to do with our visits? I assume her killer was a man, but of course it could be a woman. I don’t see Lady Enid strolling down here in the middle of the night, however.’
Nell managed a laugh. ‘That’s better, Nell,’ Arthur continued approvingly. ‘Incidentally, I believe the Dowager Dragon might awake again and roar at any moment. Miss Checkam is currently with her – I cannot help observing such matters from my cottage – and I do wonder why she is there.’
So did Nell, but there were more urgent issues. Such as Inspector Melbray walking purposefully towards them.
‘I’m told, Mr Fontenoy, that you wished to see me. Shall we adjourn?’ he said after nodding briefly to Nell.
It was an invitation for her to leave, Nell realized, inexplicably annoyed.
‘Miss Drury is involved in this matter too,’ Arthur told him mildly. ‘Her footprints and fingerprints might well be found as well as mine by your indefatigable gentlemen over there. Left, I should make clear, from our earlier meetings, not last night.’
The inspector looked from one to the other, his face, as usual, impassive, but a steeliness had entered it.
‘They were not meetings of mutual passion, Inspector,’ Nell told him curtly.
‘I note that.’
She was already mishandling this, she realized, but it was too late to draw back. ‘We were hoping to help.’ She stumbled onwards, but it sounded to her more childish with every word.
‘In short,’ he commented when she had finished her explanation, ‘you saw yourselves as Mrs Christie’s Hercule Poirot and Lady Molly of Scotland Yard respectively.’
Her cheeks burned, part in embarrassment and part in anger. ‘We might hear details that you would not that might give some clue as to why Charles Parkyn-Wright was killed.’
‘That’s true,’ he conceded. ‘On the other hand, you could be hindering every step the police make. I need the times and dates that you met in the dairy and to be told of anything that might be relevant for the case. And I need you to stop these activities immediately.’
Anger was winning over embarrassment. ‘Relevant to Miss Harlington’s death or to Charles Parkyn-Wright’s?’ she asked.
‘Both,’ he replied briskly.
‘There’s more to tell you, Inspector,’ Arthur put in. ‘We had arranged a meeting here for nine o’clock last night, which we cancelled.’
This time it was the inspector’s turn for anger. ‘And you tell me only now?’
Hold on to your hat, Nell, she told herself, but failed. ‘You weren’t here earlier and Miss Harlington would not have known it was cancelled.’
He listened grimly and without comment as she told him about the message and Arthur confirmed it. By the time they had finished he looked almost weary of them. ‘Miss Drury, would you come with me, please. Mr Fontenoy, I’ll call on you later, if I may. I need a statement from you.’
It was only a short walk back to the house but it felt like a mile as she marched like a naughty child beside the inspector through the kitchen garden towards the forecourt. There were roses in bloom on the walls of the kitchen garden and in front of the house. They seemed incongruous in the light of today’s news, yet on the Western Front birds had still sung and what trees remained had still struggled to blossom.
‘Miss Drury,’ he said as they reached the entrance to the house, ‘have you ever seen the body of someone who has been strangled?’
Was this some kind of test? ‘No. Dead bodies, yes.’
‘In a hospital?’
‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘During the Zeppelin raids during the war. There was a terrible bomb dropped in the Strand, you may remember. I was working not far away and went to help – many people were killed there.’ She swallowed. ‘Do we have to talk about this?’
‘No. We could talk about flowers and the beauties of this countryside and how it doesn’t seem right that a murdered body should be lying amid all this luxury. Especially hers.’
Much as she had been thinking herself. ‘Why especially?’ Nell asked, sounding more aggressive than she had intended.
‘Wouldn’t you agree that Elise Harlington was an exotic hothouse bloom at home in London but out of her depth among these roses and green lawns and fields full of wild flowers or sheep? And Charles Parkyn-Wright too?’
Nell considered this as he led her into the morning room, now once more a place of work, not the comfortable room she was used to. ‘Yes, I would agree,’ she answered him, ‘but nevertheless, Miss Harlington seemed content to stay on here as a guest. She wasn’t really his fiancée, you know.’
‘I do. We searched her room this morning. She had a supply of cocaine with her. A very large supply. Does that suggest anything to you?’
Nell put her mind to it, although she was puzzled. She had thought she was here for a severe lecture on her activities by the inspector, if not an official arrest. Instead he was talking to her as though she was a human being.
‘Only that Mr Parkyn-Wright had just sold her some,’ she replied. ‘No, that doesn’t work, does it? He would want to keep his clients coming back for more so he would sell only a limited amount at a time.’
‘That she did some of his work for him?’ she suggested, warming to the idea. ‘She could have been distributing the drugs for him, maybe to the men, while he looked after the women.’
‘Good, but you don’t go far enough.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll try harder,’ she murmured humbly.
A glimmer of a smile. ‘Don’t mock me, however tempted you might be, Miss Drury. I might not deserve it. And today I don’t need it. I don’t enjoy seeing murdered bodies, particularly of young women.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said genuinely. She hesitated. ‘How far should I have gone to answer your question?’
‘I’m sure you’ll work it out for yourself. Yourself only, please. About the dairy business, though – I’ll have to interview Jimmy again. He’s already been hauled in front of me once. He’s a bright lad.’
‘He didn’t know what was in the message he delivered for us and I’m sure he wouldn’t have bothered to read it. And in giving it to Miss Harlington, he meant no harm.’
‘Very few of us do. However, as a result of his not delivering it in person, it’s probable that Miss Harlington read it and went there hoping to find – well, who knows what? Yourself and Mr Fontenoy, perhaps, in a clandestine embrace.’
‘Just a tottering turnip,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘Why would we go to a damp dairy when Arthur has a cottage not far away?’
He actually laughed. ‘You forget that you thought I might automatically assume that a lovers’ tryst was taking place. However, I’m sure that both Miss Harlington and you would have been aware that his tastes do not include ladies, not even you, Miss Drury.’
She calmed down, although she was not sure whether this was a slur or a compliment. ‘Miss Harlington must have gone there out of curiosity to see what we were up to.’
‘And someone followed her. I’m told she made only a brief appearance at dinner. She died, we think, between nine and eleven o’clock, and your appointment had been for nine. Perhaps she thought you or Mr Fontenoy knew who had killed Parkyn-Wright. At the very best she knew she could embarrass you and tell the Dowager Lady Ansley of your rendezvous with her neighbour, whom I gather she dislikes.’
‘An understatement.’
‘Or she might have hoped to get you into ill repute with your employers.’
‘That’s possible,’ she frowned. ‘But even if someone followed her who would want to kill her? It wasn’t me or Arthur.’
He remained silent.
‘You can’t think that?’ she asked in alarm.
‘I have to for my job. Facts will emerge from the evidence we’ve collected from the dairy and will reveal the truth in the end, but meanwhile we have to consider every possibility. My opinion is that the answer lies deeper than with you or Mr Fontenoy, though.’ He paused, then began again: ‘Miss Drury, I’ve gone further in speaking to you than I should have done in view of my job and your being a witness in the case. I intend to go even further, however, back to the murder of Charlie Parkyn-Wright and then to your friend, Mr Ellimore.’
She stiffened. ‘He couldn’t have killed him. I’ve been thinking about it. Mr Peters would have seen him, heard Mr Charles cry out, seen Guy up there on the gallery.’
He ignored this. ‘I thought you might wish to hear this. Despite his earlier denial, William Foster has now admitted that he was talking with Mr Ellimore in the supper room until twelve twenty-five. He then left for the reasons you gave me, and Mr Ellimore’s story of joining your group about five minutes later is therefore confirmed. And before you ask whether I think either of them is lying, I do not. Lord Ansley’s chauffeur saw Foster leave in a van and we have a witness who remembers seeing Ellimore leave the supper room at the same time as Foster. However, I’d be grateful if you would keep this to yourself.’
‘Guy can know, surely,’ she said impulsively. ‘That’s wonderful news. You can’t leave him in suspense.’
‘I’ll tell him that his alibi stands up when I choose.’
A silence and, knowing she was in the wrong, she made an effort to break it. ‘You told me how Miss Harlington had died. Could a woman have killed her? Arthur says it’s possible.’
‘And he is correct.’
At that moment the door was flung open, Inspector Melbray half rose to his feet and Nell turned abruptly round. It was Lady Clarice but not as Nell was used to seeing her. Today she was flushed and angry, her whole body trembling.
‘This,’ she announced, ignoring Nell and addressing Inspector Melbray, ‘is not good enough.’
‘What’s disturbing you, Lady Clarice?’ he asked.
‘It’s not something disturbing me that you should worry about. It’s my ghosts. When are you going to stop these murders and see justice done? First one, and now I understand there’s been another murder and the police are doing nothing, but nothing!’
‘We could discuss this later, perhaps—’
‘No, we could not. I came here to tell you that as you appear to be incapable of solving these murders, my ghosts will advise you. I will inform you of where and when.’
Time to step in, Nell thought. ‘Lady Clarice,’ she said firmly, ‘that’s very good of you and of your ghosts, but Inspector Melbray needs to get on with his job. He can’t wait for the ghosts.’
‘You mean well,’ Lady Clarice replied, ‘but the ghosts won’t be long in coming.’
‘For what?’ the inspector asked, remarkably politely, Nell thought, in view of the provocation.
‘Young man,’ Lady Clarice explained coldly, ‘one murder in the house might be tolerated by my ghosts, but two is too much. Do you realize that there is silence? Nothing comes from them at all. It is most peculiar. I believe it means they are planning something quite terrible. They accepted Mr Parkyn-Wright’s murder and welcomed him into their number, but this new death is something quite different.’
Nell tried again. ‘Miss Harlington died very recently. Perhaps after the funeral she will settle down.’
‘It is not as simple as that. I repeat, there is something ominous. They are gathering. We shall see what we shall see, Inspector. The ghosts will settle this matter for themselves.’
‘How shall we know the results?’ Inspector Melbray enquired, as though this was a routine procedure for a murder case.
‘You will know because I shall inform you. But I think it is a matter of days. And please do not say I have not warned you.’
TWELVE
‘My fate cries out, it seems,’ Inspector Melbray remarked wryly as the door closed behind Lady Clarice. ‘But Hamlet only had one ghost to cope with and I appear to be facing a whole army. Unfortunately the psychic world doesn’t fall within the Scotland Yard criminal procedure training. We are taught to provide more tangible evidence. Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Drury?’
Nell gave her standard reply. ‘No one does until they see one.’
‘Or sense them, perhaps?’
‘There can be an odd atmosphere where a murder has occurred.’
‘As here in Wychbourne Court,’ he commented. ‘Is Lady Clarice a medium or a spiritualist as well?’
‘She feels deeply over the people who have lived in this house,’ Nell said defensively. ‘And that’s good, isn’t it? It’s not the bricks and ragstone but the people she cares about. She doesn’t use Ouija boards to commune with the dead, though.’ Nell remembered being told that Lord Ansley, in the first wave of grief over the loss of his son Noel, had hoped to contact him by such means, just as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had tried to reach his own son that way, but there had been no suggestion that Lady Clarice had done so. ‘Perhaps Lady Clarice is suffering from the anxiety that everyone here is feeling but it’s conveying itself to her as the ghosts becoming upset.’
He looked at her keenly. ‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I’m sitting on the fence,’ she admitt
ed, ‘and it isn’t very comfortable.’
‘I’ll join you there. Lady Clarice believes ghosts are gathering because they want to see justice done. Can they tell, do you think, whether the right person is being condemned?’
Could the inspector be serious? Nell tried to see it from his point of view. Making the wrong decision, despite all the legal proceedings that would have to be gone through, could lead to the death of an innocent person. That could well be what was troubling him. ‘We can do our best,’ she replied, ‘but how can we know if it is the best? Who judges that, save God?’
‘There’s only ourselves to do so, Nell.’ He reddened. ‘My apologies. I should say Miss Drury. We await our ghosts then. They might indicate their displeasure.’ He paused. ‘Tread carefully, Miss Drury.’
‘I will.’ Nell felt unexpectedly lighthearted. ‘And I’ll trust no one.’
‘Except me,’ he reminded her.
The encounter with Lady Clarice left Nell in a quandary. Should she talk about this threat with Lady Ansley? No, she decided on her way back to the east wing. Ten to one, Lady Clarice would already have forgotten about it and, even if she hadn’t, it would probably amount to nothing more than her periodic cry of ‘Sir Thomas is abroad’ or ‘Violet is awake’ or whomever she picked on. Nevertheless, she would keep an eye on Lady Clarice to see if the subject arose again. She wondered if she should warn Arthur, however, as he was closest to Lady Clarice. Nell then remembered that she had promised the inspector – she wondered what his Christian name was as he had made free with hers and remembered it was Alexander – not to actively investigate the case with other people. Did the ghosts count as part of the case or not?