Death of a Blue Blood

by 1 Donald Bain

  “It was a wonderful experience.”

  “He’s gone straightaway to bed, poor thing. He could barely lift the fork to his mouth, he was so exhausted.”

  “A well-deserved sleep,” I said.

  She picked up two plates and carried them to the sink. “Would you like tea?” she asked. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee.”

  “Tea would be lovely.” I took the chair she indicated at the kitchen table.

  She poured water from an electric teakettle into a mug, dropped in a tea bag, and sat in a seat opposite mine, pushing the mug in my direction. “So,” she said, “what brings you here this morning?”

  Although her tone and smile were warm and welcoming, I sensed a certain defensiveness on her part. The smile remained, but she sat with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, a classic defensive pose in Body Language 101.

  “I realize that I have no official standing to ask this question, Emmie, but my friend, Chief Inspector Sutherland, and I have found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of two cases of unexpected deaths—your sister’s unfortunate demise, and what we believe may have been the poisoning of the earl.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “I had occasion to read the coroner’s report about your sister.”

  Emmie looked startled. “I wasn’t aware that it was freely available information.”

  “It isn’t exactly.”

  “Then how did you get it?”

  I began to regret my visit. If Emmie complained about a breach of privacy on the part of the local police, it would put George in an awkward position with his colleagues, once again because of me. I didn’t want a repeat of the embarrassment he had suffered when the Bermuda press put pictures of the two of us together on their front page.

  “Please don’t be upset, Emmie. I would never discuss this publicly. Chief Inspector Sutherland and I are, well, we are close friends, and just as I confide in him, he trusts me to keep confidences he shares with me. In this case, the coroner observed some items that captured my attention.”

  “Such as?” No smile now. Her eyes took on defiance to match her crossed arms.

  “The report cites a scar on Flavia’s wrist. While it could have been the result of an accident, it could also indicate a—well, a suicide attempt.”

  Emmie said nothing in response, but her expression told me that I had not plucked something out of thin air.

  “Forgive me if I’ve touched a raw spot, but had Flavia ever attempted to take her life?”

  Emmie stared down at the table. She unlocked her arms and gathered some crumbs with the side of her hand. She swept them into her palm and dusted them off into her empty teacup. “I must admit, Jessica, that your question has taken me by surprise. My sister never had a reason to entertain ending her life. She was quite content with her position at the castle and—”

  “Is that really true, Emmie?” I asked.

  “Why would you doubt it?” she asked, but her eyes stayed focused on the tabletop.

  “Because of something else on the coroner’s report.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The coroner also reports that Flavia had a vertical abdominal scar. I wouldn’t have thought anything about that, except there was a moment during the foal’s birth when the possibility was discussed of the mare needing a cesarean section. In women, a vertical incision is rarely used now, but it used to be more common. Your sister’s abdominal scar was the result of a cesarean birth—wasn’t it?”

  Now, Emmie’s demeanor changed from defiance to discomfort. She glanced nervously in the direction of the hallway.

  I leaned across the table and placed my hand on her arm. “Please don’t misunderstand why I’m raising this,” I said. “Under ordinary circumstances, whether your sister had a child or not should remain only the business of the woman involved, and her closest family. But we’re dealing here with the murder of a lord, and the tragic death of a lovely woman under mysterious circumstances.”

  “That’s just a coincidence.”

  “I wish I could be certain it was. These two deaths so close together change the rules, Emmie. I’m afraid the only excuse I can offer you for probing into your personal business is that speculation such as what I’ve raised could amount to crucial evidence.”

  I fully expected Emmie’s warm welcome to change into a brusque request that I leave. I was wrong. Tears filled her large green eyes. She lowered her head and slowly shook it back and forth, as though denying what was occurring.

  “Was Flavia employed at the castle when she became pregnant?” I asked.

  Her nod was barely discernible.

  “Did she have the child here in Chipping Minster?”

  I saw an equally subtle back-and-forth head movement this time, an unspoken no.

  “Who was the father of Flavia’s child?” I asked in a low, sympathetic voice, my hand still on her arm.

  She started to answer but held back. I understood her reticence. If I was right—that Flavia Beckwith had had a child—it had been kept a deep, dark secret for all these years, and my intrusion into what was a family matter was understandably wrenching for her. But as I’d said, we were also dealing with the murder of the Earl of Norrance. If Flavia’s secret had played any role in that murder—and could possibly help bring the murderer to justice—it had to be revealed.

  “You’ve opened a nightmare,” Emmie said softly. “I wish you hadn’t.”

  “Which certainly wasn’t my intention, Emmie. I stress again that I’m not snooping into private family matters out of morbid curiosity. I would never do that. But as I said—”

  “Yes, I know. There’s been a murder, and my sister has met an untimely death. But surely you can understand how delicate this matter is for me—and for others involved.”

  I withheld further comment to allow her to regain her composure. When she seemed calmer, I said, “I’ve also learned that Flavia received considerably higher pay than any of the other staff at Castorbrook Castle, and that she received large sums of money from time to time from the earl, bonuses of one sort or another. Do you know why he paid her so much?”

  She let out an exasperated stream of air before pressing her lips tightly together and closing her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “There’s no way for this not to become known, is there?”

  “Whatever the truth is, it will come out in one form or another. My motive isn’t to cause you or anyone else grief, Emmie, but the local constable, as well as Chief Inspector Sutherland, have an obligation to bring the earl’s killer to justice. The circumstances surrounding your sister’s death might help them, and I have an obligation to tell them what I’ve come to know.”

  When she didn’t respond, I asked, “Does anyone else know the truth about Flavia and her child?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “Hazel, at the antiques store?” I asked.

  “I doubt if Flavia ever confessed to her. She was usually good at keeping secrets.” Emmie swallowed hard. “Mrs. Fletcher, Jessica, I know you mean well and are not out to hurt anyone, but I really would prefer that you leave.”

  “Don’t make her go.” It was Colin, who stood in the doorway.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” Emmie said.

  “I tried but couldn’t. Too wound up from last night at the stables. I heard your voices and came downstairs. I’ve been listening to the conversation.”

  “It doesn’t concern you,” Emmie said.

  “Who else, if not me?” he said, coming to the table and wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I’m a big boy, Mam,” he said. “No need to protect me from the truth. Aunt Flavia was really my mother, wasn’t she?”

  “Colin, please, there’s no need for you to be upset by what you’ve heard,” Emmie said.

  “I’m not upset,” he said. “I’ve suspected it for a long time.”

  Emmie jumped. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t take it amiss. You’ve been the most wonderful mothe
r a lad could ever ask for.” He hugged her tighter. “You taught me to be thankful for what I receive, to appreciate the opportunities I’m given that others don’t have. You taught me to be observant, and I am. There’ve been hints, nothing Aunt Flavia ever said, but I’d catch her over the years watching me with a wistful expression. And so often people would remark on how much I resemble my aunt.”

  “Lots of people look like other family members,” Emmie said.

  “There were other signs. She would always lecture me that I was as good as any of the Grant children, even though I could clearly see that they lived a more privileged life.”

  “Oh, Colin.”

  “I wasn’t jealous. Don’t think it for a moment. I was grateful to stay home when they got trundled off to boarding school. But I heard Aunt Flavia arguing with the earl about me. And she told me that when the time came, to remember to demand my rights.”

  “She wanted the best for you, just as I do.”

  “Why do you think she told you to demand your rights?” I asked.

  “No more questions,” Emmie said.

  “Oh, Mam, let’s just get it all out in the fresh air. It’s time, don’t you think?” He looked at me. “You’ve put two and two together, Mrs. Fletcher, and that’s okay.”

  “The earl is your father, isn’t he?” I said.

  “I always wondered why Lord Norrance treated me so patiently, when that was never a word you could apply to him as a rule.” Colin chuckled. “But he tried to keep me away from Jemma, and now I know why.”

  “Colin, you don’t have to say any more,” Emmie said.

  He disengaged from her and leaned against the kitchen counter. “The earl treated me almost like a son. Jemma and I used to laugh about it. She’d say I was more like him than Rupert and Kip. I wasn’t sure I liked that, but I wanted us to be brother and sister, so I allowed myself the fantasy. It’s true, isn’t it, Mam?”

  Emmie looked at her son sadly. “I didn’t want this to come out. He never acknowledged you. I was so afraid you’d feel rejected, unwanted,” she said.

  “I knew it! I just knew it. But is there anything to prove he was my father, any official paper, or something?”

  “There was your birth certificate. Flavia put his name on it, and the hospital officials insisted on getting a confirmation from the earl before they would send the form to the General Register Office.”

  “Where is the certificate?”

  “I’ve no idea. Flavia kept it. I don’t know where she put it.”

  Colin looked deflated, but then brightened. “But we could send away for it, couldn’t we?”

  “There’s no need for that,” Emmie snapped. She glowered at me. “You’ve opened some can of worms, Mrs. Fletcher. I hope you’re satisfied.”

  “‘Satisfied’ is the wrong term,” I said. “I never brought this up to seek satisfaction.”

  “For whatever reason you’ve elected to delve into our family secret, you’ve done a good job of it,” Emmie said. “Next question?”

  I was tempted to leave things as they were and depart, but I did have more questions and decided to take advantage of the openness that now filled the kitchen.

  “Where did Flavia have Colin?” I asked.

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I need to know that, Mam.” Colin took a seat at the table and pulled his mother’s hand into his.

  “In Birmingham,” she replied stiffly. “That’s where we were from. Flavia studied nursing at the university, where my husband taught. After the first countess died—she was a sickly thing—Flavia came back to live with us. When she found out she was pregnant, she called him. I’ll never forget it.” She looked at Colin with tears in her eyes. “He refused to marry her, said he’d never recognize the child, and advised her to get rid of the baby. She was so distraught. I thought she’d never recover.”

  “Is that when she tried to take her life?” I asked.

  Emmie nodded, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “Lucky for me she wasn’t successful,” Colin said with a wink, eliciting a watery chuckle from his mother. “Tell me more.”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this in front of Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “She seems to know more than both of us, so I’d say she’s earned a place at the table.”

  Emmie sighed. “My husband and I couldn’t have any children. We convinced Flavia that we’d raise the baby as our own and she’d need never tell a soul. It was a difficult birth that necessitated a cesarean section. I was with her. We took the baby home, and everything was perfect that first year. But then my husband passed away. Flavia wanted to bring Colin back to Chipping Minster. I resisted, but she won. She usually did. But I made her promise that we’d tell people that Colin was my child. And she agreed.”

  “What was the earl’s reaction?” I asked.

  “At first, he was furious, but he came ’round to it.” She put her hand to Colin’s cheek. “He saw what a lovely lad you were.”

  Colin covered her hand with his.

  She withdrew her hand and stared down at the table, re-creating what had happened.

  “After the earl and his new wife had three children in quick succession, Flavia went up to the castle and suggested that she could be their governess. The earl was pleased with the idea. He took good care of Flavia financially, and she shared the funds with me and Colin. She resumed her place on the Castorbrook Castle staff as though nothing had happened.”

  “Did anyone else know about the relationship between Flavia and the earl,” I asked, “or that he was Colin’s father?”

  “I can’t speak for the staff. I think Hazel suspected the truth. She was a friend to us both. But I never told her, and I’m certain Flavia didn’t either.”

  “Hazel said you and Flavia had a falling-out several weeks ago. What was that about?”

  “Is there no part of my life that’s my own?” she moaned.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I said.

  “We had an argument. She threatened that she was going to tell the countess everything. I told her I’d never speak to her again if she did. She was going to break her promise to me that Colin was to be my son forever. But she was sure if she revealed everything to the countess, the earl would be forced to acknowledge Colin.” Emmie looked up, her eyes pleading for understanding. “She couldn’t take him back now. I’m his mother.”

  “You are, Mam. And you’ve always been.”

  Emmie put her head down on her arms and sobbed, the tension of holding on to an important secret all these years finally released in a torrent of tears. Colin patted her back and kissed her hair. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he told her in soothing tones. “You’re my mam always, the best mother ever.”

  It was time for me to leave. I wanted to ask Emmie if Flavia ever carried out her threat to tell the countess that Colin was the earl’s son. What would she have accomplished other than making Marielle feel like a fool for not knowing that the earl had fathered a child with the woman she’d thought was her friend, someone who’d been a governess to her children and who functioned as her lady’s maid and was with her every day?

  Emmie seemed to anticipate my question. She raised her head, wiped her eyes, and looked at me. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ll have to ask the countess yourself.”

  Which was what I intended to do at the first available moment.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I called George’s cell phone to see if he was ready to return to the castle.

  “Afraid not, Jessica. This case meeting still has a way to go. But I’ll ring up Ralph and have him pick you up wherever you are.”

  “No need,” I said. “I’ll walk down to the Muddy Badger. It’s a lovely sunny day. Ralph said he’d be there.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll join you later at the castle.”

  I put my cell phone in a side pocket of my blazer where I’d been keeping it since the day I was loc
ked outside in the frigid garden. Although Flavia’s heart condition had caused her death, if I had read the coroner’s report correctly, the inclement weather had been a contributing factor. If she’d had a cell phone with her, she would have been able to call for help instead of futilely pounding on the door. It was a lesson I had learned the day we arrived, and one that remained with me.

  Ralph was playing darts with a woman in the pub when I arrived. I encouraged him to finish his match and ordered lunch.

  Doreen slid a bowl of cream of lemon soup in front of me. “This is a classic English soup,” she said, “going back to the seventeenth century. It’s one of the cook’s specialties.”

  I picked up my spoon and tasted it. “It’s wonderful.”

  Doreen grinned. “I knew you’d like it. Oh, I almost forgot.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, holding a tiny tin. “Would you like some caviar as a garnish? We have a little left over from New Year’s Eve.” She opened the tin and placed it in front of me. It contained a small number of the precious black fish eggs. Before I could answer, she took a spoon and stirred what was left in the tin.

  I laughed and said, “I learned from the chef at the castle never to stir caviar.”

  Doreen laughed, too. “I don’t know why people raise such a fuss over this stuff.”

  Although I’d eaten only some of my soup, I dropped the spoon in the bowl, turned, and called out, “Ralph!”

  “Is anything wrong?” Doreen asked.

  “No, it’s delicious, but we have to go. I just thought of something.”

  “Darts have never been my strong suit,” Ralph said cheerily as we left the pub, got in his taxi, and drove back to Castorbrook.

  I hadn’t seen any members of Lady Norrance’s family since the day before when they’d bid adieu to their remaining guests—all except George and me and Elmore Jackcliff—in the castle’s entry hall. It wasn’t surprising. People in mourning often isolate themselves; families may feel the need to cling together to share the grief they hesitate to display when visitors are present. Of course, George and I had been out of the house most of the time. It was possible the family had received condolence calls from neighbors and friends that we were not aware of. Still, I hoped to find time to have a private talk with the countess. How much or how little she knew of her husband’s relationships before they married could be pertinent. And were any of her loyal staff members aware of the history between the earl and Flavia? If so, could that knowledge have spurred someone to take revenge on her behalf?