Death of a Blue Blood

by 1 Donald Bain

  Angus shuffled closer to where we sat and glared at me. “Everything all right, my lady?”

  Marielle nodded. “Yes, Angus. I am most appreciative of your tidying the garden cupboard. It will be nice to have it in good nick when the police take a look inside.”

  Angus lifted the bag. “Anything for you, my lady. There’s nothing dangerous left behind.”

  I watched the exchange between mistress and servant. “It’s really remarkable, Marielle. Mrs. Powter, Nigel, Angus. They’re all devoted to you. You inspire such great loyalty on the part of your staff, even to the point of allowing someone to die because you desire it.”

  “How nice of you to notice.”

  “Even so, it’s the rare criminal who can completely cover up the crime. There are always loose ends, little details that you’ve neglected. You’ve concocted a nice alibi, but the police are very thorough. You’ll never get away with this,” I said, hoping that I was right.

  “I don’t know any such thing,” Marielle said, getting to her feet. “I’ve been getting away with things for a long time. This little discussion was just your sharing the plot for your next mystery. I am most amused that you are using our historic home as a setting, and flattered that I have inspired your fictional visions, but I really believe you have carried your imaginings too far. Using the Norrance title to bolster your sales. Well, it’s just reprehensible, that’s all. I’ll have to consult my solicitor. We can always use the few dollars you may have put by to salve our ire and repair our reputation.”

  “That’s a fine fairy tale you’ve written for yourself,” I said. “Murderers often deny any culpability. They construct elaborate excuses for why their actions were justified, and they dream up revenge scenarios. The psychopathic personality tends to create its own version of the truth regardless of the facts.”

  “Are you calling me names now?”

  “You’re an intelligent woman, Marielle. I think you realize that there is just too much evidence piling up against you.”

  “I’ve had enough of your fanciful accusations. Angus! Mrs. Fletcher is just leaving. Would you kindly escort her to her room and ensure that she is out of this house within the next ten minutes.” She glared at me and lowered her voice. “You’re nothing but a hack, a writer of cheap crime novels, and I won’t have you spreading your malicious rumors about my family. It’s disgraceful. I told James not to invite you. Rupert doesn’t need advice from base, self-centered Hollywood types.”

  Angus waved at me. “Go along, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s time for you to leave.”

  I turned toward the door and was grateful to see a figure standing there.

  George had swept aside the drape covering the entrance from the hall. “Mrs. Fletcher isn’t going anywhere just yet. We have a few questions for you, Lady Norrance.”

  “Lucky you,” Marielle said, a smile breaking out on her lovely face. “The cavalry has arrived.”

  Angus hoisted his plastic bag and started for the door.

  “I think the authorities may want to ask you about Flavia Beckwith’s death, Angus. And I’m certain they’d like to see what’s in your sack.” I looked at George. “One of the garden chemicals is likely to contain cyanide.”

  Mardling came through the curtain with Willoughby and another constable, who took Angus’s bag and escorted him from the room.

  “Lady Norrance, will you please come with us,” Mardling said.

  “And why should I do that? You have no cause to arrest me,” Marielle said as Willoughby took her arm. “Just what are the charges? You have no proof of anything.” She smiled in satisfaction.

  “Did you hear it all?” I asked George.

  “We heard enough.”

  Marielle laughed. “What you heard were my suggestions for Jessica’s next book. Isn’t that right, Jessica? It was just a made-up story. An amusing exercise.”

  “I’m afraid it was more than that, Marielle. I have recorded your whole confession.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and looked at the screen. “Chief Inspector Sutherland was my last call. I pressed one button to redial him. I knew he wouldn’t answer if his meeting was still taking place. Everything we talked about will be on his voice mail.”

  The countess straightened her shoulders. “James always hated those mobiles. I rather think he was right.”

  Mardling extended his hand to her.

  “I’ll have nothing to say until my legal representation arrives,” she said, ignoring Mardling’s hand and sailing out of the room in front of him.

  Despite her crimes, I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the countess. She had been hit with two terrible blows one after the other—betrayal by a woman she’d thought was her friend, compounded by the betrayal by her husband. Even though Lord Norrance was no longer involved with Flavia and hadn’t been for years, he’d been disloyal to Marielle by keeping his former lover in his employment, by allowing her to befriend his wife, by supporting his illegitimate son’s mother financially without telling Marielle, and by giving Flavia the terrible power to tear down his wife’s trust and love.

  The situation reminded me of the badgers that Farmer Melton was intent on wiping out. Flavia had tried to destroy Marielle, and the countess had responded like a mother badger defending her nest. She had gone on the attack, killing those who threatened her home and her children. It was not defensible, but I understood what drove her.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The arrest of the countess and her gardener naturally became big news, and the media descended on Castorbrook Castle once again. Detective Sergeant Mardling and his trusty aide, Constable Willoughby, took charge and arranged for a contingent of uniformed officers to provide security and keep the idly curious away.

  George was busy with Mardling and Willoughby when I received a phone call from Colin. He and his mother, Emmie Stanhope, had heard the news of the arrests on the radio.

  “Did she admit it?” he asked. “Did she admit that the earl was my father?”

  “Yes, Colin. The countess admitted to that, as well as to having poisoned him.”

  “Did she also murder my aunt—I mean my real mother—I mean Flavia?”

  “She’s responsible for her death, yes. She had Flavia placed in a dangerous situation that was too much for her heart to handle,” I said. “The countess contends it was an accident, but it’s likely that she—and Angus—will be charged with manslaughter.”

  “That doesn’t really make it any better, especially for me mam.”

  “No. I don’t imagine it does. I was wondering if you and your mother—I mean Emmie—can find time to meet me here at the castle today.”

  He laughed. “We don’t have to juggle the words around. Emmie is me mam, now and forever. But I’m a lucky chap to have had two mothers claim me.”

  “Yes, I’d say that you are.”

  “Coming to the castle won’t be a problem, unless Rupert and Kip object,” he said. “Why do you want us there?”

  “As Flavia’s only relatives, you inherit her possessions. I’d like to be with both of you when you go to her living quarters to collect her belongings.”

  “I’m sure I can talk Mam into it. An hour from now all right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll alert the police that you’re coming.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Fletcher. The officers know I work at the stables. Mam and me, we’ll walk up to the castle from there. She wants to see our new colt anyway.”

  I told Nigel that Emmie and Colin would be arriving and that I would be in Mrs. Beckwith’s quarters. I would have also alerted Mrs. Powter but didn’t know where to find her. If another visit to Flavia’s rooms upset her, so be it.

  I stood in what had once been the fourth-floor nursery that Flavia Beckwith had turned into her apartment, and I tried to put everything that had happened into perspective. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but there had to be something of importance to have motivated the countess to turn the bedroom upside down immedi
ately following Flavia’s death. If she’d found what she was looking for, it would be gone, and going through Flavia’s things with Emmie and Colin could be a wasted exercise. But maybe Lady Norrance hadn’t found what she was seeking. If so, could we figure out what it was, and could it be found in Flavia’s rooms?

  I started looking at the volumes on her bookshelf, well aware as I did that I wasn’t family and had no legitimate reason for doing so. But I rationalized—once again—that there was still a loose end to the events that had transpired, and I’ve never been one to be comfortable with unresolved issues.

  “Can’t keep your nose out of her things, can you?” Mrs. Powter stood in the doorway, her hands fisted on her hips.

  “Whom are you protecting, now?” I asked. “Mrs. Beckwith’s relatives are coming to gather her things. The countess isn’t here to give or withhold her permission.”

  “The new Lady Norrance may not like it any better than I do.”

  “By all means, please inform Poppy and ask if she’d like me to explain why I’m looking through Flavia Beckwith’s belongings. Do you think my presence in Flavia’s rooms would be topmost on her agenda today? Her father-in-law has been murdered. Her mother-in-law has been arrested. Her husband, the new earl, must be overwhelmed by grief. She is now in charge of a household in turmoil. Yet you would add to her troubles by complaining that a nosy guest is looking at Mrs. Beckwith’s books.”

  The housekeeper’s shoulders slumped, and she seemed on the verge of tears.

  I chided myself for speaking so harshly when she was clearly grieving herself.

  “Look, Mrs. Powter, you and I may never see eye to eye on whether I should be permitted to search Flavia Beckwith’s apartment. However, I’m sure you understand that criminal acts have taken place in Castorbrook Castle.”

  “She would never do what you have accused her of doing.”

  “I’m not accusing her. The police are. And they have her confession recorded. But didn’t you find it strange that she came up here and tore Flavia’s room apart? Did you ask her what she was looking for?”

  “It was none of my business.”

  “Didn’t you even wonder why she did it?”

  “I thought Mrs. Beckwith might have stolen something from her. It wouldn’t have surprised me. She was such a cold, calculating woman. You could see she was jealous of Lady Norrance, although that never registered with Her Ladyship. She always thought well of everyone.”

  “Never registered? Of course. That’s it.” I smiled at the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Powter. I was trying to picture what Mrs. Beckwith may have been hiding. She didn’t steal anything from the countess; I promise you. The countess wanted something that was Flavia’s, and now I think I know what that was.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to it. The rest of the family needs me right now. They are all in a state of shock, as is the staff.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’m very sorry for your loss. You were and are an important member of Lord and Lady Norrance’s staff, and I know they appreciated your loyalty.”

  She sniffled, but no tears fell. Instead, with an erect back, she turned and walked away. I felt very sorry for her. I was at least partly responsible for the tumultuous situation the household found itself in.

  I’d turned back to the bookshelf when Nigel delivered Emmie and Colin to the room.

  “Thank you, Nigel,” I said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am. If there is anything I can do for you, you need only to ask. The new Lady Norrance has instructed the staff to cooperate with the constabulary in any way we can. I am at your disposal night and day.”

  What a lovely gentleman, I thought as he departed and Emmie and Colin entered.

  “I hope you don’t mind my going through Flavia’s things here,” I said. “I have no legal authority to do it but—”

  “Not another word,” Emmie said. “Colin and I have discussed this. Even though I resisted it, you’ve done us a great service. It was time that Colin’s true heritage be established. Was there something of Flavia’s you wanted in particular?”

  “No. I don’t want anything.” I explained how after the countess had Angus lock Flavia outside, she searched the apartment. “Lady Norrance was desperate to find something.”

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Look at this, Mam,” Colin said as he picked up the framed photograph that George and I had looked at during our first visit. “That’s Aunt Flavia with the four of us. It must have been taken before the earl sent them off to boarding school. Look how young we were.”

  “How much you look like Kip,” Emmie said, although her smile was wistful. “And how beautiful Flavia was. This must have been taken twenty years ago, Colin. What a handsome lad you were.”

  I joined them.

  “That’s me, Kip, Rupert, and Jemma,” he said to me. “I remember when it was taken. I didn’t know that Aunt Flavia still had this picture.”

  Emmie idly pulled on the tape that held the damaged frame together.

  “Careful,” Colin said. “It’ll fall apart.”

  Emmie handed the photograph to me. “I suppose you want me to take stock of what Flavia has left behind,” she said, heading for the bedroom. “I hated having all her things in the house. Now, I’ll have even more.”

  I reached to replace the photograph on the bookshelf, when I wondered why Flavia had kept it in a broken frame. I pulled on the tape, and the backing came off completely. What’s this? I thought as a piece of paper wedged between the photo and the backing slid free. The paper that had been hidden had an official seal on it, and a florid signature at the bottom.

  “I think I’ve found what Lady Norrance was looking for. Come see,” I called. I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.

  “What is it?” Colin asked.

  I handed it to him and his mother, and I read it over his shoulders. We were looking at Colin’s birth certificate from the General Register Office. Flavia Beckwith was listed as the mother; the space for the father’s name read “James William Edward Grant, seventh Earl of Norrance.”

  “You wanted proof that you’re the earl’s son, Colin,” Emmie said, holding back tears. “Well, here it is.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  George and I made plans to depart Castorbrook Castle that evening. I didn’t relish still being a guest in the castle should Lady Norrance somehow be released.

  The police had searched the countess’s rooms but hadn’t been able to locate her domed ring. At my suggestion, they also searched Elmore Jackcliff’s studio and found the piece of jewelry at the bottom of his paint box. They had taken both the ring and the artist’s box to a laboratory for testing.

  Jackcliff swore he hadn’t put the ring in his paint box, but the police charged him as an accessory to murder anyway. The artist was expected to make bail and would be allowed to return to his gallery in London until his court date drew him back to Chipping Minster.

  I was fairly certain that Jackcliff must have wiped clean any fingerprints that could have been left on the ring. But even if he had taken the time to wash out the ring’s secret compartment, it was unlikely he’d have been successful in ridding the ring of all traces of the poison that the countess had poured into it. How much the artist had known in advance of Lady Norrance’s murderous plans we might never discover.

  There was no doubt that the ring was a crucial piece of evidence, although between Marielle’s taped confession and the plastic bag of chemicals Angus had taken from the garden shed, the officials had enough to hold both of them.

  George and I declined to dine with what was left of the Grant family that evening. Kip and Poppy as the new earl and countess apparently felt it was incumbent upon them as our hosts to extend the invitation, but we knew that the duties of their new titles notwithstanding, they wouldn’t really want to have those responsible for the arrest of the countess sitting at the table w
ith her children.

  George had secured two rooms at the Muddy Badger. “I told the young earl that we’d been imposing far too long on their hospitality but would swing by in the morning to say our final good-byes.”

  “I like the way you think, Chief Inspector,” I said lightly.

  “Pleased that you agree. Let’s get packed and call for Ralph to deliver us to our new lodgings.”

  As it turned out, Emmie Stanhope and Colin Stanhope Grant, as he planned to call himself, joined us at the pub for dinner, as did Ralph, our perpetually upbeat driver. It was a lively, almost festive dinner. At one point, Ralph, slightly in his cups, stood and delivered the classic ode to the London taxi, written by Ogden Nash.

  When he was finished, I joined the others in their applause.

  “I have something to say,” Colin said, getting up, coming around behind Emmie, and placing his hands on her shoulders. “I had an opportunity this afternoon to speak with my half brothers and half sister, Kip, Rupert, and Jemma. Jemma is happy to discover I’m her brother, Rupert less so, but I’m hoping he’ll come around. Kip, of course, is the new Earl of Norrance, as it should be.” Colin smiled wryly. “He actually said he’s sorry I’m not eligible to inherit the title. I thought his wife, Poppy, would strangle him right then and there.”

  George and I looked at each other, and I imagined that we were both thinking that Kip had better get his drinking under control if he was to be an effective heir to the title of Earl of Norrance.

  “You wouldn’t want to be earl anyway,” Emmie said to Colin. “It’s too heavy a burden to bear.”

  “You’re probably right, Mam. We were a pretty sober group, everyone missing the earl and upset about the countess. But Poppy said we’d better plan for the future if we had any chance of saving Castorbrook. Kip asked Jemma and me to continue running the stables. He said he had confidence we could take a direct role in bringing Castorbrook Castle back into financial stability. Jemma and I had discussed turning the castle’s stables into a top-flight breeding stable and training grounds. Those were, um, our father’s plans,” he said, stumbling a bit at the unfamiliar relationship. “Anyway, we had already started working toward that goal. Our new colt, Good Fortune, is going to be the first of many winners for us.”