She shivered, looked around at everyone, and continued, ‘Besides, I thought it might be true.’
Sir Rowland came and sat on the sofa on Pippa’s other side. ‘What might be true, Pippa?’ he asked her.
‘That horrible dream I had about Oliver,’ Pippa replied, shuddering as she recollected it.
‘What was your dream about Oliver, Pippa?’ Sir Rowland asked quietly. ‘Tell me.’
Pippa looked nervous as she took a small piece of moulded wax from a pocket of her dressing-gown. ‘I made this earlier tonight,’ she said. ‘I melted down a wax candle, then I made a pin red hot, and I stuck the pin through it.’
As she handed the small wax figure to Sir Rowland, Jeremy suddenly gave a startled exclamation of ‘Good Lord!’ He leapt up and began to look around the room, searching for the book Pippa had tried to show him earlier.
‘I said the right words and everything,’ Pippa was explaining to Sir Rowland, ‘but I couldn’t do it quite the way the book said.’
‘What book?’ Clarissa asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
Jeremy, who had been looking along the bookshelves, now found what he was seeking. ‘Here it is,’ he exclaimed, handing the book to Clarissa over the back of the sofa. ‘Pippa got it in the market today. She called it a recipe book.’
Pippa suddenly laughed. ‘And you said to me, “Can you eat it?”’ she reminded Jeremy.
Clarissa examined the book. ‘A Hundred Well-tried and Trusty Spells,’ she read on the cover. She opened the book, and read on. ‘“How to cure warts. How to get your heart’s desire. How to destroy your enemy.” Oh, Pippa–is that what you did?’
Pippa looked at her stepmother solemnly. ‘Yes,’ she answered.
As Clarissa handed the book back to Jeremy, Pippa looked at the wax figure Sir Rowland was still holding. ‘It isn’t very like Oliver,’ she admitted, ‘and I couldn’t get any clippings of his hair. But it was as much like him as I could make it–and then–then–I dreamed, I thought–’ She pushed her hair back from her face as she spoke. ‘I thought I came down here and he was there.’ She pointed behind the sofa. ‘And it was all true.’
Sir Rowland put the wax figure down on the stool quietly, as Pippa continued, ‘He was there, dead. I had killed him.’ She looked around at them all, and began to shake. ‘Is it true?’ she asked. ‘Did I kill him?’
‘No, darling. No,’ said Clarissa tearfully, putting an arm around Pippa.
‘But he was there,’ Pippa insisted.
‘I know, Pippa,’ Sir Rowland told her. ‘But you didn’t kill him. When you stuck the pin through that wax figure, it was your hate and your fear of him that you killed in that way. You’re not afraid of him and you don’t hate him any longer. Isn’t that true?’
Pippa turned to him. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ she admitted. ‘But I did see him.’ She glanced over the back of the sofa. ‘I came down here and I saw him lying there, dead.’ She leaned her head on Sir Rowland’s chest. ‘I did see him, Uncle Roly.’
‘Yes, dear, you did see him,’ Sir Rowland told her gently. ‘But it wasn’t you who killed him.’ She looked up at him anxiously, and he continued, ‘Now, listen to me, Pippa. Somebody hit him over the head with a big stick. You didn’t do that, did you?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Pippa, shaking her head vigorously. ‘No, not a stick.’ She turned to Clarissa. ‘You mean a golf stick like Jeremy had?’
Jeremy laughed. ‘No, not a golf club, Pippa,’ he explained. ‘Something like that big stick that’s kept in the hall stand.’
‘You mean the one that used to belong to Mr Sellon, the one Miss Peake calls a knobkerry?’ Pippa asked.
Jeremy nodded.
‘Oh, no,’ Pippa told him. ‘I wouldn’t do anything like that. I couldn’t.’ She turned back to Sir Rowland. ‘Oh, Uncle Roly, I wouldn’t have killed him really.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ Clarissa intervened in a voice of calm common-sense. ‘Now come along, darling, you eat up your chocolate mousse and forget all about it.’ She picked up the dish and offered it, but Pippa refused with a shake of her head, and Clarissa replaced the dish on the stool. She and Sir Rowland helped Pippa to lie down on the sofa, Clarissa took Pippa’s hand, and Sir Rowland stroked the child’s hair affectionately.
‘I don’t understand a word of all this,’ Miss Peake announced. ‘What is that book, anyway?’ she asked Jeremy who was now glancing through it.
‘“How to bring a murrain on your neighbour’s cattle.” Does that attract you, Miss Peake?’ he replied. ‘I daresay with a little adjusting you could bring black spot to your neighbour’s roses.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the gardener said brusquely.
‘Black magic,’ Jeremy explained.
‘I’m not superstitious, thank goodness,’ she snorted dismissively, moving away from him.
Hugo, who had been attempting to follow the train of events, now confessed, ‘I’m in a complete fog.’
‘Me, too,’ Miss Peake agreed, tapping him on the shoulder. ‘So I’ll just have a peep and see how the boys in blue are getting on.’ With another of her boisterous laughs, she went out into the hall.
Sir Rowland looked around at Clarissa, Hugo and Jeremy. ‘Now where does that leave us?’ he wondered aloud.
Clarissa was still recovering from the revelations of the previous few minutes.
‘What a fool I’ve been,’ she exclaimed, confusedly. ‘I should have known Pippa couldn’t possibly–I didn’t know anything about this book. Pippa said she killed him and I–I thought it was true.’
Hugo got to his feet. ‘Oh, you mean that you thought Pippa–’
‘Yes, darling,’ Clarissa interrupted him urgently and emphatically to stop him from saying any more. But Pippa, fortunately, was now sleeping peacefully on the sofa.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Hugo. ‘That explains it. Good God!’
‘Well, we’d better go to the police now, and tell them the truth at last,’ Jeremy suggested.
Sir Rowland shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘Clarissa has already told them three different stories–’
‘No. Wait,’ Clarissa interrupted suddenly. ‘I’ve just had an idea. Hugo, what was the name of Mr Sellon’s shop?’
‘It was just an antique shop,’ Hugo replied, vaguely.
‘Yes, I know that,’ Clarissa exclaimed impatiently. ‘But what was it called?’
‘What do you mean–“what was it called”?’
‘Oh, dear, you are being difficult,’ Clarissa told him. ‘You said it earlier, and I want you to say it again. But I don’t want to tell you to say it, or say it for you.’
Hugo, Jeremy and Sir Rowland all looked at one another. ‘Do you know what the blazes the girl is getting at, Roly?’ Hugo asked plaintively.
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Sir Rowland. ‘Try us again, Clarissa.’
Clarissa looked exasperated. ‘It’s perfectly simple,’ she insisted. ‘What was the name of the antique shop in Maidstone?’
‘It hadn’t got a name,’ Hugo replied. ‘I mean, antique shops aren’t called “Seaview” or anything.’
‘Heaven give me patience,’ Clarissa muttered between clenched teeth. Speaking slowly and distinctly, and pausing after each word, she asked him again, ‘What–was–written–up–over–the–door?’
‘Written up? Nothing,’ said Hugo. ‘What should be written up? Only the names of the owners, “Sellon and Brown”, of course.’
‘At last,’ Clarissa cried jubilantly. ‘I thought that was what you said before, but I wasn’t sure. Sellon and Brown. My name is Hailsham-Brown.’ She looked at the three men in turn, but they merely stared back at her with total incomprehension written on their faces.
‘We got this house dirt cheap,’ Clarissa continued. ‘Other people who came to see it before us were asked such an exorbitant rent that they went away in disgust. Now have you got it?’
Hugo looked at her blankly before
replying, ‘No.’
Jeremy shook his head. ‘Not yet, my love.’
Sir Rowland looked at her keenly. ‘In a glass darkly,’ he said thoughtfully.
Clarissa’s face wore a look of intense excitement. ‘Mr Sellon’s partner who lives in London is a woman,’ she explained to her friends. ‘Today, someone rang up here and asked to speak to Mrs Brown. Not Mrs Hailsham-Brown, just Mrs Brown.’
‘I see what you’re getting at,’ Sir Rowland said, nodding his head slowly.
Hugo shook his head. ‘I don’t,’ he admitted.
Clarissa looked at him. ‘A horse chestnut or a chestnut horse–one of them makes all the difference,’ she observed inscrutably.
‘You’re not delirious or anything, are you, Clarissa?’ Hugo asked her anxiously.
‘Somebody killed Oliver,’ Clarissa reminded them. ‘It wasn’t any of you three. It wasn’t me or Henry.’ She paused, before continuing, ‘And it wasn’t Pippa, thank God. Then who was it?’
‘Surely it’s as I said to the Inspector,’ Sir Rowland suggested. ‘An outside job. Someone followed Oliver here.’
‘Yes, but why did they?’ Clarissa asked meaningfully. Getting no reply from anyone, she continued with her speculation. ‘When I left you all at the gate today,’ she reminded her three friends, ‘I came back in through the French windows, and Oliver was standing here. He was very surprised to see me. He said, “What are you doing here, Clarissa?” I just thought it was an elaborate way of annoying me. But suppose it was just what it seemed?’
Her hearers looked attentive, but said nothing. Clarissa continued, ‘Just suppose that he was surprised to see me. He thought the house belonged to someone else. He thought the person he’d find here would be the Mrs Brown who was Mr Sellon’s partner.’
Sir Rowland shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t he know that you and Henry had this house?’ he asked her. ‘Wouldn’t Miranda know?’
‘When Miranda has to communicate, she always does it through her lawyers. Neither she nor Oliver necessarily knew that we lived in this house,’ Clarissa explained. ‘I tell you, I’m sure Oliver Costello had no idea he was going to see me. Oh, he recovered pretty quickly and made the excuse that he’d come to talk about Pippa. Then he pretended to go away, but he came back because–’
She broke off as Miss Peake came in through the hall door. ‘The hunt’s still on,’ the gardener announced briskly. ‘They’ve looked under all the beds, I gather, and now they’re out in the grounds.’ She gave her familiar hearty laugh.
Clarissa looked at her keenly. Then, ‘Miss Peake,’ she said, ‘do you remember what Mr Costello said just before he left? Do you?’
Miss Peake looked blank. ‘Haven’t the foggiest idea,’ she admitted.
‘He said, didn’t he, “I came to see Mrs Brown”?’ Clarissa reminded her.
Miss Peake thought for a moment, and then answered, ‘I believe he did. Yes. Why?’
‘But it wasn’t me he came to see,’ Clarissa insisted.
‘Well, if it wasn’t you, then I don’t know who it could have been,’ Miss Peake replied with another of her jovial laughs.
Clarissa spoke with emphasis. ‘It was you,’ she said to the gardener. ‘You are Mrs Brown, aren’t you?’
Chapter 21
Miss Peake, looking extremely startled at Clarissa’s accusation, seemed for a moment unsure how to act. When she did reply, her manner had changed. Dropping her usual jolly, hearty tone, she spoke gravely. ‘That’s very bright of you,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’m Mrs Brown.’
Clarissa had been doing some quick thinking. ‘You’re Mr Sellon’s partner,’ she said. ‘You own this house. You inherited it from Sellon with the business. For some reason, you had the idea of finding a tenant for it whose name was Brown. In fact, you were determined to have a Mrs Brown in residence here. You thought that wouldn’t be too difficult, since it’s such a common name. But in the end you had to compromise on Hailsham-Brown. I don’t know exactly why you wanted me to be in the limelight whilst you watched. I don’t understand the ins and outs–’
Mrs Brown, alias Miss Peake, interrupted her. ‘Charles Sellon was murdered,’ she told Clarissa. ‘There’s no doubt of that. He’d got hold of something that was very valuable. I don’t know how–I don’t even know what it was. He wasn’t always very–’ she hesitated ‘–scrupulous.’
‘So we have heard,’ Sir Rowland observed drily.
‘Whatever it was,’ Mrs Brown continued, ‘he was killed for it. And whoever killed him didn’t find the thing. That was probably because it wasn’t in the shop, it was here. I thought that whoever it was who killed him would come here sooner or later, looking for it. I wanted to be on the watch, therefore I needed a dummy Mrs Brown. A substitute.’
Sir Rowland made an exclamation of annoyance. ‘It didn’t worry you,’ he asked the gardener, speaking with feeling, ‘that Mrs Hailsham-Brown, a perfectly innocent woman who had done you no harm, would be in danger?’
‘I’ve kept an eye on her, haven’t I?’ Mrs Brown replied defensively. ‘So much so that it annoyed you all sometimes. The other day, when a man came along and offered her a ridiculous price for that desk, I was sure I was on the right track. Yet I’ll swear there was nothing in that desk that meant anything at all.’
‘Did you examine the secret drawer?’ Sir Rowland asked her.
Mrs Brown looked surprised. ‘A secret drawer, is there?’ she exclaimed, moving towards the desk.
Clarissa intercepted her. ‘There’s nothing there now,’ she assured her. ‘Pippa found the drawer, but there were only some old autographs in it.’
‘Clarissa, I’d rather like to see those autographs again,’ Sir Rowland requested.
Clarissa went to the sofa. ‘Pippa,’ she called, ‘where did you put–? Oh, she’s asleep.’
Mrs Brown moved to the sofa and looked down at the child. ‘Fast asleep,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s all the excitement that’s done that.’ She looked at Clarissa. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, ‘I’ll carry her up and dump her on her bed.’
‘No,’ said Sir Rowland, sharply.
Everyone looked at him. ‘She’s no weight at all,’ Mrs Brown pointed out. ‘Not a quarter as heavy as the late Mr Costello.’
‘All the same,’ Sir Rowland insisted, ‘I think she’ll be safer here.’
The others now all looked at Miss Peake/Mrs Brown, who took a step backwards, looked around her, and exclaimed indignantly, ‘Safer?’
‘That’s what I said,’ Sir Rowland told her. He glanced around the room, and continued, ‘That child said a very significant thing just now.’
He sat down at the bridge table, watched by all. There was a pause, and then Hugo, moving to sit opposite Sir Rowland at the bridge table, asked, ‘What did she say, Roly?’
‘If you all think back,’ Sir Rowland suggested, ‘perhaps you’ll realize what it was.’
His hearers looked at one another, while Sir Rowland picked up the copy of Who’s Who and began to consult it.
‘I don’t get it,’ Hugo admitted, shaking his head.
‘What did Pippa say?’ Jeremy wondered aloud.
‘I can’t imagine,’ said Clarissa. She tried to cast her mind back. ‘Something about the policeman? Or dreaming? Coming down here? Half awake?’
‘Come on, Roly,’ Hugo urged his friend. ‘Don’t be so damned mysterious. What’s this all about?’
Sir Rowland looked up. ‘What?’ he asked, absent-mindedly. ‘Oh, yes. Those autographs. Where are they?’
Hugo snapped his fingers. ‘I believe I remember Pippa putting them in that shell box over there,’ he recalled.
Jeremy went over to the bookshelves. ‘Up here?’ he asked. Locating the shell box, he took out the envelope. ‘Yes, quite right. Here we are,’ he confirmed as he took the autographs from the envelope and handed them to Sir Rowland, who had now closed Who’s Who. Jeremy put the empty envelope in his pocket while Sir Rowland examined the autographs with his eyeglass.
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‘Victoria Regina, God bless her,’ murmured Sir Rowland, looking at the first of the autographs. ‘Queen Victoria. Faded brown ink. Now, what’s this one? John Ruskin–yes, that’s authentic, I should say. And this one? Robert Browning–Hm–the paper’s not as old as it ought to be.’
‘Roly! What do you mean?’ Clarissa asked excitedly.
‘I had some experience of invisible inks and that sort of thing, during the war,’ Sir Rowland explained. ‘If you wanted to make a secret note of something, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to write it in invisible ink on a sheet of paper, and then fake an autograph. Put that autograph with other genuine autographs and nobody would notice it or look at it twice, probably. Any more than we did.’
Mrs Brown looked puzzled. ‘But what could Charles Sellon have written which would be worth fourteen thousand pounds?’ she wanted to know.
‘Nothing at all, dear lady,’ Sir Rowland replied. ‘But it occurs to me, you know, that it might have been a question of safety.’
‘Safety?’ Mrs Brown queried.
‘Oliver Costello,’ Sir Rowland explained, ‘is suspected of supplying drugs. Sellon, so the Inspector tells us, was questioned once or twice by the Narcotics Squad. There’s a connection there, don’t you think?’
When Mrs Brown merely looked blank, he continued, ‘Of course, it might be just a foolish idea of mine.’ He looked down at the autograph he was holding. ‘I don’t think it would be anything elaborate on Sellon’s part. Lemon juice, perhaps, or a solution of barium chloride. Gentle heat might do the trick. We can always try iodine vapour later. Yes, let’s try a little gentle heat first.’
He rose to his feet. ‘Shall we attempt the experiment?’
‘There’s an electric fire in the library,’ Clarissa remembered. ‘Jeremy, will you get it?’
Hugo rose and tucked in his chair, while Jeremy went off to the library.
‘We can plug it in here,’ Clarissa pointed out, indicating a socket in the skirting-board running around the drawing-room.
‘The whole thing’s ridiculous,’ Mrs Brown snorted. ‘It’s too far-fetched for words.’
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