In between the occasional sniff, James learned that John had recovered from the attack and had been all set to return to Harrington’s to meet his parents when George came by with the news of his mother.
‘I wasn’t well enough for anything last night so he left it until this morning. I crawled back into bed and I’ve not moved since.’
‘Quite understandable. You’re in good hands with Mrs K; she’s a godsend and won’t allow you to leave until you’re absolutely ready. Do you live on your own?’
The young man explained that he shared a flat with Simon, the man who played the Quack Doctor. He let out a half-hearted laugh. ‘He’s completely devastated; thinks it’s his fault for leaving the bag out. But you don’t expect someone to do something like this, do you?’
He stared into space. ‘Inspector Lane said my mother was murdered; that it looked like the same poison that I was given.’ He stared out of the window and then at James. ‘Why would anyone want to kill Mum? In fact, why would anyone want to poison me? They must be quite insane.’
‘That’s what George is trying to find out and he’s one of the best. Did anyone do or say anything untoward whilst you were at Harrington’s?’
‘Not that I can remember.’ Without prompting, he went through his arrival with the rest of the Morris team; meeting his parents for a pre-dinner drink; the meal itself; the people he’d met at the dinner table and, finally, to the administration of the golden drop by the Quack Doctor. He blinked back the tears.
‘I say, the man that plays the Quack Doctor, have you known him long?’
‘Since primary school. We grew up together and started the Morris team.’
‘Did anyone say anything to you last night that caused you to stop and think? It could have been something trivial but, thinking back, it seemed odd?’
Another shake of the head. ‘Not that I can remember. Everyone was having a good time; I got chatting to the people on the next table, the Pals and the girls involved with Olivia Dupree but it was just general conversation.’
‘And you don’t recall meeting them before at all?’
John swigged his hot toddy. ‘Oh yes, I’ve met Olivia Dupree and those two assistants of hers.’
James sat up.
‘Yes, they were at the Grand Hotel in Brighton a few months ago for a dinner that I went to. I’m a bit of a fan of Olivia Dupree and I had one of her records so brought it along for her to sign.’
‘Did she recognise you?’
‘Last night? If she did, she didn’t show it; neither did the assistants. I expect they get loads of people asking for autographs and things.’
‘What about the Pals?’
John enthused about the stories they told and the camaraderie they shared. ‘They didn’t talk much about the war, more about the cricket team and how England played during the summer. They seemed like good company though.’
‘Your father was in the Sussex Regiment, wasn’t he? Did he not know them?’
‘He may have done. I know he was pretty gruff with some of them but he’s like that with most people.’
James hesitated before his next question. The lad had just lost his mother; but something bothered James about the father. ‘When I mentioned the Pals to your father, he seemed to falter a little.’
John heaved a sigh and studied his hands. ‘He’s a hero, Lord Harrington, and he saw a lot of things in France that no one should see. I believe he feels bad for surviving. Anything to do with that time he tends to put the barriers up. We come from a military family and I did my National Service but I hated it. I thought Dad would hit the roof when I didn’t stay on but actually he was pleased. He didn’t want me joining up.’ John reached across to check his watch. ‘I really should get over to see Dad. I can’t believe I’m lying here in my own misery when he’s just down the road grieving.’
John stripped the bedclothes away. He placed his feet on the carpet and sat in thoughtful silence. ‘Mum hadn’t been the same for the last few months.’
‘Oh?’
‘I never discovered why. She became a little intolerant of Dad; impatient. She started going out more and socialising in the village. Perhaps she was just sick of stopping in all the time. Dad doesn’t have anyone in the house that he doesn’t know, or rather, trust. He has an underlying suspicion of everyone and according to Mum he’d been worse lately.’ He wiped a tear away. ‘I tried to get to the bottom of it because I felt Mum was holding something back but she never let on. Now I’ll never know.’
‘Did your mother involve herself in the Great War?’
John shrugged. ‘Only did what other women did: knit scarves, pack up food parcels, that sort of thing. She helped out on one of the farms during harvest but that’s about it.’
James got up. ‘You get yourself straight. I’ll wait downstairs and take you over to see your father.’
The young man thanked him and was quick to jump up and get organised. Spending too much time thinking would have brought him close to tears. Within ten minutes, he’d made himself presentable and had ambled down the stairs. After a grateful hug for Mrs Keates, John eased into the passenger seat of the Austin and James headed straight for Harrington’s.
As they turned into the drive, James saw George directing two policemen and scanning the grounds. He parked at the entrance. His friend wore a concerned expression as he approached.
‘Everything all right, George?’
George whispered. ‘Major Carlton’s disappeared.’
‘Good Lord, when?’
‘I’m presuming mid-morning. I had a brief chat with him first thing and then popped by to see John. Then I went and spoke with Alfie Stone and now I’m back here, one person short. Left most of his things and gone.’
John got out of the car and pulled his small bag of belongings from the back seat. ‘I’m going in to see Dad.’
George cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry lad but that’s not possible at the moment.’
James watched as George steered John toward Harrington’s. This put a whole new perspective on things. Had Major Carlton run because of guilt? From what little he knew he didn’t trust people and that was understandable with the things he’d witnessed. But was he a killer? They’d arrived late afternoon the previous day and, since that arrival, James had sensed his unease and, on more than one occasion, a look of anxiety on his face. Was he planning to kill his own wife? Did he see someone that frightened him? Did he know one of the guests?
Beth rushed to greet him. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘Yes, it’s all a little odd, isn’t it?’
‘I simply don’t know what to make of it.’
James checked his watch. ‘Is George coming to dinner later?’
Beth confirmed that he was. ‘Didier’s packed up some leftovers from the dinner yesterday so I’m doing my own version of the Boxing Day feast.’
In the villages of the district they still followed the medieval custom of distributing food to the poor on the day after Christmas Day. The traditional Boxing Day meal of cold meats and pickles was served with hot bubble and squeak which consisted of all the leftover vegetables and potatoes chopped and fried. Today, Beth was substituting pork chops for cold meats.
He took his gloves off. ‘Jolly good. We can have a good chat and establish where we are with all of this. I want to have a word with Charlie Hawkins about the Pals but I’ll organise that for tomorrow. Has anyone spoken to Didier?’
Beth shook her head.
‘And has anyone owned up to missing a part of a diary?’
‘No, and that’s important isn’t it?’
‘I think it’s part of the jigsaw, yes.’
‘Well, there was another piece found today. I think it fell out with that other part. It was in the same area but it’d fallen between the skirting board and the wall. Paul was about to throw it away and realised it was similar to the one he’d sent down a few days ago.’ She handed it to him in a small envelope. ‘As soon as I saw what it
was I thought it may have fingerprints on it.’
‘Good girl.’ He opened it and noted the date – 1917. He slipped it into his pocket. ‘I’ll wait until I have the other piece before reading it. I’d like George to see it too, before he goes accusing me of withholding evidence.’
At the reception desk, James wanted Paul’s assurances that the guests were comfortable and happy. To his relief, the hotel was running like clockwork and any questions George had asked were asked with great diplomacy. Harry, he learned, had sat in on some of the interviews to ensure they remained informal. Satisfied that all was in order, he and Beth wandered back to the car.
A thought struck him that lifted his spirits. Although he felt dreadful for being selfish at this time, the disappearance of Major Carlton indicated that this wasn’t a vendetta against him personally. Something most odd was happening. A seemingly innocent woman had been murdered. There appeared to be no connection between Olivia and the Carlton’s except for the autograph that John had asked for. Was there something more to that relationship?
And why was this happening now? Was Cynthia Carlton targeted in error? And why had her behaviour changed? Had Major Carlton left because he feared for his own life?
Whatever was happening, he hoped there would be some clarification during dinner that night. With George’s update, the insightfulness of Juliet and Beth, together with Harry’s inquiring mind, should, at least, lead them in some sort of direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
George was the last to push his plate away. James watched as his friend took a deep breath and patted his stomach.
‘I don’t know why we only have bubble and squeak on Boxing Day. It makes a nice change to have it as part of a normal dinner.’
Beth tidied up the plates. ‘Oh we have it now and again. It’s a good way to use up leftovers.’
‘Put in a chopped onion next time,’ Juliet suggested. ‘That adds a lovely bit of flavour.’
‘How are you feeling, George?’
‘Up and down, Beth, up and down. Philip wants me to have some tests.’
A collective groan went round the room and murmurs of how annoying it was when one became ill.
‘Mother, shall I grab some cheese and biscuits?’
‘Thank you, Harry.’
James ushered them into the lounge. While they waited for Beth and Harry, he stoked up the fire and poured everyone a glass of port. He drew the curtains and pulled up his favourite wing-back chair. George and Juliet sat on the sofa.
Harry placed a wooden board on the coffee table, with a selection of cheeses, pickles and crackers on it. He and Beth sat in armchairs on either side of the sofa. James tucked into the nibbles straight away.
‘So, George, what did you glean this morning from your enquiries?’
‘A great deal along with very little.’ He perched on the edge of his seat and prepared some cheese and crackers for Juliet. ‘A great deal in the fact that a lot of people had alibis - people able to vouch for one another - that sort of thing. Unless all of them were involved in a conspiracy, I’m able to whittle my investigations down to a handful of people.’
‘How exciting,’ said Juliet accepting the plate from him. ‘Presumably those who have alibis are regular guests and people who simply didn’t mix with the victims.’
George confirmed that this was about the gist of it. James felt reassured when George explained that the regular guests had come to know one another over the last few years and they tended to gather at the same tables. Harry grabbed a copy of the seating plan. James brushed a crumb from his trousers. ‘So we’re concentrating our efforts on those that were at our table and where Olivia’s group was.’
‘That’s right.’
Juliet asked James to remind her who was at his table.
‘Me, Beth, Harry, Major and Mrs Carlton and their son, John.’ He looked at Harry. ‘What was the name of that other couple who were next to you?’
‘Mr and Mrs Kitson. Both deaf as a post and not exactly young in years. They were celebrating their golden wedding anniversary. The weekend was a treat from their children. They live in Shropshire, have never been to Sussex before this dinner and have no links to anyone in the room.’
Everyone in the room was quick to discount the Kitsons from their investigation.
‘I say, what about the table the other side of Olivia’s?’ asked James.
Harry referred to the plan and winced. ‘I wouldn’t think so unless you want to accuse the Merryweathers, the Jacksons and two WI representatives. There were two Pals with them but both disabled.’
Two WI reps?’ said George. ‘’What are they doing there?’
Beth shifted in her chair. ‘We always give a couple of seats to the WI. They do such a lot throughout the year helping with the village festivities. They help decorate the house over Christmas and make fresh holly boughs and floral Christmas wreaths. We give away two seats and they raffle them off during the summer.’
George raised his eyebrows and expressed how generous that was. ‘I’m taking it that these ladies are well-known in the village and open to questioning?’
Harry chuckled. ‘They’re getting on a bit and were founder members of the Cavendish WI. I can’t imagine they’ll risk missing out on a cake competition to murder someone.’
James smirked. He knew exactly what George would say and he wasn’t wrong.
‘Everyone is capable of murder, Harry. Your dad’s found that out. Don’t dismiss a little old dear with twinkly eyes. They can be the worst.’
‘Of course they can, Inspector,’ said Juliet. ‘My sister killed a number of enemy agents when she was working for the government.’ She chuckled at Harry. ‘You can’t imagine it, can you?’
‘I have to say, Miss Brooks-Hunter, I can’t. I stand corrected over the WI ladies but I still put them low down on the order of suspects.’
Juliet agreed. ‘That leaves us with three families.’
James frowned. ‘One family, Juliet – the Carltons.’
‘No dear, three. The Carltons are a true family but I always put groups of people into families. Olivia Dupree, her two assistants and Carlo Pisani are a family and those Pals are a family.’ She sat upright. ‘Do you see?’
‘Yes I do,’ said James. ‘They’ve spent as much time together as a normal family does.’
‘And argue and disagree like family,’ Beth put in.
George commended Juliet’s way of thinking. ‘Murder is generally committed by someone known to the victim and very often a family member.’ He gave Juliet a considered nod. ‘That’s a good way of putting it – I like that analogy.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. Could you pass me a slice of Wensleydale please?’
‘Dad, how did you and Bert get on with Olivia’s parents?’
‘I felt quite sorry for them.’ James went through their conversation and how the mother had never recovered from Olivia leaving and how disappointed the father was with his daughter. ‘It sounds like she’s dreamed of stardom since she could talk and to hell with anyone who gets in her way.’
‘Is there no contact at all?’
‘The occasional card when she can remember to send one. She wasn’t liked and never made friends with anyone and hasn’t been back home for several years.’
George cleared his throat. ‘Did you establish any connection with what’s gone on?’
‘None at all. The mother is a hard-working housewife. She’s kept a scrapbook of Olivia’s career and there are photographs of her all over the place. The father is simply upset that he hasn’t the relationship with her that most fathers have with their daughters. He’s an optimist and hopes she’ll come to her senses.’
‘What a shame,’ said Beth.
‘Silly girl,’ said Juliet. ‘Chasing after stardom at the expense of a loving family. She’ll rue the day she made that decision.’
George suggested this was a couple that were also down the list of potential suspects if not off the list all togeth
er. He turned to James. ‘What did you make of John?’
‘Nice chap, nothing out of the ordinary, devastated by what’s happened. But he did let something slip.’
Everyone stopped eating and stared at him.
‘Something untoward with Cynthia. Hasn’t been herself for the last few months and wouldn’t let on to John what it was. Also, he met Olivia and the two assistants a while back in Brighton. He’s quite a fan, apparently, and wanted a record sleeve signed.’
‘D’you think there’s more to it than that?’
James pondered the question. ‘I’m not sure. He didn’t give any indication that there was more to it, but it may be worth asking. Did he say anything to you?’
George said that once he’d given news of his mother’s death, he couldn’t get much out of him at all. He sat back and felt for his pipe. ‘It’s interesting what you said about something untoward with Cynthia. You could say the same about the Major.’
‘Gosh, yes,’ said Harry. ‘That Major Carlton was incredibly off-hand when George asked him why someone would want to kill his wife.’
‘A reaction to grief?’ James suggested.
George made a face to indicate that he didn’t believe so. ‘Ordered me to stop asking questions and get out there and find who did it. Seemed to skirt around the issue of why she was targeted. There’s something more to it than he’s letting on.’
‘And now he’s shut up shop and run. Has he gone home?’
‘No. One of our men called in and the house is locked. We’re checking to see if he’s with friends. He has no other family.’
Juliet sipped her port. ‘Scared.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Beth.
‘People get angry if they feel scared or threatened by something or someone. It’s human nature; fight or flight. He’s too old to fight so he’s taken off. He’ll be with someone he trusts.’
James heaved a sigh. ‘John said he never lets anyone into the house because he doesn’t trust them. Sounds like he has to vet them first. Cynthia got fed up with the whole thing and began going out more.’
Lord James Harrington and the Christmas Mystery Page 10