by Joyce Cato
Gayle cast an accusatory look at Jenny’s back. ‘I see. Well, then, you know it all,’ she said flatly.
‘Which means, Inspector,’ Meecham began, a little too eagerly, ‘we’re not likely to have killed Ava, when we already had a plan underway to get her out of the castle.’
‘Perhaps,’ Bishop conceded. ‘On the other hand, a very clever person might think that a nice red herring like that would be just the job to throw suspicion off himself or herself. Don’t you think so?’ he asked craftily, and Gayle actually gasped, for the first time ever, as far as Jenny knew, losing her composure.
‘You mean you think that we might have written the fake letter and then killed Ava, knowing that you’d find the letter and believe…?’ Gayle’s voice trailed off helplessly.
‘Just what you wanted us to think? That you’d have no reason to kill her, since you were already in the process of turfing her out?’ Bishop finished for her. ‘It’s very feasible, don’t you think, Miss Meecham? You must admit, it does have a certain something.’
Gayle’s eyes darkened. It was a phenomenon Bishop had only seen once or twice before, and it had always sent the hairs on the nape of his neck standing to rigid attention. ‘That’s insane, Inspector,’ she said, her voice as dark as her face.
‘Or very clever, Miss Meecham,’ Bishop corrected, his voice now like honey. ‘And I happen to think you’re a very clever person. Perhaps, even, the cleverest person here.’
Jenny couldn’t but help admire both his thinking and his perspicacity. Of them all, Gayle did have the best brains. Apart from herself, of course. She reached for a pile of chicken breasts and began to remove the skin, going over Bishop’s theory in her mind. It was a good one. Meecham and Gayle did have a perverse kind of alibi with that silly letter of theirs. Yes, Bishop was no fool.
‘Is that all, Inspector?’ Gayle asked flatly, and watched a flash of fury pass over his face. She smiled. ‘We admit we faked the letter from the school. We admit we wanted Ava Simmons out of the castle. We don’t admit that we killed her, because we didn’t. Now, is there anything else?’ she repeated, her eyes all but glowing a challenge because she knew the Inspector was powerless. Without clues. Without proof.
And Bishop knew that she knew it.
‘No,’ he finally snapped. ‘There’s nothing else. For the moment.’
‘Good, because I must see to her ladyship. She likes me to do her hair on the days between her professional hairdresser’s visits.’ Gayle rose and pushed away magnificently from the table.
Meecham, seeing his daughter leaving, quickly rose too, lest the Inspector badger him some more when he was alone and defenceless.
But Bishop had had quite enough of the Meechams. When they’d gone he shot Myers a disgusted look. ‘That’s one cold woman, Sergeant,’ he said, and Myers nodded faithfully in agreement.
Jenny sighed again and Bishop, seeing the onion-torture was over, returned to the sink. ‘And what did you make of all that, Miss Starling?’ he asked smugly, waiting for praise.
‘It was interesting,’ Jenny conceded. ‘But then I already knew that Gayle was a very capable girl. She’s had to be, looking after that father of hers. And the fact that she wouldn’t be bullied means she’s a very unusual girl indeed. I imagine she’d have made an excellent mother superior in the dark ages. Head nuns had immense power in those days, you know – had control of lands and sometimes vast wealth. They were the only women who were allowed such power.’
Bishop stared at her, unprepared for a history lesson. Then, aware that her placid profile showed no signs of surprise, said icily, ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
‘About the letter? Yes, I guessed. About the cousin? No. It was obvious someone at the castle wanted Ava out. Elsie didn’t have the brains and Janice didn’t have the imagination. That left Lady Roberta, who resented her governess’s interference in her little infatuation, Malcolm Powell-Brooks, who might have been worried that Ava’s continuing complaints might get him fired from his prize job, or the Meechams. Roberta is too young to have thought of anything so ingenious and I doubt Malcolm had ever heard of the school. That left the Meechams.’
Bishop nodded. ‘You make it all sound so simple. But we’ve come up with something that even you don’t know about, Miss Starling,’ he said, goaded into bragging. ‘Myers, bring that pretty little blonde piece down here.’
Jenny glanced at the inspector as she seasoned the chicken breasts and placed them in her own special recipe marinade. ‘Didn’t Janice tell you about her brooch, Inspector? I thought she had. I told her—’
‘Oh, yes, we’ve gone through all that,’ Bishop assured her. ‘Meecham admitted lying, or at least, not telling the whole truth about what happened when he went to Ava’s room the afternoon of her death. A rather dark horse, Meecham, don’t you think?’
Jenny refused to be drawn. She reached for a pile of mixed herbs and began to defoliate them. The secret to a good chicken casserole was always in the herbs.
‘And Janice confessed to planting the brooch in Miss Simmons’s room,’ Bishop continued thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it funny how everyone had something against her and did something about it, but nobody actually killed her?’ he mused sarcastically.
Jenny’s lips twisted into a grim smile. ‘Yes. Isn’t it just.’
Janice walked hesitantly into the room, catching the last few words, and cast the cook a terrified look. Behind her, Myers closed the kitchen door with a firm whump making Janice jump. Just as she was intended to, of course.
Jenny glanced reprovingly at Bishop, one eyebrow raised.
Bishop ignored her and turned to Janice. ‘Now, young lady, I think it’s about time you told us about this boyfriend of yours.’
‘Barry?’ Janice said, caught on the hop and thinking of her latest beau. ‘We only went out last night—’
‘Not Barry. Danny. How many boyfriends do you have, Miss Beale?’ he snapped.
Janice blushed. ‘I told you. It’s all over between Danny and me.’
‘Yes, so you said. You also said that when you met Danny the afternoon of the murder, he left on his motor bike after breaking it off with you.’
‘Well?’ Janice said, clearly getting a little of her spirit back, and raising her chin defiantly. ‘He did.’
‘He didn’t go far,’ Myers said abruptly from behind her. ‘His motor bike was seen on the other side of the spinney, not a quarter of a mile from here. Our witness said it was there from nearly a quarter to two until four o’clock. Care to tell us what it was doing there?’
Janice flushed. ‘How should I know? I’m not his keeper anymore.’
‘You didn’t see him about? From the window of Miss Simmons’s bedroom, perhaps, when you were trying to frame her for being a common thief?’ Bishop asked, his voice so conversational it was doubly insulting.
Janice gasped. Jenny sighed again. Loudly.
‘No. I never saw him. What would Danny be doing at the castle anyway?’ she challenged, but her voice was no longer confident.
‘Yes, that’s what we wondered,’ Bishop said softly. ‘As it stands, we’re supposed to believe that you and Danny boy had a raging fight and broke up. But we have only your word for that. Don’t we?’
Janice stared at him, her mouth going dry. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked faintly.
‘This murder, now, was a very clever murder,’ Bishop mused, smiling like a cat at a mousehole. ‘You see, Janice,’ Bishop said silkily, ‘perhaps it was too clever for just one person to commit on their own. Perhaps it took two. And perhaps, to throw us off, these two conspirators pretended to break up. One goes back to the castle openly whilst the other one sneaks in the back way, hiding his motor bike in the woods.’
Janice stared at him. ‘But why would we kill her?’ she asked, and unintentionally stopped Inspector Bishop dead in his tracks.
Mixing up a chicken stock, Jenny grinned widely. But she was careful to keep it hidden. She reached for some cornflour, and waited. G
et out of that, Inspector, she thought wryly.
‘Don’t think we won’t find out, young lady,’ Bishop snarled, forced into threats.
Janice tossed her head bravely. ‘You know what I think? I think Danny was just doing some poaching. He does that, you know, often. And not just rabbits and pheasants, neither. I was with him once when he borrowed a van from his mate and there was a whole deer in the back….’ Janice broke off, aware that, perhaps, she was not doing herself any favours. ‘Not that I know where he got it from, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘He never told me anything about what he got up to. Everybody knows the gamekeeper here complained about somebody having a deer or two, but he’s never caught anybody at it,’ she finished, in a final flash of defiance. ‘He’s too clever, is Danny boy. Thinking he might have done something to her,’ she muttered darkly. ‘He was sweet on her, he was.’
‘Yes,’ Bishop said, his eyes glittering. ‘We know. Or was all that just a ruse too, hmm? After all, Danny made his play for her very obvious. Everyone here knew about it when we asked them. They all thought it was so funny. Danny trying it on with someone like Ava Simmons. He didn’t have a hope, did he?’ Bishop taunted, fishing for any kind of a response. ‘But perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as we think. Perhaps he knew, all along, that Ava Simmons wouldn’t give him the time of day. Perhaps he just wanted people to think he did!’
‘You’re mad, you are,’ Janice said. ‘Now I’ve got work to do. Suits of armour don’t shine themselves, you know.’
As with Meecham before her, Bishop was forced to watch yet another suspect slip blithely away. He felt like slamming his fist on the table, but very wisely resisted the temptation. He glanced at Miss Starling. ‘Well?’ he snapped grimly.
Jenny dunked some tomatoes into boiling water to soften their skins for peeling. ‘I think Danny is a particularly stupid person,’ Jenny said mildly. ‘But Janice is not nearly as stupid as you imagine.’
And with that, Inspector Bishop had to be satisfied.
He looked around, sensed something was missing, thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers. ‘Where’s that helper of yours. She’s usually skulking around with a face like a gargoyle.’
‘I gave Elsie the day off,’ Jenny lied.
The fact was, Elsie had, very uncharacteristically, left her a note saying that she needed the morning off. Jenny had found it on the kitchen table that morning, when she’d come down. The cook hoped that she hadn’t done anything stupid, but she rather suspected that she had.
‘Hmm,’ Bishop said. ‘I think I want a word with her. Myers, let’s take a walk down to the village.’
Lord Avonsleigh hung up the phone and looked across at his wife. ‘He’s agreed to come,’ he said quietly. ‘Do you think we did the right thing. Asking him, I mean?’
Lady Vee stirred a little on the sofa, and began to fiddle absently with the double rope of priceless pearls hanging around her neck. ‘Yes, I think so. Miss Starling sort of hinted that he’d be the best man for the job. And I’d be inclined to agree with her.’ Her eyes sharpened on her husband. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
He smiled. ‘Yes. You think she’s hit the nail right on the head, don’t you?’
His wife’s face became grim. ‘Yes. I think she has. But what do you make of it all? You said very little last night.’
‘Well, we’ll soon find out. He’s coming right over. I sent a car for him.’
‘He’ll be here soon, then,’ she acknowledged miserably.
Avonsleigh nodded. ‘Cheer up, old girl. It might not happen.’
She glanced at him sharply. ‘It already has, George,’ she said, then winced an apology. She reached across and took his hand. ‘George, if the worst comes to the worst….’
He nodded. ‘We’ll manage. We Avonsleighs always do.’
For a few moments they were quiet. ‘Bishop’s back,’ he said at last, giving one of his wife’s knuckles an absent-minded kiss, and letting go of her hand. ‘I saw his car outside.’
‘Hmm. Well, he won’t interfere. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,’ she replied dismissively. ‘But we’ll have to make sure that you know who and our guest don’t meet.’
Lord Avonsleigh’s lips tightened grimly. ‘They won’t,’ he promised. ‘I’ve already seen to that.’
‘But be careful, George,’ Vivienne Margaret warned. ‘Remember what Miss Starling said. It’s imperative that we don’t act any differently. We don’t want to spook our quarry, so to speak.’
His lordship nodded. He glanced at his watch. Soon they would know, one way or the other.
Inspector Bishop walked into the music-room and looked around. He walked over to the piano and tinkled a few notes, then sat down at the stool and played ‘Chopsticks’ with just a dash of panache. He was at a loose end, and felt like it. Neither Elsie or her mother had been at home, and he had sent Myers to make inquiries round and about the village.
If Danny was the local meat supplier on the QT, they’d have to have an equally quiet little word with him, too. He sighed. He played again, then spun round as somebody clapped behind him.
‘Ah, Miss Starling. Oh, and you too, Lady Roberta,’ he said, getting clumsily to his feet.
‘Hello, Bish,’ Roberta said, bouncing into the room and eyeing the piano. ‘What was that lovely little composition you were playing?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.
Bishop all but blushed.
Jenny took pity on him. ‘Isn’t Mr Powell-Brooks supposed to be standing in for your governess, Lady Roberta?’
‘Oh, Malc will be here in a minute. He’s just tidying up the studio. The workmen have put their backs into it at last and have finally finished putting in the larger skylights. There’s bags of light now, but sawdust all over the place. It’s driving Malc mad. He insists on a spotless studio. Dirt can get into the paints, you know. But I can start without him,’ she said, took a seat, and belted out a dramatic piece that shook the window frames. She gave Inspector Bishop an angelic smile.
‘While we’re here, er, your ladyship, perhaps you can go over that afternoon again,’ he murmured, not to be outdone.
‘Oh Bish!’ Roberta groaned. ‘Not again! I told you over and over. Malc and I got here about half past two.’
‘Not a quarter to three?’
‘No. Half past two. We began to play some pieces, you know, warming up, waiting for Simm.’
‘What pieces. Can you remember?’ Bishop asked, but his tone was automatic. Perfunctory. He was not, Jenny suspected, really listening.
‘Some Chopin. Some Bach. A bit of Beethoven. You know, usual stuff. Oh yeah, and the Minute Waltz. I remember that because that was when Malc went to see if Simm was anywhere near. It was getting late by then.’
Lady Roberta suddenly became aware that both of them were staring at her in surprise. ‘What?’ she said. Then again, more angrily, ‘What?’
‘You said Mr Powell-Brooks never left this room,’ Bishop accused her, trying to keep his tone polite. Trying to remember that she was a lady. Literally.
‘But he didn’t,’ Roberta said, and then waved a hand angrily as she realized the mistake she’d made. ‘I mean, he only went to the end of the corridor to see if she was anywhere about. He wasn’t gone a minute. In fact, Inspector, I know he was gone less than a minute, because of the Minute Waltz, you see,’ Roberta said scornfully. ‘That’s why I forgot about it. I mean, what you really wanted to know was if Malc could have killed Simm, and I knew he wouldn’t have had time,’ she carried on, suddenly finding the need to justify herself. ‘So that’s all all right then, isn’t it?’ she added, her chin tilting up challengingly.
‘That’s all right, Lady Roberta, we all forget things sometimes,’ Jenny broke in, stepping between the exasperated policeman and the indignant lady with a calming voice and a sweet smile. ‘Why don’t you just start at the beginning and go through it minute by minute? Lady Roberta, did Mr Powell-Brooks leave the room more than that one time?’ she began, trying to m
ake sense out of Roberta’s somewhat garbled reasoning.
‘No, he didn’t,’ Roberta said firmly. ‘And I only forgot about that one time he did leave because he was only gone a few seconds.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Bishop asked quickly. ‘Time can play funny tricks. A long time can seem a short time, and vice versa.’
Roberta stared at him scornfully. ‘I know that. But in this case, I know it was only a short time because of the Minute Waltz,’ she repeated, her voice rising in obvious exasperation, her expression clearly stating that she thought the inspector a proper dunce.
‘Tell us about the waltz, Lady Roberta,’ Jenny said calmly, giving the inspector a shut-up-and-listen look.
Bishop shut up and listened.
Roberta put her head to one side, and sucked on the end of a pencil contemplatively. ‘It was, I don’t know – about three o’clockish,’ she began, obviously making an effort to be perfectly accurate. She was in the doghouse, and knew it, and was touchingly anxious to make amends. ‘Simm was half an hour late by then. I’d just done some Chopin, I think, when Malc glanced at his watch. He looked a little miffed. He said he wondered where Simm was, and told me to play something different. He asked me to play the Minute Waltz, and said that that was about all I was good for. But he was teasing, you know.’ She broke off, glancing at the cook for back up, and Jenny nodded soothingly.
‘Yes, I know. What happened then?’
‘Well, I started to play it. Malc said he’d just go down the corridor and see if Simm was in the hall or looked like shaking a leg. He went out and came back again a few moments later. He said she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I hadn’t even finished playing it. So you see, he can’t have been gone that long. He couldn’t possibly have killed Simm in that time, could he? So all this fuss is about nothing,’ she finished huffily, and, turning her back on both, her spine stiff with antipathy, she began belting out another dramatic piece.
Bishop and Jenny, not wanting to go deaf, left her to it.