Snuffed It in the Library

by Kate Hamilton

  He too vanished from view, ducking behind the hedge, and in a moment the reason became apparent. Caroline Blessington-Smythe emerged from the conservatory. This time Miss Lavender, who had taken the opportunity to open her bedroom window a little wider, heard every word.

  ‘What on earth is going on. Fenella, I do hope you are not plaguing Edie again . . .’

  Her voice receded across the garden as she joined her step brother and sister. Fenella turned away and followed Travers. The little group stood in a tight knot, then moved away down the garden to the wooden table and chairs which were set under the laburnum.

  VI

  ‘Goodness, gracious me,’ said Miss Lavender, before withdrawing from the window. ‘Now, I wonder what that can have been about.’

  She felt it best to go downstairs and act as if she had seen nothing. She very much wished to have a further interview with Travers if possible. As a guest she needed to be discreet. She was not afraid of confrontation but she did not wish to cause a stir. She was going to leave her knitting bag upstairs, but on second thoughts picked it up. Knitting might come in very handy. As she went downstairs Sir Tempest came out of the library.

  ‘Ah, Rosamunde, if you have a moment. I think this may interest you.’

  She went into the smoke filled room. Evidently he had been in the library all morning. He sucked on his pipe for a moment as he bent over the far table. It was clear he had been unaware of the recent ructions in the garden. This was understandable as the bay window did not look out onto the garden, but to the side. And the garden door opened to a path round the side of the house, and was bounded by a high hedge.

  ‘Look here. I was glancing through these Latin volumes - what do you call them? - yes, Magnacopious, and came across this. What do you make of it?’

  ‘Well, I can’t say that I have anything more than schoolgirl Latin, but I’ll do my best.’

  She pulled her reading specs from her bag. After a moment or two she stood up.

  ‘Well, I really don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘It’s a timeline, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I can make that out. Is that - could that be the Fire of London.’

  ‘Without a shadow of a doubt. Look there’s the date. You can make out in the drawing the flames. There’s a poor figure leaning out of a window.’

  ‘It’s very small,’ said Miss Lavender doubtfully.

  Sir Tempest produced a magnifying glass out of the desk drawer.

  ‘Ah, yes. Now I see what you mean. This looks uncommonly like Guy Fawkes. And what do you suppose this is meant to be?’

  ‘I would have said George the Third. He has a crown on his head, but is wearing a nightgown and there is a pot with green liquid.’

  ‘Quite. The date would confirm it. But I don’t quite see . . .’

  ‘Magnacopious was written in 1402. Look the date is here, on the front page. You can just make it out. This is a book of prophecies.’

  ‘Well, I say! When does it stop?’

  ‘That’s what I am coming to.’

  He pulled the other two volumes on top of the first and turned to the back of the top one. ‘You see. It goes far beyond our present day. I expect this work - copy or not - is tremendously valuable. I really had no idea.’

  ‘And Mr Shapley? Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘Not specifically.’

  ‘And he did not leave any notes?’

  Sir Tempest shook his head.

  ‘How strange. But he surely must have brought something with him? A case perhaps?’

  ‘By Jove, you are right. I do recall, when he arrived I suggested he put his briefcase down by the standard lamp.’

  ‘Well, it’s not there now. Did the police take it, perhaps.’

  ‘No, not as far as I know. I can give Inspector MacIntosh a ring now, if you like.’

  ‘Probably best. And I never asked how he had arrived. Did he come by train and get a lift?’

  ‘He came by car. The police took that. I couldn’t tell you what was in the car. Though he did bring in his Thermos flask for Mrs Hoskins to rinse out. He wasn’t expecting to stay, you see.’

  ‘Stay?’

  ‘Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you? I suggested he stop over for a couple of days. He wasn’t expecting to do a full valuation of the library. He had come just to see what I wanted sold. We always have pyjamas and toothbrushes for unexpected guests. Been a habit left over from Mildred’s day.’

  ‘And were you wanting to sell this?’

  ‘The Magnacopious? Yes, as a matter of fact, I had added it to my list.’

  The clocks began to chime.

  ‘One o’clock. Shall we go through for lunch? I can give the Inspector a phone after we have eaten.’

  Miss Lavender followed her friend through to the dining room with some trepidation. After the scene in the garden she was rather wondering what would meet her. She was not surprised that Fenella had chosen to avoid lunch. Her place wasn’t set. It seemed she often bowed out of family meal times.

  Edie arrived first, head down, hair dishevelled, a slight scowl on her face. Simon and Caroline came in from the garden as lunch was being served.

  ‘We meet again,’ said Caroline with a smile. ‘How was Tangley Tarrant? Such a quaint little village. Rupert and I have often thought of looking for a property there. The trouble is one goes through all the hassle of renting out when one is posted.’

  ‘Except you never are - posted that is,’ said Simon.

  Of the three he appeared to be the least ruffled. Caroline was looking slightly more pink cheeked than usual. But then again, that could have been blusher. She was always heavily made up.

  ‘Now, there’s no need to be rude, Simon. Rupert is very much valued by the Regiment here.’

  ‘Getting on a bit for doing any actual fighting.’

  ‘When you are as senior as Rupert you have a desk job. And I don’t see you joining up any time soon,’ Caroline retorted, ‘Heard any more about when you are leaving for France?’

  ‘That reminds me, Simon,’ interrupted his father, ‘with all this police inquiry, I almost forgot. Could you check with your aunt that your passport is in order. I’m not sure she has got round to it yet.’

  ‘Too busy with Travers,’ murmured Edie darkly.

  Caroline glared at her. They ate their soup in silence.

  When they had finished and the plates were being cleared Sir Tempest glanced round the table with a smile and said cheerfully, ‘My we are being quiet today. Anything the matter? I can’t have our guest left in silence. Simon, did you hear your sister? She asked if you had heard any more about France.’

  ‘Aunt Fenella deals with that. They are to write to her not me. More’s the pity.’

  ‘Where is Fenella, anyway? Doesn’t she want any lunch?’

  ‘Evidently not,’ said Caroline shortly. ‘If you want I can ask her about France.’

  ‘Well, I should think the whole thing will be messed up by this murder inquiry, anyway,’ said Simon.

  ‘Better not be,’ said his father firmly. ‘There’s been enough hanging around already.’

  Edie was toying with her food. Seddon was hovering to clear the dinner plates.

  ‘Edie, do eat up,’ said her father suddenly in an exasperated tone, ‘we haven’t all day.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Sir Tempest.

  She jumped up quickly, shouting. ‘I am not hungry. Didn’t you hear? You - you deaf old fool!’ Then she burst into tears and fled from the room.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Miss Lavender, quietly.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ said Simon. ‘Teenage tantrums.’

  ‘That’s enough, Simon,’ said Caroline.

  Sir Tempest looked like thunder at the head of the table. He nodded to Seddon to clear away the dishes.

  ‘I’ll go after her,’ Caroline’s voice softened.

  ‘You will do nothing of the sort,’ commanded her father.
‘We will remain at the table until the meal is over. Rosamunde, I must apologise for my daughter’s ill behaviour.’

  ‘Oh, not at all. There is naturally a great deal of tension. After all Edie did find the body.’

  Simon gave a short laugh. ‘It’s not bodies that are bothering Edie.’

  ‘Simon, shut up,’ said Caroline quietly but firmly. She turned to Miss Lavender. ‘How was your garden? I find I really need to see to the greenfly at this time of year, if I want to have any display that’s worth looking at.’

  ‘Not bad considering we’ve not had rain for over a week. In fact it has been unusually warm for the time of year, hasn’t it.’

  They lapsed into gentle rather dull conversation, as people do to mask underlying tensions. Miss Lavender wondered how much the family ran on these sort of lines, normally. It was such a pity that Fenella had not made an appearance at lunch. Miss Lavender might have had a clue as to what exactly was going on.

  There was a sherry trifle for the sweet. No one was particularly hungry. The clocks began to chime two o’clock. Sir Tempest sat motionless, listening to all their chimes with a rapt expression, until the last note of the grandfather clock on the landing died away. There was a lingering sense of dread. Could the killer strike again, was the thought on Miss Lavender’s mind. She wondered, looking round the table, how many of her companions were thinking the same thing. Caroline looked restless. Her bright red painted nails tapped repeatedly on the table. There was an incongruity about her. It was as though she had never left home. Did Fenella stay away from the mealtimes only when Caroline had turned up? And Simon. What did the young man find to do with himself all day. He simply seemed to drift.

  Sir Tempest rose from table, wiping his mouth and laying down his napkin.

  ‘Time I was going.’

  ‘Do look in on Edie, will you Father. She won’t listen to me. Frankly I’m about to give up with her.’

  ‘Caroline, are you staying on for the afternoon? Or shall I say goodbye now.’

  ‘I’ve a few things to pick up in Salisbury. Simon, do you want to come?’

  He stretched and yawned. ‘May as well.’

  ‘Miss Lavender?’

  ‘Oh, I am quite comfortable here, if it’s all the same to you. I want to get on with some knitting. But thanks for the offer.’

  There were a few more things that she wished to do than simply knitting, and she was glad that at least two of the family would be absent from The Court for some time.

  Chapter Eight

  Miss Lavender wandered into the garden. The full lunch had made her feel rather sleepy. Normally she was a light eater. She could understand how Wittering Shapley had declined afternoon tea the day of his death. The chintz covered swing seat beckoned and she went and sat down. The tensions of the morning evaporated in the warm sunshine and she almost dozed off. This was the first time she had relaxed since she had arrived almost a week ago. She could understand why Fenella Harrington kept herself to herself. Living with angry young people could be a trial. It would be best for all of them, Simon and Edie included if they could get away. There were memories here at The Court that lay just below the surface, like festering sores.

  Ben was clipping a hedge over beyond the vegetable garden. She wondered whose plan it was to put so many hedges in the garden. Then she remembered someone had mentioned that Fenella had planned it. It was almost as if she wished to hedge them all in. Perhaps she had had a premonition of death.

  After a short while Miss Lavender roused herself, for she wanted to speak with Mr Travers again. Surely she would find him somewhere about the garden. All was very quiet. The steady clip-clipping of Ben’s shears mingled with the lazy buzz of bees. She wandered across the lawn and through the opening in the hedge to the glass house. The change of temperature hit her as she walked in. That and the earthy smell of compost. Small plants lay in neat rows along the benches. She noted a heavy granite curling stone held the door open. There was a boot scraper, and by the door on the bench a small dish with frog design, presumably for keys. Gardening gloves hung on a hook. There was a small metal barometer, a tin of gardening string, a bunch of wooden plant labels. All was very neat and organised. The second glass house led on from the first. Here Fenella had placed rows of geraniums as well as the Auriculas. There were lilies, and a variety of exotic looking plant that Miss Lavender could not name. A pair of wellingtons with socks draped over them stood in the corner with a rake.

  Miss Lavender spent rather more time than she had meant to in the third glass house. It was smaller than the other two. Part of the glass ceiling was covered with black plastic to give some shade. The plants here were without flowers and looked quite fern-like. She wondered if Fenella was perhaps beginning a fernery. It was a quaint, Victorian idea. But it would make sense. The garden was large enough to build one in a corner, perhaps by the rockery. In fact, Miss Lavender was surprised that Fenella had not included a pond in her plans.

  There was no one in sight. Remembering she had discovered Travers by the compost heap, her meanderings took her that way. The door of the garden shed lay open and she ventured inside. The smell of warm wood was pleasant. She simply glanced around. Again she was impressed by the level of order maintained by Fenella. All the usual things one would expect to find in a garden shed of a property this size were ranged round the shelves. So neatly arranged that it could have been out of a magazine. Flower pots, riddle, trowels of various sizes, shears, a bucket, rakes, hoes, and also a wheelbarrow, spades and a lawn mower. Watering cans hung from the rafters, and there was a hose on the wall. All was neat and tidy, and beautifully arranged. The artistic side of Fenella was apparent.

  As there was no sign of Travers, Miss Lavender continued her amble around the garden, coming to the garden door. She tried it, but it was locked. She could make out the sounds of the small stream that ran alongside the pathway outside. The garden wall was high here. Six foot. And there was broken glass cemented into the top of the wall. Not easy for an intruder to scale.

  She came back around the hedge to the small group of fir trees and stepped into the weather beaten old summer house. Probably sixty years old. The wood floor was rotten, the gingerbread carvings which decorated the doorway festooned with ancient cobwebs. It was such a pity it hadn’t been preserved. Now the house had a conservatory presumably the family did not feel the need for a summer house. But they certainly had their uses. And this one had been splendid in its day. It was as though it had been banished to the darkest corner of the garden.

  Edie had done a bit of tidying up. She had said that she was going to take the costumes indoors. Miss Lavender imagined a house like The Court would have at least one spacious attic. That would be a better place for the storage of old costumes. This place was damp. She went over and lifted the lid of the nearest chest. Sure enough, the clothes had been removed. But peering down she caught her breath. In the chest lay an item she doubted would be used in any costume play. It was a well worn leather briefcase. She pulled it out. It wasn’t locked. The slightly tarnished and scratched silver clasp opened easily. To her great disappointment it was entirely empty. But on taking it to the light outside she saw that there were faded letters written in blue ink on the inside of the flap. In capital letters was the name of Wittering F. Shapley esq.

  II

  She really had a strong hunch she should catch up with Richard Travers. Of all the people at The Court he had proved the most elusive, the least willing to talk. And of all the characters connected with the death of Wittering Shapley he was the most mysterious. Could he have a grudge against Sir Tempest Harrington? Had there been some business dealing between the two, perhaps made up in London, that had gone wrong? Folk could bear grudges for a surprising length of time. In fact many years. Miss Lavender remembered that her friend Mildred had referred to Sir Tempest having had a legal training. There was mention of brothers killed in the Great War. Was there some connection with Travers’ father and Sir Tempest, perhaps? Witt
ering Shapley had borne a marked resemblance to Tempest Harrington. Everyone said so. That fact was not to be forgotten. Had Richard Travers sneaked into the house in order to kill Sir Tempest?

  There was no sign of Travers or of Fenella in the garden. Ben was now plainly in sight as he had come round to clip the hedge on the side of the lawn. It was a huge task and would take him the rest of the afternoon, she reckoned. Sir Tempest was fortunate to have such a hard working gardener.

  She entered the house by the back door and was surprised to hear voices in the kitchen. She knew Seddon was taking the afternoon off. In fact she would not be surprised if Caroline had given him a lift into town. As she entered the kitchen she could hear the grandfather clock in the hall striking three. Travers was seated at the kitchen table. He was wearing a blue and white striped shirt of heavy cotton, the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbow, and working trousers. He hadn’t taken his gardening boots off. If he had been dressed in a suit she would have taken him for a lawyer, or a financier perhaps. He was wearing a heavy gold wrist watch. There was a brown teapot and cup of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table by his elbow. He stood up when she came in.