Snuffed It in the Library

by Kate Hamilton

  There seemed nothing to say to this so Miss Lavender continued.

  ‘When the hall clock struck the half hour Seddon brought up the trays and put them in turn on the large table in the hall. Can we take it that you did have any intimation from Mrs Blessington-Smythe about the sugar lumps?’

  Seddon shrugged, his face drawn, and looked at the floor.

  Edie covered a smile with her hand, but didn’t look at Simon who was trying his best to look innocent. It was Sir Tempest’s turn to scowl.

  Miss Lavender continued. ‘Seddon took the tray bearing the tea pot and china for the family first. Then returned for the tray bearing the food. He then brought Mr Shapley his tea tray in the library. He did not pass anyone during this time. Nor did he speak to Shapley who was still busy with the books.’

  She paused for a moment, looking round the company. They were in various stages of expectation. Some looked bored. Others apprehensive.

  ‘It was some time after four o’clock, that Edie found the body. Seddon rang for an ambulance. The family thought that Mr Shapley had had a heart attack. During this time the tray from the library was taken back to the kitchen.’ She paused. ‘But there was a note on this tray, and it was removed and destroyed. I had this note in my keeping. But it was later taken from my possession. This led me to realise that the murderer, or their accomplice, was not some person who had come from outside, possibly following Shapley down from London. But was still at The Court. And knew of its continuing existence.’

  There was a murmur round the room.

  ‘The note was an extremely subtle and clever one. Its purpose was not only to confuse, but also to point the finger of blame away from the murderer.’ She paused for this to sink in.

  ‘Miss Edie had gone to Finishing School in Switzerland.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Edie sitting up and looking at Miss Lavender for the first time. ‘At the Institut Alpin Fleurie.’

  Miss Lavender nodded in her direction.

  ‘And there you learned not only to write letters, but also handwriting. You had developed a particularly idiosyncratic hand. A hand easy to imitate.’

  Everybody gasped.

  ‘A quote had been used from Shakespeare. One would have to have a pretty good knowledge of his works to have used it. It was a reference to a father. A note of recrimination. The play used referred to his name - The Tempest.’

  ‘But why put this on Wittering Shapley’s tray, if the intended victim was Sir Harrington? Let me repeat. Whoever placed this incriminating note knew their Shakespeare very well. And why would they then remove it and destroy it?’

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Lavender,’ said a voice.

  Everyone looked round. It was Albert Seddon, looking extremely pained.

  ‘It was I. I took the note. I - I don’t know much Shakespeare, but if you’re telling me it was a forgery. Well, I was taken in. I did indeed think it was Miss Edie’s writing. I took it off the saucer when I saw it and ripped it up and put it in the dust bin. Seeing as how the poor chap had copped it, I didn’t want her involved. It - it was done to protect her.’ His voice wavered and broke off. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. But I wasn’t the killer,’ he added.

  ‘I understand, Albert,’ said Miss Lavender. ‘I think most would have been taken in. It was a most skilful imitation. Which led me to asking who knew enough of Shakespeare to have written the note.’

  ‘Well, that lets me off the hook,’ said Simon, his voice brightening.

  ‘Simon, don’t interrupt,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Edie would have known,’ continued Miss Lavender, ‘And also you, Colonel.’

  ‘Well, I say!’ said his wife. ‘That’s not fair. Everyone knows some Shakespeare. Anyway anyone could have looked up the quote. There’s a whole set of his works here in the library. I should know. They belonged to my mother.’

  Caroline looked extremely ruffled.

  ‘True,’ said Miss Lavender, calmly. ‘Which brings me on to the poison.’

  People shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  ‘The poison itself was not Deadly Nightshade.’

  There was another gasp.

  ‘Wittering Shapley’s demise was very swift. Small amounts of the leaf from the plant Oenanthe crocata were placed in his tea pot. The plant is better known by the name Hemlock Water Dropwort. It has a similar appearance to hemlock. But it kills much more quickly. Historically it has been identified as the cause of sudden death. Quite lethal, in fact.’

  Several people shuddered.

  ‘Now where would the killer have found such a plant at The Court? There were three places that I could discover. The plant pots bearing the herbs in the kitchen. Hemlock Water Dropwort bears a close resemblance to the herb Coriander. Could this deadly plant have been hidden in plain view in the kitchen window along with the geranium and the other herbs?’

  No one answered.

  ‘Then, there is of course the garden itself. But in a garden so well tended by both Mr Travers and Ben Brown, it would be difficult to hide such a thing, without them noticing. However, there are the glasshouses. The domain of Miss Fenella Harrington.’

  All eyes turned to her. She sat motionless. Like a statue, her face alabaster white.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Simon, with relief in his voice. ‘You’re always fiddling away with those plants of yours. Triffids, I call them. The Day of the Triffids.’ And he laughed.

  ‘Simon, belt up, will you.’ His father’s voice was low and extremely tense.

  ‘Miss Harrington has a great talent when it comes to horticulture,’ said Miss Lavender with a gentle smile. ‘We all greatly appreciate her garden. And the array of plants in her glass houses, I am sure would impress the experts.’

  Quite a few people smiled too.

  ‘But it is a feature of this hemlock plant that it lives by running water,’ said Miss Lavender.

  Fenella Harrington visibly relaxed.

  ‘So we require to look further for the potential source of the plant,’ added Miss Lavender. ‘To the stream that runs just outside the bottom of the garden. Through the door that leads to the tennis courts. I have had the opportunity to check, and this book, which I found in the library, cites the plant and also gives a photograph of it. Admittedly it is small, and in black and white. But it is clear enough.’

  She picked up a small tome from the coffee table beside her and handed it round. It was met with a mixed response.

  ‘Mr Wittering Shapley had not initially been the one to come from Shapley, Shapley & Orde that day. His colleague, Mr Bidcombe normally does book valuations. But he was hospitalised suddenly with appendicitis. The shop called on Monday afternoon with the message it would be the owner, Mr Shapley himself who would be taking his place. Edie took the phone call. Both Caroline and Fenella were there at the time, having tea.’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t know anything about that,’ said Caroline.

  ‘It evidently did not occur to Edie to let her father know of the change of plan.’

  Edie shrugged and made a face. Then returned to gazing out the window.

  ‘So there we have it,’ said Miss Lavender. ‘Who would have a sufficient knowledge of the layout of the house. Of the books in the library. Of the existence of a deadly poisonous plant by the steam on the other side of the garden wall? Who, indeed would have had access to the trays and to the teapot? Who was sufficiently present during the past few days to not only know of the existence of the note with the Shakespeare quote. But also that I had it in my keeping in my knitting bag?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ echoed Simon, breezily.

  His father glared at him.

  ‘Let us go back to the confused reports of the movements of certain family members shortly after three o’clock. Family members who, so jealous and envious of one another, were prepared to lie.’

  For the first time Miss Lavender’s voice took on a stern note.

  ‘This puzzled me for quite a while. Mrs Blessington-Smythe arrives a
t three o’clock. She spends a few minutes removing her coat. And then speaking with Simon. Let us suppose she reaches the library at five past the hour. She does not simply look in and leave. Not at all. She is curious. And not only curious. She is suspicious. There have been conversations before about her father’s will. She feels a real threat at the possibility she may be left out altogether. After all, is she really in need of money? She is comfortably married to Rupert. An Army officer. There is the matter of her mother’s will. Valuable books are known to be in the library. Books that came into the marriage when Mildred wed. Now Caroline finds an expert in the library looking over the books. Whether she discovers he knows of the volumes is beside the point. She has spent time conversing with him. Precious minutes. She meets Edie at the library door. Let us say at a quarter past the hour. Seddon and Mrs Hoskins are in the kitchen below, preparing the tea. Ah, but the kitchen clock is broken. They must judge the time.

  Simon comes in from the garden as Caroline and Edie enter the conservatory. Caroline greets her father. And by her own admission, confirmed by both Edie and Simon, a heated conversation occurs between Caroline and her father with regard to the will and to the volumes. We have still to consider that Edie must leave to pay a visit to the cloakroom. Meeting Caroline on her way back to the conservatory. Caroline must not only bring her lively conversation with her father to an end, fetch her handkerchief from her fur coat pocket in the cloakroom, but also go down to the kitchen to remind Seddon to remember the sugar lumps, and return. All this in less than fifteen minutes. Not only this. But the stomach of a youth, especially one as thin as Simon, keeps very regular time. In spite of a full lunch, Simon’s tummy rumbles told him that it was past tea time. Urging him too, to visit the kitchen to find out what had happened to make Seddon so late.

  And what had made him late? A thing unheard of at The Court, where all is as clockwork?’

  Miss Lavender looked sternly from one face to another. Each one shook there head.

  ‘Let us take one other thing into account,’ she said. ‘Mr Shapley arrived, having driven down from London. No doubt he had left very early. He had some coffee on his way. His Thermos flask was given to Mrs Hoskins to rinse out. After his demise, the police took that and his car, a Morris Minor, with any effects and belongings therein. However there was one item of his that was overlooked. He had not got round to taking any notes by the time he died. But he had left his briefcase. An old very much worn article. It had obviously seen much use in its day. He had left this by the standard lamp in the library. Sir Tempest had suggested he put it there. And yet someone - presumably the murderer - had taken this briefcase, for whatever reason. And hidden it. That was their mistake.

  For in the criminal mind. And indeed in all our minds. But especially in an ordered mind, we put belongings together. In the same place. The cup goes with the saucer, on the dresser. The pen with the inkwell, on the desk. The gardening gloves on the hook in the glass house. Isn’t that right, Miss Fenella?’

  She swung round to look at Fenella.

  ‘Me?’ said Fenella, her face a blank. ‘You can’t mean me?’

  ‘The briefcase belonging to Wittering Shapley was found by myself hidden in the costume chest. In the far corner of the garden. The summer house had been used to store the clothes and props from plays that the family and friends put on when Prudence was still alive.’

  A murmur went round the room.

  ‘Why, I asked myself, would it be hidden here, in the old summer house. The Court is a very large house. There are many rooms. Bedrooms. Attics. But no. It was in the chest in the summer house that this personal belonging of Mr Shapley was put away. Laid to rest almost. Everyone had seen Fenella working in the glasshouse at the time of the murder. She had never moved. And there I had it.’

  ‘Go on, Miss Lavender,’ said Rupert, speaking for the first time. He alone seemed to have remained calm. ‘Explain it all to us, if you will.’

  Fenella was staring blankly. Her hands grasping the arms of her chair so tightly that the knuckles showed white.

  ‘It was a ritual that had gone on for many years. Ever since Mildred’s time. Afternoon tea at The Court at three thirty on the dot. And for the first time Mr Shapley was in attendance. Fenella knew he was coming, as Edie took the phone call and came to tell her and Caroline the day before. She had remembered his name. But it would be a difficult name to forget. Isn’t that right Fenella?’

  The woman didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘She had the rest of that day and night to work out a plan. A very clever plan too. Although she didn’t appear for lunch, she did look through the library window to check that it was indeed Wittering Shapley. Then she put her plan into action. She waited until three o’clock had come and gone. What she needed was time. She sees Simon and lets him know she won’t be in for tea. While Caroline and her father are having heated words in the conservatory, she comes in through the back door and moves the hall clock back by fifteen minutes. Those were the fifteen minutes, Simon that your stomach registered. But why, may you ask, did she need fifteen minutes?’

  Miss Lavender looked round the room at everyone.

  ‘I will tell you. This gave her just enough time to go to the summer house. At the back was a life size cut out of a pantomime figure. Widow Twankey. Hidden by the hedge, she was able to take it unnoticed from the summer house, through the further glass house and set it up in the glass house that was nearest the lawn. Where everyone thought the dark shape was her.’

  ‘Fenella!’ said Richard Travers, his face aghast.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Fenella. ‘Richard don’t.’

  ‘What everyone saw was a cut out. Not Fenella, in the glass house. Yet she had her perfect alibi. Moving swiftly she took up the note, already prepared and deliberately planted to deceive. You wanted to implicate Edie, didn’t you. Jealousy knows no bounds.’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘And with the note, the fatal leaves, which you had collected and kept. You waited in the passage from the back door until Seddon had taken the trays through to conservatory. And then - ’

  ‘And then - yes. Yes!’ cried Fenella, with a hysterical laugh. ‘I put the leaves into the teapot.’

  There was a horrified gasp from everyone. Gregory Honeybun looked crestfallen and quietly shook his head.

  ‘Fenella! No!’ cried Richard Travers, white as a sheet.

  ‘Oh, Ella, Ella,’ groaned Sir Travers and putting his head in his hands began to sob wretchedly.

  Simon burst into shocked laughter. And stopped abruptly. Then was extremely quiet. Caroline gave her husband a look which said I told you so. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

  Only Edie was utterly silent. She looked as if she was going to faint.

  ‘I killed him,’ said Fenella. ‘I hated him. Loathed his guts. He deserved it. He didn’t deserve to live. If I had managed it, I would have given him a long, slow, lingering death. It was over too quickly for him.’

  Her face twisted, looking black.

  She stood up, her hair fallen wildly about her face. She laughed again. A strange, maniacal laugh, that bore all signs of a hatred cherished over years.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. When his name was mentioned. Such an unusual name. No one on earth could have the same name. And it was him alright. Walking right into my own home. Right into my home,’ she repeated. ‘He ruined my life.’

  She drew breath, looking round at everyone, her voice vicious.

  ‘Oh, you’ve no doubt had your little laugh at me. Nervous breakdown, they said.’ She laughed again, this time bitterly. ‘Well sod the lot of you. Who are you to judge me.’

  She made for the door. She had been the one standing closest to it.

  Ben jumped. He was standing next to her all this time. Rooted to the spot. He gathered his wits and went after her as she ran from the room.

  There was voices in the hall. A scuffle. A scream. Then silence.

  ‘I think you will find,’ said Miss La
vender, her voice clear and calm. ‘That the police are now doing their job.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘It’s Sir T. I feel sorry for,’ said Albert Seddon, as he took the cup of Darjeeling from Miss Lavender’s hand. ‘Very protective of her he always was.’

  He settled into the faded pink chintz armchair, and gazed for a moment round the room at the low beams and white washed walls. Her cottage was very snug.

  Miss Lavender took an extra saucer of her Royal Brierley Cottage Rose tea set, poured some milk into it and set it down on the rug for Opus.

  ‘Yes, indeed. He had not seen that coming. And it would be difficult to comprehend the amount of hatred bottled up within her. I really do wonder, however, if it was wise to label her as psychiatrically unbalanced. When in fact it was that she had fallen pregnant by Shapley. Perhaps there was as much damage done by Sir Tempest, but for different reasons.’

  ‘Make a clean breast of it, you mean.’

  ‘Quite so. A child born out of wedlock, is one thing. To have one carry the label of insanity and be buried for the rest of one’s life in the countryside, under the close supervision of an older brother, is quite another. Albeit with the pretence of being protective.’

  She sighed and stirred her tea. ‘Shame is a very odd thing.’

  ‘At least Simon and Edie can leave now.’

  ‘I am not so sure,’ said Miss Lavender. ‘Families are very odd things, are they not.’ She bent down and gave Opus a stroke. ‘Sometimes, I think it’s better just to have a cat.’

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

  ‘And what about you, Albert?’

  ‘I’ve done my bit. I am quite happy with my pension. Oh, I’ll be off over to the airfield now, most days. Flying’s the thing.’

  ‘Well, now before I forget.’

  Miss Lavender reached for her pink and black patchwork knitting bag.

  ‘Hopefully these will keep you warm while you watch the planes.’

  She brought out a neatly folded pair of grey ribbed socks.’

  Albert Seddon’s face lit up. ‘Miss Lavender, you shouldn’t have!’