by Daisy Waugh
Alice tried to picture it. Where had India been standing? Beside Dominic? Had she grasped hold of his arm? She might have done. But had she said anything? Alice tried to imagine India’s face when the news came in. Dominic had looked thunderstruck. Shattered. And India? India never looked shattered. Had she spoken? Maybe, yes. Maybe.
‘Maybe you remember, maybe you don’t. There was something out of whack about all of us – about everything – that terrible afternoon. Nothing seemed quite real.
‘You, of course, and your remarkable grandmother, went with Mr Carfizzi and Egbert to investigate the scene, leaving India and me to hold the fort, as it were. Egbert was determined not to upset the tourists. (His alpha and omega! No matter who is dead or how they may have died, we Must Not Upset the Tourists!) In any case, India and I did, somehow, manage to keep the show on track, got the prize giving wrapped up, and as my car was so close, we decided to return to my cottage for a drink. We needed one.
‘There’s no pretty way to put this. The fact is, we had several drinks and within a fairly short time, India and I found ourselves in bed together. I should have stopped it. Then or now or at any time since. I did try – but not hard enough and there is no excuse… except my own grief, and I suppose, that I am only human – but I’m not justifying our actions. We did what we did.
‘India hated Emma. I never dared tell her the extent of our deep friendship, and I tremble for the day she discovers it. But I won’t be here, thank God. You could say I am running away. I don’t know what else to do. After what happened last night, I can’t stand by and say nothing any longer.
‘The tub of Crème de la Mer is something not I, but Mr Carfizzi, found in India’s bathroom cupboard. He gave it to me some weeks ago, because he didn’t know what to do with it himself. Neither did I. Except for that night when you found me roaming in your garden. (I had come with the intention of giving it to you then, only to get cold feet and scurry away again!) I, like Mr Carfizzi, have kept the wretched thing hidden. I most likely would have continued to do so, but, Alice, last night I am almost certain that India struck again.
‘Mr Carfizzi called me from his sickbed at about 2 a.m., convinced that she was trying to poison him. There is only circumstantial evidence for this. However, I know that Hamish is currently interested in plant poisons because he and India talked about little else at dinner. Mrs Carfizzi says she found a handful of dead foxgloves in India’s bedroom wastebasket… Mr Carfizzi says he found a box of his favourite chocolates lying open beneath the hook where he hangs his jacket… Five hours later he is blinded by headaches, vomiting so violently that he ruptured his own stomach. Perhaps it’s just coincidence. (How I wish I could believe that.) Mrs Carfizzi has been feeding her poor husband hot water and mustard powder, which she swears is the only antidote to foxglove poisoning, and we must keep our fingers crossed.’
‘He’s lying!’ cried Geraldine. ‘He must be!’
‘IN THE MEANTIME – I realise my loyalty is no longer to the Todes, nor to the Carfizzis, nor even to my darling Emma, but to Society.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake! The man’s a gigolo!’
‘Shh!’ said Alice. ‘Listen. Listen to this.’ She read on: ‘India Tode is a killer.’
‘Nonsense! How dare he?’
‘… And I believe that India has it in her to kill again and again, unless she is stopped. Shortly before she disappeared, Emma told me she was having second thoughts about leaving India in charge at Tode Hall. She told me she was already in secret discussions with her lawyers about reversing the situation, and I suspect that on the day she was due to leave for Capri, she may have said as much to India, and that India, as is her wont, simply lost her temper. An opportunity arose for India to abandon Emma in the mausoleum, and she leapt at the chance, knocked Emma to the ground, locked the door and left her to die…’
‘This is preposterous,’ muttered Geraldine. ‘… Really… It is…’ But she didn’t sound her certain self. Not quite.
‘… You will have opened the jar of Crème de la Mer by now. (A tub of that size costs £800, Alice, and yet, after Mr Carfizzi took it off her all those weeks ago India never said a word. Not a squeak! Never mentioned that an £800 tub of face cream had gone missing from her bathroom cupboard. Don’t you think it strange?) What you find buried inside that jar may not count as evidence in law – I have no idea. But it’s evidence enough for me. India must be stopped before she kills again. After all, who knows who might be her next victim? Who might offend her next? I don’t think I am being too melodramatic when I say to you – she frightens me. Be careful. Watch your back.’
‘He’s a coward and a liar!’ interjected Geraldine. ‘How dare he. How dare he? The man’s nothing but a washed up old ham, Alice. I hope you’re not swallowing any of this tripe?’
Alice held up a finger – wait – and continued reading.
‘I have left India’s face cream exactly as I found it. I would suggest, if it’s not too late, that you do too…’
‘Well, open the jar again, for God’s sake!’ cried Geraldine. ‘What’s in there? What’s she put in there?’
Alice opened it, and this time delved deep into the pot. Her fingers touched on something hard.
‘What? What is it?’
‘… Feels like a…’ Alice pulled it out, wiped away the cream and held up to Geraldine a large and ancient-looking key. Especially distinctive thanks to the family crest at the tip of the key’s handle.
‘Well, what the devil…’ Geraldine stared at it. They both did. There was only one key that looked like that – or two, to be precise. The one that was hanging in the key cupboard, and the other one, the missing key to the mausoleum: missing since before Alice started at the Hall. Missing since Lady Tode was meant to have left for Capri.
Alice said: ‘We should hand it over to the police.’
‘What?’
‘This – everything. The letter, the key… There’s the inquest tomorrow. If India did this, we should…’
Green vapour filled the room. It spouted, dragon-like, from her ears and nostrils.
‘NOOOOOO!’ The word emerged as a roar, not from Geraldine’s slim chest, but from somewhere way beneath her, from the depths of her purest darkness, and it made the windows shake.
Alice stared, terrified. The key slipped from her fingers and clanged to the floor.
And the moment passed. The vapour thinned. Geraldine cleared her throat and apologised.
‘—Don’t be silly, Alice,’ she said. ‘There’s absolutely no need for the police to be poking their noses into this. This is Tode business. We can deal with it ourselves.’
Alice looked at the key. ‘Geraldine, this may be evidence of… a very serious crime indeed… I mean…’
‘Of course it’s not evidence.’
‘But it is.’
Geraldine tried another tack. ‘Not really. Anyway how do we know Dominic didn’t put the key in that pot himself? He probably did. Or Carfizzi, come to that. Or anyone, frankly. How do we even know this Crème de what not even belongs to India? We don’t. And even if it did, even if she did do… whatever Dominic is trying to imply… which I don’t believe for a second, by the way, what’s to be gained from telling the police?’
‘Well—’
‘It’s absolutely none of their business, Alice,’ Geraldine continued without waiting for a reply. ‘Do you really want to drag India’s name through the mud over a bit of worthless tittle-tattle? A lovers’ tiff? I thought you liked her? I thought you said she was a friend? And think of India’s darling little children! Think of her sweet, brave husband! Do you really want to put them through all that… over a silly pot of overpriced face cream?’
‘It’s not about the face cream…’
‘It most certainly is about face cream. If it’s not about face cream I don’t know what it is about.’
‘Well it’s about murder…’
‘Nonsense.’
‘You’re the one who has a
lways insisted that Emma Tode was murdered.’
‘And even if Dominic’s story added up, which it clearly doesn’t, I ask you again, what is to be gained from bringing PC Plod into the mélange? For heaven’s sake, Alice, wake up! Emma is already dead. Do you really want to ruin any more lives?’
‘But what if she kills someone else?’
‘Whom? Whom might she kill?’ Geraldine asked.
‘I don’t know! Me? Egbert? The children? How do I know? She may already have killed Mr Carfizzi, according to Dominic… I mean… I haven’t seen him this morning. Mrs Carfizzi says he’s too sick to work. I don’t think he’s ever been too sick to work before…’
‘You’re talking twaddle, darling. Because you’re tired. And no wonder, when they’re making you work seven days a week. I suggest you dispose of that ridiculous pot of cream and its contents as soon as possible. Also that odious and very silly letter… in fact I think you should go for a drive into Todeister this afternoon, as soon as the guests have left us, and throw them both into the bottom of the River Tode—’
‘Throw away the Crème de la Mer?’
‘With a bit of luck, we can brush this whole unfortunate episode under the carpet and move on… And as for Dominic Rathbone: good riddance. I hope he catches his airplane, and I hope it crashes. I hope I never set eyes on him again.’
CHAPTER 46
Alice didn’t want to believe the letter. She wished she’d never read it. She didn’t want to have to think about the questions it raised – certainly not now, and preferably ever again. So she filed it away, buried it in a dark and distant corner of her mind, and hoped it would quietly die there. (An unfashionable system, but it worked better than people often realised.) So she tucked both the letter and the incriminating beauty cream into a kitchen drawer, and headed out to find Egbert.
He was already waiting for her, sitting in the Land Rover with the engine running and a glum, slightly self-pitying expression on his face. She swallowed any irritation, and climbed up into the seat beside him.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.
‘Nonsense!’ he cried. ‘If anyone should be apologising it’s me. And possibly India…’ There was ‘literally no reason on earth,’ he said, that Alice should be working through her weekend, let alone be expected to help with the laying up of lunch.
‘I don’t know why we have to bother with the Folly, to be honest with you Alice. It seems a lot of trouble, with Carfizzi ill. But when India gets an idea into her head…’
He felt disloyal and didn’t finish the sentence. A long silence. And then, sounding slightly whiney: ‘She just so wants the weekend to be a success, after everything’s been so difficult, you know?’
‘I do,’ said Alice, only half listening.
‘She’s not used to people disliking her, Alice… It really is really horrid for her… And the fact is… Sorry, Alice, do you mind? Am I clear your side? The fact is… most people, by the time they reach India’s age, have had a certain amount of experience in that area. But I honestly don’t think India has… Bless her. I don’t think she’s ever encountered an individual she’s not been able to win over. Never in her life.’
‘Amazing,’ said Alice.
‘… Not until Emma Tode came along…’
Alice didn’t know what to say. An image of Emma Tode lying dead in the mausoleum obstructed everything else. And Dominic’s words, which she’d been trying to forget… India, as is her wont, simply lost her temper.
‘Emma invited us to take over the Hall,’ Egbert was saying, ‘and then, as far as I can see, did just about everything within her power to make it impossible for us to fit in…’
An opportunity arose for India to abandon Emma in the mausoleum, and she leapt at the chance…
‘And look, I just get on with the job,’ Egbert droned on. ‘But I worry for India… She’s actually terribly sensitive.’
… knocked Emma to the ground, locked the door and left her to die…
It was unlike Egbert to be so communicative. Alice would have preferred it vastly if he’d stayed in character, on this morning of mornings. But it seemed there was no stopping him.
‘Well I wasn’t here when Lady Tode was alive of course,’ Alice mumbled. ‘So I don’t really know what went on.’
‘Of course you don’t. And I don’t even know for sure that you would have noticed even if you had been, Alice. That’s the strangest thing. I’m not sure I noticed, really… not consciously. Just – there were these subtle remarks; these ever-so-subtle ways of mocking us in front of the staff. Both of us, actually…’ He sighed. ‘You probably think I sound completely mad.’
‘No, no…’ said Alice.
‘But you know, when I see the way Carfizzi looks at my wife… It’s really upsetting.’
… Mrs Carfizzi has been feeding her poor husband hot water and mustard powder, which she swears is the only antidote to foxglove poisoning…
Egbert glanced across at Alice. He found himself miraculously comforted by her quiet presence; wanting to confide more to her than he usually confided to anyone, not even – or least of all – his beloved wife.
‘This is probably a terrible thing to admit,’ he said, steering politely round the tourists. ‘But I’m actually jolly glad Emma’s gone… When I saw her lying there – and you were with me, Alice: you’ll remember what a shock it was – but when I saw her, lying there on the floor, and all that dried blood everywhere, and goodness knows… the pants…’ He shuddered. ‘Do you know, I didn’t feel a single thing? Rather,’ he added, ‘that’s not strictly true… I’ll tell you what I really felt. And you must never breathe a word. Never tell a soul. Certainly not,’ he laughed, ‘to our friends at the local constabulary! But I tell you what I thought. I thought: well that’s you sorted, you silly old bag. Bloody well serves you right!’
‘Goodness,’ Alice said. ‘I had no idea how much you disliked her.’
‘I should hope not!’ he laughed again. ‘Or we’d have a couple of our local bobbies dropping in at the Hall, brandishing handcuffs and arresting me for first degree!’
Alice felt a little sick.
‘… How are you finding it here?’ he asked, changing tack. ‘Actually what I really mean is, how are you finding India? I worry about her. Do you think she’s happy?’
There was a toddler posing for photographs in the middle of the drive.
‘Watch out,’ she said. ‘There’s a toddler…’
Egbert swerved neatly round. ‘What I’m trying to say is… I love her so much.’
‘Good… I mean, I’m sure you do…’
‘And I’d do anything to make her happy.’
‘Please – Egbert,’ Alice said desperately. She hated heart-to-hearts at the best of times. This was beyond any call of duty. This was hell.
‘The thing is, I know she confides in you, Alice, and I just… Well I just want to say that I’m so happy… so happy… that she has someone to confide in. It could be awfully lonely for her otherwise. I think that was actually part of the problem for Emma…’ He laughed. ‘Emma was an absolute man eater, it turns out! Turns out there was barely a male on the estate she didn’t sort of… you know…’
Alice fiddled with the door handle and longed for the journey to end. Or for another toddler – a family of toddlers – to fall in front of the car. Anything. ‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘Nearly there!’
‘… From what I can gather she was having it off with pretty much every male within a twenty-mile radius of the place! Lady Chatterley move over!’ He laughed, and then apologised. ‘Sorry. Not appropriate. Anyway… I was just… Christ… I don’t know… I suppose I was just – I wanted to thank you. For being such a good friend to my wife. She’d be so desperately lonely here if it weren’t for you…’
‘No need to thank me,’ Alice said. Was he fishing? What did he know? Alice couldn’t be sure. She wanted to say something else, to help him to feel a bit better – but at that point all she could think
of was Dominic’s letter. And India, ogling him across the Chinese Drawing Room, declaring herself a ‘perv’ for finding him attractive; and India, with her hand on Hamish’s thigh last night; and India, discovering Lady Tode didn’t want to make her mistress of Tode Hall after all… And India, grasping Dominic’s arm when the news came through… And Lady Tode, lying in that pool of blood, and India, turning the key to the mausoleum door and leaving her there to die. India, never commenting on her absence, even though she knew…
‘Did India ever mention losing a massive jar of very expensive face cream?’ she interrupted Egbert suddenly. ‘Silly question, I know.’
But he absolutely wasn’t listening. He was on his own jag, jabbering on … Alice wished she’d been paying attention ‘… she’ll probably hit the roof,’ he was saying. ‘… India’s not really vindictive,’ he added. ‘I mean, she has a dreadful temper. But she’s incapable of bearing grudges…’ He left a pause. ‘Plus – of course, these things are all tied up so tight by the lawyers. So, I mean, the estate will obviously have to cough up, no matter what, whatever India says… And listen, I’m just an executor. It’s nothing to me, not really. But I mean – it’s a bit much, isn’t it? I worked out this morning we could buy two hundred plus freshly calved heifers with that. Or a terraced house in Broadstairs… albeit in need of updating. But it’s a lot of money.’
Alice wasn’t quite sure who or what he was talking about. She said: ‘Sorry, Egbert. I’m confused. India bearing grudges about what? What have the lawyers got tied up?’
‘Hm?’ He glanced across at her. ‘Oh I’m sorry! I’ve been blathering on! Ignore me, Alice. I do apologise. I’ve been unloading all my sorrows on you, as if you don’t have plenty of your own…’
‘No but – I don’t understand…’
‘Never mind!’ he said. ‘Consider it a lucky escape!’
Alice could have kicked herself. What lawyers? Pay whom, what money, why? ‘It’s not a burden at all, Egbert—’