'Oh, no. Us swore our Bible oath, so then he says, "Then et's that wecked Messus Trelby," he says. "Woulden put nothen past her, I woulden," he says.'
'Did you agree with him, I wonder?'1
'Could have been Messus Trelby or Messus Judeth, I suppose, or even Mester Romelly hesself, come to that, as took 'em off hall table.'
'Yes, I suppose it could,' Dame Beatrice agreed. 'Can you give me his present address?'
Amabel applied to her father, who produced the piece of paper which Romilly had left with him.
'He told us you moight be comen,' he said. 'He said as how you moight care to see Messus Trelby's room. The gals could show ee whech one et were.'
Rosamund's room was on the second floor.
'Something a bit like Bluebeard's chamber about all this,' muttered Laura, as they traversed the gallery and followed their guide up the second flight of stairs. 'Of course, anything we find in the room could have been planted there since Rosamund left, I suppose.'
'What do you expect to find?' Dame Beatrice enquired. Laura laughed.
'The .22 rifle and a selection of modern clothes, perhaps,' she said.
'By the way, Amabel,' said Dame Beatrice, as the maid halted at a door on the second-floor landing, 'did Luke realise which particular letters were missing? Did he mention that they were those addressed to the Reverend Hubert and Mr Willoughby Lestrange?'
'I coulden say. He never mentioned any special names, Dame Beatrice, mum. He just said how could Mester Romelly expect eight to come when only sex had had the envoite.'
'What has happened to the cook?'
'Her wented home. Weren't no sense in her stoppen. Nothen for her to do weth our mam here.'
'I suppose it did not occur to Luke, or to either of you, that she might have purloined the letters?'
'What for would her do a theng loike that, then?'
'I cannot imagine. Well, let us take a look at Miss Rosamund's room. This is it, I assume?'
The room was large and gloomy. It was panelled in oak from the floor to within a foot or so of the ceiling, the woodwork topped by a plaster frieze. The ceiling itself was plain, unlike the heavily-decorated ceilings of the first-floor and ground-floor rooms. The furnishings consisted of a modern three-foot bed, a bedside cabinet, an enormous wooden chest, an armchair, a dressing-table with a low stool, a bookcase and a double wardrobe.
'Be locked, I daresay,' observed Amabel, as Dame Beatrice went towards the massive piece of furniture. This proved to be so. 'Don't ee fret, then,' the maid continued. There's the twen to thes un en Mester Romelly's room. Oi'll breng ee the key.'
Romilly's key fitted, and they soon had the wardrobe open. It contained a fair selection of dresses and suits and a couple of long coats. On the shelf above these were two or three hats.
'Can you date these garments?' Dame Beatrice asked Laura.
'Not the newest fashions, obviously,' Laura replied, 'but quite wearable if you shortened the skirts a bit, I suppose. The hats-well, they didn't come out of the ark.'
'You mean that anyone appearing in these garments in public at the present day would not cause hurtful comment?'
'Oh, no, of course not. You'd easily pass in a crowd if you went out in them.'
Dame Beatrice was looking for maker's tabs. There were none, but there was blood on one of the coats.
'Amabel,' she said, 'when you and your sister first came here, the family, I believe you once told me, were not already in the house.'
'That's roight, Dame Beatrice, mum. Our vecar, he come to our cottage and told our mam as he'd had a letter to say Galliard Hall was let at last, and there was a place for two maids, and he was be-en asked ded he know of any loikely young women, so he gev us first go, knowen us respectable, loike, and be-en chrestened in church and all that.'
'Were you out of a job at the time, then?' asked Laura.
'No, but us dedden loike et where us was, and me and Voilert, us allus wanted to be together, so both of us gev notece and vecar had been sent key of the house, so us went along and cleaned up and aired out, and our mam helped and so ded our dad.'
'You and Violet were here to receive the incoming tenants, then?' asked Dame Beatrice. 'Do you remember how Miss Rosamund was dressed?'
'Oh, yes, of course Oi do.' She touched a tweed costume and indicated a coarse straw hat. 'They there was what her had on.'
'What impression did you get of her?'
'Oh, quiet loike-nothen much to say. Her brought a rare lot of luggage, though-trunks and suitcases and packen cases-took our dad and Luke all their toime to get et all up the stairs.'
'Packing-cases?'
'Ah, too and all. What the fancy dresses come en, Oi daresay.'
'I suppose they are in that large chest.' They went over to it and Laura lifted the lid, for the chest had no lock. 'Did Miss Rosamund ever refer to these?' Dame Beatrice continued, indicating the theatrical costumes which lay neatly stowed away, with Joan of Arc's mimic armour on top.
'Oh, yes, her said her loiked to take part, but her dedden suppose there'd be much chance down in these parts.'
'She didn't say whether she had been on the professional stage, I suppose?'
'No. Come to thenk of et, her covered up a lettle bet, Oi reckon. When Oi was helpen her onpack and that, her says, "Fancy dress dances, Oi mean," her says. "London an't loike this old hole," her says. "Us be gay and happy, and there be noight loife, and all of that koind of theng," her says. "You don't lev down here; you be more loike cabbages," her says. "Oi don't thenk Oi'll be able to steck et," her says.'
Dame Beatrice closed the lid of the chest.
'Was she an untidy young woman?' she asked.
'Ontoidy? Oh, no, Dame Beatrice, mum, her wasn't ontoidy. Made her own bed, put away her thengs...'
'When did you first receive the impression that she was not quite like other people?'
'Not tell her started wearen they fancy dresses. That was after her cut and run, and Mester Romelly, he had to go after her to fetch her back, loike.'
'Oh, that actually happened, did it? Do you remember when it was?'
'Shan't never forget et. Upsoide down, the house was. Et was after her and Mester Romelly had their holleren match.'
'They quarrelled, did they?'
'Oi never heard the roights and wrongs. You can't hear all that much through these here old doors and walls. All us heard was Mester Romelly shouten out. Well, next theng us knowed, Luke had to get the car out, and they brought Messus Trelby back. Her had run away, so et seems, on account her coulden get her own way. Well, nothen else come about tell the toime you knows on. Mester Romelly wroites the letters and two of 'em gets lost off hall table, and then you come, and the relations come, and sence then there haven't been a menute's peace in the place. And now they've all gone, and you've come back, and what's to do now Oi don't know!'
(3)
'Well,' said Laura, as they drove back to the Stone House, 'that wasn't particularly helpful, was it-except to confirm that Rosamund had plenty of ordinary clothes if she chose to wear them. I mean, even if Romilly had locked the wardrobe and taken the key, she could easily have busted the lock if she'd really wanted to. I notice you didn't ask any questions concerning the attempts that Romilly claims Rosamund made on his life.'
'There was no need, child. For one thing, I doubt whether the servants knew anything about them. The attempt to drown him-if there was one-came to nothing, and if, as he alleges, she had already made an attempt to shoot at him through the bedroom squint, we have evidence to show that the servants would not have heard the shot.'
'If it was Romilly who shot at you, what motive could he have had? You weren't a menace to him at that time.'
'I think now that it was Judith who shot at me. Romilly's interests were hers, and she was always suspicious of my sessions with Rosamund. I think she feared lest Rosamund might let fall something which might suggest to me that Romilly was not what he rep
resented himself to be. She and, at that time, she and Luke alone, knew that Romilly was, in actual fact, Groot de Maas.'
'I had an idea you thought it was Rosamund who took that pot-shot at you.'
'I did think so, for a time, and, of course, it may be so. Whoever was responsible for inviting the other guests, there can be no doubt that Romilly invited me, and that without the knowledge of either Judith or Rosamund, I feel sure. Rosamund may have seen me as an enemy, but, as she had other eliminations to plan, I hardly think, now that I have a more complete understanding of events than I had when I first went to Galliard Hall, that she would have risked killing me. To have done so might have put an end, not only to me, but to her more important schemes.'
'Well, what's the next move?'
'Since we now know that neither Willoughby nor his brother Hubert could have offered any threat to Romilly, the question still before us is the reason for Willoughby's death. I think our next assignment must be another interview with the manager of the Carlisle hotel, who, you will remember, not only gave evidence in court, but who made a most illuminating and helpful remark.'
'About old Felix Napoleon's little friend, you mean? Yes, we agreed we'd have to find her before we could tie up all the loose ends. When do we go?'
'Immediately. We must act before Rosamund leaves the care of Humphrey and Binnie.'
'You think she'll slip her collar and make off?'
'She still intends to kill Romilly Lestrange.'
'But now it's proved he isn't Romilly Lestrange, she's got nothing to fear from him. Why don't you tell her? He can't possibly inherit under Felix Napoleon's will, so there's no sense in either of them killing the other one, is there?'
'What you say is true, and very much to the point. Nevertheless, I have a fancy to go to Carlisle while Humphrey's zeal in keeping a sharp eye on Rosamund is still at boiling point. There will be plenty of time to talk to Rosamund when we come south again next week.'
(4)
'I particularly want you to accompany us,' said Dame Beatrice to Kirkby. 'To obtain the information which we must have if you are to make out a case against the murderer of Willoughby Lestrange, an official approach is indicated.'
'Just as you say, ma'am. Certainly, from what we've heard, there is no longer any occasion to suspect Mr de Maas of murder, and, now that he's paid back the legacy in full to the lawyers, there's not much point in charging him with false pretences. Merely to assume someone else's name, so long as he didn't benefit fraudulently, isn't such an offence as any magistrate would look at twice.'
'I hope, too-in fact, I confidently expect-that our visit to Carlisle will end in a peaceful settlement all round and put an end to all murderous plots and family disagreements.'
'You wouldn't care to confide in me, ma'am?'
'I think we should manoeuvre without prejudice. You will be fully enlightened, I trust, when we have spoken with the manager of the hotel.'
The manager remembered Dame Beatrice and Laura. Kirkby produced his credentials and asked for the privilege of a few words in private. The manager's apartment was on the first floor, to which he preceded them and, after offering them chairs, he closed the door and went over to the sideboard for drinks.
'I hope nothing wrong with the hotel,' he said, offering beer to Kirkby, sherry to Dame Beatrice and whisky to Laura.
'Nothing at all,' said Kirkby cheerfully, looking at the froth on his beer with a connoisseur's eye. 'Far from it, so far as I know. Actually, I'm here with what you might call a watching brief. I've come at Dame Beatrice's invitation. She wants to ask you some questions about a gentleman who was resident here up to the day of his death.'
'Mr Felix Lestrange, I take it,' said the manager. 'A lively old gentleman, if I may say so, but a generous guest. Lived here for years and became a law unto himself, as they will, you know, old people, especially when they're financially independent and in a position to pay for their fancies.'
'And Felix Napoleon's fancies lay in the direction of young women, I believe,' said Dame Beatrice.
'Oh, well,' said the manager, returning to his chair with a glass which contained a finger of whisky and a great deal of soda-water, 'I never believed the story that one was his granddaughter, and the other his great-niece, you know. Still, they all had separate rooms and I've no doubt he squared the chambermaids when necessary, and I will say that all three of them were very discreet. It was the secretary, who also claimed to be some sort of a nephew to the old gentleman, who was the cause of the upset, I imagine.'
'A granddaughter and a great-niece?' said Dame Beatrice. 'Yes, you appeared to mention two girls when we were here before. The trouble is, you see, that there is some confusion about the terms of the late Felix Napoleon's will. I am here to try to establish which of the two girls my late cousin intended should be his heiress, and which was to remain without benefit. I am hoping that you can help me.'
'Then why the detective-inspector?' asked the manager.
'I'm investigating a case of murder which may tie up in some way with Dame Beatrice's enquiry,' Kirkby replied. 'Oh, nothing whatever to do with you. This happened in Dorset, so it could hardly be further away from your hotel. Don't give it a thought.'
'I wish you to describe these girls,' said Dame Beatrice, 'and then to tell us what you meant by your reference to Willoughby Lestrange, the secretary.'
'Oh, if that's all-that's the young man who was murdered in mistake for his brother, or some such, isn't it? The head waiter drew my attention to a piece in the paper about it, but I can't say I took much notice. The two girls? Well, the one he brought with him-she was not much more than a child at the time-this would have been some years ago, of course- was a slightly-built, dark-haired, dark-eyed young thing, quite pretty and very shy. The two of them, she and Mr Lestrange, lived on terms of close relationship, and the girl, of course, was at boarding-school. It was during term-time that the old gentleman entertained his other ladies. As I said, he was very discreet. There was never any open scandal, and, until the granddaughter blotted her copybook with the secretary, there had never been any other ladies of her grandfather's fancy about the hotel when she came home for the holidays. Of course, the business with the secretary came long after she had left school.
'Well, she left school when she was, I should guess, seventeen or eighteen years of age, by which time Mr Lestrange had been resident here for some years. Then he took her travelling abroad for the best part of a couple of years and, when they came back, the party numbered four-the old gentleman, as lively and genial as ever, the secretary, the dark young lady, whose name was Rosamund, and a fair young lady of about the same age, who didn't sign the book because the old gentleman signed for the whole party, so we never found out who she was, except that he claimed she was his great-niece.'
'But you heard her name?' suggested Dame Beatrice.
'The old gentleman called her Trilby, but I think that was by way of being a joke between them, because the granddaughter and the secretary both called her Dora. Well, it was pretty clear that Mr Lestrange had picked her up somewhere on his travels. Mind you, she was a lady, if you understand me. She wasn't gutter-trash. She was polite and very correct in public, but there were rumours among the staff that I had to deal with pretty drastically, because the old gentleman, what with his regular payments, his drinks and his cigars, was a valuable guest and the last thing I wanted was to lose him.
'Well, there was no open scandal-never was, so far as the old gentleman was concerned-until it became pretty clear that there was something very wrong with the granddaughter. To begin with, the old gentleman neglected her in favour of the other girl, and she was thrown far too much into the society of the secretary. The parties would all go out together, but, after a time, they did not come home together. It was always Miss Rosamund with the secretary, whose name was Mr Willoughby Lestrange, and Miss Dora with the old gentleman. The secretary and Miss Rosamund were always back well before the other two,
and reckoned to go up to the old gentleman's suite, but rumours began to circulate that they really went into the secretary's bedroom, because the desk had orders to put a call through to Number Thirty-six as soon as Mr Felix and Miss Dora arrived at the front door.
The next thing we knew was that there had been a terrible row and that Miss Rosamund had been sent packing. Miss Dora and Mr Willoughby stayed on, although Mr Willoughby looked pretty hang-dog for the next few weeks. However, a letter came for him one day with an Italian stamp on it, and that seemed to cheer him up no end.
'Well, as you know, in 1966 the old gentleman died. The funeral took place from here, and, when it was over, Mr Willoughby left, but Miss Dora stayed on until after probate was granted. What expectations she had I don't know, but she was in high feather until a gentleman turned up here, signing in as Mr Romilly Lestrange. He said he'd heard of the old gentleman's death, had been sent a copy of the Will, and had flown over from South Africa to see whether he could be of any help to his niece. The upshot was that he and Miss Dora went off together, and that's as much as I know.'
'You never believed that Dora was his niece, I suppose?' suggested Dame Beatrice.
'I was pretty certain she wasn't, but what was I to do? The new gentleman's name was Lestrange, and Mr Felix had always claimed that Miss Dora was his great-niece, so it wasn't up to me to say anything. None of it affected the good name of the hotel, and it was none of my business, anyway.'
'You never discovered what had become of Rosamund, of course?'
The manager shrugged.
'It was none of my business,' he repeated.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HORNPIPE-THE BOAT COMES HOME
Tell him there is measure in everything, and so dance out the answer.'
Much Ado About Nothing.
(1)
'But how did you tumble to it, ma'am?' asked Kirkby, when they were on their way home, having dined and spent the night at the hotel. 'It's very rich, I must say-almost Gilbertian, in fact-both Mr Romilly and Miss Lestrange being impostors and each taking the other for the genuine article. What put you on the trail?'
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