Murder at Mullings

by Dorothy Cannell

Standing in that opening, Florence had caught a brief view of the entire family seated within. Something glimpsed in the eyes of one of the assembled people must have tugged at her mind for a fraction of a moment. It was gone too quickly for her to keep a grasp on it – driven back into hiding, perhaps, by the entrance of Grumidge. Or, wondered Florence now, had she blocked it from her conscious mind because it was too chilling to be accepted? What she had been left with in the following days was that sense of something just out of reach that warned of trouble. It wasn’t until yesterday, when she had stood with the tea tray in her hands at the open door of her mother’s sitting room door and observed her sitting utterly still, with those unnaturally blank eyes, that Florence had felt the beginning of reclaiming what had frustrated her by its elusiveness. Now it was as though what had been a blurred image had developed into a photograph.

  What Florence had seen in the eyes of one of those seated at Mullings had also been unnatural – with a difference. There had been nothing suggestive of a seriously disturbed mind where her mother was concerned. Those other eyes had glinted, however briefly, a malevolent, vicious hatred directed at Lady Stodmarsh as she sat with her husband while the puppy frisked around their feet. Last night Lady Stodmarsh had talked of the dog, making little sense at the time. In piecing scraps of phrases together and remembering those that had puzzled her most – such as the mention of the looking glass, Florence felt sure that someone with Lady Stodmarsh’s welfare in mind had warned her to take steps to protect herself from possible harm. That this had happened yesterday seemed more than likely to have precipitated Lady Stodmarsh sending for her last night. Prior to being warned, had Lady Stodmarsh sensed that she had an enemy, someone without reason or restraint? And this someone was dear to her!

  It didn’t bear thinking about, but there was no escape from doing so. Florence knew that she must at some point decide what she could or should do. The thought of taking this matter to His Lordship in his grief-stricken state was insupportable. She would feel less caught in a trap if someone else voiced suspicions of their own regarding the death. She was concerned that even the person who had sought to put Lady Stodmarsh on her guard might well keep silent for solid reasons, including self-preservation. Should there be a police investigation and no confession forthcoming, every member of the household, from family to staff, would be scrutinized as to opportunity and motive. That was Florence’s deepest fear – that the wrong person would be seen to fit both categories. People had been and would continue to be wrongfully convicted. It was this that might – against conscience – keep her silent.

  She hoped to avoid coming upon the killer in the near future, but on such a day it would seem unavoidable that everyone under the Mullings roof would be passed or glimpsed at some stage. Ned was the first of the family to seek her out. He was waiting outside her bedroom when she emerged within moments of Molly’s departure. Outwardly as calm as always – smoothly dressed, every hair in place – Florence was the picture of a housekeeper who never allowed emotion to deflect her from her duty. To Ned she was someone more. She was his Florie. His eyes dazed, he reached for her hand and clung to it as he had done years before after waking from his nightmare.

  ‘I never thought about Grandmother not being here one day. I know she hasn’t been well for what seems like forever, but rheumatism isn’t something like cancer that’s almost certain to kill you, is it?’

  Florence’s voice cracked. ‘There, my love, hold on tight as you like. Have you spoken with the doctor?’ Why hadn’t she thought of doing so herself later in the day? A tremor passed through him to her.

  ‘I was with Grandfather when he talked to him, and he said her heart must have given out, even though she’d refused to take anything really strong for the pain. He’d reordered her prescription on Friday, and just to make perfectly sure of being on the solidest ground possible when signing the death certificate, he’d checked the bottle to make sure she hadn’t taken more than she should by mistake, but the number of tablets gone was correct. Though if she had taken a few extra it wouldn’t have mattered. The one good piece of news,’ Ned’s mouth twisted as he finally released her hand, ‘is that there won’t have to be a post-mortem.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that unpleasantness can usually be avoided, if a doctor’s attended the patient recently.’ So Lady Stodmarsh’s own tablets were not the culprits, but there could be any number of bottles of drugs about the house prescribed at different times to different people. Florence thrust back the thought and forced a wavering smile for Ned. ‘How about coming down to the kitchen so Mrs McDonald can make you a cup of tea and maybe you could even manage some scrambled eggs and toast? Even if the usual breakfast hour is moved up today, you need something to sustain you until then.’

  ‘I don’t know that I could get my mouth around anything for a week,’ his green eyes were the darkest Florence had ever seen them, ‘although I suppose I should try. I won’t be much use to Grandfather if I pass out from not eating.’ As they were heading for the back staircase, Ned continued, ‘Another small comfort, Florie, is that I went up and talked to Grandmother last night after she’d gone to bed. I’ve always been closer with her than I have been with Granny.’

  ‘Tressler,’ Florence inserted as a gentle prod when he paused.

  ‘Yes, but I know Grandmother had to be aware I enjoyed being with Grandfather more than I did with her.’

  ‘She’ll have understood that you could engage with him in activities that were inacccesible to her. Also, don’t discount those afternoons when you were a day pupil at Westerbey and would come home and read Jane Austen or Dickens to her. I was there, don’t forget, sitting with both of you in the drawing room, and I saw the happiness in her face. Those were treasured hours you gave her.’

  ‘All well and good, Florie,’ Ned halted in the corridor, ‘but that stopped when I went to boarding school and I never got back to reading to her. Oh, sometimes I’d go and chat with her and get her laughing at some story about one of the beastly prefects snitching to the housemaster about some boy they’d caught smoking, or I’d accuse her of cheating at patience. But the truth is, those times weren’t often or long enough. I wouldn’t have gone up to her bedroom last evening if it hadn’t been that I’d gone into the kitchen to wangle another rock bun out of Mrs McDonald. When I walked in that nervous girl Annie was all in a panic – gibbering and shaking. It was obvious she was in no state to take up Grandmother’s hot milk, even after Mrs McDonald told her to get a hold of herself; so rather than wait for the other one, Jeanie, to be fetched, I said I’d do it.’

  Florence’s throat tightened. She was a couple of steps ahead of him down the staircase and had difficulty remaining standing; somehow she found the strength to look around at him. ‘You … you took the milk up to your grandmother?’ If it were found, despite Doctor Chester’s assurances, to have been tampered with, the police would have their suspect.

  The barest suggestion of a grin touched his mouth. ‘Why not? I’m not entirely the helpless young princeling.’

  ‘That’s not it at all, Ned,’ said Florence huskily, ‘I was just … just wondering how Lady Stodmarsh looked and sounded to you. It must have been shortly afterwards that I went up to her bedroom. Mr Grumidge had passed along the message that she wanted to talk to me. I assumed it would have to do with Mrs Tressler’s planned departure for this morning, but that wasn’t mentioned; by the time I got there Lady Stodmarsh was very nearly asleep.’

  ‘I wonder if it was about Granny that she sent for you,’ Ned eyed Florence uncertainly, ‘or if Grandmother had some sort of inkling that she’d die in the night.’

  ‘Did she look … sound … different in any way?’

  ‘More ill than usual, you mean? Not to me, but I’m not the most noticing person, am I?’

  ‘Ned, dear! Don’t do this to yourself.’

  His mouth twisted and in the shadowy corridor his angular features had never seemed more sharply etched. ‘I’m not sure Grandfather
would agree with you, Florie. I remember his telling me that learning to be honest with oneself takes some doing, but you can’t hope to live a clean life till you master it. As for Grandmother, she was fully alert during the ten minutes or so I stayed with her. It’s what she said to me that has me wondering if she …’

  ‘What, Ned?’

  ‘Thought we wouldn’t see each other again.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what she talked to you about?’

  ‘When haven’t I told you pretty much everything, Florence? It was about my not wanting to go up to University when I’m done with school. I’d broken the news to her and Grandfather earlier in the week, and they both suggested I take my time thinking such a big decision through, but I think they both knew I wasn’t likely to budge. What I want, what I’ve wanted ever since I started going over to Farn Deane with Grandfather, and those Sunday afternoons with you, was to farm. If Tom and Gracie had a son it might be different – I wouldn’t have wanted to shove him aside – but the way things are, after they’re gone, some outsider will take over. I don’t want that, and the thought of it makes them sad.’ Ned drew a breath. ‘What Grandmother said to me was that she and Grandfather had decided I should follow my heart and that if I wish to do so I can leave school at the end of the summer term next year if that’s what I would prefer to going on to the sixth form.’

  ‘Is that what you would like?’

  ‘Oh, yes! As Grandmother pointed out, I also have to learn how to manage the estate, and perhaps the sooner Grandfather starts instructing me on finances and responsibilities to our tenants the better. Unfortunately, my weak spot is mathematics, but I promised Grandmother I’ll sit doing pages of sums until kingdom come if necessary. She smiled and said not to wear my fingers to nubs along with the pencils. Florence, do you think from all this … that Grandmother was giving me her blessing by way of goodbye?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’ It was an honest reply, but it occurred to her that Lady Stodmarsh might have struggled to talk positively so as not to allow Ned to see that she was deeply troubled.

  Mrs McDonald was alone in the kitchen, kneading dough on a carelessly floured surface, when they entered. She looked around at them; her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose swollen to twice its usual size. ‘Oh, Master Ned, I’m that sorry for your loss. Once again, no time for you to prepare. Oh, I shouldn’t have gone and said that – I should have my tongue cut out.’ It’s not fair, thought Florence, that a woman of fifteen stone never gets to look fragile and in need of coddling. But she was wrong about that this time. Ned went over and put his arms around Mrs McDonald, getting flour on himself in the process, which brought on a sneeze. He kissed her cheek before stepping back. ‘Oh, just look at the sight of you!’ She vigorously dusted him off. ‘And all because I showed you a long face, instead of pulling m’self together for your sake.’

  Ned produced what looked like a real grin. ‘You could hardly be standing there laughing, could you?’ He sobered instantly. ‘I know how you felt about Grandmother, Mrs Mac. If you hadn’t been so fond of her and Grandfather you’d never have stood for me being underfoot, helping myself to whatever had just come out of the oven every chance I got from the time I could climb on a stool.’

  ‘Now, don’t you go stretching the truth, Master Ned,’ Mrs McDonald had herself back together as far as she was able, ‘you know full well I’d’ve said plenty if you hadn’t waited for me to hand you a jam tart or whatever it was you was after.’ Looking rather like a polar bear with her fine coating of flour, she propelled him towards a chair at the table as she spoke. ‘You sit yourself with Mrs Norris while I make you some of my scrambled eggs you’re so fond of with the cream and chives and serve it up with toast, along with a pot of good strong tea.’

  ‘Florie’s a mind reader.’ Ned’s voice was overly bright, suggesting misery was returning full force. ‘She said scrambled eggs.’

  ‘Should keep you going till you and the family sit down to a proper breakfast, though likely the most anyone’ll do is peck.’ Mrs McDonald got bustling. ‘Where’s my head, I ask you? That bread dough has to go into a bowl and set in the warming oven to proof! What I’m hoping hard as I can is that Lady Stodmarsh’s last day and evening was happy, Master Ned.’

  ‘She wanted to go to church in the morning. She’d managed last week. It’s nothing to get there in the car, of course, but yesterday she said at the last minute that sitting in the pew for an hour was beyond her, so Granny offered to stay behind too, while the rest of us went.’

  ‘Very kind of Mrs Tressler.’

  ‘Yes, it was. She enjoys going enormously and doesn’t mind in the least that Mr Pimcrisp goes prosing on for what seems like forever. Grandmother assured her there was no need to forego attending the service, but she insisted.’

  ‘Did you think Lady Stodmarsh might’ve liked some time alone for a bit of quiet, Master Ned?’ Mrs McDonald eyed him as she reached for her whisk.

  ‘I can’t say I did at the time. I’d come downstairs in a tearing rush, without my gloves, and had to go back for them. Grandfather rarely gets huffy about anything, but making the family late for church just isn’t on. If he’d thought Grandmother wanted to be left to rest, I’m sure he’d have insisted on being the one to remain behind. Still, you could be right … I do recall she looked unusually drained when we got back.’

  ‘I hope you’re not fretting, Master Ned, that you missed that for a sign.’ Mrs McDonald was pouring the beaten eggs into a saucepan that for all its polished gleam had hung from the same hook for fifty years or more. ‘Even me that sometimes has the sight didn’t see this coming, not even after the butcher’s boy told me Friday how he’d heard a dog howl three times on his way over here.’

  Florence gathered her thoughts. She couldn’t ask Ned directly if he’d gained any information on what the two ladies had talked about; not so much because it would have been inappropriate, especially in front of Mrs McDonald, but because her anxiety was so close to the surface she was afraid it would come through and set him to wondering just what was behind the question. ‘Did Mrs Tressler seem worried about Lady Stodmarsh?’

  Ned’s brow furrowed. ‘Come to remember, she looked a little wiped out herself. I’m wondering now if they’d been talking about my mother and father and their deaths. But I don’t know … it would’ve been a rare thing for them to do. Stiff upper lip and all that. Shouldn’t go dwelling on the sorrow; best to reflect only on the happy stuff. They are,’ he snagged on the word but did not correct himself, ‘both tough in their different ways.’

  ‘Even so,’ Mrs McDonald spooned scrambled eggs on to two warmed plates and brought them to the table, ‘there’d bound to be those moments between two bereaved mothers when there’s no holding back their shared terrible sense of loss. Could be Lady Stodmarsh felt better afterwards, making for a blessing on her last day on this earth.’

  ‘Hope so.’ Ned reached absently for the toast rack.

  Florence knew she should make an effort to eat for his sake, but the thought of swallowing anything was inconceivable. ‘Yes, that may well be right. How did Lady Stodmarsh look during the afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘I wasn’t there. I’d gone over to Farn Deane. Tom wanted me to take a look at the new calf. The evening, however, was wretched and must have been particularly so for Grandmother and Grandfather. It can’t be easy watching your remaining son displaying himself at his worst. From the moment we all gathered in the drawing room before dinner Uncle William was in a foul mood, so much so that Aunt Gertrude, who wouldn’t normally notice if a portion of the ceiling dropped in her lap, looked stretched tight as a drum. Halfway though downing his first whisky and soda, he started in on the new puppy, saying it was a damned nuisance. The little chap wasn’t even in the room. Uncle William has always despised dogs, but last evening he went beyond the pale, saying he’d danced a jig when the last one kicked it.’

  ‘Oh, surely not!’ Mrs McDonald replenished the teapot. ‘No
disrespect intended, Master Ned, but I wouldn’t have thought Mr William had the figure for it.’

  Ned laughed. Was he thinking, wondered Florence, that Mrs McDonald, despite her own hefty build, was wont to dance like a fairy at the staff Christmas ball? His mirth subsided instantly. ‘That wasn’t enough for Uncle; he said for two pins he’d drive this latest poor excuse for fur a sufficient distance out into the country that he’d never find his way back.’

  Mrs McDonald, rarely bereft of words, was too shocked to respond. Florence’s thought was how well it must have suited a person intent on murdering Lady Stodmarsh that Mr William had presented himself as a potential suspect, to at least one other already neatly in mind, should her death not have been accepted as occurring from natural causes. If only she might be wrong in her appalling suspicions and would come to realize once she had time alone to reflect that she had pieced them together out of the thinnest of cloth. And yet, even setting aside what she had remembered on waking, there remained Lady Stodmarsh’s distressed, frightened state of mind last night.

  ‘Florie, drink your tea.’ Ned studied her anxiously. ‘You don’t look at all the thing.’

  ‘I’m fine. How did your grandfather react to what your uncle said about the puppy?’

  ‘Grandfather looked annoyed, but he changed the subject by asking Uncle William if he’d care to go with him to the lodge tomorrow – today – to bid goodbye to old Jeffers and his wife and thank them for their many years of faithful service before they set off on their retirement. They’ll be living with their daughter and son-in-law in Somerset.’

  ‘So we’ve all been aware for some weeks past,’ said Mrs McDonald, ‘and a right pity it’ll be to see them go. Silas Jeffers’ family has been lodge keepers at Mullings since no one remembers when.’

  ‘That’s what Grandfather pointed out to Uncle William, who flared back that it counted for naught with him if Jeffers and his wife had arrived in the ark, or what he and his wife aimed to do in the future. He didn’t stop there – adding that since the end of the carriage days they’d been more ornament than use and he’d be blowed if he shifted an inch on their behalf. What was more, he ranted on about hoping Stodmarsh money wasn’t going to be thrown away on a replacement. Cousin Madge kept her eyes fixed on her knitting, as she always does at awkward moments, and Granny began riffling through her handbag, which for some reason she always keeps to hand.’