Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  “No,” Dory said with certainty. It wasn’t that he lay close to the fireplace to suggest he could have accidentally fallen and dragged the clock down upon himself. No, someone had picked up the clock and smashed him over the head with it. In fact, the person had probably been watching Drecsay in the main salon, then watched for an opportunity to strike when Livinia was absent. That had to mean that the person was watching Livinia dance with the man during the evening. The thought made Dory uncomfortable and the hairs rose along her arms. Had the person planned what to do? Had they come to the party with the intention of murdering someone?

  “It’s such a shame,” Livinia sighed wistfully. “He was such a gorgeous man. Do you think someone killed him because they were jealous?”

  “No sure people go around murdering others simply because they’re pretty,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “There’s a mercy,” Livinia responded.

  “But people certainly do murder because of jealousy.”

  “That seems pointless. If there is something you want badly enough, just go out and get it.”

  “I think often, my dear, there is more a desire for the other person not to have what they have.”

  “I don’t understand it at all,” Livinia said dismissively, as though she didn’t wish to speak about it further.

  “So what do you know about this man?” Lady Pettifer asked.

  Livinia sighed audibly. “Well, he’s young and handsome. Lives in the Carlone on the Promenade de Anglais as far as I know. I haven’t been there if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said defensively. “He was just a nice, charming man. I can’t believe someone murdered him.” Her mouth was drawn tight for a moment.

  “Was there anyone he’d had discord with lately?” Dory asked.

  “No. There was a woman he was very close to, a Countess Tirau, but she died recently. Treated him like a son. Obviously, he wasn’t a saint. There were more than a few girls vying for his attention, I’m sure. Some of the American girls used to fall over themselves when he came around. It was tiresome, really. Handsome, swarthy baron; they were beside themselves.”

  Reaching into her pocket, Livinia pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with a gold plated lighter. She blew the smoke across the table and rested her hand to the side until the smoke from the burning tip curled up into the air.

  “And where was he from?” Lady Pettifer asked.

  “Hungary.”

  “But where in Hungary?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I? Why would I ask that? It wasn’t as if I made a detailed study of his family history. His family was old and respected. Ask anyone.”

  Livinia got up and walked away, having had enough of the questioning. Although she had better get used to it; there were likely more questions to come. The acrid smoke stung Dory’s nose as she walked past.

  “She is upset,” Lady Pettifer stated.

  In her jarring and rather dismissive way, Livinia was more upset than she let on. “Everyone on the coast must be talking about her in relation to this murder. She was the one he was meeting in the study.”

  “The last thing Livinia needs is another scandal.”

  Well, there might just be one. There would be speculation about who had killed him and why, and Livinia’s name would be in the thick of it. Problem was, with a man like Drecsay, who knew what skeletons and misdeeds he had in his closet. From what Richard said, he wasn’t an innocent. Even Livinia confirmed it. But Livinia was clearly confused about why he would be murdered, so either she didn’t know him well, or he really hadn’t done anything that would warrant such a deplorable fate.

  Chapter 7

  T hey had a couple of quiet days at the house—days that were constantly accompanied with Livinia’s gramophone. Fortunately, she had very good taste in music, so no one minded the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby and Duke Ellington. They even lent a joviality that wouldn’t exist otherwise. The death of Baron Drecsay sat like a cloying heaviness, even though neither Dory nor Lady Pettifer knew him. It was the fact that it had happened that was disturbing.

  The coast was such a safe community, where everyone was respected and showed a duty of care in return. Normally, the biggest problem around here were motorcar accidents, which happened relatively often late at night after some raucous party.

  Dory bicycled down to the village and back, taking Beauty with her. She resupplied them with fresh bread and even bought some lemons to squeeze into drinks during the afternoon heat. Fortunately, they had enough sugar, but she had noticed that the packets of sugar in the shop were fewer than normal. Everything else seemed fine. It was just the sugar that was low. Perhaps it was just an anomaly.

  “They had barely any sugar in the village store,” Dory said when she returned to the house and found Lady Pettifer sitting in the parlor. She preferred it in there when the midday heat became too strong as the solid walls of the house kept the inside relatively cool.

  Lady Pettifer looked up from her book. “I hope they haven’t started rationing. We might see less and less of anything coming across the Atlantic.”

  Dory listened with concern. She hadn’t realized that there might be trouble with sugar coming across from South America.

  “In 1919, the Germans decided to starve us by sinking any ship coming by water.”

  “They said on the wireless that the navy was protecting the supply across the Atlantic,” Dory said with a deep frown, trying to understand what this all meant.

  “France doesn't have the same naval capabilities, so they can’t provide the same degree of protection.” Lady Pettifer sighed and stroked her fingers across her lips. “Mr. Fernley,” she called.

  He appeared mere moments later. “Can I be of assistance, Madame?”

  “I think we should shore up our stores. Would you go to Cannes and purchase enough of the essentials to last us a good while? Dory has noticed things becoming scarcer down in the village.”

  Mr. Fernley nodded. He was old enough to remember how things had been in the first war. For all Dory knew, he might have fought in the first war. It had never occurred to her to ask him. “Yes, madame,” he said. “If you shall have no use for the motorcar this afternoon, I will go presently.”

  “We have no plans,” Lady Pettifer said and returned to her book.

  He didn’t wait long and Dory soon heard the car start up and caught glimpse of him drive along the trees in the distance until he was out of sight. It hadn’t occurred to Dory that there would be rationing. Of course she had heard of it. Gladys had mentioned it a few times, talked about the things they’d had to do to compensate, but Dory hadn’t really paid attention. It seemed vitally important now. What if they didn’t have food?

  “How bad did the rationing get?” she asked.

  “It grew in stages, but it wasn’t so bad. Meat, butter and sugar were in short supply over the entire country. I suppose it all depends on how long the war lasts. Technically, the Great War lasted four years, but we really noticed the rationing at the end.”

  “Four years,” Dory said with dismay. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so long this time.

  “I spent most of the war at Wallisford Hall, and we didn’t really see much of it. In London, though, the Germans came in their great balloons. I never saw them, but we were all terrified one would come, floating to us in complete silence, ready to drop bombs on us.”

  “It must have been awful.”

  “The worst was when the letters started coming. Every day there were letters in the village to inform the families of their lost sons. The army took our horses too, as soon as they were ridable. They even took some of our dogs.”

  “Dogs?”

  “I’m not sure why, but they had use of them. My father took to breeding pigeons, too. Everyone had a job, even my father, who bred horses and pigeons. There weren’t that many serviceable cars back then—at least not ones that could cover open terrain like horses could, but things are different now.”

  “I suppose tanks
will replace horses.”

  “I don’t know,” Lady Pettifer said. “Horses are still extremely versatile. Could be that my brother has been asked to start breeding at Wallisford Hall. If he has, he’s probably been asked to keep quiet about it.”

  Dory listened to everything Lady Pettifer said with both concern and fascination, but they were both distracted by the appearance of a motorcar, and it wasn’t Mr. Fernley returning early. It was the same car Dory had seen the night at Lord and Lady Tonbridge, and she knew it belonged to that inspector.

  “Who could this be?” Lady Pettifer said, not recognizing the car.

  “I believe this might be Inspector Moreau.”

  They heard Livinia swearing upstairs, and before long, there was a slammed car door and a sharp knock at the door. It was open, along with all windows, to let the air through the building.

  “I’ll see to him,” Dory said as Mr. Fernley wasn’t present to perform the duty.

  “I suppose you shall have to bring him in here.”

  Rising, Dory made her way over to the door, where Inspector Moreau stood with his thin frame and straight back. He wore the exact same beige uniform as before, again with his pistol at his side.

  “Inspector Moreau,” she greeted him.

  With a snap, he opened his notebook. “I shall need to speak to yourself,” he consulted his notebook, “Miss Sparks, and Miss Fellingworth. Are you both at home?”

  “We are. Please come in.”

  The second policeman he seemed to travel with remained outside as if watching for someone fleeing, ready to give chase at a moment’s notice.

  Dory led the man into the salon where Lady Pettifer sat. “This is Inspector Moreau,” she said, introducing him to the lady. “He is with the gendarmerie. This is Lady Pettifer.”

  The man gave a sharp bow, but Dory could tell he had no real interest in her. As with DI Ridley, this man only cared about the relevant details of the case.

  “Lady Pettifer, you did not attend the soiree at the Lord and Lady Tonbridge house, correct?”

  “That is correct,” Lady Pettifer said. “Would you like some tea?”

  “I will go retrieve Livinia,” Dory said and made her way out of the room, to take the wooden staircase up to the second story. Livinia’s door was closed and Dory knocked quietly. “That inspector is here. He wishes to speak to you.”

  The door opened suddenly and Livinia looked sour as if Dory was at fault for bringing her news of their visitor. “I don’t know what else I can tell him,” she said. “I found him. That’s all.”

  Both returned to the salon, where Inspector Moreau was now sitting uncomfortably in a chair with his legs crossed, the brown leather boots glossy with reflections from the window.

  “Miss Fellingworth,” he said, rising from his chair. “This is a good time for you tell me everything you know about Baron Drecsay.”

  Floating down on her seat, Livinia rearranged her skirt, still deeply unimpressed by this interruption. Didn’t she realize that her objection to the inconvenience meant nothing to this man. He was hardly going to pack it in because she was annoyed.

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you,” she started.

  “When did you meet?”

  “Ages ago. I think at a party at Bertie Stringfellow’s. We were introduced, but were never really part of the same circle. I’ve seen him here and there, but we never really knew each other as such,” she said with a dismissive wave.

  “Yet, you were meeting him in private at the party by Lord and Lady—” He consulted his notes, “Tonbridge.”

  Livinia’s dislike for this interrogation deepened. “He wished to speak in private,” was all she said.

  “And before that, you were dancing on the dance floor together, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it he wished to say to you in private?”

  “How should I know. We never got a chance to speak.”

  “You must have had some understanding.”

  “He didn’t tell me what was on his mind,” Livinia said through gritted teeth.

  The inspector looked unimpressed.

  “He might have mentioned something about going sailing during the next week,” Livinia said, relenting under the inspector’s silent pressure. He wrote it down.

  “And who was he going sailing with?”

  Livinia scratched along her eyebrow for a moment. “That Italian prince… Barenoli, or something some such.”

  “And you were going with them?”

  “No, of course not. I have better things to do than go bob around on some boat.”

  “Who were his other friends?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t know him well. Maybe you should talk to Barenoli. He knew him better.”

  “Have you been to his rooms at Hotel Carlone?”

  “No!”

  “I think perhaps, Inspector, you are making assumptions where they are not warranted,” Lady Pettifer said in a voice with such chill, Dory felt it up her arms. The inspector felt it too. Lady Pettifer stated in no uncertain terms that he was overstepping propriety, and even he, with his investigation, struggled to get past the lady putting her foot down.

  Finally, he gave up. “And you, Miss Spark? You knew the man?”

  “No, I’m afraid I didn’t recognize him in any regard. I’m not sure I’ve met him before that night.”

  “He was at the Myrtle party you attended, I believe,” Livinia added.

  Dory turned her attention back. “If I have met him before, I have no recollection.”

  “He is a very handsome man.”

  “Not my kind of handsome,” Dory said, refusing to let the blush bloom up her face. But he really wasn’t.

  Chapter 8

  T hey didn’t hear again about the murder for quite a while. Their days returned to normal and Livinia even returned to her social activities—spurred on by Richard coming to pick her up for a tennis match. Livinia left the house in a white sleeveless dress that ended right on the knee, her racquet tucked under her arm.

  “I’ll be gone for a while. Might be back for dinner, but start without me if I’m not.”

  The tribulations of the last week had now rolled off her completely and she was swiftly returning to normal. It couldn’t be said that she was crushed by Baron Drecsay’s death, which showed that she didn’t have any deep and lasting feelings for the man.

  Maybe what she protested, that she didn’t know the man well, was true. Still, Dory felt there was something untoward about the man and his interest in Livinia. It was only his handsome face that would tempt Livinia to stray out of her strict social circle, where status, family and connections mattered. At this point, Dory was learning to see the benefit of it in terms of protecting someone like Livinia from people with less than honorable ambitions.

  It was more than Richard’s words on the issue now. Lady Pettifer had returned from an afternoon tea with one of the older ladies who lived on the coast with her son, where it had been mentioned that the man did have a reputation for seeking to assure his fortunes. Wealthy heiresses were definitely the kind of women who he kept company with.

  With a sigh, Dory tried to dismiss all this from her thoughts. She’d been down this road before and knew how absorbing it could be, gathering and analyzing all information and trying to reach an understanding of what had happened. It wasn’t a lie to say that Dory had lost her job, her standing and her friends the last time she had gotten herself caught up in the investigation of a murder. This one she should leave to Inspector Moreau. There was no doubt in her mind that he would absolutely not want her help.

  “Why don’t you go for a walk, my dear?” Lady Pettifer said. Dory could tell she was tired. “I’ll have a little sojourn while you do.”

  “Alright,” Dory said and grabbed her hat. It was early afternoon and the sun was harsh. It didn’t have the full heat of August, when it was nearly unbearable with scorching heat built up in the masonry of the house, day after day. The days w
ere still pleasant and Dory walked over the vast lawns to the gardens.

  She sought the bench in the garden, where she could sit and stare out at the blue sea. Fishing boats floated in the distance. They weren’t so active this time of day, their crew likely sleeping. Dory had never gotten the hang of the siesta, unable to settle down to sleep in the middle of the day. Some days she wished she could sleep away the hottest hours, but her body refused.

  So, it was easier to come down here and languish in the garden, or sometimes down by the sea. Below her was a croppy sea shore. It wasn’t a bad spot for swimming on the hottest days. A small jetty and a ladder had been built to access the sea, but it wasn’t a good place to moor a boat. The rocks were too big and too close, and anything moored there risked being smashed to pieces if the wind picked up.

  A lovely breeze came off the sea and she smelled fresh saltiness. The perfume of the flowers around her scented the air as well. In truth, this was a wild garden, left to tend itself most of the time. Dory much preferred it to the neatly trimmed and planned garden at Wallisford Hall, but it was an entirely different thing.

  The coast also had citrus. Oranges and lemons that sat like heavy jewels on trees. They were marvelous. Apparently, their lemons were later blooming than most varieties, but they had a more subtle taste. Right now, they weren’t ripe.

  Dory enjoyed the garden, but she was a little more like Livinia in that she couldn’t bring herself to care about the details of gardening and learning the different varieties of plants. Lady Pettifer had a long memory with her garden, remembering the plants and when they were planted, even whom they were planted in honor of.

  Dory’s mother had only ever invested in one struggling rose bush that against all diversity managed a bloom every other year. It was a tribute to a fallacy of having both the time and inclination to be a gardener, rather than a true passion for her mother, who really was too busy to care for a rose bush as well. Dory smiled at the thought. She did miss home.