THE SUPPER CLUB MURDERS a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 3)

by VICTORIA DOWD

  I stepped towards them to help but Mrs Abaddon held out her hand to keep us back.

  ‘No! No, that’s not true. No!’ Lucy’s scream was low and grainy as if her voice couldn’t accommodate all the pain rushing out of her at once. Her cry faded into nothing but a dry rasp. ‘It’s one of his tricks. It’s a prank.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said gently.

  ‘He did look very dead. More dead than before, anyway,’ Aunt Charlotte added for unnecessary clarity. ‘He looked pretty dead last time though, I suppose.’

  ‘Aunt Charlotte,’ I whispered, ‘that’s enough I think.’ I nodded towards Verity on the floor.

  ‘He can’t be dead. He’s never dead,’ Lucy screamed. ‘It’s just a silly game he plays. There’s no harm. Just a game!’ Her mouth was wide and the spit spread in strings between her lips. She dropped to her knees and the small, white AirPods rolled out of her hand. No one ran to comfort her. We all stood in the hallway, our feet surrounded by little pools of water. Not moving. Not speaking.

  * * *

  Verity was motionless in the chair, her walking stick leaning beside her. She clutched her arms around herself as if she was holding herself in. She sat silent, wild-eyed, her gaze unmoving as if in that moment she could actually see her brother there on the floor in front of us.

  Lucy Morello had a different reaction — still howling like she’d been scalded by the news. A desperate, rabid self-pity that had none of the dignity Verity was struggling to maintain.

  ‘He can’t be dead! He can’t. It must be a trick. We need to get help!’ Lucy was shaking, wringing her hands. ‘I need to go up there. He needs me. I need to go now!’

  Mrs Abaddon frowned. ‘He don’t need you. He needs his wife. He needs his family.’ She turned to us. ‘What exactly has happened? Lord Black does have a tendency to perform stunts, as you’ve seen. Perhaps . . .’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Where is he now?’ Mrs Abaddon asked the questions with a calm professionalism that put nobody at their ease.

  ‘I’m the one he loves! Me.’ Lucy wrapped her arms around herself and swayed gently, rocking. She didn’t look at Verity. ‘I’m going up there now!’

  ‘Yes, we need to get up there! Someone needs to help him.’ Verity measured each breath as if trying very hard to control herself. ‘Where is he now? What exactly has happened to him?’

  ‘It looked like a cannonball,’ I said weakly. ‘A small cannonball. It was there by the side of him. He was stuck. He’s between the portcullis gates.’ I paused and watched a tear fall heavily down her face. ‘It looked like it was his head. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

  ‘But you haven’t been able to check him closely?’ Mrs Abaddon asked.

  ‘No,’ Mother answered.

  ‘I’m fairly sure it’s not a trick this time,’ Aunt Charlotte added.

  Lucy wailed out again. ‘But you can’t be sure!’

  Verity was ringing her hands so tightly the knuckles gleamed white through the skin. ‘Right, well . . . We need to get help.’ Her voice barely lifted above a whisper.

  ‘It might be too late for that,’ Bridget replied coldly.

  Verity looked up into her face and squeezed her hands together. ‘We need to help him somehow. We need to get back there and get the gate up. Marsha is in the castle. Mrs Abaddon took her up there just before midnight. Mrs Abaddon was back just after the sound of the Midnight Gun though. Marsha said she didn’t need her to stay and she should come straight back here to be with me. He can’t have been injured for long.’ She looked at us hopefully.

  ‘That’s right, miss. The gate was up and no sign of him when I left Lady Black.’

  ‘He could still be . . . We need to get some help up there. Anyone.’ Verity was fighting to remain calm, her face grey and drawn, a note of desperation seeping into her voice. ‘Joseph! We must go for Joseph. He knows the gate. And . . . and . . . The Bradshaws! They’re trained in first aid for their battle re-enactments. If anyone knows what to do with cannon fire, they will.’

  ‘I’ll get Joseph, miss,’ Mrs Abaddon said. She looked composed and efficient, which should have been comforting but felt a little forced. Right at that moment though, I was just grateful she’d stepped forward so quickly. ‘I’ll take Joseph straight there. If anyone knows that gate it’s him.’ She was making for the door as she spoke. ‘Someone go for the Bradshaws and we’ll see you up there.’ Her eyes settled on Lucy, who was still jolting with tears. ‘You go for them Bradshaws, girl. Go now! And don’t waste a minute.’ Mrs Abaddon left with a face of grim determination.

  ‘We have to find Marsha,’ Verity said, her voice wavering. ‘She might be in danger.’

  ‘Who cares?’ Lucy stood and held out her arms. ‘It was me he loved. Me he wanted to be with. We were going to get married.’

  ‘Very quick use of the past tense there,’ Bridget observed.

  ‘And who are you? You who came storming into our lives and told me the man I love might be dead! It’s most likely another prank, can’t you see that? And you’ve come here worrying us all half to death.’

  ‘Look.’ I walked towards her carefully with my hands spread out. ‘We saw him on the floor. He wasn’t moving and he’s got a serious head injury. We came to get help. We just need to get help up there as quickly as possible.’

  Lucy screwed up her face as if the words were distasteful to her. ‘It’s just a stunt. Just his fun—’

  ‘Lucy,’ Verity said softly. ‘It’s not their fault. They’ve come to help. Please, just go and get the Bradshaws. Now. Ladies, perhaps you could try and find Marsha. I’ll come and . . .’ She tried to stand but the pain cut quickly through her face.

  ‘You need to stay here, dear.’ Aunt Charlotte nodded and moved towards her. She took Verity’s arm and guided her gently back into the chair. ‘You can’t go back out into the night. It’s too dangerous. You’re injured too. We’ll do everything we can.’

  ‘I can’t leave him! I can’t just leave him. I need to . . .’ The tears fell easily now. ‘I need to be with him. I need to see him. He can’t be on his own. He hates being on his own.’

  Mother moved to Verity’s other side. ‘We need you to stay here. I’m sorry. But we have to act quickly and we need to keep you safe.’

  ‘I need—’

  ‘I know.’ Mother placed her hand on Verity’s arm. ‘We need you to stay here though — for your brother’s sake.’

  Verity stared with big tear-filled eyes. ‘Please help him,’ she whispered into Mother’s face. ‘Please.’

  Mother nodded and pulled a blanket over Verity’s legs. ‘We’ll be back very soon. I promise.’

  CHAPTER 19: BLACKBALLED

  The rain was unforgiving. It didn’t care whether he was alive or dead. By the time we made it back up to the castle, we were drenched and Joseph Greengage was already there with Mrs Abaddon.

  The Bradshaws were there too, their faces set with confused horror. Lucy Morello had already sunk to her knees and was sobbing relentlessly with her head in her hands. ‘Please, Elzevir, just get up. The trick’s over. Don’t do this again.’ It looked like there’d been no lull in her dramatic reaction.

  Joseph Greengage was repeatedly pushing the button, shouting, ‘Lift the gate!’ into the intercom.

  ‘Is that it?’ Mother frowned. ‘Can’t you do something else?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not really, madam. You can’t lift the gates from this side and you can’t get up above the gatehouse to the mechanism. The door’s locked with a huge wooden beam across the inside that you have to lift out. You need to come from the castle side, otherwise anyone would be able to get in. I can try and break the door . . .’

  His voice trailed off as we watched the gate lift quickly, the clanking mechanism turning and grinding. There was still no response on the intercom.

  The wind breathed round the stone walls, low as if it came from the belly of the castle. The only other sound was Lucy�
��s grief.

  The body was still. The cannonball innocently sitting alongside him.

  The gate had lifted with that fast disregard for its history, as it had before, and Joseph ran towards the still shape of Lord Elzevir. He bent and felt Lord Elzevir’s neck. Joseph turned to look at us.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Lucy let her head fall back. She looked up to the bottomless sky and issued a sound that carried across the darkness, so sharp it cleaved the air. The rain seemed to part around us, pausing mid-air to listen.

  The nausea was rising like a sour tide in me. The breath had stalled in my chest. I felt winded. Everything about me seemed to be dragged down to the ground. Dad was drifting at the edge of the scene. I watched his sad face, caught in memories of another bleak moment. Our own bleak moment. He was there again, dying on my lap. The final breath escaping from him.

  I looked at Mother. Was it the same for her? Did every death spark memories of his death? Or was her husband long buried to her, along with his infidelity? Can the dead still hurt us? In my experience, much more than the living.

  My thoughts flitted to Verity, waiting patiently at home, praying, wishing desperate thoughts. What promises would she have made to keep her brother alive? ‘I’ll never lie. I’ll never be cruel again if he can live.’ Perhaps she’d give more. ‘I’ll not walk again. I’ll keep all the pain. Just let him live.’

  I looked around our bedraggled, solemn little group. I reached for Mother’s hand. It felt cold and damp against my skin as her fingers slipped between mine. Aunt Charlotte placed a heavy arm across my shoulder and I felt her breathe deeply. The three of us held onto each other and, for a moment, we were all back in the same place. I looked at Dad. Death can create the strongest bond.

  Mirabelle stood separate from us, watching. She seemed to grow more distant from us with every day, as if the tide were carrying her away and she wasn’t swimming anymore. She was just letting it take her.

  Bridget was already moving towards the body, her cat clutched under her arm like a wrinkled pink bag. She scanned the body and the area around it. ‘Touch nothing,’ she said firmly.

  Mother, Aunt Charlotte and I let go of each other’s hands slowly.

  ‘I can’t understand this,’ Harriet Bradshaw was saying in disbelief. ‘We’ve only just seen him alive. How could this happen?’

  ‘Well, it’s not rocket science, is it?’ Bridget snapped. ‘He’s been shot by a cannon.’ She pointed needlessly to the small cannonball and then to the blood that still drained out of Lord Elzevir’s head. ‘That ridiculous Midnight Gun of his.’

  ‘No.’ Gerald Bradshaw stepped forward. ‘That can’t be the case.’ All eyes settled on him immediately. He cleared his throat as if he was about to deliver a lecture. His hand rested on one of the cannons. ‘This has not been fired. Nor any of the others. None of them have. Not for a long time.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Aunt Charlotte looked confused.

  ‘Because, dear lady, they do not work. They are purely for decorative purposes.’ He gave a smug little smile which seemed very inappropriate given the circumstances. When he saw our disapproving faces, his smile quickly dried up. ‘They are replicas of Civil War—’

  ‘Wait,’ I frowned. ‘I heard the Midnight Gun go off. We all did. When we were walking up the hill.’

  ‘It’s a pre-programmed sound,’ Joseph said distractedly, still staring at the body. ‘Lord Black liked the idea of it.’

  ‘I was here dropping Lady Black off at about ten to twelve,’ Mrs Abaddon added. ‘It could have been five to, I suppose. I heard the gun go off as I was walking back. I must have just missed Lord Black but I certainly didn’t hear any screaming or shouting or anything like that.’

  ‘So we can assume he was killed at midnight and the pre-recorded gun fire masked the sound of his death.’ Mirabelle looked cautiously at us for confirmation.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Mother said doubtfully. ‘But we don’t really—’

  ‘He left us at roughly quarter to, maybe ten to twelve. It’s about a ten-minute walk. We found him at five past twelve.’ I was working through it slowly.

  Aunt Charlotte was staring in disbelief at the lord’s body. ‘So if the cannon didn’t fire, then someone threw it at him or hit him with it?’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Charlotte.’ Mother shook her head.

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Joseph leaned closer to Lord Elzevir’s head but kept his body back as if protecting himself. ‘You’d have to use quite some force, but hitting someone on the head with that would definitely give them a wallop.’

  ‘Looks like it was more than a wallop,’ Bridget said, peering closer at his head.

  I moved nearer, careful to avoid any pooling blood. I cautiously bent and looked at the broken head of Lord Elzevir.

  It was a pitiful sight. His face twisted into a look of confusion and pain. His skin had already taken on a waxy sheen, as if the life had just evaporated from it. His open eyes were hollowed out and empty. There was nothing behind them anymore. Where had he gone? I glanced at Dad again.

  Lord Elzevir might have died alone or he might have looked into the eyes of his killer, the last thing he saw. Had the image of his murderer passed across the surface of his eyes just before the blow was delivered? Did something of them still linger there?

  His face was unmarked though. If someone had thrown this cannonball at him, would it have hit him like this? I studied his head more closely. The spread of the damage to him seemed to centre on a point directly on the top of his skull. Judging from the mess of splintered bone and the blood-matted mix of real and fake hair, the cannonball had dropped on him or he’d bent down for someone to throw it at his head, which seemed unlikely.

  I looked up. Above us, a glass panel was set in the thick stone roof like a small window.

  I pointed at it. ‘What’s that?’

  Gerald filled out his chest in readiness. ‘That,’ he said knowledgeably, ‘is the murder hole.’

  We all looked up at the roof then down at the body directly below.

  ‘Well, it seems to have lived up to its name,’ Aunt Charlotte commented.

  ‘Aha, so, the murderer has dropped the cannonball on Lord Elzevir’s head through that little window.’ Bridget looked so smug I began to hope the window might open again.

  ‘No,’ Joseph said. ‘That’s not a window.’

  We all looked again at the piece of glass over a hole. It certainly looked like one.

  ‘It’s a piece of thick reinforced glass. Did it myself a while ago. Set it in with concrete. There’s no opening that. It won’t shift. I can go up and take a look though.’ He walked towards the small door on the castle side of the gatehouse that he’d used earlier.

  ‘Why on Earth would anyone do that?’ Mirabelle asked slowly.

  ‘Because, dear lady, that is a thirteenth-century murder hole which Lord and Lady Black wanted to simply fill in. They said it was just a hole in the ceiling that needed fixing. But it’s a huge part of the heritage of this castle and this village. Murder holes are very important historical pieces of architecture that need protecting from vandals such as . . .’ Gerald trailed off.

  ‘Such as Lord Black?’ Mother offered.

  ‘You won’t need to bother about him destroying your precious castle now, will you?’ Bridget let her eyes come to rest on Gerald’s.

  There was a thudding above and we looked up to see Joseph jumping on the glass window. It held firm. He bent down, clearly shaking his head.

  ‘This is not for us to be trying to solve. The police will have to do that,’ Harriet said.

  I held up my phone. ‘Still no signal.’

  ‘We should check if Marsha is OK.’ Mother sounded almost defeated. ‘We need to give her the news.’

  ‘Why the hell isn’t she here?’ Lucy cried. ‘She obviously lifted the portcullis just now.’

  Joseph appeared from the small doorway to the side of the portcullis. ‘The gates closed t
wo minutes before midnight, according to the timer. It was all meant to lock and be alarmed at midnight.’

  Lucy Morello wailed again.

  ‘But it closed at 11.58. Before the midnight gun,’ Aunt Charlotte said in wonder.

  Mother gave her The Look. ‘Yes, thank you, Morse.’

  ‘Who?’

  Mother ignored her. ‘I thought they were timed to come down at midnight.’

  ‘They are,’ Joseph said. ‘But someone made them come down just before that.’

  Lucy Morello cried out again.

  ‘Must have been after I was here,’ Mrs Abaddon said. ‘That gate was open when I left Her Ladyship.’

  ‘The gate must have come down as soon as he’d arrived. The murderer wouldn’t have had time to hit him, drop the ball and get out. The gates come down very quickly. You couldn’t get out from this point once they started to fall. The killer couldn’t have thrown the ball through the bars, they’re too narrow. Joseph looked at each of us in confusion. ‘Lord Elzevir was locked in here with the gates down, and the ball is in here with him. But the murderer is not in here with him.’

  ‘Why bother to bring the gates down two minutes before they would have done anyway?’ I murmured.

  ‘So they could be sure he was trapped in here and standing in the right place,’ Bridget answered decisively. ‘There was only time for Lord Elzevir to walk in. The gates came down quickly and the cannonball hit him on the head.’ She looked very pleased with herself standing over his corpse.

  ‘Maybe we should discuss this up in the castle.’ Mrs Abaddon glanced at the pale face of Lucy. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this here. With his body and everything. Not respectful. We need to go inside and find Lady Black and check that she’s safe.’

  Mother looked round the group. ‘Someone will have to tell her that her husband’s dead.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere near that murdering bitch,’ Lucy screamed.

  ‘Now, Missy, there’s no suggestion—’

  ‘There’s every suggestion, Mrs Abaddon. She was the only one here when he was killed. She’s the only one on that side of the gate with the ability to override the timer and bring the gate down.’