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

by VICTORIA DOWD

  ‘Unless someone had Lord Elzevir’s remote,’ I added.

  Mrs Abaddon didn’t seem to have heard me and was still focusing on Lucy. ‘Now, now, girly. No use carrying on. His Lordship is dead and that’s an end to it.’

  Lucy Morello cried out and ran on ahead.

  ‘She’s always been such a silly girl.’ Harriet shook her head dismissively. She didn’t have the look of someone walking away from a murder victim.

  Mrs Abaddon seemed to be deciding whether to speak. ‘Quite a few of them silly girls in this village though, ain’t there?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Abaddon.’

  ‘Joseph there does. He weren’t alone when I went to fetch him. He was with your Scarlett.’ She said it quietly but clear enough for me to hear. She knew we could all hear.

  Harriet flushed and shook her head.

  We stepped out into the rain, our heads bowed solemnly, our thoughts travelling towards the black outline of the castle and the closed door ahead.

  CHAPTER 20: THE OPENING OF ALL HEARTS

  Mrs Abaddon had a large key for the front door on a ring that hung on her side. She unlocked the main door and we walked into the hallway.

  Standing at the top of the stairs, Marsha looked like she had only just woken up. Or at least that’s what she wanted us to think. She called down to us, bleary eyed and confused. ‘Hello? Who’s there?’

  I don’t know if I was just suspicious of everyone at that point, but it sounded a little contrived.

  She took a step down the large stone stairs. There was a dim light coming from somewhere behind her that cast her in silhouette, blurring out her features. It was hard to see any expression on her face. She paused and pulled her long, dark-red dressing gown around herself. It was big enough to hide every part of her except her hands, feet and head. It struck me as very ‘un-Marsha’ to wear such a shapeless, unfashionable item.

  ‘What are you all doing here?’ she said.

  ‘You let us in.’ Harriet frowned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just lifted the portcullis, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I thought it was Elzevir and he’d missed the Midnight Gun again. I was a little irritated, so I came down, pushed the button and just went back upstairs.’ She looked around us. ‘He’s always doing it. What’s—’

  ‘Your Ladyship,’ Mrs Abaddon began, ‘I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’

  ‘What do you mean, “an accident”?’

  ‘You’d better come and sit down,’ Aunt Charlotte said quietly. I don’t know why people insist on saying that in times of crisis. No one, in my experience of breaking the news that someone is dead, has ever just quietly gone and sat down to wait to be told.

  In any event, there was no time for that. Lucy Morello unleashed a blistering noise and started towards the stairs. ‘You bitch! You murdering, fucking bitch. I knew you’d never let him go.’

  ‘What? Where’s Elzevir?’

  Without warning or sound, Aunt Charlotte moved quickly from the side of me. Before my eyes could really comprehend what they were seeing, Aunt Charlotte shouted, ‘Clear!’

  She threw herself towards Lucy, grabbed her waist from behind and rugby-tackled her. Lucy Morello was a slight woman, and as Aunt Charlotte gripped her, she lifted slightly from the ground. Bewilderment unfolded on her face. She didn’t fight it, but almost like a car hitting her, she let the force take her with astonished awe. No one moved. We just watched.

  At the bottom of the grand sweep of stone stairs was a large suit of armour. It was the only thing available for Lucy Morello to reach for. Her arms spread in front of her as her head was flung back. With Aunt Charlotte firmly embedded in her back, Lucy Morello clung to the suit of armour as if there might actually be a real person inside of it. As the two women began their descent, the armour began to topple in a cascade of noisy metal. They landed firmly on top of it, Lucy face down sandwiched between the armour and Aunt Charlotte.

  The helmet detached and slowly rolled off to the side, and for a moment both Lucy Morello and Aunt Charlotte remained still, breathing heavily. Aunt Charlotte made no effort to disengage and remained on top of Lucy’s back, pinning her into the armour.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Lucy gasped, unable to move.

  ‘I’ve got her!’ Aunt Charlotte announced efficiently and decisively. ‘She’s neutralised.’

  A horrified silence was broken by Mother. ‘For God’s sake, Charlotte. Get off the woman!’

  Aunt Charlotte looked confused as if it hadn’t occurred to her that she shouldn’t rugby-tackle a grieving woman into a suit of armour. She turned her head towards Mother and frowned. ‘She’s dangerous!’

  Lucy struggled.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Gerald breathed. ‘That’s thirteenth-century!’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘The armour, Aunt Charlotte. He means the armour.’ I ran towards them and grabbed her. ‘You need to get up. Come on.’ I bent and looked into the young woman’s face. ‘It’s all going to be all right, Miss Morello. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Get the stupid old bag off me! Now!’

  ‘There’s no need to be personal.’ Aunt Charlotte began to slowly move.

  Dingerling jumped out of Bridget’s arms and padded silently over to the helmet, sniffed, then urinated into it before walking away.

  Harriet and Gerald both released a plaintive sound at the same time.

  As Aunt Charlotte began to slowly lumber to her feet, the armour started to fall apart. First an arm fell to the side, then the metal gauntlet clattered to the stones.

  ‘Would someone like to tell me what on Earth is going on here?’ Marsha was still standing at the top of the stairs with her dressing gown gathered around her. ‘Where is my husband? If this is another prank and you’ve decided to play along—’

  Joseph bowed his head. ‘It’s no prank, Your Ladyship.’

  Aunt Charlotte, who was now on all fours, turned to look at Marsha. ‘We think that he might be a bit . . .’

  ‘Well?’ Marsha snapped. ‘A bit what?’ She stared at Aunt Charlotte who was still on her knees.

  ‘A bit . . . dead.’

  Nothing about Marsha moved. Then she blinked slowly as if she hadn’t understood.

  ‘You are well aware that my husband finds these stunts amusing. I do not, and especially not at this time of night.’

  ‘Charlotte’s right,’ Mother confirmed. ‘I’m afraid this time your husband really is dead.’

  Marsha looked doubtful. Her eyes came to rest on Lucy Morello, who lay sobbing on the floor.

  ‘Mrs Abaddon, you would not be embroiled in some trick of his. Is this true?’

  ‘Yes, Your Ladyship,’ she nodded gravely.

  ‘I . . . I don’t . . .’ Marsha was slowly shaking her head, her faced pulled into a frown.

  ‘For God’s sake, get up Charlotte.’ Mother squeezed the words through the side of her mouth. She grabbed Aunt Charlotte’s arm and pulled.

  Marsha looked steadily at Aunt Charlotte. ‘How can he be a bit dead?’ Her voice was flat.

  ‘He’s not,’ Aunt Charlotte said.

  ‘He’s not?’ Marsha’s eyes widened.

  ‘No. He’s just dead. All of him. Not just a bit.’

  We watched Aunt Charlotte lumbering to her feet and the suit of armour noisily falling into separate pieces as the weight started to lift. Lucy didn’t move.

  ‘I have no idea what any of you are talking about.’ Marsha started to walk down the stairs. A coldness had started to take hold of her face. Her eyes were sharp, carefully landing on first one then another of us. It felt very much like she was analysing us in turn, watching our reactions.

  The Bradshaws scurried towards Lucy and lifted her roughly. Harriet pushed the disorientated girl to the side, before standing back in dismay. They both looked down on the broken jigsaw of armour parts and shook their heads. Harriet picked up the helmet and looked into its fa
ce. They both seemed very preoccupied, given that we’d just announced a man’s death to his wife.

  But for that matter, Marsha herself seemed remarkably unperturbed. She drifted down the stairs, eyes fixed ahead as though mesmerised, her long, red gown pouring down the stairs behind her. Lucy lifted her head and watched her descend with hard, resentful eyes. But Marsha was, for the first time that evening, every inch Lady Black, and this was her castle now. In that moment, she was subtly transformed. This was all hers, no one else’s.

  Our eyes followed her smooth procession.

  She turned back to face us.

  ‘Well, where is he?’

  CHAPTER 21: THE WIDOW

  Marsha knew she was being watched. She was watching us. Her eyes drifted over each of us in turn, assessing who was for or against her.

  Lucy’s gaze hadn’t moved from Marsha once. She was shaking. Every part of her was tensed until the tendons stood proud on her neck. The skin beneath her eyes was swollen and had a purple tinge to it. A thick line of tears seemed permanently settled at the bottom lid of each eye.

  ‘So, where is he?’ Marsha repeated.

  Mirabelle cleared her throat. She’d said very little so far, but now she adopted a solemn, almost patronising voice like a vicar greeting the bereaved. ‘Lord Elzevir is at the entrance gate. We had to leave him there for when the police arrive. It would have been very sudden.’

  ‘Don’t you even care what happened to him?’ Lucy raged.

  ‘Unlike you, I’m not about to start weeping and wailing. I am not a hypocrite.’

  They locked eyes.

  ‘He was divorcing you. He knew what you’d been up to with Joseph, you adulterer.’

  Joseph jerked his head back and frowned.

  ‘Whatever I am, this is my house now.’ Marsha stood defiantly. ‘And I wouldn’t use that word if I were you.’

  ‘We were in love! You were just sleeping with the handyman out of boredom.’

  ‘Hey!’ Joseph said.

  ‘I’m not going to hear any more of this!’ Lucy strode towards the door before stopping as something occurred to her. ‘You know what, you were the only person here when he died. You were the only person who could have brought that portcullis down.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘You killed him, you poisonous cow. You think you’re so clever. I know you did it. You won’t see a penny of his money and this won’t be your house for much longer. I’ll make sure of it.’

  She swung back round to the door and pushed the Bradshaws out of the way.

  Harriet was still holding the helmet as cautiously as if it had someone’s head still in it. ‘Careful!’ she said.

  Lucy glared at her before smashing the helmet out of her hands. Harriet looked suitably horrified as it clattered to the ground and a thin trail of cat urine trickled out.

  Aunt Charlotte leaned in close to me. ‘She’s right, you know,’ she said stony faced. ‘Forfeiture rule.’

  I frowned.

  ‘Can’t inherit a person’s estate if you’re criminally responsible for someone’s death.’ Aunt Charlotte was nodding. ‘I remember the lawyer telling your mother that when George died.’

  I stared at her. Mother was on the other side of her and could hear everything. She sighed.

  ‘I’m just saying, Pandora,’ Aunt Charlotte continued, unaware all the room was now watching her, ‘no one can inherit the estate of someone they’ve murdered.’

  ‘I’d like to see my husband now,’ was all Marsha said.

  ‘We left him where we found him, between the two portcullis gates,’ Mirabelle said softly.

  ‘I see. And you’re sure he’s dead? This is not just another of his lame stunts?’

  ‘He’s dead, Your Ladyship.’ Mrs Abaddon nodded solemnly.

  ‘A cannonball seems to have hit him on the head,’ I added.

  I couldn’t help thinking that in some way the tables had turned. Instead of us carefully imparting the news, Marsha was extracting it from us cautiously and meticulously.

  ‘We can’t get an ambulance or the police up here yet,’ Joseph said hesitantly. ‘The village is still flooded, Your Ladyship. And the last time I checked, the phones weren’t working and nor was the internet.’

  I pulled out my phone and checked. I nodded to her.

  ‘So that must mean there’s a killer on the loose in the village, yes?’ Marsha spoke deliberately and purposefully, maintaining absolute control.

  We paused and the only noise was the sound of Harriet picking up the helmet and raising the visor.

  ‘Is anyone on their own?’ Marsha said steadily.

  ‘Well, we should get after Lucy,’ Mrs Abaddon announced. ‘And then there’s Verity too.’

  ‘Wait, you left her on her own?’ Marsha sounded agitated. This was the first real emotion she had shown since the announcement of her husband’s murder. ‘Does she know?’

  Mrs Abaddon nodded once.

  ‘And you left her? When her brother’s just been murdered?’

  Now she said it out loud, it did seem callous, if not dangerous.

  ‘Right, we need to get organised.’ Marsha undid the voluminous dressing gown and let it fall into the chair behind her.

  She was fully dressed underneath.

  * * *

  The bitter cold air greeted us. There was no pause in the rain. Water streamed down the courtyard towards the gatehouse and Lord Elzevir’s body. We stepped out tentatively into the darkness and instantly bent our heads, shielding our faces.

  I glanced at Marsha. She still seemed determined, almost businesslike. But I’ve spent enough time mired in the various outpourings of other people’s grief to know that the shock of death can make people act in the most extraordinary ways. There is an ocean of sadness out there on the internet, where every form of grief exists. Grief is custom-made, a perfect couture experience. I’ve spent so much time lost among the non-dead that at times it’s been hard to live.

  Lady Marsha Black didn’t look like a single one of those people, and I’d definitely never seen a woman quite so determined to approach the body of her dead husband. This was someone seizing control and safeguarding her new-found power. As she approached him, it looked like a victory march. Joseph held out an arm to her, but she ignored him, striding past. When we caught up with her at the gatehouse, every part of Marsha seemed collected, restrained. She walked under the portcullis and stood over the body of her husband.

  She looked down at him with steely eyes, analysing him as if she was making sure he was dead. Her head leaned over to one side, almost in confusion, as if she didn’t quite understand. She squinted, but no tears came from her eyes. Her eyebrow raised a little and she shook her head. He could just have committed another of his indiscretions. It was the picture of someone utterly unmoved. As I watched her in those few seconds, she seemed to me to have such an eloquent face and looked at him so ponderously that she could almost have been described as serene. But who can say how each of us will respond when Death brushes past us? Perhaps she was just grateful it hadn’t moved onto her. Perhaps she was just in shock. But she seemed too controlled.

  The rest of us edged tentatively round her and the body, as though we were fearful it might all have been some form of prank like the iron maiden incident and he would just leap up with a grin. Maybe that’s what it was, a badly enacted stunt that had gone terribly wrong and malfunctioned in some way.

  I flattened myself against the damp stone wall creating as much distance between me and the body as possible. I kept my eyes on his face.

  He seemed smaller, more tragic, like an animal dead by the side of the road. Worthless. Would that please his killer? Was that part of the intention?

  There wasn’t much more blood than when we first saw him. I’d imagined a stream of it, watered down by the rain and running into the village, but it had just pooled around him in a small, dark puddle. The cannonball looked small as well, like a child’s toy. But it was big enough. It had done its job perfectly.


  ‘And you say both portcullis gates were down?’ Marsha still stood over her husband’s body, taking in every detail. There was no sadness there. No tears. She looked with a forensic eye.

  Joseph nodded. ‘Yes, Your Ladyship.’

  She gave Lord Elzevir a final look, her eyes narrowing as if she was determined to remember her husband as he was at that moment. Then she forged out into the heavy night, fearless and determined. She didn’t look back once. We followed silently.

  Halfway down the drive, Marsha looked round at us. ‘Come on! I need to get to Verity now.’ Her voice cracked with an emotion she’d not shown before. She turned to Mrs Abaddon. ‘She’d said she wanted you and Lucy to stay the night there. She was very clear about that.’

  ‘I had to get Joseph, and we couldn’t wake you, Your Ladyship. We had to get that gate up, and Miss Verity said she would be perfectly fine.’

  ‘What about Mrs White?’

  ‘Gone home, Your Ladyship.’

  ‘For God’s sake! You were all down there because she needed you to be there. She’d made that very clear from the beginning that it was the only way she could do all this. I only agreed for you to walk me home because Lucy and Mrs White were with her and you promised to go straight back.’

  She turned to us and, for the first time, looked anguished. ‘I should never have come back here at all. Verity insisted I should be here for Elzevir in case he got back after midnight and was locked out, but I really needed to be with her. Don’t you see?’ A note of desperation was starting to surface.

  She set off with renewed purpose into the dark rain. She did not look back again.

  CHAPTER 22: THE SISTER

  As we drew nearer to the vicarage, Joseph announced, ‘I need to go home. I need to check on . . .’

  Harriet and Gerald both raised their eyebrows. He glanced at them before setting off down the lane at pace. No one questioned him or tried to stop him.

  When we arrived at Verity’s, Marsha hammered insistently on the door of the vicarage. There was a silence, and the thought scurried in that whoever had killed Lord Elzevir might have also had his wider family in mind as well.