An Invisible Murder (9 page)

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Anthony Grover said, looking around, his watery blue eyes falling on a Turner landscape and lighting up before returning to those of Lady Vee. ‘Is there something wrong?’ His old voice wavered, as if it was all getting to be just a little too much. Vee brightened in relief as Meecham returned with the tea. The poor old boy was going to need it.

‘I think you’d better have three sugars, Mr Grover,’ she said, gently hinting at shocks to come. ‘Did you know Miss Simmons well?’

Meecham retired. Malcolm Powell-Brooks, who’d sunk back into his seat and was wishing himself miles away, held his breath.

‘Oh, yes, since she was a girl, really. I knew her father slightly.’ His lips twisted into a distasteful grimace.

‘Oh dear,’ Lady Vee said on a huge sigh. ‘I’m afraid I have
bad news. There’s not a kind way of doing this, I’m afraid, but, well, Miss Simmons was killed yesterday. Murdered, I’m very sorry to say.’

Anthony Grover went grey, and his rheumatic hands clenched his cup so hard that the fine china looked in imminent danger of breaking. ‘Murdered? How? Who?’ he spluttered, his voice turning into a croak.

‘We don’t know, I’m afraid,’ she said, reaching out and holding the old man’s hand. It was deathly cold.

‘Oh, poor little Ava,’ Anthony said. ‘When she wrote and asked me to come and see her, I thought it was—’

‘She wrote to you?’ Bishop asked, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Startled by the abrupt question and loud, unsympathetic voice, Anthony Grover half-turned to meet the policeman’s alert gaze, the tea sloshing dangerously in his cup. ‘Yes. I received the letter two days ago. She asked me to come and see her today at ten o’clock.’

‘Did she say why she wanted to see you?’ Bishop asked, then, as an afterthought, introduced himself.

‘No. She said she wanted my opinion on something. She was always coming to me for advice. She looked on me like an uncle, I think. Her father, well, her father was always busy with the gallery. He had little time for her.’

He doesn’t like Ava Simmons’s father, Bishop thought instantly. He’d have to have Mr Simmons senior checked out rather more thoroughly. ‘I see. And she said nothing else in this letter?’ he prompted.

‘No, Inspector. Nothing.’

‘Was the tone of the letter unusual in any way? Did she sound worried or frightened?’

‘No, not that I could tell. I thought she might want my advice on text books. I was a teacher you know. Art.’

‘I see,’ Bishop said, disappointed. Another dead end. He couldn’t even stretch a point and wonder if Anthony Grover were the missing boyfriend. Women might go for older men, but not that much older.

He heard a quiet sigh and glanced across, surprised to see Malcolm Powell-Brooks cowering in his chair.

‘When was the last time you saw Miss Simmons?’ Bishop pressed on. He had no clues, no leads, and was determined to milk any evidence at all for all it was worth.

‘Oh, months ago,’ Anthony Grover said, his eyes watering. ‘I never thought it would be the last time.’

‘No, of course not,’ Vee said kindly, patting the old man’s hand and giving Bishop a killing look. ‘Drink some tea, Mr Grover. It will make you feel better.’

Anthony Grover drank some tea. Avonsleigh caught Bishop’s eye and beckoned him over into one corner to grill him on his progress. Malcolm took the opportunity to leave, Roberta quickly trailing after him.

Vee took Anthony’s arm. What he needed was distracting. ‘I daresay you’d like to see some of our paintings, Mr Grover?’

The old man perked up a little. ‘Well, yes, I would. Avonsleigh has such a wonderful reputation in the art world, as you know. I quite envy the experts you allow to come and look around. I daresay you choose them carefully? Everyone must press you for an invitation.’

‘Oh, yes, well, one must do one’s best,’ she said airily. ‘And our resident art expert lets us know when the paintings need cleaning. Wouldn’t do to have them dirty, eh?’

The old man looked at her, hiding his smile. She was a charming, warm, eccentric character but was an obvious Philistine when it came to art. ‘There was just that Turner that caught my eye,’ Anthony murmured, steering her in its
direction. And Lady Vee, glad to have taken his mind off the tragedy, smiled and let him have full rein.

As Bishop filled in Lord Avonsleigh on his progress so far – which was frankly none – Anthony Grover stared in
astonishment
at the Avonsleigh Turner.

He stared at it for quite some time.

J
enny stood aside to let Meecham and his elderly companion pass by in the small corridor. She watched them go for a moment, a worried frown on her face. The old man had looked decidedly shaken. She hoped it was nothing serious.

Glad that she had taken the time before going to bed last night to do a thorough tour of the castle, and at last get all the rooms and their layout (more or less) straight in her mind, she had found the breakfast-room with little trouble. Now she knocked on the door, waited for Lady Vee to boom her usual welcome and walked in.

Vee glanced up, a smile immediately lighting up her face and setting her jowls quivering. ‘Miss Starling, how wonderful. Any news?’

Jenny smiled, taking the seat indicated. ‘I’m sorry, no. The police don’t seem to be much further forward. Inspector Bishop told me the findings of the pathology report. It was Ava’s blood on the dagger, of course, and the wound was fairly consistent with the murder weapon being the dagger. So, no surprises there. Though there is one interesting little thing I picked up on.’

She went on to explain about the curious letter from the Lady Beade School, her ladyship agreeing with her that it was most odd.

‘I for one don’t believe she meant to leave us,’ Avonsleigh, sitting by the fire with a newspaper in his lap, spoke up for the first time.

Jenny glanced at him with renewed respect. ‘I agree, my lord. Although I only knew her for barely a day, she didn’t strike me as a woman getting ready to leave here. In fact, she seemed, if anything, determined to protect Lady Roberta,’ she added quietly, wondering what reaction the bait would get.

Vee laughed. ‘Oh she was, bless her heart. Why, she came to us only a week ago and told us that Roberta was forming an “undesirable attachment” to Mr Powell-Brooks,’ she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. ‘Of course, we already knew that – we’ve got eyes in our heads, haven’t we? We told her that Roberta, for all her exuberance, was actually a very steady and reliable sort of girl. She might moon over our handsome Mr Powell-Brooks, but then, what teenage girl wouldn’t moon over him?’ Her eyebrow rose in a question, and Jenny smiled back her answer. ‘But she’s far too sensible to dream it would come to anything more than a bit of mutual mild flirting.’

‘And how did Ava react to that?’ Jenny asked curiously.

‘She seemed a little taken aback that we knew,’ Lady Vee replied after some thought. ‘I got the impression that she believed we lived in an ivory tower and didn’t know the more mundane details of what went on in our little fiefdom. It was really kind of her to worry, and we told her so, but when we explained that we’d already had a quiet little word with Malcolm about it, she seemed satisfied.’

‘Really?’ This time it was Jenny’s eyebrow that rose. Vee settled herself back. It had been a long time since she’d had a good gossip with someone worthy of it.

‘Yes. You see, Roberta was making calf-eyes at him only a
matter of days after his arrival. That would have been over a year ago now, when she was only fifteen. Well, we weren’t really worried, of course, but thought it best to have word with him. Just in case he had some silly idea about marrying into money, and all that.’

‘Oh quite,’ Jenny said hastily.

‘We want none of that,’ her ladyship said with a small shiver. ‘But, as it happened, we needn’t have worried. Mr Powell-Brooks was very good about it. Rather a quiet type, for all his good looks. He had to splutter about a bit since he’s not particularly erudite, but for all that he made it plain that what he wanted was a nice steady job and nothing more. He explained that it was the privilege of living at Avonsleigh, surrounded by all this….’ – Vee waved a casual hand at the wall, on which reposed Gainsboroughs, Constables and Turners, as if they were printed posters – ‘that made him want to work here. In fact, he was far more anxious about Roberta’s little infatuation than we were – in case we gave him the sack, you see?’

Avonsleigh rustled his paper, and both women turned to look at him. ‘Thing is, the fellow confided in me that a spell here would set him up for life. In the art world, that is. He hopes to go on to something in a museum apparently. And having the name Avonsleigh on his resumé would be the lynchpin. Poor chap was dead scared Roberta’s crush would put the kibosh on it.’

‘In the end,’ Vee picked up the tale, ‘
we
ended up
reassuring
him!
’

Jenny nodded. ‘I see. He’s of a much more practical turn of mind than you might think to look at him.’

‘Yes,’ her ladyship agreed. ‘And the more we’ve come to know him, the more relaxed we’ve become. He humours Roberta without encouraging her, you see. That way, her
grand passion can gradually fizzle out without her feelings being hurt.’

Jenny, remembering their light bantering, nodded. ‘So he knows which side his bread is buttered?’

‘Exactly.’ Her twinkling eyes suddenly glittered into a hardening expression. ‘We could make life very hard for our Mr Powell-Brooks if we’d a mind to, and he knows it.’

Jenny nodded. ‘So Miss Simmons never mentioned it again?’ she prompted, remembering the way Ava had looked upon her charge and the art tutor so disapprovingly the day Jenny had first arrived at the castle.

‘No. Mind you, Roberta got to hear about Miss Simmons telling tales. The walls have ears in this place.’ Her ladyship sighed. ‘Little minx knows how to throw a temper tantrum when she wants to, let me tell you! She accused her governess of spying on her and telling lies, and trying to ruin her life. The usual dramatics. She demanded we fire her immediately. We told her in no uncertain terms that wasn’t on, and that it was part of a governess’s job to keep an eagle eye out for her charge’s welfare.’

‘Hmm,’ Jenny said. So that was why Roberta hadn’t liked her governess. Hardly surprising! The question was – how far did that acrimony really go? She had a feeling that it was not all that far. But what if the girl had really fancied herself in love with her art tutor? Teenagers were notoriously
unpredictable
, what with all those hormones raging about. But could she really see Roberta killing her governess in thwarted rage? It was an uncomfortable thought.

‘Did Mr Powell-Brooks know about Ava’s disapproval of him?’ she asked delicately.

Lady Vee glanced up at her sharply, aware of the
direction
of her thoughts, and felt her respect for this Amazon of a cook swell even further. ‘I would think he must have done.
Roberta’s not the sort to keep secrets. When she’s upset, the whole world has to know about it – and why.’

Jenny sighed. But if Malcolm knew his job was safe, he had no real reason to kill Ava, had he? Besides, he and Roberta were together the whole afternoon. Unless they were in it together, maybe? No, now she was being fanciful. Besides, Jenny was sure that Roberta’s reaction on hearing the news of Ava’s death was perfectly genuine.

So, another dead end there.

She sighed deeply. ‘The thing is, there seems to be no reason for it at all,’ she said at last, feeling vexed. ‘I shall have to go to the village and ask around. Try to get some kind of a feel for what’s been going on up here.’ She suddenly realized that might sound insulting and looked up quickly, but Lady Vee was already nodding her head.

‘Good idea. Between you and me, I don’t think this Inspector Bishop chap has much go in him. George had a word with him this morning, when Ava’s friend showed up, and he hadn’t got anywhere, had he, George?’

Avonsleigh, buried deep in the cricket scores, grunted.

‘Ava’s friend?’ Jenny prompted, and Lady Vee obligingly gave her an accurate account of the old man’s arrival and the subsequent revelations. Jenny listened and wondered. Ava Simmons had definitely been up to something. Something that had resulted in her murder. But what?

‘I understand it’s all being kept out of the papers,’ Jenny mused.

‘As far as one can. But one can’t control the gossip in the village though. Or expect one’s friends to…oh hell’s bells, that reminds me. Miss Starling, we’re giving a dinner party tomorrow night. It was arranged weeks ago, and I quite forgot about it.’

‘I expect people will know it’s been cancelled, m’dear,’ his
lordship said, and then froze as two pairs of disbelieving female eyes shot his way.

‘Don’t be so daft, George,’ Vee said in total disregard for her husband’s noble dignity. ‘Everyone will be absolutely gasping to come. I bet they can’t wait to set foot in the place. I shall probably end up giving them a guided tour of the conservatory and everything.’

Jenny nodded sagely. ‘People are such ghouls.’

‘Quite, besides, if we cancelled….’ she broke off and glanced guiltily at her husband, then she met the cook’s eye, and nodded grimly.

Jenny understood exactly what was on Vee’s mind. If they cancelled, people might start to think in very peculiar ways. Lord Avonsleigh was late middle-aged, and Ava had been a reasonably attractive younger woman. And soon the rumour that there was no smoke without fire would take hold, and who knew where that would end? No, it was best to carry on as normal.

Again the two women nodded at each, in complete
understanding
. He must be protected at all costs.

‘How many are coming, my lady?’ she asked, and Vee frowned.

‘I suppose we’d better get it sorted out now. Let’s see, there’ll be eight altogether. Old Stebbins can’t touch fat, and Ethel doesn’t like anything green, and Jasper Cotton is a total hypochondriac. See to it, will you, Miss Starling?’ she asked, and everyone in the room knew that it was seen to.

Just then Meecham entered. ‘The vicar and his wife, my lady.’

Behind him came a dog-collared individual, so small and pucker-faced that he instantly reminded Jenny of a pug. ‘Lady Vee, I thought we simply had to come….’ he began, oozing concern.

And so it begins, Jenny thought sadly, and took the
opportunity
to excuse herself. She had a menu to prepare. And a trip to the village was definitely in order.

First, however, she went to the kitchen and removed the coffee and walnut cake from the larder. She’d cooked it first thing, and it was just nicely cooled. She quickly transferred it to a silver platter, put the domed lid on top to keep any flies out, and left it on the sideboard.

A moment later, Meecham returned, carrying a pile of silver, which he dumped onto the sideboard with a small sigh.

‘Work’s by far the best thing, Mr Meecham,’ Jenny said gently. ‘Keeps your mind off things.’

The butler nodded and went to his pantry to get his cleaning things. After the incident with the dagger, he didn’t think he could clean anything unless it was out here in the open, with everybody watching him.

Janice came in for the tea things Jenny had automatically prepared, knowing her ladyship would have ordered it for her – albeit unwanted – guests. Meecham saw Janice lift the tea tray from the sideboard, and quickly took control of it. ‘You know I always serve when there are guests, Janice,’ he chided.

‘There’s cake on the platter,’ Jenny said, already on her way out.

Meecham retrieved the domed dish, frowned at the weight and hoped Miss Starling didn’t have an unexpectedly heavy hand with cakes, and returned to the breakfast-room.

Over on the sofa, Lady Vee was fending off the vicar’s wife whilst agreeing how terrible it all was. Avonsleigh, obliged to give up his favourite chair, was now sitting by the table. Meecham put the tea things onto the small coffee table in front of Lady Vee and retired to the main table to cut the
cake.

He carefully put out the gold and navy-blue Worcester plates and eighteenth-century silver cake forks and lifted the silver dome. And there, blinking up at him, was Henry. The tortoise opened its mouth as if about to ask the butler what he thought he was playing at, and without blinking an eye, Meecham quickly and neatly covered the reptile again with the domed lid and cast a hasty glance around. Her ladyship was still entertaining the vicar’s wife, and the vicar himself was still in his lordship’s usurped seat, roasting his toes in the hearth. Meecham glanced to his right, where Lord Avonsleigh was barely inches away, eyes twinkling. ‘The cook seems to have left the cherry off the top of the cake, my lord,’ he murmured. ‘I think perhaps I should retrieve it.’

Avonsleigh nodded solemnly. ‘I think you better had, Meecham,’ he agreed, and wandered over to the fire to chat to the vicar about Sri Lanka’s chances in the next test match.

Meecham sprinted back to the kitchen, resisting the urge to drop-kick the tortoise out of the back door. On the
sideboard
was another domed platter, and this he lifted, spying a splendidly iced and nut-decorated cake underneath. He then sprinted back to the breakfast-room, caught his breath, entered and proceeded to serve the cake with perfect aplomb.

The village of Upper Caulcott was typical of north Oxfordshire, except that it had managed to keep a small post office-cum-general shop with a small butcher’s department. There Jenny made the proprietor’s day by ordering prime venison, two brace of pheasant and eight medium-sized freshly caught trout, to be delivered to the castle as and when possible.

Mr Jenkins promised delivery soon, and watched the new cook go towards the post office counter, wishing he’d had the
gall to ask her about the murder. The wife would kill him when she heard about the visit but that he had no titbits of gossip to tell her. The whole village was positively buzzing. The trouble was, the new cook up at the castle was both beautiful and large, a combination which had always kept him tongue-tied.

The lady behind the counter quickly sold her some stamps, and was able to give her directions to the house of Elsie’s mother.

Jenny was not surprised to see that Miss Bingham lived in the poorest-looking cottage in the village, a two-up, two-down affair of badly rotted casements and paint-flaked doors. She knocked briskly at the front door and waited. A sound from around the back had her opening a rusty side gate and taking the garden path past rows of neatly
cultivated
vegetables.