Mistletoe and Murder (17 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Mistletoe and Murder
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With the wooden expression perfected by all detectives, Alec said, “I'll bring everyone up to date with the investigation after lunch. I'll want Miss Norville there, in the library.”
“I'll see that she comes down,” Miles promised.
Lunch was an extremely uncomfortable occasion. As soon as Mrs. Pardon and the maid left, Godfrey turned on his brother. “What's this nonsense Miles tells me about sending Felicity to London?” he demanded angrily.
“A change of scene seems …” the captain started in a placatory tone, then he glanced at Alec and went on, “ … seemed a good notion.” Not so urgent since her lover was not a murderer after all, Daisy interpreted.
“I'm not surprised she doesn't care to face her family after letting us down like that,” Godfrey snapped. “I only wonder that Miles doesn't feel the same sense of shame!
To keep his father in the dark about so important a matter …”
“Father!” Miles protested.
“Miles acted as he thought best.” The captain's face was beginning to redden.
“An admirably lawyerly sense of discretion,” Tremayne put in.
“Miles may have his excuses.” Godfrey's scowl at his son belied his words. “Felicity has none. She kept quiet in order to conceal her own misbehaviour, and why you want to …”
“The sky has clouded over,” observed the Dowager Lady Dalrymple loudly. “I fear we are in for more rain. This seems to be an extraordinarily damp part of the country.”
“Oh, surely not!” Dora was obviously torn between relief at the enforced change of subject and anxiety over the criticism.
Tremayne kept the ball rolling with comments on the weather of the British Isles as gleaned from reports on his wireless set. The captain, overcoming his rising temper with a visible effort, came through splendidly with tales of typhoons in the China Seas, fogs in the North Atlantic, and hurricanes in the Caribbean.
Godfrey was silenced, though hardly calmed. Lips pursed, he ate hardly a thing, but his agitation was betrayed by his nervous fidgeting with knife and fork. His elder daughter's misconduct had hit him hard. Daisy wondered whether he was as adamantly opposed to shipping his younger daughter off to school. Jemima, who had worn an unpleasantly gloating smile when her sister was being castigated, had lapsed into her usual sullenness. Miles, preoccupied rather than sullen, was also taciturn.
Derek and Belinda's quietness was good manners: Permitted to join the adults at table, they knew better than to speak unless spoken to. Daisy was proud of them, especially as the initial discord had alarmed Bel, while Derek was fascinated by the stories of storms at sea.
Those same stories dismayed Mrs. Norville, who said tremulously, “Must you go to sea again, Victor?”
“I'm not ready to retire for a few years yet, Mother. No harm's going to come to an old sea-dog like me, don't you fret.”
“The sea is a respectable profession,” Lady Dalrymple stated, with a disparaging glance at Alec. “My uncle was a rear admiral.”
And throughout, Alec watched and weighed and measured his suspects.
 
As the last bite of jam roly-poly disappeared into the captain's mouth, Alec rose. “I should like everyone except the children to gather in the library,” he announced. “I have news for you. You need not be present, Lady Dalrymple.” He wondered whether he'd ever dare call her Mother.
“Please make use of my sitting room, if you wish, Lady Dalrymple,” Mrs. Norville offered.
“Thank you,” said the dowager, rather sniffily, “but if news is to be imparted, I have no desire to be excluded.”
Her son-in-law would have preferred her elsewhere; but if he insisted on excluding her, the others might begin to guess what he had to tell them.
“I'll see if Mrs. Pardon will serve coffee in the library,” Dora said brightly.
“I'll go and roust Flick out and give her a hand down the stairs,” said Miles.
Alec thanked him. “I'll join you in a minute or two. Belinda and Derek, come with me, please.”
“Have we done something naughty, Daddy?” Bel asked, as he led the way through to the old house.
“Not that I know of, my pet. I want Sergeant Tring to take your fingerprints, both of you, just so that we don't get them mixed up with other people's.”
“Crikey!” said Derek, eyes glowing. “Ripping! Wait till I tell the fellows at school.”
Tring and Piper had just finished their lunch in the kitchen. They all went to Nana's scullery, where Tom Tring fingerprinted the children. Bel and Derek then went off cheerfully with the puppy.
It only took Tom a minute to report, “Young Master Derek's dabs on the knife, Chief. Looks like it's the one they found.”
“Which virtually eliminates escaped convicts and lunatics, deserters, and common or garden tramps,” Alec said, as they crossed the Kitchen Court. “It's got to be one of the family. They're waiting for us in the library now. I want you to watch them like hawks when I tell them Cedric Norville's out of the picture. Two of them won't be surprised : the captain and the murderer—or one, if the captain is the murderer.”
“Him being top of the list, Chief?” asked Piper. “Along with Miss Norville and Miss Jemima?”
“That's right,” Alec confirmed. “Unfortunately, they're also the three we're least likely to get straightforward reactions from. The captain already knows; Miss Jemima is too young to necessarily behave as one would expect of an adult …”
“Besides being more than a little odd,” said Tom. “I've heard some tales from the servants.”
“I'll want to hear them later, Tom. Then there's Miss Norville, whose relationship with Cedric complicates matters. She may be overjoyed to hear he's been cleared despite the effect on her own family.”
“Cor!” said Piper. “I bet Mrs. Fletcher knows what's what with Miss Norville, though.”
“She can hardly help knowing more than I do,” Alec admitted, silently deploring Ernie Piper's determination to believe Daisy infallible.
He entered the library, Tring and Piper on his heels. As the murmur of voices died, he saw Godfrey glaring at Felicity. The errant daughter put on a good show of indifference, all but her clenched hands.
Before Alec could speak, Tremayne stood up and came towards him. “Mr. Fletcher, presumably you would have told us at luncheon had you arrested Cedric Norville, so we can assume you have found insufficient evidence to do so. I assure you we shall do all in our power to assist you in gathering the necessary information.”
Damn all lawyers, Alec thought. He had forgotten he had to deal with someone accustomed to drawing conclusions from a few facts—though this time he had got it wrong.
“You're right, I haven't arrested Cedric Norville,” he said. “However, there is no prospect of my ever doing so. He has proved conclusively that he could not have killed Calloway.”
Felicity fainted.
F
elicity slumped against Daisy. For a few moments Daisy had her hands full preventing the girl from sliding off the sofa. By the time she was able to look around, everyone was reacting to Felicity's faint, not Alec's announcement.
Dora started forward anxiously with a cry, “Oh, my poor child!”
“Trust her,” Jemima muttered venomously. “She's just trying to be interesting.”
“Brandy!” exclaimed the captain, heading for the wine cellar. Daisy was afraid he'd get stuck in the little doorway. “Or rather sherry, I suppose.”
“Sal volatile,” murmured Mrs. Norville. “I used to have some somewhere.”
Meanwhile Miles, the third on the sofa, had jumped to his feet. He tried with his one arm to raise his sister's legs onto the sofa, but he was off balance. Ernie Piper sprang forward to assist. Tom Tring was diligently scanning faces. Daisy guessed his moustache hid mild amusement. Alec stood by the door, his thick, dark eyebrows raised in a sardonic
appeal to heaven. The door opened behind him, and Mrs. Pardon brought in the coffee.
By this time, Felicity was lying back uncomfortably against Daisy's thighs. She started to rouse, one hand going to her forehead in the best cinema-heroine style. Daisy expected her to mumble, “Where am I?”
“I feel sick,” she croaked.
“Don't say anything!” That was Tremayne being lawyerly, not Dora being motherly. “I knew I should have gone to telephone Butterwick, even with Cedric Norville in custody.”
“I'm going to be …”
In a couple of strides Alec reached her with the slopbasin from the coffee tray, as she leant forward retching. Mrs. Pardon gave one disgusted look at the scene and departed, nose in air.
“In my day,” observed Lady Dalrymple impartially, “one loosened a gal's corsets. But these days, I gather, they don't wear anything worthy of the name.”
“She didn't come down to breakfast or lunch.” Dora wrung her hands. “No wonder she fainted, my poor child.”
“Sherry.” The captain's large hand, holding a glass of amber liquid, thrust between the surrounding bodies.
“Not on an empty stomach,” said Daisy. “Nor coffee, I should think. Hot milk might help.”
Tom Tring had already poured a cup. He passed it through, but Felicity said, “No, please, all I want is peace and quiet and to lie down with my eyes closed.”
“I'll carry you up to your room, my dear,” said her uncle, tossing down the sherry so as not to waste it. He lifted Felicity in his arms and started towards the door.
“Daisy?” Alec nodded towards them.
So Daisy followed them upstairs, taking the milk with her just in case.
The captain set Felicity down on her bed and patted her hand. “Don't you fret, child. It'll all come out in the wash, you'll see.”
He left. Daisy managed to persuade Felicity to drink the milk, which brought a tinge of colour to her pale cheeks.
“Thanks, Daisy. That does make me feel a bit better. I just couldn't bear to have everyone looking at me, when I've utterly humiliated myself. First falling in the blasted stream, then bursting into tears, then fainting! Isn't it all too, too Victorian?”
“Too Victorian for words,” Daisy candidly agreed. “What made you faint?”
Felicity reflected. “Do you know, I think it was a shock of relief? I mean, obviously we're all in trouble again, but all I could think of was that Ceddie's safe. He's not a murderer after all. I suppose that must mean I really love him, doesn't it?” Her eyes turned dreamy and a small smile played on her lips.
“It sounds like the real thing.”
The dreamy look vanished and Felicity said soberly, “Unfortunately, the reality is that not only did I let him down by believing he had killed Calloway, but it seems there's a murderer in my family, to add to all the other disadvantages. Even if he still wants to, his parents will never in a million years let him marry me.”
“This is 1923,” said Daisy. “What's more, his father can't disinherit him because they both depend on Lord Westmoor. It's the earl Cedric's going to have to talk
round. I shouldn't give up yet, if I were you.”
“But Lord Westmoor … Oh, come in!” she called as someone tapped on the door.
Jemima flounced in. “Mummy said I had to bring you these,” she said, depositing a plate of digestive biscuits on the bedside table. And she flounced out again, pulling the door to behind her.
“Horrid little brat,” said Felicity irritably. “Make sure the door's closed, would you, Daisy?”
It wasn't. Daisy shut it with a click. When she turned, Felicity was already nibbling a biscuit. “Mother knows best,” Daisy observed with a smile, though it was a maxim nothing could persuade her to believe, at least in her own case.
Felicity took a big bite, crunched twice, swallowed the crumbs, and said, avoiding Daisy's eyes, “Do you think Mother knows who killed Calloway?”
“Do you think she might?”
“She might guess, I suppose. She wouldn't give him away, though.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“It's my family, too! If I knew I wouldn't tell. But as it happens, I haven't the faintest idea.”
Daisy believed her.
 
“You believed her?” Alec asked.
Daisy had joined him and Tom and Ernie Piper in the dining room. Tom had reported on his interviews with the servants, who had seen and heard nothing useful. When Daisy arrived, Alec had just begun to review the notes on his first interviews with the suspects. That morning he had only had time to give Tom and Ernie a brief sketch of the
situation and the people involved. With more detail, he hoped, they might pick up something he'd missed. Also he was refreshing his memory before tackling them all again.
Felicity had been the first, with her confession of her secret lover—forced from her because Jemima had let the cat out of the bag.
“Yes, I believed her,” Daisy said. “She's a rotten liar. It was perfectly obvious, remember, when she lied about whether Cedric was coming over last night.”
“True,” Alec agreed, “though she did manage to deceive her family for quite some time.”
Daisy frowned. “Yes, I'd overlooked that. I told her you'd want to speak to her anyway, that even if she hadn't the foggiest who did it, she might be able to give you a piece of the puzzle. She was all set to be sticky about helping you to pin the deed on one of the family. I pointed out that if the culprit wasn't found, all the family would be under suspicion for the rest of their lives.”
“Well done. That's a line I can take with anyone else who has qualms.”
“I take it, Mrs. Fletcher,” Tom rumbled, “you don't think Miss Norville did it herself.”
“No. I know she had a sort of motive—making sure Cedric would inherit the title—but she's been so confused about her feelings for him, I simply can't see her doing anything so drastic.”
“Cedric is equally confused about her feelings for him,” Alec said. “He's by no means counting on her agreeing to marry him. And he's an even less competent liar than she is.”
“Though he did manage to deceive his family about knowing Felicity,” Daisy said dryly.
Alec grinned at her. “Your point. Still, I agree that her motive is thin.”
“But, Chief,” Piper protested, “most of 'em haven't got even that much motive for doing the old chap in, have they? Seems more like they'd do just about anything to keep him alive. I mean, seeing he could prove they're not born the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Exactly, Ernie. Don't worry, Miss Norville's still high on the list. I'll have to see if I can squeeze anything more out of Jemima, who's sharing her room.”
“If Jemima knows anything to Felicity's detriment,” said Daisy, “you won't have to do much squeezing.”
“Unless she's holding it in reserve, which seems to be another unpleasant little habit of hers. But we'll come to her in a moment.” He looked down at the notes Daisy had taken for him and typed out from her incomprehensible shorthand. “Miles next. He shared his room with his grandfather.”
“That's Mr. Tremayne, right, Chief?” Tom queried. “He give Mr. Miles an alibi?”
“No. Apparently he takes a draught for his rheumatism which makes him sleep heavily. Though come to think of it, he seems spry enough and doesn't think twice about walking to and from Calstock.”
“It's prob'ly lying still makes him stiff and achy,” said Tom. “Moving about helps. That's the way it strikes me old dutch, anyway.”
“I expect that's it, then. Which begs the question, did Tremayne perhaps not take his medicine that night and wake up feeling the need to move about? To walk over to the chapel, for instance.”
“Miles can't give him an alibi, either?” Daisy asked.
“No, he says he generally sleeps soundly. So it could be either of them. Miles has the stronger motive for keeping Calloway alive, since it's his father who is otherwise the bastard. Tremayne might feel almost as strongly about his daughter's husband, but he did, after all, let her marry him.”
“And they both knew of George Norville's death,” Daisy said, “so they knew legitimation meant Victor inheriting the earldom, and thereafter probably Godfrey and then Miles.”
“Which gives neither the slightest hint of a motive for murdering Calloway.”
“Now wait a minute, Chief,” said Tom, “does this mean not everyone knew Lord Westmoor's son died? You didn't tell us that.”
“Didn't I? Sorry! Tremayne and Miles knew, and Miss Norville, and Lady Dalrymple, who was the one to break the news to the rest, including me.”
“Miss Norville knew her uncle, then her dad, then her brother would be earl?” Tom shook his head. “Then I can't see her bumping off Calloway so's Mr. Cedric'd get the title instead. Mind you, I've known blokes bump off other blokes for some pretty silly reasons, but that doesn't make any kind of sense.”
Daisy nodded agreement. “Especially as she had already told Cedric she didn't want to see him again, so she couldn't count on marrying him.”
“All right,” said Alec, “we've already said that Felicity is unlikely, though not quite as unlikely as Miles or Tremayne. Who did I see after Miles?”
“Darling,” Daisy said tentatively, “it's fearfully confusing the way everyone's all mixed up with everyone else, if you
see what I mean. We've only covered your interviews with Felicity and Miles, yet practically everyone else has popped in. I think it would be easier to consider means, motive, and opportunity in turn, rather than go through the list person by person. I'd say we'd be less likely to miss something important.”
Predictably, Piper seconded her. “I'm getting confused all right, Chief.” He displayed a page of his note-book, the rows of neat shorthand symbols defaced with circles and arrows.”
Alec sighed. “You may be right, Daisy. We'll try it that way.” He scowled at Tom, whose moustache had given the tell-tale twitch which meant he was amused. “Means is easy, now that Cedric's out of the picture. Anyone in the house could have taken the knife from the hall table.”
MEANS, Piper wrote across the top of a fresh page. ANYONE, he wrote below it, and turned the page. MOTIVE was his next heading.
“We'll tackle motive last,” said Alec, “as that seems to me the most complex of the three. Opportunity next.”
Piper diligently crossed out MOTIVE and substituted OPPORTUNITY. Tom's moustache twitched again.
“Let's consider the precise time of the murder,” Alec continued. “We haven't got the medical evidence yet, and the time that passed before the body was discovered makes off-the-cuff estimates nearly worthless. Calloway said he was going to pray at the hour of Christ's birth, generally assumed, for no reason that I'm aware of, to be midnight. Anyone planning murder would not leave it too much later, in case he had already returned to his bed.”
“That's pretty early, Chief,” said Tom, “‘specially for a holiday.”
“Not for Brockdene. Lady Dalrymple yawned at twenty to eleven, in the middle of a game of bridge, and by quarter past everyone had turned in. No one has an alibi. There are a few other factors to consider. Felicity, for instance—If she had left the room, Jemima would probably have said so, unless she was sleeping too soundly to notice.”
“Jemima was in the habit of following Felicity to the chapel,” Daisy pointed out. “She must often have lain awake waiting for Felicity to go.”
Alec turned back to the notes of that interview. “Felicity seemed pretty sure Jemima was fast asleep when she went up.”

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