Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery (33 page)

‘I had to put it that way, Mrs Norris!' Annie was now sobbing brokenly. ‘She wouldn't listen when I said he's not human flesh and blood. He's from the Devil – that's what the vicar told me Auntie Jess.'

There was no point in protesting this viewpoint. ‘Very well, Annie, I'll have to send one of the other girls.' Florence waved her away. ‘Calm yourself and find something else to do. And in future please don't refer to Mrs McDonald as
she
.'

‘Oh, I won't!' Annie snuffled against the back of her wrist. ‘Never again I won't! I'm that grateful, you don't know, madams!' Her knees buckled in what might have been a remorseful curtsy, or a sign that her legs were about to give out. She wove her way into the passageway.

Mrs McDonald shook her white woolly head. ‘Ten minutes wasted. I should have known better, Mrs Norris, than thinking I could persuade her. And here's me,' looking apologetically at Miss Jones, ‘ignoring this young lady who's a guest of the family. Leastways, I'm thinking you must be Lady Stodmarsh's granddaughter.'

‘For better or worse, that's me.' Miss Jones showed an unexpected dimple when she smiled. ‘Thank you, Mrs McDonald, for sending a meal up for me last night. It was the perfect one for someone coming in out of the rain. Breakfast was also very good.'

‘Kind of you to say so, miss.'

‘Miss Jones came in with me,' said Florence, ‘especially to voice her appreciation.'

Mrs McDonald expanded from a very large woman into a tree bursting into blossom. Her face had gone from a flustered red to a pleased pink. ‘What a very nice young lady you must be! I'd one of my feelings I'd take to you right off, and so I have. If there is the least thing I can do, I'm more than pleased to make your stay a happy one, you've only to ask.'

‘That's so dear of you to say. One more person on my side.' Miss Jones's eyes shone with either pleasure or tears; Florence's opinion was a mixture of both. ‘Lord Stodmarsh and Mrs Norris have already been so nice to me. What a wonderfully warm and welcoming kitchen this is; but I mustn't distract you from your work.'

‘There, miss, I wish I didn't have to get on with things, but needs must. Any other time … and there'll be another one, of course. Who'd you like me to send out with the poor old blighter's meal, Mrs Norris?'

‘Let me do it,' Miss Jones nipped in quickly with the offer. ‘I'd be glad of the walk. I enjoyed the one to Farn Deane and I can never get enough of being outdoors, besides, if my grandmother should descend for lunch, I'd just as soon not be there. If she's come up with anything to communicate with me she can save it until we're on our own.'

‘She's gone out, miss.' Mrs McDonald could have been letting her know that the weather prediction was for unclouded skies and brilliant sunshine. ‘Mrs Palfrett from the Chimneys in Kingsbury Knox came in her car an hour ago and they went off to lunch with Mrs Stafford-Reid at her home – Hidden Meadows in Small Middlington. Lady Stodmarsh informed Mr Grumidge that the afternoon will almost certainly turn into an evening of bridge, meaning she would not return until late. Mr Grumidge, from past experience, assesses that to be ten or later.'

Florence looked at Miss Jones, questioningly.

‘I'd still like to go. I noticed a ladder in a pair of stockings I brought and I could buy another in the village. I've got my purse with me,' she touched the side pocket in her dress, ‘so after taking in the meal I'll continue on. All I need are directions to the hut.'

While Mrs McDonald assembled a tray of bacon sandwiches, cheese and an apple crumble, over which she spread a cloth, Florence explained the quickest route for Miss Jones to take. It was not by way of the woodland path, but through a cutting further down, close to the edge of the lake. ‘If you go straight, you'll hear a waterfall and come to a clearing by a very large tree. You'll be able to see the hut a little way beyond.'

‘I understand I'm not to talk to him.'

‘Sounds inhuman, doesn't it?'

‘That's how I see it,' said Florence, ‘though after all these years in isolation, he might die of fright if he was startled out of decades of silence. Then again, maybe not. I wouldn't be surprised if Jeanie, who usually takes his meals out to him, has tried. He's been reduced to a myth – a fabrication of fear or fantasy according to temperament.'

Sylvia Jones took the tray from Mrs McDonald. Florence opened the outer door for her and then returned to the kitchen. Within the next few minutes luncheon was sent upstairs, and Mrs McDonald returned the conversation to Mullings' latest house guest.

‘Well, I must say, Mrs Norris, if she's a wrong 'un you could fool me! That bleached hair could put off someone without sense enough to see beyond it, and I'll admit I've always been one for preferring the natural look, but that face and manner was what spoke volumes. Took her to my heart, I did, and I'm that sorry for the nasty thoughts I let take hold before setting eyes on her. You could blow me down with a feather if it turns out she'd anything to do with Mr Ned's dog disappearing or Jeanie's accident.'

Florence leaned against the table. ‘I like her, too, and no longer have any doubt that she's Lady Stodmarsh's granddaughter. I wonder what confidences, if any, are being laid before Mrs Palfrett and Mrs Stafford-Reid.'

‘If she's any sense she'll keep her mouth shut.'

‘I wonder. If you'd seen and heard her last night you might have wondered if she wasn't in imminent danger of disintegrating.'

‘For fear of her world coming crashing down, you mean?'

Florence nodded. ‘One good thing, breakfast seems to have gone off with barely a ripple of curiosity from Mr and Mrs William or Miss Bradley regarding Miss Jones's presence. Any idea how they are each spending their day?'

‘No idea about Mr William; most likely he'll be around somewhere grunting to himself between puffing on his pipe. Mr Grumidge told me Mrs William will be gone this afternoon, at the church or vicarage, and, like Lady Stodmarsh, probably won't be back to dinner, and Molly says she barely got to make Miss Bradley's bed before being hurried away so's she could have a day at the sewing machine.'

‘I'd like to think she's working on her trousseau, in the hope that her marriage to Mr Fritch won't be too long delayed.'

‘Wouldn't that be nice?' Mrs McDonald's sentimental streak showed on her face. ‘Though with this talk about Mr Craddock planning on selling the bookshop and perhaps Mr Fritch not getting to keep his job, the sound of wedding bells could be even longer in coming than already expected. Being the nervy little man he is, I'd think he'll be all of a twitch about getting the boot.'

‘Hopefully he won't. Mr Ned says he's a wonder with figures, accurate down to the last farthing.' Florence looked up at the clock, thinking that the train with Mrs Tressler on board should be pulling into the station right now. Ned would be glad to see his grandmother; he had grown considerably more attached to her over the past few years. Would his pleasure, however, be dampened by the need to tell her he had proposed to Lamorna Blake?

As it happened, other than thinking Mrs Tressler looked well and as comfortably practical as always in her sensible coat and hat, Ned's thoughts were on Rouser's disappearance. It wasn't until they were in the car that Lamorna crossed his mind, and then only because he remembered that he'd considered himself duty-bound to drive his grandmother to The Manor at Large Middlington.

He'd finally got around to telephoning Lamorna that morning before setting off for the station, and for what seemed like five minutes had been prevented from getting two words in because Lamorna had run the gamut from shrieks to peevishness over his failure to return her call of last evening. But when she at last drew breath, providing the opportunity for him to speak, she cheered up instantly. Had he not been so down in the dumps about Rouser, he would have pitched into anxiety, knowing her aim would be to twist his grandmother around her finger and extract an offer to come up with the funds to purchase the London flat.

‘It's so good to see you, Grandma,' he said as they drove from the station, past the church and vicarage, a string of cottages, and then turned on to the road to Large Middlington. ‘I only wish I was in better spirits at this moment.'

‘I could see you looked troubled when you crossed the pavement towards me. Do you want to talk about it? I know sometimes it helps and at others it's the last thing we want to do. I notice we're not heading towards Mullings.'

‘Do you mind not going there straight away?'

‘Of course not. Where's it to be?'

‘The Blakes.'

‘Very good.'

How easy she was, how unruffled. It said much for her strength of mind that it was hard to believe she'd ever suffered a couple of such severe breakdowns that she'd had to go to that nursing home, Meadowvale. Ned was seized by regret that he had failed over the years to value their relationship as he should. For him life had always been primarily about Mullings.

‘I've been the most frightful ass, Granny.'

‘Haven't we all at one time or another, especially when young?'

By the time they reached the broad lane leading to The Manor he'd poured out the folly of proposing to Lamorna Blake, including the damning fact that he was presently far more distressed about Rouser being gone than he was about the sensibilities of the girl he was supposed to love.

‘I'm sure she's going to plead with you to come up with the money for the flat. Am I being noble or wretched in asking you to refuse?'

‘I shall offer,' responded Mrs Tressler, ‘and you will decline my generosity, with the result that Miss Blake will dissolve into tears and say she'd never really wanted to marry you, all is off, and there are far better fish in the sea. You will accept her decision manfully and we will make our departure.'

‘You really think that's how it will go?' Ned asked, sounding very much like a small boy.

‘Not a doubt in the world.' They were on the elm-lined drive and the house was in view.

‘You're a very special grandmother.' He felt the urge to kiss her cheek, instead he touched her shoulder. ‘You shouldn't be dragged into my troubles.'

‘I call it being useful, my dear.'

They had no sooner come to a halt outside The Manor than the door opened and Lamorna ran down the steps, a vision of golden-haired delight to stir a poet's heart, if no longer Ned's.

‘My precious darling,' she cried when he got out of the car, ‘you have brought her as you promised? Oh, yes,' peering through the front window, ‘there she is! Do help her out quickly so we can talk. I know I can wheedle her round to our point of view. Jennie Stafford-Reid was just on the phone telling me about the sweetest little flat … well, not all that little, it has a library as well as two other reception rooms! Angel, why are you looking at me like that?'

Fifteen minutes later Mrs Tressler and Ned were back on the road to Mullings. If not for Rouser, Ned would have been happier than he'd been in days. His grandmother had from the start wisely refrained from offering up useless consolation. He suddenly remembered he hadn't told her about Miss Jones and proceeded to do so to her obvious interest. As was to be expected, she said nothing pejorative about Lady Stodmarsh, simply commenting that she could understand his sympathy for the young woman.

They stopped at the police station, which was also Constable Trout's cottage. He wasn't there, but his wife, a pleasant, rosy-faced woman, said he'd telephoned Mullings before he'd left to say that so far there had been no sightings of the dog. They were both heartily sorry not to have better news for him. Such a lovely mellow animal, unlike them ones in the house round the side of the Dog and Whistle, bringing complaints from the neighbours about the constant barking. Swallowing his disappointment, Ned drove off. He was tempted to stop in at the pub to see how George was doing – he couldn't focus only on himself – but he had no idea whether his grandmother had ever been inside a public house or how she would feel about entering one. There was so much he didn't know about her.

Grumidge appeared the moment they drew up outside Mullings, welcomed Mrs Tressler with less than his usual impassivity, and instructed the hovering chauffeur to bring in her suitcases before parking the car. The interior appeared devoid of family members: not a soul in the drawing room, nor any sign from the windows of anyone out in the grounds. This was partially explained by Grumidge stating that Lady Stodmarsh and Mrs William were out for the day. Ned wasn't surprised that his uncle wasn't around, as he had taken to holing up much of the time in what was known as the gun room, although only empty racks were in evidence.

‘Any idea where Miss Bradley is, Grumidge?'

‘I understand from Molly, sir, that she is in her bedroom, having a sewing day. She's only been down for luncheon.'

‘And what of Miss Jones?'

‘She came through the hall when I was on my way to open the front door and went up the staircase.'

‘How did she look? Being here has to be very unsettling for her.'

‘It is of course only my opinion, sir, but I would describe her expression as sombre.'

‘Understandable in the circumstances,' said Mrs Tressler.

‘Quite so, madam. May I send Mrs Norris to escort you to your room and ascertain that all is as you wish it?'

‘Thank you, Grumidge, but that won't be necessary. Please tell her I'd enjoy talking with her later. I always enjoy our moments together. Both she and you always contribute to the pleasure of my visits.'

‘Thank you, madam; I will pass along your message.' He inclined his head and left the drawing room.

‘What a treasure he is,' said Mrs Tressler. ‘Is his relationship with that very nice girl, Molly, who helped take care of you after that ill-suited nanny left, progressing satisfactorily?'