Murder on the Cliffs (20 page)

“It’s part of the package, coming from a famous family. I daresay Lady Hartley has singled you out as her future daughter- in- law. Am I correct in that assumption, Miss du Maurier?”

“I suppose you are, Major Browning.”

“Does it caution you to heed a little friendly advice?”

I had prepared to listen so I waited, folding my hands together in my lap.

“There’s not enough evidence to convict any of them for murder . . . unless something shows up. My reason for believing ill of Lord David is not based on idle assumptions but rather knowledge, knowledge of the madness in the family and its colorful history.”

He sounded reasonable, too, darn him. “Do you suspect all of them, then?”

“Every member of the Hartley family and its associates.”

“You mean Mrs. Trehearn and Mr. Soames by associates? You
know
something about Soames, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I cannot reveal
all
of my secrets, just like you. You’ve said nothing, yet your face betrays you. You have your doubts about the family, too, don’t you?”

I deliberated over what to say. Wishing to remain loyal to my new friends, yet understanding I needed to share something with him if I wanted to learn more of his knowledge of the family, I mentioned Victoria’s room.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You
are
a sleuth, aren’t you?”

“We found a broken perfume puffer in her room.” I ignored his cynicism. “It might be nothing but it smells awful.”

“Who’s we?”

“Lianne and I.”

“Lianne and you . . .” he murmured thoughtfully. “How did you get inside?”

“Mrs. Trehearn let us, just for a moment.”

“Did she stay the whole time watching you? Or watching Lianne Hartley?”

I said yes, confused. “Why do you ask?”

“I told you. Any member of the Hartley family cannot be ruled out and that includes Miss Lianne—”

“But she’s just a child.”

“Age bears no hold on madness.”

“You think she’s insane, don’t you?”

“I have good reason to believe so. Why else do you think Lady Hartley keeps her there under Jenny’s tight rein?”

I recalled the conversation with Lady Hartley and everything said about Lianne,
a consummate liar.
Did the madness induce her to jealously poison her brother’s bride and then forget she’d done it?

I felt suddenly ill. The odd comment here and there from Lianne, the intense look in her eyes, a fixated intensity, all perhaps out of her control, suddenly came to mind.

“Did you find anything else in the room?”

I thought of the smooth lavender beads, the beads she always wore, the beads now hidden in my stocking drawer, but I decided to keep that find to myself. “I must be getting back,” I said, glancing at my watch. “It’s late and I promised Ewe I’d help with dinner.”

“Why don’t you test your stolen perfume puffer then? Or are you afraid?”

“You probably just happen to know someone who works in a poison lab . . .”

“I do, actually.” He cheerfully brushed aside my sarcasm. “All you have to do is hand the goods over to me. That is, if you trust me.”

He was baiting me. “You’re the kind of man who always knows somebody,” I mocked. “May I ask what you’re really doing here? I may be fishing a murder but I wager you’re hunting abbey treasure.”

He grimaced. “Do I look like a hunter?”

He posed for a moment, giving me his best smile.

“Good- day, Mr. Brown.”

“Good- day, Miss Daphne. Mindful meddling now.” And without further ado, he collected his box and rod and disappeared.

Mindful meddling.

He didn’t think I would solve the mysteries. Well, I’d prove him wrong. Yes, and I’d start by giving him the puffer, after making him wait a certain while to dismantle his arrogance.

A letter arrived from home. Ewe waved it at me while pruning her roses. The roses reminded me of Ben the gardener.

“The mad one? Been here forever. Likes to watch life, does Ben.”

Likes to watch life.
A vision of the blank, starry- eyed Ben stalking the gardens at night sprang to mind. Had he witnessed the death of Lord Hartley? More important, had he seen Victoria on the night of her death?

Tapping the letter between my fingers, I imagined its likely contents. A directive from home advising me to leave Windemere Lane and return to dreary old London. I was correct.

The envelope contained two letters, one from father and one from my sister Angela.

I read father’s first. In true style, he’d written it on the scrappy back of his latest play flyer:

My dear girl,

Your mother is outraged. She demands you come

home. She saw your picture in the paper.

Made some inquiries about the Hartley lot.

Father, nutty, shot himself. Son, distant. Lady

Hartley linked to more scandals than one can count.

Sounds interesting, though. I can understand why

you’ve swapped us for your Cornish mansion by the

sea . . .

Your loving D,

Sir Gerald du Maurier

I laughed. He always made me laugh.

Angela, my elder sister, and quite the polished beauty, composed her ensemble on crisp white writing paper scented with rose.

Dear Daphne,

A quiet country holiday is it? D and I know it’s

not (see photo attached). M is out of her mind with

worry. She thinks you’ll be next to fall over those

perilous cliffs . . .

Is it murder, do you think? I’m quite jealous, you

know. You ought to invite me down. This Lord

David creature . . . hmm, I wouldn’t mind investi

gating him.

Love, A

P.S.: Jeanne sends her love. She’s staying at

Aunt May’s. Wonder if she’s seen the picture?

Trust Angela to include it. Smiling at her diligence, and for knowing me so well to want to see one’s picture in the city paper, I perused the verdict. How did I look? Not bad, a trifle flash- stricken, but oh dear, was that a smut on my nose?

I shoved the paper aside, not wanting to see it, yet I felt I must.

The photographer had captured the mood of the funeral day perfectly. The old gothic church, the lineup of spectators, the grieving family, the—

I peered closer. No, it couldn’t be . . .

Mr. Soames was standing beside the younger Bastion boy and they looked alarmingly alike— the broad jawline, the heavy brow. Was it a coincidence? I recalled Soames’s blatant denial . . .
No, I knew none of her family.

“Mmmm, let me see.” Putting on her strongest spectacles, Ewe perused the photograph at great length. “Mmmm, they do look alike, but it might just be ol’ Cornish blood. We’re all related, if ye go back far enough.”

Disappointed, I sighed. “I saw your favorite person yesterday, Ewe.
Mr. Brown.
Who is
not
Mr. Brown.”

“No,” Ewe smiled elusively. “He is someone much more important. Why else do ye think I was so excited about his attendance at my dinner. Not for Miss Perony!”

“Poor Miss Perony,” I sympathized. “I recommended her to your
Major Browning
. I told him what I’d found in Victoria’s room. He had some interesting things to say about Lianne Hartley.”

“Does he think
she
did it?”

Ewe’s mouth remained open as I relayed his words.

“She might ’ave got jealous,” Ewe considered aloud. “Lord David’s looked after her like a baby. She hates her mother so he’s her only friend, ain’t he? And then he brings his bride into the picture and forgets about his sister, or don’t pay her enough attention—”

The doorbell rang.

I jumped. “I’ll go and take a look.”

“Hello,” Lianne smiled. “I am like you and walked here. I wanted to show you my paintings.”

“Who is it?” Ewe called from inside the cottage.

“Come,” I said, trying to calm the beating of my heart at being caught talking about someone just before they show up at the door, and led Lianne into the sitting parlor where Ewe nearly spilled her tea all over her skirt at the sight of us. “Meet Ewe Sinclair. Ewe Sinclaire, Miss Lianne Hartley.”

“You were Daphne’s mother’s nurse, weren’t you?”

“Aye, I were.”

Getting to her feet, Ewe seemed suddenly out of place in her very own cottage. High spots of color appeared on her apple cheeks at the “unexpected” intrusion.

Gazing around, Lianne nodded. “I’m very fond of my nurse Jenny. Do you know Jenny? We should have a nurse day one day. I like your cottage, Ewe! Do I call you Ewe or Mrs. Sinclaire?”

Ewe and I shared a glance. We both felt guilty when she’d come to make such an effort with her manners and to impress my host.

“We’ll have tea, jam, and scones in the garden.” Bustling away, Ewe disappeared to the kitchen while I showed Lianne around the cottage and my room before taking her outside.

“Was that the funeral, the paper on your bed, Daphne?”

She had a keen eye. I hadn’t expected she’d notice it. “Yes . . .”

“Why have you got it still? That’s old news now.”

Old news.
Yes, indeed, and Miss Perony’s warning shot to my mind,
the Hartleys reign supreme here.
None of them appeared the slightest dismayed over the possibility of suffering ramifications for Victoria’s death.

“Here’s my painting,” Lianne handed to me proudly. “What do you think of it?”

Examining the four charcoal sketches of Padthaway, I breathed out a sigh of surprised admiration. “
You
did this? It’s beautiful . . .”

“Do you really think so?”

She so desperately craved attention and compliments for her achievements, considering her mother’s continuous and harmful lack of interest. “You’re very talented, you know. I’ll speak to your mother about it. This talent should be nurtured.”

Her face darkened. “You mean lessons?”

“Or a respite in Switzerland . . . a week or two . . . lapping up the scenery and drawing to your heart’s content. Does that sound nice?”

She looked almost wistful. “Mother’ll never agree. She doesn’t let me go anywhere.”

I patted her hand when she slumped beside me. “Let’s work on it, shall we? Who else has seen these pictures?”

“Davie . . . and Jenny, of course. Davie started me on them but Mummy says I don’t have the right eye. You saw her watercolors. They’re perfect.”

I thought of the watercolors in the Green Salon. “I can see why your mother’s proud of them, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I much prefer yours to hers. If this picture is any indication, your work has feeling. Did Victoria ever see any of your sketches?”

She frowned and I wondered if she received a similar response from Victoria, dismissal, or worse, a mocking admiration.

“Once. I was on my way to show Davie and
she
was there. She barely looked at it.”

“Perhaps her mind was on other things?”

“Perhaps.”

It wasn’t much but it was an indication of her dislike for Victoria. I decided to journey a little further. “What happened on that day . . . the day before she died? I promise what ever you say stays with me.
You’re
my friend, remember.”

Twitching her nose, she shrugged. “She went to London to pick up her dress. Soames drove her to the station. He picked her up, too.”

So she’d taken the train to pick up her wedding dress. “Did you think this was strange? Why didn’t she use the car?”

“She always went on the train. Davie used to tell her to use the car but she said she liked the train ride.”

Perhaps it was
Soames
she didn’t like and not the car? “Did she go alone?”

Lianne nodded. “And came back later that afternoon. I caught her yelling at Annie and Betsy for dropping her wedding dress box.”

Something didn’t sound right to me. Why go alone to London to pick up one’s wedding dress? Wouldn’t you take your mother or a friend or your fiancé? “Where was David? Why didn’t he go with her?”

“She wanted to go alone. I heard her say it at breakfast.”

“Did your brother think this was odd?”

“No.”

Well, if he didn’t, I certainly did.
“Maybe she planned to go alone to meet someone, someone secret?”

She shrugged again, looking for Ewe to come.

“She’s probably doing the cream,” I said. “She’s very proud of her scones.”

Lianne nodded and crossed her arms. I could see she found my questions and this subject distasteful. “What was Victoria like when she came back? Tired? Irritable? Happy?”

“Definitely not happy.” A light laugh left Lianne’s lips. “I suppose she was in a mood.”

“Did you speak to her?”

“No, but I gave her a look when she yelled at Annie and Betsy. Victoria glared at me and said, ‘Don’t judge me,
child
.’ ”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I turned and left.”

I didn’t believe her. The scene spanned before me: the despised sister- in- law returning to the house, her nerves raw, her mood worsening from the look of censure from Lianne. “Do you think she went to meet someone in London? A man? A
lover
?”

“We have another visitor!”

The announcement arrived with Ewe, carrying napkins and cutlery, and Mr. Brown behind her, bearing the tea and scone tray, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. “Morning, ladies.”

He breezed over to us and, unused to this version of a smartly dressed Mr. Brown, reminiscent of the gentlemen who came for lunch or dinner at Cumberland Terrace or Cannon Hall, I gaped.

“Miss Daphne, what a fortunate thing to find you home.”

The wicked glimmer continued to spark, silently reminding me of my intention to give him the perfume puffer.
What is your interest in the investigation?
I wanted to ask, then retracted the thought. “How . . .” Words failed me.

“How what? How does a modest major like me own such attire, or how did I happen to catch you at home? The answer to the latter is a lucky guess, and what an ideal time for tea, too.”

“Ideal,” I echoed, hearing Ewe’s noisy chatter in my ear. “Have you met Miss Lianne? Miss Lianne of
Padthaway
?”

“No, I haven’t yet had that plea sure,” the major grinned, stepping past me to do so.

Sweeping a bow, he adopted the formal code of introduction.

“How nice to meet you,
Major
Browning,” Lianne murmured, her smitten gaze sending a lovely flush to her face.

I suppressed an inward groan. It appeared the major had made another conquest. He made them too easily for my liking, and perturbed, I resumed my seat, leaving Lianne to his care.

As I anticipated, the major charmed his way across the table while I poured the tea. Lianne talked more than I’d seen her talk to anyone, and I noticed a few attempts of the major here and there to gently pry into the current mood at Padthaway.

“Lianne says you often go for early- morning walks,” the major said, making a pretense of following me out to help wash the dishes. “Have you considered my advice for testing unknown substances?”

“I have,” I whipped under my breath. “You’ll have it soon.”

“
Now
is a good time. Do you still have it?”

“Of course I still have it.” And flinging an apron to him, went to my room to fetch it.

He slid it into the pocket of his coat hanging by the door. “Excellent.”

“What
is
your interest in the murder, anyhow? Were you one of her secret lovers?”

His silent smirk did little for my good humor.

“Oh, you were a
failing
hopeful suitor. How unpleasant for you.”

“How mistaken you are, Miss du Maurier.”

“You didn’t know her then?”

His eyes remained guarded. “As it happens, I’d seen her around town. A mysterious, beautiful woman . . . one could never tell what she was thinking.”

Of course he admired her. Who wouldn’t?

Lianne came into the kitchen then, trailing her fingers adoringly across the bench. “Oh, I do so love this place! We have a secret garden at Padthaway.”

We agreed we should take tea in the garden next time, but her chin suddenly drooped.

“It’s my brother’s project. It’s not finished yet.”

“I’d still love to see it,” I said after the major had left and I accompanied Lianne home.

Lianne paused to gaze back at the village. “The major’s
so
handsome, isn’t he? Do you think he’d ever look at a girl like me?”

Oh dear. If I had the beginnings of a niggling headache before, I certainly had one now.

“There’s something about him. He’s very charming and he’s a
major
. Even Mummy couldn’t say no to a major.”

I tried to give her a reassuring smile.

All of a sudden, she turned her attention to me and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve got a surprise for you but it’s a
secret
surprise, just for us.”

She refused to say more, her elusive smile persisting until we reached the drive. “You will come inside for a lemonade, won’t you? We can have
pink
lemonade in the secret garden.”

How could I refuse? Giddy as two little girls, we strode into the entry hall hand- in- hand, both shocked to hear the raised voice of Lady Hartley as we passed the drawing room.

“What is the meaning of this unearthly summons?”

Raising our eyebrows, we reached the door in time to see it close on the hem of Lady Hartley’s morning robe.

Lianne propelled me closer to listen. I wanted to pull her back, but curiosity overcame me and we both put our ears to the door.

“It’s time you start taking responsibility for your actions, Mother. I’ve been patient with you long enough,” Lord David said, his voice steady, low, but firm.

“My actions.” Lady Hartley’s chuckling scoff. “Which one in particular offends you?”