Murder on the Cliffs (21 page)

“Why did you not mention Mrs. Bastion’s call?”

“It just slipped my mind . . .”

“The devil it did.”

Silence, then a long sigh from David. “I spoke to her yesterday. She says you
paid
her off for the clothes.”

“Miserable creature. I suppose she wants them back now. Did she return the money? Kept it, no doubt. I wanted to keep the clothes for Lianne—”

“Send the clothes away,” David coolly directed.

Lianne and I stared at each other agog. Grabbing my hand, she pulled me away from the door to run into the gardens.

“It’s in here.”

“What’s in here?” I stopped to catch my breath, still thinking of the anger in Lord David’s voice regarding Victoria’s clothes. Why would she be so callous? “What is this, anyhow?” I peered at the small A-framed hut.

“It’s Jasper’s kennel.” Ducking inside, Lianne retrieved a small navy bag. “This is it. The diary. Victoria’s diary. I took it from her room . . . before the police found it. It was under her pillow.”

“Victoria’s diary,” I whispered, reluctant to receive it from Lianne’s hand. “Did you tell anybody about it?”

She shook her head. “You’re the first and you’ll see why we have to keep it a secret when you read it. I don’t want David to get in any trouble.”

“Trouble?” I echoed. “Why would he get into trouble?”

Lianne’s hands gripped my shoulders. “You must give me your promise. Even David doesn’t know about this. If they found it . . .” She shuddered.

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” Lianne whispered, looking around her.

Giving her my promise, I went out to the cliffs to read it. It seemed the most appropriate place, under the circumstances, to do so.

Finding the windless rock I had shared with
Major
Browning, I settled down to read, wishing I’d brought a hat to shield out the fierce sun.

Being the owner of countless diaries over the years, I was surprised at the feel of the quaint slim blue book, unadorned but for a tiny flower, a modest Scarlet Pimpernel, gracing the front cover. It was the kind of diary one expected a young girl to have, not a grown woman.

The first entry, ten years ago, revealed the diary’s age:

Dear Diary,

I found out today I have a different father . . .

Victoria’s Diary

I hate this village. Can’t wait to get away. Sometimes, I sneak up to the Big House and watch the Hartleys. They’re so lucky. I wish I could be one of them.

Proving Lady Hartley’s theory of the commoners wanting to be one of them, Victoria’s fascination with the Hartley family continued over the next few pages and into her young womanhood:

I saw Lord David today. He went by in the motorcar with his school friends. He’s grown quite handsome. I waved to them and his friends whistled. But Lord David didn’t. There’s a coldness in his eyes I wonder about . . . I s’pose all that business about his father. How can I get him to see me?

A few months later:

I saw him today and he SAW me! Lord David. Or David, as I shall now think of him. I didn’t think much of his friends, ’specially that Mr. Cameron. He followed me out the back. Made
beastly suggestions to me. I told him to sail his ship in other waters. He didn’t like that but he smiled all the same.

April 7

I’ve a date with David today. He’s driving me home from the club.

Very kind of him.

June 21

Dinner with Davie, as I shall now call him, then dancing at the club . . . oh dear, I’ll need more lessons from Miss Perony if I am to keep my man. For how can I ever fit into their world?

Three weeks later:

I’m working at Padthaway now.

The fact amuses me, somewhat, but Soames doesn’t like it. I think he’s jealous. Jealous, jealous, jealous for Davie and I are so in love!

I’m terribly happy. But Lady Hartley frightens me. Sometimes, I don’t feel very safe here . . . the maids whisper, Mrs. Trehearn watches my every move. Something’s not right and I don’t trust Davie’s mother. She has no heart and I swear Soames and she have some special plan to ruin our engagement for I caught him spying on me in London. Why can’t he take no for an answer?

July 22

I told David today . . . about the child. It was a shock to me, too, but I needn’t have worried. My Davie is honorable and he’s proposed!

Lady Hartley is outraged.

Soames . . . I can’t read. I think he knew it would happen. Best they both adjust to the idea. We’re to marry as soon as possible, to avoid scandal.

I came to the week of the wedding. Holding the diary on my lap, I noticed the change of handwriting, the scratchy, indefinable letters and read the reasons behind it:

Had a shocking row with Davie today. Those dreadful rumors! Spun by all those who don’t wish us to be together . . . Lady Hartley, Soames, and even Davie’s friends. Cowards. They think that I, because I worked at the club, am a loose woman. I am not, I tell you, dear diary. I kept myself for Lord David and he knows it. The worst thing is that I saw doubt in my Davie’s eyes today. He can’t believe them truly, can he?

About the child? How could he?

I’ve written him a letter. I hope it works.

Then came the last page, the last few entries before her death, unspecified dates, tear- blotted paper, and odd entries here and there.

Went to London. Saw him. Went better than expected. Soames still jealous as a cat. Lady Hartley suspiciously kind. She gave me a beautiful perfume puffer and apologized for her earlier treatment of me. Dare I believe it? I don’t trust her.

I’m so frightfully tired. Snapped at the maids and Lianne again. Didn’t mean to . . . but the nerves, you know. Davie heard about it; Lianne must have told him. He came to my room. We had another row. His doubts disturb me. He’s of the old school, proud, hates to be thought the cuckold. When there is no ground for him to do so! Oh, what am I to do? I can’t tell him the reason I go to London. I can’t allow anything to disrupt our marriage, not anyone, not even Connan. Dear Connan, he’s always in need of money and thinks now my rich boyfriend will pay for everything. If only our dad had turned out to be whom we thought! I’ll never forgive Mother for that.

As if my day could get any worse! I drank too much at dinner but I was angry . . . and ill. Feverish almost . . .

No . . . I can’t rest. I feel very strange . . .

I don’t know what I’ll do. Can’t trust David. I’m so scared . . .

I closed the diary and shut my eyes, letting her private testimony, her life, rest on my lap in perfect security. Victoria, the girl I’d seen lying there dead on the beach, sprang to life in my mind. I felt close to her, as close as I might be to a future heroine and her tragic end.

Walking back to Padthaway, I encountered Lianne.

“Did you read it? Do you see?”

I handed her the bag with the diary. “It should really go to Sir Edward, Lianne. I know you wish to protect your brother—”

“I’m going to destroy it,” Lianne declared. “
Now.
”

She started running for the cliffs. Charging after her, I managed to grab her skirt. Losing the diary to a whim terrified me despite my desire to dismiss its contents for David’s sake. “Let’s wait,” I pleaded, between breaths. “I didn’t tell you before but I found a letter Victoria had written to your brother hiding inside a book in the library. He
knew
I’d found it and read it, and when we went to Stall’s that day, he asked what he should do with it. I told him he’d have to hand it to Sir Edward. Don’t you see, darling? Your brother’s not afraid because he’s
innocent
.”

She looked at me as if I were mad. “Why keep the diary? There’s no need for it now.”

“One shouldn’t destroy an item belonging to the deceased, Lianne.”

Considering the wisdom, she eventually handed the diary over to me. “You do what you think best with it, then. Just don’t hurt Davie. Promise?”

I promised and we parted, she to Padthaway, and me to Ewe’s cottage with Victoria’s diary pressing against me. It felt almost toxic against my skin and I knew I had to be rid of it. So I abandoned my track in favor of the one leading up to Castle Mor, and to Sir Edward.

Sir Edward accepted the diary with a solemn face.

“Thank you, Miss du Maurier. I couldn’t have expected such honor from the Hartleys.”

“Miss Lianne only meant to protect her brother,” I said. “Do be kind to her.”

“I shall,” Sir Edward nodded, “but I have my duty. A duty that overrides friendship and landlords.”

I watched his great eyebrows droop, then spring up again. “I have a duty, a power invested upon me by law, to uphold justice in this county and that includes justice for Victoria Bastion, however much her death is troublesome to the Hartleys.”

Rubbing the diary across his robust stomach, Sir Edward groaned. “ ’Tis no accident in my opinion, Miss du Maurier. Ricin is poison and I cannot believe Victoria administered such a substance to herself, can you?”

“No. I knew that she wanted to live,” I said, thinking of her diary.

Sir Edward shook his head, grievous concern wavering in the orbs of his eyes. We stood on the landing by the door to his castle, or I should say, the Hartleys’ castle.

“Would you like to see inside?”

Sir Edward must have noticed my wide- eyed and yearning look, for I’d glimpsed a huge candelabra and heavy tapestries adorning the thick stone walls. “It must be difficult,” said I, never more at home than in a castle or historical landmark of some description, “to investigate your own landlord.”

Ignoring my comment, Sir Edward pointed out the drawing room, the fireplace, and the other rooms of the restored medieval keep.

It was precisely what I’d expect of a proper detective, to reserve details of the case only for the purpose of catching the killer. Without him breathing a word, I understood the case had reached an impasse.

“Have you read the diary, Miss Daphne?”

“I have.”

“May I ask your impressions?”

“My impressions . . . before I answer, may I ask you if Lord David showed you a letter Victoria had written him before she died?”

“I do have such a letter in my possession.”

I nodded, elated that David proved a man of his word. He’d turned in the letter as duty dictated, just as I had my duty to submit her private journal. “My impressions are that Victoria had a secret of some kind. The entries with Soames you will find interesting, Soames and his jealousy.”

“Ridgeway Soames, the cook?” Sir Edward seemed surprised. “But er, he and Lady Hartley—”

“May be lovers, but I believe Victoria and Soames knew each other quite well and in hiring her at Padthaway, he thought he’d have a chance with her.”

“You’re a woman. You understand girls better than an old man like me . . . do you think she and Soames were lovers? Carried on their affair at Padthaway until she swapped him for Lord David?”

Taking the diary from him, I showed him the relevant entry. “See, she says she ‘kept’ herself for Lord David.”

“But any girl would say that,” Sir Edward argued.

“I believe her. She was beautiful, yes, but that doesn’t mean she was a wanton. Perhaps many have judged her cruelly, wrongly.”

Sir Edward considered this, his hooded eyes revealing little. “Any other reflections? Does she mention Lord David and Lady Hartley?”

“Both, naturally. Lady Hartley terrified her, and there is the mention of bride gifts.”

“Bride gifts?” Incredulous, Sir Edward’s great eyebrows lifted. “I confess I am impatient to study this new evidence— thank you, Miss Daphne.”

“It was simply the right thing to do,” I said, and left Sir Edward to his deliberations, knowing this new evidence spelled doom for the entire Hartley family.

Partly out of guilt, I found myself at Padthaway the next morning.

“Miss Lianne and her ladyship are still abed,” Mrs. Trehearn informed me, blank and expressionless as usual.

“Jenny Pollock?” I inquired.

“Miss Pollock should be awake at this hour. You will find her at the—”

“Yes, I know where to find her,” I smiled, and strolled in the right direction, aware Mrs. Trehearn monitored my every move. I suddenly understood why Victoria felt so uncomfortable.
Mrs. Trehearn watches my every move.
If she watched every move, I thought, walking along the sleepy corridors, why did she choose to remain silent? Did she fear the loss of her job if she spoke against her employers?

She probably knew a great deal about the house and its secrets. A good house keeper always did. However, discretion often played a part, and in this affair, it meant self- preservation. Mrs. Trehearn intended to preserve her illustrious position at Padthaway, as much as Lady Hartley meant to preserve her position as lady of the house.

“She came back, all right,” Jenny said on seeing me. “Mrs. B. Demanding those clothes. Did ye hear of it?”

Settling down to a nice cup of fresh tea, I confessed I had overheard Lady Hartley and Lord David talking in the drawing room.

“Arguing, more like,” Jenny huffed. “Well, she failed this time, Lady Muck. Lord Davie put his foot down and the clothes were sent to Bastion cottage.”

“All those beautiful clothes,” I whispered, a trifle disappointed. “They will be sold now, I suspect. And those furs . . .”

“Lady H is none too happy, for Davie paid for the whole lot,” Jenny enthused, “but I s’pose the clothes should go back to the girl’s mother for Lady Muck won’t fit ’em, will she!”

“You don’t think she wanted them for Lianne?”

Jenny’s face took on a sad look. “I don’t think my Lee Lee will be havin’ a season. She’ll do well if some nice man comes along and looks after her.”

“Because of her illness? The one she inherited from her father.”

“A lie and a fib that is!”

Not anticipating such intensity, I fumbled out an apology.

“Is that what
she
said, Lady Muck?”

“It’s just what everyone says. Jenny, if you don’t mind my asking, why do you stay here if you dislike Lady Hartley so much? I know there is David and Lianne—”

“More
my
babies than hers.
She
never cared about them, so I stay. I’ve always stayed. And I’ll stay as long as my Lee Lee needs me. As long as I’m needed.”

I glanced at my wristwatch. “Lianne doesn’t usually sleep late, does she?”

“She had nightmares last night. She came here and I took her down to the kitchen, made her hot milk, then cuddled her till she slept again.”

“She never mentioned her nightmares, poor thing. Are they . . . ?”

Jenny nodded. “How’d ye be if ye saw your own dad shoot himself?”

“Very disturbed,” I answered. Eager to prevent a new bout of Jenny’s morose reminiscing of the past, I asked if she knew where I could find the secret garden.

Her face turned white. “What did you say?”

“The secret garden. Lianne said it’s David’s project. Do you know where it is?”

Jenny’s pallor deepened.

“What ever is the matter, Jenny?”

I watched her shuffle to the window, to stare out upon her own little garden, and the flowers below. “How could he? How could he think to open it? The old place?”

I didn’t know whether to remain silent or speak. I decided on the latter, interrupting her talking to herself. “Why? Do you have an objection?”

“I can’t believe it . . .”

“Is the place cursed?”

Shaking her head, Jenny returned to her normal nonchalance. “Ah, we used to go there in the old days. I just wish my Davie had told me. He shouldn’t keep secrets from Jenny.”

Something in her eyes perturbed me, and I swept to my feet and to the door. “I’ll go now, Jenny.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he tell Jenny?”

Her voice followed me outside as I tried to regain composure.

“Miss! Are ye all right, miss? Ye look lost!” Annie called from across the hall.

I made a conscious effort to remove Jenny’s disturbing reaction from my mind. “Oh, I’m looking for Lord David’s secret garden. I thought I’d wait there for Lianne. I heard she had a bad night last night.”

“Aye, she did, poor thing, and I can show ye to the garden if ye like, miss. Oh dear.” Her face fell. “Oops. I’m not supposed to know. Betsy told me not to say anythin’.”

“About the garden? Then I’m like you, in trouble, for I just mentioned it to Jenny Pollock and she didn’t look too happy to hear of it.”

Annie, a kindred spirit, grinned. “Ye’re safe, miss, and Mrs. T’ll wallop me if she knew I took ye there. As for Jenny, don’t know why she should be upset.”

“I think it’s because Lord David kept it a secret from her.”

“Oh.” Annie’s mouth quivered. “Well, he’s a grown man now, not a boy.”

“Indeed, he is a grown man.” I blushed, remembering our kiss in the library.

“And I hear he’s taken with you, miss! Not that I should be sayin’ such, so recent after . . .”

“Victoria.” I said the name. “Annie, I have to ask you something. You know when you heard that argument between Lord David and Victoria, did you hear any man’s name mentioned at all?”

Annie thought hard. “Lord Davie were so angry, maybe, for he didn’t like her London visits and where she was goin’ and she wouldn’t say where she was goin’ either. Two stubborn mules together, if ye ask me.”

“You don’t really think Victoria had an affair with another man and planned to plant the child on Lord David?”

“Oh, no, miss! It’s true she had her pick of ’em males, even Mr. Soames got very cranky when she started to see Lord David, and I s’pose she liked to flaunt it a bit, but nope, miss, I think the babe were Lord David’s and it’s sad what happened to her.”

“Who do you think murdered Victoria, Annie?”

Leaning across to whisper in my ear, she said, “If anyone wanted her out of the way, I’d say Lady H. But like Betsy keeps sayin’, we’re best not to talk of it.”

I followed her lithe steps to the gardens outside, now more curious than ever as to Victoria’s mysterious London journeys. Who did she meet there, especially on that final trip?
Went to London. Saw him. Went better than expected.

Sunshine bathed my face, leading me to the peaceful serenity I loved here at Padthaway. How beautiful it looked outside, a lovely, still summer’s afternoon, the green lawns a perfect setting for the stone mansion, the creeping wild roses climbing up the ancient walls. “This is the house,” I said to myself, glancing over to hear the roar of the sea in the distance. “This is the house.”

Intensely inspired, I nearly forgot Annie standing there, pointing to the place in the wall to the secret garden. “I think . . . I think I’ll just sit here for a minute, Annie. Thank you.”

“I’ll let Miss Lianne know ye here, miss.”

I nodded for I could not speak. A whole story forming inside my head, I sank onto the weathered stone seat to gaze up at the house. I imagined the hero, a tortured one worthy of the Brontës, an older man with a house and a dead wife. I pictured him brooding, accused of murder, even by his own silent servants.

He strolled into my sunshine, in a strangely pensive mood. Seeing me sitting there along the wall in the gardens, he made an obligatory effort to smile. “Making use of the morning light?”

“Lord David!”

“You sound surprised. This is my home, you know.”

“Forgive me.” I shook my head. “I must have been daydreaming.”

“Dreaming up a future novel?”

“Your gardens are so beautiful,” I said, motioning to the roses along the wall. “Look how they cling there, spiraling down amongst the wisteria with those alliums down the bottom. Ben certainly does a fine job. . . . I’m surprised he manages to do it all alone.”

“Oh, he has his helpers.” His face brightening at this compliment to his house, Lord David paused to smile. “We have a name for them. Ben and his merry weeders.”

I laughed. “Weeding is an awful occupation, but I do envy you . . . owning a house as magnificent as this.”

“You shouldn’t envy us.”

Standing there on the path, now relaxed and graceful, he viewed his house with new eyes. Boyish excitement replaced the former dark mood. “Ben and I are working on a secret garden. Would you like to see it?”

I glanced around for Lianne.

“If you’ve come to see my sister, she’s not up yet.”

“You heard about her nightmares last night? Is it to do with seeing her father die?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, for his face darkened and the brooding hero resumed.

“It’s been hard for her,” he said, “exposed to terrors at such a young age.”

We spoke a little about his father’s suicide.

“I didn’t see the signs; I was shocked, like the rest of the world. He always appeared happy in his way . . . and then, suddenly . . .”

Observing his bewildered face, I wondered if he felt the same way about Victoria.

“Lianne’s been under the care of a few doctors— some disastrous; she relates better to Jenny. Jenny keeps her steady, but one day she’ll have to let go and let her find her own way.”

I stopped him. “Before we go into the garden, I have a confession to make: Jenny knows about the garden.”

I saw the flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Why were you keeping it secret from her? She seemed upset you hadn’t told her.”

“I wanted to surprise her. I wanted her to see it as it used to be— before my father died. We used to play inside as children. Jenny was always there, too.”

I nodded, suppressing the desire to hug him. “Sometimes returning to a certain place is difficult. You should speak to her, though. Especially as I’ve blundered. I’m amazed Lianne didn’t tell her. She seems to tell Jenny everything.”

Again, his face shadowed and he asked that we not discuss Lianne any further. Oh no, I thought, he suspects his own sister.

My heart pounded. Lianne . . . had she found the poison hidden somewhere in the green house and placed it in the perfume puffer? Lianne . . . had she followed Victoria, stumbling out to the cliffs, to make sure she died, to make sure she fell over the cliffs? Lianne . . . had she returned early the next day to look for the shoes? She was the first to see the body and I shivered, thinking back to that first day, back to Lianne’s frightful eyes.

“This is my little project,” Lord David murmured, his hand slipping through the hedges to unlatch a lever. “The door is this way.”

I did not say Annie had shown me the way already. Weaving through the heavy satin- leafed bushes, we ducked under the tiny hidden dome- shaped oak door.

Once inside, I let out a shrill sigh of awe and amazement. Walls laden with all kinds of creeping plants served to enclose a tiny bridge as the center feature, spanning a man- made pond, leading to a circular thatched cottage in the far back corner. “It’s gorgeous!” I cried.

“Worthy of restoration,” David echoed. “My father created it, but it was left to ruin after his death. He loved his place . . . and so do I.”

And like a child, Lord David seized my hand to run across the pond bridge.

“There’re fish down there, hiding under the lilies.”

I squinted hard to find them, and yes, a big orange goldfish slithered between two lily pads. “You feed the fish?”

He nodded, drawing me away to point out the various shrubs and flowers. “My father collected all of these. This was his private little retreat. He was often here . . . alone.”

Gazing at his face, warmed by the sunshine, I asked if he intended to keep it private.

“I am tempted, but that would be selfish of me. No, once it’s finished, I want to open the whole house to the public.”

“To the public? How does your mother feel about this?”

“She doesn’t like it, but she’ll like the money it will bring to the place.”

I nodded, even though I couldn’t see Lady Hartley warming to the idea of people roaming over her domain, despite the financial benefits.

“The cottage is still a ruin, but someday, I’ll fix it.”

We stepped inside, over the fallen beams amongst the wildness that grew there. I touched part of an old beam. “Would it cost much to renovate it?”

“Yes, and it’s something that is not a priority at the moment.”

His hand briefly spanned mine as it rested on the beam.

“Daphne, I know I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t stop thinking about you . . . after that kiss . . .”

He looked away, horrified and guilty that he could form an attachment so soon.

“It’s just . . .”

“No, it’s not just a kiss. You have to believe me, Daphne. I didn’t kill her.”

“No, but did your mother?”

Staring at the garden, he scratched his arm. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. I don’t know where the poison came from—”

“Mrs. Trehearn?”

“I’ve asked her. She swears she didn’t have it.”

“She may have told you and Sir Edward that, but do you believe her? Does her loyalty to you override her loyalty to your mother?”

He’d thought of all of this; I saw it edged in every line of his face. “I don’t know. I just don’t want you to think that I—”

“Could poison your bride?”