The Twelve Clues of Christmas (10 page)

Chapter 15

S
OMEWHERE IN THE DARKNESS, IN THE VILLAGE OF
T
IDDLETON-UNDER-
L
OVEY

D
ECEMBER 23

I had been in enough difficult situations to know what danger felt like and I was clearly sensing it now. A hostile presence was watching us. I turned to look around. The village green lay in perfect stillness and repose. Early moonlight glistened on crisp snow. Smoke curled up from chimneys. Lights peeped out of cottages. Some curtains were not fully drawn and I saw Christmas trees and paper chains and all kinds of greenery decorating cozy front rooms. Here was a picture postcard of the pretty and peaceful English village. And yet three people had died here in three days. I wondered if there was to be a fourth—if someone was stalking our column of singers, pantherlike, waiting to pounce.

We sang outside the rest of the cottages. Willum beamed in delight and did an ungainly dance when we sang “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” outside the shop, while his mother looked on, smiling. I found myself looking around to see if we passed any empty cottages or anywhere else a dangerous presence might be hiding, but every front door seemed to be open to us. I noticed as Lady Hawse-Gorzley instructed villagers to come up to the hall for their Christmas box on Boxing Day and they bowed reverently, muttering, “God bless you, your ladyship.”

If one of the convicts was nearby, I was convinced that nobody in this village knew about him. And certainly none of these happy villagers, their children peeping shyly around their legs and skirts, was harboring him. And yet the feeling did not go away until we were walking back up the drive. Actually, it was overtaken by another feeling—one of unsteadiness. I’ve never been a great drinker and all of those various punches and drafts from wassail bowls were suddenly having an effect on me.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Darcy drew close to me again. “Like reliving one’s childhood.”

“Marvelous fun,” I said. “Absolutely marvelous fun.” At least that was what I wanted to say. It came out “Absholuly maavlus fun.”

Darcy eyed me critically. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Only the punches and the elderberry wine,” I said, trying to look haughty and dignified, which effect was lost as I tripped over an unseen rock in the snow and would have fallen on my face if Darcy hadn’t grabbed me.

“Whoopsie,” I said and started to giggle.

“The elderberry wine?” he said. “My dear girl. Don’t you know that homemade wines, especially those created by old spinsters, are always lethal?”

“Silly me. I had two glasses,” I said, as I staggered and giggled again.

Darcy took my arm firmly. “You’d better give me that lantern,” he said. “And hold on to my arm.”

“You are so kind.” I gazed at him adoringly. “You take such good care of me. But you always go away again. Why do you always go away?”

“A little thing called money,” he said. “One needs to earn some occasionally.”

“What does money matter?” I went on. “Why don’t we run away and live in a little cottage on a desert island and we’ll be wonderfully happy.” I don’t know how much of this he understood. I was having trouble forming words by now. What’s more, the world was swinging around.

We reached the house and Darcy leaned his lantern against the portico. “I think I’d better get you up to bed before anyone else sees you like this,” he whispered. “Come on. Up the stairs with you.”

“I’m perfeckly all right,” I said at the same moment that my foot started to slide on the polished floor. “Who put in an ice rink while we were away? Wasn’t that clever of them?”

“Up the stairs. Now.” Darcy gripped my arm firmly and half carried me up the stairs and then down the hall to my room.

“Finally,” I said as he bundled me inside the door. “We’re alone together, just you and me and a bed. What’s taken you so long, Darcy? I’ve been waiting for this a long time.” I kept talking while he pulled off my various outer garments and then sat me down to take off my shoes. “Do you know how boring it is to be a virgin?” I went on. “Boring, boring, boring. Everybody thinks virgins are boring. And do you know what? They are.”

Darcy undid the leather strap that held my kilt in place and it dropped to the floor.

“Arms up,” he said and yanked my sweater over my head. “There. You’ll do until your maid can finish undressing you. I’ll bring you up a tray from supper. You should eat something if you can. And a cup of black coffee.”

“Where are you going?” I asked plaintively.

“Down to tell them that Lady Georgiana is not feeling well.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you? Not when there’s this big and beautiful bed and I’m in it all by myself. And you are such a good kisser too.”

Darcy smiled and leaned to kiss my forehead. “As tempting as this offer is, my lady, I’m going to wait until you’ll remember what you’ve done. In spite of what your sister-in-law thinks, I happen to be a gentleman.”

“Oh, Fig. Don’t talk about Fig. If I am boring, then she is boring times ten. The most boring person on the whole Earth. I bet she never invited a young man to her bedroom. Never never.”

Darcy looked down at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. “Now, you’re to stay put and try to sleep. I’ll find your maid and have her come to keep an eye on you. And I’ll bring you something to eat later. All right?”

“I wish you weren’t going away,” I said in a small voice. “I’d rather fall asleep with your arms around me. So nice. So warm. So safe . . .” I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, he had gone.

I lay back, half dozing, half awake, until I heard the click of the door latch and a shaft of light came from the hallway outside. This was rapidly extinguished as the door closed again and I sensed someone coming toward the bed.

“Is it suppertime already?” I asked sleepily.

“Supper is over,” said a deep voice. “They’re all having coffee, so I thought I’d slip up and see how you were faring.”

And someone sat on my bed. I fumbled for my bedside light. In its rosy glow Johnnie Protheroe’s face loomed close to me.

“What are you doing in my room?” I demanded, fear giving me control of my tongue.

“Just came up to see how you were, old thing,” he said. “I heard you were feeling poorly. Thought you might need cheering up, what?” And to my horror he put a hand on my bare shoulder, caressed it, then started to slide it down my front.

I mustered all my energy and sat up. “Unhand me, churl,” I said, knocking at his hand as if it were an annoying insect. “Be gone, I say.”

For some reason he found this really funny. “You really are quite delightful,” he said. “I thought I’d be bored to tears this Christmas but now I can see it’s going to be rather jolly.”

He grabbed my hands as I lashed out at him, and pinned me back to the pillow. “A spirited little miss, eh?” he whispered as I tried to break free of him. “I do enjoy a good struggle. The prize is so much sweeter. All of the dried-up prunes around here are all too ready to leap into the sack at the slightest invitation.”

His face was close to mine and I smelled the unpleasant mixture of alcohol, tobacco and some kind of scented pomade or hair oil. That sobered me up more quickly than any black coffee would have done.

“Go away or I’ll scream,” I said.

This made him laugh even more. “My dear, bed hopping is a time-honored country sport. Everyone does it. It’s only a bit of fun, what?”

“Not for me,” I said. “And certainly not with you. Now get out of my room.”

“You ’eard the lady. Get out while the going’s good,” said a threatening voice behind us, and Queenie loomed up like an avenging angel. She had a water jug in her hand. “Now, do you want this broken over yer ’ead or what?”

“Well, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Johnnie said and made a hasty exit.

“Queenie,” I said, sitting up again and brushing myself off, “sometimes you are worth your wages after all.”

“Who was that man? Bloody cheek, coming into your room like that,” she said. “Nasty slimy type. I’m going to bring my mattress and sleep on your floor in the future. And you tell your Mr. Darcy and he’ll punch the daylights out of him.”

“I don’t think we’d better do that,” I said.

“He was worried about you, you know. He says to me, ‘Queenie, go and sit with her. See if you can get her to eat something.’ So I brought you the tray. There’s a lovely soup and some game pie and black coffee.”

“I’ll try the black coffee anyway,” I said and then fell asleep with Queenie sitting on the end of my bed.

Chapter 16

G
ORZLEY
H
ALL

D
ECEMBER 24,
C
HRISTMAS
E
VE

Awoke feeling rather confused and not too well. Reminder to self: Never touch alcohol again, especially not elderberry wine.

I opened my eyes and wondered why the daylight hurt me so much. Then vague recollections of the night before crept back. Not only of my drunkenness but of the danger I had felt. And I had been too drunk to be vigilant. I opened my bedroom door. The house was suspiciously quiet. I should have stayed awake and alert last night. I should have told Darcy my suspicions instead of . . . My cheeks turned flaming hot as I remembered some of the things I said to him. If someone had died during the night, it would be my fault.

Even the Wexlers had not leaped up at the crack of dawn after the previous night’s festivities. I suspected I wasn’t the only one taken by surprise at the strength and amount of the alcohol consumed. I washed, dressed and came downstairs to find the Rathbones breakfasting quietly on toast and black coffee. I decided that was all I could manage too and was just trying to swallow a morsel with marmalade on it when the door opened and Monty, Badger and Darcy came in, laughing as if they were in the middle of a good joke.

“So the bishop said, ‘Not during Lent,’” Monty finished and the other two laughed even louder. They went over to the sideboard and started helping themselves generously to everything that was there while I looked around to see if there was another way out of the room or I could disguise myself as a standard lamp. Before I could attempt either, Darcy came and sat beside me.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”

I flushed bright red as I saw his eyes laughing at me. “Remind me never to drink elderberry wine again,” I said.

“Good God, you didn’t actually drink any of those old biddies’ wine, did you?” Monty said in a horrified voice. “They are notorious for it around here. Lethal. Positively lethal. And the elderberry is worse than the dandelion. Of course, the parsnip is the real killer.”

At the mention of the word “killer” I found that I was no longer laughing. I remembered the sense of danger I had felt as we walked from my mother’s cottage.

“Is everybody all right this morning?” I asked.

Monty was still grinning. “I suspect the other guests feel rather the way you do,” he said. “If they all knocked back that wine they’ll have glorious headaches.”

Monty and Badger devoured their food as only young college men can and excused themselves to go outside and hurl around a rugby ball. I went to go too, but Darcy grabbed my wrist. “What did you mean by asking if everyone was all right?” he said softly. “Did you suspect that might not be the case?”

“It’s these unexplained deaths,” I said. “One each day since I arrived. The man shot in the orchard, the garage owner who fell off a bridge, the old lady found gassed—and yesterday there was also a horrible incident in Newton Abbott. A telephone operator was electrocuted when she tried to plug in her headphones.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Darcy said. “There would be no way that electric wires would be anywhere near telephone wires.”

“That makes it four deaths in four days,” I said. “So I couldn’t help worrying that someone might have died this morning.”

“As far as I know we’re all hale and hearty here,” he said. “No corpses lying in the hallways.”

“It’s not funny, Darcy,” I snapped. “It’s horrible.”

He reached across and stroked my cheek. “Yes, I suppose it is. Especially when you’ve actually seen one of those corpses. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Georgie, and it doesn’t concern us. Maybe your telephone operator was deliberately killed because she eavesdropped on a conversation, but the others—well, as far as I can see they can’t be connected or even be murders. A cluster of sad accidents, that’s all.”

His hand slid from my cheek down to my chin and he pulled me toward him to give me a kiss.

“Darcy, not in public,” I said.

He grinned. “You weren’t so modest about it last night, I seem to remember. Inviting me into your bedchamber, suggesting that we run off to a desert island together in full hearing of everyone else. In fact, I had no idea that you were such a hot little piece.”

“Oh, dear.” I put my hands to my face. “Don’t remind me. I feel absolutely awful.”

“Don’t apologize. I rather liked it. In fact, I’m looking for a time when you can show me more.”

“Stop it.” I slapped his hand and he laughed. “Maybe it’s your true nature coming out. Maybe you take after your mother after all.”

“God, I hope not,” I said.

“By the way, was that your grandfather we saw last night? Looked exactly like him.”

“Yes, it was. My mother’s here too. She and Noel Coward are working on a play together and Granddad came down to help look after them.”

“Your mother and Noel Coward—what an unlikely pair.” Darcy chuckled. “So she’s going back to the theater, is she? The big blond German man is
nicht mehr
?”

“He’s gone to stay with his family for Christmas,” I said. “And between ourselves I see the beginning of the end. I think she’s only toying with the idea of acting again. She does so love being adored.”

“Don’t we all?” Darcy gave me the most wonderful smile that melted me all the way to my toes.

“Oh, Darcy, you’re up. Jolly good.” Bunty stopped short when she saw us together. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a shoot. Oodles of pheasants around here just waiting to be bagged.”

“I think we’d better see what your mother has planned for us,” Darcy said. “She seems to have the whole thing organized.”

“There’s no need for family to have to take part in all her silly fun and games,” Bunty said, latching on to his arm. “You and I could slip away and not be noticed.”

“Another time, Bunty,” he said. He gave me a swift glance, saw me trying to look indifferent, then cleared his throat. “Bunty, I think you should know that Georgie and I . . . well . . .”

There was a dreadfully long silence in which I shifted uneasily on my seat.

“I knew it,” she said at last. “I saw the way you look at her. Oh, bugger. Well. I suppose I’d better be charitable and say ‘Bless you, my children.’ I probably wouldn’t have been able to marry my cousin anyway. Blast and damnation. How am I ever going to meet anyone decent stuck down here?”

And she stomped out. Darcy and I exchanged a long look. “I had to tell her,” he said. “She’s been pestering me every second since I got here.”

“I hope her mother won’t mind,” I said, trying to look blasé while all the time a voice was yelling through my head that Darcy had acknowledged me as his sweetheart. “Perhaps she had her heart set on a match too.”

“A match?” Darcy smiled. “I don’t think I’d be described as much of a catch at the moment. A title sometime in the distant future and no prospects for the present. Hopeless, if you ask me.” He gave me another one of those smiles.

Other people began to drift into the breakfast room muttering “Morning” in a way that indicated they too were suffering from hangovers. I got up. “I should go and see what Lady Hawse-Gorzley wants me to do,” I said. But before I could leave the room she came in.

“Georgiana dear. The weather’s not promising this morning. It may snow again. May rain. Dashed nuisance. So I suggest you round up the young people and get to work on the pantomime.”

“Pantomime?”

“Oh, yes. We always put on a pantomime on Boxing Day. The funnier the better. Ask Bunty for the local jokes. I’ll have the servants bring the dressing-up box down from the attic. Always such fun. And we’ll keep it down for when we play charades. You can have the small sitting room next to the ballroom.”

She looked around the table. “Everyone all right? Splendid. Splendid. I’ll have the butler put the morning papers in the library for you.”

And she was off again. I looked down at Darcy.

“How are you at pantomimes?” I asked.

“Expert,” he said. “My Widow Twankey brought the house down.”

“What pantomime is she in?”

He looked shocked. “
Aladdin
. You know—Wishy Washy and the magic lamp and all that.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, I’ve never seen it.”

“Never seen
Aladdin
? My dear girl, you haven’t lived.”

“There aren’t too many pantomimes around Castle Rannoch, you know. And I’ve hardly ever been in London for Christmas. I think I may have seen
Puss in Boots
once, but I can’t remember anything about it.”

“And then there is
Dick Whittington
, isn’t there? And
Cinderella
, of course. And
Babes in the Wood
.”

“We’ll need one with seven or eight roles,” I said. “Everyone should have a part.”

“Well, that rules out
Dick Whittington
,” Darcy said. “I can only think of Dick and his cat.”

“I expect he had a sweetheart,” I said. “It seems to be one of the requirements.”

“It had better be
Cinderella
,” Darcy said. “At least we know the story to that one.”

I counted on my fingers. “Let’s see—Cinderella, wicked stepmother—”

“I claim that role for myself,” he said.

“Two ugly sisters.”

“Monty and Badger.”

“The prince, the fairy godmother.”

“The king and the person who carries around the glass slipper. That makes eight.”

“Perfect,” I said.

I rounded up the younger members and presented the idea to them. Naturally Cherie thought it would be boring, Junior thought it would be stupid and Ethel didn’t look too enthusiastic. But Cherie brightened up a lot when I made her Cinderella. Ethel agreed to be the fairy godmother and I assigned Bunty to be the prince. As you know, the principal boy in a pantomime is always played by a female in tights, and there is always a comic older woman played by a man. It’s tradition. And a lot of pies in the face and that kind of thing.

By the end of the morning we had a rough sketch of our lines and everyone had entered into the spirit of the thing, Ethel proving to be rather sharp and witty and even Junior happy to be made the king. But the more they laughed and joked and tried on impossible costumes the more I tried to fight off a lingering uneasiness. Why had I sensed danger so close to my mother’s cottage the night before? A ridiculous notion entered my head. What if one of those convicts knew that my grandfather had been a policeman? Might they want to get him out of the way as their fifth victim?

I could stand it no longer. “I’ll leave you to run through it once more,” I said. “I have to pop down to the village for a minute.”

I put on my coat, grabbed my gifts and ran all the way down the drive, sliding a little in snow that had started to melt. I hammered on my mother’s door. When Granddad opened it I let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Oh, you’re all right. Thank goodness.”

“And why shouldn’t I be all right?” he asked, helping me off with my coat. “Fit as a fiddle, me.” And he thumped his chest. “Come on in, ducks. We’ve got company.”

I went through into the sitting room and found Detective Inspector Newcombe seated by the fire, a cup of tea in his hand.

“The inspector just dropped in for a chat,” Granddad said.

“There hasn’t been another death, has there?” I asked.

“Not that we’ve heard of,” the inspector said, “but I’m not at all happy. Those first deaths I could explain, but that poor woman at the telephone exchange—that had to be malicious and intentional. We can’t tell any more, because the place burned, but I’d say the wires were deliberately hooked up to kill someone. That’s why I came to see your grandfather, miss.”

Obviously it had slipped his mind that I wasn’t a miss, I was a milady. “My chief inspector is off skiing in France so it’s all up to me. I know I should probably call in Scotland Yard, but I don’t want to do that and look a fool, so I thought that a retired member of the Metropolitan Police Service could maybe give me some pointers.”

He looked hopefully at my grandfather. Granddad tried to look like someone who had been a Scotland Yard expert detective, instead of an ordinary copper.

“Do you have anyone around here who might have a grudge against the people who have died? Anyone who has been a bit off his rocker?”

The inspector shook his head. “Nobody. It’s normally quieter than the grave in these parts—oh, dear, that was a tactless expression, wasn’t it? But the occasional robbery, a bit of cattle or sheep stealing, someone beating up his old lady on a Saturday night—that’s what crime means to us. This has to be an outsider, and the only outsiders I know are those convicts.”

“There are all the people staying with Lady Hawse-Gorzley,” I pointed out. “They are all outsiders.”

“Yes, but with no connections to the people who have died, surely?” The inspector sounded shocked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Since they’ve just come from America and Yorkshire and India.”

“I wish they’d hurry up and catch those blasted convicts,” the inspector said. “Until they are caught I have to believe that they are hiding out on my patch and it’s up to me to find them.”