The Twelve Clues of Christmas (24 page)

We turned onto the path beside the village green and were nearing the gate leading to the church when we heard the most bloodcurdling scream coming from inside. We ran up the path. The church door was open and screams continued to come from inside. As we went in we were met by Miss Prendergast running toward us, her face a mask of terror.

“It’s him,” she gasped. “And he’s . . . and I thought . . . and I touched him, and . . .”

She held out her hands and they were covered in blood.

Chapter 37

She had stopped screaming but a strange noise continued—a sort of moaning sigh that echoed around the church. We looked past to where her gaze was focused. Mr. Barclay was lying across the keys of the organ and blood was trickling down one side of his face. The noise appeared to be coming from the organ itself and I realized that it was the dying breath of air coming from the organ pipes.

“My God,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley exclaimed. “It looks as if part of the roof has fallen on him.” On the floor beside him was a large chunk of masonry that seemed to have come from the top of the vaulted ceiling.

Someone was dispatched to the police station. Lady Hawse-Gorzley rapidly escorted her guests away from the scene. “Monty, take them back to the house and give them a brandy,” she said. “I’ll have to stay until the police get here.”

I couldn’t take my eyes from the dead man. We had known he was in danger. We had put a police guard on him and nevertheless the killer had struck at will again. It was almost as if he were a supernatural being who could move among us invisible and undetected. I was shaken from my troubling thoughts by Miss Prendergast’s gasping sobs.

Lady Hawse-Gorzley patted her on the back. “Nasty shock, I know. You’ll be all right,” she said briskly. “What you need is a stiff drink.” She saw me. “Georgie dear, why don’t you take Miss Prendergast to your mother’s cottage? She shouldn’t be left alone and the police will want to talk to her when they get here.”

“All right,” I said. I took the woman’s arm. “Come along, Miss Prendergast.”

She allowed herself to be led out of the church, along the path to my mother’s cottage. I explained briefly what had happened and brought her inside. My mother had been sitting by the fire with a cup of tea. I thought she wouldn’t want a strange older woman in her cottage but she instantly switched into full Florence Nightingale mode.

“You poor dear thing. What an awful shock,” she said. “Come and sit down. Daddy, get her a glass of brandy.”

“Oh, no spirits, thank you,” she said as the glass was placed in her hands. “I rarely touch alcohol.”

“Go on, down the hatch,” Granddad said. “It’ll do you good.”

“If you insist.” She gave him a wary glance before sipping it.

“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, love,” Mrs. Huggins said. “Your face is as white as a sheet.”

“So would yours be if you’d just found someone lying dead in the church,” Mummy said. She still had that caring smile on her face and I realized that she was playing the part because she wanted all the ghoulish details. She was finding these murders thrilling. For her it was a big game.

Miss Prendergast shuddered. “I still can’t believe it was real,” she said. “I saw him lying there and I thought he’d fallen asleep and I went to wake him and my hands were all sticky.” She held them up, showing the dried blood on them. “So awful. I warned the vicar about the state of that church. The masonry is crumbling in several places. It was only a matter of time before it fell on someone. But poor Mr. Barclay.” She looked from one face to the next, imploring us to understand what she was feeling. “I must say we didn’t get along very well. He did like his own way, you know, but I would not have wished that on anyone. And he did play the organ very well, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” I said.

“I feel so guilty. All those unchristian thoughts about him. Especially about the holly around the crib. And now he’s gone.”

“Here’s your tea, my ducks,” Mrs. Huggins said. “And a slice of my good plum cake. That’s what you need right now.”

“You are too kind,” Miss Prendergast said. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I moved to this place thinking it was a little haven of peace after looking after my dear mama for so long. And now so many tragedies at once. It almost seems as if the place is cursed, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure it will all stop soon,” I said. “The police have found out who is behind these deaths and they are hot on his trail.”

“Behind the deaths? You mean they were not accidents?”

“Absolutely not. Horrible murders, every one.”

Miss Prendergast clutched her hand to her breast. “Murders? In Tiddleton? It’s not possible. I can’t live here any longer. I shall never feel safe again.”

“Don’t you fret, ducks. The police will get him,” Granddad said. “It’s only a matter of time. And then everything will be right as rain again.”

“But I will have so many dreadful memories, won’t I? Miss Effie, Mrs. Sechrest, Mr. Protheroe, and now Mr. Barclay. I shall never sleep again.”

I noticed that Noel Coward had come in to join us. He also enjoyed good drama.

“So where did you come from, my dear?”

“Bournemouth. Mummy had a nice house there. We lived very happily together until she died.”

“Bournemouth? I know it well. Where exactly did you live? Did you go to the theater much? I once performed there.”

Miss Prendergast tried to get to her feet. “Look, I know you’re all being awfully kind, but I’m too upset to chitchat right now.”

“Of course. We understand,” Mummy said.

“I think I should go home. The police will want to talk to me, I expect.”

“I’ll walk you home,” I said.

There was a great amount of activity going on outside the church. An ambulance. Two police motorcars. Several policemen, one with a dog. Miss Prendergast shuddered. “It’s like a nightmare, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “You go inside and lock your door, just in case.”

As we reached her gate, a man in uniform was just coming out. I thought it was another policeman until I saw it was only the postman.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Prendergast,” he said. “I was trying to deliver another parcel for you. Didn’t just want to leave it on the step. Another late Christmas present, I expect.”

“Yes, I expect it is. Thank you.” She took the package from him.

I watched with interest. I thought she said she had no one in the world. Then I saw that the package came from a firm in London. Maybe she’d been ordering little gifts for herself.

“Thank you again,” she said to me, then she almost ran up her front path and I heard the bolt being shot on her front door.

* * *

A
LL OF
L
ADY
Hawse-Gorzley’s guests were assembled at tea, but I noticed that nobody felt much like eating.

“I’ll never get these awful images out of my mind, as long as I live,” Mrs. Upthorpe said. “First poor Mrs. Sechrest and now that organist. I think we should go home now, Arthur, and not wait for the New Year.”

“Oh, but we have to stay for the last event, Mummy,” Ethel said, her eye on Badger. “Only one more day.”

“How do I know that we’ll be safe? I can’t believe that they were accidents.”

“They weren’t,” I said and felt all those eyes upon me. “We now know that it was one of those escaped convicts behind all these deaths. They were all clever murders. But don’t worry. The police will soon have him.” I sounded more optimistic than I felt. If he had evaded us all so far, what chance did the police have now that there were no more people left to kill? If he had fulfilled his mission and killed off his jurors, surely he’d be out of this area right away.

“I’m so sorry this had to spoil your lovely holiday here,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “After we went to so much trouble to make everything perfect for you.”

There were murmurs of understanding from those around her. Mrs. Wexler even patted her knee, which brought an astonished look from Lady H-G. I took a scone and went to sit beside Darcy. “Am I forgiven for worrying you?”

“Now do you see why I was worried?” he said. “That man couldn’t have been killed long before we arrived in the church. The blood was still running. That meant that the murderer was probably still somewhere close by, watching us. He may even have been in the church somewhere.”

“I don’t know why nobody has seen him,” I said.

“If he adopted various characters as part of his stage act, then he is probably a master of disguise. We may have walked right past him and not recognized him.” His gaze went across the room to the colonel, now sitting eating calmly beside his wife. She did not look so serene. She looked decidedly pale, in fact. Had she realized what he was doing, perhaps?

“When do you think you’ll get an answer to your telegram?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t take too long to check War Office records,” Darcy said.

Tea concluded. Nobody felt much like doing anything, but I noticed that they all chose to sit together in the drawing room, rather than go off alone. I couldn’t blame them. I shared their fear.

Darkness fell and reluctantly we went up to dress for dinner. Queenie was waiting in my room, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and excitement. “They say someone got killed again, miss,” she said. “Had his head bashed in with a great lump of rock. Blimey, what a place, eh? Give me the old East End any day. Do you reckon we’re safe here, in this house?”

“I hope so, Queenie. I think the murderer is only targeting specific people and he doesn’t know us, so I have to assume we’re safe. Just don’t go wandering around outside.”

“You bet yer boots I won’t, miss,” she said. “I ain’t that stupid.”

At that moment there was a thunderous knock at the front door. I urged Queenie to hurry with the fastenings on my dress, then I went out to peer over the gallery to the hallway below.

“Telegram for a Mr. O’Mara,” I heard the boy’s voice announce.

I went to find Darcy and we stood in the front hall together while he opened the telegram. It said,
COLONEL RATHBONE RETIRED BENGAL LANCERS TEN YEARS AGO
.

“We should call the police,” I said.

Darcy shook his head. “We’ll confront him before dinner. At least hear what the man has to say for himself.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous? He might be a cold-blooded murderer.”

“I hardly think he’d be able to do anything surrounded by so many people. And Monty, Badger, myself, we’re all pretty strong.”

“What if he has a gun?”

“In his dinner jacket pocket? Besides, he hasn’t shot anybody yet.”

“Well, all right,” I said, “only be careful.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” He smiled at me.

One by one the dinner guests assembled for sherry. They stood together in little groups, talking in low voices. Hardly the loud, laughing group of a few days ago. It was clear that everyone wanted to go home.

“The memsahib was all for leaving tonight,” I heard the colonel say. “But I told her I’d never run away from a charging tiger in Bengal. Why should we run away now?”

“Quite right,” the countess said. “My sentiments exactly. I will not allow one horrible little convict to spoil my holiday. Who knows if I will ever have another Christmas like this one?”

Darcy and I moved into the group. “So when did you last face a charging tiger, Colonel?” Darcy asked.

“When? Let me see. Not that long ago.”

“Was it at the London Zoo?” Darcy asked.

“What the devil are you talking about?” The colonel’s face flushed red.

“Because you are an imposter, sir,” Darcy said. “I just received a telegram from the War Office. Colonel Rathbone left the Bengal Lancers ten years ago.”

I expected him to bluster, but he deflated like a balloon. “Quite right,” he said. “No sense in pretending any longer. I did it for the memsahib, you see.” He turned to look at his wife, who was sitting with Mrs. Upthorpe on the sofa. Her face was a mask of granite. “She hasn’t been at all well. In fact, those doctor wallahs don’t give her long to live.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You really were in the Bengal Lancers?”

“I had to retire ten years ago,” he said. “Caught some damned tropical disease. We had to come back to England and live on a pitiful army pension. Quite a shock for both of us, I can tell you. Lost my savings in the crash of ’29 so we’re reduced to living in a shabby little rented house in Fulham. No luxuries. Just about enough to eat. But when the doctor gave us the bad news, I decided that my wife deserved one last splendid Christmas—the kind she always talked about, the kind she had as a child. So I sold a lot of my Indian mementos and we splurged on this. I don’t regret it either. She’s had a splendid time.”

He looked across at her again and they exchanged a lovely smile.

Chapter 38

D
ECEMBER 31,
N
EW
Y
EAR’S
E
VE

The Worsting of the Hag tonight. Will anyone be killed? If so, who? I can’t believe he’ll do nothing on the twelfth day. I wish I were going home. . . . No, I don’t.

My stomach was in a tight knot the moment I awoke to the sight of Queenie’s large bulk looming over me. In fact, I had woken with a jolt, conscious of warm breath on my face. In my half dream it was the Labrador of my childhood, Tilly, who used to sit by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. I opened my eyes to see a large face close to mine. I gasped and tried to sit up. Then I saw it was only Queenie.

“What on earth were you doing that for?” I asked. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry, miss. You were lying there so still, I wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “The sight of you a few inches away from me might well have given me heart failure.”

After that first scare I couldn’t shake off the tension. Something was going to happen today, I was sure of it. But I couldn’t think what, and to whom. As I sat writing my morning entry in my diary, I wished I could go home right then. Then of course I knew that was rubbish. I didn’t want to go back to Fig and her family, and it was no longer my home. I didn’t have a home any longer. After this I really had nowhere to go. Frightening thought. And also I’d soon be leaving Darcy. I knew that before I left I must pluck up the courage to tell him I couldn’t marry him. And that was the one thing I didn’t want to do.

The whole household still seemed to be suffering from the shock of finding Mr. Barclay yesterday. People sat separately at breakfast, not talking. I knew I was supposed to be the social organizer, but frankly I couldn’t think of anything to cheer them up. Mrs. Upthorpe looked positively sick. Only the countess ate a hearty breakfast and seemed in good spirits.

“Such gloomy faces,” she said. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Time for celebration.”

“But it doesn’t seem right, with that poor man not in his grave yet,” Mrs. Upthorpe said.

“It wasn’t as if we knew the man, after all,” the countess said. “These things happen. I lost my husband. A big shock. Not at all pleasant, but I got on with it. I don’t hold with all this moping. Death is a fact of life. It’s going to come to all of us sooner or later.”

“We’re just hoping it’s not sooner,” Mr. Wexler said. “I don’t want my family in any danger.”

“Of course they’re not in danger,” the countess said. “Who’d want to kill you?”

I managed a poached egg on toast and was just finishing when Darcy came in. “I have to send another telegram,” he said. “Fancy a walk to the village after breakfast?”

“All right.” I got up. “Are you not breakfasting?”

“I ate hours ago. I’ve been out for a ride with Monty. Lovely morning. Frost on the grass.” He stared out the window as we walked from the room. “God, I miss my horses, don’t you?”

“I’ve been at home, so I’ve been able to ride,” I said.

“Lucky you.”

“Not much lucky about being at Castle Rannoch, I can assure you.” I grinned.

“And you’ll go back there after this?”

“I’ve nowhere else to go,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. They don’t want me there. I’m not allowed to use the London house. I may find myself as lady-in-waiting to one of the royal great-aunts.”

“I know people,” Darcy said. “I should be able to find something better than that for you.”

I managed a hopeful smile. “Really?”

“It’s a bugger, isn’t it?” he said. “This having no money.”

“Not a word I’m usually allowed to use,” I said. “But it is an absolute bugger.”

“We’ll work it out somehow. Even if I have to get a job in a bank or behind a sock counter in a gentlemen’s outfitter’s.”

This made me laugh. “You’d probably plot to rob the bank.”

“Nonsense. I’ve sworn to the straight and narrow these days.” Then he stopped and looked ahead. “Isn’t that your mother?”

A figure in a long mink coat was coming up the drive toward us. And a short, stocky figure beside her. “And my grandfather,” I said. “It’s a little early for a social call.”

Mummy spotted me at the same time and waved. “Yoo-hoo, darling! We were just coming to see you.”

They waited until we joined them. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Miss Prendergast,” Mummy said. “We’re worried that something has happened to her.”

“Oh, no.” Darcy and I exchanged a glance.

“Well, I felt sorry for the old biddy,” Granddad said. “She had that awful shock yesterday. So I got your mum to come with me to see how she was doing this morning and nobody answers the door. We wondered—well, if anything might be wrong. Have you heard from the inspector this morning?”

“I haven’t seen anybody,” I said. “You didn’t happen to see her when you were out riding, did you?” I asked Darcy.

He shook his head. “We went up on the moors. Nowhere near the village.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Poor Miss Prendergast. She is a bit of a busybody, isn’t she? I hope she didn’t see something that put her in danger.” And immediately it crossed my mind that she had been the first person into the church. If the killer had been in the process of making his getaway, had she caught a glimpse of him? Had he thought she’d seen him? In which case she had sealed her fate.

“We’d better go and take a look,” Darcy said. We walked back down the drive together at a quick pace.

“Strange woman, isn’t she?” Mummy said, taking quick and dainty little steps on her high platform shoes to keep up with us. “I wouldn’t have thought she was the type prone to hysterics. Always acted like one of those capable and no-nonsense females.”

“Well, she had just found a body,” Darcy pointed out.

“And you say she was a lifelong spinster?” Mummy went on. “I’d swear that woman was no virgin.”

We looked at her with interest. “Why do you say that?”

“The way she sat, darling. I noticed her particularly at that ball. She sat with her legs crossed, leaning back in her seat. Spinsters always sit bolt upright with their knees together.”

We had to laugh, but she went on. “They do. You know it’s that upbringing thing—their mothers drummed into them that the best form of birth control is to put a sixpence between your knees and keep it there.”

We were still laughing as she continued. “And there was something else I noticed yesterday. I don’t think she’s as old as we think. Did you see her hands? She didn’t have old hands. Look at your Granddad’s”—and she lifted one of his hands for my inspection—“wrinkles and age spots. Not at all nice. But hers were smooth and elegant.”

“Perhaps she just took care of them.”

“You can’t prevent age spots, no matter how much care you take.”

I tried to digest what this meant and then something struck me, like an explosion in my head. “Cornucopia,” I said, making them stop and look at me. “One of the words when we played charades. For the first syllable we had someone hobble like an old woman with corns. That was just after the two Misses Ffrench-Finch had crossed the room with Miss Prendergast. And later I had recalled that the first two walked exactly as we had depicted in the game, but Miss Prendergast strode out.”

“So if she’s really younger than she wants us to think,” Darcy said carefully, “what do you think that means?”

“That she’s not who she claims to be,” Mummy said. “What’s the betting she’s hiding out here?”

That stopped us all in our tracks at the bottom of the driveway.

“A package came for her yesterday,” I said. “From a firm in London. Angels. Any idea who they are?”

“I know that name. I’ve used them a thousand times. They’re well-known theatrical costumers,” Mummy said.

“Is it possible that she’s been hiding Robbins all this time, right under our noses?” Darcy said.

“Then who is she? We were told that his wife killed herself right after he was arrested. She couldn’t stand the shame,” I said.

“Killed herself by walking out into the ocean and the body was never found,” Darcy reminded me. “That’s an old trick for anyone who wants to disappear. So Mrs. Robbins is dead and Miss Prendergast, elderly spinster, comes to live in a Devon village, near where Robbins is in prison and where she can plan everything they are going to do when he breaks out.”

“Oh, crikey,” I said. “She was the first person on the scene when Miss Ffrench-Finch was found dead in her bed. It was Miss Prendergast who turned off the gas and opened the window.”

“So that there would be a legitimate reason for her prints to be on everything,” Granddad said.

“And yesterday in church,” Darcy went on, waving his arms excitedly now, “no wonder she had blood on her hands. She had just killed Barclay herself.”

Granddad wagged a finger at us. “You need to let Inspector Newcombe know about this right away. This is not something you should tackle yourself. They are nasty customers and may well be armed. I’ll go into the police station and you three behave as if nothing has happened.”

“Darcy and I will go and get a newspaper at the shop,” I said. “I can ask there if anybody has seen her this morning. Willum’s usually out and about.”

Darcy took my hand and we sauntered across the village green, two lovers out for an early morning stroll. In the shop we bought our paper and inquired about Willum.

“Willum? He’s come down with a nasty cold, my dearie,” Willum’s mother said. “I’m keeping him in bed today with a mustard plaster on his chest. Always had a weak chest, you know, so I can’t be too careful. Mind you, he’s so disappointed he’ll miss the celebrations tonight. He does so enjoy all that noise.”

“Please give him our best,” I said.

“I will, and I told him he can watch the fireworks on the green from his window, so he’s happy about that. Easy enough to make him happy, that’s one good thing.” And she smiled as she handed Darcy his change.

“Has Miss Prendergast been in for her paper this morning, by the way?” I asked casually. “She wasn’t home when my mother called on her a little while ago and we wondered if she was all right after that shock yesterday.”

“Wasn’t that just terrible?” Willum’s mother folded her arms across her ample bosom. “A shock for all of us here. Mr. Barclay’s been part of this village for twenty years now. There’s some that weren’t too fond of him, but he was always polite enough to me. Who would have thought that part of the church would fall down like that and kill him?”

“It didn’t,” Darcy said. “Somebody killed him deliberately, and tried to make it look like an accident.”

“Well, I never,” she said. “What is the world coming to? Not even safe in our own village now, are we? I’m glad my Willum is inside where I can keep an eye on him.”

“Don’t worry, it will all be over soon,” I said. “Now that the police know who they are looking for, they’ll soon catch them.”

“I hope so. I do hope so,” she said, shaking her head.

* * *

W
E THEN HURRIED
back to the hall to alert the Hawse-Gorzleys while we waited for news from the inspector. Lady Hawse-Gorzley stood staring out the window.

“You mean one of those convicts has been committing all these murders with the help of his wife, who was disguised as Miss Prendergast?” she said. “God, I need a sherry. How about you?”

“It’s a little early,” I said, “but given the circumstances . . .” I accepted the glass she held out to me. The liquid felt warm and comforting as it slipped down. “So until these people are caught, I think we should make sure that all your guests stay safely in the house,” I said.

She turned to me then. “You don’t think anyone here is in danger, do you?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “If he has been killing only the jurors from his trial, they are all dead now, except for one man, who went to Australia.”

“That’s a relief,” she said. “But I suppose he could get desperate if cornered and who knows what he’d do. The man must be stark raving mad.”

“No, I think he’s cool and calculating,” I said. “He’s been plotting this all the time he was in prison, I suspect. Or he and his wife have been planning it between them. I don’t know how involved she was and whether she was a willing party to all this. I remember that she tried to express regret to me several times, saying how sorry she was that someone had to die. Of course that could have been an act and she could be the cold, brutal one for all we know.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley sighed. “Such a farce,” she said. “And for what? The jurors were only doing their duty. I know I’ve had many unpleasant tasks as a magistrate.” She turned to the window again. “My husband is out on the estate somewhere. Someone should find him and bring him inside.”

“Darcy already went to do so,” I said.

“Such a kind boy,” she said. “Well, not really a boy any longer, is he? It’s hard for me to think of him as grown-up. I remember him fondly as a child—such a little rogue.”

“Still is,” I said.

“I notice you two are fond of each other. Any plans to marry, do you think?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t marry him.”

“Why ever not?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m part of the line of succession. I can’t marry a Catholic by law, and I don’t think he’d be prepared to give up his religion.”