Murder on Skiathos

by Margaret Addison

  Despite the warm sunshine, she shivered. How strange and unreal it all seemed. She stood staring out to sea, watching as the water glistened and sparkled in the sun’s rays like jewels in a treasure chest. She lowered her gaze to take in the beach below with its pale golden sands, which cushioned bare feet while simultaneously scalding their soles. It occurred to her then how quiet it was at this time in the morning without the presence of the hotel guests on the beach. There was no soft murmur of voices or the sound of Miss Hyacinth’s knitting needles clicking rhythmically in the heat while she sat with her sister, engaged in some one-sided conversation consisting exclusively of Miss Hyacinth’s observations and thoughts. There was no splash of the waves as Cedric dived into the sea. Instead, there was an eerie silence, with the piece of black cloth stretched out on the beach like a shroud.

  She shivered again and averted her eyes, instead looking down at her feet, counting the little pebbles … It was then that something caught her eye. Something gleaming and brilliant that had fallen in the dust yet had retained some of its sparkle. For a moment, she stood staring at the object, which looked so delicate and slight. Had she not been surveying that bit of ground she would almost certainly have missed it, as Mr Kettering had done when he had taken part in the doctor’s reconstruction of the crime.

  It had taken her only a moment to recognise what the object was and, more importantly, to whom it belonged. Aware that her heart was beating, she stole a quick, furtive glance towards the others. The three men were standing on the edge of the cliff with their backs towards her, looking in the direction of the hotel and engaged in what appeared to be rather an intense conversation. She knew she must act quickly. Any moment now one of them might turn around to see what had detained her. She took a deep breath. It was only a matter of seconds to crouch down on the path and scoop up the object in her handkerchief, before stuffing it hastily into her pocket. A hurried look towards the others informed her that her actions had not been observed. Quickly, she scrambled up the path to join them, almost stumbling on the stones in her haste, her cheeks flushed. She was conscious, however, of nothing but the presence of the earring in her pocket, which lay there like some ominous weight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They remained at the cliff edge for another half an hour. Together, Mr Kettering and Rose undertook a thorough examination of both the path and the spot on the beach below where Alec Dewhurst’s body had been found. Despite their best efforts, their search unearthed no further clues to speak of. Certainly, there was no sign of the murder weapon, which they concluded in all probability had been tossed into the sea and was lost forever. Rose was conscious all the while of the scorching heat. For the sun shone down on them relentlessly, as if it were intent on discouraging them from undertaking their grim task. It was, therefore, with a certain amount of relief that they eventually retraced their steps, winding their way up the steep, uneven cliff path, until they had reached the top, hot and out of breath.

  At the doctor’s insistence, Cedric had, somewhat reluctantly, visited the makeshift morgue and examined the wound inflicted to Alec Dewhurst’s head. Rose herself had no desire to see the body. The sight of a corpse, while not unfamiliar to her, held little attraction. She was content to accept the doctor’s testimony with regard to the cause of death or, at least, that there had indeed been foul play. A brief glance at Cedric’s face when he emerged from the hotel basement told her that she had made the right decision.

  ‘It was perfectly appalling seeing the fellow stretched out like that,’ said her husband, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘He didn’t look a bit like he did in life. I suppose death does that to one, and, of course, his clothes were all torn and dishevelled from the fall, to saying nothing of his face. I never took to the fellow, as you know, but even I could see that in life he held a certain physical attraction for some women.’ He gave an involuntary shudder. ‘If they could see him now, the duchess and Miss Adler … well, all I can say is that it is best they don’t.’

  ‘There is no doubt in your mind about the blow to the head having contributed to his death?’ inquired Rose.

  ‘None at all, more’s the pity. Someone undoubtedly struck the poor fellow on the back of the head. I won’t describe the wound to you, but it was pretty ghastly. All I’ll say is it was there, all right, just as the doctor stated. I suppose it does not matter whether it killed Dewhurst outright, or made him lose consciousness and topple over the edge of the cliff. The intention was the same. Whoever delivered that blow intended to cause his death.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose, picturing Alec Dewhurst as she had seen him last with his dark good looks and clothed in immaculate evening dress. She could hardly imagine the picture of him that her husband had described, macabre and ragged, covered in dirt and sand and …

  ‘I say, are you all right?’ asked Cedric, giving her a concerned look and putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘Of course, it’s absolutely beastly for you being asked to investigate his death like this. If you refused, I wouldn’t think any the less of you, you know. After all, when all is said and done, we are on holiday and it’s a shocking affair and likely to become even more unpleasant. There’s the duchess, for one thing –’

  ‘Yes, the duchess,’ murmured Rose. It was as if she were coming back from somewhere far away, so engrossed had she been in her own thoughts. ‘I suppose I really ought to speak to her. She’ll be frightfully upset, and I shouldn’t like her to hear the news from one of the servants.’

  ‘Will she?’ Cedric made a face. ‘Be upset, I mean? I know one ought not to speak ill of the dead but, given the way Dewhurst was carrying on with Miss Adler, I shouldn’t have thought the duchess will shed too many tears at his demise.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Rose, thinking back to her conversation with the woman in question. She recalled that, even in the shadows and the darkness, she had been aware of the fierce intensity of feelings the duchess had displayed towards the dead man. Even Alec Dewhurst’s dalliance with the vicar’s daughter, played out before their eyes, had not seemed to dampen the duchess’ ardour for him. If anything, it had seemed to strengthen it and make her more resolved than ever to remain with him, as if she were some desperate seaman clinging to the hull of a sinking ship.

  Rose sighed. ‘I had the impression that she cared for him very much. Besides, she would hardly have abandoned her husband to be with him if she hadn’t loved him dreadfully.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman to go to pieces.’

  Rose was not so certain, for only now did she remember how the woman had appeared to tremble when she spoke of the young man. ‘I will never leave him,’ she had said, with a quiet passion which was all the more deadly for its apparent calm. It struck Rose then that it was possible that what the duchess had actually meant was that she would not let him abandon her. She had lost too much because of him to surrender without a fight.

  With such thoughts uppermost in her mind, it was, therefore, with a feeling of growing trepidation that she made her way to the duchess’ rooms.

  It became apparent as soon as Rose approached the Dewhursts’ rooms that the duchess was not an early riser. The windows were still shuttered, and there was little, if any, sign of life behind the wood. Rose, apprehensive of the forthcoming interview, found herself becoming fanciful. She had the odd impression that the rooms behind the shutters had lain dark and undisturbed for years. Long abandoned, she imagined she would find nothing within the four walls but furniture draped in heavy muslin sheets, covered in dust and rubble.

  She gave herself a severe talking to for, while the rooms gave every appearance of being uninhabited, she knew it not to be the case. Unless, of course, a little voice said inside her head, the duchess had seen fit to make a hasty departure following Alec Dewhurst’s untimely death.

  In the very act of lifting a hand to tap on the outer door, she was rescued from her contemplations by being hailed abruptly.

  ‘And wh
at might you be doing, may I ask?’ said a brusque voice.

  Rose started, as if she had been caught undertaking some dubious or unlawful act.

  ‘I don’t know,’ continued the owner of the voice, aware that it had the advantage. ‘Disturbing those that haven’t even had their morning cup of tea. Shame on you.’ The speaker huffed and positioned her hands comfortably on her hips, all the while addressing Rose’s back. ‘I suppose you’re the new girl as has been taken on? Well, don’t you go banging on doors making a nuisance of yourself. You can make the beds later, aye, and turn them down again. I’ve a good mind to complain to the hotel proprietor, I have.’

  There was a slight pause in the flow of words and Rose took the opportunity to turn around. She found herself facing a tall, thin woman, dressed from head to toe in black. The only bit of relief to the sombre colour of her dress was a meagre collar of white lace attached to what appeared to be a frock made from a material akin to artificial silk.

  It took Rose a moment to gather her thoughts and compose her words, so startled was she by the vision standing before her. For the woman looked in all appearance to be some form of inferior lady’s maid, more suited to an English village setting than to a Grecian island.

  The woman herself seemed somewhat taken aback by Rose’s own apparel. Certainly, Rose was conscious of her clothes being quickly appraised by a practised eye, which had no doubt noted the expensive fabric of her summer dress and the tailored cut of her bodice.

  ‘I’m not the new girl,’ said Rose quickly, fearing the woman would be embarrassed by her mistake, ‘but I have been engaged by the hotel to act on its behalf. I should like to speak to … to Miss Dewhurst. I’m afraid I am in possession of some rather distressing news regarding her brother, Mr Dewhurst.’

  ‘Oh?’ said the maid, obviously intrigued, but still showing no inclination to allow the visitor to enter the Dewhursts’ rooms.

  ‘Yes. Have you a key? Will you let me in? It is dreadfully important. I really have the most frightful news. I shouldn’t wish Miss Dewhurst to hear it from anyone else.’

  The servant gave her a long, penetrating stare and Rose was conscious of being scrutinised from head to toe. Much to her relief, it appeared that she had passed muster, the servant having presumably concluded that the newcomer was unlikely to steal the Dewhurst silver. She fumbled in her pocket for a key and Rose was shown into a hall very like her own.

  ‘I’ll have to go and wake my mistress. Who should I say has called?’ The maid gave Rose a suspicious look. ‘You did say how it was urgent, didn’t you? I wouldn’t want to bother my mistress over a mere trifle.’

  ‘Yes, it’s terribly urgent. You see,’ said Rose, bending her head towards the servant to indicate that she was about to divulge some information of a confidential and delicate nature, ‘it’s some rather ghastly news concerning her brother. I’m … I’m afraid there’s been a dreadful accident.’ She paused a moment before adding: ‘Mr Dewhurst is dead.’

  For a fleeting moment the servant was speechless. Her eyes fluttered and she seemed to gulp at the air rather like a fish. She put a hand on her chest and said: ‘Well, I never! What’s the world coming to, I ask you?’ Her eyes widened with a look of horror. ‘The mistress will be that upset. Awful fond of her brother, she was.’

  ‘Was she?’ said Rose, quickly concluding the servant might prove to be a useful source of information. ‘I wondered how she would take the news. I don’t know her very well. We hardly saw Miss Dewhurst, you see. Any of us.’

  ‘No, well, you wouldn’t, seeing as how she is something of an invalid and keeps to her rooms. She only has me and her brother for company, and seeing as he is gone … well, it don’t bear thinking about, do it? Poor thing. She’ll be that lonely, and in a nasty, foreign country too.’

  ‘At least she’ll have you, Miss …’

  ‘Calder,’ supplied the servant, a trifle self-consciously, fiddling with the lace about her throat.

  ‘It will be a blessing for her to have you here, Miss Calder,’ said Rose, wondering how she might prolong the interview with the servant, who seemed to her the sort of woman who liked to talk about her employers given modest encouragement. ‘Tell me, have you been in the employ of Miss Dewhurst for very long?’

  ‘For about a month, give or take a day or two. Before that, I was working for a Mrs Moore for nigh on nine years. I came with her to Athens, but when she got it into her head to go to India I decided I’d stay put. I had it in mind to return to England, of course, but not before I’d had a bit of a look at Athens, what with all its ancient columns and temples. And then, before I knew where I was, I found I’d spent the money I had kept aside to pay for my passage back home.’

  ‘How awful for you,’ exclaimed Rose. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, there was nothing for it but to contact an employment agency for a bit of work. A reputable one, mind. I wasn’t going to work for just anyone,’ said Miss Calder, basking in the unexpected interest in her particulars shown by this well-dressed stranger.

  ‘I should think not,’ agreed Rose. ‘Is that how you came to be employed by Miss Dewhurst? Through the agency?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. She wanted a proper lady’s maid, she did, and very pleased I was to get the job, I can tell you.’ She bent her head towards Rose and lowered her voice. ‘I could tell as soon as I laid eyes on her, she had breeding. She’s not one of those women that gives herself airs and graces for no reason. She don’t need to. That’s not to say that she’s not very particular or demanding, because she is. Not that I mind. I’d rather have them sort than the other, and you know what they say, if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.’

  By this stage they had crossed the hall and Miss Calder was opening the door to a room which appeared to be some sort of annex to the sitting room.

  ‘What was it you said you did?’ she enquired vaguely of her visitor, possibly rather mindful that she had permitted her tongue to run away with her without first establishing her visitor’s position. Fortunately, Rose was not required to provide an answer, for the woman’s mind was already focusing on what she might do to alleviate her mistress’ distress on being informed of her brother’s death. ‘Mr Dewhurst, God rest his soul, was in the habit of using this room as a sort of study, and –’

  The maid had crossed to the window and thrown open the shutters to allow the morning sun to penetrate the room. She had not bothered to glance about her, and it was only when she had returned to the door to bid Rose to enter that she took in her surroundings. She gave a stifled exclamation and released the door knob, as if it had suddenly become unbearably hot. Rose, who had remained in the hall, pushed her way forward past the woman to ascertain what had startled her. It took her only a moment to determine the cause.

  The annex room was in a condition of considerable disarray. To Rose’s astonished eyes, it gave the general impression of having been ransacked. A large oak desk, positioned in the middle of the room, had evidently been rifled, for all its drawers had been pulled out and the majority of their contents emptied on to the floor. The papers on top of the desk had also been scattered, a few solitary pages clinging doggedly on to the blotter. The chair which was usually positioned behind the desk had been upturned and now lay on its side. A similar fate had befallen the wicker waste paper basket, with its assortment of pieces of paper crushed into balls tumbling out of it. Even the bookcase at the end of the room had not gone unscathed. Books had been pulled out from the shelves and lay open on one of the occasional tables. A quick glance at them revealed that some of the pages had been creased or torn, and even a couple of the spines broken, as if someone had turned over the pages in a hurried and careless fashion.

  Miss Calder ushered Rose quickly out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  ‘I don’t want the mistress to see that, not on top of the news about her poor brother. She’ll have a turn, see if she don’t. Now, you stay here,’ she added, ‘and don’t you go saying
a word about it to her. The poor mite will have enough on her mind.’

  Though Rose’s inclination was to return to the annex room, she did as she was bid, realising that to protest would prove fruitless; Miss Calder was on a mission to protect her mistress and would not be thwarted. She would not welcome prying eyes into the apparent chaos that existed in the Dewhursts’ rooms. Besides, Rose was reluctant to do anything that would put a stop to their colloquy. They had spoken only in passing of Alec Dewhurst and she was keen to obtain the maid’s opinion of the young man. She therefore refrained from commenting on the state of the study, instead giving every appearance of examining one of the watercolours which hung on the wall.

  ‘Chalk and cheese, the mistress and Mr Dewhurst are … were. She likes to keep her things ever so nice, while he … well, as I say, you ought not to speak ill of the dead, but his manners could be awful shocking sometimes, to say nothing of all his comings and goings and the way he talked to his poor sister.’

  ‘Mr Dewhurst did not have a manservant who did for him, then?’ enquired Rose.

  ‘No, he didn’t. He didn’t like his things touched. Very particular about it, he was. Of course, they had a maid who came in to do the dusting and the heavy work, but you should have heard him grumble if she tried to clean that there study of his. And now I see why, of course –’

  ‘You had not been in that room before?’ asked Rose, somewhat sharply.

  ‘No, I hadn’t,’ said Miss Calder, making a face. ‘And I shan’t go in there again neither, save to put it straight. Not allowed, I wasn’t, and besides I had no cause to go into the room, being as it was never used by the mistress.’

  ‘Miss Dewhurst never went into that room either?’ asked Rose curiously.