by Amy Myers
Why the frost now?
Nell marched grimly back over the snow. Snow looked and felt so pretty drifting softly down, but as the days passed, it became increasingly hard and crunchy. Like love, it occurred to her. That at least made her laugh. So soft, so yielding, so sharable, but then came crunch, crunch, crunch, and however hard it snowed it was never quite the same again. That had been her experience in life, and so perhaps in Detective Inspector Alex Melbray’s.
And then something else occurred to her. She still didn’t know for sure that Tobias Rocke had been stabbed or whether a weapon had been found, let alone why he might have been attacked. Even for a failed amateur sleuth that was a poor showing. She’d have to do better if she was to stand by Wychbourne Court in this crisis. Especially, she thought with sudden horror, if it had anything to do with the disappearance of Mary Ann Darling – but surely that was too far-fetched?
Usually there was nothing like an early lunch to make the world seem a bright place. Not today, however. According to Mr Peters, the morning had passed with the family doing its best to pretend all was normal while the guests themselves were oddly subdued. That was natural enough, Nell thought, with one of their number murdered and a popular member at that. Yet that reasoning didn’t entirely satisfy her.
‘All longing to leave for the next train,’ Mr Peters remarked. ‘I know the signs. Running like rats, they are.’
‘One of their friends being killed doesn’t help,’ Nell pointed out.
‘That’s nothing to do with Wychbourne Court,’ Mrs Fielding said promptly.
‘Pity,’ Miss Smith put in pertly. ‘It’s certainly put some life into the old place, eh, Mr Briggs? You’re very quiet.’
Nell stiffened. Although she had now been warned, Miss Smith had obviously forgotten about Mr Briggs’ reason for silence, perhaps not surprisingly with all that was going on.
Mr Briggs rose to his feet, smiled at everyone at the table, and left. Nell knew better than to try to stop him.
‘What’s wrong with that man?’ Miss Smith asked.
‘The war,’ Mrs Fielding replied tersely.
‘Oh. I’m very sorry. You did tell me. I’ll be more careful.’ Miss Smith seemed genuinely contrite, and Nell liked her a little more. ‘Can I do anything about it?’ Miss Smith asked.
‘No. He’s happy enough with his birds,’ Mrs Fielding answered.
‘Pardon?’ Miss Smith looked startled. ‘Here or village floozies?’
Mrs Fielding looked blank but Nell intervened. ‘The feathered kind, Miss Smith. Mr Briggs is very fond of them, particularly at night. He likes the owls and nightingales.’
‘Thought the owl went off to sea in a boat?’ Miss Smith observed brightly, but this poetic reference fell on deaf ears.
Time to call a halt to this, Nell thought. ‘Luncheon,’ she said briskly, rising to her feet. ‘The kitchen calls.’
‘Oh, Miss Drury, I forgot to tell you,’ Miss Smith added, ‘that old gent’s coming to see you this afternoon at two o’clock.’
Old gent? No use pressing any further, Nell thought. Miss Smith might be a breath of fresh air in the stuck-in-the-mud servants’ hall of Wychbourne Court, but fresh air can be chilly at times.
‘That old gent’ who arrived at two o’clock promptly was Arthur Fontenoy, as Nell had assumed. Even so, seeing his trim figure was a relief. For a moment she had feared it could be the gamekeeper, Jethro’s father. He had a habit of turning up on a Sunday to thank her for the gift, which was actually the spoils of his son, of which Harry remained in blissful ignorance. He put the occasional appearance of game birds on his own table down to generosity on his lordship or Nell’s part and she never had the heart to tell him his son was the poacher whom he sought so diligently and with so little result.
‘Just in time for a cup of tea,’ she greeted Arthur. ‘I stole two Jersey Wonders from the still room to go with it.’
‘An excellent fortification against the ills of this world. My dear Nell, tell me how Gerald and Gertrude are taking this terrible news? I have seen nothing of the family today. Even dear Clarice is mysteriously otherwise occupied – I suspect with Mr Trotter. Perhaps she is hoping that he will catch the image of Tobias’s killer on his camera.’
‘I hadn’t realized he was still here.’
‘Indeed he is. The police and the snow between them have contrived to keep him in our presence. He spends most of his time with Lady Clarice, either stalking the ghosts of marquesses past or sharing the delights of his previous successes with her. Tell me, were you convinced by his delightful photograph of the Gaiety Girls with an unknown spirit lady? Lady Clarice is quite sure she is Violet, the dairymaid mistress of the fourth marquess, but everyone else was led to believe it is the spirit of Mary Ann Darling.’
‘Was I convinced, Arthur? Only that it looked remarkably like the postcard displayed in the Great Hall of Mary Ann in The Flower Shop Girl. The poses are the same.’ The more Nell thought about it the more she dismissed any notion of the collective subconscious bringing about such phenomena. ‘You think Mr Trotter might have been up to jiggery pokery? Lady Sophy told me that Lord Richard had seen Mr Rocke coming out of the darkroom – could that have been connected? Perhaps he had his suspicions too.’
‘Who can tell? Richard certainly distrusts Mr Trotter, and did indeed see Tobias emerging from that sacrosanct darkroom of Trotter’s. Spirit photography has long been a matter of contention between its doubters and its defenders. However, with a murder on our hands, there are more urgent matters to discuss than Mr Timothy Trotter’s photography. Tell me how Gerald and Gertrude are.’ Arthur never took luncheon at the house, which he considered the dowager’s right.
‘Shocked, worried and on edge,’ Nell said bluntly. Even the return of Lady Ansley’s brooch, received with great relief, had not changed that.
Arthur sighed. ‘I’m told that Scotland Yard is once again with us – in the form of Detective Chief Inspector Melbray, as he is now. He has been assigned this area, covering cases for which Sevenoaks police have appealed for the Yard’s assistance. He is a most remarkable young man to gain such rapid promotion so early in his career.’
Chief inspector? ‘Yes,’ Nell managed to agree through clenched teeth. Was that why he had been so distant with her? Was she now beneath his notice as a mere top chef?
‘I understand he has refused Gerald’s offer of a room in Wychbourne Court from which to operate. Instead he prefers a working room at the Coach and Horses. Perhaps that is wise, in view of the fact that his fellow guests might, should the necessity arrive, have to suffer the indignity not only of being interviewed but also having their luggage searched. Mr Hardcastle is also far from delighted at the inspector’s presence. He fears it might affect his trade and give his inn a bad reputation.’
That made Nell laugh, as no doubt Arthur had intended. The Coach and Horses was a highly respectable inn, but every village has its bad ’uns and Wychbourne was no exception. As it only possessed the one public house, the bad ’uns mixed with the good ’uns.
‘To our muttons, Nell,’ Arthur continued. ‘I’m naturally greatly perturbed about Tobias Rocke’s murder. Firstly, on his own account, as he was far too good a comedian and actor to lose, but more importantly on behalf of the family.’
Nell looked at him sharply. ‘And especially if one of their guests was involved?’
‘It is a possibility, given the circumstances that brought them here. I’m told by Lady Clarice that Chief Inspector Melbray is keeping Lord Ansley informed and nothing appears to have been stolen from the deceased. The police believe he was killed some little while after the Follies finished and judging by Jethro’s evidence some while before he came along.’
‘But why kill him and why there?’
‘There is the possibility that an inebriated customer of the Coach and Horses decided to attack him or, that valuable gentleman, the passing vagrant, who so conveniently appears in detective stories, perhaps disliked the cut of his
jib. The question is why, of course.’
‘Why would they dislike the cut of his jib?’ she enquired, tongue-in-cheek. ‘If any passing vagrants had been trudging over the snow last night they’d have stood out like a lobster in a shrimping net and why would they bother to kill Mr Rocke and leave his money and watch behind?’
‘I do agree and jibs are henceforth dismissed from consideration. However, my question was why, meaning why was Tobias Rocke there by the church when most of the party had departed for Wychbourne Court either by foot or by such transport as was available on such a night?’
Another black mark against her as an amateur sleuth, Nell thought crossly. That hadn’t occurred to her.
‘The Follies – a quite delightful performance – finished at ten o’clock,’ Arthur continued, ‘and the audience dispersed quickly, as did the family. Richard’s governess cart, I noted, also bore Miss Smith back in style. I had been squeezed in on the downward journey but was now stranded. Fortunately, Sophy, Helen and Mr Beringer took pity on myself and the delightful Muriel and brought us back with them. I was thus at Wychbourne Court for a speedy supper at ten thirty, and we must have been one of the last to arrive. Whether in the transport home or in the supper room I noted no absentees among Gertrude and Gerald’s guests. When did stalwarts such as yourself return? I know you and Robert valiantly agreed to help clear the scene.’
Nell thought back. ‘Robert left before me. I was back at the Court shortly before eleven o’clock and Lord Ansley and I set off back again about twenty to twelve. We hadn’t long started our hunt for Lady Ansley’s brooch when we heard Jethro shouting outside – so Mr Rocke must have been dead by about eleven thirty as we saw no signs of anybody or anything amiss when we reached the Coach and Horses. And Jethro claims he saw no signs of anyone around when he found the body. The blood was still fresh,’ she forced herself to add.
‘You’re sure Lord Ansley, Mr Hardcastle and yourself reached poor Tobias shortly after midnight?’
‘Yes, I remember hearing the church clock strike as Lord Ansley and I were in the pub.’ Much as she liked Arthur, she longed to be done with this and back to what she understood best: kitchens and the excitement of her menus. But it seemed there was no stopping him and she was fearful of what this might be leading up to.
‘You and I know this village, Nell. Rumour travels so speedily that the Red Baron streaking along in his Albatros would have been impressed. Is it at all possible that a villager, perhaps someone in the audience, knew Tobias was a guest here and murder was the result?’
She was hoping she could say yes – but could she? She lived here, she liked the village and its residents. ‘Perhaps,’ she answered Arthur reluctantly. ‘Mr Rocke might have been seen by somebody he knew in the audience and stayed behind to talk to him.’
‘It is indeed possible.’ Arthur paused. ‘Alas, there is that other possibility. That Wychbourne Court is involved.’
As she had feared, but it had to be faced.
‘I mean the guests of course,’ Arthur added. ‘It is highly unlikely that the family or anyone else who lives here would have wanted to kill him.’
Nell fervently agreed with that. ‘Why kill him on the village green though, when so many people might still have been around? Doesn’t that look like a spur of the moment act?’
‘Yes, but the field of suspects must still therefore include Wychbourne Court and its guests.’
Concerns had to be put into words. ‘You told me that Tobias Rocke was known as the keeper of secrets,’ Nell said.
‘I did. That is what Gertrude and her guests called him.’
‘So we could be back to Mary Ann Darling?’
‘Not necessarily. Don’t forget our Mr Trotter.’
Gertrude Ansley summoned up her courage. Gerald had never seemed so distant. She was mystified as to the reason and it added to her bewilderment over what was happening to her innocent reunion. She tracked her husband down to his office next to the steward’s room just off the great hall. Goodness knows where our guests are, she thought despairingly. The library? The billiard room?
She thought she should begin with the practical question. ‘Now that the inspector has requested none of our guests leave, Gerald, and the police are searching Tobias’s room, they are very discontented. It’s very hard on them – Hubert is currently appearing in a play and Neville rehearsing for his new one at the Albion; Lynette too is busy, and Mr Trotter also has other engagements to fulfil – and they must feel they might be under suspicion themselves. That puts us in an awkward position. Is there anything we can do?’
Thankfully, Gerald did at last pay some attention to this. ‘I doubt it. I’m hoping this sorry business can be wound up by tomorrow, at least to the point when they are free to leave.’
‘That seems unlikely to me,’ Gertrude replied firmly. ‘Even if Tobias’s murderer is found and arrested, there are other issues to deal with. Inquests, funerals, and so forth. We have to do something, but what?’
‘We shall wait, Gertrude.’
When Gerald spoke in that tone of voice, she knew there was nothing to be done.
‘The police have his address and are in contact with his housekeeper, who will know about any surviving family,’ he continued. ‘We should know the position shortly, and I hope our guests can then leave.’
She was silent, then decided to speak out. ‘This reunion was a mistake, wasn’t it?’
‘You could not have known a killer was to strike. And the Follies were a success.’ He spoke with such detachment that it brought her no comfort.
‘But it has resulted in bringing old issues to the fore.’ There, she had said it. Even if Gerald was annoyed at her worries, they did exist and she had to continue. ‘Suppose it was because Tobias was the keeper of our secrets that he was killed?’
Gerald did not reply, and that terrified her. Gerald always knew how to handle difficult situations.
She’d spoken though, and she couldn’t hold back now, whether he was upset or not. ‘The police will have to look into his past as well as his present. Suppose Tobias knew who killed Mary Ann?’
And still Gerald did not reply.
Katie Kencroft grew more and more doubtful as she studied her fellow guests. How well did she know them after all this time? They were all as shocked as she was, weren’t they? Tobias had been a friend to all of them, but it did seem to her that one or two of them, while appearing to be shocked, seemed almost relieved at his death. That was possible, she accepted. Even though Tobias had been trustworthy, knowing someone is in possession of your secrets could make one uneasy, and there was no doubt there was tension in the room. Lynette was prowling around like a caged tigress, fussing because she hadn’t brought a black dress with her and had to make do with a grey silk dress more suitable for evening attire.
‘It’s snowing again,’ Lynette said crossly, as though it were time someone had a word with Mother Nature for disrupting her plans.
‘It seems much lighter now,’ Constance ventured.
Horrible Hubert, as Katie privately termed him, glared at his wife as though this displayed sheer incompetence on her part. ‘We leave tomorrow morning, with or without Scotland Yard’s approval.’
‘How very brave of you, dear Hubert,’ Neville observed.
‘I agree with Hubert,’ Alice said. ‘I shall follow suit.’
That must be the first time in her life she’d ever agreed with Hubert, Katie thought. Even at the Gaiety they’d fought like cat and dog.
‘How brave,’ Lynette drawled. ‘Personally, I don’t care if I have to miss all my engagements for a week or more. I simply must find out what happens in the next instalment of this thrilling yarn. Poor Tobias,’ she added belatedly.
‘I imagine it’ll soon be sorted out,’ Neville said. ‘It’s that poacher fellow. Has to be.’
‘Sorted out might be a somewhat double-edged expression,’ Charles Kencroft observed drily, ‘in view of the fact the chief inspector clearly thi
nks he might have plenty of other suspects close at hand.’
‘You mean us?’ Alice looked shocked. ‘Why should any of us have wanted to kill Tobias?’
There was an awkward pause, which amazed Katie. Could any of them have wanted him dead, she wondered, unlikely though that was? And that raised the question once again of whether Tobias knew who killed Mary Ann. Could one of them have killed her? The idea was ludicrous. And yet Mary Ann had carefully guarded her privacy; none of them had known where she lived, and she came and left the theatre in a cab. That surely confirmed she was fearful of something or someone.
‘Who knows which of us might have harboured naughty thoughts about Tobias?’ Lynette asked lightly. ‘Perhaps our hosts are under suspicion too.’
‘Gertrude and Gerald?’ asked Alice, horrified.
‘Why not?’ Neville said languidly. ‘They invited him after all.’
Katie frowned. She had always had her suspicions about Neville. He was too good looking, too suave, to convince her of his genuine warm-heartedness. Nevertheless, he’d been jolly decent over the divorce, Lynnette had told her; he hadn’t made a murmur about setting off on the usual trip to Brighton for the ritual photograph of being caught in bed with another woman.
‘Steady on, Neville,’ said Charles sharply.
‘I’m never steady when I’m under suspicion of murder.’ He laughed.
‘We don’t know you are or indeed that any of us are,’ Constance said firmly. ‘The chief inspector’s only coming to question us, not arrest us.’
‘He had the impertinence to say the interviews will be with each of us individually,’ her husband retorted instantly. ‘Even our host is to be grilled, I gather.’
Katie had had enough of this. ‘If for the sake of argument Gerald or any of the Ansleys had wanted to kill Tobias, they wouldn’t have invited us all along.’
‘Bravo, Katie.’ Constance clapped her hands. ‘Of course they wouldn’t.’
