Death at the Wychbourne Follies

by Amy Myers

  At last he was free, though looking very weary. Anxious to convey her theory, she then blotted her copybook by rushing in where she should have feared to tread. Half of her was conscious that this wasn’t the time to do so, but the other half wanted to seize the opportunity to speak to him right away.

  He listened carefully – and patiently, she admitted – but then he said, ‘That’s good work, Miss Drury, but I’m not convinced. Why would any of them suddenly decide to do away with Rocke or Jarrett after all these years of being victims? And why at Wychbourne, in the company of people they knew and on a snowy night? It doesn’t add up.’

  Thwarted, she tried once again. ‘Perhaps Tobias Rocke was getting obstreperous. If Mary Ann Darling had rejected his amorous overtures, perhaps others had too. I’m sure that’s why the black crosses were on the photographs and possibly the reason for that locked drawer of underclothing too.’

  ‘Or the opposite,’ he pointed out. ‘If he was blackmailing them but not interested in them sexually, demanding such things would make the indignity worse.’ He paused. ‘That was good work, Nell. Just one thing, though. How do you know that the guests at Wychbourne Court or some of them were victims of Rocke’s blackmail?’

  She had an answer for that. ‘Servants – and I count as one officially – aren’t considered to have ears. I serve coffee, I stand and wait.’

  ‘I thought so. And what if they do realize you have ears? Suppose you then had to be silenced too?’ he said grimly.

  That startled her. ‘That’s not likely. Anyway, lots of us overhear, not just me. We all know about Mary Ann Darling and about the other guests.’ She paused, wondering if she dared go on. Why not? It was a legitimate question. ‘Couldn’t you officially reopen the investigation into Mary Ann’s death?’

  ‘Nell, you know the limits,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I go as far as I can with you, but I can’t step further. Why is this so important to you?’

  ‘I’m sure she lies at the heart of these murders.’

  ‘Nell, stop!’

  ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘And I can’t open your eyes, Nell. You know I can only talk about my work up to a certain point.’ He hesitated. ‘It would always be like that. Could you live with that?’

  ‘No,’ she blurted out.

  He sighed. ‘I have to go now, Nell. This case is moving on fast. And I can’t share it with you yet.’

  She watched him go, itching to run after him to take her words back, apologize, but she couldn’t. Could she continue to bear with always knowing half the story until after it had ended? She had assumed yes, but now she doubted it. She waited until he had disappeared down the steps of the Underground station and then turned to go home with Lord Ansley. Home to Wychbourne Court.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘It feels as though the Keystone Cops have taken control of Wychbourne Court,’ Lady Ansley said despairingly. ‘You work wonders with the kitchens, Nell, Peters does his best, I do mine, but events do seem to be running away with us.’

  Lady Ansley had returned home alone yesterday and as Nell had had an urgent summons to the Velvet Room and as Saturdays with no guests were usually quiet days, something, she deduced, was clearly amiss.

  ‘Keystone Cops bring fun,’ she said lightly. ‘They just haven’t brought it with them to Wychbourne.’

  ‘Far from it. I’ve been speaking to Mrs Jarrett on the telephone. Poor Constance. What with the funeral and the inquest she is overwrought, and no wonder. It was a private funeral, she explained, and a memorial service at St Paul’s in Covent Garden will be announced in due course. But now she is concentrating on discovering the truth behind Hubert’s death.’

  Seeing Lady Ansley hesitate, Nell waited for the bad news. Sure as eggs were eggs, it was coming.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ Lady Ansley continued, ‘Constance has some notion that whoever poisoned her husband will confess to us all. This seems to me extremely unlikely, but she is not to be deterred. If I may speak frankly, Nell, I have to admit that Constance was always a puzzle to me. She was devoted to Hubert, even though she was – and is – fully conscious of his foibles, and she told me that makes her intention to rout out his murderer all the stronger. She changed her mind about travelling here yesterday, but still wishes to come down here because this is where he must have been given the poison. Worse, she wants all the friends who were here for the Follies to be present. She has even spoken to them all – and, oh, Nell, they are coming. Even poor Neville, who is kindness itself, but We Dine at Nine, his new play, is just about to open, and it really is not a good time for him to hurrying down to Kent for several days, nor is it for the others.’

  ‘Several days?’ Nell picked up in horror. Usually stays of several days presented no problems, but this sounded ominously urgent. ‘When are they coming?’ She could see from Lady Ansley’s expression that she was right.

  ‘Today.’

  Today? Nell’s first thought was that Mr Fairweather would have her guts for garters, as her father used to say so elegantly. She was cheered up by the thought of what Mrs Fielding would say with so many extra bedrooms to organize at short notice. Nell congratulated herself on her foresight in keeping emergency plans, but even so there would be problems. Ah well, look on the bright side. The game larder (if Jethro hadn’t been too greedy in depleting it) could cope, and Mr Fairweather’s carefully stored grapes and forced vegetables would be available once he had recovered from the shock and been persuaded to part with them. Bread would be a problem, as the baker had already delivered today’s orders for the weekend, but there might be time to organize that with the bakery today.

  ‘They will arrive for dinner this evening,’ Lady Ansley added anxiously.

  Once Nell had reassured her that her guests, welcome or not, would not starve, Lady Ansley returned to her main worry. ‘Constance’s insistence on such a gathering is most worrying. I believe she intends to address it. She is a very good actress of course. She was always so retiring, but on the stage she blossomed. Such a waste that Hubert would never allow her to perform again after their marriage. The same arrangement suited me well when I married Gerald but, unlike me, Constance seemed as dedicated to the stage as Alice.’

  Goggling garlics, Nell thought, now truly concerned, as she raced back to the kitchens. The last thing Wychbourne Court needed at the moment was a repressed Sarah Siddons sweeping on stage. She quickly reproved herself. The poor woman had just lost her husband. Domineering he might have been, but that surely would make it harder for her to adjust to life without him. Nevertheless, let a mouse out of its cage and it might scuttle off anywhere.

  ‘You haven’t seen me for another fifteen minutes,’ she informed Mr Peters, as she hurried past him. ‘Have you heard what’s happening today?’

  ‘Mrs Fielding just told me. Tell you what, Miss Drury, Lady Clarice asked to see you, so I haven’t seen you for half an hour. I’ll convey the news to her ladyship that you’re thought to be in the kitchen gardens.’

  ‘Blessings be upon you,’ she said fervently, and dashed on her way for a conference with Kitty and Michel. What emerged from that was a triumph of hope over practicality in the form of a list for Mr Fairweather divided into emergency (for today) and provisional for four days. (Surely they wouldn’t want to stay longer than that?) After a somewhat fraught meeting with him, she managed to reach Lady Clarice only about ten minutes outside Mr Peters’ period of grace.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Drury.’

  Lady Clarice was poring over a pile of books from the Wychbourne Court library at the table by the window in her drawing room. Nell recognized at least one of them, Thiselton Dyer’s Ghost World. Luckily Lady Clarice seemed not to notice her tardiness. She was looking too excited.

  ‘You’re just the person to help,’ Lady Clarice continued. ‘Pray do seat yourself.’ A hand was waved at the chair opposite her, and Nell slid into it, hoping this did not portend a long stay. ‘I’m concerned, Miss Drury, about Wychbourne Court a
nd particularly about Lady Ansley and my brother. It seems to me that there is a definite cloud hanging over this house and over them. Would you agree?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Clarice,’ Nell replied cautiously. She did indeed agree, but with Lady Clarice it was never clear where such conversations might lead. Mr Briggs had cheered the kitchen staff up and Lord Richard had organized impromptu dances but the cloud still remained – naturally enough, since two unsolved murders had taken place, and both victims were Wychbourne Court guests.

  ‘My nephew,’ said Lady Clarice firmly, ‘is neglecting his estate duties in favour of Gertrude’s maid, Miss Smith; my niece Lady Helen is spending far too much time in London unsupervised; and Lady Sophy is forgetting her heritage and spending too much time admiring Bolshevik Russia and English socialist movements. I put all these factors down to the lack of progress in these murder investigations. John Palmer is still in prison, we have had no word from the police that they in any way consider this an injustice, and we are not giving the village the leadership they expect from us. In short, Miss Drury, Wychbourne Court is not itself. And nor, incidentally, are you, Miss Drury.’

  That jerked Nell into attention. ‘My work?’

  ‘No. Yourself. I have noticed a certain amount of tendresse where Chief Inspector Melbray is concerned. That of course is your own business, but if it affects your endeavours to lift this cloud then I do plead with you to consider the importance of Wychbourne Court. We are all very fond of you, Nell,’ Lady Clarice added anxiously, before Nell could burst out with a reply she might have regretted. ‘Wychbourne does need you.’

  ‘And I Wychbourne,’ Nell managed to say. ‘But I am doing all I can.’ Lady Clarice must have something else in mind, though, she was sure of it.

  ‘Good. I intend to play my own part in lifting the cloud. I have been consulting Mr Trotter.’

  ‘Oh no.’ The words were out before Nell could stop them, but fortunately Lady Clarice did not take this amiss.

  ‘I’m aware that Mr Trotter is not popular with everyone, and he has perhaps behaved foolishly in encouraging spirits by unorthodox means, but nevertheless he has remarkable powers as a medium.’

  ‘Does that help Wychbourne?’ Nell couldn’t help asking.

  ‘We need to know who killed Tobias Rocke, Miss Drury, and by assumption Mr Jarrett too. We cannot have Wychbourne Court marked down as a place where actors meet unfortunate ends. Moreover, if we do not move quickly we shall find Gentle John at the Old Bailey convicted of Mr Rocke’s murder.’

  ‘Which would leave Mr Jarrett’s murder still unsolved.’

  Lady Clarice looked at her solemnly. ‘Perhaps even with Mr Trotter himself as a suspect.’

  Nell was instantly on the alert. Coming from Lady Clarice this was unexpected to say the least.

  ‘No doubt that surprised you, Nell. But think of it this way. Tobias Rocke was most unpleasant to Mr Trotter, threatening to end his career, and Mr Jarrett too was very rude to him. Mr Trotter therefore might be considered to have a motive for killing both of them, and although I do not for one instant consider he might be guilty, he himself is concerned that the real murderer should be unmasked quickly. That is why he is willing to return to Wychbourne again to settle the matter once and for all.’

  It was only two days since he had left, Nell thought, and that was because of his not wanting to face Mrs Reynolds. Lady Clarice, she suspected, had made her wishes for his return clear. But Nell could forgive Lady Clarice a lot. Her ladyship was ever hopeful that the ghost of her fiancé, Jasper, would return to her. He had been killed in the Boer War and taken with him all her hopes and love.

  ‘He arrives today,’ Lady Clarice continued, ‘and will be staying at the Coach and Horses again.’

  That was one relief. The idea of bumping into Mr Trotter at every turn would not have made life easier. ‘How will he help the investigation though?’ Nell asked, wondering what on earth Lady Clarice had in mind this time.

  ‘I have asked my brother’s permission for him to come to Wychbourne Court to do so. He was somewhat against the idea at first, as I can see you are, Nell, but then he saw reason.’

  ‘In what way?’ Stay calm, whatever it is.

  ‘We shall be holding a tribunal in the Great Hall,’ Lady Clarice explained triumphantly. Nell must have looked blank because Lady Clarice added impatiently, ‘Mr Trotter will assist him.’

  ‘Assist whom, Lady Clarice?’ What new nightmare was this?

  ‘Why, Sir William Ansley, of course. Sixteenth century, later became the first baron. I have persuaded him to attend.’

  Nell was muddled. ‘Mr Trotter?’

  ‘No, no. Sir William, of course. He is the perfect spirit to preside over a tribunal when poor Mrs Jarrett arrives later today. He will lead us to the truth.’

  Rapid thinking required, Nell realized. From Sir William’s portrait in the Great Hall he looked a jolly man, and paternally interested in all that was going on around him, but as to how he could act as judge and jury over this, goodness only knows.

  ‘How could he do so, Lady Clarice,’ Nell ventured to ask. ‘The police have not yet succeeded.’

  ‘Because Sir William is a spirit. He sees more than we can, and no doubt can communicate with Tobias and Hubert in the spirit world, where they are all located – well, not Hubert perhaps as he may prefer London, but his murderer will be here. Mr Trotter’s presence will ensure that he attends and then Sir William will pronounce his decision.’

  ‘But who will be present at this tribunal?’ Nell asked, aghast at the thought of Mrs Jarrett and all the guests sitting through this ordeal. It was too much.

  ‘Quite a small gathering,’ Lady Clarice said reassuringly. ‘You, Nell, myself, my brother and Gertrude. Lady Sophy is otherwise engaged this evening, I am not inviting my nephew as he has doubts, and Lady Helen is in London. Mr Fontenoy will also be present. We shall hold it in the Great Hall before the guests begin to arrive. Dusk is not a good time for Mr Trotter, but he gallantly informs me that darkness is not essential if the shutters are closed.’

  She must have seen Nell’s expression for she reassured her. ‘Don’t worry, Nell. Sir William will see that justice is done.’

  Fresh air. That’s what she needed if she were going to cope with both attending this tribunal to please Lady Clarice and deal with the unexpected rearrangements for dinner this evening. Whatever happened at the tribunal (or didn’t happen) Nell had her own priorities. After dinner she would once more be at her post in the drawing room. Mrs Jarrett was clearly set on discovering who killed her husband, Nell intended to be listening.

  Meanwhile, she was going to do her best to be prepared for this showdown. Two murders. Could Hubert Jarrett have murdered Tobias Rocke, or did he know who had? Fresh air would help her think, Nell decided, even though the light was beginning to fade. Perhaps walking around the churchyard would help her concentrate. Perhaps I’ll bump into Tobias Rocke’s ghost, she thought, then rapidly dismissed the idea.

  As she approached the churchyard, she remembered the bushes stirring in what she had thought was the wind on the night of his murder. Was that linked to the rustling on the far side of the churchyard that Jethro heard about half an hour later? Mr Fairweather and his wife who lived in the lodge had reported nothing suspicious taking place outside their home that night, which suggested Tobias Rocke was indeed coming from the direction of the lychgate towards the church porch where he was attacked. The rustling in the bushes could well have been Mr Rocke’s murderer awaiting his return home.

  Could a third party have been present – Ethel perhaps? Could she have dealt the first attack on Tobias Rocke? It was Ethel who had organized the gathering at the Coach and Horses where Hubert Jarrett had been poisoned. Nell recalled the medical evidence that he had eaten nothing after the brief amount at Wychbourne Court the evening before his death and at the Coach and Horses gathering. Don’t speculate, she told herself, remembering Alex’s warning, but surely the opportunity to kill and
her strong motive were evidence in a way?

  ‘What be you doing here, Miss Drury. You poaching again?’

  Jethro had loomed up behind her, as she reached the lychgate where Gentle John and Tobias Rocke had been talking – perhaps arguing – on the night of the murder.

  ‘Reconstructing the crime,’ she said briefly.

  ‘His lordship won’t like it if old John gets off the hook, will he? Nice and handy having him locked up so the family secrets don’t get an airing.’

  ‘Suppose you talk sense once in a while, Jethro.’ Keep your temper, Nell. ‘Show me just where you heard that noise in the bushes, would you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Playing detective again, are we?’

  ‘On occasion,’ she said amicably. ‘Do you have secrets you’d like to share?’

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Nell lost patience. ‘Show me, Jethro, or I’ll split on you to your father.’

  That worked. He grinned. ‘About here it was. Them bushes by the gate.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea what caused the noise? Was it snowing?’

  ‘No. Just stopped. Weren’t no animal, though.’

  ‘Did you see the mackintosh the police found?’

  ‘I’d have remembered if I had, wouldn’t I? Didn’t see no mackintosh. Didn’t see nobody other than those two gents. But there was someone in them bushes all right. Tell you what though, Miss Drury …’ He leaned towards her. ‘Confidentially, of course.’

  ‘What, Jethro?’

  ‘It weren’t one of them Wychbourne ghosts.’

  FIFTEEN

  At least she had a breathing space for dinner preparations. All of them coming. That was hardly surprising, Nell supposed, as they must have been stuck on a Morton’s Fork. They would be damned if they accepted (as therefore by implication they became one of the ‘suspects’ in Mrs Jarrett’s eyes) and damned if they didn’t (in which case they must be guilty).

  The breathing space was cut short as Lord and Lady Ansley had asked for another brief word with her.