Murder in the Folly

by Margaret Addison

  ‘The circular room?’ queried the inspector.

  ‘Yes. Look, here, I’ll show you, Inspector. If you’ll follow me.’

  With that, the earl set off towards the folly. The others proceeded to follow, the policemen registering, as they did so, the temple’s raised porch with its Corinthian columns, which was reached by climbing six wide stone steps.

  ‘It was only this portico, of course,’ said Cedric, looking about him and gesturing towards the entrance, ‘which formed the stage.’

  He led the way through a doorway at the back of the portico, which opened out on to the circular room. The area itself had been left in some disarray, having been hastily searched and abandoned the previous day.

  ‘We stored the props in here,’ said Cedric, idly picking up what appeared to be a human skull from a stone bench. Inspector Deacon raised an eyebrow and the young earl grinned. ‘You have no need to fear, Inspector. It isn’t real. It’s made of wax. ‘Alas poor Yorick’, and all that.’

  The policemen wandered round the room, marvelling at its décor and surveying its contents. Various niches, or alcoves, had been cut in to the walls at intervals and housed either statues of Greek gods on marble plinths, or else small stone benches on which one or two persons might sit. The floor was made of a rich pink marble, and bare except for a few old wooden trestle tables and chairs strewn with abandoned garments and boxes of greasepaint. The walls were a shade of deep terracotta, which offset the stark alabaster figures. The overall effect was that of being in a museum and Rose heard Sergeant Lane mutter under his breath: ‘Blimey!’

  ‘And when we thespians were not required on stage,’ continued Cedric, ‘we sat in here and practiced our lines. Well, at least I did. The others were awfully good at remembering theirs.’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector. ‘I’ve read Constable Bright’s notes, and my understanding is that Ursula Stapleton died in the same manner as the character she was portraying.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Cedric. ‘And she died at about the same moment that Queen Gertrude dies in the play.’ He paused a moment before continuing. ‘I say, it’s a nasty business this, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is a rum affair,’ agreed the inspector. ‘Someone went to an awful lot of effort. Or perhaps the play suggested to the murderer the deceased’s manner of death. Tell, me, did you rehearse the whole play yesterday?’

  ‘Good heavens, no!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘It would have taken ages if we had. No, Inspector. We rehearsed only a few scenes. The ones that Miss Quail considered required more practice.’

  ‘I see,’ said Inspector Deacon again. He retraced his steps until he stood on the porch, overlooking the lake. ‘And all the while Miss Quail had the wine glasses beside her chair on the lawn?’ He pointed to an area of grass in front of the folly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cedric. ‘They were on a tray.’

  Rose ran down the steps and stood before them on the grass.

  ‘She was here, on this spot, Inspector,’ she said. ‘My mother and I joined her to watch the rehearsal.’

  ‘And at some point during the afternoon Miss Quail gave the tray to the footman to arrange for the wine glass to be filled with water?’ continued the inspector, almost as if Rose had not spoken.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cedric. ‘I think she had quite forgotten about the wine glasses when we started the final scene until Ursula made her usual fuss about the water. At least, I heard Miss Quail calling to one of the footmen and asking him to hurry.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Do you know if he arranged for the wine glasses to be washed before filling one with water?’

  ‘I say, Inspector. Are you suggesting that the cyanide was already in the glass before the water was added?’ asked Cedric, an excited look upon his face.

  ‘We must consider all possibilities, my lord,’ replied the inspector cautiously.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to the servants, Inspector,’ said Rose, in a clear voice that seemed to cut through the summer breeze. She was aware that she had their full attention now and continued hurriedly, lest Inspector Deacon be tempted to comment that she had no right to have done such a thing. ‘Charlie, the footman in question, assured me that he washed and dried both glasses before pouring water into one of them. He then carried them out on the tray. I saw him hand the tray to Miss Quail myself. It was not very long after one of the Prentice twins had said something about the arrival of the king and queen. I remember that there were only two other actors on the stage at the time; Hamlet and Horatio.’

  ‘Henry Rewe and Giles Kettering,’ Cedric supplied helpfully. ‘Kettering’s my secretary, don’t you know. He’s a very able fellow.’

  Rose glanced affectionately at her husband and said: ‘I can’t tell you how relieved I was. You see, darling, I was awfully afraid that I had missed the scene with your fencing match.’

  Cedric smiled. ‘That wouldn’t do. As it happens, we were all huddled in the circular room waiting for our cue.’ He looked across at the inspector. ‘I say, Deacon, now you mention it, I recall Cordelia bursting in with that damn tray of glasses. She was looking jolly flustered. I remember thinking it really was too bad that Ursula always insisted that her glass be filled with water.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the inspector, ‘I read that in Constable Bright’s notes. I don’t suppose, my lord, you remember what Miss Quail did with the tray?’

  ‘She put it down somewhere. On one of the trestle tables, I should imagine.’

  The inspector looked rather disappointed with this answer. ‘You didn’t see where exactly?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Cedric. ‘I was rather busy at the time reciting my lines in my head. I daresay one of the others may have noticed.’ He gave the inspector a sharp look. ‘I suppose you’d like to know if anyone took a particular interest in the glasses, or stood in front of the tray?’ Inspector Deacon nodded. ‘I say, do you think it possible the cyanide was added to the glass then?’

  ‘Quite possible, I’d say, my lord.’

  ‘The murderer would have had to take an awful risk,’ protested Cedric. ‘Someone was sure to spot him in the act.’

  ‘Not if the others were absorbed, as you were, with practicing their lines, or applying greasepaint,’ said Inspector Deacon, casting a look back towards the circular room. ‘It would have been the act of only a few seconds to slip the potassium cyanide into the glass. It would have been in the form of little white crystals. To the naked eye, it would have looked like sugar or table salt. Only a small amount of the compound would have been required. It would have dissolved easily enough in the water and thus released the cyanide.’

  ‘How horrid,’ shuddered Rose. ‘And to think poor Ursula was probably standing only a few feet from the murderer when he administered the poison.’

  ‘Yes, it was a callous act all right, miss,’ agreed Sergeant Lane, feeling again that he should contribute to the conversation. ‘Of course, we keep saying our murderer’s a ‘he’, but poison is considered a woman’s crime, if ever there was one.’

  ‘Surely you’re not suggesting Miriam poisoned Ursula?’ protested Cedric. ‘She was the woman playing Ophelia,’ he added for the policemen’s benefit. ‘She was the only other woman in the circular room at the time. Come to think of it, there were only two actresses in the play, her and Ursula.’

  In his wife’s opinion, Miriam Belmore was more than capable of undertaking such a task. For Rose remembered vividly the girl’s cool aloofness and lack of empathy. She had appeared a cold, detached figure, standing apart from the others as if she did not share their grief or sense of shock. Certainly, if she had been affected by Ursula’s death, she had not shown it. And Rose remembered something else about the girl, something that she had said.

  ‘Miriam asked me whether I thought Ursula Stapleton had been murdered,’ said Rose. ‘No … that’s not quite true. She accused me of suspecting that Mrs Stapleton had been murdered. She said that she supposed that was why Lord Belvedere and I had taken an age to re
turn to the house.’

  ‘Did she, indeed?’ said Inspector Deacon, looking distinctly interested by this piece of information.

  ‘But if Miriam had poisoned Ursula she would never have been so foolish as to mention murder,’ protested Cedric. ‘By all accounts, Ursula Stapleton had a weak heart, and she would have known that. If Miriam had been guilty of Ursula’s death, why didn’t she suggest that Ursula had died of some heart illness or other?’

  ‘You never can tell with folk, my lord,’ said Sergeant Lane. ‘Some of them do the daftest things, though in this case perhaps she was being clever.’

  ‘How so?’ demanded Cedric.

  ‘Well, perhaps she was bluffing,’ suggested the sergeant. ‘To put us off the scent, so to speak. And no doubt she is familiar with your reputation, miss …your ladyship; as an amateur sleuth, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Rose. ‘At least she referred to it.’

  ‘Miriam didn’t do it,’ said Cedric stubbornly. ‘It’s not the sort of thing she’d do.’

  The earl sounded so adamant that no one made any further attempts to contradict him. Rose was stung by the unwavering manner in which he defended the girl, whom she had assumed was little more than a vague acquaintance of her husband’s. She stared at him anew, conscious only that he was defending a young woman who was not herself. It seemed that the others had registered it too, for an awkward silence filled the air. Rose lowered her gaze and stared at the ground, her cheeks burning. She did not dare raise her head and catch Inspector Deacon’s eye. When finally she did look up, she noticed vaguely that Cedric had had the grace to look away, as if he were aware that he had crossed some invisible line.

  ‘Cordelia would have had an opportunity to administer the poison,’ Rose said at last. ‘When she put the tray down on the table or chair, she could have arranged it so that she had her back to the others. No one would have thought anything amiss if she had stayed a moment or two to arrange the glasses on the tray. She would have had an opportunity then to slip the crystals in to the glass.’

  ‘You are quite right, your ladyship,’ agreed Inspector Deacon hurriedly, as if he were as keen as she was to talk of anyone other than Miriam Belmore. ‘We certainly cannot rule Miss Quail out as a possible suspect.’

  Rose cast a glance at her husband, who was now staring across at the lake, as if it held some infinite attraction. She noted, with a touch of bitterness, that he did not attempt to plead poor Cordelia Quail’s innocence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Miss Quail blew a fanfare of sorts on a trumpet,’ Rose said, as she proceeded to give the policemen an account of the events leading up to Ursula’s death. ‘It drew our attention to the stage, and my mother and I moved forward to watch the rehearsal.’ She went to stand again on the spot she had previously indicated to the inspector, staring up at the stage which had now taken on rather a sinister air in her mind. ‘We stood on either side of Miss Quail,’ she continued, remembering how she had marvelled at the folly’s architecture. Now, when she looked at it, she was reminded only of a tomb. With an awful feeling of certainty, she knew that if she were to stretch out her hand and feel the cool, smooth stone beneath her fingertips, she would be forced to shudder.

  ‘And quite a ghastly noise she made too,’ her husband said, referring to the director. ‘The woman must be tone deaf. I don’t mind telling you it frightened me half to death. I dropped my script and I remember Walter Drury scrambled on the floor to retrieve it for me, which was really jolly decent of him.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, the whole episode caused the Prentice twins to have a fit of the giggles; in stitches they were, and I admit I was rather tempted to join in the merriment myself.’ His face suddenly became grave and he gave Inspector Deacon a shrewd look. ‘I suppose it would have been the ideal moment for our murderer to strike.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘It would have been. The murderer probably could not quite believe his luck. For there to be a distraction of sorts the very moment he was contemplating adding the poison to the wine glass was more than he could have hoped for. Yes, the affair with the trumpet was a very fortunate occurrence indeed from his perspective.’

  ‘Of course, said Rose slowly, ‘it is quite possible that the poison was not administered in the circular room at all.’

  Both Cedric and the sergeant looked at her in bewilderment; only the inspector appeared to grasp her drift.

  ‘Are you suggesting,’ he said, clearly interested by Rose’s train of thought, ‘that the deed could have been done on stage while the scene was being performed?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ agreed Rose. ‘It sounds a little farfetched, I know, and the murderer would have required a very cool head, but I think it could have been done that way.’

  ‘In front of everyone, like?’ queried Sergeant Lane. ‘But, surely, someone would have noticed? If not anyone on the stage itself, then you or Mrs Simpson or Miss Quail?’

  ‘There was a great deal happening on the stage during the last scene,’ explained Rose. ‘You see, our attention was drawn primarily to the duel that was taking place between Hamlet and Laertes … Henry Rewe and my husband.’

  ‘We were rather dashing about the stage,’ confirmed Cedric. ‘At least, I was. Henry was crouching and cowering. The poor fellow looked petrified.’ He grinned. ‘Frightened I really would stab him with my foil, no doubt. The thing is, I was trying to make the duel look convincing, which is awfully hard when your opponent refuses to fight. And it was jolly nice to have the opportunity to bound about the stage a bit, rather than having to stand on one spot like a stuffed lemon. I daresay you know better than I, Inspector, what Shakespeare’s plays are like? There are a great many soliloquies and fine speeches, but very little action to speak of.’

  ‘If I remember correctly, my lord,’ said Inspector Deacon, giving a wry smile, ‘there is quite a lot of action, as you call it, in that final scene of the play. In addition to the fighting scene, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Cedric. ‘There’s a lot of jolly exciting stuff. For one thing, pretty well everyone gets murdered, often as not as the result of their own treachery.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord?’ murmured Sergeant Lane, raising an eyebrow. In less illustrious company, he might have added that he preferred a good Gilbert and Sullivan himself, something that he could tap his feet to. Instead, he contented himself with a study of the foils, particularly the tips.

  ‘They are quite blunt, I assure you, Sergeant,’ Cedric said, watching the policeman with interest as he examined the weapons. ‘One would be hard-pressed to do much damage with those, I can tell you.’ He glanced over at the inspector, who appeared to be perusing a script of the play, which he had found discarded on one of the trestle tables. For some reason, this fact irritated the earl, as if such an act suggested that the policeman was more interested in the intrigues of the play than in catching the murderer.

  ‘Look here, Deacon,’ he said. ‘I can quite see you would want to have a look at the scene of the crime, as it were, but hadn’t you better speak to Henry Rewe? Lord knows, I’m not one to tell a man how to do his job, but it was Henry Rewe who picked up the poisoned glass, don’t you know, and brought it to the drawing room. And he would have taken it away with him too, but for the quick thinking of my wife.’ He began to pace the portico. ‘I wouldn’t have had him down as the murderer, myself, but hadn’t you better arrest him? I don’t doubt the whole village knows by now that Mrs Stapleton was murdered. You don’t want to lose your man.’

  ‘All in good time, my lord,’ said the inspector pleasantly. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate I have my own way of doing things.’

  He spoke politely enough, though Rose thought she detected a slight edge to the inspector’s voice which suggested that he had no intention of taking orders on the matter of police procedure from the likes of the gentry.

  ‘Yes, of course, Inspector,’ Cedric said, colouring, uncomfortably aware that he had spoken out of turn. ‘I wouldn’t dream
of telling you how to go about your business …’

  ‘I’d like to get an idea of how things happened on the stage,’ Inspector Deacon said. ‘To get a picture in my mind of how the action unfolded. Besides, it is of little importance whether we find the wine glass in Rewe’s possession or not. We have a witness who saw him take it, which is the thing. And besides, if the lad has any sense he would have disposed of the glass as soon as he left Sedgwick Court.’

  ‘Quite,’ muttered Cedric. ‘But if he should choose to flee …’

  ‘Then, we’d find him soon enough,’ Inspector Deacon said firmly. He stared at the copy of the script he was holding, as if to indicate there was to be no further discussion on the matter. ‘Now, Hamlet and Horatio … Mr Rewe and Mr Kettering, were on the stage. Miss Quail blows her trumpet, and the rest of you troop on to the stage. Is that right, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘If I remember rightly, Inspector,’ said Rose, ‘the king and the queen were the first to emerge from the circular room.’

  ‘Mr Cuffe and the deceased?’

  ‘Yes. Then you appeared, darling,’ Rose said glancing over at her husband, who had ceased pacing. ‘And Walter Drury too. He was playing Osric. I think he was carrying something. Now … what was it?’

  ‘The small wooden table,’ supplied her husband.

  ‘That’s right, so it was. Miriam Belmore followed him out on to the stage. She was playing Ophelia –’

  ‘Ophelia?’ queried the inspector. ‘I didn’t think she was in the last scene. Didn’t she drown earlier in the play?’

  ‘That’s right. But, as she was at the rehearsal, Miss Quail asked her if she wouldn’t mind playing a courtier.’

  ‘Which she agreed to do rather grudgingly, I might add,’ said Cedric and chuckled.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose said, rather coldly. ‘She is, I’m afraid Inspector, rather a disagreeable young woman.’ She was aware of a sharp intake of breath from her husband and hurried on, lest she lose her nerve. ‘She complained dreadfully about the costume she was wearing.’ She bit her lip before continuing, horrified at her own spitefulness, her childish show of petulance. ‘Then the Prentice twins appeared,’ she continued quickly, regaining some of her composure. ‘They are playing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Of course, their characters are not present in the final scene but, as with Miss Belmore, Miss Quail had enrolled them to play the part of court attendants in the rehearsal.’