The Great Catsby

by T. H. Hunter

  Meanwhile, Val and Barry had joined us, though there was no sign of Sarah.

  “Is he...?” Val began

  Alec was bent over Steven, feeling his pulse.

  “He’s alive,” he said. “At least for now. We need to stem the flow of blood until the healers arrive.”

  “Where are they?” said Harriet, desperately looking around the room.

  “Should be here any minute,” said Barry. “Didn’t take them long to teleport here last time.”

  “There do seem to be a lot of accidents here, don’t there?” a woman said next to him, shaking her head sadly.

  “Frightful,” another said. “That painting could have landed on any one of us!”

  Alec looked imploringly at me.

  “Come on,” I said to Val in a low tone of voice, “let’s get everyone out of here.

  Val nodded.

  “OK, Amy,” she said.

  ***

  It took us a surprisingly long time to clear the hall. Many were in a state of shock at what had happened, while others seemed more interested in the sensational aspect of it all.

  As the hall was gradually emptying, the healers finally arrived. They swiftly administered several potions, both to the wounds as well as through Steven’s mouth. Shortly after, they carried him out of the hall.

  As Carew attended to Lady Wickersham, Val offered to help Lord Pembroke, who still seemed beyond words. I knew that it was as much a gesture of kindness on Val’s side as well as an opportunity to sense their emotions, to see whether any one of them might have had something to do with yet another tragic ‘accident’ at the Pembroke estate.

  Lord Pembroke mumbled something about wanting to have a drink, so Val escorted him out of the hall. His sister Beatrice followed them, still white as death.

  While Alec and Harriet were still discussing what had happened, I decided to have a closer look at the painting. Remarkably, it was still intact. To prevent anyone from stepping onto the canvas, it had been carefully placed face down, in the corner of the hall, though the paint didn’t actually touch the floor since the frame was so bulky.

  Moving closer, I tried to discern what had caused the painting to fall. A thick steel rope had been fasted to both upper ends of the frame, holding it in place. It had presumably held for a long time there. Had the material simply corroded?

  I followed the metal cable, which was coiled up like a snake, from one end to the other, until finally I had found the place where it had snapped.

  Careful not to step on the painting, I leant over and grabbed one of the snapped ends.

  To my surprise, the metal looked well preserved and not corroded at all. Instead, the edge of where the cable had snapped was smooth and clean, as though someone had cut it on purpose.

  “Alec,” I called across the now empty hall, “I think I’ve found something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Look at this,” I said, showing him the steel rope. “What do you make of this?”

  “Looks cut to me,” he said grimly.

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said. “We’ve got to warn Lord Pembroke. There might be more booby traps in the house.”

  ***

  We finally located him, with Carew’s help, in a small room at the back of the house that was used as a private bar for family members.

  Lord Pembroke was sitting on a brown armchair in the corner of the room, while his sister Beatrice and Val were on the sofa. Both Lord Pembroke and Beatrice were holding generous amounts of what I presumed to be whiskey. Naturally, Lord Pembroke looked very worried, though Beatrice was shaking all over.

  “Lord Pembroke,” said Alec, “do you have a moment?”

  Lord Pembroke closed his eyes, as though wanting to shut out the world.

  “Can’t it wait?” he said finally. “My son is upstairs. They don’t know whether he’s going to live or not.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t,” said Alec.

  “Very well,” he said, placing his drink on the table next to him.

  He followed Alec out into the corridor from which we had just come.

  “Hi Amy,” said Val.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Help yourself to a drink,” said Beatrice, waving her hand in the general direction of the bar.

  I could see that she was making a great effort to appear calm and collected, though she clearly wasn’t.

  “No, thanks, I…”

  “Are you sure you don’t want one?” said Val, looking rather pointedly at me, then to Beatrice, who seemed to be having little trouble in emptying her glass. Judging by her unsteady gaze and overly careful enunciation of words, it wasn’t her first drink, either.

  “Yes,” I said, cottoning on to what Val wanted. “Why not? I think… I think I could do with one after what just happened.”

  “You’re telling me,” said Beatrice.

  Then, she lifted the glass to her lips and drank the rest of the contents in one large gulp.

  “Va… Valerie, would you be so good to get me another…”

  “I’ll get you one,” I said.

  As I busied myself behind the little counter, an activity that immediately brought back the countless hours of my life that I had spent mixing drinks and pouring beers, we suddenly heard a pair of raised voices.

  I listened closely. It was Lord Pembroke and Alec.

  “… no, NO!” Lord Pembroke was shouting. “Completely out of the question.”

  Val and I looked at each other in surprise. We had never heard Lord Pembroke so much as say a word in anger or even utter annoyance. Beatrice, however, pretended to be unperturbed.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” Alec retorted loudly.

  “How DARE you come into my house, telling me what to do,” Lord Pembroke fumed.

  “The facts clearly…”

  “All supposition and guess work,” Lord Pembroke ranted. “I should have listened to my mother-in-law in the first place and never involved the MLE or you in this matter.”

  “Lord Pembroke,” Alec said angrily, “your family is in grave danger. These were not random occurrences. You cannot shut your eyes…”

  “I will not condone your fear-mongering any longer,” Lord Pembroke bellowed. “I want you to leave the estate immediately.”

  “Are you taking us off the case?”

  “There is no case!” Lord Pembroke said, sounding positively maniacal now. “There never was a case.”

  “But the letters…”

  “Probably some crackpot from the village,” Lord Pembroke said dismissively. “I don’t know, I don’t care anymore.”

  “I told you, Harriet tracked them down. They originated from this house. Someone in this very house is wishing you harm, Lord Pembroke.”

  “Lies! Get out of here at once. Take your assistant with you. And never come back.”

  There was a brief pause. I wanted to go out, to help and explain, but I knew that it would be of no use, even counter-productive. If Lord Pembroke kicked out Alec on the basis of an uncomfortable conclusion, he’d surely remove anyone else who was associated with him.

  “I’ll leave,” said Alec calmly. “But you’re making a big mistake.”

  And with that, I heard him walk down the corridor.

  I took the two whiskeys I had made and joined Beatrice and Val on the sofa, before handing Beatrice her drink.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  A moment later, Lord Pembroke re-entered the little bar. He was red in the face, though his lips were white with rage.

  “What… what’s going on?” asked Beatrice.

  “Nothing,” Lord Pembroke said. “Just that stupid private investigator.”

  “Has he been causing trouble again?” asked Beatrice.

  “Filthy insinuations,” said Lord Pembroke. “As if anyone in my family were capable of such a thing. No, it’s clearly an outsider. It has to be.”

  He looked at Val and me with suspicion, as though only really noticing us for the f
irst time.

  “I think,” he said loudly. “It’s time for all guests to leave the estate. Can’t trust anyone. They’re envious of what we have built here. Envious of the magical field generator.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” said Beatrice, shaking her head. “T-take Valerie, here, for instance. She’s been absolutely lovely.”

  Lord Pembroke grunted, though it was clear that his sister’s opinion had a great influence on him.

  He finished his drink in silence and got up.

  “I want all the guests to leave by tomorrow morning,” he said.

  Val and I looked at each other, horrified. With Alec and Harriet gone, it was up to us now to put a stop to the mysterious events that occurred at the Pembroke estate. And whatever Lord Pembroke’s feelings about the matter, I was sure that it was neither an outsider, nor that what had happened could be put down to pure chance or accident.

  Nevertheless, a little diplomacy was required.

  “Lord Pembroke,” I said. “I’m very sorry about what has happened. It must be very… frustrating to have to deal with people like that.”

  He looked at me in surprise, though he didn’t say anything.

  “Unfortunately,” I continued, “Val and I were planning on heading to Scotland from here. But we’ve only booked from the day after tomorrow onwards. I wonder if it were too much to ask if we could stay an extra night?”

  The story was a complete fabrication, of course, yet the only thing I was able to come up with at such short notice. Lord Pembroke hesitated, clearly unwilling to grant the request. Yet, as I had hoped, Beatrice intervened.

  “Oh, go on,” she said, taking another sip of whiskey. “They’re alright. And it’s just one more night, for heaven’s sake. Unless you think they sent you those letters.”

  “No, of course not,” Lord Pembroke grunted. “Very well, one additional night. But after that, I must insist that you leave.”

  “Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” I said.

  He nodded his head briefly, then made for the door and exited.

  “You must forgive my brother,” said Beatrice, when she was sure that we couldn’t be overheard, “he is rather grumpy sometimes when things get to him. I must say, I can’t say I blame him, the way things have worked out.”

  She got up rather uneasily and waddled over to the bar, pouring herself another generous helping of the amber liquid.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “What?” she said suddenly, as though torn from a particularly burdensome train of thought. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Very unfortunate.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Val give the slightest of nods. It was probably the best opportunity we’d ever have of getting Beatrice on our own. Without anyone else in the room, Val could get a clear read on her emotions. And now, she clearly wanted me to press the matter.

  “Did you know Emma, the maid?” I asked.

  “A little, yes,” sighed Beatrice.

  “Was she a shy person?”

  Beatrice laughed.

  “Quite the contrary,” she said. “She was unusually curious, even for a servant. And a bit of a tease, at least that’s what some of the guests have told me.”

  “Strange how she then decided to commit suicide…”

  I could tell that there was a lot more going on behind that alcoholic attempt at self-composure, though I tried to phrase my responses and queries as indirectly as possible. It wouldn’t do for Beatrice to take a leaf out of her brother’s book and throw us out for impertinent questioning.

  ***

  With some interjections from Val, we kept talking until about midnight. Beatrice, though clearly a very practiced drinker, was getting more and more tipsy by the hour.

  Like her nephew, the avoidance of boredom seemed to have been one of the driving forces behind her life at the Pembroke estate. She had been married twice, only to watch her husbands wither away before her eyes and finally die. It struck me as being, above all else, a lonely, even sad existence.

  While Steven and Beatrice had preferred a life of pleasure, Lord Pembroke had retreated more and more over the years.

  “It all goes back to the death of his w-wife, you see,” Beatrice was saying.

  “How was she?” I asked. “As a person, I mean.”

  “Oh, she was wonderful,” said Beatrice. “Beautiful, well-bred, distinguished family. But she could tell a good story, too, if she wanted to. People simply adored her.”

  “It must have been quite a shock,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” said Beatrice, waving her hand as though it were an understatement. “Everyone was devastated. My brother, of course. Although I’d say that Carew was a wreck, too.”

  “Carew?” asked Val in surprise.

  “Yes,” said Beatrice, after taking another sip. “He worshipped the ground she walked on. She was the perfect lady. And he had known her since she was little, you see. Before working for us, Carew was a footman for their family.”

  “I can imagine that must have been tough for him,” I said. “Did he get over it, eventually?”

  “As much as you can, I suppose,” said Beatrice. “Her memory is still very much alive in the house.”

  Suddenly, she stopped talking, looking fearfully at the door.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, I… I just thought I heard something,” she said.

  “I… I’ll check for you, if you like,” I said.

  “W-would you?”

  I got up from the sofa and opened the door, but the corridor beyond was empty.

  “There’s nobody there,” I said.

  Beatrice laughed nervously.

  “Strange how this house still sends shudders down my spine after all those years.”

  There was a brief pause in which nobody knew what to say.

  “Did Lord Pembroke ever remarry?” asked Val.

  “Oh, no,” Beatrice said. “No, my brother couldn’t do that. It was her or no one.”

  “How does your brother spend most of his time, then?” I asked. “If he doesn’t like the parties you and Steven hold.”

  “He lives to work,” said Beatrice.

  “What is he working on?” I asked.

  “Oh, the magical field thingy, mostly,” she said. “It requires constant maintenance apparently.”

  “Has it ever broken down?”

  “Well, it certainly requires more work than it used to, as far as I understand it. I don’t think there’s ever any real danger of it breaking down completely, though. Not in the short term, at least. But after a few years of neglect, it might.”

  “Perhaps Lord Pembroke could do with a hobby,” said Val, grinning.

  Beatrice put down her glass and clapped her hands together in triumph.

  “That is exactly what I’ve been thinking,” she said. “He’s so obsessed with the past that he forgets to live in the here and now. In the old days, he always used to enjoy a good challenge.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said, “something to sink his teeth into.”

  “Like a puzzle, for instance?”

  “Exactly,” said Beatrice. “A puzzle. A mystery.”

  And without hesitation, she downed the rest of her glass.

  “There,” she said, leaning over to me. “No consequences. We cannot die of age or cancer. Why not enjoy life a little?”

  Her breath smelt very strongly of whiskey.

  “Why not indeed,” I said, catching Val’s eye while I took a sip myself.

  “So,” said Beatrice, leaning back again, a look of cunning on her face. “I decided to give my brother something to live for again.”

  “To live for…?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I sent him a couple of threatening letters.”

  9

  Val and I looked at each other, stunned.

  “You sent the letters?”

  “You know about them?” she asked, looking puzzled.

&nb
sp; “We, erm, overheard you at breakfast a few days ago,” I said.

  It wasn’t technically a lie, though I of course omitted that Alec had already told us about them beforehand and that they had in fact formed the basis and starting point of our investigation.

  Beatrice, clearly very drunk by now, was having trouble focussing properly.

  “D’you think I’m a bad person?” she said, slurring her words. “T-tell me, I can take it.”

  “Well, that depends,” I said. “Did you have anything to do with Emma’s death or Steven’s accident?”

  “No, I-I didn’t, I swear I didn’t,” she said, suddenly aghast. “You mustn’t think that. I admit that I wrote the letters. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. I’d never harm Steven. He is my nephew, after all. He’s the only reason this place remains bearable. And I didn’t know Emma. I had no reason to hate her.”

  I looked at Val, who gave the slightest of nods. As far as she could read her, Beatrice hadn’t been involved.

  “But you don’t think they were simply accidents or suicides, do you?” I asked.

  She lowered her eyes to the floor, staring morosely at it for a minute.

  “No,” she said finally, all excitement gone from her voice. “I don’t.”

  There was another brief silence as I waited for Val’s confirmation. Once again, Val nodded her head.

  It was evident that Beatrice, despite her rather tough exterior and abrupt manner, was quite shaken by the events of the last few days.

  “I didn’t mean for things to develop as they d-did,” she said miserably, fumbling with her empty whiskey glass. “All I wanted was to put some energy back into my brother’s life. He was so caught up in the past, with the death of his wife. I… I didn’t think that anything as awful as this could ever happen. You won’t tell anyone, will you? Will you?”

  Tears were silently running down her cheeks now.

  “I won’t,” I said reassuringly. “But in return, I need your help. I want to find out who murdered Emma. And – if it’s the same person – who tried to kill Steven this evening.”

  “I-I don’t know anything about that,” she said quickly.