Murder on a Mystery Tour

by Marian Babson

  ‘On the contrary, Ned’s right here.’ He appeared round the corner, car keys dangling from his hand. ‘However, I’d be quite happy to drive you—’

  ‘No, thank you. Just give me the keys.’ Amaryllis held out her hand imperiously. ‘I prefer to drive myself.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Ned extended the keys and she snatched them from him.

  There was silence as she marched across the lobby and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘I prefer to drive myself,’ Lettie mimicked, catching the voice and intonation so well that, had anyone had their eyes closed, they could have believed it was Amaryllis herself speaking. ‘When she’s not driving Bramwell, that is!’

  ‘Poor Old Bramwell.’ Ned sauntered over. ‘If you had half a heart, Lettie, you’d marry the poor devil and take him away from all that.’

  ‘Half a heart—and no brain! Who’d want to get tied up with a mother-in-law like that?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’d find it too hard to persuade him to stay on in England—and ship Mother Barbour back to the States. I’d put my money on you any day.’

  ‘Better not let Sweet Amaryllis hear you making suggestions like that—or you could wind up a real-life victim,’ Reggie warned.

  ‘I doubt if she’d need that much excuse to get rid of him—or any of us—if the mood took her,’ Lettie said. ‘She hates all actors. She thinks we’re rogues, vagabonds—and probably thieves. Have you seen the way she clutches her handbag when any of us come into the room?’

  Oh, I think you’re exaggerating.’ Actually, Midge had noticed, but she’d hoped the actors hadn’t.

  ‘Stop giving her the benefit of the doubt!’ Lettie said. ‘I should think you’d be as fed up with her as we are. More so. All she ever does is whinge and complain—’

  ‘Careful!’ Reggie broke in. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  They glanced upwards guiltily, then with one accord moved into the lounge. Just inside the door, they halted.

  A strange little figure slumped in a chair beside the dying fire. Her head turned questioningly towards them.

  ‘Hell!’ Reggie muttered. ‘When did she arrive? Is she part of the tour or—’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Midge apologized. ‘We didn’t mean to disturb you. We didn’t realize anyone was—’

  ‘Oh, well played, Grace!’ Lettie applauded. ‘You’ll be a sensation!’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Miss Holloway glowed. ‘I thought—a little local colour—’

  She was wearing a shapeless grey cardigan and skirt, a lace fichu at her throat. A bag of knitting lay beside the chair.

  ‘You’re a perfect period piece,’ Lettie said. ‘We’ll have to watch them that they don’t try to take you home with them.’

  ‘I did think it might add something to the weekend,’ Grace Holloway murmured modestly.

  ‘It’s a splendid effort.’ Midge moved through the room, snapping on the lamps. Approaching dusk and the gathering storm had made the day even darker than was usual at this hour. As the room began to spring to life, Miss Holloway took on less of a ghostly appearance. Even the fire seemed to revive.

  ‘They should be here soon.’ Reggie threw more wood on the fire and poked at it, then looked around approvingly. ‘That looks more welcoming.’

  ‘And tea and toasted scones as soon as they arrive.’ Grace Holloway gave a small sigh of contentment. ‘Who could ask for anything more?’

  ‘I got rhythm …’ From the doorway, someone took up the song cue.

  ‘I got music …’ The Honourable Petronella Van Dine Charlestoned to the centre of the lounge and struck a pose. Three white aigret plumes trembled in her head-band as she swung her head to survey the lounge and demanded:

  ‘But where’s my man? Where’s Algie? Where, oh where, is my darling Algie?’ She clasped her hands girlishly in front of her. ‘I will never believe all those dreadful stories about him. They are foul lies put about by his enemies. Nothing will ever convince me that my darling Algernon Moriarty is a villain!’

  ‘Okay …’ Lettie drawled critically. ‘But take it down half an octave or you’ll have no voice left by the end of the weekend.’

  ‘Nothing will ever—’ Petronella began obediently, half an octave lower.

  ‘Not now. Save it for the paying customers.’

  ‘Where is … Algie?’ Midge asked. It had seemed strange at first, but now it was almost natural to call them all by the names they used in their scenarios. The only difficulty was keeping track of them. Fortunately, Hermione and Cedric, now that they were so enthusiastically a part of the proceedings, had been written in under their own names. Otherwise, it might have been a bit of a problem in general conversation.

  ‘He’s around somewhere,’ Lettie said carelessly.

  ‘But oughtn’t he to be here now?’

  ‘Don’t worry. It will be all right on the night.’

  ‘Don’t look now—’ Reggie turned away from the window—‘but night has just fallen.’

  ‘Ohmigawd!’ Lettie abruptly lost her casual air. She dashed to the window and peered out.

  In the carriageway, a chartered coach was discharging its passengers. They clustered together in small groups, staring up at the imposing grey stone mass of Chortlesby Manor. Some of them clutched pieces of paper in their hands.

  ‘They’re here!’ Lettie cried. ‘They’re early!’

  ‘Not terribly,’ Midge said, watching her old school friend stride up the wide stone steps. ‘You’d better get to the door.’ She dredged her mind for the proper phrase and produced it triumphantly as the doorbell pealed. ‘You’re on!’

  A few of the passengers were now moving towards the entrance, but most were hanging back, desperately devouring the information on their sheets of paper as though they were about to sit an examination.

  5

  You are cordially invited to

  MURDER AT THE MANOR

  Theme: Choice of Heir to Van Dine Industries

  As an American, you are either a high-ranking executive or major shareholder of Van Dine Industries. Old Ellery Van Dine has peacefully breathed his last at the age of ninety-four, in this year of grace, 1935. In his Last Will and Testament, he clearly stated that he wished his own flesh and blood to inherit his vast fortune and Van Dine Industries. He further stipulated that his heir must take personal control of Van Dine Industries, since he felt that only a member of the family could properly guide the fortunes of the firm through these difficult times.

  There are two candidates: his great-grand-daughter, the Honourable Petronella Van Dine and his great nephew, Edwin Lupin.

  As old Ellery had seen neither of his prospective heirs since they were children, he left it up to you, the executives and shareholders of Van Dine Industries, to decide between them.

  The Hon. Petronella Van Dine was brought up on a tea plantation in Ceylon, to which her father had retired after his young wife’s death in a road accident. He blamed himself for the accident because he had lost control of his Dusenburg and collided with a Bugatti after a night’s gambling (during which he had lost heavily) at the Casino in Monte Carlo.

  Petronella had assumed her mother’s maiden name in order to inherit her mother’s estate and had accompanied her father to Ceylon. She had been sent to an English-run boarding-school in Madras, returning to the tea plantation for holidays. But Petronella has grown up and must be allowed to take her rightful place in Society, so her father has sent her to England to be Presented at Court under the ægis of his old friend …

  Lady Hermione Marsh, who has quietly evolved a thriving business guiding Provincial and Colonial young ladies through the intricacies of Society. Despite her best efforts, however, Petronella has become known to the Press as the Madcap Heiress, blotted her copybook by refusing to dance with the Prince of Wales (because he kept watching a certain Mrs Simpson all the time he was talking to Petronella), and compounded these felonies by falling in love with …

  Lieutenant Al
gernon (Algie) Moriarty, known far and wide as the Cad of the Regiment, whose debts to every tailor in Savile Row were exceeded only by his Mess bills. He had recently been discovered elbow-deep in the Regimental funds and left alone in his study with a revolver containing one bullet so that he could do the honourable thing. As soon as the door had closed behind his friends, Algie had decamped through the window, subsequently pawning the revolver. (He had later been heard to grumble that he could have got a better price had there been a full clip of bullets in it.) Unfortunately, the face he shows Petronella is a convincing one and she refuses to believe any of the rumours circulating about him.

  Reeling under these blows, Lady Hermione has withdrawn the Hon. Petronella from the social swim, hoping that the scandals may fade from the public mind if they lie low for a while. To this end, she has retreated with Petronella to Chortlesby Manor, home of her brother …

  Sir Cedric Strangeways, military historian, currently working on a magnum opus of the Great War. To aid him in his research, he has a constant stream of houseguests, come to impart their reminiscences of battles and events of the Great War (1914–1918). He has welcomed his sister and her protégée but his heart—and most of his attention—remains in the past. He has cheerfully opened his Manor to the Van Dine contingent, although perhaps not quite sure of the purpose of your visit.

  By sheer coincidence, Edwin (Ned) Lupin has chosen to spend this year of grace (1935) studying at Oxford University. He has been summoned to Chortlesby Manor by the Van Dine solicitor so that you may have the opportunity of meeting him, studying him and comparing him with Petronella Van Dine and deciding which of them you would find it easier to work with. Edwin is a fine, upstanding, all-American boy who appears to have no vices—none that have been discovered, so far. Is he, perhaps, too perfect?

  You have the weekend to ponder your decision. It will not be all work and no play, however. On Saturday morning, transport will be provided for those of you who might wish to explore Salisbury and visit the Cathedral. We will be having a Scavenger Hunt on Saturday afternoon and a Gala Dinner on Saturday evening.

  Undoubtedly, there will be other events of interest to test your judgement and business acumen. In the case of untoward events, please consult the notice board in the lobby, where necessary information will be posted.

  We trust that your visit to Chortlesby Manor will be an enjoyable and memorable one.

  We also trust that you will come to the right decision as to the fittest heir/ess to your own Van Dine Industries.

  6

  The front door swung open and the first guests advanced hesitantly into the lobby. Out of the corner of her eye, Midge saw Pet and Algie slip through the French windows on to the terrace and disappear in the direction of the kitchen, safely out of sight of any of the guests.

  ‘Welcome to Chortlesby Manor!’ Beaming impartially upon them all, Midge swept forward to brush cheeks with Victoria Ransome.

  Behind Victoria, the tour members milled in an amorphous mass. Some faces smiled, some were carefully blank, some frowned. Twenty complete strangers, birds of passage alighting at Chortlesby Manor for forty-eight-odd hours. Midge had learned from experience that some of the strangers would emerge into personalities over the next few hours, but others would inevitably remain part of the background, too tired or too indifferent to make an effort to impress themselves upon this alien scene, already looking forward only to the end of their wanderings and their return to their own homes and the lives they had left in abeyance for the duration of the tour. Some would throw themselves into the weekend as their last fling before returning to mundane life, others would regard it as just something to be endured before they could take up their proper place in the world again.

  ‘Pleasant journey?’ Midge inquired, as Victoria stepped back and ran a practised eye over her charges.

  ‘Pleasant enough,’ Victoria said absently. She looked pale and weary. Midge wondered fleetingly if she were on the point of illness, there was a lot of ’flu around.

  ‘It’s so nice to be back here. This place is beginning to feel like home. Or perhaps—’ Victoria sighed faintly— ‘it’s the thought that I’m handing over to someone else for a few days. This trip seems to have lasted longer than usual.’

  ‘It’s a lot,’ Midge said. ‘Three tours in six weeks. You’re not a professional courier. You just leave everything to us for the weekend and have a good rest.’

  ‘I wish I could, but I’m going back to London with the coach. I have some book-buying to do for the shop. I’ll be back for the Gala Dinner tomorrow.’ She hesitated. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, no, not at all.’ Midge fought down a rising sense of panic. What could possibly go wrong? ‘We’re all prepared for Murder at the Manor. It’s a new script this time. I’m just sorry you won’t be here to see it.’

  ‘I’ll be back for most of it. You’re doing the big scene at the Gala Dinner, aren’t you?’

  ‘One of them,’ Midge said. ‘The other one is tonight. After dinner seems to be the best point for them—and then it takes care of the rest of the evening for those who aren’t interested in dancing.’

  ‘Which is most of them. The women always seem to outnumber the men on every tour I’ve ever seen and ours is no exception.’

  ‘They look happy and lively.’ Midge watched them as they mobbed the reception desk, registering and accepting their room keys from Reggie.

  ‘They’re that, all right—and they’ve been looking forward to this weekend. It’s the grande finale of their tour and, I warn you, we’ve got at least half a dozen who are determined to solve the case on their own. We’ll be lucky if they don’t come to blows with each other.’

  ‘That ought to add to the fun.’ The front door stood wide open as the coach driver carried suitcases inside and placed them in neat rows opposite the reception desk.

  Ackroyd stalked into the lobby and glared disapprovingly at the open door. He hated draughts. In response to coos and clicking noises, he turned and surveyed the tour coldly. He was not too pleased about them, either.

  ‘Here, kitty … here, kitty …’ Several cat-lovers tried to tempt him to them.

  ‘His name is Ackroyd,’ Reggie said.

  ‘Ackroyd …’ someone pondered aloud. ‘Is that a clue?’

  ‘I see what you mean.’ Midge turned away to hide a smile. ‘They are keen.’

  ‘Some of them are absolutely manic. At least, that’s my own opinion.’ Victoria frowned. ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that these aren’t our regulars. A few of them are, but most of them came on the first two tours and we had to cast our net wider to fill all the places on this one. We advertised in the Book Pages of some Sunday newspapers and got enough applicants to bring us up to a break-even point. They’re all right, but they’re not mixing as well as I’d hoped with the regulars.’

  ‘Ackroyd … here, Ackroyd …’ The most persistent were still trying. Ackroyd turned his back on them, flicked up his tail, twitched the tip of it and marched off.

  ‘Your cat isn’t very friendly,’ a woman complained to Reggie.

  ‘He will be when he gets to know you,’ Reggie said.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ the woman said. She seemed surprised when several people laughed.

  ‘You’ll see.’ Reggie handed her her key quickly and raised his voice. ‘Tea will be served in the Residents’ Lounge in half an hour.’

  The lobby was clearing as the tour collected their suitcases and strayed off to find their rooms. Reggie remained extremely busy behind the desk and Midge carefully avoided eye contact with any tourists struggling with large cases. Almost all cases were equipped with wheels, now that porters had become a vanishing breed, and anyone who had lacked enough foresight to travel without a wheeled case deserved to struggle.

  ‘In any case—’ Victoria was saying. The word brought Midge back to attention with a guilty start. ‘In any case, you’ll have Roberta to help with any problems.’

  �
�Roberta? Roberta Rinehart?’

  ‘Yes. Haven’t you heard from her? I thought she’d be here before us.’

  ‘Not a word.’ It was something new for Midge to worry about. ‘No one told us she was coming.’

  ‘Oh, I thought she’d be in touch with you herself. You have enough room, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Midge said. ‘We can put her up in the family wing. It’s quieter and she’ll have more privacy there.’

  ‘Don’t count on it. Not with this lot. I’ve heard some of them plotting. I don’t think they’re going to observe any rules about places being out of bounds. I’m afraid you’re going to have to lock doors.’

  ‘We’ll work something out,’ Midge said vaguely, not liking to admit that most of the keys to the family wing had disappeared long ago. It had never seemed important to replace them; there were too many other necessary expenditures to be made. ‘I wish someone had let me know in advance, though.’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Victoria said, promptly giving Midge another anxiety complex. ‘We’re both here because we want to have a little talk with you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Midge said faintly. There are few prospects more ominous than that of having a little talk with people who hold the financial purse-strings.

  ‘You and Reggie—’ Victoria broke off as the coach driver came up to them.

  ‘You ready?’ he asked. ‘I want to get on to the London road before the snow starts. I don’t like the look of that sky.’

  ‘Yes, I’m coming.’ Victoria took a final look around the almost-deserted lobby, nodded, and brushed cheeks with Midge again. ‘See you tomorrow night. Must dash now.’ She was gone before Midge could reply.

  Miss Holloway was pouring, Colonel Heather was handing round the filled cups and Lettie circulated offering plates piled high with hot buttered scones. The English tea ceremony, as mannered and timeless as the Japanese variety, was well under way. There were appreciative murmurs from the guests.

  The Residents’ Lounge had originally been the Morning Room and still retained the warmth and charm of its original function. Now flames leaped high and bright in the fireplace, table lamps glowed, polished wooden surfaces shone and a faint scent of potpourri hung in the air. Outside, the leaden sky grew steadily darker, as much with the oncoming storm as with the approaching night. Inside, the lounge had become a warm and sheltered oasis … a time capsule.