‘Time enough, time enough,’ Dix said. ‘We’re just getting started. Wait until things warm up.’
‘Here comes a heatwave now.’ Norman gestured to the entrance.
The Honourable Petronella stood there, clinging shamelessly to the arm of Algernon Moriarty. They posed there long enough to allow the guests to come to the gradual realization that another scene was about to start. Silence fell, all eyes turned to the couple.
‘You!’ Realization struck Lady Hermione belatedly. She had been talking to Colonel Heather, now she charged forward, eyes blazing. ‘What are you doing here? Who let you in? I gave orders—’
‘He came down with me, Lady Hermione—’ Nobly, Edwin Lupin stepped forward to divert her wrath. ‘I invited him. He’s my guest.’
‘He’s my guest, too,’ the Hon. Pet declared defiantly.
‘How dare you?’ Lady Hermione turned the full force of her rage on Algie. ‘You know you’re not welcome here!’
‘Oh, I say,’ he protested, wincing. ‘I’ve had two invitations. You heard ’em. I mean, two against one …’ He faltered into silence under her furious glare.
‘Something the matter here?’ Sir Cedric doddered forward vaguely. ‘Something upsetting you, Hermione?’
‘Oh, Uncle Cedric—’ The Hon. Pet relinquished Algie’s arm briefly to hurl herself at Sir Cedric. ‘Aunt Hermione is just being nasty because she didn’t invite Algie herself. But Edwin did, and I want him to stay, too. You don’t mind, do you?’ She tweaked his ear. ‘You will let him stay, won’t you? Say you will—please, please, please!’
‘Anything you like, my dear.’ Sir Cedric patted her fondly. ‘Friend of yours, eh what?’
‘Oh yes, Uncle Cedric. Thank you, thank you, thank—’
‘Cedric,’ Lady Hermione said chillingly, ‘I want to speak to you! In private!’ She led him from the room.
‘Don’t go,’ someone called out irreverently. ‘You’ll be sorry!’
‘Hoo, boy, is he gonna get it!’ someone else said.
A small party detached themselves from the others and stalked after Sir Cedric and Lady Hermione. They had placed their bets on the main suspects and they were going to shadow them in the hope of discovering something incriminating.
‘There, that’s settled—’ The Hon. Pet flashed them all a brilliant smile. ‘Now, Algie, darling, get me a drink!’
Algie sketched a salute and departed in the direction of the bar. Lettie moved over and offered Petronella her tray. The Hon. Pet looked, hesitated, then caught up one of the toasted almond triangles.
‘I simply adore these,’ she cooed. She bit daintily and munched while an interested audience waited to see whether or not she was going to drop dead on the spot.
‘Delicious,’ she said, and took two more. Most of her audience watched avidly, although a couple of restless ones had begun to drift away, rightly suspecting that there were more red herrings than almonds in the sandwiches.
‘There he is!’ Midge was close enough to hear the triumphant whisper of one Chandler twin to the other. She followed the direction of their combined gaze.
Bramwell Barbour was sidling into the bar, obviously trying to be inconspicuous. He was failing dismally.
‘Does your mother know you’re out … ?’ Lettie hummed softly, giving her short skirt an extra swish.
‘Bramwell! … Oh, Bram!’ The Chandler twins closed in on him in a pincers movement.
‘Oh!’ Bramwell Barbour flinched visibly as the twins bore down on him. Only by an effort of will—made against his better judgement—did he appear to stand his ground.
‘Bram! Bram!’ they cried. ‘Surprise!’
‘Er, yes. Yes, it certainly is. What are you two doing here? I mean, I never expected … I thought …’
‘Oh, you know us,’ Brigid, or perhaps it was Lauren, giggled. ‘We just can’t tear ourselves away from you.’
‘Where’s Amaryllis?’ the other one asked, on a note of dawning hope. ‘Didn’t she come over with you?’
‘Oh yes, yes, she’s here.’ He looked around wildly, but Amaryllis was not in sight. His gaze lighted on Midge.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded frantically. ‘Where’s my mother?’
‘Mother?’ Dixon Carr’s face went blank with astonishment. He turned to Lettie, who was gripping her tray so savagely that her knuckles were turning white. ‘That’s Bramwell Barbour? The one who writes all those tough sexy books? You mean he travels with his mother?’
‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ Lettie spoke between clenched teeth. ‘He’s utterly under her thumb. It’s a wonder he dared move out of his room without her permission.’
‘Amaryllis took the car into Salisbury.’ Midge spoke quickly and loudly, trying to drown out the conversation going on beside her. ‘She left well before tea. I thought she’d have returned by now, but I’ve been too busy to check on it. Hasn’t she come back?’
‘She can’t have.’ For once, Bramwell spoke decisively. ‘I haven’t seen her.’
‘Oh.’ That was fairly conclusive. If Amaryllis had not been seen recently by her son, it was because she was not in the vicinity. It was unthinkable that she should be anywhere within the confines of Chortlesby Manor and not have come down to meet the tour with Bramwell. Also, he would never have been allowed to wear that tie if his mother had seen it first.
‘Then where is she?’ Bramwell seemed on the verge of panic. ‘What’s happened to her?’
‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’ Midge tried to soothe him. ‘Perhaps she ran out of petrol or had a flat tyre.’ ‘Then why didn’t she call me? She should have let me know.’
‘This is incredible,’ Dix murmured to Lettie. ‘I just can’t believe it. All those macho books …’
‘Don’t worry—’ Brigid said.
‘Never mind—’ Lauren said.
‘You’ve still got us!’ they chorused.
‘But I don’t wa—’ He stopped himself just in time. ‘I want my—’ He stopped again.
‘Unbelievable.’ Dix shook his head. ‘It just goes to show, you can’t judge an author by his books.’
‘You certainly can’t,’ Lettie snarled.
‘Tell me,’ Dix said carefully. ‘What is his mother like?’
‘I could be sued,’ Lettie said, ‘if anyone heard me giving a true description of that man-eating sow!’
‘Please!’ Dix winced, holding up his hands.
‘Wait until you see her!’
‘But if she hasn’t come back, perhaps there’s something wrong. Maybe she’s met with an accident … a serious accident.’
‘Not her,’ Lettie sighed. ‘No such luck. That old battleaxe is too tough to die.’
8
The first course at dinner was greatly appreciated—and in the right manner. These guests were alert to every nuance.
‘Mushroom soup, eh?’ Dix kept a properly straight face. ‘I hope you were pretty careful about getting the right mushrooms.’
‘It was no trouble at all.’ Midge briskly ladled soup from the steaming tureen. ‘Sir Cedric gathered them himself this morning.’
‘Sir Cedric? Isn’t he the absent-minded one?’
‘He’s just a little vague,’ Midge said encouragingly.
‘Oh boy! And you let him pick the mushrooms?’ Norman Dain leaned over his bowl and sniffed at the fragrant cloud arising from it. ‘We’d better watch our step.’
There was a gust of nervous laughter. They watched each other and tried to pretend that they were not keeping a close watch on the prospective victim seated at their table.
The tables had been arranged so that one actor or accomplice was seated at each table, in order to feed plot lines in the guise of gossip and snippets of information which might be useful or might be red herrings. It was the task of the guests to sort out the wheat from the chaff and try to retain the proper clues which would be needed later. They hung on every word and asked leading questions, although they could have no idea of what they sho
uld be asking until after the victim had been killed.
Everyone had now tasted their soup and there had been no dramatic developments. They relaxed into cautious enjoyment of the soup. Obviously, nothing was going to happen during this course.
‘Of course, it takes a while,’ someone pointed out. ‘Mushrooms aren’t instantaneous—like some other poisons we could all mention.’
‘Please don’t,’ Bramwell Barbour said grimly, with the air of one who had enough problems. As, indeed, he had.
He was seated between the Chandler twins, which Midge found most interesting as she had personally placed him at a table on the other side of the room. The twins were obviously as adept at switching place cards as at exchanging identification tags. She made a mental note to check the seating arrangements before the guests filed into the dining-room for future meals.
That didn’t help poor Bram tonight, however. He hunched over his bowl of soup, spooning it up rapidly, his hunted expression growing as the twins giggled and nudged him, delighted with themselves and the prize they had captured.
Midge hoped that he wouldn’t seek escape by collapsing and pretending that he was the intended victim. That would throw everything out of kilter, but he was looking desperate enough for anything.
Fortunately, the first course was finished quickly and the main course provided distraction aplenty. Fish and Chips, served rolled up in copies of the Daily Mirror for various dates in November 1934. They read out snippets to each Other:
Hey, DEATH OF “ALICE” OF WONDERLAND—Lewis Carroll’s “Ideal Child” Dies at 82 …
‘How about November 20th: HALF ENGLAND UNDER FOG PALL—A hundred thousand people besieged London and suburban railway stations last night struggling to get home from business …’
‘And look at this for a double feature—remember them? William Powell and Myrna Loy in The Thin Man and Ginger Rogers and Dick Powell in Twenty Million Sweethearts.’
‘And you could get a Ford car for £115 plus £6 tax!’
‘Don’t forget there was five dollars to the pound then.’
‘Even so—and here’s a coat at Swan and Edgar’s for seventy-five shillings—with a “real Skunk” collar!’
The distraction carried them through to dessert. They studied the dish set before them as a promise of things to come.
‘Almonds again!’ Dix squinted at the toasted almond flakes sprinkled over the Amaretto-laced vanilla ice-cream. ‘I tell you, they’re out to get us!’
‘They’re out to get somebody.’ Haila Bond’s beady little eyes gleamed, she looked around the table avidly.
‘My favourite sweet!’ Miss Holloway took a spoonful of the ice-cream, raised it to her lips and—tantalizingly—lowered it again to speak over her shoulder to Midge. ‘But you usually serve those nice little almond macaroons with it.’ The reminder should have come from Cedric, but he was deep in conversation with Alice Dain.
‘I’ll bring some right away,’ Midge said. Keeping a straight face, she hurried off. It was marvellous the way Miss Holloway was playing more of a role with every tour. Most of them were certain she was one of the actors, whereas few people realized until quite late in the game that Lettie wasn’t a real maid. In fact, on the last tour, one hopeful gentleman had remained unconvinced to the end and had earnestly entreated Lettie to give up this dead-end job and return to the States with him and let him look after her, if not actually marry her. Had she really been a maid, Lettie had admitted, the offer might have been quite tempting.
Lettie was in the kitchen, loading a tray with demitasse cups. ‘For this I got my Equity card!’ she said.
‘You’re perfect in the role.’ Midge took time out to stroke an edgy ego. ‘As usual, no one suspects you’re part of the act. When you start screaming, they’ll believe you.’
I’d like to do more than scream!’ Lettie’s face darkened. ‘I’d like to pour boiling oil—or at least coffee—over those two harpies molesting Bram!’
‘Better not,’ Midge advised. ‘They’re too far apart. You could only get one of them—and you wouldn’t know which one to choose.’
‘That’s true, they’re equally awful. Oh well,’ Lettie sighed. ‘I’ll just have to wait until Amaryllis gets back. For once, it will be a pleasure to see her in action. She’ll make short work of those two.’
‘I hope she’s all right.’ Midge spared a moment for another worry. ‘I mean, I hope there hasn’t been an accident. We need the car.’
‘Amaryllis we can do without,’ Lettie agreed. It isn’t like her to miss a meal, but perhaps she decided to eat in town this once. She was complaining about fish and chips being on the menu again.’
‘The guests love them. It’s what they expect in England and—’ Midge raised her voice to take in another hovering ego—‘Cook does them to perfection.’
‘If against the odds,’ Cook said sharply. ‘I had to let the help go home early. The snow’s started and they were afraid they wouldn’t make it if they didn’t leave before time.’
‘Oh dear. I’ve been so busy I hadn’t noticed.’ Midge glanced towards the window over the sink. Outside, large fluttering white flakes could be seen against the black sky in the light shining out from the kitchen. ‘I hope they won’t have any trouble getting back in the morning.’
‘It probably won’t last long.’ Lettie picked up her tray and headed for the door. ‘But wouldn’t it be lovely if it was just bad enough to maroon Sweet Amaryllis in town all night?’
‘Bramwell might not think so,’ Midge reminded her. ‘I’m sure he’s counting on his mother to take care of the terrible twins for him. I suspect she’s had plenty of experience with them, they all seem to know each other of old.’
Ackroyd had been sitting looking from one speaker to the other, now he rose and strolled nonchalantly towards the door.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Midge blocked his way with her foot. ‘You know you’re not allowed in the dining-room.’
Ackroyd turned his back on her, sat down, and became very busy washing his white ruff and shirtfront.
‘It’s obvious they’ve chased him all the way over here—’ Lettie braced her tray and swung her hip against the door. ‘And it’s not fair. It’s two to one and he’s so gormless they might actually catch him. Come back, Amaryllis, all is forgiven—for the moment.’
Raised voices could be heard in the dining-room just before the door swung shut behind Lettie. Midge glanced at her watch and nodded. Right on schedule. A nice little row was due to keep the pot bubbling for the amateur sleuths until the party adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee and liqueurs. She caught up a plate of macaroons and returned to the dining-room to referee.
‘I don’t care—’ The Honourable Petronella was on her feet blazing defiance at Lady Hermione. ‘It’s stupid, it’s petty, it’s—it’s archaic! This is 1935! You can’t force the women to leave the room so that the men can linger over their port.’
‘It is the custom,’ Lady Hermione said coldly. ‘It has always been done.’
‘Then it’s time it stopped! You don’t want to leave the room, do you?’ Throwing her arms wide, Petronella appealed to the other women. ‘Why don’t we stay here and help ourselves to the port, too? They can’t throw us out bodily!’
‘Oh … um …’ Thus appealed to, the females of the Murder at the Manor Tour looked to each other for support, possibly a lead. They weren’t sure which way they were supposed to respond.
‘Come now, Pet—’ Sir Cedric pushed back his chair. ‘You’ve had your way once today. Let it go at that, eh?’ He forced a smile, glancing around, and tried a feeble joke. ‘We mere males ought to have a few minutes to ourselves now and again. We might have things to discuss. For instance, I might want to ask your young man his intentions.’
‘His intentions are perfectly clear,’ Lady Hermione informed her brother. ‘He intends to get his hands on Petronella’s money and spend it as fast as he’s able—before she comes to her senses and throws him out!’
‘Oh, I say,’ Sir Cedric protested. ‘Have a care. After all, the chap is a guest under my roof.’
‘And whose fault is that, you fool?’ Lady Hermione turned on him like a striking cobra. ‘If you’d had one grain of sense—’ Belatedly, she seemed to remember her enthralled audience.
‘Oh, you’re hopeless!’ She turned and swept from the room.
‘Oh no!’ Petronella rushed after her. ‘You come back here and apologize to Algie!’
There was a momentary silence in the wake of their departure. Then Miss Holloway rose to her feet.
‘Hhrrk-hhrrk …’ She had been practising her dry cough. It drew all eyes to her. ‘I believe—’ she smiled into the expectant faces. ‘I believe we should follow the lead of our hostess. Ladies, shall we adjourn to the Withdrawing-Room?’
The fire in the drawing-room was blazing brightly. Three card tables had been set up for bridge. On another table a Mah Jong set spilled its gleaming mysteries across green baize. In the background Jack Buchanan crooned beguilingly from the gramophone.
‘Oh, it’s perfect!’ Alice Dain gave a shiver of delight. It’s just the way I always imagined a country house would be.’
‘And there’s a storm outside—’ Bertha Stout let the velvet drape fall back into place, her voice dripping with relish. ‘A real blizzard. We’ll be cut off from all human contact by morning.’
‘No! … Really? … Let’s see …’ Several of them rushed to the windows to confirm the weather prediction.
‘We’re not cut off yet—’ One of the twins turned away from the window and registered a complaint. ‘There’s a car coming up the drive.’
‘Ooh! What now?’ There was a rush from windows to the lobby. ‘Who is it?’
‘I suppose—’ Evelina T. Carterslee seated herself behind the coffee table piled with waiting demitasse cups. ‘I suppose it’s Amaryllis.’ She sighed. ‘The peace was too good to last.’
With a sinking heart, Midge silently agreed with Evelina’s deduction. It had been too much to hope for, that Amaryllis would let anything so minor as a blizzard keep her from Bramwell’s side. Just in case, however, Midge joined the others in the lobby to see who was going to come through the front door.
Murder on a Mystery Tour Page 6
