The Black Cat Murders: A Cotswolds Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 2)

by Karen Menuhin

  She blanched beneath the heavy make-up, lips trembling. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she stammered. ‘I hope you aren’t implying that I am involved.’ She waved a beringed hand about.

  ‘Madam, you are the reason we are here today,’ I snapped. ‘You are involved up to your damn neck and beyond.’

  ‘This is nonsense. You must speak to the Count, he will explain. I am leaving. I will not be subjected to such vile lies.’ She clambered to her feet, grabbing her handbag. Voices were raised as she rose.

  ‘Stay where you are, madam,’ Swift stood up and shouted. ‘Or I will place you in handcuffs.’

  That quietened them down. I waited until they were once more silent and the only sound in the room was the crackling of logs in the grate.

  ‘Jeremy Bartholomew was killed in cold blood, buried in an occupied grave and his good name sullied by falsehoods. This was the blade used to kill him.’ I held the Scottish sword high, its blade glinting in the light, then carefully placed it to one side of the table. ‘A rapier carrying the insignia of Braeburn Castle. In this instance, Jarvis and von Graf had actually paid over and above its value, not realising it was badly damaged and worthless. I assume your father sold it to them, Florence?’ I looked at her but she didn’t raise her eyes, just fingered the roses in the delicate bouquet that she held in her lap. ‘That was another reason you didn’t want to make accusations, wasn’t it, because I doubt your father had mentioned the damage done to it?’ She looked away, toward the windows, Swift sighed and took her hand again. I felt a bit of a churl to suggest that the Laird of Braeburn hadn’t been entirely honest.

  ‘Jarvis concocted a plausible reason for Bartholomew’s disappearance.’ I held up the sheaves of cheap notepaper that Miss Busby had brought to me a couple of days ago, now supplied by Swift as evidence. ‘These are entirely fake, manufactured to imply that Bartholomew had a lady friend with whom he was planning to run away. But he did not run away, nor did he steal any silver from this house. As we know, the poor man was run through and buried in a grave behind the chantry. If it weren’t for the absence of bluebells and the keen observational eye of Miss Busby, we may never have unearthed him.’ I turned to look at her, and she smiled back at me.

  ‘You knew him, didn’t you, Miss Busby?’

  ‘I did. He was a shy young man and rather troubled,’ she replied.

  ‘Yes. But you’d known him as a child, too, hadn’t you? You taught him,’ I said.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Who told you that?’

  I glanced at Caroline, but she was smoothing the fabric of her pristine white gown and didn’t look at me.

  ‘Major Lennox. Are you suggesting I am a murderer?’ Miss Busby demanded with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  ‘Unlikely,’ I replied, ‘but let me continue, dear lady. Jarvis killed Sir Crispin Gibbons. I’m not sure if it was solely to gain access to the lucrative art world he’d opened up, or perhaps it was because of the Gainsborough. You could enlighten us, Dame Gabriel? I know Crispin discovered news of the portrait – did he realise it was being stolen? Did he threaten to tell all?’ I fixed my gaze upon her.

  ‘I am remaining silent.’ She sniffed into a handkerchief, dabbing her mascara. Contemptuous eyes fell upon her and she shrank before them.

  I continued. ‘It was an unlikely and rather ingenious murder, made easier by the unfortunate Crispin suffering from haemophilia. Any sort of bad fall would probably have led to his death. Jarvis swapped the plank below the trap-door with the old rotten one, causing it to give way beneath Crispin during the last act of Tosca. I expect it caused Jarvis some amusement to devise such a dramatic exit for the leading light of the opera company. But things didn’t go to plan on the night of Crispin’s murder. As you know, Dame Gabriel, the trap-door should have collapsed before you arrived at his side. The plank must not have been quite as rotten as it seemed because it held up until you set foot on it. I imagine you were rather surprised to tumble down on top of Crispin, although it certainly ensured he died.’

  ‘Oh, oh,’ she cried, blowing her nose. ‘It’s not true,’ she mumbled behind the handkerchief.

  I turned my gaze away from the damn woman and toward the Brigadier. ‘It must have taken some time for you to agree to allow Jarvis access to the Long Gallery and the Bloxford Beauties, sir?’

  He didn’t reply, just stared through me. ‘You have already told me that you wanted to put the house in order for your daughter and new son-in-law. I imagine Jarvis played on that wish in order to persuade you to let him repair the damage caused to the Beauties by the storm. Jarvis did indeed restore the pictures, and he surreptitiously copied the Gainsborough and eventually smuggled the true portrait out. I don’t know if you realised there was another entrance to the Long Gallery, sir, but he found it and made use of it.’

  A tic flickered in the Brigadier’s jaw but otherwise he remained utterly motionless.

  I paused to unwrap the canvases and held up Lady Eleanor Braeburn for all to see. ‘This is the true Gainsborough.’ Another gasp went up as they saw the vivid painting, many of them for the first time. ‘It was the perfect plot – make a copy of the painting, leave it in the Long Gallery where it would hang undisturbed, and sell the original for a fortune on the black market. No one would ever come looking for it because no one would know it was missing. It was as simple as it was lucrative.’ I paused to look at each one of them, their faces fascinated and distressed at the same time.

  ‘But unease was growing. Jarvis wasn’t a pleasant character, and people began to see through him. Crispin died in strange circumstances, and despite your silence, Dame Gabriel, I’m convinced he spoke out. And the bluebells came into season, but there was a gap, a vacant space that shouldn’t have been there. Suspicions and evidence began to mount and rage grew in the breast of one person, a rage that finally turned murderous. I’m convinced this person was then told by Crispin that the ancestor of both the houses of Bloxford and Braeburn was being touted for sale before the eyes of a corrupt market. It was the last straw – a defilement of family honour. And they realised they had not only allowed it to happen, but had inadvertently colluded in it. You had already guessed some of it, hadn’t you Hiram?’ I turned to regard him; he gazed back steadily.

  ‘You told everyone. You did your very best to warn them. But nobody would listen. Actually, that’s not quite correct: somebody had listened, and now they acted.’ I turned away from him and took up both rapiers, each blazoned with the Bloxford insignia. ‘They left their signature.’ I held one blade high. ‘This sword was left next to Jarvis –’ I placed it back on the table ‘– and this one –’

  ‘No, no, do not tell me,’ Dame Gabriel shrieked, both hands held to her bosom.

  ‘– was left beside the body of Von Graf,’ I finished, and she burst into loud sobs.

  ‘He is dead, then?’ Ruth asked above the racket.

  ‘He is. Probably killed the same day as Jarvis, although we didn’t find him until this morning.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied coldly. ‘He deserved it.’

  ‘When did you realise you had been deceived? I asked her.

  ‘My husband informed me the day you arrived.’ She regarded me haughtily. ‘He discovered I had purchased the three missing paintings from the hall. I was embarrassed that my designs for the wedding ceremony had caused the Brigadier to sell some of the family treasures. I believe you are aware of this, there is no reason to bring it up now.’

  I held her gaze for a moment, then turned to address her husband.

  ‘You discussed this with the Brigadier, didn’t you, Ford. And he said he would deal with it, didn’t he?’ I asked.

  His regard was cool in return. ‘Yeah, and you know that, too, Lennox.’

  I turned to address the impassive face of the Brigadier. ‘And you did deal with it, didn’t you, sir.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Lennox, you’ve gone far enough,’ Hiram growled at me. ‘I will not sit by and allow you to mak
e accusations against my bride’s father.’ He stood up, creating a looming shadow.

  ‘Silence,’ the Brigadier snapped suddenly.’ Sit down, young man.’

  Hiram sat down, eyes dark under glowering brows.

  ‘Daddy.’ Caroline reached a hand out toward her father. ‘Don’t say anything.’

  I picked up the portrait of Lady Grace. ‘Did you know Jarvis had made this copy?’ I asked him.

  His eyes flashed in fury, then he snapped at Kalo in Nepalese. The Gurkha came on silent feet, snatched the picture from my hands and tossed it into the fire. It burst into brightly vivid flames and burned to ashes as Kalo returned to his master’s side.

  ‘Did he intend to blackmail you, I wonder?’ I mooted, but received no reply.

  Swift extracted his hand from Florence’s and came to join me, turning his hawkish gaze on the people in the room.

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Swift said. ‘All of you. You knew what was happening’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Andrew Dundale called out.

  ‘Shut up, Andrew,’ I told him.

  Swift continued. ’The Brigadier told you he’d take care of von Graf and Jarvis, didn’t he, Ford? And the very next day, Jarvis was found shot and a Bloxford sword was left next to the body. You knew who had done it,’ he shouted, and then he turned to Ruth. ‘And so did you – you must have.’

  They stared back impassively.

  ‘And you knew him better than anyone, Caroline.’ Swift’s voice faltered as he saw tears begin to course down her face. He turned to Florence but she wouldn’t return his gaze.

  Hiram slipped his arm around his bride’s shoulders; Miss Busby glanced at me, and then back at the Brigadier.

  Swift’s face had fallen and his shoulders had slumped. Now he pulled himself together and straightened up.

  ’Did you kill them yourself, Brigadier?’ he asked. ‘Or did you instruct Kalo to do it for you?’

  ‘Those blackguards lied their way into our home and then stole from us. They were going to expose the ladies of this house to the gaze of degenerates. They took our honour to hawk to the highest bidder. Of course I killed them.’

  A hush fell as his words echoed around the room.

  ‘Did Crispin tell you about the Gainsborough?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ the Earl snapped, ice and fury in his voice.

  ‘You were going to kill Dame Gabriel too, weren’t you? You wouldn’t allow her to leave this place alive, not after what she has done.’

  He glared at me without expression. Dame Gabriel let out a squeal of fear and cowered in her chair, her eyes wide with terror.

  Swift stepped forward, feeling in his pocket for the handcuffs he always carried, and drew them out. ‘Lord Neville, Earl of Bloxford,’ he began as he approached the Brigadier. ‘I am arresting you –’

  ‘No!’ Caroline screamed, and sprang to her feet, closely followed by Hiram and the rest of the family, all shouting at once.

  ‘Yarrrghhhh …’ A scream broke across the hullaballoo. Kalo pulled an evil-looking knife from inside the back of his loose tunic. Wielding it above his head, he leapt onto the back of the sofa from behind the Brigadier and from that height threw himself at Swift like a panther springing from a tree. Quick as a cat, Ford pulled his pistol from his boot and shot him twice in quick-fire succession, but Kalo kept on coming, propelled by his leap, and landed full bodied on top of Swift. They crashed, tangled together, to the floor as shouts and screams of horror erupted. Bright red blood spurted across the rug, Dame Gabriel fainted, and I, being the closest, yanked Kalo away from the Inspector. It was too late: the bullets had killed the Gurkha; his deadly knife, the kukri, fell from his hand as I turned him over. Swift was winded but unharmed; he struggled to his feet breathing heavily. Florence rushed to his side, tears streaming down her lovely face.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy …’ Caroline was crying out and holding onto her father. The Brigadier had collapsed and was now leaning back in his seat, ashen-faced and barely breathing. Hiram was the other side of him, holding him up, preventing him from slipping to the floor.

  ‘Benson,’ I shouted to the shocked butler, ‘go and call a doctor.'

  Poor Benson stared at me round-eyed, then staggered to a chair and collapsed into it. I yanked the bell sharply. We needed Dicks, he came in after a short delay and stood on the threshold staring at the general chaos and, in the centre, at the dead body of the Gurkha and the blood seeping into the carpet.

  ‘Major Lennox, sir! What have you done?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘Doctor. Get him now, Dicks.’

  He dragged his eyes away from the bleeding corpse and nodded, turned, and ran toward the stairs.

  Miss Busby came to my side. ‘I think the Brigadier should be carried up to his bedroom, don’t you, Major Lennox?’

  I turned gratefully toward her. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Hiram, Ford, Swift,’ I called to them, snapping them out of their daze.

  Between us we conveyed the old man up to his rooms and manoeuvred him gently onto his bed. Ruth and Miss Busby took over and ordered the rest of us out.

  They undressed him and put him in pyjamas, made him comfortable on propped-up pillows, and called us into his room while drawing the heavy curtains to shut out the day. Caroline sat beside him holding his hand while Florence lit candles against the gloom. Ruth held a taper in a flickering flame, then put it to the papers screwed up in the hearth, already set for the evening fire. A blaze blew up as the kindling took hold and spat fire into the silence.

  Swift came to me quietly. ‘I’m going to telephone the police, Lennox. We need to deal with the Gurkha.’

  ‘No, Swift. No police, not yet.’ I looked over to the scene at the ancient four-poster bed where the Brigadier gasped for breath, grey-faced and gaunt. Caroline was sitting on the edge of the bed in her bridal gown, pale pink flowers in her hair. Graceful and distraught, she held his hand firmly clasped between hers. Miss Busby, Ruth and Florence gathered around her in support.

  ‘We cannot let this become public, Swift. He doesn’t deserve to leave a dishonoured name. He was a great man, a great soldier. I’m asking you, on behalf of all of us, to withhold this. Please Swift. Let it play out.’

  Swift turned to view the scene at the bed, catching Florence’s eye as he did so, then swung back to face Hiram, Ford and me. I could see the turmoil in his face, the dilemma between his sworn duty and his desire to support this family and the girl he loved. He went to one of the high-backed carved chairs by the fire and sat heavily. We men followed him and waited.

  ‘I don’t blame you for wanting to call in the law, Swift, but I don’t think it’s right,’ Hiram told him.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Ford echoed.

  Swift sighed deeply and dropped his head between his hands. He remained in that position for some time, no doubt fighting with his conscience. Florence came over and knelt at his side. He looked at her, then slowly placed a hand on her tear damp cheek and finally nodded. They went to join the group by the bed and we followed.

  Dicks came in, supporting Benson by the arm. The poor fellow was almost as grey as the Brigadier, I fetched a chair to set amongst us and we settled him into to it to await the end.

  The room fell silent but for the gasping breath of the Brigadier and the crackle of flames from the fire. We clasped each other’s hands and crowded close together as the old man’s heart gradually gave way.

  Brigadier Neville Bloxford, eighth Earl of Bloxford Hall, took his last breath on this earth one hour later, surrounded by his family and the people who loved him.

  We remained at his side, saying quiet prayers and murmuring our last goodbyes. Eventually Hiram led Caroline, both in their wedding finery, slowly from the room as Benson closed the old man’s eyes. The rest of us filed out to leave the doctor to make the final arrangements.

  We retired to the morning room, still bright with late-afternoon sunshine. Sounds of laughter and merriment came from the distant ballroom where the wedding guests were
celebrating Caroline and Hiram’s marriage. We closed the door to shut out the noise, gathering ourselves in window seats and on small sofas in the sun.

  Andrew Dundale had departed, as had Dame Gabriel. In order to protect the Brigadier’s name, she would have to be allowed go free. But she had been a party to Crispin’s death and we would ensure that her reputation was ruined one way or another. And should she ever murmur a word about this family to the wider world, I myself would see to it that she was brought to justice and hanged for her misdeeds.

  I watched Hiram carry a glass of brandy to Caroline, trying to put some colour in her cheeks. He sat next to her and pulled her to his chest as she broke into fresh sobs.

  ‘They will recover, you know.’ Miss Busby came and sat next to me. Dicks brought her a glass of sherry and handed me a snifter. ‘They will go away, visit Texas, and, if I know Caroline, return here and start turning this house around. It will become a happy home once more – they will bring it back to life.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said, though with little enthusiasm. ‘Miss Busby,’ I began.

  She sipped her sherry and regarded me over the brim.

  ‘They did know, didn’t they. They all knew who killed Jarvis,’ I said.

  ‘Not at first, no. But I think after the incident with the hall paintings, Ruth suspected what the Brigadier intended. That’s why she was trying to put a halt to your sleuthing. I doubt that Hiram had even an inkling. And Caroline’s thoughts were entirely on the wedding. No Lennox, I don’t believe they all knew.’

  ‘Hum.’

  ‘Nothing you, or anyone else could have done, would have stopped him.’

  ‘No,’ I sighed. ‘But you guessed though didn’t you.’ I looked at her. ‘Did you tell him where Bartholomew was buried?’

  She shook her head. ‘Lennox, I am not the only one who lights candles for the dead. The Brigadier used to visit the chantry, too – Grace is buried up there. And he wasn’t ignorant, he would have understood the meaning of the missing bluebells.’ She looked at me appraisingly. ‘Was that how you realised it was him?’