by Holly Bell
1918
Amanda descended to the ground floor of the Snout and Trough, and, sure enough, Trelawney was by the door. He helped her on with her coat.
‘How did you know which one was mine?’ Amanda asked.
‘It was the only orange one,’ he replied.
They moved out into the street. The wind was now so strong that it was a struggle to walk the few paces to the car. Once inside the vehicle, Amanda asked,
‘Has your friend Ross said anything to you about the builders? The Recket family notes on the builds they scuppered?
‘Yes, and the connection with the Bogias, and the link to Leo and Donna. If those two are in possession of the papers, it would give them the means, if they were able to gain entry to the building, to effect the sabotage that resulted in the death of Mrs Woodberry.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yes, Miss Cadabra, the police are not as slow as Conan Doyle’s Sherlock would have had people think.’
‘No … right …. ,’ Amanda agreed. And here comes the delicate bit, was what she was thinking. ‘Well, what if I said that I have reason to believe … that the papers are in the Weathersbys’ flat?’
‘Then I would be careful not to ask you what that reason might be,’ said Trelawney, choosing his words. ‘Are you sure the papers are there?’
‘I am sure that they were there last night,’ she replied.
He nodded and got out his phone. ‘We’ll call it a hunch, shall we?’ Trelawney said, tapping out a text.
Amanda drove towards the church.
‘There’s no one on guard there,’ she remarked, taken aback.
‘I know. I cleared it with Maxwell. He said they’d got everything from the crime scene they that they could. The tape is really just for security. Don’t want anyone going in and falling down.’
‘How will we get in?’
‘Ross has the front door key for me.’
‘Does he know about this expedition?’
‘No, but Maxwell told him to give it to me,’ Trelawney answered.
‘Where is it?’ asked Amanda.
‘Under the mat, so to speak.’
They left the car in the church car park and got out with an effort. Trelawney was looking around at the gravestones.
‘Ah,’ he suddenly called out. ‘Over here.’ He slid his fingers down behind the headstone of one Truvella Clay and drew out a key.
They strained against the wind as they started up the path to the hall. There seemed to be a mist before them, and what was far looked close, and what was close looked far.
‘A time boundary,’ murmured Amanda. And on this occasion, there was no spell needed in order to cross it.
The trees in the churchyard were bending, the empty twigs scraping and rustling, and yet …
‘Do you hear that?’ Trelawney asked her.
Music was coming from the hall. And voices. Singing. ‘Roses are shining in Picardy …’
‘Yes,’ answered Amanda. They entered, and found the hall awhirl with dancers, laughter, people nibbling, sipping, chatting, gentlemen elegant in evening dress and ladies in ankle length dresses of softly draping chiffon and silk. Before they had gone more than a few steps, Amanda was approached and relieved of her scarf by an attendant. ‘I’ll keep my jacket, thank you,’ she said. They moved to the side of the hall, out of the way of the waltzers, to get their bearings.
‘What’s that?’ asked Amanda, looking up at the tall window above and behind them. Tiny balls of ice were hitting the panes. ‘Hailstones?’
‘Looks like it,’ Trelawney concurred.
The song ended, and the dancers clapped. Then, in the brief lull before the next song, they heard a creak from above. The roof seems to be slightly swaying. Or was it just the perspective effect of a time border, wondered Amanda.
‘It’s 10 o’clock,’ Trelawney said.
Amanda peered around the dancers until she saw Dunkley by a table halfway down the hall where drinks were set out. ‘This way.’ She approached the man confidently. ‘Captain Dunkley.’
He turned. ‘Ah, Miss er … '
‘This is Detective Inspector Trelawney.’
‘Ah, good show. Come this way, sir,’ said Dunkley.
He led Trelawney, with Amanda following, across the floor towards the stage end, until they reached a doorway to a room apart, where supper was laid out. Dunkley appeared to have found the only quiet spot in the building. He glanced back at Amanda, and she heard him ask,
‘Is she your, er …?’
‘My secretary and chauffeur, yes,’ Trelawney answered him smoothly.
‘Oh quite, quite,’ responded Dunkley, somewhat abashed.
‘In fact, as an employee of the Metropolitan police force, there is no reason why she should not be present for this exchange between us. I do assure you, that her experience makes her more than equal to tolerating the unpleasant details of such situations as, I understand, you are about to describe.’
Dunkley clucked like a chicken, but in the face of Trelawney’s air of ease and assurance, responded ‘Well, I suppose, Inspector …’
‘Miss Cadabra is very discreet and will not intrude, I promise you.’
‘Hm, well, as you wish,’ Dunkley conceded.
‘Miss Cadabra,’ Trelawney called to her.
‘Sir?’ she answered, in keeping with her assigned role.
‘The captain has kindly agreed to allow you to be in attendance.’
‘Would you like me to take notes?’ she offered, hoping her fictitious boss would say no, as she had no means to write. The captain looked uncomfortable.
‘No, I think we can rely upon your excellent memory. Thank you, Miss Cadabra.’
Amanda took a step back, standing slightly apart, at what she hoped looked to Dunkley like a respectful distance.
‘So,’ began Trelawney to the captain, ‘when, in your opinion, for I should imagine during your war experiences you must have developed something of a sixth sense for this sort of thing, would you say that things started to look …?’
‘Smoky?’ supplied Amanda, using Dunkley’s own word.
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Cadabra,’ said Trelawney. He turned back to Dunkley. ‘Smoky? Fishy?’
‘Hrrmmm. I would say, the day those chaps appeared with the, er, odd sort of lady. She was in trousers and a jumper and, well, what looked for all the world like a clerical collar.’
‘Ah, the deaconess,’ Trelawney responded calmly.
‘Really?’ queried Dunkley, doubtfully. ‘In a dog collar and … trousers?’
‘The collar just has that appearance, and, I daresay, the lady was in work clothes.’
‘Oh very well, if you say so, old chap.’
Amanda was impressed at the way in which Trelawney was swiftly winning the man’s trust.
‘Anyway,’ Dunkley went on, ‘she brings in these two chaps, rather shabby-looking, I’d say, not shirt and tie or workcoat; in faded blue trousers. I remember that. You can tell a man by his clothes, don’t you know.’
The immaculately dressed Trelawney inclined his head in agreement, and Dunkley continued:
‘The lady took them downstairs, and I followed them. Bit reluctant because, for some reason, I keep getting stuck down there. Anyway, thought I should keep an eye on things. Because, you know … lady… even if she was got up like some sort of Vesta Tilley.’
‘Commendable, Captain,’ commented the inspector.
Amanda’s attention was again caught by the weather. Were the hailstones getting bigger or was it just that she could hear them more clearly here?
‘Well,’ explained Dunkley, ‘once down there, she shows them one of the beams and some floorboards above it. And I must tell you, Inspector, these floorboards are dashed odd. One minute they’re there, and the next they’re not. Frankly, I think, it’s something to do with those two chaps.’
‘Quite possibly,’ agreed Trelawney.
‘At any rate, the two chaps assure her that they will take care of it and they leave
. Only to return shortly with some short lengths of timber and some brackets. They assemble them into poles and shove them into place. Jammed between cellar floor and the underside of the boards above. Next thing I know, the Tilley-looking lady —’
‘Miss Jane,’ interpolated Trelawney gravely.
‘Er, yes, Miss Jane and your secretary are down there looking at the poles and your secretary —’
‘Miss Cadabra.’
‘Miss Cadabra — says they’re safe. Then Miss Jane brings down another chap that I thought was rather more the thing, and he confirms.’
‘So far so good,’ commented the inspector.
‘Ah, but then,’ Dunkley went on, more animatedly, ‘another lady, again in trousers, comes along to the hall and sets up the ladder up to the hatch in the attic. Then she goes up carrying a rope with a grappling hook attached slung around her for all the world like a mountaineer. I hear a rattle and then back down the ladder she comes.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘Short, with darkish hair tied back.’
‘Slim?’
‘Yes. And dark eyes, red lips,’ added Dunkley.
‘You remember her well?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Yes, because I saw her again.’
‘Where?’
‘Down below by the poles!’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Something with pliers, and, before I knew it, the poles were on the floor in pieces. Then up she climbs on the anvils with a white sort of can and starts painting the underside of the boards. Very odd. I thought, perhaps she was trying to put some sort of varnish or something to kill woodworm or such like. She kept prodding the wood with a screwdriver and then painting some more, and, finally down she comes. Then she goes over to the javelins; props, you know. Takes one out and sticks it in the middle of the anvils. Odd, I thought.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Looked smoky. Dashed smoky. Little did I know,’ Dunkley added portentously. ‘Next thing I remember is, I hear your secretary, then another woman’s voice, then footsteps up above and, next thing I know, I see this other woman coming down through the floor and then it’s all a bit of a muddle, you see, because I’m here at this party and I’m falling through the floor at the same time. And we both seem to end up on the anvils with some bally javelin sticking out of us, but somehow we’re all right! Except she sort of comes and goes, though I haven’t seen her lately. It’s all a bit much for a chap really,’ he concluded, rubbing his forehead.
Amanda’s attention was drawn upward again. There was a ceiling above this room, but she could swear she could hear the roof timbers creaking.
‘I see,’ Trelawney was saying. ‘Would you mind showing me this, in the cellar?’
‘Of course,’ agreed Dunkley. ‘Just get myself another drink. Would you like one, Inspector?’
‘No, thank you, Captain.’
‘Meet you down there,’ said Dunkley, with a wave of the hand. ‘Doors are all open.’
Trelawney nodded, and Amanda led the way to the cellar entrance.
Chapter 48
Acid Rain
‘Thank you for getting me in on the act,’ Amanda said, as they reached the door to the basement.
‘Least I could do. And I see what you mean about him,’ responded Trelawney.
‘Yes, and thank you for giving me a professional role. I could see where his mind was going!’
‘I just hope you don’t mind that it had to be a subordinate one to fit these less enlightened times,’ he apologised.
‘It’s fine.’
Trelawney followed Amanda through the cellar entrance, down the stairs and through the door at the foot of the flight. As they crossed the unfamiliarly neat, prop shop of a basement, they heard a cry and the crunch of splintering wood. They ran forward, seeing Dunkley flailing through the rotten boards above and impacting with the anvils. As they reached him, preparing for the gory sight, his ethereal form sat up, very much in one piece.
‘See?’ he said indignantly. ‘That happens all the time!’
The music had stopped, and the dancing feet stilled, but Dunkley lingered. In the silence, they heard the click of a door behind them. The cellar door at the foot of the stairs had shut. Amanda hurried to it.
‘Locked,’ she said, looking back at Trelawney. Dunkley was standing on the anvils looking up through the hole. They heard a key turn in the door at the top of the stairs and footsteps sounding above.
There was now no mistaking it, the wind was louder than ever, and as it changed direction, was hurling the hailstones alternately against the walls and the fragile roof.
‘Well, as I live and breathe,’ Dunkley declared inaccurately, ‘that’s her, that’s her …’ His words faded with his form.
Amanda and Trelawney heard the front door close, then presently open again followed by thumping, as though the woman was putting down something heavy. She must have made trip after trip.
They tried, during her short absences, to climb up out of the basement, but the wood was too friable and would not support even Amanda’s lesser weight. Finally, they heard the main door open, shut, and lock.
Then a female voice sounded matter-of-factly. ‘I know you’re down there. This is your scarf.’
‘Donna?’
‘Yes, Amanda. Amanda the snoop. You’ve got your tame copper down there with you, haven’t you? Two birds with one stone,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Talk to me, Amanda. You like to talk, don’t you? Talking to Leo, talking to Ryan, talking to dad. What did he tell you, Amaaanda?’
‘Your dad?’
‘Don’t act stupid,’ said Donna scornfully. ‘I know you’re not. Now let’s test this, shall we? I’ve only tried it with a paintbrush so far. Let’s try a little splash, shall we?’
Amanda and Trelawney heard the sound of liquid hitting the wood above and saw it fizzle away a small hole. They backed off from it.
‘That works nicely. Time for a bigger test.’ Splash, sizzle. They could see Donna looking down through the gap. ‘Hiya, you two,’ she called happily. ‘The trick is … not to splash it on the joists, or where will I walk?’ She laughed.
‘That would make sense,’ agreed Amanda, matching her hearty tone.
‘Now,’ uttered Donna, suddenly stern. ‘Talk, Amanda. Dad.’
‘Vic is your dad?’
‘See? I knew you were smart.’
‘I thought Douglas Weathersby is your father,’ said Amanda.
‘How could a vile maggot like him be my father?’ Donna snarled. ‘My father was Victor Woodberry. I should have been Donna Woodberry. I never like the name Weathersby. I wasn’t his! Not like my poor brother.’ She suddenly sounded tender. ‘He couldn’t help it. I don’t blame him.’
‘Then why try to kill your dad?’
‘He left me,’ Donna said in a low, intense, distracted voice. ‘He left me like my husband left me. Like my mother left me. Like they all leave me. He had to be punished. It took time to find him, yes, but I tracked him down and then,’ and her tone lightened, ‘I found out he was a dance teacher.’
‘It was you? You who recommended him and Majolica to the rector to teach our villagers?’
‘Well done, Man-dee,’ Donna sang.
‘Thanks,’ replied Amanda, conversationally. ‘How about rewarding me by not throwing any more of that liquid down here?’
‘l’ll think about it,’ Donna replied chatilly. ‘Say something interesting.’
Amanda rapidly searched her mind. ‘You have the notes. The Recket papers.’
‘I knew you knew,’ Donna said with satisfaction. ‘I heard something in the flat. I checked under the sideboard, and I knew they’d been pulled off and opened. Then I watched you tonight. Saw you leave, followed you here. Because this is where it ends, you see …. You won’t be leaving ….. No one is leaving … ever … again.’
‘Well, that’s not entirely accurate,’ countered Amanda pedantically. ‘Just maybe not leaving so alive.’
‘Is there any other way out of here?’ he asked Amanda, in an urgent whisper.
‘No, not that I know of. Phone?’ she suggested.
‘Can’t get a signal. You?'
Amanda shook her head.
The splashes and holes were becoming more random. Amanda and Trelawney were dodging and moving around the basement, trying to keep under the remaining floorboards, out of Donna’s sightline, listening carefully for her footsteps, trying to anticipate where the next lethal onslaught of fluid would fall next.
Suddenly Donna said, ‘You know what? This is taking too long. I’m getting bored.’
‘Why don’t you let us out? There are more interesting things to do outside this building,’ suggested Amanda helpfully.
‘No, it’s OK. I’m going to try something fun. I’ve got all this lovely crystal up here and these nice big plates. And you’ve got all that dust down there, haven’t you?’ she said in a teasing voice. They backed up so they could see her through a gap, going to the wall by the door where Amanda had stacked the crates. Donna unpacked a platter, then walked to the floorboard gap nearest them.
‘Try this!’ she called with a smile, and hurled the plate down onto the cloth-covered pile beside them. The dust flew up and sent Amanda coughing.
‘Result!’ Donna sang.
‘She’s off her chump,’ wheezed Amanda.
‘Donna!’ called Trelawney. ‘Why not phone your brother? He must be angry too, deep down. Why don’t you let him help you?’
She paused. ‘Hmmm.’
‘He’s been loyal to you, Donna, … hasn’t he?’ said Amanda, between coughs. ‘He’s a good brother, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he likes you. That’s disloyal,’ pronounced Donna, picking up another can and destroying another piece of floor. ‘I like this game; it's like Whac-a-Mole.’ She giggled.
Amanda made a spiral motion with her finger next to her head, mouthing the words, ‘Lost the plot.’ She turned her face up again.
‘Why don’t you go after Vic, Donna? It was him you wanted to kill, wasn’t it?’
