by Sara Rosett
When Boggs came on the line, I said, “Hello, Mr. Boggs. This is Olive Belgrave.”
“Miss Belgrave, hello.” His accent had lost a little of its starchiness now that he wasn’t working in an opulent London townhouse.
“How are you, Mr. Boggs?”
“Fine. Just fine. Things are a bit slow, but better than my last situation.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re well. I have a small task that I can’t complete myself. Would you be interested in taking it on? I’d pay you, of course. It would involve traveling to a village in Surrey and asking some questions.”
“Yes, I’m interested. Very interested.”
“Wonderful.” I told him the specifics, and we agreed on an amount for the job. “Send a telegram to Parkview Hall, Derbyshire, with the details on what you learn, please.”
“I’ll go there this afternoon and see what I can find out,” Boggs said before we rang off.
When I came out of the study, it was close to lunch, so I went along to the dining room, where a cold buffet had been laid out. Miss Miller and Aunt Caroline were seated at the table, deep in a discussion of their bridge game. I greeted them and took a sandwich from one of the trays. I chatted with Miss Miller and Aunt Caroline as I ate, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I had too much on my mind.
I left the dining room and found Jasper in the entry hall, slipping his spectacles into a pocket as he handed off several letters to a footman. “See these are put in the post today,” he said to the footman, then caught sight of me. Apparently, he’d shaken off the last effects of his night at the pub. He was moving at a faster pace now and didn’t squint against the light as he came across to me. “Olive, where did you disappear off to?”
“The gardens. I have something to tell you . . . in a moment,” I said as Gigi drifted down the stairs, making her first appearance of the day.
She wore a cardigan, white blouse, and knit skirt, which would have been a tame outfit, but with her lithe movements and the sway of her hips as she descended, she looked anything but demure. “Good morning,” she said as she joined us. “I suppose both of you have already been up for hours and breakfasted with the sunrise.”
“Seeing as it’s November, that’s not a great challenge to achieve,” Jasper said, his tone teasing.
“Well, that’s fine for you,” Gigi said. “I make it a firm policy to never have breakfast before noon.” She turned to me. “I’m so glad your Aunt Caroline isn’t one of those hostesses who has everything cleared away by ten o’clock.”
“Well, breakfast has been cleared, but there’s a cold buffet laid out in the dining room. I’m sure you can find something to nibble. And Brimble saved a selection of newspapers for you to choose from for your crossword.” I’d seen them stacked on the sideboard this morning.
Gigi brightened. “Brilliant.” She left, moving in a more energetic way than she had before.
Jasper turned to me. “Crosswords?”
“She’s a wizard at them. Does them in ink. In school, we used to challenge her to see if she could complete the difficult ones in half an hour. She always managed it.”
“I’d never have thought it of her.”
“I know. She seems empty-headed, but she’s quite clever. Of course, she doesn’t want anyone to know that. But I was at school with her and know her secret. She only put a little effort into her studies and always made high marks. But enough about Gigi. I have news. We must go somewhere we won’t be overheard.” Now I understood Sonia’s caution about speaking in the echoey entry hall. The click of billiard balls indicated that the room was occupied, probably by Captain Inglebrook, and Father was using the library. If we went to any of the main rooms, we might be interrupted. “I know, let’s go up to the small sitting room.”
“Good idea.” Jasper motioned for me to precede him up the stairs.
“Did you hear Inspector Longly took Peter to the police station?” I asked in a low voice as we trotted upstairs.
Jasper paused on the landing, his hand gripping the newel post. “No, I didn’t.”
“Sonia was extremely upset. I told her I was sure it was routine, but truthfully, I’m not sure at all.”
“I hope you’re right about it being routine,” he said and increased his pace as we climbed the rest of the stairs to the small sitting room.
Situated at the back of the house, the room was too cramped for a proper sitting room. It had been a retreat for Peter and Gwen after they left the nursery, a place they could escape Violet, who was at a pesky stage. Since Parkview was practically my second home, I was usually in the small sitting room with them, and when Jasper visited Peter during their school holidays, he’d joined us there.
I was happy to see the familiar mishmash of furniture castoffs from the rest of the house. Stacks of board games, jigsaw puzzles, and books that we’d used to pass the time during rainy days still filled the shelves. The only “new” thing was a weathered roll-top desk Gwen had installed at one side of the room where she handled much of the running of the household.
I settled into the squishy chair covered in faded chintz, and Jasper took his usual place on the window seat, his back propped up against the wall and his long legs stretched out across the seat.
“I had a chat with Sonia this morning.” I told him everything Sonia had said about Payne. Sonia hadn’t been pleased when I’d informed her I’d have to share her story with Jasper, but I’d convinced her Jasper was trustworthy. I needed to be able to share the details with him. Because of his weak eyesight, Jasper had spent the war working at a desk in the war office, which meant he had the contacts to check the story that Payne had told Sonia—at least, I hoped he knew the right people to ask to confirm or discount the story.
Jasper’s eyebrows soared when I told him of Sonia’s insistence that Payne was actually Simon Adams, but he listened without interrupting me until I’d recounted everything. “What do you think of Mr. Payne’s story?” I asked.
Jasper squinted as he looked out the window to the gardens. “It’s not impossible that the identity discs were switched.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words. “And the fact that most of the platoon didn’t survive—well, that was all too common as well. It would make it much easier for him to continue living as Vincent Payne. It sounds as if there were few people who would question his identity. But it puts your stepmother in a sticky situation.”
“Quite. She swears she didn’t harm him, and”—I shook my head—“I’m astounded I’m saying this, but I’m leaning toward believing her. Could you verify what Mr. Payne told her?”
“I’ll certainly do my best. It will be difficult to do it today as it’s Saturday, but I’ll try. I have a friend . . .” He swung his feet off the bench, then noticed the time on the carriage clock. “No, it’s one o’clock. He’ll be at lunch. I’ll have to contact him later.” Jasper settled himself on the bench again. “The part about Sonia’s childhood in the village, now that’s another story.”
“I have Boggs working on that.”
Jasper said, “Hiring employees now, are you?”
“Only for an occasional odd job. Boggs seemed like a good person to keep in touch with.”
“Yes, he’s . . . resourceful.”
I shifted, curling my legs up and settling deeper into the chair. “So, until we hear back from Boggs or you can make your inquiries, what can we do here? The problem we have is the suspect pool is so small. I’m afraid Longly—or his superintendent—will focus only on Peter and Miss Miller. And perhaps Deena,” I added. “We mustn’t forget about her.”
“You think Deena murdered Mr. Payne?”
“She found the body, which makes her the main suspect by default—at least it always does in the crime fiction books you’ve lent me.”
“But what was her motive?”
We both sat in silence as the carriage clock ticked.
Finally, I said, “Perhaps Mr. Payne tried to take advantage of her as he did with Gigi. She struck him and then
dragged him to the fountain to make it look like an accident?” Just speaking the idea aloud made me want to discard it. It was too flimsy.
“It’s possible,” Jasper said, “but if that’s the case, why wouldn’t she have told Longly or someone else what happened? There was no need to make it look like an accident. In fact, it would be better for her if she didn’t do that.”
“Fear that the police wouldn’t think it was self-defense?” I asked, testing out the idea, then I shook my head. “But that doesn’t fit. If Dr. Grimshaw is right and someone used a spade to hit Mr. Payne, where would Deena get it? Ross always puts his garden tools away in the cupboards at the back of the conservatory. If Mr. Payne attacked Deena near the fountain, I doubt she ran to the cupboards to look for something to defend herself. How would she even know the spades were kept there? No, it would make much more sense for her to simply run out of the conservatory. It’s a shorter distance to either door than it is to the cupboard.”
“Miss Miller was also in the conservatory, don’t forget.”
“She’s frail, though. Could she drag Mr. Payne across the floor, not to mention hit him on the head? Miss Miller is small like me. She’d have to have stood on a chair to bean Mr. Payne near the top of his head.”
“And I doubt Mr. Payne would have stood quietly in place while she clambered up on a chair with a spade in her hand,” Jasper said. “But she did want the mysterious envelope. I think you’re holding out on me. There’s got to be more to that story.”
“As I told you earlier today, I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I assure you the contents of the envelope are irrelevant to our inquiry. You’re correct. Miss Miller did want the letter, but I don’t think she’d attack him for it. I’m sure she’d ask someone else—another man, my Father or even Uncle Leo—for help in convincing Mr. Payne to give back her letter before she’d resort to violence.”
“What about Gigi?” Jasper asked. “If she’s able to whip through crosswords as quickly as you say, she’s cleverer than I realized.”
“You mean she was getting back at Mr. Payne for him taking advantage in the woods?” I considered the idea, then said, “No. I don’t think it was Gigi. The way the murderer tried to make it look as if Mr. Payne had fallen and hit his head—no, that’s too meticulous for Gigi. I can imagine her doing something in a moment of passion—say, shooting someone—but dragging a body around to create a certain scene? Not Gigi.”
“I’m making a mental note to never anger her,” Jasper said with a trace of humor, but then he added, his tone serious, “Are you absolutely sure, old bean? Crosswords are tedious. One must have patience to complete them.”
“I agree. Despite that, I still don’t think Gigi did it.”
“Then who’s left?” Jasper asked.
“Captain Inglebrook?” I replied, doubt heavy in my tone. “He’s tall enough and strong enough to move the body.”
“But again, no motive.”
“That we know of,” I said. “Clearly, we don’t know enough about everyone here at Parkview.”
The door opened and Gwen came in. “There you are. Now that I have the dinner menu settled, I’ve been looking all over for the two of you. Even in the midst of a crisis, household duties must be seen to.” Gwen perched on the end of the worn Chesterfield sofa. “Inspector Longly took Peter to the police station, did you know?”
“Yes, I heard,” I said.
“I’d thought you were going to distract him.”
“I did try—”
“And the servants said the news about Mr. Payne’s death is all over the village,” Gwen went on, speaking over my words. “Dr. Grimshaw gossips like an old woman. He made it clear at the pub last night that he thinks Mr. Payne’s death wasn’t an accident, but murder.” She crossed her arms. “Olive, surely you’ve found out something by now that will help Peter.”
I squirmed in my chair. I’d promised Miss Miller I wouldn’t divulge her secret about her brother being duped with the forged signatures or the fact that Payne had blackmailed her with a stolen love letter. And I’d promised Sonia I’d keep her secrets about Payne. That was entirely too many secrets. Nevertheless, I’d keep my word. “I’m making progress,” I said.
Gwen’s eyebrows came together as she frowned. “That’s all? You’re making progress?”
Jasper leaned forward, drawing Gwen’s attention away from me. “What we need is more information about Mr. Payne.” I shot him a warning look, but he went on smoothly, “About what Mr. Payne did once he arrived here at Parkview. How he spent his time.”
“Yes,” I said. “The only thing we can say with any certainty is that he sold Uncle Leo maps with dubious signatures.”
Gwen said, “Which Inspector Longly has taken away.”
It was another black mark against Inspector Longly in Gwen’s mind. “That’s part of his job,” I said. “Those maps are evidence.” Gwen sent me a look that said she didn’t agree, but before she could launch into a speech, I went on, “There had to be some sort of incident or encounter that was the catalyst for the murderer.” I just hoped it wasn’t Sonia’s meeting her not-dead husband who was masquerading as a childhood friend. The scandal that would stir up, not to mention the hurt that would cause Father—I shifted my mind away from that track. I’d wait and see what Boggs turned up before I resorted to those sorts of thoughts.
Gwen said, “Mr. Payne didn’t know anyone here at Parkview. So, yes, something must have happened . . .”
I exchanged a glance with Jasper to warn him to keep quiet about whom Mr. Payne might or might not have known before he arrived. Gwen pushed off from the Chesterfield and went to her desk, where she picked up paper and a pencil. “I’ll figure out Mr. Payne’s movements. Brimble will know where the guests were.”
A deep voice sounded from the door. “Having a council of war?”
We all swiveled around.
Peter stood in the doorway. Gwen dropped her paper and pencil and rushed across the room to embrace him. “You’re back.”
“At least for the moment.”
Gwen pulled back from him, hands still on his arms as she looked into his face. “Was it horribly grim?”
“On the contrary, they were extremely polite. Polite, but relentless.” His bruised eye still looked terrible, but it was the way he moved into the room and dropped onto the sofa that worried me. He let his head fall back against the cushions and closed his eyes.
Gwen pressed her lips together. The possibility of Longly patching things up with Gwen was growing smaller by the minute.
Peter opened his eyes and rolled his head to the side to make eye contact with Jasper. “I don’t think they were satisfied, though.”
Before Jasper could reply, Gwen asked, “Why ever not?”
“Because I couldn’t answer their questions fully. I still don’t remember what happened in the conservatory.”
I turned in my chair. “What do you recall?”
“Not nearly enough.” Peter sighed and sat up, his movements slow and laborious, reminding me of an old man. “I’d hoped my memory would be clearer today, but it’s not. I know I stopped at the mirror outside the doorway to the conservatory to adjust my waistcoat, but after that”—he lifted a shoulder—“it’s all blank until you arrived, Olive.”
“Inspector Longly doesn’t believe you?” Gwen asked, her face thunderous.
“Inspector Longly is a man who deals in facts, which I can’t give him at the moment.” His gaze drifted to the view of the rolling hills beyond the formal gardens. He braced his hands on his knees and stood. “I’m on my way out for a stroll. That always helps clear my head.”
“Oh, don’t leave now,” Gwen said. “You look exhausted.”
“It’s how I’ve dealt with everything else, old girl. I can’t stop now. It’s all I know to do.” He touched Gwen’s arm, gave Jasper and me a nod, and left, his tread slow.
After Peter closed the door softly behind him, Gwen whirled around and picked up the paper and penc
il. “He never would listen to reason. Why are all men so stubborn?”
I knew Gwen’s irritation was a combination of worry for Peter and anger at Longly. Jasper must have realized it too, because he didn’t jump to defend his gender. He pointed to the paper. “What are you scribbling?”
“I’m making a list of what we need to do. Peter may go walk the hills, but we must make an effort to help him. I’ll trace Mr. Payne’s movements from the time he arrived until he went to the conservatory Friday night.”
“If you see Uncle Leo, ask him how he came to invite Mr. Payne to Parkview,” I said. I still hadn’t seen him.
“Right.” Gwen made a note, then looked up, her gaze flicking from Jasper to me. “What can you two do?”
“Jasper has a few telephone calls to make about Mr. Payne,” I said.
“You can use the one in Father’s study. He won’t mind,” Gwen said, her tone businesslike. “And you, Olive?”
“I believe I’ll have a look around the conservatory now that the police have finished there.”
“Whatever for?” Gwen asked. “Surely you don’t think they overlooked something?”
“No, but it’s dim in there in the evening, and I want to see it in the daylight. Memories can be deceptive,” I said. “I also want to speak to Ross.”
Gwen checked the time. “He’ll probably be there now since the police had it closed off this morning. I’m sure he’ll be grumbling about the constables trampling his plants.” Gwen’s voice indicated she thought it was a useless errand, but she didn’t try to persuade me to do something else.
Our impromptu meeting broke up, and we were on our way downstairs when we met Aunt Caroline hurrying up to us, a relieved look on her face. “Oh, there you are, Gwen. Did you see Peter? He’s returned.”
“Yes, we spoke to him a little while ago.”
“Good.” Worry traced across her features. “He looked just like he did when he was seven and came down with pneumonia—all sickly and worn out. We must do something to get his mind off everything. He enjoys being out-of-doors, so a picnic at the ruin will be perfect—and something to entertain everyone else, of course. Gwen, dear, you’ll speak to Cook, won’t you? And have her prepare several picnic baskets for tea.”
