The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  “The two were well acquainted, were they?” the constable asked, giving me something akin to a wink. “Otherwise why would he be lying on her bed with no clothes on?”

  “They were childhood playmates, when she used to come down here in the summers to stay with her grandmother Lady Knott,” I said.

  He brightened up at the mention of this. “Lady Knott, eh? She were a fine old bird, weren’t she? I remember how she used to ride out in her little pony and trap. Well respected around here. So that’s her grandmother. Well, that will sit well with the jury if she’s tried down here, but if it’s a case up to the Old Bailey, which it well might be, seeing as how it will be a capital offense, if you get my meaning. . . .” He paused, realizing he was rambling on. “So what has been going on since they were childhood friends, then?”

  “Miss Warburton-Stoke had not seen Mr. Summers for some time and had no idea he was living here or that he was married to Mrs. Summers.”

  “In which case why are you staying here if she knew nothing about him or his wife?”

  “We came down to Cornwall to look at a piece of property that Belinda inherited,” I said. “We bumped into Rose Summers and she remembered Belinda from her childhood and invited us to stay.”

  “I see.” He sucked air through his teeth. Then he ran his hand through his thick white hair. He was clearly at a loss what to do next.

  “You were going to telephone the inspector?” I suggested.

  “Right.” He turned back to stare at Belinda’s closed door and then at mine. “I’m not sure what to do about the young lady. By rights I should take her to the closest jail, I suppose. But the closest jail is in Truro at the county court and that’s a good way in the dark and I don’t have a proper vehicle to escort the young lady. I borrowed Alfie Fellows’s motorbike, since the matter was urgent. She can hardly sit on the pillion, seeing as how it’s raining out there.”

  “She’ll be quite safe here,” I assured him. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t run away.”

  “Right you are, then.” He nodded with satisfaction. “I’ll go and telephone the inspector. He’ll be right shirty at being woken at this time of night, but needs must, as they say.”

  “This way, Constable,” Mrs. Mannering said and led him down the stairs to the telephone in the foyer.

  I lingered on the balcony. I heard him talking to the operator, then a long pause and then he said, “Sorry to trouble you, sir. . . . Yes, I do know what time it is. . . . Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night and you were asleep . . . but it’s rather urgent that you come here as soon as possible because I’m not sure what to do next. No, it’s not a fight outside the pub, it’s a young man lying naked and dead on a bed. At that big house called Trewoma. Stabbed through the heart, sir. A clear case of murder.” There was another pause, then he added, “No, sir, it’s not a prank, I promise you. It’s a real honest-to-goodness murder. . . . The murderer? Yes, I do have an idea. I have her apprehended and under guard. Why, thank you, sir. I just do my best.”

  He looked quite satisfied as he hung the telephone receiver back on its cradle. “He’ll be coming out as soon as he gets dressed,” he said. “It shouldn’t take him more than half an hour.”

  I went back to Belinda. She was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees to herself.

  “The inspector is on his way,” I said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  “How can I possibly sleep, Georgie? I’m absolutely terrified. And the more I think about it, the more I am sure that Uncle Francis did it. Because if not he, then who could it be? It must be someone with a grudge against me as well as against Tony.”

  I thought about this. “Rose would be the most likely suspect,” I said. “She told us today that she was scared Tony was planning to kill her. So why not kill him first? But I don’t know what she could have against you, unless he was now interested in you and thought that you might also be returning that interest.”

  “She might have seen him going into my room earlier,” Belinda said. “And come to the wrong conclusion.”

  “It would have been the right conclusion if you hadn’t sent him packing,” I said. “But the trouble with that theory is that she was down in the kitchen making cocoa,” I pointed out. “We all saw her going that way, then when you cried out and we came running, she was still at the bottom of the stairs with the cup in her hand.”

  “The kitchen is at the back of the house, isn’t it?” Belinda said. “A long way from these rooms. She couldn’t have seen Tony going into my room, or the murderer, whoever it was, if she had been making cocoa.”

  “I think Mrs. Mannering might be capable of plotting a murder, don’t you?” I said. “I mean, look at that face. But I suspect it would be the sneaky type—poisoning someone or arranging an accident. I can’t see her stabbing with a dagger. Too messy and the sheets will need cleaning. You can see how she values cleanliness and tidiness.” I glanced across at her and had to grin.

  Belinda looked at me and started to laugh. “Oh, Georgie, it’s not funny, is it?”

  “Not at all. Absolutely terrifying. But if it really is your uncle Francis, then they’ll find him soon enough.”

  “What if he’s sailed off to the Continent or something? And how will we ever prove it’s him?”

  “He’ll have left fingerprints on the dagger. Maybe in a room where he hid. He’ll have touched door handles.”

  She grabbed at my hand. “Georgie, you’re so good at all this. You’ve solved crimes before. You’ll save me, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will,” I said, again sounding more confident than I felt.

  Chapter 17

  NOW EARLY MORNING, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18

  TREWOMA

  Oh gosh, something absolutely awful has happened and everyone thinks it’s poor Belinda. I’ve promised I’ll help her but I don’t know how. Who wanted to kill Tony? And harm Belinda too, because the scene was clearly set up to make her appear guilty. I do hope it is her uncle Francis because that would sew it all up so neatly, and, besides, I don’t think he’s a very nice person. I hope the inspector is not one of the bumbling sort.

  I had crept into bed beside Belinda and we lay, side by side, staring at the ceiling, neither of us either willing or able to sleep until we heard a loud knocking at the front door. Then there were voices echoing up from the foyer.

  “Powerful beastly night, ain’t it, sir?” came the constable’s voice. “Sorry to have called you out, but you’ll see for yourself.”

  “This had better be good,” the new, sharper male voice was saying. “You know what people are like at these posh houses. They think it’s a tremendous joke to play pranks on poor stupid policemen like us. Are you sure they didn’t stage a murder just for their own amusement? If I hear a background of chuckles, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble, Hood.”

  “Oh no, sir, I can assure you nobody here was doing any chuckling,” the constable’s voice replied. “And I think I know a dead body when I see one.”

  “All right, lead on. Which room is it in?”

  My curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out of bed and opened my door just enough to peek out. The newly arrived inspector was a much younger man but life had not been kind to him. Either that or he had spent the evening being rather too merry at the local pub. He had large bags under his eyes and he was scowling as if it was an effort to see. His sandy hair was already thinning on top. Not an encouraging sight.

  “The next room on your right, sir,” Constable Hood said and started to push the door open for him.

  “Don’t touch the door, man,” the inspector barked. “There might be valuable fingerprints on it.”

  “I expect there will be if people have gone in and out over the last hundred years,” the constable said with a chuckle. The inspector was not amused.

  At that moment Mrs. Mannering came rushing
down the hallway toward the two men. I stepped back hastily into my room as she went past.

  “Inspector Purdy. How good of you to come at this time of night,” she said. “I am Mrs. Mannering, the housekeeper. I’m afraid Mrs. Summers was so overwrought at the death of her husband that I gave her a sleeping powder. But I will be of assistance in any way I can.”

  “I don’t need assistance, thank you, madam. But I hope you’ve made sure that any evidence has not been tampered with?”

  “Oh yes. Indeed I did. Nobody has entered that room since the young woman was found holding the murder weapon.”

  “And where is she now?” the inspector asked.

  “Her friend, Lady Georgiana Rannoch, sister of the duke, is looking after her in her own bedroom.”

  “Sister of the duke, eh?” The inspector gave a slightly nervous cough now. “And is the young lady suspect also a titled person?”

  “Not titled but of good family. Her grandmother was Lady Knott—”

  “Not what?” he asked impatiently.

  “No, that was her name. Lady Knott. With a K. A true lady of the old school. Used to own a house very close to Trewoma. Now deceased unfortunately.”

  “I see.” The inspector sucked through his teeth. “In my opinion just because you’re highborn doesn’t mean you’re not capable of dirty deeds. I shall need to speak with both young ladies after I’ve viewed the scene of the murder.”

  “It’s in here,” Mrs. Mannering said. “Nothing has been touched.”

  I watched as he stepped into the room. “Oh my God,” I heard him exclaim. “And a young lady did this?”

  “She was discovered clutching the knife, and her hands covered in blood,” Mrs. Mannering said.

  “Mentally unstable, obviously. A lot of them are. Too much inbreeding. They probably won’t hang her but send her to one of those nice rest homes for batty aristocrats. And where is the murder weapon now?”

  “The young lady was persuaded to put it down on the side table here.”

  I heard another grunt of surprise. “That’s no ordinary knife. A nasty-looking weapon if ever I saw one. Where did she find a thing like that? I wonder.”

  “I regret to say that she found it in this house, Inspector. The former owner was a great traveler and collector. There are weapons from all over the world on the walls in the library and long gallery. It would have been all too easy to take one of them.”

  “I see. And the deceased was the current owner of this house?”

  “Yes. Mr. Anthony Summers.”

  “I don’t remember having heard the name. Wasn’t it something different? A Cornish name?”

  “It was the Trefusis family, Inspector. Unfortunately, Mr. Ferrers Trefusis and his wife died tragically in a plane crash. Mr. Summers came to the house when he married Miss Jonquil Trefusis, who had inherited the property from her parents. That would have been just over three years ago.”

  “So his wife is the heiress to this estate?”

  “Not his current wife. His former wife.”

  “He’s got through two wives in three years?” The inspector sounded incredulous.

  “Unfortunately Miss Jonquil met with a tragic accident when they had been married for less than a year. She was standing on a cliff top when it crumbled under her and she plunged to her death.”

  “I remember reading something about that. I was stationed on the other side of Cornwall, at Launceston, at the time. Tragic thing to happen to a young girl.”

  “It was devastating. If anyone loved life, it was Miss Jonquil. I had looked after her since she was a baby,” Mrs. Mannering said.

  “And when she died he got his hands on all the property?”

  “It wasn’t like you make it sound, Inspector. I can assure you there was no indication of foul play. In fact Mr. Summers was over at the home farm when the accident happened. Anyway, they seemed quite happy together. They were a well-matched pair.”

  “But he didn’t waste any time getting married again?”

  “I’m afraid you are right. He rather rushed into it. Unfortunate circumstances, I think. It is not for me to gossip but I understood that the current Mrs. Summers was in the family way and Mr. Summers did the right thing by marrying her.”

  “And how was their marriage? Presumably not too happy if he was found naked in another woman’s room.”

  “I don’t think they were an ideal couple if you really want my opinion,” Mrs. Mannering said. “She was not of his class. A lowborn young woman without any social graces. Quite unsuited to running a great house like Trewoma. I have tried to educate her but I can’t say we have been making much progress.”

  There was a pause. I was dying to see what was happening. Was he taking a look around the room, examining those bedclothes? I started to sneak out of the room but then noticed Constable Hood standing guard in the doorway. Well, either standing guard or he didn’t want to have to look at that body. I suspected the latter. I stepped back before he saw me.

  Then the inspector spoke again. “As housekeeper you must have a pretty good idea about what goes on here,” he said. “Was there hanky-panky going on between the master of the house and the young woman who killed him? Was he the sort who went up to London on business from time to time? Did he bring her here with hanky-panky in mind?”

  “I doubt that, Inspector. He seemed genuinely surprised to see her. And I have to say frankly that I have not seen evidence of hanky-panky on his part since he came here.”

  “Nevertheless, he is lying naked in another woman’s bed,” I heard him say. I crept a little closer, trying to see through the crack in the door. Then I heard him gasp. “That’s odd. His hair is wet. Had he just been out in the rain, do you think?”

  “Oh no, sir. Mr. Summers always took his bath at night. I presume he’d just had his bath, which might also explain his nakedness. Should we perhaps cover him? It doesn’t seem right to have him lying there, exposed to the elements, as it were.”

  “I’m afraid we should not move him or touch anything until I’ve made a thorough examination of the room. I can understand that it’s a disturbing sight for a delicate and refined woman like yourself, Mrs. Mannering. May I suggest that you let the members of the household know that I shall want to interview each of them, starting with the young lady in question and her friend. I suppose that Mrs. Summers will be in no condition to talk to me, if you’ve administered a sleeping powder. I may have to wait until the morning for her. In any case, Scotland Yard will have to be called in. Given that we’re dealing with highborn people and it’s clearly a hanging offense, I feel that it’s beyond my authority. Constable Hood?”

  “Right here, sir.”

  “Round up the members of the household, both above- and belowstairs. I shall want to question them all. The members of staff can be interviewed in the kitchen. In fact you can take initial statements from each of them—”

  “I hope you do not mind my interrupting, Inspector,” Mrs. Mannering said, “but is it necessary to interview the staff? They had all gone to bed at that hour. I usually wait until Mr. and Mrs. Summers go up to bed and then I do one last tour of the house and lock the front door. I can assure you that there was no sign of any person other than Mr. and Mrs. Summers and their guests.”

  “That doesn’t mean that they were necessarily asleep. Could have been lurking inside their room, ready to strike. Murderers are devious, you know, Mrs. Mannering.”

  “Hardly devious enough to attack the master of the household with a large dagger when he was in a guest’s room, surely? That would take incredible bravado and be quite unnecessary. Besides, the staff are happy here and well treated. Local people. Simple people. Not the type who go around murdering their employers.”

  I heard the inspector give a sigh. “I suppose I must agree with you, Mrs. Mannering. When I was in training they told us to look for the
obvious first. And the obvious in this case is that the young lady either invited Mr. Summers to her room with the intention of killing him or that he came to her room unwanted and unbidden and she grabbed a weapon to defend herself. Although how and why she had that particular dagger in her room, if it belonged on a wall downstairs, is another matter.”

  At that moment there was a tap on our door. “It’s Constable Hood,” said the voice. “Are you young ladies still awake? Inspector Purdy requests that you make yourselves respectable and come downstairs because he would like to question you.”

  “Very well, Constable,” I called back through the door. I turned to Belinda. “Come on. We have to make ourselves respectable.”

  “All right for you,” she said. “You’ve always been respectable. You were born respectable. I’m the one who has led a rather wicked life and for once, this time, I was behaving with absolute decorum and now I’m accused of murder.”

  “We’ll make them see the truth, don’t worry.” I squeezed her hand.

  “Do you think he expected us to dress again?” Belinda asked, “because all my clothes are in the room with the body.”

  “I’m sure dressing gowns are respectable enough,” I said. “They don’t reveal any more than an ankle. Although that might still be considered sinful down here in the wilds of Cornwall.”

  Belinda even managed a smile.

  Chapter 18

  OCTOBER 18, VERY EARLY MORNING

  TREWOMA

  In a way I’m hoping that the man from Scotland Yard will come quickly, because this inspector seems to have jumped to conclusions and isn’t prepared to listen. But then again, not all inspectors from Scotland Yard that I’ve dealt with have been excessively bright. Oh dear. What on earth can I do to help? Poor Belinda is in a terrible state.