The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  “Isn’t she allowed to make telephone calls?” I demanded. “Her lawyer should be notified.”

  “Oh yes, please let me call my solicitor. Although I don’t know what good he’ll be.” Belinda sounded desperate. “He’s good at wills and things but I don’t know if he’s ever had to deal with a crime and a court case.”

  “He’ll know which barrister to contact, don’t worry,” I said.

  “And my father,” Belinda said. “Can’t I call my father?”

  “You’ll be allowed one telephone call as soon as you are in custody,” DI Watt said, showing no compassion at all.

  “I’ll telephone your father, Belinda. You talk to your solicitor,” I said.

  “His number is Broxham two five one. Can you remember that? Oh, and I need my things. My handbag and my cape.” Belinda said. “I can’t go without my things. And what about my nightclothes and toilet bag? Will I be staying there overnight?”

  “It’s not a luxury hotel, miss,” Inspector Purdy said, glancing across at the senior man from Scotland Yard. “What do you think, Inspector? Can I send someone up for her possessions?”

  “This young lady can go and get them,” Inspector Watt said. “She’ll know what a lady might need.”

  “Thank you,” Belinda said.

  I needed no urging. I ran up the stairs and into Belinda’s bedroom. Tony’s body had been removed in the meantime and the bed had been stripped. It was hard to believe what we had seen. I looked briefly on the floor around the bed but saw nothing. Think! I was commanding myself. What could I do to help her? I went into my room and shoved her nightdress, dressing gown, hairbrush and sponge bag into her suitcase. Then in her own room I added her underclothes, then lipstick and powder. She’d want to look her best, wouldn’t she? I thought about changes of clothes but that might have been going too far. When I retrieved her handbag I opened it, quickly tearing off the solicitor’s address from the envelope of Belinda’s letter about the cottage, just in case I had to telephone him at some stage.

  Then I ran down the stairs again.

  “Here,” I said, offering the train case and bag to Belinda. DI Purdy intervened, stepping in to go through each item before he nodded and handed them to Belinda. “Nothing untoward there,” he said. “Right. We’re ready then, are we?”

  “My cape,” Belinda said, not taking her eyes from me. “I need my cape.” As I retrieved it from the cupboard I felt a weight in the pocket, reached in and touched her car keys. Would they impound Brutus? If so, how would I be able to get around? In a split second I took the keys and shoved them into my pocket before I draped the garment around her shoulders, fastening the clasp for her as if she was a little child. She gave me a pathetically grateful smile.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “It will be all right. You’ll soon be back with us.”

  I followed them to the front door. As DI Purdy escorted her down the flight of steps the other inspector came back to me. “It has just been brought to my attention exactly who you are, my lady,” he said leaning close to me so that we couldn’t be overheard. “Your connection to our king and queen. If I may make a suggestion, would you please go home as quickly as possible. The news of this crime will be in the papers before we know it and we don’t want any embarrassing publicity for the royal family, do we? If you go home now, I believe we can keep your name out of the papers.”

  “Absolutely not, Inspector,” I said angrily. “Do you really think I would desert my friend in her hour of need? I’m going to do everything within my power to prove her innocence.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “You are a loyal friend, I can see that. But I’m afraid you might have to face facts. Miss Warburton-Stoke might not have been quite upfront with you in this matter. She knew this man. She might well have been his mistress. And I’m afraid she will turn out to be guilty.”

  I followed him out of the front door and stood on the threshold as they bundled her into the back of a police motorcar. She gave me a last frightened glance as they drove away. I felt sick. I’d let them take my best friend. I hadn’t been able to stop them. And I realized the frightening truth that it was all up to me, yet I had no idea where to begin.

  * * *

  MY HEART WAS pounding. I tried to stay calm and think logically. Should I get into Brutus and drive after them to see where Belinda was being taken? I dismissed this as being a waste of time when time was of the essence. They presumably wouldn’t let me keep her company so what good was being in Truro when the murder had happened here? Think, Georgie. Step number one would be to do as Belinda had asked, to call her father. I was going to ask for permission to use the telephone when I came to a decision. I would not make the telephone call from the house where I could be overheard, but from the telephone box in the nearest village.

  I needed to escape for a while anyway for my own sanity and to formulate my plans. I went to find Rose. She was sitting in the morning room with an untouched cup of tea in front of her.

  “I shouldn’t impose on you any longer,” I said. “I’ll pack my things and go to find a hotel in Truro where I can be close to Belinda.”

  “That’s not necessary. You don’t have to leave. I have no quarrel with you, Lady Georgiana.”

  “But I’d feel most awkward staying on in this house of mourning. You certainly don’t want to entertain a stranger.”

  To my surprise she grabbed my hand. “Don’t go. Please.”

  I hesitated. I would certainly be of more use to Belinda if I stayed on in this house. I could snoop around for clues, talk to the servants and see if they had noticed anything that might be helpful. I could find the old man again and get to the bottom of who had threatened him with the police and what he might have seen. But I was certainly uneasy about staying on here. Someone had killed in a most violent manner and while I couldn’t think that anyone had a grudge against me, I might find myself in danger if I tried to delve into the manner more deeply. But it had to be done.

  “I’ll stay on for the moment, if you really want me here,” I said. “But you don’t have to be polite, Rose.”

  “I don’t want to be alone,” she said.

  “All right,” I said. “But you should know that I believe wholeheartedly that Belinda is innocent. So I think it wiser that I leave as soon as possible.”

  “At least stay for tonight,” she said. “Until my mother can come and be with me. I telephoned her and she’s on her way.”

  “Very well,” I agreed. “But at this moment I need to be alone, if you don’t mind. I need fresh air.”

  She nodded. “I have to tell Mrs. Mannering to make up a room for my mother.” She went across to the wall and tugged on the bellpull. “And we will need to plan a funeral, won’t we? When do you think the police will release Tony’s body to us? They said something about an autopsy, but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? We all know how he died. He was stabbed to death. I told the police that I didn’t want his body cut up any more but they said it was standard procedure. Horrible.” She shook her head.

  “You rang, Mrs. Summers?” Mrs. Mannering appeared. “Oh, you’ve let your tea get cold. Should I bring you another cup?”

  “No, thank you,” Rose said. “I’m finding it hard to swallow anything. But I’ve just spoken with my mother and she will be arriving by this evening so I wondered if you could . . .”

  “I have already instructed Elsie to make up the blue room for her. It is suitably close to your room.”

  “Thank you. You’re an absolute brick, Mrs. M.,” Rose said.

  The older woman gave a little nod of appreciation. “I do my job, Mrs. Summers.”

  Chapter 25

  OCTOBER 19

  IN THE VILLAGE OF ROCK, CORNWALL

  I feel as if I am fumbling blindly in the dark. There must be some logic to this. It is as if I’m living my nightmare over and
over.

  I retrieved my overcoat from the cupboard, took the key to Brutus from my pocket and came out into the fresh air. A stiff breeze was blowing and clouds raced across the sky. It would be a grand day for a ride or better still a hunt. Or a walk through the estate at Eynsleigh with my grandfather. Anywhere, other than here. I really wished I hadn’t agreed to come. If only Zou Zou had been in London or Granddad hadn’t been busy I would not have been home when Belinda came calling. Then I rebuked myself for being selfish. It would have been so much worse for her if I hadn’t been with her. She needed me here.

  I found Brutus where we had left him beside the stables and tentatively climbed in. Even more hesitantly I put the key into the ignition, and, with my foot on the clutch, turned it. The motor sprang to life with a roar like an impatient tiger. I slid the gear into first (which it did with no grating and grinding at all) and gradually let the clutch out. The motorcar sprang forward eagerly and we headed down the drive. I had driven cars before, including Sir Hubert’s Daimler, which was now mine to use, but never anything with such raw power as Brutus. I could feel him straining like a powerful horse, willing me to give him his head and let him gallop. I kept us in a sedate second gear as we negotiated the turns of the driveway and then turned into the road. Here I moved to a daring third gear, but the nature of Cornish lanes is such that one can never drive fast. Once I dropped from the headland, the lane ran between high banks, with tree branches reaching out from them, so winding that I could never see around the next corner. I slowed to a crawl, holding my breath as I came around each bend. Then I noticed a motorcar had come up behind me. Very close behind me. In the rearview mirror I saw a big black shape. I tried to go a little faster. I was sweating. Then I told myself, “He’ll just have to wait.”

  I came to a place of the first houses, where the lane opened up a bit. Suddenly the other car swept past me. I noticed the Rolls-Royce emblem on the front. “Show-off! Road hog!” I shouted after it. I knew he couldn’t hear me but it made me feel better.

  I continued on into the village of Rock and pulled up outside the little post office where I had spotted a telephone box. And there was the Rolls-Royce, parked next to me. I wondered whether I dared to give the driver a piece of my mind when he came out of the post office, holding a bundle of mail. It was none other than Jago. He recognized me and gave me a friendly nod.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I said, reformulating what I was about to say. “Nice motorcar.”

  He gave a cheeky grin. “Not mine. My boss’s.” Before I could say anything more he said, “Sorry if I gave you a scare back there, but my boss has just arrived with a big party and they want lobsters tonight. So I’d been out to my pots, but no luck again, I’m afraid.”

  “There aren’t any lobsters around at the moment?”

  He scowled. “There should be plenty, just not in my pots. I have my suspicions that someone is helping himself. I’ve tried to catch him at it but no luck so far. That’s what I was doing when I surprised you and Belinda at the cottage. I’d spent most of the night out at sea, watching my lobster pots. Between us, my money is on that bugger Tony Summers, or someone who works for him. That’s the sort of thing he would do. He’s not a local man. He doesn’t know our traditions. Not really popular around here.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  He saw my face. “What’s wrong? And where’s Belinda?”

  “You haven’t heard. Tony Summers is dead.”

  “Dead?” He looked astonished. “Heart attack or accident?”

  “Murdered. And Belinda has been arrested for his murder.”

  “Belinda? How could Belinda have killed Tony Summers? And why?”

  “She didn’t, I’m sure, but he was found in her bedroom, lying naked on her bed. . . .”

  “Was he?” Jago gave another cheeky grin.

  “It wasn’t like that at all,” I said huffily. “She was off having a bath and she has no idea how he got there. Anyway, by the time she found him he had been stabbed with a large knife.”

  “Crikey,” he said. “And what’s happening now?”

  “They’ve taken her off to the county courthouse in Truro,” I said, and to my mortification I heard my voice quiver. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. She wants me to telephone her father.”

  “I’m really sorry. That’s awful.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not unless you can find the real murderer for me.”

  “I wish I could give you more time but my boss arrived out of the blue yesterday, so I’ve been racing around, getting household help, arranging for food to be delivered. He’s a bugger with a terrible temper if everything doesn’t go exactly as he likes it.”

  “Do you like working for him?” I asked.

  He made a face. “He pays well. It’s good experience. And I’ve been able to see parts of the world I’d never have seen otherwise.” He let his hand fall. “Sorry. I have to get going. Look, come and find me if you need help. Once I’ve got them settled I should have a moment to breathe.”

  “How do I find you? I don’t think that your boss wants me to trespass onto the grounds.”

  “There are people coming and going with deliveries right now. And my cottage is off to the left, next to the kitchen garden. But what about Belinda? Can we go and see her?”

  “I’m going to try, but it sounds as if she’s in jail. Do they let people in jail have visitors?”

  “I’m sure they do in Cornwall,” he said. “It’s not like the Old Bailey here.” This time the smile was reassuring.

  “The problem is that if it wasn’t Belinda who killed Tony, then who could it have been?”

  “Who else was in the house?” he asked.

  “Just Tony’s wife, Rose, and the servants.”

  “And did she have a reason to want him dead?” Jago asked.

  “She seems grief-stricken,” I said, not wanting to divulge that conversation about believing Tony was trying to kill her. “And anyway she has a pretty good alibi. She was in a distant part of the house. The one interesting detail was that someone opened Belinda’s window, so I’m wondering if an intruder got in.”

  “Someone from Tony’s shady past, you mean?”

  “Did he have one?”

  Jago shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I do know he’s not popular around here. He’s raised rents, raised mooring fees, and of course Jonquil was never liked. She ran over a local child once, so there has been bad blood for some time with Trewoma.”

  “That’s a thought,” I said. “The servants. Is it possible that someone who now works at the house was related to the little boy that Jonquil killed years ago?”

  “I’m not sure who works there now,” he said. “Elsie Trelawney, doesn’t she?”

  “There’s an Elsie. And James is the footman. But I don’t know the name of the cook or other maids. They are all new, I gather. I understand that Tony—or was it Rose?—got rid of the old servants. One of them could have been bitter about being given the sack.”

  “I heard something about that,” he said. “Poor old Gladys who’d worked there for years. And Will and Margie Stokes.”

  “Was one of them related to the boy?”

  He frowned. “I think Gladys was his auntie or second cousin or something. Everybody’s related to everyone else around here.” Then he grinned. “They were all pretty ancient. I can’t see Gladys climbing a drainpipe into someone’s room. Or any of them, for that matter.”

  “Mrs. Mannering is still there, of course.”

  “Ah yes. The housekeeper. She’s not local, I don’t think. And she’s been there donkey’s years. Started off as a nursemaid for Jonquil.”

  The wheels were now turning in my head. A servant who was related to the dead boy—but then it was Jonquil who ran him over, years ago, not Tony. But Mrs. Mannering . . . she had obviously worsh
ipped Jonquil. If she suspected, as Rose did, that Tony had pushed Jonquil off the cliff, might she have been waiting for the perfect moment to take revenge? But why Belinda? Belinda had nothing to do with Jonquil or the house. And Mrs. Mannering didn’t like Rose much. Why not implicate her? I sighed again. Nothing made any sense. But at least I had a slim lead to go on. Someone in the neighborhood who hated Tony or hated Trewoma for some reason and had a relative working at the house now. A relative who could take the dagger and signal for the right moment to climb into the room. It was far-fetched but better than nothing.

  “I’d better get going, then.” Jago interrupted my train of thought. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, just in case. And when this lot leave again, I’ll try to see Belinda. I don’t like the thought of her shut up like that.”

  He opened the door of the Rolls-Royce, climbed in and set off at a great pace, tires spewing up loose gravel. I decided to do a little sleuthing right away. I went into the post office.

  “Oh, it’s you, miss,” the postmistress said, eyeing me with interest. “Staying at Trewoma, so we’ve heard. What’s it all about with the police, then? Constable Hood called out in the night and Dan Struthers says he saw a big police car going past—driving real fast, he was, and he turned into Trewoma, so we’re reckoning something’s wrong.”

  “You’re going to find out soon enough,” I said. “I expect it will be in the newspapers. Tony Summers has been killed.”

  “Well, I never!” She put a hand to her ample bosom. “I can’t say he was the most popular of men around here—seeing as how he was trying to modernize everything and make folks pay up for mooring their boats and all—but who would have wanted to kill him? Poor Mrs. Summers. Just when she thought she’d landed nicely in clover, she’s a widow with a big house to run.”

  “I was just wondering about the servants,” I said.

  “The servants?” She was frowning.

  “Are they all from these parts? I wondered if any of them might have a grudge or perhaps have a family member with a grudge against Mr. Summers.”