by Rhys Bowen
In the face of such reason I had to back down.
“So you have no way of contacting Inspector Newcombe at all? You couldn’t find out where his meeting is being held?”
The constable considered this. “I suppose I could put through a telephone call to the main police station in Exeter and they might know how to find him, but he wouldn’t half be mad at me if I brought him back here for nothing.”
“I can promise you it’s not for nothing,” I said. “We now have proof that all those deaths were murders, you see.”
“You don’t say!” He stared at me, wide-eyed.
“And another man has died this morning and more people will go on dying unless the murderer is stopped.”
“Well, I never. Who’d have thought it around here?” he said. “I don’t recall there ever being a murder in these parts. Just like London, isn’t it?”
“So will you try to contact the inspector for us, please?” I asked.
“I’ll do my best, miss,” he said.
“We shouldn’t wait around any longer,” Darcy said. “They’ll worry where we’ve got to. And I’ve borrowed Monty’s motorcar without permission. The inspector will come out to us as soon as he gets your note.”
“I should add something about Mr. Klein,” I said and on the back of the envelope I wrote, Mr. Klein doesn’t answer his door. Suspect he may be dead inside his flat. Constable refused to break down door to find out.
Then reluctantly we had to drive back to Tiddleton-under-Lovey. The field where the chase had taken place now had an abandoned feel to it, with bits of bunting flapping in the wind and the ghostly shapes of booths looming over the fence. Johnnie’s roguish face swam into my mind and I remembered the others teasing him about entering the race because of his age. He had felt himself immortal then. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to blot out the pain.
We put the motor back in the old stables beside the house and went in to find everyone in a mellow mood after the exertions of the race and the large amount of alcohol consumed. Cherie and Ethel had now attached themselves to Monty and Badger and were sitting beside them on a sofa. The adults were drinking coffee and looking bored. Lady Hawse-Gorzley waylaid me in the passageway.
“Oh, there you are. I suspect you slipped away with my nephew, you naughty girl.” She wagged a finger, but she was smiling.
“We tried to find Inspector Newcombe,” I said. “We discovered something he ought to know.”
She brushed back her hair from her face in a distracted gesture. “These deaths—I’m really beginning to believe in the Lovey Curse. I can’t explain them any other way. And Wild Sal was out there at the Chase today, dancing around as bold as you please. It would not surprise me one bit if she were a witch.” She paused, then managed an embarrassed smile. “Oh, I know one is supposed to be modern and pooh-pooh anything supernatural, but in this part of the world we take the supernatural seriously.”
“I don’t think she’s responsible for these deaths,” I said.
“Then how can they be explained?” she snapped. “Seeing poor Johnnie today . . . I’ve known him all my life. We used to play together when we were children. Am I really to believe that he suffered a heart attack?”
“I think we’ll find out that he was murdered,” I said. “I think we’ll find that these were all well-planned murders.”
She glared at me fiercely. “Then who will be next?” she said. “Shouldn’t I send my guests away now rather than expose them to this kind of danger?”
“I think your guests are safe. It seems to be only local people—people about whom the killer knows an awful lot.”
She shuddered. “Horrible. Horrible. I worry about Oswald. He often goes off alone, tramping all over the estate. He takes the dogs with him, but they can’t protect him, can they?”
I put a tentative hand on her arm. “We may be near to solving this,” I said. “I suggest we keep everyone close to the house for the rest of their time here.”
“What about the Worsting of the Hag?” she said. “They’ll want to take part in that, won’t they? It’s the big event.”
“What exactly happens?”
“On New Year’s Eve every year, everyone goes from house to house around the village, banging on pots and pans and drums, making noise to drive out evil spirits. It’s supposed to be the reenactment of the time when they chased the witch around the village before they caught her on Lovey Tor. Always great fun.”
“But dangerous,” I said. “How can you protect people out in the dark?”
She shrugged. “We’ll have to enlist the help of the police, won’t we? We can’t stop the festival. It’s been going for two hundred–plus years.”
She peered into the sitting room. “Oh, God. What are we going to do with them? Look at them—just sitting there, waiting to be entertained. I do wish I hadn’t undertaken this stupid farce.” She looked at me for understanding. “You’ve probably heard by now that they’re all paying guests.”
I nodded.
“We needed the money, you see. Things have not been going well and this seemed like such a good opportunity.” She sighed. “But I wish to God we had never done it. I even began to wonder whether these deaths were some kind of punishment for not accepting our lot.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” I said. “Look, why don’t I go and set up another skittles tournament for them? And maybe we could ask Mr. Barclay to give them an organ concert in the church. He plays very well.”
“What a splendid idea. Thank you, Georgiana. You’ve been a big help to me.”
I didn’t think I’d been that much of a help at all and I suddenly felt awkward about accepting money from her. After all, I was having a far better Christmas than I would have had at Castle Rannoch. Actually, I’d have paid her to be away from Fig!
* * *
AFTER LUNCH I took Mrs. Upthorpe, Ethel and Mrs. Wexler for a walk with me to see Mr. Barclay. I didn’t feel like going anywhere alone anymore and they all seemed at loose ends. All the way down the drive they chatted about fashions and dressmakers and ladies’ magazines until I felt quite left out. Sometimes it’s hard to be penniless.
Mr. Barclay’s eyes darted nervously when he saw us standing on his doorstep.
“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. A peeress of the realm in my humble cottage,” he said, but he didn’t look very pleased. He invited us into a neat, old-fashioned front parlor that looked as if it hadn’t been touched since his grandmother’s day, and offered us tea. It seemed rude to refuse and we sat uncomfortably while he kept apologizing for not having anything suitable to offer us to accompany the tea. If only he’d known we were coming, he said, he’d have baked something. When he heard the reason for our visit he perked up no end.
“Oh, how kind of you,” he said. “What an honor. I shall be thrilled, positively thrilled. Now you’ve given me a challenging task—what piece of music to play. What a delicious dilemma, isn’t it?”
We set the time of the concert for three o’clock the next day (“Not after dark, if you please; the church lighting is so poor and my hands won’t work when they get too cold”) and were glad to take our leave.
“Poor little man, I feel rather sorry for him, don’t you?” Mrs. Upthorpe said when we could finally take our leave. “Such a lonely life. Probably has nobody in the village to talk to.”
We arrived back to a second, and more satisfying, tea. The day seemed to drag on and on, with no news from the inspector. We played charades again before dinner, but this time it felt as if nobody’s heart was really in it and nobody had the urge to dress up, after the previous night’s horror. We had just gone up to change for dinner when there was a tap on my bedroom door. I opened it to find one of the maids.
“If you please, my lady, that police inspector has come to see you,” she said. “I’ve put him in the master’s study.”
I hurriedly finished dressing and went down the stairs. Inspector Newcombe had been pacing the room and spun arou
nd as I entered.
“I came because my constable impressed upon me that you had something terribly important to tell me. A matter of life and death, I believe was how he put it.”
I nodded. “But first what of Mr. Klein? Did anyone go and see what had happened to him?”
“We did,” he said, eyeing me coldly. “And it turned out he’s been staying with his daughter in Torquay. We felt like a lot of right charlies, I can tell you.”
“So he’s all right, then?”
“Perfectly.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Do you mind telling me what made you think he wasn’t all right?”
“Because he should have died on the twenty-fourth,” I said. “He was the gold rings.”
And I explained what I had figured out. He listened, at first with a smirk on his face, but then a frown formed on his forehead and his expression grew grimmer and grimmer as I went along.
“It’s positively bizarre,” he said at last, “but I have to admit it certainly fits. And if you’re right, then the man who died today did not have a heart attack.”
“Maybe he did,” I said. “If the killer knew he had a weak heart and was on medicine, he could easily have tampered with the dose. He has been staying here so you’ll probably find his medicines up in his bedroom. I suggest you take them with you for testing.”
The inspector looked at me suspiciously. “Where do you get these ideas, a well-bred young lady like you?”
“I’ve had some experience with murders,” I said.
“Do you go around actually seeking them out for fun?” He shook his head. “I’ve heard of you bright young things stealing policemen’s helmets, but this takes the cake.”
“Certainly not. I hate them, but I’ve been involved in a few. I’d much rather not.”
He perched on the edge of Sir Oswald’s desk. “All right, then, my lady. If you’ve figured out how these deaths are linked, perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me who might be playing this little game with us.”
“I wish I could. Somebody local who knows everybody’s habits. Somebody with considerable skills and a twisted mind. Somebody with a grudge against a lot of people.”
He sucked in air through his teeth. “And how are we to find out who that might be?”
“He has made two mistakes,” I said. “Mrs. Sechrest and Mr. Klein. He has let them live. They may have some idea of who might want them dead.”
“Right,” he said. “I don’t think Mrs. Sechrest will be up to talking much yet, but I could go to see Mr. Klein tomorrow.” He looked at me almost coyly. “Do you think the retired gentleman from Scotland Yard might want to accompany me?”
“He might very well want to,” I said. “And I’d like to come along as well, if I may.”
“Well, given that you’re the only one who has made any headway with this puzzle, I can hardly say no, can I?” He stood up again.
“And my friend Darcy O’Mara. I know he’d want to come along too.”
“This isn’t a blooming bright young things’ charabanc outing,” he snapped, then seemed to remember to whom he was speaking and checked himself. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that. But if you want my advice, my lady, the fewer people who know about this, the better. If the murderer is lurking around here, word will get back to him somehow or other and it may put more people in danger. I agreed to taking you, because you’ve figured it out, but no more. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention our excursion to anybody.”
I took a deep breath. “All right, I suppose.”
“I’d best be getting along, then. Another long day and the missus isn’t pleased. Says we’ve had no Christmas at all this year. But that’s the nature of the job, isn’t it? I told her she knew what she was getting when she married me. For better or worse, eh?”
I escorted him up to Johnnie Protheroe’s bedroom, where he took several medicine bottles. Then I accompanied him to the front door.
“Remember now.” He wagged a finger at me. “Nobody else is to know at this stage. All right?”
I closed the door and went to join the others for sherry. I could hardly contain my excitement. Finally we were getting somewhere, and I was being allowed to join in. I was no longer the annoying amateur. It was quite satisfying. It was only as I entered the salon and saw Darcy’s back, as he talked with Monty and Badger, that I felt the full implication of leaving him out of the next day’s little jaunt. I reasoned that he hadn’t really shown much interest and was all for leaving the investigation to the police. But I still didn’t like the thought of going off without telling him. How was I going to explain this away?
He seemed to sense my presence and came over to me. “What did the inspector say? Was he impressed with your detective abilities?” he asked, drawing me aside so that we couldn’t be overheard above the buzz of conversation.
“He was.” I managed a bright smile. “And he’s found that Mr. Klein is staying with his daughter. He’s going to see him tomorrow.”
“Splendid,” Darcy said. “Now I hope you’re satisfied. I said it was a good idea to leave this to the police.”
I attempted a bright smile, but I felt too sick and worried at dinner to eat much of the delicious leg of lamb and golden syrup pudding.
Chapter 35
DECEMBER 30
Lovely day so far. Going to see Mr. Klein and excited at the chance of this horrid riddle finally being solved. I just hope he can set us on the right track before someone is killed today.
In contrast to the previous day’s damp and gloomy fog, the weather was sparkling and clear. Remnants of snow still clung to the top of Lovey Tor and the sky looked as if it were made of blue glass, with the bare bones of trees etched upon it. I dressed, grabbed a hurried breakfast and then set off down the drive, having told Lady Hawse-Gorzley that I wished to visit my grandfather.
I was nearing the front gates when someone stepped out in front of me, barring my way. It was Wild Sal and she was staring at me with those strange bright green eyes.
“You’re still here, are you?” she said. “You’ll leave right now if you know what’s good for you.”
“Why is that?” I stared back defiantly.
“You’re not wanted in these parts. Outsiders like you only cause trouble. You’re the one who set the police on me, aren’t you? You got me locked up in that little cell.”
“I only told the police that I’d seen you up near where the master of hounds disappeared, that’s all,” I said. “I was asked if I’d seen anybody and I could hardly lie. Besides, you saved me from falling into the bog. I told them that too.”
She looked at me strangely. “He went into the bog, and good riddance too,” she said. “Hunting poor defenseless foxes.”
“Did you string the wire that tripped up his horse?”
“Me? Why would I want to harm a horse? I love all creatures, except humans, that is.”
“But you saw him fall off his horse?”
“No, but I saw someone putting him in the bog.”
“Who was it?”
“Couldn’t tell you that. Big bloke, all wrapped up, wearing some kind of hood. And I reckon the other one was already dead, ’cos he just lay there and let the bog suck him up.”
“Why didn’t you get help?”
“Too late by then. Once the bog gets you, you goes down fast, and like I said, I reckon he was already dead.”
“Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”
“I did, but they weren’t interested. I couldn’t describe the bloke, see, couldn’t tell if he was young or old or anything. Just that he were a big, strapping chap.”
“And you saw that van go off the road, too?”
“No, I heard the noise and I got there too late. It was already smashed to bits down in the stream.”
“So you didn’t see the same man there?”
“Didn’t see nobody,” she said.
I phrased my next question carefully in
my head. “Sal, do you know anyone in these parts, anyone at all, who would do terrible things like this?” I gave her an appealing look. “He has to be stopped before he kills more people.”
“I don’t have much dealings with people. Keep myself to myself, that’s what I do,” she said. “They don’t trust me and I don’t trust them. But there’s plenty of folk don’t deserve to live.”
“But you might be in danger too. You might be next.”
“Not me,” she said. “No one around here would ever dare touch me. They’re afraid of the Lovey Curse.”
“I’m going with the inspector today,” I said. “With any luck we’ll know who is doing this by tonight.”
I saw her look at me strangely and I found myself wondering if she was the killer after all. Hadn’t she just said that there were plenty of people who didn’t deserve to live? But how had she managed to cover so much ground? How could she possibly have known about the butcher driving on the road from Newton Abbott, or got to a farm on the other side of Bovey Tracey? And how would she be strong enough to drag a body into the bog?
As I went to take my leave, another thought struck me. “Sal, on the night that the old lady at the big house died, you went to the kitchen for food, didn’t you? You didn’t see anyone else, did you?”
“When I was leaving, I did see Willum,” she said. “He was going round the side of the house to their back garden.”
I paused, digesting this. “Did you speak to him? Did he say what he was doing?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t speak to him. I just went my way and left him to it. Willum often does jobs for people.”
“I must go. I’m supposed to be meeting people,” I said.
“Remember what Sal just told you,” she said. “You watch yourself, miss. And you had any sense, you’d go home now, before it’s too late. Sal sees danger in your future.”
I was still strangely shaken by the time I arrived at the cottage and found the inspector and my grandfather standing together beside the big black police motor. Granddad and I got into the backseat while the inspector rode in the front, next to his driver.
