by Rhys Bowen
“I did, sir.” The constable came over to us. “I went round to Mr. Barclay’s house, but he wasn’t there. I’ve been keeping an eye open for him, but I haven’t seen him all day.”
“I want him found, Jackson. The man may be in danger. Now go and ask around the village if anyone has seen him, understand? I’ll just drive this young lady to her front door and then we’ll come back to help you.”
“It’s all right. I can walk from here,” I said.
“No, my lady. Given what we know now, I don’t want you walking anywhere alone. In fact, when I get back to the village I’m going to question everyone again. Someone must have spotted Robbins. Someone must know something and I mean to find out who is hiding him.”
It was his insistence on driving me to the hall that made me realize the danger we all might be in. If Mr. Robbins had been plotting and planning his vengeance during his years in prison, he wouldn’t take kindly to anyone who was trying to get in his way. And he had proved clearly that he was literally able to kill with no trace and under all our noses.
* * *
AS I ENTERED the hall I was met by Darcy, striding out from the drawing room with a look of thunder on his face.
“Where the devil have you been?” he demanded.
I stepped back, recoiling from this unexpected wrath. “I went out with my grandfather and Inspector Newcombe. We went to find Mr. Klein and you’d be amazed what else we discovered—”
“And you didn’t think of telling me?” His eyes were still blazing.
“I wanted you to come too, but the inspector refused. And he made me promise not to mention it to anyone else. I felt terrible. I did tell Lady Hawse-Gorzley.”
“Yes, that you’d gone to see your mother,” he snapped. “Can you imagine how worried I was when I went down to the cottage and you and your grandfather were not there and your mother had no idea where you had gone?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. I did try to include you.”
His expression softened a little. “I’m not angry because I couldn’t come,” he said. “I always felt that police business should be left to the police, as you know very well. It’s just that I was worried about you. I thought you might have been kidnapped or bumped off because you were interfering. You can’t imagine what went through my mind.”
I touched his shoulder tentatively. “Darcy, I said I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I’d been asked not to.”
“You could have at least let me know you were safely with the police.”
I was beginning to feel defensive. “You have plenty of secrets from me, don’t you? I don’t even know what you do when you go off on your little jaunts. Don’t you think I worry about you?”
He smiled. “You do have a point there. But I know how to take care of myself.”
“So do I,” I said.
He slipped his arms around my waist. “Well, you’re home and you’re safe. So let’s forget about it. Are you allowed to tell me what happened?”
“You’ll never believe this.” I led him down a long hallway until we were far from other people and told him everything.
“The man must be completely mad,” he said at last. “Killing off jurors one by one, in such an elaborate fashion. What for? What can it accomplish?”
“He’s a showman, Darcy. He wants to go out with a bang. Maybe he has no desire to live now that his wife is dead, and no desire to go back to that horrible prison.”
“Signing his own death warrant, you mean?”
I nodded. “And there’s something I want you to do,” I said, and I voiced my suspicions about the colonel.
He stood there, frowning. “Yes, I think I know someone who can find that out for me in a hurry,” he said. “Do you really think it’s possible that he’s been here among us, all this time? It doesn’t seem possible. How has he managed to go in and out to kill people at odd times?”
“It’s a big enough house. I’m sure it’s possible to slip out without being seen.”
“Extraordinary. I’ll send a telegram right away. And in the meantime stay well clear of him, understand? I don’t want him to get any hint that you know.”
I nodded. As we came back to the front foyer Lady Hawse-Gorzley was coming down the stairs. “All ready for the concert, then?” she asked brightly. “Is your dear mother coming too?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. I’d completely forgotten about the concert and remembered now that Mr. Barclay would be playing for us.
“Dress warmly,” she called after me. “It’s always freezing cold in that church. I don’t know how the poor man manages to play the organ with frozen fingers.”
I put on a scarf and hat and joined those assembling on the driveway. Colonel Rathbone announced that he and his wife would not be joining us, as she wasn’t feeling too well. The dowager countess said that she’d heard organ concerts at St. Stephen’s in Vienna and St. Nicholas Cathedral in Leipzig and really didn’t need another one. Monty and Cherie also expressed little interest but Monty was told by his mother that he was expected to attend. Cherie walked beside him, sulking and loudly proclaiming that churches were boring.
We turned onto the path beside the village green and were nearing the gate leading to the church when we heard the most bloodcurdling scream coming from inside. We ran up the path. The church door was open and screams continued to come from inside. As we went in we were met by Miss Prendergast running toward us, her face a mask of terror.
“It’s him,” she gasped. “And he’s . . . and I thought . . . and I touched him, and . . .”
She held out her hands and they were covered in blood.
Chapter 37
She had stopped screaming but a strange noise continued—a sort of moaning sigh that echoed around the church. We looked past to where her gaze was focused. Mr. Barclay was lying across the keys of the organ and blood was trickling down one side of his face. The noise appeared to be coming from the organ itself and I realized that it was the dying breath of air coming from the organ pipes.
“My God,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley exclaimed. “It looks as if part of the roof has fallen on him.” On the floor beside him was a large chunk of masonry that seemed to have come from the top of the vaulted ceiling.
Someone was dispatched to the police station. Lady Hawse-Gorzley rapidly escorted her guests away from the scene. “Monty, take them back to the house and give them a brandy,” she said. “I’ll have to stay until the police get here.”
I couldn’t take my eyes from the dead man. We had known he was in danger. We had put a police guard on him and nevertheless the killer had struck at will again. It was almost as if he were a supernatural being who could move among us invisible and undetected. I was shaken from my troubling thoughts by Miss Prendergast’s gasping sobs.
Lady Hawse-Gorzley patted her on the back. “Nasty shock, I know. You’ll be all right,” she said briskly. “What you need is a stiff drink.” She saw me. “Georgie dear, why don’t you take Miss Prendergast to your mother’s cottage? She shouldn’t be left alone and the police will want to talk to her when they get here.”
“All right,” I said. I took the woman’s arm. “Come along, Miss Prendergast.”
She allowed herself to be led out of the church, along the path to my mother’s cottage. I explained briefly what had happened and brought her inside. My mother had been sitting by the fire with a cup of tea. I thought she wouldn’t want a strange older woman in her cottage but she instantly switched into full Florence Nightingale mode.
“You poor dear thing. What an awful shock,” she said. “Come and sit down. Daddy, get her a glass of brandy.”
“Oh, no spirits, thank you,” she said as the glass was placed in her hands. “I rarely touch alcohol.”
“Go on, down the hatch,” Granddad said. “It’ll do you good.”
“If you insist.” She gave him a wary glance before sipping it.
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, love,” Mrs. Huggins said.
“Your face is as white as a sheet.”
“So would yours be if you’d just found someone lying dead in the church,” Mummy said. She still had that caring smile on her face and I realized that she was playing the part because she wanted all the ghoulish details. She was finding these murders thrilling. For her it was a big game.
Miss Prendergast shuddered. “I still can’t believe it was real,” she said. “I saw him lying there and I thought he’d fallen asleep and I went to wake him and my hands were all sticky.” She held them up, showing the dried blood on them. “So awful. I warned the vicar about the state of that church. The masonry is crumbling in several places. It was only a matter of time before it fell on someone. But poor Mr. Barclay.” She looked from one face to the next, imploring us to understand what she was feeling. “I must say we didn’t get along very well. He did like his own way, you know, but I would not have wished that on anyone. And he did play the organ very well, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” I said.
“I feel so guilty. All those unchristian thoughts about him. Especially about the holly around the crib. And now he’s gone.”
“Here’s your tea, my ducks,” Mrs. Huggins said. “And a slice of my good plum cake. That’s what you need right now.”
“You are too kind,” Miss Prendergast said. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I moved to this place thinking it was a little haven of peace after looking after my dear mama for so long. And now so many tragedies at once. It almost seems as if the place is cursed, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sure it will all stop soon,” I said. “The police have found out who is behind these deaths and they are hot on his trail.”
“Behind the deaths? You mean they were not accidents?”
“Absolutely not. Horrible murders, every one.”
Miss Prendergast clutched her hand to her breast. “Murders? In Tiddleton? It’s not possible. I can’t live here any longer. I shall never feel safe again.”
“Don’t you fret, ducks. The police will get him,” Granddad said. “It’s only a matter of time. And then everything will be right as rain again.”
“But I will have so many dreadful memories, won’t I? Miss Effie, Mrs. Sechrest, Mr. Protheroe, and now Mr. Barclay. I shall never sleep again.”
I noticed that Noel Coward had come in to join us. He also enjoyed good drama.
“So where did you come from, my dear?”
“Bournemouth. Mummy had a nice house there. We lived very happily together until she died.”
“Bournemouth? I know it well. Where exactly did you live? Did you go to the theater much? I once performed there.”
Miss Prendergast tried to get to her feet. “Look, I know you’re all being awfully kind, but I’m too upset to chitchat right now.”
“Of course. We understand,” Mummy said.
“I think I should go home. The police will want to talk to me, I expect.”
“I’ll walk you home,” I said.
There was a great amount of activity going on outside the church. An ambulance. Two police motorcars. Several policemen, one with a dog. Miss Prendergast shuddered. “It’s like a nightmare, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “You go inside and lock your door, just in case.”
As we reached her gate, a man in uniform was just coming out. I thought it was another policeman until I saw it was only the postman.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Prendergast,” he said. “I was trying to deliver another parcel for you. Didn’t just want to leave it on the step. Another late Christmas present, I expect.”
“Yes, I expect it is. Thank you.” She took the package from him.
I watched with interest. I thought she said she had no one in the world. Then I saw that the package came from a firm in London. Maybe she’d been ordering little gifts for herself.
“Thank you again,” she said to me, then she almost ran up her front path and I heard the bolt being shot on her front door.
* * *
ALL OF LADY Hawse-Gorzley’s guests were assembled at tea, but I noticed that nobody felt much like eating.
“I’ll never get these awful images out of my mind, as long as I live,” Mrs. Upthorpe said. “First poor Mrs. Sechrest and now that organist. I think we should go home now, Arthur, and not wait for the New Year.”
“Oh, but we have to stay for the last event, Mummy,” Ethel said, her eye on Badger. “Only one more day.”
“How do I know that we’ll be safe? I can’t believe that they were accidents.”
“They weren’t,” I said and felt all those eyes upon me. “We now know that it was one of those escaped convicts behind all these deaths. They were all clever murders. But don’t worry. The police will soon have him.” I sounded more optimistic than I felt. If he had evaded us all so far, what chance did the police have now that there were no more people left to kill? If he had fulfilled his mission and killed off his jurors, surely he’d be out of this area right away.
“I’m so sorry this had to spoil your lovely holiday here,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “After we went to so much trouble to make everything perfect for you.”
There were murmurs of understanding from those around her. Mrs. Wexler even patted her knee, which brought an astonished look from Lady H-G. I took a scone and went to sit beside Darcy. “Am I forgiven for worrying you?”
“Now do you see why I was worried?” he said. “That man couldn’t have been killed long before we arrived in the church. The blood was still running. That meant that the murderer was probably still somewhere close by, watching us. He may even have been in the church somewhere.”
“I don’t know why nobody has seen him,” I said.
“If he adopted various characters as part of his stage act, then he is probably a master of disguise. We may have walked right past him and not recognized him.” His gaze went across the room to the colonel, now sitting eating calmly beside his wife. She did not look so serene. She looked decidedly pale, in fact. Had she realized what he was doing, perhaps?
“When do you think you’ll get an answer to your telegram?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t take too long to check War Office records,” Darcy said.
Tea concluded. Nobody felt much like doing anything, but I noticed that they all chose to sit together in the drawing room, rather than go off alone. I couldn’t blame them. I shared their fear.
Darkness fell and reluctantly we went up to dress for dinner. Queenie was waiting in my room, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and excitement. “They say someone got killed again, miss,” she said. “Had his head bashed in with a great lump of rock. Blimey, what a place, eh? Give me the old East End any day. Do you reckon we’re safe here, in this house?”
“I hope so, Queenie. I think the murderer is only targeting specific people and he doesn’t know us, so I have to assume we’re safe. Just don’t go wandering around outside.”
“You bet yer boots I won’t, miss,” she said. “I ain’t that stupid.”
At that moment there was a thunderous knock at the front door. I urged Queenie to hurry with the fastenings on my dress, then I went out to peer over the gallery to the hallway below.
“Telegram for a Mr. O’Mara,” I heard the boy’s voice announce.
I went to find Darcy and we stood in the front hall together while he opened the telegram. It said, COLONEL RATHBONE RETIRED BENGAL LANCERS TEN YEARS AGO.
“We should call the police,” I said.
Darcy shook his head. “We’ll confront him before dinner. At least hear what the man has to say for himself.”
“Isn’t that a little dangerous? He might be a cold-blooded murderer.”
“I hardly think he’d be able to do anything surrounded by so many people. And Monty, Badger, myself, we’re all pretty strong.”
“What if he has a gun?”
“In his dinner jacket pocket? Besides, he hasn’t shot anybody yet.”
“Well, all right,” I said, “only be careful.”
&nbs
p; “Pot calling the kettle black.” He smiled at me.
One by one the dinner guests assembled for sherry. They stood together in little groups, talking in low voices. Hardly the loud, laughing group of a few days ago. It was clear that everyone wanted to go home.
“The memsahib was all for leaving tonight,” I heard the colonel say. “But I told her I’d never run away from a charging tiger in Bengal. Why should we run away now?”
“Quite right,” the countess said. “My sentiments exactly. I will not allow one horrible little convict to spoil my holiday. Who knows if I will ever have another Christmas like this one?”
Darcy and I moved into the group. “So when did you last face a charging tiger, Colonel?” Darcy asked.
“When? Let me see. Not that long ago.”
“Was it at the London Zoo?” Darcy asked.
“What the devil are you talking about?” The colonel’s face flushed red.
“Because you are an imposter, sir,” Darcy said. “I just received a telegram from the War Office. Colonel Rathbone left the Bengal Lancers ten years ago.”
I expected him to bluster, but he deflated like a balloon. “Quite right,” he said. “No sense in pretending any longer. I did it for the memsahib, you see.” He turned to look at his wife, who was sitting with Mrs. Upthorpe on the sofa. Her face was a mask of granite. “She hasn’t been at all well. In fact, those doctor wallahs don’t give her long to live.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You really were in the Bengal Lancers?”
“I had to retire ten years ago,” he said. “Caught some damned tropical disease. We had to come back to England and live on a pitiful army pension. Quite a shock for both of us, I can tell you. Lost my savings in the crash of ’29 so we’re reduced to living in a shabby little rented house in Fulham. No luxuries. Just about enough to eat. But when the doctor gave us the bad news, I decided that my wife deserved one last splendid Christmas—the kind she always talked about, the kind she had as a child. So I sold a lot of my Indian mementos and we splurged on this. I don’t regret it either. She’s had a splendid time.”
He looked across at her again and they exchanged a lovely smile.
