I put the envelope in my lap. Sheltered by the tablecloth, I untucked the flap and pulled out a thin piece of paper with seven words.
Sally straightened the silverware at Mummy’s place and removed Charlotte’s bowl.
“Sally, where is Charlotte?”
“I come to fetch her a moment ago, miss. She’s in the kitchen. Outside the kitchen, really, by the gate. With that police constable. Trouble brewing, I’d say.”
CHAPTER 18
A Clandestine Endeavor
MY NECK PRICKLED WITH COLD. Catastrophe was moments away. Charlotte was hearing Constable Beck’s account of last evening’s misbehavior.
“Agatha?”
“Yes, Grannie Jane.” With enormous effort, I spoke normally. “I was just thinking how much I’d like to go roller-skating this afternoon.”
Grannie raised an eyebrow but was interrupted by Charlotte coming to the door of the breakfast room and crooking her finger at me. My heart turned over. I very slowly folded my serviette and rose to my feet, thinking of phrases to describe Charlotte’s glare. A face as dark as storm clouds. Scowling like a mad dog. Looking as if she might spit sparks. I briefly considered options for escape: a somersault through the terrace doors to the garden where a snorting steed awaited, a swift kick to Charlotte’s bottom before fleeing through the front door, a scramble up the chimney to the roof and a heroic use of ivy to descend on the other side.
In the hallway, Charlotte’s voice was fully vexed. “Can you guess who has just come to speak with me?”
I stared in fascination at my shoe buckles, as if not meeting Charlotte’s glare would cancel my transgression.
The church bell tolled as a solemn procession led the girl past a horde of onlookers to the sturdy scaffold in the village square…
And yet, Charlotte’s voice was unusually quiet. She was not trumpeting her indignation as she normally might, nor using Grannie Jane as an ally on the topic of disobedience. Indeed, it would appear…was this possible? Charlotte was scolding me in secret.
I moved my gaze from the worn carpet to Charlotte’s flaming face and to her eyes, glossy with held-back tears. I nearly smiled. Charlotte, enraptured by Constable Beck, was practically confessing that she had more to hide than I did! Dare I hope that Mummy and Grannie need never know about last evening?
“I only wanted a very small adventure—” I broke into a stream of words that had been coursing along unheard for several minutes.
“I do not give a pin for your explanation, Miss Aggie,” she whispered fiercely. “You have been the cause of great indignity! Your inconsiderate disregard of—”
“Good morning, young ladies.”
Mummy appeared on the landing, hair not coiffed but tumbling across her shoulders like that of a schoolgirl, and still wearing her peach silk wrap. Since the murder, Mummy had been breakfasting from a tray in her bed, and we didn’t see her until lunchtime. But here she was, having one of her bright days, drifting down the stairs with Tony dancing at her heels, as if content with her corner of the world.
“Sweet pea.” Mummy kissed me. “Let Charlotte brush your hair today, will you?” She ran a hand over my wayward curls.
I nodded. “Mummy, please may I go skating on the pier this afternoon? It’s ever so sunny. Charlotte’s having a sulk and doesn’t want to accompany me, but—”
“Nonsense, of course you’ll go. You spend far too much time with your nose in a book. Fresh air will perk you up as well, Charlotte. I’m having Leonard drive me to the church directly after lunch, but he can take you in the pony cart later on. Will that suit?”
Leonard. I’d meant to plead his case this morning, but daren’t do it now, with Charlotte ready to pounce on any misstep. Maybe at teatime.
“Yes, Mummy. Thank you, Mummy.”
Charlotte’s pique crackled the air, but she said nothing. Not a word. She bobbed her head and disappeared to the kitchen. I watched the door swing shut. Could my luck be so excellent? Might Charlotte be so smitten with her policeman that I would go unpunished? Mummy sailed calmly in to breakfast, unaware of the nest of spiders harbored within her own household.
I hurried upstairs to find woolly stockings for skating, and a jacket to shield me from the wind at the seaside roller rink. I collected my writing book with the letter inside and sharpened a pencil in case I needed to make detective notes. I tucked everything into the odd-shaped case that carried my roller skates and was back in the breakfast room in fewer than five minutes.
Mummy and Grannie were still at table.
“Oh, dear,” said Mummy, looking up from her kipper. “Your wrists are two inches below your cuffs, Aggie! You are taller every day.”
“Even without tongue,” I muttered.
“Well, you’ve quite outgrown that jacket.”
“But I like it.” I tugged, as if to magically lengthen the sleeves.
“Your Grannie says we must ask poor Rose Eversham to come for tea,” said Mummy. “Along with this Mr. Standfast. I should never have gone anywhere so soon after Fletcher died, but we must ask nonetheless.”
She used the tongs to deliver a lump of sugar from the bowl to her cup. “Will we invite Miss Marianne as well?” Mummy stirred her tea and shook her head in answer to her own question. “I should think she’d be grateful for an hour to herself. But you’ll be especially sweet with Rose, won’t you, darling?”
“Yes, of course, Mummy.”
She stirred and stirred. “And there is the small matter of etiquette,” she said, “as to whether it is wise to have a possible murderess at one’s table.”
“Mummy! Miss Marianne didn’t do it!”
“I hope you’re right, dear heart. I couldn’t sleep at night if we learned we’d lived next door to a poisoner.”
* * *
The pony cart jounced so horribly that we could scarcely keep our bottoms on the seat. Leonard used a switch on Belle to make her go faster. Happily, a bone-shaking cart ride prevented Charlotte from scolding me in front of the garden boy. As Leonard had not forgiven me borrowing his bicycle, they both were grim and silent the whole way to town, as if I were to blame for all the woe in the world. Down the last hill, Belle stepped as carefully as a farmer’s wife over a basket of eggs, and finally here we were! The sea glittered in unexpected sunlight, rolling gently under the fishing boats in the harbor.
Leonard brought Belle to a halt and we sat for a moment reveling in the pleasure of not being bounced like bags of potatoes.
Before us, the pier stretched into the sea, an avenue that offered an array of pleasures to be found nowhere else! It always made me think of the magical, wicked place in the book called The Adventures of Pinocchio. The marionette in the story was terribly naughty, telling lies and being disobedient, despite his dream of becoming a real boy. After many misdeeds, Pinocchio and his friend arrived at a land of toys, where children were allowed to play all day long, with hoops and wooden horses, putting on plays, eating sweets and never going to school…until being transformed into donkeys as punishment!
The Princess Pier had even more amusements—and with no fear of a nasty ending. Pennants snapped in the sea breeze; vendors called out from stalls selling toy watches and saltwater taffy, glass figurines and hot popped corn in paper bags. It cost a penny to look at the flea circus, and stilt-walkers loped up and down with stiff knees, breathing notes through mouth organs. Couples canoodled under striped parasols, nannies pushed pram-chairs, old gentlemen watched from wrought-iron benches. The roller-skating rink was my favorite of all, where I could pretend for a time to be chums with the other skaters, gliding and whooping with real people, not just with the friends I made up in my stories. Tinkling music from player pianos floated together with birdcalls. It was the best place to be on a sunny afternoon.
I scanned the crowd near the entrance to the Princess Pier. No sign of Hector. Two policemen were la
ughing under a lamppost. Charlotte’s fingers fluttered to her lips. One of them was Constable Morris Beck!
“Everybody out!” said Leonard.
Charlotte climbed over the side of the pony cart, wearing a foolish grin. I was not eager to meet the man who had so recently seen me in my pantaloons. And—oh, goodness!—only a few feet beyond him, there stood Hector, waving like a demented pigeon. I clambered quickly out. Leonard jiggled the reins. The cart lurched forward and away.
Charlotte called, “Leonard! When will you—” But he was gone.
I used that moment to frantically signal Hector—to get out of sight, to stay close by, to wait two minutes…Who knows how he interpreted my finger talk, but perhaps being foreign he was skilled at such things.
“Well, well, well.” Constable Beck had clapped his colleague on the back and ambled over. “Isn’t this a special stroke of luck!” As if he’d been given extra pudding. “Fancy having the pleasure twice on one single Tuesday.”
Charlotte’s freckled cheeks were now a sincere shade of maroon. It occurred to me that their discussion of my midnight bicycle ride may have included kissing…
“It’s a pleasure to see you also, Miss Morton. By the light of day, and warmly dressed.”
Ooh, didn’t he think he was clever? I wished I were four years old and could kick him on the shin.
“We are not yet able to laugh about that matter,” said Charlotte. “Miss Aggie has not apologized for—”
“Ahoy there! Aggie Morton!” Someone called out my name, followed by a gust of giggles. I had never in my life been so pleased—or pleased even a bit, actually—to see Florence Fusswell and Lavinia Paine, each carrying a pair of roller skates.
CHAPTER 19
A NEW MOTIVE
“WELL, IF IT ISN’T THE world-famous eyewitness,” said Florence. “Or shall we say, the meddling fabricator?”
Charlotte’s gaze sharpened so swiftly I’d swear her eyelashes trembled. I did my best to smile, perilously situated between Florence Fusswell and Constable Beck, each heavily armed troublemakers. Charlotte had departed from the breakfast table before the discussion of Mr. Fibbley’s interview, and did not usually read the daily newspaper. Already peeved over my midnight escapade, she’d be in a frightful twist to learn about a reporter in the garden!
Florence was a dubious good luck charm, but she was the only one present who might assist in escaping Charlotte’s watchful eye. Do not hesitate, I told myself.
“Florence!” I cried. “Are you going skating? Or have you already been?”
“We are on our way now,” said Florence. “But I should first like to speak with the policeman.”
“There is a plague upon us!” Constable Beck put up his hands in mock horror. “Run for your lives! Torquay is being swarmed by infant detectives!”
“I would rather bathe in vinegar than become a detective,” said Florence. “I merely want to make a statement.”
Constable Beck made that familiar grunting sound.
“My brother was in the Mermaid Room on Saturday,” Florence said. “He was one of the last to see Mrs. Eversham alive.”
“I believe we are aware of that,” said Constable Beck.
“However,” Florence went on, “despite his failings as a brother, despite the fact that the Royal Victoria Hotel does indeed have a small rodent problem in the kitchens and a shelf full of VerminRid, despite what the newspaper has reported this very morning…” Here she paused to glare at me. “Here is my statement. Roddy Algernon Fusswell is not a murderer!”
Did she think such a statement would settle the matter?
“That reporter was desperate to speak with me,” Florence went on. “But my father would not permit me being questioned. He said it would taint the hotel to have our name in a tawdry story about poison.”
“Uh, thank you, Miss, uh…” Constable Beck was trying to stem the flow.
“Fusswell,” said Florence.
I jumped in. “Charlotte? Will you be content if I skate with my friends and meet you afterward?”
Charlotte opened her mouth but the policeman spoke first.
“I will be most agreeable to keeping you company, Miss Graves,” he said. “I am off-duty in ten minutes.” He brandished his pocket watch like a vital piece of evidence.
“Where is Miss Boyle?” Charlotte looked about for the taciturn woman who usually accompanied Florence.
“She’s fetching us cocoa.” Florence pointed toward the tea hut. “Too bad you won’t have one, Aggie.”
I held my breath, watching Charlotte choose the smitten policeman over circuits on the roller rink.
“One hour, Miss Aggie. We shall meet back on this spot. Agreed?”
Florence clapped her gloved hands together. “Whee!”
Whee? Florence was so difficult to read! One moment scalding in her rudeness, the next minute crying whee! What was she hoping for in return for her false enthusiasm?
I was very soon informed.
“Now!” said Florence, once we’d moved out of Charlotte’s hearing. “Before you tell me everything you know, allow me to confide how much you are despised by my father and my brother!”
“The police went to the hotel!” trilled Lavinia. “Her father is fuuuurious because of the picture in the newspaper.”
My innards flipped over, giving me a very sick feeling.
“The hotel sugar bowl, for all the world to see!”
“Shut your blithering mouth, Lavinia Paine,” said Florence. “This is my family and my hotel, not yours.”
“Florence was gasping to be interviewed. But they only wanted to hear about—”
“Hush, Vinnie,” said Florence.
“About Roddy and the missing money—” said Lavinia.
“Lavinia Ethelwin Paine,” said Florence, curt and low, “I will slap you silly if you say another word.”
“From the hotel safe!” Lavinia ducked away from her friend’s swatting hand.
Florence looked as steamed as a runaway train, as spiky as a hothouse cactus, as fierce as a stampeding rhinoceros, ready to erupt like a volcano…
“That has all been straightened out,” said Florence. “And is no one’s business but my father’s. Roddy will pay back what he borrowed, and he’ll stop betting on dogs.”
“On dogs who rip apart live rats for entertainment,” said Lavinia.
“Lavinia,” growled Florence.
“Fancy borrowing from your own family,” said Lavinia. “And being so stupid as to get caught!”
“As this has nothing to do with Miss Marianne poisoning her sister-in-law,” snapped Florence, “I suggest you stop talking this instant.”
My heart, meanwhile, had sped up. Roddy was in debt from gambling! He’d taken money from the hotel safe! Exactly the sort of motive to inspire a murderous act. Did Rose know? I thought of Rose resting her head so trustingly against Roddy during the visitation. Was it trusting? Or just weary? Because how could someone like Rose care for someone like Roddy?
I needed to get away from these girls and find Hector. I would tell one more fib.
“Oh dear.” I pretended to search. “Charlotte has my pocket money!” No Leonard here to produce a sixpence from behind my ear!
“Don’t bother about that!” said Florence. “Lavinia will pay for you, won’t you, Vinnie? You’re paying for me, isn’t that right? Since you can’t keep your mouth shut when required?”
Lavinia nodded, but rolled her eyes.
“My mother does not like me to be beholden,” I said. “I’ll find Charlotte. I will meet you on the roller rink once you’ve had your cocoa.”
“I hope you don’t mind interrupting a slobbery kiss!” said Florence. “Your Charlotte was bug-eyed for that constable.”
More giggles from Lavinia. That was all I needed. Attention being paid to the ne
w inconvenience of my nursemaid flirting with a policeman. If only just once I could toss out a clever retort to one of Florence Fusswell’s pin-sharp barbs. Clever retorts, in my experience, usually showed up a week later—not, alas, when they were needed.
Back at the ramp to the Princess Pier, I turned frantically about.
“Psst!”
There! Sitting on one of the ornate iron benches, Hector’s bright eyes matched the color of his green hat, the one he’d acquired in the All Saints bazaar.
“Enfin!” said Hector.
“Finally!” I said. “I’ve had to be awfully wily to get to this bench!” So much deception is required simply to meet a friend! “But our wiles have worked, and here we are!”
“Alas, you find me shamed,” said Hector. “I am hanging the head.”
Finding the paper dusted with sugar was now such a distant moment that I had forgotten to think that Hector might still be recovering.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It was an understandable caution, and you were brave to take your clue to the police.”
His face showed a glimmer of gratitude, but then he shrugged. “In this matter, I fail.”
“We simply didn’t think things all the way through,” I said. “Logically, I mean, the way you’re usually so good at. Or we would have seen…Unless the killer cared not one bit who the victim was, and carried about a packet of poison to pour at any random moment into any available concoction—”
“This does not seem practical,” said Hector. “This suggestion I disregard.”
“I agree. So. Using the friction of my brain cells, I surmise that because the donation boxes were removed from the Mermaid Room before the murder happened, no evidence discovered inside them could have been put there after the murder.”
Hector grinned at me. “You see the value of methodical deduction?”
“However,” I said, “I have another clue.”
I presented the folded letter. Hector was suitably respectful, holding it gingerly between trembling fingers. He raised his arched eyebrows even higher as he read, looking up with obvious excitement.
The Body under the Piano Page 13
