Murder Goes Mumming

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “You’ll pick up a few words here and there, I expect. It’s not a bad idea. One never knows when it will come in handy.”

  “I should imagine it might.” Janet shielded her face with her free mitten, for they were now heading into the storm. “Ludovic’s Welsh, isn’t he?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Feminine intuition. Actually, you and he look to me as if you have some kind of rapport, as Mama Dupree would say. I couldn’t think what else it might be unless he’s somebody you arrested once.”

  “And why would I arrest him?”

  “I don’t know, but there must be some reason why he sticks himself off up here at Graylings, mustn’t there?”

  “I’m inclined to think so, but I don’t intend to ask. Ludovic and I are indeed en rapport, and I’d like us to stay that way until I can get you safely out of this.”

  “Then there is something funny going on.” Janet stated it as a fact, not a question. “What’s got into Cyril, do you know? He wasn’t like that last night. Has it anything to do with his grandmother’s dying?”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. Ludovic and I had a pleasant little conversation this morning when he brought up the tea. I’d thought I detected a familiar accent, so I spoke to him in Welsh. That melted the ice. He hadn’t heard it spoken since he was a babe on his grandfather’s knee. Pinching the old man’s watch and chain, no doubt. Anyway, the gist is that Squire is not in fact the squire. The Condryckes, who owned Graylings and God knows what else, had no male heir so he took their name when he married their only daughter. He apparently has some kind of lifetime curacy, but actual ownership of Graylings passed directly to Cyril as the eldest living genuine Condrycke. I think what may have happened is that Cyril didn’t quite realize the true position until this morning, when he had to be told for some legal reason or other resulting from the old lady’s death.”

  “My word! No wonder Squire calls himself Lord of Misrule. That’s what he’s been all along.”

  “I don’t have all the facts, but as far as I could make out what he’s been doing is perfectly legitimate,” Madoc reminded her. “The grandmother was quite content to have Squire manage the property. Ludovic says he’s a capable man of business and has done a first-class job, which certainly appears to be the case. Whether Cyril could have done as well is anybody’s guess.”

  “He’d have dribbled it all away in five years’ time is my guess,” said Janet. “Cyril reminds me of my Aunt Prudence’s oldest son Renny. She had five and the rest all turned out well enough, but Renny’s a weak fish and always has been. They owned a general store. It was doing fine till Uncle Abner died and Renny took over. He liked being boss, but he didn’t care much for work and he couldn’t handle responsibility. The store would have gone out of business if the brothers hadn’t chipped in to buy him out. Now he’s ran through what they gave him and goes whining around after an allowance because he claims they tricked him out of his birthright. I don’t blame Squire. If he’d been fool enough to step aside, none of them would have a roof over their heads by now. And they won’t much longer if Cyril starts throwing his weight around, you mark my words.”

  “Consider them duly marked. Jenny, are you enjoying this?”

  “Well, I’m finding it interesting, in a way,” she replied. “I can’t say it’s what I expected, but I’m learning some things I probably need to know. And Graylings really is a work of art in its way, wouldn’t you think? A little overworked in spots, but worth coming to see.”

  “It’s that and then some,” Madoc agreed, measuring the expanses of crenellated and convoluted clapboard with a snow-filled eye. “One would hate to see it go down the drain like your Uncle Abner’s store, so let’s hope Cyril starts behaving himself. He and everyone else.”

  Rhys did wish he could get some kind of line on who was responsible for that wisp of wassail-soaked hair still in his bathrobe pocket. Could Granny’s death by any chance have been intended to provoke Cyril into acting up and trying to unseat Squire? Jenny was quite right about Cyril’s inability to run Graylings or anything else, in his judgment. The odds were he wouldn’t be all that interested in trying to do so. He’d be more apt to make the odd feint of giving instructions and in fact leave everything to Herbert, the faithful steward who was also a congenial drinking buddy and had a merry way with trick lizards.

  And faithful Herbert was married to motherly May who’d been unraveled from the scarf Cyril Defarge was knitting because she knew so well how to manage her bibulous brother. And May was a woman with plenty of life in her and no lack of common sense. May might like a break from the role she’d been thrust into, or jumped into without seeing it was a trap, after she’d left the school where she’d no doubt captained the field hockey team and put fake lizards in other girls’ beds.

  May also had a couple of young sons who were riding for a long fall if they didn’t get themselves straightened out soon. There wasn’t much May could do about the boys as long as she was committed to keeping the home fires burning and dutifully shipping Franny and Winny off to the boarding school of Squire’s choice.

  She might or might not realize what was happening to her offspring. If she didn’t, she must be more unaware, or more swamped with other duties, than would seem possible. If she did, either she’d already worked off her maternal urges on her siblings or else there was a desperate woman as well as a capable actress stuffed into those impossible orange pants. He did wish he dared thrash out this whole business with Janet. How the hell did the other chaps handle this problem with their wives?

  “What did you mean about learning things you needed to know?” he asked cautiously.

  “It’s just that I realized from the beginning I’d have to rub up against all sorts of people and situations after we were married, so I thought I’d better look for chances to practice. That was why I went back to Saint John.”

  She laughed. “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have admitted that. I’d only known you about three weeks then, hadn’t I?”

  “Darling, you don’t mean you’d already decided?”

  “I don’t know that I ever decided, exactly. Madoc, do you remember that night in Pitcherville, when we walked down to the pond to see the fireflies?”

  “How could I forget?” He squeezed her mitten. “I’ve wondered ever since why I didn’t propose to you right then and get it over with.”

  “Liar. You’d only met me the day before and you didn’t know but what you’d have to arrest me for murder.”

  “Granted, but I was hopelessly stuck on you already. It was a very awkward situation.”

  “I don’t remember it as awkward at all. Everything had been so awful, and I was feeling so terrible about losing Mrs. Treadway and finding Dr. Druffitt the way I did, and worried sick about what might happen next, and that scalded hand was killing me and then all of a sudden there you were and it wasn’t awful any more. I just couldn’t bear to think you’d ever go away. And I could tell you … you did seem to like my pie awfully well. So I couldn’t help thinking what it would be like.”

  “Then why didn’t you come to Fredericton instead of Saint John?” Rhys asked rather angrily, thinking of all the nights he’d spent alone in his bachelor apartment cursing the distance between him and Janet.

  “Then you wouldn’t have had the fun of chasing me,” she told him. “Anyway, I’d made a fool of myself over a man once before and I wasn’t about to get stung twice. But when you sent me that box of chocolates with the Mountie on the lid, and all those silly postcards my landlady had such fun reading, I began to think maybe you meant it and I’d better study up a little. I did think of going down to the jail and chatting with a few crooks, but that seemed a bit much so I decided I’d concentrate on making the most of whatever opportunities came along. That’s what I’m doing now. How far do you think we’ve come?”

  “Getting tired?”

  “This is an awfully thick storm, and the snow’s so wet it’s clumping on my snowshoes. I’ll b
et they weigh thirty pounds apiece by now.”

  “Then we’d better go in. They’re probably wondering about us anyway.”

  “You mean wondering what we’re up to out in one of those barns somewhere,” Janet panted. “Do you suppose there’s a door anywhere along here?”

  “Bound to be. Ah yes. They don’t call me detective for nothing. Damn, it’s locked.”

  “What are we going to do?” Janet was beginning to feel a bit panicky. This had been a foolish expedition in such a storm. Madoc wouldn’t have come if she hadn’t made him. If they froze to death—by the time she’d got to that far in her self-recriminations, Madoc had the lock neatly jimmied and they were inside.

  They shook themselves as dry as they could and walked down the hallway carrying their snowshoes. This was a part of Graylings they’d never been in before. They had no idea where they were headed until a faint odor as of burning herbs reached their nostrils.

  “My detective instinct tells me this is the billiard room,” Rhys murmured. “The lads are amusing themselves in their own quiet way.”

  “I had a hunch they were shooting something besides pool,” Janet replied with a degree of sophistication that amazed her beloved. “Do you think their parents know?”

  “They may prefer not to. Sh-h!”

  Rhys paused to engage in an activity that would have been unthinkable according to Sir Emlyn’s definition of a shentleman. Franny and Winny were in conference.

  “So what does it mean, eh? Does it mean we’re going to get thrown out on our ears because Uncle Cyril’s got all the loot, eh, or does it mean we don’t go back to school and get stuck back here for the rest of our lives, eh? What I mean is, what does it mean? I thought Squire owned everything and Dad had to work here because Mum was Squire’s mother—I mean Squire was Mum’s—I mean, you know what I mean. But now Uncle Cyril says it’s his and what I mean is, what does it mean? Eh?”

  “You’re stoned.”

  The other burst into giggles and so did the one who’d been wondering what it meant. After that they both went into a confused and lengthy demand for the meaning of it all. Listening to them was painful and as they were making no sense at all there was no point in lingering.

  “Santa Claus had better bring that pair a jug of room deodorizer for Christmas,” Rhys observed.

  “He’d better bring them a few brains if you ask me,” Janet snapped. “Of all the pitiful ways to waste a person’s time! If I ever thought Bert’s boys would be dumb enough to do a thing like that, I’d … I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “I doubt they will. Bert’s kids have better things to do with their lives. Besides, pot costs money. It might not be the worst thing for Franny and Winny if Uncle Cyril did cut off their allowances and put them to work.”

  “Madoc, about that money your Aunt Oldrys left you. Is it really such an awful lot?”

  “Not enough to turn our children into a pack of wasters, never fear. I’ll have enough to buy my Jenny a nice little house with a nice big mortgage and leave some in the bank for a rainy day. Mostly we’ll live on my weekly pay packet. Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes, if you want to know. Now that I’ve seen how the other half live, I’ll be well pleased to settle for three square meals a day and a hired girl once a week till the babies get out of diapers.”

  “How many babies did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, two or three, maybe.”

  “How about a set of triplets so we can get it over with all at once? On the other hand, I suppose it would be rather fun to see them coming along one after another.”

  “Not too soon after. We’ll have to talk about that.”

  “We’ll have to do more than talk, Jenny love.”

  “Oh, you!”

  She poked him and blushed, so of course he had to respond in an appropriate manner. Herbert came along and caught them at it.

  “My God, don’t you two ever quit? We were just organizing a rescue party.”

  “Sorry.” Madoc, somewhat red in the face, released Janet. “We ducked in through a side door. Now we’re trying to find the shed where we park our snowshoes. I hope we haven’t tracked up the floor too badly.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s just clean snow. Which door did you come in?”

  “The one we happened to be close to is all I can tell you. We’re hopelessly lost, I’m afraid. We’ve got mixed up in the hallways and haven’t met a soul to set us straight till you came along.” Just in case Herbert might think they’d discovered Franny and Winny. “Where is everyone?”

  “Here and there. Babs and Clara are wrapping presents, I think. Val’s washing her hair or some damn thing. Squire’s playing bridge with Lawrence and Don and that poor chap Roy. Hell of a fix for Roy to be in. If he doesn’t win with Don he’ll get sacked, like as not. If he makes Squire lose, he won’t get asked back. May’s in the kitchen browbeating the cook and I was just on my way to check the stock. If it weren’t for May and me, I can tell you, this place would fall to pieces pretty fast. I’d like to know what Cyril thinks he’s …”

  Herbert checked himself. “I assume you’ve noticed my brother-in-law has a drinking problem. Nice fellow, mind you, but he can do strange things when he’s had one too many. But May can handle him. He’s sleeping it off now, thank the Lord. Here, give me those snowshoes. I have to go out through the shed anyway. Go straight down the hall here till you come to a turn. Take a left, then a right. That will bring you out to the front staircase. I expect you can find your way from there, eh?”

  They thanked him and did as he said, not meeting anyone else except Ludovic who relieved them of their wet jackets, expressed a polite hope they’d enjoyed their walk, and informed them that tea would be served at half past four in the back parlor.

  “It will be a little early because of the mumming.”

  “And when are we expected to mum?” Rhys asked.

  The butler permitted himself a smile. “At six o’clock or thereabout, sir. The waits will not be able to get here on account of the storm, but there will be music on the phonograph to play you in.”

  “We wait for the fanfare of trumpets, then come cavorting down the stairs, is that it?”

  “That is approximately it, sir. I will inform Squire that you have returned safely.”

  “Please do,” said Janet. “Explain that we didn’t want to go tramping through the house in wet clothes and that we’ll be happy to join him for tea later.”

  Ludovic received her message with a nod that was positively benign, and left to convey the joyful tidings. Janet and Madoc went on upstairs.

  “Do you have all the doings for your mummery?” he asked her.

  “Yes, Babs fixed me up after we’d finished the tree. I’m going to wash my hair if Val’s left any hot water, and do a little sewing.”

  “Do it in my room if you want to.”

  “Why? Aren’t you going to be there?”

  “Certainly. That’s the whole point.”

  “Yes, well, I expect I’ll get more done if I keep to my own.”

  “Cruel woman.”

  Rhys, reconciled to abandonment, closed his own door and stretched out to catch up on a little sleep, in case this turned out to be another busy night.

  Chapter 11

  TEA WAS A RATHER hit-or-miss affair, served more because this was part of the Graylings ritual than because people really wanted it, as far as Janet could see. Aunt Addie was the only one who paid much attention to the cake stand.

  “I thought I’d make a good meal now because I may not get any dinner,” she confided to Janet, who happened to be sitting beside her on the chesterfield.

  “Oh, aren’t you coming down for the mumming?” Janet asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. Rosa may want me, you see.”

  “I understand. It must be hard for you.” Janet didn’t know what else to say.

  “No, I wouldn’t call it hard. I’m expecting it, you see. Rosa a
nd I always did stick together. Now you get on back upstairs and finish your pretty costume. I want to see you in it before I go.”

  Janet excused herself and did as she was bidden, much perturbed in mind. What on earth had Miss Adelaide been talking about? Was she beginning to wander a bit? Would it be a good idea to repeat that odd scrap of conversation to Babs or Squire or somebody?

  The trouble was, they were all drifting away to get dressed for the mumming and by the time she’d made up her mind she ought to, there was nobody left to tell. Even Madoc was fussing that he’d slept longer than he’d meant to and must get bathed and changed, and did Jenny think he needed a shave?

  She rubbed her cheek against his and decided he’d better because they hadn’t tried out the kissing ball yet. In spite of everything, Janet couldn’t help getting caught up in the excitement of dressing for a party. This would be something else to tell Annabelle, at any rate.

  Val hadn’t come down to tea. When Janet found her in the room they shared, she’d mellowed a fair amount, perhaps because she was having an attack of Yuletide spirit or perhaps because she needed to be zipped up the back. She’d arranged her blond hair in an updo with a topknot of pink silk roses and one long curl coming down over her right shoulder. Her costume was a court gown of pink brocade in the Watteau manner. Janet was able to tell her in all sincerity that she looked absolutely stunning.

  “Like it? I had it made. Cost a fortune, but I knew Squire would be pleased enough with it to foot the bill. Now I’m just praying …”

  A frown threatened to smudge her makeup and Val hastily smoothed out her face again. “Honestly, of all the times for Granny to die! You’d think she did it on purpose to spite us. Don’t look so shocked. You don’t know what an awful old crank she was. And now Uncle Cyril’s all stirred up. I don’t see why Squire couldn’t have told us—oh, well, you’re not interested in all this family stuff. I’d better see how Roy’s getting on. Did you know his people are in oil?”

  “Like sardines?” Janet couldn’t resist saying.

  Luckily Val was pleased enough with herself to be amused. “Pretty good. I’ll have to tell Roy. Is Dafydd coming to your wedding?”