A Death by Any Other Name

by Tessa Arlen

  “Mr. Stafford has actually taken a commission at the Haldanes’ at Hyde Castle at Bishop’s Hever. I have no idea what they have in mind, perhaps you know?” Clementine said in what she hoped sounded like an artless question.

  Miss Jekyll nodded. “Ah yes, he wrote to me. Mr. Haldane is extremely rich and his wife is a passionate gardener. I have never met them of course.” Miss Jekyll was not a snob, but at her time of life she had the pick of the crop and that did not include the arrivistes in society unless they were very well connected and blessed with enough humility to be completely guided by her. “Mr. Stafford is draining an old pond, having it dug out and reshaped, and is going to transform it into an ornamental lake with what Mrs. Haldane refers to as a ‘vista.’” Miss Jekyll laughed; she had to deal with grandiose garden schemes from the unenlightened every day of the week.

  Lord Montfort, who was finishing the last of his cold chicken, said with his mouth full, “Haldane made a packet in manufacturing food: Haldane’s Hearty Stew, he calls it. It comes in tins. Incredible to think anyone would want to eat stew from a tin, but it seems people will eat anything these days if it comes in ready-made form. Sadly it seems we are rapidly relinquishing skills we have taken centuries to acquire just for the sake of ease. Anyway, I remember when he bought Hyde Castle several years ago now. There is not much of the original castle left of course; it was in near ruins when Rigby took it in hand in the 1860s. It was popular then to live in a castle and the Rigby family was large and prosperous so they incorporated the old castle into a new building in the baronial style, bristling with turrets and crenellations. When they lost nearly everything in the panic of 1893, overinvested in American railways apparently, he had to sell off all their land. There was a tenant in the house for a while and then it was sold to Haldane. He spent a good deal of money bringing it up-to-date. I am told that there are parts of the original building that date back to the 1500s. I know Anne of Cleves was supposed to have spent a week or so there while her marriage to Henry VIII was being annulled—before she was established at Hever—the Rigbys were always very proud of that part of the castle’s history.”

  “What’s he like, do you know?” Clementine asked, and both Lord Montfort and Miss Jekyll said in unison, “A self-made man,” and laughed. And Lord Montfort added, “Supposed to be a decent enough chap, but as hard as nails.”

  Clementine, who was presiding over their picnic, having sent off the footman, offered her husband a peach and insisted that Miss Jekyll try a delicious little meringue crushed into fresh raspberries with a dollop of cream.

  “Funnily enough I had a letter from Mrs. Haldane this morning, such a very polite letter.” Clementine did not mention that the letter had been written on pink, rose-scented writing paper in lavender ink and that it had been in reply to her letter sent yesterday introducing herself as a fellow gardening enthusiast and inviting herself over to Hyde Castle for a few days. To make sure of her welcome she had included the offer of an additional guest to Hyde Castle, that of the famous Miss Jekyll. “Apparently Mrs. Haldane is the chairman of an amateur rose society, the members of which are staying with her this month. Mrs. Haldane was wondering if we”—she nodded to include Miss Jekyll in the invitation—“might have the time to run over there later this afternoon and join them for a couple of days. She must have found out that you’re our guest, and you can imagine what a privilege it would be for her to introduce you to her friends. There are some notable amateur rosarians among them apparently. What do you think, Miss Jekyll, shall I say yes? It might be fun.” As she laid her carefully conceived plan before them, she suffered only a minor pang of conscience. Miss Jekyll was pressed all the time to address groups of zealous amateur horticulturalists, and being a practical and confident woman with not enough hours in her day, she had no trouble at all in saying a polite but firm “no.” But for the next couple of days Miss Jekyll’s time belonged to her, as her husband would pay Miss Jekyll’s very substantial bill for services rendered to Iyntwood’s extensive gardens. So if Clementine wanted to pop over to Hyde Castle then Miss Jekyll would go with her. And to Clementine’s relief she said as much, but with one proviso.

  “I am sure it will be an interesting occasion. Apparently one of their members was recognized by the Royal Horticultural Society for his tea rose. It might be an interesting little jaunt, though I have an appointment next week with the Duke of Wendover and I must go home to Munstead before I set off for Devon. So, yes I would be happy to accompany you, but it is imperative that I leave the day after tomorrow as planned. I do hope you understand my stay will have to be limited, Lady Montfort.”

  Clementine said she most certainly did and that she would reply in the affirmative to Mrs. Haldane to expect all three of them tomorrow afternoon.

  “All three of you, my dear?” Her husband had risen to his feet and was brushing away crumbs with his napkin, preparatory to leaving them. He bent over to help her up from her place on the rug, and she found herself gazing into his eyes as they searched her face. “Who else is going with you?”

  “Well, I thought I would take Mrs. Jackson with me because Pettigrew has been seriously under the weather all week with a summer cold.”

  “Ah yes, Miss Pettigrew’s cold, how unfortunate. But how long do you expect to stay?” He was still holding her hands in his and Clementine gently pulled hers away.

  “I can only imagine that I will leave when Miss Jekyll does, when they have finished with their rose symposium. They all sound so expert; it will be an education for me.”

  “Oh, it most certainly will,” said her husband. “I am sure you will find the new owners of Hyde Castle fascinating company, and you must tell me what tinned beef stew tastes like.” He started to laugh and Clementine had the slightly unsettled feeling that she was being laughed at and that in some way Lord Montfort had accurately guessed the real reason for her visit to Hyde Castle, though how he would know of Mrs. Armitage and the accidental death of Mr. Bartholomew she couldn’t imagine.

  Chapter Four

  “There you are, Jackson, come on in and let’s put our heads together,” Lady Montfort greeted her as she stepped over the threshold of her ladyship’s sitting room and sat down in the chair indicated to her ladyship’s right.

  As she had walked up the back stairs in answer to Lady Montfort’s summons, Mrs. Jackson was well aware of the direction that things had taken since their last conversation. Mrs. Armitage had come up to the house yesterday afternoon and Lady Montfort had spent over an hour in conversation with her. And before the good woman left she had come by the scullery door and taken the time to ask for her before she left. Then with complete sincerity Mrs. Armitage had expressed her gratitude, with much fervent nodding as she stood before Mrs. Jackson, her hands clasped earnestly before her and her eyes misty with emotion.

  “What a gracious and kind soul her ladyship is, Mrs. Jackson. How lucky you are to work for the quality. Her ladyship was tact itself. You are all so fortunate to work for such a thoughtful and considerate employer, indeed you are. I have told her ladyship my story, and she has promised to do all she can to help me. Thank you, thank you so very much.”

  “And you are quite prepared to abide with Lady Montfort’s decision on the matter, Mrs. Armitage?” Mrs. Jackson’s fate it seemed was decided: there would be another “inquiry,” which meant more sneaking about and asking prying questions. “I am indeed, Mrs. Jackson, I said as much to her ladyship, God bless her.” And with that she trudged off up the drive toward Haversham village, which lay on the far side of Iyntwood’s park.

  Now, as she sat straight-backed in her chair in Lady Montfort’s sitting room, Mrs. Jackson opened her notebook and waited.

  “Ah yes, Jackson, glad to see you have come prepared, but I don’t have time to share all I have learned with you right now.” Lady Montfort beamed at her and flipped open her own notebook. Mrs. Jackson saw, to her dismay, that at least four pages were covered in handwriting, in list form it seemed, each item n
eatly numbered.

  “I will brief you on what I have discovered from Mrs. Armitage, and it is all very interesting, as we drive over to Hyde Castle this afternoon with Miss Jekyll.”

  Hold on just a moment—this afternoon, with Miss Jekyll? These exclamations rang loudly in her head as her face expressed bland interest. As usual, Edith, you are of course the very last to know.

  “I simply cannot undertake an inquiry into the events surrounding Mr. Bartholomew’s unfortunate death without your help, Jackson. My inquiries can only be made among family and friends at Hyde Castle, but I need you to find out more about what was happening belowstairs when Mr. Bartholomew ate his last breakfast. So I think it best for you to accompany me as my companion, which will give you access to both upstairs and downstairs.” She smiled, looking altogether very pleased with herself. “I have received a reply to my letter to Mrs. Haldane; she is enchanted with the idea of meeting Miss Jekyll, and she is expecting us today in time for tea. So you had better go and pack, as we must leave in about an hour.”

  Mrs. Jackson could think of nothing to say to this, and after all what was there to say? Once her ladyship made a decision, she acted on it. There were no half measures, no opportunities given to voice possible pitfalls. She closed her notebook and stood up.

  “Miss Pettigrew…” she started to refer to Lady Montfort’s personal maid, who always accompanied her ladyship on her visits away from Iyntwood. “So unwell it would be wrong to take her. She has insisted on packing for me, dear Pettigrew, but then I told her she must remain here where she can enjoy a complete rest. I have instructed Mrs. Thwaite to give her plenty of nourishing chicken soup for her head cold. And Mr. Hollyoak says he can certainly spare you for a few days. So, Jackson, you have about thirty minutes to get yourself ready.”

  “But, m’lady…”

  “No, Jackson, there is absolutely no need to worry about the maiding part. You can dress my hair simply; this will not be a formal gathering, and I must be careful not to be too grand. And for the rest of the time we will have such fun finding out what happened in that house when Mr. Bartholomew ate all the kedgeree for breakfast. Now, off you go. I can brief you in the motorcar, as Miss Jekyll will be driving herself to Hyde Castle.”

  And Mrs. Jackson was sent from the room feeling a little flustered and at the same time experiencing what was becoming a familiar little flutter of delight that they would be starting out on their third investigation together.

  * * *

  Comfortably installed in Iyntwood’s Daimler as it made its way down the drive, Lady Montfort took the opportunity to inform her housekeeper across from her.

  “What I suspect we have here, Jackson, is a straightforward case of Mr. Haldane preventing any form of an official investigation right from the start. That is if Mrs. Armitage is to be believed, and she appears to be a straightforward sort of person: capable no doubt, respectable certainly, and I suspect without enough imagination to make up a story.”

  “Yes, m’lady, there seems nothing slipshod or careless about Mrs. Armitage, whereas the investigation seems to have been both of those things.”

  “Exactly. You will be pleased to hear that Mr. Evans, the butler at Hyde Castle, is a good friend of Mrs. Armitage. He was very upset about her removal and is willing to help us—or rather you—with the part of our inquiry belowstairs to find out a little more about what actually happened on the day Mr. Bartholomew died.”

  “Does he know we are investigating the situation, m’lady?”

  “He knows that we are coming to Hyde Castle to make some discreet discoveries. Mrs. Armitage wrote to him yesterday evening so he will have had her letter by the time we arrive. It will be of immense help to have someone in the house on our side, but he is the only one in the house who knows the true purpose of our visit.” She opened her notebook and smoothed its pages down flat before she continued.

  “Apparently the Bartholomews and the Haldanes were old friends. Mr. Bartholomew was part of Mrs. Haldane’s coterie of rose breeders and he was also a close business friend of her husband. Mr. Bartholomew’s wife, who is a horticulturalist, but not actually part of this Hyde Rose Society, was not at the house when her husband died, but traveling in the Orient. She is a plant collector and goes away on specimen-gathering expeditions every year with her brother.” Lady Montfort glanced down at her notes. “As to Mr. Bartholomew: he was apparently an early riser, often the first into the dining room in the morning as he particularly enjoyed his breakfast and was, according to the cook, a hearty eater. On the morning of his death he ate breakfast alone in the dining room attended by the footman, Charles, and the butler, Mr. Evans. And if he was murdered by someone putting poison into the kedgeree, which is what Mrs. Armitage suspects happened, then of course anyone staying in the house had the opportunity to bring this about. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle once said that murder by poison is the ultimate premeditated crime, so we must have our wits about us. This inquiry promises to be a challenge.”

  She flipped her notebook shut, but kept a finger in place, in case she might need to refer to her notes again. And Mrs. Jackson remembered that whenever Lady Montfort wanted to forestall any arguments in the process she intended to take with an investigation, she always cited Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as if she had just had a conversation with him on the telephone.

  “Mrs. Armitage told me that Mr. Bartholomew had two helpings of kedgeree, but the remains of the second helping were still on his plate when he left the dining room for his walk. This was taken downstairs to the scullery and scraped into the slop bucket for the pigs, two of which died as a result of eating it. Now why this was not made more of at the inquest I cannot imagine.”

  Mrs. Jackson had heard most of this firsthand from Mrs. Armitage but something she had been told about pigs flashed into her mind. “I thought, m’lady, that pigs have such a strong digestive system they could eat practically anything and thrive. I can’t imagine that tainted haddock would have presented a problem for two healthy pigs. But I wonder, are they able to withstand a powerful poison like arsenic or strychnine?”

  “I am rather ignorant about pigs. But it is a good point and one most likely ignored at the inquest.” Her ladyship opened her notebook and appeared to write a few lines about pigs.

  “Mrs. Armitage told me she ate some of the kedgeree before it went up to the dining room, or at least she sampled it, another point that she said was not made much of during the inquest, m’lady. I have a feeling she probably ate quite a sizable portion and yet suffered no ill effects whatsoever.” The last of Mrs. Jackson’s reluctance ebbed away. This might, she thought, be quite an interesting investigation after all.

  “Well exactly, Jackson. Did the coroner’s court miss this important point because she underplayed how much she ate, or was it because it was heavily influenced by a rich man, determined to establish accidental death?” It was clear that Lady Montfort did not care very much for the inquest.

  “And perhaps, m’lady, we should find out exactly how many people had access to the dining room just before breakfast was taken up, and did anyone come into the room when Mr. Bartholomew was eating his breakfast?” Mrs. Jackson industriously made notes.

  Satisfied that she had briefed her housekeeper, Clementine had a moment or two to speculate on the prudence of their mission and, above all, for her own curiosity’s sake, how Mrs. Armitage had chosen them to act on their behalf.

  “Jackson, as a matter of interest, why do you think Mr. Stafford recommended Mrs. Armitage come to us? I wonder why he thought that I might be able to help?” Clementine thought she might know the answer, but she was curious to see what Mrs. Jackson would say.

  Her housekeeper roused herself from contemplating the hedgerows along the wayside and looked almost embarrassed at this question. They had come to a complete stop. The lane along which they were traveling was full of sheep, which were being driven down the narrow country road ahead of them by a shepherd and his two dogs. She could hear the chauffeur mutter
ing with irritation under his breath.

  “When he was engaged to work on the sunken garden, m’lady … when Mr. Mallory was murdered, he made some very interesting observations about Violet’s situation as a new maid at the house. I think,” she looked down at her gloved hands folded quietly in her lap, “he was … quite aware…” She looked out the window at the herd of sheep pressed up against the sides of the motorcar and fell silent. Clementine could hear the chauffeur arguing with the shepherd.

  “Do you think he guessed about our involvement in solving that particular little problem, Jackson?” Clementine saw her housekeeper’s ears redden a little at the tips. She felt almost ashamed for putting Mrs. Jackson on the spot.

  “Yes, I think he did, m’lady. He is a very observant man and quite aware of people and their little ways.”

  People and their little ways … Clementine could imagine that Mr. Stafford would be more than able to understand people’s little ways quite astutely. Like Miss Jekyll, it was important that he understand the vagaries of human nature, as the success of his job depended on his giving his clients what they believed they wanted without sacrificing the integrity of his creations.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least, Jackson, if the entire population of Little Buffenden, Haversham, and Cryer’s Breech knew we had a hand in that one. Gossip spreads so quickly among our villages. They just don’t say anything about it … to us.”

  Did Jackson find gossip about their doings troubling? Did she mind being involved in her inquiries? She had fleetingly pondered this before. Over the past two years her relationship with her housekeeper had changed. There was still the outward formality of mistress and servant that would probably always remain the same. But a comfortable ease had sprung up between them, and they had developed a new sort of respect for each other. Now, for some reason, she was curious as to whether Mrs. Jackson actually wished to be involved in what had after all become her new hobby.