The Curse of the House of Foskett

by Kasasian, M. R. C.

  He closed both eyes and rubbed his good one. ‘Oh, Dorna,’ he said. ‘Why did it have to be you?’

  She put her cup down and reached across to touch his wrist and he opened his eyes and looked at her.

  ‘And why did it have to be you?’ she asked, and he raised his left hand and let it fall on hers and his fingers curled inwards to give it a little squeeze.

  ‘I am tired of these games,’ he said and she smiled encouragingly.

  ‘So am I, dear. Tell me what you know.’

  74

  Shellfish and the Foskett Thumb

  ‘It is a simple tale,’ Sidney Grice said, ‘though not a happy one and largely inspired by shellfish – the countless millions that petrify into limestone and one bad oyster. The Honourable Rupert Foskett had a crisis of religious faith, which began when I was able to demonstrate that many things he had accepted as true were in fact unprovable. Doubt is common enough since the geologists started chipping at limestone and finding fossils, and his beliefs were undermined further when historians had the temerity to study the Bible in a rational way.

  ‘Rupert found the possibility of mortality impossible to accept and decided to immerse himself in missionary work, presumably in the hope that, if he could convince others that the gospels were gospel truths, he could convince himself in the process, and so he set off for the tropics. At first things went well. He wrote letters to his parents and to me that were full of hope and enthusiasm. He contracted jungle fever but recovered quickly. He was going to move deeper inland to convert natives who had never even seen a white man, let alone heard of Jesus the Christ, and then the letters stopped.

  ‘Nobody was overly concerned at first. The chain of mail delivery was long and tortuous. A runner might get killed or simply not bother to carry out his task; a canoe might overturn; countless letters are eaten by rats before they reach the coast; but the weeks turned into months and two years went by without word.

  ‘At the request of the family and because of my own friendship with Rupert, I went in search of him. It was not easy. The crossing was appalling and, when the ship reached port, the heat and humidity were almost intolerable. However, I assembled a team of porters and a guide, and went into the jungle. The trail was overgrown and, to make matters worse, I was struck by a particularly virulent form of malaria. Apparently, I was raving like a madman for a while.’

  ‘Only a while?’ I queried, but he ploughed on regardless.

  ‘When I was recovered sufficiently we pressed on, crossing rivers and tangled ravines, until eventually we came to a squalid village in a clearing where I was told that Rupert had been roasted alive and eaten. I was given to believe that human flesh tastes very like pork and have been unable to tolerate the smell of it since.’

  ‘Is that why you became a vegetarian?’ I asked.

  ‘One of the nine reasons,’ he concurred. ‘In this fetid settlement I was shown an item which I recognized as Rupert’s signet ring and a thumb bone which I was assured was his. I did not doubt it as it had an extra spur of bone, which was a characteristic peculiar to the male line of the Fosketts. I purchased them both – they are presently in the family crypt – and set off for England, arriving, after another awful voyage, almost a year to the day after I had set off.’

  He picked up a finger of shortbread. ‘However, as we are all aware, I had been deceived. And here I am obliged to conjecture a little – during my outward voyage Rupert came secretly back to Mordent House, riddled with blowfly and wasted by fevers. His parents could not bear for the world to know that their fine son, the last of a long and noble line, was no more than food for maggots and so they hid him away. Their only dishonesty would have been to charter a clipper to overtake my ship, carrying the bone taken from an ancestor’s coffin and Rupert’s ring, and bribe the natives to say that he was dead.’

  ‘But why did they not tell you the truth, Sidney?’ Dorna asked. ‘The Fosketts must have known they could trust you.’

  ‘That was exactly why. They knew I could be trusted never to tell a lie, and their whole lives had become founded in deception.’ Mr G snapped his shortcake in two, spraying crumbs over himself and the table. ‘Baron Reginald Foskett had a weak heart – it came from taking exercise as a child – and he died soon after his son’s return. His wife, who adored him, was devastated but determined to do everything she could for her son. She called on every so-called expert she could find. They took her money and left her son to rot, and in the end her care of him was so unstinting that she came under attack herself. Dr Simmons, the family physician, was worse than useless. One might – as Rupert did – argue that he hastened her ladyship’s death with his incompetence, and that it was more agonizing than it would have been if he had left her alone. Let us return to shellfish.

  ‘Dr Simmons was a glutton with a particular predilection for oysters. He ate them with such a passion that he did not pause to check if they were fresh or not, and died of food poisoning. His practice is taken over by an ambitious young doctor by the name of Berry. She is only too pleased to have a baroness on her books, though she is sworn to secrecy about Baron Rupert. There is little she can do, but she has a reassuring manner and gives Rupert hope. There is a cure for his condition but the drugs required are rare and very expensive, she tells him. What fortune the Fosketts have left is tied up in their property, but Dr Berry comes up with a plan to make money. All they have to do is form a last death club and ensure that the other members die before the baroness. The baroness would then die of her infestation and Rupert would come forward and claim his inheritance.’

  ‘But how would he explain where he has been?’ I asked.

  ‘By telling the truth. No crime has been committed in keeping him hidden. There was no attempt to have Rupert’s death registered or to make any insurance claims. He was not hiding from debtors or a fugitive from justice.’ He rattled his halfpennies in his left hand. ‘His illness was a shame upon the family. It made the last of the line unmarriageable, but once he has his inheritance he can be cured. And who better to marry than the beautiful young woman who rid him of his affliction, the woman he loves and who he believes loves him – Dr Berry.’

  Dorna raised her eyebrows. ‘Why, Sidney, you are wasted in detection with such a talent for romantic gothic horror stories.’

  ‘A good detective needs an imagination’ – he flung his halfpennies in the air and caught them with a downward scoop – ‘but only for imagining the truth. Bear with me a little longer. I have almost finished. At some point Baroness Foskett dies. This is most unfortunate for, if she is not the last survivor of the club, the winnings will go to the unpleasant Piggety or the crook-backed Mr Gallop, or whoever else is still alive at the time. Luckily for our conspirators, Lady Foskett is a recluse. Who is to know that she has died other than her last surviving retainer? All Rupert has to do is embalm her in spices. Perhaps he sought the help of Edwin Slab, though that would have made him more vulnerable to exposure. It is an easy matter then to sit her in a curtained chamber and fake her hoarse whisper through a speaking trumpet. At the rate the members are dying, the deception need not be maintained for long. Once the last member has been disposed of, it is merely a question of forging the baroness’s signature on the society’s contract to claim the prize and, after a suitable interval, declaring her dead.’

  ‘This is a very silly game,’ Dorna said. ‘I do not wish to play it any more. I shall get Jane to see you out.’ She rose but my guardian caught hold of her by the arm. ‘Your blotting paper,’ he said. ‘It is smudged with the ink of eight letters and a death certificate.’

  Dorna flapped her hand. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Oh, Dorna,’ he said softly, ‘the certificate is for Baroness Lady Parthena Foskett and it is dated today.’

  ‘Rupert sent me a message that his mother had died. I was in no doubt as to the cause and quite happily filled out a form. I planned to visit Mordent House later today.’

  ‘But she died weeks ago,’ I object
ed.

  ‘I had not seen her for weeks.’

  ‘When did you last visit the house?’ Mr G challenged.

  ‘I do not know… about a month ago. It was—’

  ‘Yesterday,’ he said, ‘at a quarter past three.’

  Dorna paled. ‘You were having me followed?’

  ‘There was no need.’ He let go of her arm. ‘I put out word that any driver who reported where he had taken you or Primrose McKay would be paid a guinea.’

  ‘There you have it. They would say they took me anywhere for a guinea.’

  ‘Another driver reported picking you up there just over an hour later.’

  ‘They were in collusion to earn two guineas between them. Who would take the word of a common cabby?’

  Sidney Grice stood to face her. ‘The second driver was a Mr Gerry Dawson. He was in the area because I planned to visit Lady Foskett that afternoon and I wanted him to deal with the dogs if necessary, but we were delayed by the murder of Warrington Gallop and Gerry was just about to leave when he picked up a fare – you.’

  ‘Gerry is a retired policeman,’ I informed her, ‘and his word will carry some weight in court.’

  Dorna touched her forehead. ‘I remember. I did visit yesterday but only to attend to Rupert. He told me his mother was asleep and did not wish to be disturbed.’

  Sidney Grice raised an eyebrow. ‘You are quick on your feet, my dear. Be careful you do not trip yourself up.’

  Dorna laughed scornfully. ‘What evidence do you have? The imprint of my case on a floor which has gone up in flames? Blotting paper, which I have explained? The fact that I visited my patient? The hearsay of a dead, worm-riddled mad baron? Juries do not like to convict beautiful women of murder and, as you said yourself, I am beautiful.’ She ran her fingers under his chin. ‘Nobody can resist my charms.’ She turned to me. ‘Can they, March?’ She blew me a little kiss.

  Swollen-headed, I thought. And then I remembered when she had first used those words – in my guardian’s study. ‘Whose ring do you have around your neck?’ I got up to look her in the eye.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you kissed me—’

  ‘When I kissed you?’

  ‘When we kissed—’ I restarted.

  ‘What the devil has been going on?’ My guardian stared at us both and we all sat down.

  ‘I felt a ring on a chain,’ I continued. ‘It was an odd shape – like an animal.’

  ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

  ‘Show us the ring, Dr Berry,’ Sidney Grice said. ‘Or I shall summon the police to search you by force.’

  Dorna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You would not humiliate me so.’

  ‘There are three women in my household,’ he said. ‘If I paid any attention to weeping I should be immured in a mental asylum by now.’

  Dorna reached under her collar and produced a fine-linked gold chain.

  ‘A jackal,’ he said. ‘The insignia of the Fosketts.’

  ‘Rupert asked me to look after it,’ she protested. ‘He suspected Cutteridge of pilfering.’

  ‘He prised it off his dead mother’s finger,’ Mr G said.

  ‘I do not know where he got it from.’

  Sidney Grice looked about him as if for inspiration.

  ‘The tonic,’ I remembered. ‘You made up a tonic for Inspector Pound but I have not given it to him yet.’

  ‘And what will we find when it is analysed?’ Mr G asked and she jumped up.

  ‘Damn you,’ she said. ‘Damn you and your meddling girl.’ She darted sideways towards the door but we were both there before her.

  ‘Oh, Dorna,’ Sidney Grice said gently. ‘It is you who is damned.’

  75

  The Economics of Hope

  ‘Shall we sit down again?’ Sidney Grice turned their two chairs so that they were facing each other, and guided Dorna Berry back into hers. He sat opposite her and took her hands. ‘Why Inspector Pound?’ he asked.

  Dorna shivered. ‘Can you not guess?’

  ‘It is apparent that you have a grudge against me – though I do not know why yet. Presumably you have some grievance against the police too, though I do not believe you have a criminal record.’

  ‘I had a perfect plan,’ she said. ‘I would have been rich and titled. I would not have had to tolerate Rupert for long. The maggots had entered his body cavity and it was only a matter of time before they fed off his vital organs.’

  ‘Did you care for him at all?’ I asked and she snorted.

  ‘He was a self-pitying, obsessional child. He would talk for hours about numbers.’

  ‘He was a mathematical genius,’ my guardian said, ‘on the verge of disproving Pythagoras’ Theorem before he decided to squander his life on religion.’

  ‘And Lord, how he hated you, Sidney, for making him doubt it. Hour after hour he would pour bile upon your name. He told me he had almost spared Warrington Gallop and used his dart on you, but he knew how angry I would be and how desperately he needed that money.’

  ‘For a cure that does not exist,’ I said.

  ‘I was his cure.’ She raised her head. ‘I gave him something he had never had before – hope.’

  ‘False hope,’ I insisted.

  ‘I gave him something to live for.’

  ‘You gave him something to kill for,’ Sidney Grice said, ‘and something to die for and, ultimately, you made him more corrupt than those filthy worms had done in all those years.’

  ‘You did not do this for yourself,’ I said.

  ‘Now you are talking nonsense. I do not know why you involve that stupid little slut in your enquiries, Sidney. No wonder your reputation has suffered so much since she arrived.’

  Sidney Grice sat watching me. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘Have you ever told Dr Berry about Eleanor Quarrel?’ I asked.

  ‘Never,’ he said. ‘It is not a case I am proud of.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ I told him. ‘And yet…’

  ‘I read about her.’ Dorna pulled her hands away.

  ‘Where?’ he demanded and she struggled for words.

  ‘Eleanor Quarrel has never been mentioned in any newspapers,’ I said. ‘She was never convicted of any crimes and we did not know her real name until after she disappeared.’

  ‘Until she died fleeing you.’ She swept her arm to indicate us both and I stood up.

  ‘What lovely green eyes you have,’ I said and she looked deep into mine, and at that moment I knew. ‘Oh, Dorna, did you really do it all to avenge your mother?’

  ‘Can you think of a better reason?’ She jumped up to face me. ‘Mrs Marlowe was a dull-witted, vain dipsomaniac and I hated her. I had no parents and then my real mother found me about a year ago. She was beautiful and clever and witty, and we were just getting to really know each other when you took her away from me.’

  ‘She died fleeing justice,’ my guardian said.

  ‘Justice?’ she echoed bitterly. ‘What justice did she ever have? For pity’s sake, she was sent to prison for defending herself from a policeman’s advances when she was hardly more than a child.’

  ‘She probably encouraged him,’ Sidney Grice said and I rounded on him.

  ‘That is a filthy thing to say.’

  Dorna shushed me. ‘All men are vile, March – however they choose to present themselves.’

  ‘I believe Inspector Pound to be a good man at heart, but you set fire to the operating theatre and tried to kill him,’ I said and she looked at me with disdain.

  ‘Now you are being ridiculous. Even if I did you cannot prove it.’

  ‘Carry on.’ Sidney Grice leaned back in his chair and surveyed her.

  ‘But I qualified and found employment and my private practice was expanding, and when my mother turned up I was so happy. I loved her from the first and she loved me.’

  ‘She never loved anyone,’ I said, ‘and no more do you.’

  She eyed me with contempt. ‘You know nothing
about love.’

  I let that pass.

  ‘But surely when you found out what she had done—’ Mr G began.

  ‘What had she done?’ she shouted. ‘Other than be an innocent pawn in a sordid affair! She told me that you hated her for exposing you as a fraud, an incompetent who sent an innocent man to his death, and that you and the police were trying to destroy her. The day I heard that she had died I made a vow: I would destroy you all, and what better way to do it than make myself rich in the process. I assumed that Pound would be involved in the case too, but he avoided that by being put on another investigation.’ She smiled grimly. ‘Imagine my joy when he fell into my hands, utterly helpless. I could have smothered him where he lay and no one would have suspected me, but why should I let him die peacefully in his sleep when he could die painfully and at your hand, dear March?’

  ‘Do you really hate us that much?’ I asked.

  ‘As a matter of a fact I have become quite fond of you both over the last few weeks, but by then the wheels were set in motion.’ She looked around the room. ‘Oh, March, if you had truly known her as I did. We were so alike. I do not mean in appearance – she told me I looked like my father.’

  ‘Did she tell you who your father was?’ I asked.

  ‘He was a captain in the Guards who was going to marry her when she came of age, but then he was sent abroad and died.’

  ‘Dear Dorna,’ Sidney Grice said. ‘How like a small child you are to believe that.’

  She turned on him furiously. ‘What now? Are you going to tell me he was a corporal or a private? I do not care what he was.’

  ‘Dorna.’ I went over and touched her shoulder, but she brushed me away. ‘Your father was your grandfather.’

  She flinched. ‘You are talking nonsense.’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  She stood up, grasping the chair to steady herself. ‘No wonder she never told me his name. Oh, my poor mother… She was thirteen.’ She cradled her mouth in her free hand.