by Faith Martin
Bishop secretly agreed with him. Still, you couldn’t rule anything out.
Just then there was a discreet tap on the door and Meecham walked in, followed by a tall woman with an extremely curvaceous figure who looked around with wary but quite lovely blue eyes.
Miss Jenny Starling herself. Bishop felt his heart sink.
‘Thank you, Meecham,’ his lordship said, sensing his butler’s heartfelt desire to flee.
He fled.
‘Ah, Miss Starling.’ Lady Vee beamed. ‘Inspector Bishop here has just been telling us of your exploits.’
‘Oh?’ Jenny said warily. She knew that something was wrong. The kitchen had been deserted all afternoon. And there had been a strange atmosphere. As a consequence, her shoulders were quite tense. Now the police were here. What on earth was going on? And what had the police been telling Lady Vee, exactly? Nothing good, that was for sure, she thought, pursing her lips grimly.
‘I’m afraid we’ve lost our governess, Miss Starling,’ his lordship said, trying to break it to her gently.
Jenny blinked. Lost? Lost her where?
‘Someone’s killed her,’ her ladyship added flatly, seeing the cook’s rather puzzled look and knowing full well that gentleness was not required. Their new cook was obviously the kind of woman who could cope with almost anything.
Except, perhaps, a tart that refused to brown. ‘Oh, goodness me,’ Jenny said, taking a deep breath.
Ava Simmons, dead? All that waste! She’d been so young. Jenny bit back the sensation of anger and dismay that swamped her, and forced herself to look levelly at her employer.
‘Exactly,’ her ladyship continued crisply. ‘And since you seem to be rather good at this sort of thing, I want you to accompany the inspector here wherever he goes, and lend a hand.’
Jenny gaped, then glanced across at the equally gobsmacked inspector. The inspector glared back. It would have been impossible to say which one of them looked the more dismayed.
‘Oh,’ Jenny said again, flatly.
‘It will help enormously to have a friendly face sitting in on all the questioning, don’t you think, Inspector?’ Lady Avonsleigh issued the challenge, obviously not expecting a fight.
‘I expect so, m’lady,’ Bishop answered glumly, his lack of enthusiasm plain to one and all.
‘That’s settled then,’ she said happily, steamrollering over him in what was probably her classic style.
‘Is there anything else we can do for you, Inspector?’ Lord Avonsleigh asked, obviously not without sympathy for the policeman, and Bishop, relieved, put down his untouched cup of tea and rose.
‘Not at the moment, sir, thank you. Perhaps I can speak to Meecham now?’
‘Of course, of course. I daresay he’s in the kitchen. Miss Starling will show you the way.’
Jenny obliged, very much aware of two pairs of hostile eyes boring into her broad back with every step she took. Not that she was unduly worried about that — she had other things on her mind.
Ava Simmons dead. Killed. Murdered. But who? And why?
* * *
In the kitchen, only Meecham and Elsie sat around the table. The butler half rose, then nervously sat back down again as the policemen came into the room. He looked pale, and the hands holding his tea cup shook.
Not a strong character, this, Bishop thought. A rather timid soul. But good at his job, he’d bet.
‘Mr Meecham,’ Bishop greeted him kindly. ‘I’d like you to tell me exactly what you saw this afternoon.’ He got the ball rolling immediately, nodding to Myers, who was already poised, notebook handy. Both policemen sat opposite the butler, presenting a formidable show of force.
Meecham swallowed. Hard. ‘Well, sir. I took the food out to the party on the terrace about, oh, five past three, no later. And I returned just before half past to retrieve it.’
‘Bit quick, weren’t you?’ Bishop asked, and Meecham flushed.
‘They are hearty eaters, and the colonel has, well, a thing about food.’
‘A thing?’ Bishop repeated, surprised.
‘Yes, sir.’ But Meecham would not be drawn. He was, after all, still a butler. And discretion was his middle name.
‘I see. Then what?’
‘On our way out I noticed the dagger, sir. It was covered in blood — it was dripping down the wall.’ The butler shuddered and took a hasty sip of hot tea, and Jenny found herself wishing she had a mug of her own.
Vividly now, she recalled the bejewelled dagger to mind. And the fact that someone had used such a beautiful object to commit such an ugly act made her feel outraged. To be stabbed to death was awful.
Jenny, aware that she was in slight shock, briskly set about making herself a cup of strong, very sweet tea, at the same time keeping her ears firmly open as the police questioning continued. She knew from bitter experience that there would be many more hours of it to come yet, and she needed to keep her wits about her.
‘You didn’t notice it dripping in blood when you went to retrieve the tray, though?’ Bishop asked sharply, pointing out the inconsistency with a sharp tone.
Meecham paled further. ‘Er . . . no, sir, I didn’t. I don’t suppose I looked.’
‘But you did on the way out,’ Bishop pressed suspiciously. ‘When the others were with you?’
Meecham nodded miserably. ‘Yes, sir, I did. I don’t know what made me look up at it. Probably because I knew the colonel was behind me, and I remembered how he admired it so.’
‘Hmm.’ Bishop made no comment. In truth, he was not all that suspicious of Meecham. God forbid, the butler did it: he’d never live it down back at the police station.
He would have to go and see this dagger before the forensic boys took samples. He was very curious to see it for himself in situ. ‘What next?’
‘His lordship asked me to check on the staff, sir. To see if anyone was missing. I knew that Janice was out, sir, as it’s her afternoon off. And I could hear Lady Roberta in the music room. She was playing the piano, so I went there first. I expected Miss Simmons to be there too, but it was Mr Powell-Brooks, the art tutor, who was taking the piano lesson.’
‘Was that unusual?’
‘No, sir. Mr Powell-Brooks is quite an accomplished pianist. He would sometimes take a lesson, if Miss Simmons was ill, or a little late in turning up.’
Jenny frowned, and glanced across her cup. Surely Ava Simmons was not the kind to be late? And since she’d only been here a month, she’d still be anxious about her timekeeping. Why wouldn’t Meecham or Powell-Brooks have realized the same thing? Or perhaps they had.
‘I see. Then where did you go?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘That’s right, Inspector, I remember.’ Jenny spoke to him directly for the first time. ‘Mr Meecham opened the door and glanced in. I remember that he looked rather pale and distracted. I can’t say what time that was exactly, though.’
‘And you were here alone?’ Bishop asked her harshly, and with an abruptness that was most definitely rude.
‘With Elsie,’ Jenny corrected him gently, getting in her alibi first, before he had a chance to ask her for it.
Bishop glanced at the kitchen maid, who raised her chin and stared at him like a dog that was getting ready to bite.
‘I see,’ Bishop said, backing off. Very wisely, Jenny thought. ‘And then?’ He turned back to Meecham.
‘I knew my daughter was in her ladyship’s bedroom, sir, getting her bath things ready and a fresh set of clothes.’
So soon in the afternoon, Jenny thought with some surprise, then gave a mental shrug. Since she wasn’t familiar with Lady Vee’s ablutions, she supposed it could be a fair statement. Although given she had guests that had only arrived half an hour previously it seemed highly premature.
‘So only the governess was unaccounted for,’ Bishop said. ‘What made you go straight to the conservatory?’ he asked quickly.
Meecham jumped. ‘I didn’t, sir. I went to her room first, but no one answere
d my knocking. I searched several rooms before noticing that the conservatory door was standing open. Since the gardener is most insistent it should always be kept shut, I naturally went to see, and there she was.’
‘How was she lying?’
‘On her back, sir.’
‘What was she wearing?’
Meecham blinked. ‘Er, I don’t think I noticed, sir.’
Bishop nodded. Probably hadn’t, poor beggar. Shouldn’t wonder if he didn’t pass out for a few moments. He looked the type. ‘I see. Thank you, Meecham. If you could just show me where the dagger is hanging, that will be all for the moment.’
In spite of Lady Vee’s obvious wishes that she dog the inspector’s footsteps and thus keep her informed, the cook made no move to rise and follow them.
Bishop noticed and audibly sighed with relief, and quickly followed the trembling butler out of the kitchen before she could change her mind.
‘So she’s dead then.’
The flat, abrupt voice belonged to Elsie, and Jenny glanced at her. ‘Seems so,’ she agreed quietly. The kitchen maid nodded and reached for her cup. Her gnarled hands, Jenny noticed without surprise, were shaking.
Looking up quickly, the cook saw an expression, so fleeting it was almost impossible to pinpoint, flash across the maid’s morose face. But her next words were prosaic enough.
‘There’ll be hell to pay, I expect,’ Elsie said glumly.
Jenny sighed, remembering the policeman’s hostile but resigned expression when Lady Avonsleigh had all but demanded that the cook be kept informed.
‘I daresay there will be,’ she agreed.
She felt suddenly tired. Ava Simmons was dead. And someone in this castle, this afternoon, had killed her. And her ladyship wanted Jenny to find out who did it. Was it just because Lady Vee didn’t have confidence in the police? Or, more likely, did she just want a friendly eye and ear in the police camp?
Or, Jenny thought with a sickening lurch in her stomach, was she worried about what the police might discover?
CHAPTER SIX
Bishop stared at the dagger, fascinated in spite of himself.
The dagger handle was relatively clean, and gleamed in small pinpoints of jewel-like light — deep red, emerald green and gold. In contrast, the blade was covered in drying blood. On the white wall, the trickles of blood that had run from it were turning into rusty stains that chilled his own blood and sent shivers up his spine. No doubt about it, he mused — it was a macabre sight.
‘Better get the forensic lads over here when they’ve finished,’ Bishop said, speaking his thoughts out loud. Not that he expected them to find any fingerprints on the handle. ‘Right, Meecham. The conservatory.’ Bishop dragged his eyes away from the Munjib dagger and glanced at the butler, who was going slightly green around the gills.
Meecham left with alacrity, only to slow down and come to an abrupt halt just a few yards from the conservatory. Taking his dismissal for granted, he then left quickly. If either policeman had been paying more attention, they might have wondered if there was more to his actions than mere squeamishness.
Almost blindly, Meecham moved quickly down the corridor. He had to reach Gayle. He had to ask her to run to the gatehouse, quick. It might not be too late.
‘The doc’s here,’ Bishop muttered, watching the police surgeon as he bent over the body, inspecting methodically but touching very little. ‘Must have arrived not long after we did.’ For several moments the two policemen watched the team at work — the forensic people examining in minute detail the flagstone floor of the conservatory, the doctor in attendance on the corpse.
Even in death, Ava Simmons had managed to retain her dignity. Her skirt had risen slightly, but still covered her knees decorously. Her lips were closed, not gaping open, as was the case of so many corpses Bishop had seen over the years. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep. Even her hair was mostly still neatly in place. Only her blouse marred the picture of gentility. Over the region of her heart was a bright red patch that had leaked onto the floor. It looked so out of place on the otherwise meticulous governess that Bishop had to look away.
The doctor looked up, saw them, and rose slowly. ‘Inspector Bishop. You bagged this one then?’ he asked jovially.
Bishop nodded sourly. ‘Myers, take one of the lab boys to that little dagger, would you?’ He himself was not sure he could find the way back, but he knew Myers had all the instincts of a homing pigeon.
‘What can you tell me?’ Bishop asked when the others had left, already knowing that it would not be much. MEs were notoriously close-mouthed when it came to putting their reputations on the line.
‘The body’s still slightly warm to the touch,’ the doctor said, and glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly five now, and I would say she’s been dead not more than four hours, not less than one. Given that this room is so warm anyway. But don’t quote me.’
Bishop nodded. ‘We’ve got it narrowed down to between three o’clock and three-thirty.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Death due to a single stab wound to the heart, as far as I can tell,’ he continued, the usual caution now creeping into his voice. ‘Death would have been practically instantaneous, I would have thought. But don’t—’
‘I know, I know. Don’t quote you.’ Bishop sighed and looked around at the shelves of plants still neatly standing side by side, and the undisturbed stack of pots on the floor not far from the body. ‘She didn’t put up much of a struggle,’ he noted sadly.
The doctor shrugged. ‘She probably wasn’t given the chance. The wound was caused by a long, very thin and sharp-pointed blade. Slightly rounded, I would have said. Unusual.’
Bishop nodded. ‘There’s a dagger covered in blood coming our way. It fits the description.’
The doctor sighed, looking down at her. ‘A woman in the prime of her life, Inspector. She looks a nice sort.’
Bishop nodded. Ava Simmons did look a nice sort. Not the kind that would end up murdered.
‘Bit of a feather in your cap, this case, isn’t it?’ the doctor asked, and Bishop snorted. He was saved from answering by the return of Myers, the dagger enclosed in an evidence bag, which he handed over to the doctor. Nobody expected that the blood would not match that of the victim. Or the blade that of the knife wound.
‘Well, I suppose we’d better get on with it,’ Bishop said. ‘I want another word with our delightful Miss Starling.’
At the mention of the name the doctor looked up in surprise, then grinned at the morose expression on the inspector’s face. Even the pathologists had begun to hear of the growing fame of Jenny Starling. The last of the great amateur detectives, no less.
Wisely though, he said nothing, but Myers winked at him behind his inspector’s back as the two men left.
* * *
Jenny looked up in surprise as Meecham all but rushed into the kitchen and came to sudden halt. He looked around in surprise. ‘Is Gayle not here?’ he asked, slightly out of breath.
Jenny shook her head, her eyes curious. ‘Obviously not,’ she said softly. ‘Is something wrong, Mr Meecham?’
Meecham flushed, suddenly aware that he was acting strangely. ‘Er, no. I thought that she was in her ladyship’s rooms but she’s not. Nor is she in her own room. I was, er—’ He broke off as the door opened and his daughter walked in. ‘There you are, Gayle. We have to, er . . .’ He glanced back over his shoulder and moved further away.
Jenny headed for the oven, her ears pricked. In spite of that, she caught only the odd word or two. ‘Gatehouse’ she was sure was one of them. And ‘must intercept.’ Even whispering, Meecham sounded distraught.
Over the cover of a saucepan lid, the cook looked across at father and daughter, and saw Gayle lay a calming hand on her father’s arm. Very briefly she shook her head, and although Jenny never heard her, could lip-read the two words clearly. ‘Too late.’
Meecham’s shoulders drooped and he trudged wearily back to the centre of the kitchen, slumping down at the
table.
Elsie, moving in that unerringly silent manner of hers, quickly placed a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him. Jenny was not the only one in that kitchen with sharp eyes and ears, apparently. A moment later, the door opened again, and this time the two policemen walked in. Bishop glanced at her, then saw Gayle and paused.
‘Ah, Miss Meecham.’ Bishop gave her his best ‘kindly uncle’ smile and indicated a chair. Gayle gave him a single blank-eyed look, and sat down. Myers moved opposite, pulling out his notebook. Jenny didn’t miss the flash of fear in Gayle’s dark eyes. Nevertheless, she folded steady hands in her lap, and waited patiently. There was something both stoic and tense about her.
Bishop leaned back in his own chair, making it squeak. ‘As you can imagine, Miss Meecham, we have to ask everybody in the castle where they were this afternoon and what they might have seen or heard. Also, of course, any other thing they may need to tell us. Nobody likes to speak ill of the dead, I know, but often the only clue to someone’s murder lies in the personality of the murder victim. You understand?’ Bishop asked, surprising Jenny considerably. She hadn’t thought that Bishop had so much finesse, let alone understanding. Subconsciously, she began to relax. Ava Simmons was in good hands.
‘Yes, Inspector. I shall do whatever I can to help, of course,’ Gayle said coolly. If Bishop had hoped to win her over, it was very apparent that he hadn’t succeeded.
‘Can you tell me where you were from three o’clock to half past three this afternoon, Gayle?’ Bishop asked briskly, cutting out the soft flannel now, since it was obviously wasted on her.
‘I was in her ladyship’s bedroom. I was getting her bath ready.’
‘For half an hour? And when she has guests?’ Bishop asked, his scepticism rife.
‘She always has a bath in the afternoon, Inspector, so I knew she’d want everything ready as soon as the colonel and his wife had left. I didn’t run the water, of course, but the towels have to be heated, and her ladyship’s change of clothes pressed. The soap, talc, bath salts and shampoo all have to be retrieved, and her ladyship’s rollers have to be heated . . . Really, Inspector, must I go into the intimate details of Lady Vee’s toilette?’
