The Castle Mystery

by Faith Martin

  Her ladyship boomed at him to come in, and he obeyed, noting with relief that they had finished eating. Roberta glanced up and began to glow at the unexpected treat of seeing him so soon.

  Lord Avonsleigh glanced at his granddaughter’s shining eyes, and felt his lips twitch.

  ‘Er, good morning, my lord, m’lady,’ he turned to each of them, glanced at Roberta, wasn’t quite sure what to say to her, and turned back to his lordship. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and wondered where to begin.

  George smiled and rose. ‘Sit down, dear fellow. What can we do for you?’

  Lady Vee watched the art tutor seat himself and wished she was thirty years younger. She’d liked to flirt when she was a girl, and Mr Powell-Brooks was just the kind she went for. She couldn’t blame Roberta for mooning over him like a lovesick calf. It was good for a girl to do so.

  ‘I was wondering, that is, I thought I should come and offer my services as a temporary tutor, until, well, someone is sent to replace Miss Simmons. I have a fairly good working knowledge of literature,’ Malcolm plunged on, feeling his palms growing wetter by the minute. ‘I don’t know much about . . . well, er, female deportment and that sort of thing, but I know a good bit about music, as you know, and philosophy and so on. Just until—’

  ‘We get a replacement for poor Miss Simmons,’ Lady Vee interjected for him, noting his rising panic with a gentle smile. ‘Quite so.’ The dear boy was blushing to the roots of his hair.

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ Malcolm said gratefully.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, Brooks,’ Lord Avonsleigh said heartily. ‘I think we’ll have to take you up on it for the time being. Unless, of course,’ he added, winking across at his wife, ‘Roberta objects?’

  Lady Roberta most definitely didn’t, and nearly fell over herself making it plain. Malcolm met his lordship’s eye with an apologetic ‘what can you do but wait until she grows out of it?’ look, and relaxed.

  He’d had to offer. It would have looked most odd if he hadn’t.

  ‘Well, I’m sure Lady Roberta can fill me in on Miss Simmons’s teaching regime. I . . .’ He was getting to his feet, anxious to take his leave, when there was a tap on the door and Meecham walked in.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord, but there’s a gentleman here with an appointment to see Miss Simmons. I thought, under the circumstances . . .’

  ‘Good grief, yes.’ Lord Avonsleigh rose, and smiled as a tall, silver-haired man, who was eighty if he was a day, walked into the room. ‘I think you’d better get Inspector Bishop, Meecham,’ he said, walking forward and holding out his hand.

  Before it was taken, however, Bishop appeared at the doorway. Nothing went on in this castle that he didn’t know about, for he’d seconded a few constables from Bicester to patrol the place on the pretext of providing extra security. In reality, they were his eyes and ears, and badly needed they were too.

  The bewildered old man glanced at the inspector, then at Avonsleigh, looking distinctly puzzled. If he’d known that Ava was going to have him meet his lordship he’d have worn his best tie. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Avonsleigh. I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’

  Lady Vee went forward and gently led him to a seat. ‘Tea, Meecham,’ she said briskly. ‘We’ve run into a spot of trouble, I’m afraid, Mr . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, excuse me. Grover, Anthony Grover. How do you do?’ She took his hand and pulled out a seat close to him.

  ‘You’ve come to see Miss Simmons, you say?’ she probed gently, not even glancing in Bishop’s direction.

  Unable to do a damned thing about it, Bishop took a seat and ground his teeth.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Anthony Grover said, looking around, his watery blue eyes falling on a Turner landscape and lighting up before returning to those of Lady Vee. ‘Is there something wrong?’ His old voice wavered, as if it was all getting to be just a little too much. Lady Vee brightened in relief as Meecham returned with the tea. The poor old boy was going to need it.

  ‘I think you’d better have three sugars, Mr Grover,’ she said, gently hinting at shocks to come. ‘Did you know Miss Simmons well?’

  Meecham retired. Malcolm Powell-Brooks, who’d sunk back into his seat and was wishing himself miles away, held his breath.

  ‘Oh yes, since she was a girl, really. I knew her father slightly.’ His lips twisted into a distasteful grimace.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Lady Vee said on a huge sigh. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news. There’s not a kind way of doing this, but, well, Miss Simmons was killed yesterday. Murdered, I’m very sorry to say.’

  Anthony Grover went grey, and his rheumatic hands clenched his cup so hard that the fine china looked in imminent danger of breaking. ‘Murdered? How? Who?’ he spluttered, his voice turning into a croak.

  ‘We don’t know at the moment,’ she said, reaching out and holding the old man’s hand. It was deathly cold.

  ‘Oh, poor little Ava,’ Anthony said. ‘When she wrote and asked me to come and see her, I thought it was—’

  ‘She wrote to you?’ Bishop asked, unable to restrain himself any longer.

  Startled by the abrupt question and loud, unsympathetic voice, Anthony Grover half-turned to meet the policeman’s alert gaze, the tea sloshing dangerously in his cup. ‘Yes. I received the letter two days ago. She asked me to come and see her today at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Did she say why she wanted to see you?’ Bishop asked, then, as an afterthought, introduced himself.

  ‘No. She said she wanted my opinion on something. She was always coming to me for advice. She looked on me like an uncle, I think. Her father, well, her father was always busy with the gallery. He had little time for her.’

  He doesn’t like Ava Simmons’s father, Bishop thought instantly. He’d have to have Mr Simmons checked out rather more thoroughly. ‘I see. And she said nothing else in this letter?’ he prompted.

  ‘No, Inspector. Nothing.’

  ‘Was the tone of the letter unusual in any way? Did she sound worried or frightened?’

  ‘No, not that I could tell. I thought she might want my advice on textbooks. I was a teacher you know. Art.’

  ‘I see,’ Bishop said, disappointed. Another dead end. He couldn’t even stretch a point and wonder if Anthony Grover was the missing boyfriend. Women might go for older men, but not that much older.

  He heard a quiet sigh and glanced across, surprised to see Malcolm Powell-Brooks cowering in his chair.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Miss Simmons?’ Bishop pressed on. He had no clues, no leads, and was determined to milk any evidence at all for all it was worth.

  ‘Oh, months ago,’ Anthony Grover said, his eyes watering. ‘I never thought it would be the last time.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Lady Vee said kindly, patting the old man’s hand and giving Bishop a killing look. ‘Drink some tea, Mr Grover. It will make you feel better.’

  Anthony Grover drank some tea. Avonsleigh caught Bishop’s eye and beckoned him over into one corner to grill him on his progress. Malcolm took the opportunity to leave, Roberta quickly trailing after him.

  Lady Vee took Anthony’s arm. What he needed was distracting. ‘I daresay you’d like to see some of our paintings, Mr Grover?’

  The old man perked up a little. ‘Well, yes, I would. I’m all too aware of Avonsleigh’s wonderful reputation in the art world. I quite envy the experts you allow to come and look around. I daresay you choose them carefully? Everyone must press you for an invitation.’

  ‘Oh, yes, well, one must do one’s best,’ she said airily. ‘And our resident art expert lets us know when the paintings need cleaning. Wouldn’t do to have them dirty, eh?’

  The old man looked at her, hiding his smile. She was a charming, warm, eccentric character but was an obvious philistine when it came to art. ‘That Turner caught my eye,’ Anthony murmured, steering her in its direction. And Lady Vee, glad to have taken his mind off the tragedy, smiled and let him have full rein.

 
As Bishop filled in Lord Avonsleigh on his progress so far — which was frankly none — Anthony Grover stared in astonishment at the Avonsleigh Turner.

  He stared at it for quite some time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jenny stood aside to let Meecham and his elderly companion pass by in the small corridor. She watched them go for a moment, a worried frown on her face. The old man had looked decidedly shaken.

  Glad that she had taken the time before going to bed last night to do a thorough tour of the castle, and at last get all the rooms and their layout (more or less) straight in her mind, she had found the breakfast room with little trouble. Now she knocked on the door, waited for Lady Vee to boom her usual welcome, and walked in.

  Lady Vee glanced up, a smile immediately lighting up her face and setting her jowls quivering. ‘Miss Starling, how wonderful. Any news?’

  Jenny smiled, taking the seat indicated. ‘I’m sorry, no. The police don’t seem to be much further forward. Inspector Bishop told me the findings of the pathology report. It was Ava’s blood on the dagger, of course, and the wound was fairly consistent with the murder weapon being the dagger. So, no surprises there. Though there is one interesting little thing I picked up on.’

  She went on to explain about the curious letter from the Lady Beade School, her ladyship agreeing with her that it was most odd.

  ‘I for one don’t believe she meant to leave us,’ Avonsleigh, sitting by the fire with a newspaper in his lap, spoke up for the first time.

  Jenny glanced at him with renewed respect. ‘I agree, my lord. Although I only knew her for barely a day, she didn’t strike me as a woman getting ready to leave here. In fact, she seemed, if anything, determined to protect Lady Roberta,’ she added quietly, wondering what reaction the bait would get.

  Lady Vee laughed. ‘Oh she was, bless her heart. Why, she came to us only a week ago and told us that Roberta was forming an “undesirable attachment” to Mr Powell-Brooks,’ she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. ‘Of course, we already knew that — we’ve got eyes in our heads, haven’t we? We told her that Roberta, for all her exuberance, was actually a very steady and reliable sort of girl. She might moon over our handsome Mr Powell-Brooks, but then, what teenage girl wouldn’t moon over him?’ Her eyebrow rose in a question, and Jenny smiled back her answer. ‘But she’s far too sensible to dream it would come to anything more than a bit of mutual mild flirting.’

  ‘And how did Ava react to that?’ Jenny asked curiously.

  ‘She seemed a little taken aback that we knew,’ Lady Vee replied after some thought. ‘I got the impression that she believed we lived in an ivory tower and didn’t know the more mundane details of what went on in our little fiefdom. It was really kind of her to worry, and we told her so, but when we explained that we’d already had a quiet little word with Malcolm about it, she seemed satisfied.’

  ‘Really?’ This time it was Jenny’s eyebrow that rose. Lady Vee settled herself back. It had been a long time since she’d had a good gossip with someone worthy of it.

  ‘Yes. You see, Roberta was making calf eyes at him only a matter of days after his arrival. That would have been over a year ago now, when she was only fifteen. Well, we weren’t really worried, of course, but thought it best to have a word with him. Just in case he had some silly idea about marrying into money and all that.’

  ‘Oh quite,’ Jenny said hastily.

  ‘We want none of that,’ her ladyship said with a small shiver. ‘But, as it happened, we needn’t have worried. Mr Powell-Brooks was very good about it. Rather a quiet type, for all his good looks. He had to splutter about a bit since he’s not particularly erudite, but for all that he made it plain that what he wanted was a nice steady job and nothing more. He explained that it was the privilege of living at Avonsleigh, surrounded by all this . . .’ — Lady Vee waved a casual hand at the wall, on which reposed Gainsboroughs, Constables and Turners as if they were printed posters — ‘that made him want to work here. In fact, he was far more anxious about Roberta’s little infatuation than we were — in case we gave him the sack, you see?’

  Avonsleigh rustled his paper, and both women turned to look at him. ‘Thing is, the fellow confided in me that a spell here would set him up for life. In the art world, that is. He hopes to go on to something in a museum apparently, and having the name Avonsleigh on his résumé would be the lynchpin. Poor chap was dead scared Roberta’s crush would put the kibosh on it.’

  ‘In the end,’ Lady Vee picked up the tale, ‘we ended up reassuring him!’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I see. He’s of a much more practical turn of mind than you might think to look at him.’

  ‘Yes,’ her ladyship agreed. ‘And the more we’ve come to know him, the more relaxed we’ve become. He humours Roberta without encouraging her, you see. That way, her grand passion can gradually fizzle out without her feelings being hurt.’

  Jenny, remembering their light bantering, nodded. ‘So he knows which side his bread is buttered?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Her twinkling eyes suddenly glittered into a hardened expression. ‘We could make life very difficult for Mr Powell-Brooks if we’d a mind to, and he knows it.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘So Miss Simmons never mentioned it again?’ she prompted, remembering the way Ava had looked upon her charge and the art tutor so disapprovingly the day Jenny had first arrived at the castle.

  ‘No. Mind you, Roberta got to hear about Miss Simmons telling tales. The walls have ears in this place.’ Her ladyship sighed. ‘Little minx knows how to throw a temper tantrum when she wants to, let me tell you! She accused her governess of spying on her and telling lies, and trying to ruin her life. The usual dramatics. She demanded we fire her immediately. We told her in no uncertain terms that wasn’t on, and that it was part of a governess’s job to keep an eagle eye out for her charge’s welfare.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Jenny said. So that was why Roberta hadn’t liked her governess. Hardly surprising! The question was, how far did that acrimony really go? She had a feeling that it was not all that far. But what if the girl had really fancied herself in love with her art tutor? Teenagers were notoriously unpredictable, what with all those hormones raging about. But could she really see Roberta killing her governess in thwarted rage? It was an uncomfortable thought.

  ‘Did Mr Powell-Brooks know about Ava’s disapproval of him?’ she asked delicately.

  Lady Vee glanced up at her sharply, aware of the direction of her thoughts, and felt her respect for this Amazon of a cook swell even further. ‘I would think he must have done. Roberta’s not the sort to keep secrets. When she’s upset, the whole world has to know about it — and why.’

  Jenny sighed. But if Malcolm knew his job was safe, he had no real reason to kill Ava, had he? Besides, he and Roberta were together the whole afternoon. Unless they were in it together, maybe? No, now she was being fanciful. Besides, Jenny was sure that Roberta’s reaction on hearing the news of Ava’s death was perfectly genuine.

  So, another dead end there.

  Jenny sighed deeply. ‘The thing is, there seems to be no reason for it at all,’ she said at last, feeling vexed. ‘I shall have to go to the village and ask around. Try to get some kind of a feel for what’s been going on up here.’ She suddenly realized that might sound insulting and looked up quickly, but Lady Vee was already nodding her head.

  ‘Good idea. Between you and me, I don’t think this Inspector Bishop chap has much go in him. George had a word with him this morning, when Ava’s friend showed up, and he hadn’t got anywhere, had he, George?’

  Avonsleigh, buried deep in the cricket scores, grunted.

  ‘Ava’s friend?’ Jenny prompted, and Lady Vee obligingly gave her an accurate account of the old man’s arrival and the subsequent revelations. Jenny listened and wondered. Ava Simmons had definitely been up to something. Something that had resulted in her murder. But what?

  ‘I understand it’s all being kept out of the papers,’ Jenny mused.

  ‘As far
as possible. But one can’t control the gossip in the village though. Or expect one’s friends to . . . Oh hell’s bells, that reminds me. Miss Starling, we’re giving a dinner party tomorrow night. It was arranged weeks ago, and I quite forgot about it.’

  ‘I expect people will know it’s been cancelled, m’dear,’ his lordship said, and then froze as two pairs of disbelieving female eyes shot his way.

  ‘Don’t be so daft, George,’ Lady Vee said in total disregard for her husband’s noble dignity. ‘Everyone will be absolutely gasping to come. I bet they can’t wait to set foot in the place. I shall probably end up giving them a guided tour of the conservatory and everything.’

  Jenny nodded sagely. ‘People are such ghouls.’

  ‘Quite. Besides, if we cancelled . . .’ she broke off and glanced guiltily at her husband, then she met the cook’s eye and nodded grimly.

  Jenny understood exactly what was on Lady Vee’s mind. If they cancelled, people might start to think in very peculiar ways. Lord Avonsleigh was late middle-aged, and Ava had been a reasonably attractive younger woman. And soon the rumour that there was no smoke without fire would take hold, and who knew where that would end? No, it was best to carry on as normal, show solidity as a couple.

  Again the two women nodded at each other in complete understanding. He must be protected at all costs.

  ‘How many are coming, m’lady?’ she asked, and Lady Vee frowned.

  ‘I suppose we’d better get it sorted out now. Let’s see . . . there’ll be eight altogether. Now, old Stebbins can’t touch fat, and Ethel doesn’t like anything green, and Jasper Cotton is a total hypochondriac. See to it, will you, Miss Starling?’ she asked, and everyone in the room knew that it was seen to.

  Just then Meecham entered. ‘The vicar and his wife, m’lady.’

  Behind him came a dog-collared individual so small and pucker-faced that he instantly reminded Jenny of a pug. ‘Lady Vee, I thought we simply had to come . . .’ he began, oozing concern.