The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries)

by Challis, Joanna

  “And if he’s on the outer, kidnapping is a way to easy money.”

  Driving into the umbrella of Victoria Station, my uneasiness increased. There was no one in sight and such a place invited danger. Switching off the engine, we came to a slow stop.

  “I should have brought my pistol,” my father joked, getting out of the motorcar.

  “You should have.” Catching my breath, I walked on with him, expecting to run into a criminal at any moment. Worse, Jack Grimshaw, lurking behind some column, armed, and holding Ellen for ransom.

  I hoped she had the sense to conceal herself. An eerie feeling consumed me as we approached the deserted ticket office.

  “No one’s here. Let’s go home, Daphne.”

  I nodded, turning back once more. “She has to be here, though. Living in hope for Charlotte’s return.”

  I looked again. I fancied I heard a whimper far down the hall. “Maybe we should go down there?”

  My voice sounded small and intrepid. I wished my father had brought a pistol. I wished the major was here with us. I’d probably get a lecture later this morning but I didn’t care.

  Clutching my father’s arm, we proceeded across the hall. Drawing closer, I felt my father tense. Each step became slower. I’d never seen my father so afraid before and my heart pounded. Pallor crept into my face. Are we walking into a trap? Our death?

  Another whimper.

  Faint, and that of a female.

  I halted. “Ellen?”

  The whimper vanished.

  “Ellen?”

  Then a voice out of the darkness. “Daphne?”

  I shut my eyes, smiling.

  We found her crouched in a corner, crying.

  * * *

  “Excuse me, sir. This arrived for you.”

  It was midday. Seated at the breakfast table sipping a coffee, I glanced at the maid. I’d expected her to announce the arrival of Major Browning. But no, simply delivering the mail to my father.

  Opening the envelope with his butter knife, my father blanched. “Outrageous!”

  His outburst rustled my mother’s teacup. Swooping to steady it, I examined his face. “It’s about Charlotte, isn’t it?”

  My father nodded, grave. “He wants more money.”

  “Oh no.” Putting aside her tea, my mother looked over his shoulder. “What does he say this time, Gerald? Why has he addressed it to you?”

  “Because Ellen is staying under my roof. He wants full attention. He’s a sadist.”

  “May I see the note?”

  It was similar to the first demand and with the same neat black handwriting. “I think you’re right, Papa. These two are different from the other threats. The kidnapper is not the person who tried to kill Ellen.”

  “If not him, then who?” my mother cried.

  “I’ll telephone the police.” Heading toward the door, my father paused. “Keep the news from Ellen for the minute, if you will.”

  When he left, my mother and I faced each other.

  “It’s so dreadful, all of this business and it doesn’t help to have that inspector on the case. How dare he insinuate Ellen being a murderess!”

  “I daresay he explores all possibilities.”

  “What a pity they never caught Teddy Grimshaw’s killer. If they had, this might have never happened.”

  “It still would have happened.”

  Shaking her head, my mother gave me her look of disapproval. “You romance things too much, Daphne. We are not living in a novel.”

  Crossing my arms, I thought a novel much tamer than life at the moment.

  However, one didn’t disagree with Lady Muriel du Maurier.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “I’m still not sure this is the best way…”

  “You have the power to respond here,” Inspector James replied. “Remember, you tried the other way and failed. Trust me. I have experience in these matters.”

  “But what if he gets angry and harms Charlotte?”

  “He won’t harm her. She’s too valuable. If she wasn’t a great heiress, then perhaps I’d advise you otherwise. But she is, and it’s her value that keeps her alive.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. Your assurance gives me confidence.”

  Hanging up the telephone, Ellen sought my hand. Hers shook as she asked if I’d heard everything.

  “Yes. I agree with him.”

  Staring hard at me and Major Browning, she nodded. “Then let it be done. Request him to come to Thornleigh to get his money. He’s to bring Charlotte to her father’s grave and that is where we shall make the exchange.”

  “The gravesite?” Lifting his eyebrows, my father muttered under his breath. “Not a good idea. Too isolated.”

  “It’s a place that will appeal,” the major countermanded. “We need to lure him out face to face. This person doesn’t like face-to-face. That’s why he used the post office box to communicate.”

  Upon hearing this, I began biting my nails again.

  “Daphne!”

  I should have expected my mother to catch me.

  “Let her chew away.”

  After hearing the major’s fond assessment of my bad habit, she left me alone at it. Chewing my nails helped me think. I conjured up my characters this way, mulling over their personalities and their motivations.

  I was glad to go back to Thornleigh. The drive kept one occupied. Ellen and I each stared out of the window while Alicia Brickley conversed with Major Browning in the front.

  I tuned in to some of their conversation.

  “My uncle was a clever man but something unsettled him before his death. I saw him at his desk one day rubbing his chin. He only ever rubbed his chin when he couldn’t solve a riddle.”

  “He was worried about the threats against Ellen and Charlotte.”

  “No … actually I don’t think he was. He was a rich man. He’d dealt with threats before. It was something else that bothered him.”

  “To do with his business?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something he couldn’t solve? A riddle?”

  She nodded and I admired the nape of her neck. She held herself well, Alicia Brickley. Tall, graceful, reserved. A perfect secretary. A perfect nanny.

  Anybody too perfect bothered me.

  Keeping my suspicions to myself, for I didn’t know exactly what I suspected Alicia of doing, I turned my attention to the scenery I loved so much. Wild roses crawled up the walls of passing cottages. I dreamed of living here. Here in the heart of Cornwall.

  A dusky pink tinged my cheeks. Now, as an engaged woman, I could begin hunting for a house. Somewhere deep within this country. I dreaded the thought of having to spend my first married years in London.

  In truth, I dreamed of living in a place as grand and as ancient as Thornleigh. I envied Ellen. She’d been born into it, a lucky birth placing her in one of England’s great families.

  Alas, I was a du Maurier. My father was well-to-do and we owned Cannon Hall and our house Ferryside in Fowey. But Cannon Hall and Ferryside were not Thornleigh.

  It wasn’t the grandeur of the place, I decided, once we entered the gates and began the drive which sent a tingling excitement running up my arm. It was the history. The generations who’d lived here and died here. How Thornleigh, the great mansion, played a part throughout our nation’s history.

  Walking inside, I experienced a sense of peace. Holding hands with my major increased the sensation. It was like coming home.

  “Forgive me,” Ellen said after giving curt instructions to her staff for our accommodation. “I’m going to my room.”

  Alicia sailed straight after her, picking up the handbag she’d dropped on the floor.

  “That leaves you and me.” The major’s seductive murmur caressed my ear. “Unchaperoned.”

  “It’s probably why Ellen has put us in different parts of the house. You’re in her husband’s room. It’s a great compliment.”

  “I don’t know whether I like the idea of
sleeping in a room where the man spent his final moments.”

  I pulled back, laughing at this sudden and unusual reticence. “Oh, come. Nothing will happen to you.” But after saying so, I shivered at the thought. Could I sleep in a dead person’s room?

  “Then, I’ll see you for lunch.” His lips brushed my forehead. “Perhaps after we may take a stroll across the grounds?”

  I said I’d love to and headed up the staircase. Olivia, the maid, carried my bag for me. Since Ellen hadn’t yet informed the staff of her daughter’s disappearance, everybody assumed Miss Charlotte had stayed behind in London. But why had Alicia come back?

  Normally timid, Olivia asked me about Miss Charlotte.

  “Oh, I expect your mistress intends to make an announcement later.”

  Nodding, Olivia walked on, a puzzled look on her face.

  “I know you are all concerned and there is a good reason for it. Please prepare the others. I believe Miss Ellen will make the announcement before luncheon.”

  “Oh, dear. It’s that bad, then?”

  “It’s that bad,” I echoed, lingering at the door of my room while Olivia placed my bag on my bed.

  “Shall I unpack for you, Miss Daphne?”

  “Yes, do,” I said, wanting to keep her a little longer.

  She couldn’t help herself. “Has something happened to Miss Charlotte? Is she sick?”

  “She’s … er—unavoidably detained.”

  Not sure what I meant by that expression, Olivia continued to hang up my clothes. “Olivia, why didn’t you say you cleared a glass from Mr. Grimshaw’s room?”

  Tensing, she turned scarlet.

  “You were worried someone might think you did it?”

  “But I didn’t, miss! I only carried it. I didn’t know what was in it.”

  “I believe you, Olivia, but can you just stop and go over the details with me? I think the police might have missed a vital clue.”

  “A clue, miss?”

  “Yes, a clue Sergeant Heath is working on. That’s why he keeps coming back here, as much as he enjoys Nelly’s cakes.”

  A fresh shot of fear plagued her eyes.

  “When you went to collect the dishes, you heard Mr. Grimshaw. He wasn’t alone, was he?”

  I maintained my direct gaze. Eyes locked with hers, she began to wilt.

  “No, he weren’t alone. He was with his daughter, Miss Rosalie.”

  “Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”

  “Because Mr. Grimshaw said not to. ‘Olivia,’ he said. ‘I want what you saw here to remain a secret between me and you. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ I says, and left with the cup.”

  “But after Mr. Grimshaw was murdered, didn’t you think this was important?”

  “I thought she’d tell the police how it was. That Miss Rosalie. Didn’t she?”

  “No, she did not. She claimed she did not see her father before the ceremony.”

  “Oh. Well, she lied then.”

  “Yes, she lied. What did you hear, Olivia?”

  She gulped. “I don’t want no trouble. I don’t want to lose my job here.”

  “You won’t lose your job,” I assured her. “I won’t mention any of this to Miss Ellen or the police. It stays between me and you, just like Mr. Grimshaw said.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she sifted through her memory. “I was making my rounds as normal. The house was full of noise and people. When I came close to Mr. Grimshaw’s room, I heard something. At first, I thought he were talkin’ to himself and I was about to knock when Miss Rosalie said her piece.”

  “What exactly did you hear?’

  She sighed, trying to recall. “It started with Mr. Grimshaw asking if her mother sent her. He kept asking and she kept asking about the will. Mr. Grimshaw said he’d made a new will and there were big changes in it. Miss Rosalie wanted to know what the changes were. Mr. Grimshaw said it weren’t the time or place, right now before his weddin’.”

  “How did she respond to that?”

  “She kept on at him, refusin’ to leave until she knew, so he told her.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said the bulk of the money were going to Ellen and Charlotte and that he’d left her an inheritance. ‘There’s some money,’ he said, ‘but it won’t last unless you work. I’m making you a partner in a business with your cousins. Work is the best antidote for a lazy and idle life.’”

  “That must have shocked her, Miss Rosalie.”

  Olivia’s eyes rounded. “Oh, it did. She ranted and raved at him. She said it weren’t fair and it was her money. ‘If you want money,’ her father says, ‘you’ll have to work for it. Work will do you good, Rosalie. It will give you a proper respect for it, something your mother’s never taught you.’”

  “What happened then?”

  “She called him mean and said she hated Miss Ellen and Charlotte. ‘You’ve always wanted a sister,’ Mr. Grimshaw told her. ‘You have a choice. If you want some kind of relationship with Charlotte and your stepmother, stop doing what your mother tells you to do and make your own decision. Your mother is only using you as a tool. She’s heartless and ruthless.’ ‘No, she isn’t,’ Miss Rosalie cries, ‘she’s protecting me.’ ‘Protecting you?’ Mr. Grimshaw laughed. ‘She only cares about the money. Always has. If she cared about you—’”

  “Then what happened?’

  “Miss Rosalie ran out the room and just missed me. I went inside to collect the cup and Mr. Grimshaw made me promise not to repeat what I’d seen.”

  “Oh, Olivia.” I sat down. “This is very important. You should have told the police.”

  “It’d make her look like she poisoned him, wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think she did … the nature of that argument was unplanned and spur of the moment. Poison is not spur-of-the-moment. It has to be carefully planned.” I raised my face up to the frightened Olivia. “You have my word. I’ll keep my promise. Mr. Grimshaw must have had his reasons for not wanting that argument publicized and it will stand. We owe the dead this one small mercy.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Vastly relieved, Olivia finished arranging my wardrobe.

  Listening to her singing an old nursery rhyme, I reclined back on the bed and pictured the scene she’d described again.

  “You won’t say nothin’, miss, will ye? Miss Ellen’ll have my neck if she finds out.”

  “Your job,” I corrected, giving her my solemn oath. As the words slipped out of my mouth, I wished I could publish this news. Poor Ellen had been labeled a murderess. If the truth became known that Miss Rosalie saw her father shortly before he died, she’d find herself arrested for his murder.

  People and the police wanted a quick solution. The truth didn’t always matter.

  It mattered to me.

  Selecting a new summer dress to wear to luncheon, I spent a little time at my vanity. Curling my hair, applying color to my lips, and trimming my bitten nails, I approved the result and left my room.

  I met Ellen in the hall. She’d summoned the entire household. Looking at all the anxious faces, for a summoning usually meant something good or something bad, I watched the shock register at the news of Miss Charlotte.

  “I’d appreciate if you could keep this news to yourselves as long as possible,” Ellen said, her face drawn and thin from the strain. “The police are doing all they can to recover her. You will see them here in a protective role because quite frankly we are under attack. They were after my husband, they were after me, and now they’ve taken our daughter. I ask you all to be on your guard and report anything out of the ordinary. Thank you for your time.”

  Thus dismissed, the staff began filing out of the hall and I caught Olivia’s brief look of terror. She raised her eyes up to me and I read the question there. Miss Rosalie. Could Miss Rosalie have kidnapped Charlotte?

  I hated to admit the likelihood.

  So did Ellen.

  “You did well,” I said to her as
we walked down the corridor.

  “I hate it. Harry usually addresses the staff but he’s gone to visit his mother in Brighton. I’ve sent for him to come back.” Choking back a sob, her eyes flooded with tears. “They must have taken her … Rosalie and Jack. Who else? They’re missing. They want quick money. They won’t wait until the outcome of a court case which probably won’t rule in her favor. So you see, they had to act … and act they have.”

  I hesitated before I spoke. “Ellen, do you really believe Rosalie murdered Teddy?”

  “No,” her eyes flashed, “but they were up to no good, she and her mother. Some of those notes, the personal ones against Charlotte and me had to have come from a woman. She obviously thrived on blackmail. That was her business and in the end, it turned around on her.”

  Keeping my promise to Olivia, I sealed my lips together. Ellen knew as I did that Rosalie didn’t kill her father. She didn’t have time to plan it. Still, I began to open my mouth and promptly shut it again.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Lounging at the table, Major Browning swept to his feet as we ladies entered the dining room. Alicia was already there and also rose to her feet.

  “Thank heavens that’s over.” Ellen sighed, collapsing into a chair. “Dear bless Nelly’s heart. She’d made my favorite soup.”

  “Pea and ham,” the major remarked. “It is remarkable.”

  “It’s more of a ladies’ lunch,” Ellen apologized. “But we have roast beef for supper. Charlotte loves roast beef. Oh, dear. Forgive me.” Crying into her napkin, she struggled to regain her composure. “It’s nerves, I suppose. I don’t know how I’m going to wait until tomorrow. It seems a lifetime away and the minutes drag and drag and drag.”

  “Try to rest,” the major suggested. “You’ll need your strength. Charlotte needs your strength.”

  “But what if this isn’t the right way? I’m torn, Tommy. May I call you Tommy? Inspector James will have his men in the woods, but I have to make the exchange alone as promised. But who goes first? Money or Charlotte? Will she be there? Will they give her up?”

  “Pretend you are exchanging a book instead of a precious child. You both hand over at the same time. Remember, we’re right there with you.”

  “I’m coming, too,” I said.