by H. Y. Hanna
“Yes, I deferred entry—decided to go travelling around Europe for a bit first,” he said carelessly. “Hired a car, drove through Italy, Germany, France… ended up in Monte Carlo and stayed on for a while… It was a bit of a bummer returning to England, to be honest, and then having to leave the house in London to come and live in the country. I stay in college during the term, of course, but Oxford terms are very short and so, for the rest of the time, I’m stuck here. Still, I always thought village life would be a total bore…” His smile widened as he let his gaze travel admiringly over her. “But now I see that maybe I haven’t been exposed to the right company.”
Poppy realised he was flirting with her and felt herself blushing. She said in a prim voice: “Yes, the people are very nice in Bunnington. I only moved here a little over a month ago myself and everyone has been very welcoming.”
“Ah, you live in Bunnington too?”
She nodded. “At Hollyhock Cottage. I inherited my grandmother’s cottage garden nursery.”
“Oh, I see—that’s why you’re doing some gardening work for Auntie Muriel.”
“Yes, Ursula introduced me to her at the fête yesterday.” At the mention of the murdered woman, the mood sobered. Poppy paused and added, “I’m very sorry about what happened.”
Henry assumed a sombre expression. “Yes. Bloody awful tragedy. I wasn’t related to Ursula, of course—she was Muriel’s own sister’s daughter—but I’d got to know her quite well because she lived at Duxton House too. It was a pretty big shock when I got back yesterday evening and heard what had happened.”
"Oh? Weren’t you at the fête then?"
"Oh no… I was in Oxford. Stuck in the college library all day, actually," he said with a rueful face.
“Isn’t it the summer holidays at the moment?” said Poppy in surprise. “I would have thought that the new term doesn’t begin until September.”
“October, actually. But I let things slip quite a bit last year on the academic front so I thought I’d better do some extra studying, to make up for lost time before the new year begins,” he said smoothly. “Darby College is officially closed out of term, but we members can always gain access—in fact, some of the overseas students stay on during the holidays rather than return to their home countries.”
He came a bit closer and said with a winsome smile, “Hey, listen… I don’t usually move so fast but—would you like to have dinner with me?”
Poppy was taken aback. “Dinner? T-tonight?” she said stupidly.
Henry shrugged, smiling. “Tonight, tomorrow night—any time that would suit you.” His voice lowered suggestively. “I’m all yours.”
Poppy hesitated. She had to admit that she was incredibly flattered to be pursued by such a charming, good-looking man. She had never thought of herself as much of a beauty—her clear blue eyes, which stood out vividly against a milky complexion that was prone to freckling in the sun, were probably her prettiest feature. Much to her regret, she hadn’t inherited her mother's beautiful honey-blonde hair; instead, hers was a more boring dark brown, which she normally wore pulled back in a functional ponytail. And her figure, while decent, wasn’t curvy enough to be called voluptuous nor toned enough to be called athletic—it was a sort of non-descript “in-between”, which was pretty much how she’d always seen herself: average height, average figure, average looks.
And yet here was a handsome, wealthy young man looking at her as if she wasn’t “average” at all. Poppy would have been less than human if she hadn’t been flattered. Nevertheless, she reminded herself that aside from anything else, Henry was a client’s relative and the last thing she wanted was to complicate a professional relationship. So she gave him a regretful smile and said:
"Thanks for the invite, but I think I’d better not. I mean… well, I'm really here to work for your great-aunt."
"That doesn't mean we can’t have a bit of fun on the side," he said, arching one eyebrow and giving her a suggestive grin.
His gaiety was infectious and she couldn't help chuckling in response, but no matter how much he tried to persuade her to change her mind, she laughingly declined.
"Well, you must come in for a cup of tea at least," he said at last, obviously keen to have her company for a bit longer in any way possible. “I insist!”
Poppy couldn’t see any way to refuse without making a scene and she decided that she could always give Muriel the same excuse about coming to check out the site first.
“All right, thank you,” she said, allowing him to take her elbow and gently lead her around to the front of the house.
As they came out onto the wide circular driveway in front of the manor, Poppy saw a gleaming red sports car parked by the door.
“Wow—is this yours?” she asked, going over to lay an admiring hand on the bonnet. “It's gorgeous!”
Henry beamed with pride. “Yes—I sweet-talked Auntie Muriel into buying it for my birthday last year. It’s a limited edition Porsche 911, with custom interiors and personalised plates.”
Poppy glanced down at the number plate, which read: “SQZ 9970”, and frowned in puzzlement. The sequence didn’t look very personalised to her.
Henry laughed. “Yes, well, they will be personalised. I’m still working on that—there’s a chap who has the plate I want—it spells ‘HEN 12Y’—but he’s a tough negotiator… In the meantime, though, I’ve got a custom border and 3D effect on the letters.” He gestured to the plates, which did look very striking.
Poppy walked around the car once more, admiring the beautiful lines and feeling a slight pang of envy that she didn’t have a rich great-aunt who could give her expensive birthday gifts like this. I did have an estranged grandmother who gave me a cottage garden nursery, though—complete with two eccentric neighbours, a cat who thinks he knows everything, and a dead body in the flowerbed, she thought with a wry smile to herself.
“Poppy…?”
She snapped out of her thoughts to see that Henry was standing on the front steps, waiting for her. She started to join him, then paused as she saw a scruffy black shape loitering around the rear bumper of the car. It was Einstein! She swooped down and grabbed the terrier before he could get away. This time she kept a firm hold on him with one hand while reaching into her pocket with the other. She was grateful that she happened to be wearing her work trousers—the pair used to do things around the garden—and in the pocket was some leftover garden twine. It wasn’t very long but it was just enough to fashion a makeshift leash which she tied to one end of Einstein’s collar.
“Is that your dog? Great little character, isn’t he?” said Henry with a smile as he watched from the front steps. “Why don’t you bring him in with us? Auntie Muriel is dog mad anyway. I'm sure she won't mind.”
Actually, she would probably mind very much! thought Poppy. After the fiasco at the fête yesterday, she didn’t think that Muriel would take kindly to her bringing that “common mongrel” in for tea. But she couldn’t leave Einstein loose to roam around the estate either.
“Do you think there’s somewhere I could keep him, just while I'm having tea with you and your great-aunt?” she asked Henry.
“Oh, certainly.” Henry ushered her into the foyer, then pointed down the hallway. “You should be able to leave him in the utility room, by the kitchen. Betsy, one of the maids, is usually in there. Down the hall, last left, then through the big double doors.” He gave her a wink. “I’ll go on to the drawing room first, but I’ll be waiting for you!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The manor kitchen was a vast room with high ceilings, an enormous Aga cooker in one corner, and country-style wooden cabinetry spanning the walls. Old-fashioned copper pans hung from a rack above the kitchen island and beautiful matching sets of china were displayed in a large traditional dresser.
Poppy paused in the doorway, unsure whether to go in. The kitchen seemed empty. She could see a large tray on the central island, neatly arranged with teapot, teacups, milk jug, and sugar
bowl, and a kettle on the stove with steam rising from its spout. It was as if someone had been in the middle of preparing tea and had suddenly been called away. Then she heard a bang and, a minute later, a girl rushed into the kitchen from a door on the other side of the room.
It was the girl Poppy had seen earlier, announcing Sergeant Lee’s arrival, and she guessed that this was Betsy the maid. Her hair was coming loose, with stray wisps escaping from its bun, and she was panting like someone who had been running. She hadn’t seen Poppy—the view of the kitchen doorway was partially blocked by the large dresser—and she rushed over to the sink where she hurriedly washed her hands, then grabbed the kettle and returned to the tray and frantically began filling the teapot with hot water.
“Er… excuse me?” said Poppy, stepping forwards.
“OH!” The girl jumped so hard that she sloshed hot water from the kettle all over the tray.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you,” cried Poppy. “Did you scald yourself?”
“No, no… it’s fine… you didn’t startle me,” said the girl, nervously wiping her hands on her apron. “Can I help you, miss?”
Poppy looked at her curiously. The girl seemed incredibly jumpy. And she had patently been lying when she said she hadn’t been startled.
“Um… yes, I’ve been invited to join Mrs Farnsworth and her great-nephew for tea, and I was wondering if there was somewhere I could leave my dog?” Poppy indicated Einstein. “It’s just for twenty minutes or so. Perhaps you have a laundry room where I could shut him in?”
“Oh, sure… over here…”
The girl led Poppy to the door that she had come through a few minutes ago and showed the way to a large utility room. They settled Einstein comfortably—although Poppy did feel slightly guilty as she saw his forlorn face watching her leave—and then returned to the kitchen, where the girl mopped up the spilt water and finished loading the tray. Poppy followed her back through the manor house to a large drawing room with low, wide windows that looked out onto the landscaped grounds of the estate. She saw the glossy, dark green leaves of a camellia bush waving just outside the window and realised that it was the plant that had provided her with the convenient cover when she had been eavesdropping earlier.
The room looked very different viewed from this angle, although Muriel was still sitting on the sofa. Instead of Kirby, however, it was Henry who hovered next to her now—the pet nanny seemed to have disappeared with Flopsy. And across from them sat Sergeant Lee. He was talking as they entered, saying:
“…believe we’ve got our man, ma’am. We still have to get a confession, of course—right now, the man is denying everything—but rest assured, it’s only a matter of time.”
“And are you sure this is the man who killed Ursula?” asked Muriel in a quavering voice. “He’s a complete stranger! I just don’t understand why he would want to harm her.”
“Well, as I explained, ma’am, the man is a convicted ex-robber and has been known to have a special interest in mobile phones and similar electronic gadgets. It’s obvious that he must have seen Ursula talking on her device and decided to take it by force. It was quite an expensive model, wasn’t it—her phone?”
“Yes, well, I don’t really understand these things…” said Muriel, looking lost. She glanced at her great-nephew. “Henry would know.”
“Yes, Sergeant, it was the latest model iPhone, in a limited-edition custom case,” said Henry. He gestured to something on the coffee table next to them. “Ursula had a matching cover for her iPad as well.”
“Hmm… yes…” The sergeant leaned over and looked at the iPad, then made some notes on his own tablet. “Yes… rose-gold… embellished with Swarovski crystals, it looks like… Yes, something like that would be very eye-catching and very tempting to a petty criminal.”
Henry glanced up, seeing Poppy and the maid in the doorway, and sprang up with a smile.
“Poppy! I was just wondering where you’d got to.”
“Poppy?” Muriel turned around to look at the doorway in surprise.
“Yes, I bumped into her outside and invited her in for tea,” said Henry. He winked at Poppy and added, “She was checking out the site where she is going to be working. So diligent of her.”
Poppy tried not to flush. “I… um… thought it would be a good idea to familiarise myself with the area… the… um… soil type and things like that…”
Muriel nodded approvingly. “Yes, very good idea. I like your initiative, young lady. Well, do come in and sit down.”
Sergeant Lee frowned slightly, obviously not liking the interruption, but since it wasn’t a formal interview, he didn’t object as Poppy came over to join them. Betsy came into the room too, carrying the tray to the central coffee table. She began carefully pouring the tea and handing out teacups. As she placed a cup in front of Muriel, however, the old lady gave a gasp of outrage.
“What on earth have you been doing, Betsy? Your hands are filthy—I cannot abide dirty nails!”
“Oh!” The maid jerked her hands back, but not before Poppy saw dirt under her fingernails. She darted a frightened look at the sergeant. “I… I’m terribly s-sorry, ma’am…” she stammered. “I just… it was… I… I did wash ’em but—”
“Well, see that it doesn’t happen again,” said Muriel.
“Yes, ma’am,” murmured the girl.
Quickly, she passed around the rest of the teacups, and then, with a last nervous glance at the sergeant, she picked up the tray and hurried out. Sergeant Lee didn’t seem to notice her tense behaviour; he was busy talking about the ex-robber once more and congratulating himself on a quick arrest.
“…we should have a confession by the end of the week, with the man in court facing the charges before the end of the month—which will be setting a new record in how fast an investigation is solved, if I do say so myself,” he said, rubbing his hands and grinning. “Even my guv’nor—that’s Detective Inspector Suzanne Whittaker—hasn’t ever wrapped up a murder enquiry in under a week.”
It’s no use being fast if you’re wrong, thought Poppy sourly. She’d met Sergeant Lee a couple of times before and had never liked him. Arrogant and smug, Lee was quick to jump to conclusions and seemed more keen to make arrests and wrap up a case quickly—just to “score points”—than to put in the proper detective work to make sure that the right person was brought to justice. She couldn’t help remembering what Nell had said and found herself agreeing with her old friend: something about Ursula’s murder just didn’t feel like a straightforward “mugging-gone-wrong”.
When the sergeant took his leave a few minutes later, Poppy hesitated, then sprang up impulsively and—throwing a hasty “Excuse me, I just need to ask Sergeant Lee something!” at Henry and Muriel—she rushed out after the detective. She caught up with him just as he was walking down the front steps of Duxton House.
“Sergeant Lee! Sergeant Lee! Can I have a word with you, please?”
He turned around and looked at her impatiently. “Yes?”
Poppy paused, wondering how to broach the subject. “Um… it's about this murder investigation. I just wondered if you might have any other suspects?”
His brows drew together. “Other suspects? Why would we need other suspects? We've got our man.”
“Yes, but just in case you’re wrong—”
He bristled. “Wrong? Of course I’m not wrong! Are you questioning my professional judgement?”
“No, no, of course not—it’s just… well… don't you think it's a bit far-fetched?” Poppy blurted out. “I mean, why would this ex-robber suddenly decide to attack a random woman when he’s out on parole? Why would he threaten his own chances of freedom?”
“Because he's a criminal!” Lee said in a patronising tone. “These thugs can't help themselves. He probably walked past and saw Ursula with her phone and decided to take his chances. Got cocky, probably. Thought it would be an easy steal.”
“But why didn’t he just snatch the phone an
d run? Why did he kill her?”
Sergeant Lee gave an exaggerated sigh of patience and said in the voice of someone talking to a very stupid person: “Be-cause… Ursula put up a fight! It’s obvious what happened: he tried to grab her phone, she resisted, they struggled, and he lost it and clobbered her.”
“Did you find Ursula's phone on him?” asked Poppy.
“No, but that doesn't mean anything. The man could have got rid of it before we arrested him.”
“What about the murder weapon? What did he stab her with?”
Lee scowled. “That hasn’t been found yet, but I'm sure it will turn up in due course. These are just loose ends—the important thing is, we’ve got our man, he’s in custody, and, with a bit more time, I’m sure we’ll get a confession out of him.”
“But they aren’t just loose ends!” Poppy protested. “They’re all important leads that could change the direction of an investigation. Shouldn't you at least dig a bit deeper, not just jump on the first convenient suspect? I know that Suzanne—I mean Inspector Whittaker—wouldn't have just made assumptions like that.”
As soon as the words were out, Poppy realised that she’d said the wrong thing. No one likes being compared to their superiors and found wanting. Sergeant Lee’s face darkened, and he said through clenched teeth:
“I am perfectly capable of running a murder investigation on my own! It's clear here who the culprit is. Mrs Farnsworth is already very upset—I'm not going to cause the family of the deceased any more distress by dragging things out unnecessarily.”
“They’d be more upset if you arrested the wrong person and the real killer went free,” Poppy retorted.
“All right, then, Miss Smarty-Pants—who do you think it is, then? Eh? You seem to have all the answers,” he sneered. “Give me some names, then! What other suspects do you want me to investigate? Do you have proof of anyone's guilt?”
“I…”
Put on the spot, Poppy hesitated. She didn’t have any concrete evidence of guilt, just some vague, uneasy feelings about things she had observed: Kirby’s slimy manner… the maid’s nervous manner… Nell’s melodramatic theories about Norman killing Ursula in a fit of passion…
