Dylis added her voice to the statement, but Mrs Brown waved it aside with a graceful gesture, and rose to her little feet.
‘As it happens, I’ve not dined, either. We were going to, just before you arrived. A friend of my husband, Mr Carpenter, is here, and we were playing cards to while away an hour or so, and the time just sped on. He’s been a wonderful help to me during Warner’s illness. Sometimes I don’t know what I should have done without him.’
Mr Carpenter, Dylis decided, would be a tall, handsome man in the prime of life, the friend of the family, the silent admirer of the child-bride. Or perhaps not so silent. Intrigue, she felt, was weaving its way within the portals of Wintry Wold. Mrs Brown went on:
‘If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your rooms. You’ll want to wash and tidy up before dinner. I’m glad to say that we’ve plenty of hot water laid on, although our lighting arrangements are a little behind the times. But Warner would not have them changed, and really I think he is right, in a way. Oil lamps have great charm, don’t you think, Miss Hughes?’
‘Call her Dylis,’ Inigo cut in. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it, Dyl?’
‘Perfectly, Nig,’ Dylis said, with an unaccustomed touch of malice. ‘I’ve come through too much tonight to mind what anyone calls me.’
‘I can see you two are wonderful friends,’ Mrs Brown remarked, taking Inigo’s arm with a small sigh as of one whose youth had long since flown. He patted her hand sympathetically. He said:
‘I’d better nip out and bring in our cases from the car. Is it all right to leave it in the middle of a flower bed? I don’t feel like coping with any more tonight.’
‘Of course. You can run it into one of the garages tomorrow.’
‘Oh, by the way.’ He had flung his coat round his shoulders, and paused, halfway to the door. ‘What’s that pantechnicon doing out there? Never seen such a thing in my life. I nearly buckled my lights on it.’
Mrs Brown had now transferred her hand to Dylis’s arm, and was leading her away. She said over her shoulder:
‘How very careless of them to leave it there. I told them to draw in to the side. Two vanmen came along about teatime. They were having some kind of trouble with it, and wanted to know if they could telephone to a garage. Imagine trying to phone from here! I told them the best thing they could do was to go to Cudge, but they said they couldn’t get it any farther. So one of them stayed here, while the other went off for help. He should be back any time now. Shall I tell the other one to move it? He’s in the kitchen quarters somewhere. We gave them tea. It was the least we could do.’
‘Don’t bother him,’ Inigo said. ‘He’ll have enough trouble when the garage people turn up. In fact, if this blizzard continues, they’ll be in the devil of a mess. Shan’t be a minute.’
He went out, and, shivering delicately from the draught that swept in as he closed the door, Mrs Brown conducted Dylis out of the entrance lounge and into a corridor beyond. From a wall-bracket, she lifted down a three-armed candlestick, and by the light of the tall green candles therein they went up a staircase that began broad at the bottom and gradually narrowed as it wound up to the next floor. The first storey of Wintry Wold was so complicated in its design and structure that Dylis felt she would never be able to find her way about in fifty years. Corridors twisted this way and that and doubled back on themselves, and everywhere were odd steps up and steps down, causing her each time to stumble, with Mrs Brown pausing beside her to murmur profuse apologies.
‘Parts of it are so very old,’ she said. ‘Some of the rooms are not fit for use any longer, the walls and ceilings are simply rotting away. It’s a great pity, but it would cost a fortune to have it all restored. And the trouble is that the unusable rooms are dotted all over the place, so that we can’t shut up any particular part of it. But it has a certain charm, don’t you think?’
Dylis, tripping over a worn place in the corridor carpet, agreed that it had plenty of charm. Mentally, she was wishing that she, too, had a large and derelict house, to which she could invite all the more pessimistic of her friends, and leave them to work out their own salvation. They would certainly have the advantage of her, if they could see her now.
They paused at length upon the threshold of a large and lofty room, where Mrs Brown cordially invited her to enter and take possession.
‘You’ll find clean towels and things,’ she said. ‘And the bathrooms are just round the bend of the corridor. There are two on this floor and another above, next to my husband’s room. The first one is the second door on the right, on the other side of the staircase. I’ll just light the candles for you, and then you’ll be able to look after yourself, won’t you? I’m so sorry we’ve no maids, but there it is.’
Dylis thanked her, and observed with wonder her graceful exit, looking like a little doll in the flickering candlelight. She turned then to a careful inspection of her abode. She saw a large bed, complete with silk-covered eiderdown, a wardrobe, a tall chest of drawers, an antique stool before the dressing-table, heavy curtains pulled across the window, a rather worn, close-fitting carpet of some indistinguishable shade. The grate was empty, and the temperature felt somewhere below freezing point. But a stranded traveller could not afford to be too circumspect, and she hung up her coat in the wardrobe, pausing for a moment to regard the half bottle of brandy she had stowed away in one of the capacious pockets. She asked herself whether this could be regarded as another emergency, but decided that it could not. She put the brandy away in the top of the wardrobe.
She had some difficulty in finding the bathrooms, but located the first one after trying many doors on the way, all of which were locked. The hot water system was all that Mrs Brown had claimed, and presently she returned to the room allotted to her, feeling refreshed, and somewhat surprised to find that her sample and dressing cases had mysteriously appeared. She smiled when she recalled that Inigo was accustomed to supplying hotel service. She removed her snow boots in favour of a pair of high-heeled slippers, for she had no intention of allowing Mrs Brown to hold the monopoly of feminine atmosphere. She surveyed herself in the wardrobe mirror as well as she could by candlelight, and decided that she could not be bothered to change from the suit she was wearing into something more spectacular. She powdered her face and brushed her hair, and finding that her fingers were fast stiffening with the cold, hurriedly abandoned the icy room and descended to the ground floor, where she was attracted by the sound of voices coming from a room on the right-hand side of the staircase, the door of which was open.
Upon the threshold, she hesitated. It was obviously the drawing-room, spacious and handsome, if somewhat faded in its furnishings, with a pedestal oil lamp in one corner radiating a gentle glow. Before the cheerful fire, Inigo sprawled in the depths of an armchair, while Mrs Brown crouched upon a low stool at his side, her dress spread out around her, her delicate hands shielding her face from the flames. In that position she looked so small it was ridiculous. In an armchair on the farther side of the hearthrug sat another man, whom Dylis guessed to be Mr Carpenter. But he was not handsome, nor was he in the prime of life, nor did he appear to take any interest in Mrs Brown whatsoever. His face was furrowed and weary, he had glassy eyes, a bulbous red nose, blue-veined hands and an air of abandoned dissipation. He slumped in his chair within easy reach of the whisky decanter standing on a side table, and only looked up when Theresa said:
‘Here is Dylis. Do come in, my dear, and allow me to present Mr Carpenter … Miss Hughes.’
The man rose, or rather stumbled to his feet, shook Dylis gingerly by the hand, and fell back as if the effort had taken his last remaining strength. Inigo, too, had risen, and pulled forward a chair for her. He said:
‘I took your cases up. Did you find everything you wanted?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
She sat down, and Mr Carpenter, without asking her wishes, poured her a glass of sherry and handed it across, apparently taking it for granted that she could not exist another
moment without it. He remarked:
‘Nasty night, Miss Hughes. Better in than out.’
His voice was rough, and his manners even more so. He tossed back the remainder of his whisky, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and immediately refilled the glass, omitting to add even the slightest splash of soda from the siphon.
‘Mr Carpenter was just saying,’ Mrs Brown interposed, ‘that the situation will be really serious soon, if the snow continues. We’re likely to be marooned here for weeks, without any communication from the outside world. Fortunately, we’ve a large stock of food to fall back upon, although it will mean making do with tinned meat and milk and things like that.’
‘It suits me,’ Inigo said. ‘How about you, Dyl?’
‘I can’t afford to be marooned anywhere for weeks,’ she said decidedly. ‘I shall certainly have to do something about the transport question tomorrow.’
‘You didn’t intend to stay any time, then?’ Mrs Brown asked. ‘I thought that perhaps you and Inigo …’
‘We ran into each other by accident,’ Inigo said. ‘And there being a dearth of hotels on the road, I brought her along for the night.’
‘And I’m really very grateful to you for putting me up,’ Dylis added. ‘But I’m a commercial traveller, and travel I must and will.’
‘Oh, how interesting.’ Mrs Brown leaned forward with as much intentness as if she were hearing the adventures of the Pilgrim Fathers. ‘It must be wonderful to have a career like that. But then I’m afraid I should be too fragile for anything of the kind. What is your business, if it is not too personal a question?’
They were interrupted by the sound of the front door bell ringing, and momentarily abandoning her poise, Mrs Brown sprang to her feet. Seeing her making for the door, Inigo rose, too, and asked:
‘Is there a strike on in the kitchen, that you always answer the door yourself?’
‘We’ve only two servants,’ she said. ‘Vauxhall and Ridley. They’ve enough to do as it is, poor things.’
‘Then I’ll go. You’ll catch cold if you keep dashing out there.’
‘No, please, Inigo. Do sit down, there’s a dear. It’s probably the doctor. I rather hoped it was when you rang earlier.’
She went out, and he returned to his chair and offered Dylis a cigarette. Mr Carpenter already had one dangling from his underlip, as he lay back in his chair with closed eyes, looking as if he did not care who lived or who died. Inigo said:
‘So you’re determined to push off tomorrow. What a resolute little soul you are!’
Dylis said, laughing, ‘If I allowed myself to be held up by things like snow and ice I shouldn’t be travelling at all. I’m due back in London in another couple of days.’
He was about to say something, when Mrs Brown returned, a frown of agitation upon her smooth forehead.
‘It wasn’t the doctor,’ she said. ‘There are some people stuck in the snow just up the road, and one of them has come along to know if we can give them any help …’
‘That’s me,’ a voice said, and a man followed her into the room, smiling round at the company with the ease of one who finds himself at home in any circumstances. He was a sturdy young man with bright eyes and a glowing pink face, his coat saturated with moisture, a wet hat in his hand. ‘I’m sorry to come barging in like this, but I’m travelling with Mr Humphrey Howe, you may have heard of him, he’s got a place somewhere up in the mountains, Westmorland way. All the car needs is a bit of a heave to get her out of the drift, and then we’ll be on our way again. I thought if there happened to be a couple of good strong men and true …’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Inigo said. ‘I’m not feeling strong and I’ve been driving since dawn this morning. Can’t we put them up for the night, Auntie? You’ve got plenty of rooms where you can stow them away, and then we can sort it all out in the morning.’
‘But it’s so difficult,’ she said, ‘with sickness in the house. I think we should do what we can to help poor travellers in this terrible weather, but this gentleman would prefer to get along without any delay. Isn’t that so?’ She turned with one of her rare smiles to the stranger, and he expanded visibly beneath its influence.
‘That’s right, Madam. Personally, I don’t care one way or the other, but Mr Howe is anxious to get home.’
‘I’ll call Vauxhall and Ridley,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure you don’t really mind giving a hand, Inigo. That will be four of you, five with the other gentleman, and Mr Carpenter, I think you might go, too. You should certainly be able to put matters right between you.’
She departed, leaving the door open, and an unpleasant draught issuing round it, and the stranger said, as Inigo rose to his feet, still grumbling:
‘I’m awfully sorry to put you to so much trouble, but you know how it is.’
‘Only too well,’ Inigo said.
Mr Carpenter was still lying back in his chair, letting life pass him by. Inigo went out, and with a bow to Dylis, so did the stranger. There followed a confused sound of tramping feet and men’s voices, and Mrs Brown put her head round the door to say, with quiet emphasis:
‘Mr Carpenter!’ And when he sat up and opened his eyes, she added, ‘You are coming to help them, aren’t you?’
He muttered something that sounded like, ‘Blast all cars to hell!’ He got to his feet, blinked his eyes several times, and shambled obediently out of the room. Never had Dylis seen a woman so anxious to help her fellow beings in distress. It was positively uncanny. She walked across to shut the door, and could not resist peering out. Gathered in the corridor were Mrs Brown, Mr Carpenter struggling into an old raincoat, the butler and, presumably, his fellow servant, who was a man smaller than the other but no less picturesque in appearance. Both wore overcoats buttoned up to their chins, and trilby hats pulled down at a rakish angle. The stranger was standing a little to one side, still apologising profusely for causing so much commotion. Inigo came running down the stairs, fastening his coat the while. A man wearing a shiny black mackintosh and a driver’s peaked cap came from the direction of the kitchen quarters. He asked:
‘Anythin’ I can do to ’elp, Ma’am?’
‘No,’ Mrs Brown said, more sharply than the occasion seemed to warrant. ‘No thank you. We’ve got all the help we need. You had better wait around until your friend arrives. He ought to be here soon, I should think, and you might miss him. And I don’t want that van outside my house any longer than is necessary.’
‘That’s right, Ma’am. Must wait for me mate,’ the man agreed, touched his cap and went back to his vigil.
Mrs Brown accompanied the rest of them to the door, with strict instructions to do everything in their power to aid the unfortunate Mr Howe and his friend. By the time she returned to the drawing-room, Dylis was again seated by the fire, thoughtfully staring into the flames. With a sigh, Mrs Brown resumed her former position, looking up at Dylis with a pathetic droop to her mouth.
‘I’m so sorry for all these poor people,’ she said. ‘But what can one do? Normally, I should be the first to offer them dinner, a roof over their heads, a bed for the night. But with my husband so ill and myself half out of my mind with worry, I can’t possibly cope with it all. As things are, my two servants are thoroughly overworked. At one time, if anyone had told me that I should have to manage a big house like this with only two servants, I should have laughed.’ Slowly she shook her head from side to side, indicative that laughter had left her lips for ever. ‘I do most of the cooking myself, but Ridley is a great help about the kitchen, while Vauxhall manages almost everything else, acts as butler, chauffeur and valet de chambre. I often tell him he is a real maid-of-all-work. Naturally I have to allow them a certain amount of freedom. One cannot expect them to act like really well-trained servants, when one is so dependent upon their goodwill.’
Dylis failed to see that the wearing of breeches and gaiters could be any help to Vauxhall in his maintenance of personal freedom, but assumed that he had some latent
inhibition which was at last being allowed full sway. She said, with an attempt at sympathy:
‘I’ll be glad to do anything I can, Mrs Brown, between now and tomorrow. I’m not much good at butling, but I can make beds, and people have eaten my cooking without finishing their days in hospital.’
‘So sweet of you, my dear. Perhaps if you wouldn’t mind just tidying up your room a little tomorrow. It all helps. And do call me Theresa. I can’t possibly keep up this ridiculous relationship of being an aunt to a grown man like Inigo. He’s such a big fellow, isn’t he? He even makes you look small, and I’m sure I look like a child beside him. But then I’ve always been such a little person. At school they called me Teenie-Weenie.’
She looked down with some complacency at her feet, resting upon the hearthrug. Dylis had to admit that her own feet, even in slippers, looked like those of an elephant beside them. The fact was not lost upon Theresa, for she added:
‘There are times when I wish I were not quite so tiny. All this responsibility is really too much for my strength. The doctor said that it is only my will that keeps me going. Such a strong will in such a delicate body, he said. It would be better for me if I were more of your build, with a tough, workmanlike frame and sturdy legs.’
Dylis, who had an unusually symmetrical figure and beautiful legs, looked down at her person in some astonishment. Described thus, she did not sound very attractive. Yet there were many who had thought otherwise, if their vows of undying devotion were to be believed. She said blandly:
‘My dear Theresa, some women would give the third finger of their left hand to look like you. Of course, it’s generally considered that to show off clothes really well, one should have height and a certain breadth of shoulder, not to mention a good bust and hips. And I do think in a bathing costume one needs a little flesh about the legs if one isn’t going to cause roars of laughter. But otherwise I don’t see that you’ve anything to worry about.’
Theresa got up slowly from her stool and made towards the door.
Another Little Christmas Murder Page 3
