Payne said, ‘Is the “check” you mentioned in any way connected with your mother’s death?’
‘Of course it’s connected. Why else should I want to put my life in danger?’ Moon sniffed.
‘Have a biscuit.’
‘Thanks. OK. It was something my mother said. At first I didn’t pay attention, my mother often talked a lot of rubbish, but then it suddenly came to me – what this was all about. It was kinda interesting – kinda weird – kinda spooky. So I decided perhaps my mother hadn’t gone crazy, not completely crazy. I asked her to explain. At first she pretended she didn’t want to, but then she told me the whole story. She was sucking up to me, I guess.’
‘What did she say?’ Payne asked.
‘I see you are interested. You’ve done detective work, haven’t you?’
‘We specialize in strange cases,’ Payne said, deliberately important.
‘That’s tope. This is a strange case, make no mistake.’
‘What’s tope?’
‘Tope? Tope’s tope. OK, cool.’ She looked at Payne fixedly. ‘Perhaps I could teach you American slang sometime?’
‘I assume it’s one of those portmanteau words one finds in Lewis Carroll. Like brillig and mimsy… What’s tope a blend of? Dope and something else?’
‘Yeah, dope’s cool. I mean it means cool. The other word you want is tight, I guess, which also means cool. That’s how you get tope. It sounds so dumb explaining what tope means… Can I have another biscuit? Thanks. I love words, actually. I mean, totally. When I haven’t got anything better to do, I read the dictionary. When I’m not busy killing people.’ She smiled. ‘Do you know what “polymorphously perverse” means?’
‘Why have you taken against Melisande and Winifred?’
‘Actually I think Winifred is OK. Nothing against her. It’s the other one that bugs me. Melisande. She keeps bothering James, you see. She keeps ringing him and stuff. He says she used to boss him around. He hates her now. Melisande is dangerous. If you only knew how dangerous.’
‘In what way dangerous?’
‘I guess she is crazy. I need to protect myself.’ Moon produced the piece of piping once more.
‘Give me that,’ Payne ordered.
‘If you really want it, you will have to take it from me by force. Only kidding. Here you are.’ She handed him the lead piping. She was smiling. ‘You can keep it, if you like.’
Antonia stirred uneasily. What were they doing, talking to a girl like this? In their house – in the small hours of the morning? It was unwise and foolish, to say the least. Moon might come up with all sorts of scurrilous allegations later on – if, for some reason, she happened to take against them. She might say she’d been abducted, held captive, enslaved, beaten, abused. The papers were full of such stories…
Moon took a sip of coffee, sniffed and said, ‘I was planning to get into Kinderhook tonight.’
‘That’s called breaking and entering. It happens to be a criminal offence,’ Payne pointed out.
‘That handkerchief the police found,’ Antonia said. ‘You sure it wasn’t yours?’
‘You mean the hankie near my mother’s body? Of course it wasn’t mine. I’ve never used a hankie in my life.’ She sounded completely truthful. ‘The police are so dumb.’ Moon sniffed again and her hand went up to her nose.
‘Would you like a handkerchief?’ Antonia offered.
‘You’re trying to catch me out now, aren’t you?’ The girl grinned. ‘I’ve never used a handkerchief in my whole life.’
‘Hardly something you should be proud of. Here’s a tissue… As a matter of fact, we do think something funny might be going on at Kinderhook. We believe there’s a mysterious third sister,’ Antonia said on an impulse. ‘An elderly lady who looks like Melisande and Winifred. We’ve both seen her. But Melisande insists there are only two of them – that she has only one sister.’
A sudden rush of blood coloured the girl’s cheeks. ‘An old woman who looks like Melisande? So – so you’ve seen her? That means my mother was right! Was the old woman wearing glasses – what do you call those funny old-fashioned glasses that have no handles?’
‘Pince-nez?’ Payne frowned. ‘The old woman did wear some kind of glasses. I wasn’t near enough to see what they were… What do you mean, your mother was right? Right about what?’ His heart had started beating fast. Something told him this was the breakthrough. ‘Would you care to explain?’
16
Death and the Maiden
She dreamt of Tancred that night.
Tancred was sitting on the ground beside a very turbulent river. He had been wounded. There was a nasty gash in his arm. Wild plants grew all around him and a sword that was stained red lay on the ground beside him, glistening unpleasantly in the sun.
She knelt beside him. ‘Please, let me,’ she said gently. ‘This is the only way.’ She then placed her hand over the wound in his arm. The moment she did, the blood flow was reduced to a mere trickle; a second later it stopped altogether. She didn’t want to take any chances, so she kept her hand on the wound and eventually the gash closed and healed completely. There was no scar. No mark of any kind.
Tancred whispered, ‘Thank you, Catherine. I knew only you could do it.’
‘I am not in the least perturbed, I assure you, Inspector. Mr Vane told me that he’d given you my mobile number, so I have been expecting you to call. But I fear I can tell you very little. Very little indeed. Dear me! Such a terrible thing to happen! It only manages to prove the power of chaos theory. Poor Mr Vane. And that unfortunate woman!’
‘We understand you met Mrs Stella Markoff at Mr Vane’s house?’
‘I believe I did. Yes. We exchanged a few polite words, there was no more to it than that. A pleasant woman, I thought. A little intense and nervous, but I attributed that to the fact that she didn’t speak English very well. Or rather, she seemed to think she didn’t speak English very well. Not the same thing! Astra’s English was in fact excellent.’
‘Miss Hope-’
‘Now, I have met plenty of foreigners who imagine they speak good English, who have quite an inflated opinion of their command of the English language, without that being the case at all.’
‘Miss Hope, if you don’t mind-’
‘No, not Astra! How silly of me!’ She laughed exuberantly. ‘I meant Stella. Stars, you know. She struck me as a most amiable kind of woman – if a trifle naive in her views on royalty. A bit too romantic and idealistic, perhaps? She seemed to hold the belief that royalty was needed to create an illusion of heaven on earth, of a jewel-encrusted land, of a Valhalla, no less!’
‘Miss Hope, do you have any idea how long Mr Vane had known Mrs Markoff?’
‘How long? Well, I only know what Tancred – that is Mr Vane – has told me. What was it – a month? I think he said a month, yes. What was that? Did he ever discuss Stella with me? No. Never! Mr Vane doesn’t manifest the slightest inclination towards gossip.’
‘Was Mrs Markoff’s daughter ever mentioned?’
‘Oh dear. She did have a little girl, didn’t she?’
‘Not so little.’
‘That’s so tragic. A mother dying in her prime – and such a fine, healthy-looking woman – leaving a young daughter behind – in a foreign country! No, the daughter was never mentioned.’
‘Stella never referred to any problems she might have been having with her daughter?’
‘Goodness me, no. We met only briefly, I told you. Like ships that pass in the night. We were destined to remain strangers, Inspector. Were there problems? I am sorry to hear that. Poor woman. Well, she seemed to have a gentleman friend in London, so all couldn’t have been doom and gloom. She was actually planning to “tie the knot”, as they say – in the very near future. In fact, I was given to understand that the marriage was imminent.’
‘That day – the day Mrs Markoff was killed – you were expected sometime in the afternoon, only you didn’t turn up? Is that correct?’
<
br /> ‘That is correct, yes. I don’t know what would have happened if I had, as you put it, “turned up”. I am hopeless in extreme situations, completely futile, I fear. I tend to lose my head. Sorry – that was an unfortunate way of putting it.’ Miss Hope lowered her voice. ‘She was beheaded, wasn’t she? I can’t imagine myself becoming the victim of senseless slaughter, but then, who can? Can you? What kind of monster would want to do a thing like that? Not a Mussulman, I trust? They’ve been getting such bad press. It couldn’t have been an honour killing, could it? As it happens, I am by no means a stranger to death-’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘I am eighty-four now, Inspector. Whatever opinions there may be to the contrary, I have reached the kind of age that has little to recommend it. Most of my dear friends and acquaintances have departed from this world and I am far from convinced they are in a better place. Death is still working like a mole – and digs my grave at each remove. The poet Herbert, you know. My second cousin, would you believe it, died earlier this year and she was three years younger than me. She seemed robust enough, but those, in my experience, are the very ones who go like a snap of the fingers.’
‘I see what you mean… Well, that will be all, Miss Hope.’
‘Don’t you want to know why I didn’t “turn up” at Mr Vane’s house on the day Stella was killed? Aren’t details in criminal cases considered to be crucial? I read somewhere that it is the details that bind everything together.’
‘That will be all, Miss Hope-’
‘This is what happened, Inspector. I was about to leave my house and was all ready to go when I got a phone call from my great niece – a dear girl, though not as predictable as I would have wished her to be – she lives in Richmond-on-Thames, did I say? Now, this is a somewhat delicate matter, Inspector, so I’d be grateful if-’
‘That’s all right, Miss Hope. You don’t need to tell me about your niece. That will be all,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll need to bother you again, but if we do think of anything-’
‘You will not hesitate to give me a ring? Yes, quite. Please do. Only too happy to assist the Law. Well, goodbye, Inspector.’
‘Goodbye- Wait a minute.’
She laughed. ‘You’ve already thought of something?’
‘How did you know that Mrs Markoff had a gentleman friend in England?’
‘How did I know? Goodness. Didn’t I say?’
‘No.’
‘I am sure I did.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘Well, it was like this. Stella seemed really excited that day – the day she came to Mr Vane’s house – when the two of us met. She kept glancing at her hand, twiddling her fingers. She was wearing an engagement ring, I noticed at once. My eyesight, I am glad to report, remains excellent. I was presumptuous enough to comment on the ring’s delicate beauty and elegance. That’s when she told me. She blushed like a girl and said that she was engaged to be married and that her fiance was in fact English.’
‘I see.’
‘I gave her my sincerest congratulations – which, when you come to think of it, in the light of what took place, makes the whole thing so terribly tragic.’
For a couple of moments she remained very still, looking down at the mobile phone in her hand. That had been a close shave. Never underestimate the police. A very little thing of course, a minor slip-up, but Inspector Davidson was clearly someone who paid attention to seemingly irrelevant details. What would have happened if she had failed to think fast, ‘on her feet’, as they said? Well, she could have pretended to be muddled. Miss Hope was an old lady and one expected old ladies to get muddled. She didn’t think he would have started harbouring any serious suspicions about her, would he?
No. An old lady of eighty-four, brandishing a sword?
She laughed at the idea.
Of course it would be a different matter altogether if, for some reason, he got it into his head that she was not an old lady. She didn’t think the inspector would go back to Tancred and start asking him questions – whether Tancred happened to overhear Miss Hope’s conversation with Stella concerning Stella’s engagement ring, forthcoming nuptials, husband-to-be, and so on.
Well, no such conversation had ever taken place.
She had made it up.
I don’t exist, she thought. I am the phantom lady.
(She hadn’t overdone the twittering, had she?)
17
Devices and Desires
I did not kill my mother, Moon wrote, tears streaming down her face. Nobody seems to believe me, but I didn’t kill her. I didn’t like her, but I didn’t kill her. I guess I used to love her when I was a kid, when I was nine or ten and we lived in Bulgaria, but it all feels like a dream now. I remember her taking me mushroom-picking in the Vitosha mountain once. We saw a roe deer, which stood very still and stared back at us. My mother held me by the hand and whispered, ‘She’s going back to her child. Her child is waiting for her.’ I know it’s dumb, but thinking about the roe deer and her child and my hand in my mother’s hand makes me want to cry.
Tancred Vane sat in front of his computer, working on the historical background of the Prince Cyril biography.
The Bulgarian monarchy was a casualty of the rival totalitarianisms of Hitler and Stalin in the 1940s. The independent Bulgarian kingdom was a product of the balance-of-power diplomacy that characterized the period preceding World War I. The practice of despatching dashing German princes to fashion modern kingdoms out of backward Balkan lands was fanciful, arrogant, even absurd; the motivation was a typically nineteenth-century blend of faith, greed and intrigue.
He heard the front door bell ring. Miss Hope. Couldn’t be anyone else. He glanced at his watch. On time, as always. The feeling of vague unease returned. He remembered his dream. Stella Markoff trying to warn him – pointing to her wired lips Nonsense!
The front door bell rang again. He clicked on Save and rose.
The lodge, he reminded himself. He would have to tackle the matter of the lodge.
‘You, my dear boy, are devoted to your art to the exclusion of everything else. That can be quite dangerous,’ Miss Hope said. She was watching Tancred Vane as he wrote down something she had said earlier on. As usual they were sitting in his study, she in the window seat, he beside his desk.
‘Dangerous?’ Vane looked up with an abstracted smile. ‘Surely not? In what way dangerous?’
‘Well, you allow this biography to claim every ounce of your attention, not to mention your energy. In consequence, I fear, you may be missing out on some of the things that really matter in life.’
‘You don’t think the Prince Cyril biography matters?’
‘No. To be perfectly honest, I don’t. Why are you looking so very shocked? It’s in the Bible. Do not put your trust in princes. Ah, Tancredi, my Tancredi, perhaps one day I will write a story about you!’
‘What kind of story?’
‘It will be the kind of story that moves like a series of tapestries as it enacts the consequences of an artist’s strange encounter with his own being. It will be an extended metaphor for the separation, even estrangement, between the artist and the conventional world, and the artist’s sense of an inner glory and necessity, which can be shirked only at the expense of his true relationship to himself.’
‘What do you mean? Sorry – all this is a bit above my head.’
‘Do you think you know yourself? Tell me truthfully!’ Her eyes were fixed on him.
‘Do I know myself? Well, I think so, yes. Don’t most people?’
‘No! Of course they don’t.’
‘In that case perhaps I don’t… I don’t really know.’
‘I was once told that I had no idea what I was really like, that I hid my feelings even from myself. It was even suggested that there was a great wild forest within me, of which I was not aware.’
‘A forest?’ Miss Hope, Vane decided, was in a decidedly fanciful mood today. He
was not in the least interested in the wild forest inside her, honestly, though of course he wouldn’t dream of saying so. It wouldn’t do to hurt the old girl’s feelings.
‘As the river flows to the ocean, my soul shall flow to thine,’ she murmured. ‘For some reason I am haunted by these lines.’
‘Shall we continue? You started telling me about the fancy dress party at the lodge?’
‘Oh dear!’ Miss Hope threw up her hands in a gesture of mock despair. ‘From the sublime to the ridiculous! Very well, Tancred. You shall have your fancy dress party if that’s what you want. I remember it was crazy weather for January. A sudden balmy spell had swept a froth of showers and the fresh breezes of April into Sofia in the dead of winter… The fancy dress party was Cyril’s idea.’
‘Was Prince Cyril a good host?’
‘He was a terrible host. He liked to say tactless and embarrassing things to people. But there were always a lot of guests at the lodge. Some people don’t mind being insulted and discomfited, I suppose, so long as it is a prince of the blood who does the insulting.’
‘What was the lodge like?’ Tancred asked. He had a particular reason to want to know about the lodge.
‘It was made of creamy-coloured limestone and had a shiny, rather intricate, steel-trimmed art nouveau canopy. A most enchanting building… You look as though you want to ask something?’
‘N-no – nothing.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
‘Are you sure? You have a secretive mouth, you know. Cyril’s fancy dress party was not of the ordinary kind. Everybody had to impersonate a character from fiction and had to behave consistently all the time, and at the end of the party a specially selected jury had to decide who or what one’s character was. The person who was voted to have acted his or her character with the greatest conviction got a prize.’
Murder at the Villa Byzantine chm-6 Page 10
