Murder on the Cliffs

by Joanna Challis

  My ploy worked. Lifting a brow, the abbess questioned my plans.

  “My plans,” I echoed, loud enough for Lord David to hear in the far distance, “are yet unfixed.”

  “Until I give permission for you to release details of our treasure?” the abbess teased.

  “Whether you do or not,” I replied, “it is of little significance. I came to Windemere Lane to visit my mother’s old nurse . . . and to enjoy a holiday. Anything else I do here is a bonus.”

  “A bonus. Would you come with me, Miss du Maurier?”

  Commanded by the abbess, I had no choice but to agree, leaving a stupefied Sister Sonya in my wake.

  “I didn’t want to say anything out there,” she said upon closing the doors to her private study. “But you are in a unique position, Miss du Maurier.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “You are instrumental in this case now, since you found the body. Lord David is innocent, I tell you. I know him. I don’t know what happened to Victoria. Lady Hartley is not to be ruled out as suspect and suspect she ought to be more than Lord David! I’ve known the boy since a child and he d oesn’t have the heart to murder . . .”

  “But Lady Hartley does?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to, but her silence answered for her. I nodded, asking, “Will they replace Sir Edward?”

  “I don’t know” came the shrill whisper. “Someone in London doesn’t want this to be wrapped up quietly. Someone is out to get Lord David. If you gave me the Bible now, I’d swear on it. I’d swear someone wants Lord David dead and buried alongside his bride.”

  Her words left a marked shiver down my spine. “You said I was in a unique position. How do you think I can help?”

  “Stay close to Padthaway,” she mouthed as if in a trance. “To Lady Hartley and Miss Lianne, especially. Neither can be trusted.”

  “Miss Lianne!” I cried. “But she’s just a child!”

  “A child she may be,” came the definitive answer, “but she’s the daughter of a madman and bad blood doesn’t lay silent.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR

  Stay close to Padthaway.

  I didn’t mind, in truth. I loved the old house and any excuse to visit was a plea sure. I was commissioned now by two ladies to solve the mystery, Mrs. Bastion and the abbess of Rothmarten Abbey.

  I understood their desperation. Abbess Quinlain for the preservation of her abbey and the sacred records guarded by David; Mrs. Bastion for the honor of her dead daughter, the injustice done, and for robbing her and her young children of a secure, comfortable future.

  So I went to Padthaway once again, only to be informed by a cool Mrs. Trehearn that the family was out for the day and did I wish to leave a card? I said I had no printed card to leave and certainly would not write one. While we were standing there during the whole debacle, Jenny Pollock happened by and braved Mrs. Trehearn’s displeasure by inviting me in to take tea with her.

  Mrs. Trehearn could scarce say no since Jenny Pollock enjoyed the same privileged status she did.

  So inside Jenny Pollock’s parlor I found myself, enjoying a fresh pot of tea and gossiping about the funeral.

  “How dreadful for Davie . . . my heart bled for him, having to sit there, listen to all the accusations, and he bore it like a saint! I never venture into town, never ever, but I went to the church for him. I sat up the back, my head covered in a veil. You probably didn’t see me?”

  “No, I didn’t. It must be a relief to you all that it’s now over.”

  “Well, it’s not over, not until they get the murderess.” Her eyes narrowing, Jenny hoped I’d not heard what she’d just said but I most certainly had.

  “Oh, take no notice of me, Miss Daphne. My mouth runs away from me— it always did and it’s got me into trouble.”

  “So you’re afraid of trouble now? If you speak out with what you know?”

  She stared at me dumbly. “What I know?”

  “About Victoria’s death? Her secret life?”

  Jenny looked scared. “I know nothing, nothing really. She came here to work in the kitchen, under Soames. Now, if you’re a cluey miss and you’re after diggin’ up what happened to her, Soames is the one to question. Go and try your luck with him. Go on.”

  She goaded me to it and after finishing my cup of tea, I agreed. I’d go to the kitchen on a pretext of fetching more tea and see what transpired.

  To my luck, I found Mr. Soames alone in the kitchen, tidying up what appeared to have been a large effort.

  “A big lunch?” I asked.

  Keeping his head down, he nodded. He didn’t want to talk and his expression remained taut and closed. I should have just left it there, ordered my tea and left, but something within impelled me to say, “I heard you worked in Paris. I attended a finishing school there. Who’d you work for? Lianne said it was for a famous painter?”

  Endeavoring to be as casual as possible, I noticed his lips tightening at the questions. He was not the polished Soames today. Something was bothering him and I suspected it had to do with Victoria.

  Setting down his fry pan, he retreated into busy mode. “Ah, Paris! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  I watched him bustle about while he made my tea, his edginess increasing by the minute.

  Handing me my tea, he saw he’d forgotten the milk.

  “Forgive me, Miss du Maurier, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

  “I believe I understand,” I murmured, accepting the little pot of milk from his hand. “Victoria worked in your kitchen, didn’t she? Of course you are upset. The whole house is.”

  Surprisingly, he guffawed at that and I lifted a mild, probing brow. Hating to use these tactics, I pressed my hand gently on his arm. “How long did she work for you?”

  “Not long. A year at most.”

  “She wanted to be a cook?”

  “She a cook!? No, she came here to . . .”

  “To?”

  Silence.

  “To strive for a better life?”

  Immeasurably uncomfortable, Mr. Soames abandoned my hand, taking refuge among his pots and pans. Remembering his face when Sir Edward delivered the verdict and accompanying news, I nodded my sympathy. “Did you know her mother?”

  “No. I knew none of her family.”

  The abrupt denial, followed by a speedy demonstration of rearranging wine glasses and calling for assistance forced me out of my chair. It did not seem wise to press Mr. Soames.

  Leaving him to mull over the encounter, I carried the remainder of my tea to the parlor. As I expected, I drank my tea in silence and curled up on one of the settees to await Miss Lianne.

  And Miss Lianne, in her heavy- footed mode, soon bowled in to see me.

  “Oh, the most annoying tea party! Mother was somewhere else. Mrs. Beechley had to ask her the same thing three times.”

  It seemed everyone’s mind existed somewhere else. “Do you think she’s worried about Mrs. Bastion’s threat? At the funeral, I mean.”

  Lianne’s mordant look said “I don’t think so.” “She did have a row with Davie just after the funeral. . . . I heard them in the garden. It’s the money thing. They’re always fighting about money.”

  Yes, money was the cause of many family disruptions, but I sensed a significance to this particular row, so soon after the funeral. Surely, one could leave such affairs to a later date? “Did you hear anything else?”

  Wriggling her nose, she reflected. “David said something like ‘I won’t have her name besmirched any more than it has.’ ”

  Did David suspect his mother’s involvement in the blackening of his beloved’s good name?

  “So what do you want to do now?” Eager, Lianne presented me with several possibilities.

  I listened to them all. “I think I should like to stay here, in the house. Perhaps we can spend the day with Jenny?”

  “Jenny?” Her nose screwed up. “We can see her another day.”

  “But you like spending time with her,” I remind
ed, “and it’s a kind thing to do to visit someone who is lonely. Why does she never venture into the village? Has she no friends? Is she scared of seeing someone there?”

  I could see the thought had never occurred to Lianne. “Scared of someone? I don’t think Jenny’s afraid of anyone or anything.”

  While escorting me through the house to Jenny’s parlor, I tried to steer Lianne toward the murder case. I longed to explore Mrs. Trehearn’s famous green house and Victoria’s room. I felt confident I’d find something the police had missed. I remembered in my reading of mystery books that a tiny clue, of the smallest significance, could lead to the answer.

  I had one or two clues already. The absence of Victoria’s shoes remained my primary focus. Were they hiding somewhere or had the murderer thrown them out? Or did they rest neatly in her closet wardrobe? Had she fallen, or was she pushed or placed on the cliffs, in her nightgown, poisoned by a fatal dose of ricin?

  Jenny’s place in the house bloomed like a summery haven for the second time that day. Lianne and I listened to her account of the wake at the Bastion cottage.

  “Soames took me. Got to see Mrs. Bastion. Sad, that were. Lots of screamin’, cryin’, papermen and the like. It’s been years since I seen townfolk, I s’pose, and my life’s here now. They thought me a big snob when I stopped goin’ into the village. My friends back then, they were all jealous I’d such a great post at Padthaway. It’s a big house, you see, and they could’ve got a fancy nanny from London when Becky Shaw got married.”

  “I met Rebecca Shaw . . .”

  “Oh? What did you think of her?”

  “A trifle edgy. Did something happen here at Padthaway to frighten her? She didn’t want to talk about it.” I did not mention, of course, that Rebecca Shaw had warned me against the Hartleys.

  “Can’t say.” Jenny lifted her hands in the air. “But gettin’ back to the funeral, Mrs. B ain’t good, is she? She’s got it stuck in her head her girl was murdered, but I think it’s more to do with the baby. The baby, the baby,” she echoed, “I had no idea . . .”

  Nor did anyone else but Lord David and perhaps Victoria’s brother, or so it seemed.

  “Vicar Nortby struggled with that one, didn’t he? Them priests don’t know much about life. How did Ewe’s lunch go yesterdee, by and by? Meet anyone new?”

  I told them about Mr. Brown.

  “Don’t know of him,” Jenny sniffed, “but I did hear of the others movin’ in. Betsy . . . she keeps me up with all the gossip. Can’t live without me gossip.”

  “You should come next time,” I said. “I think you and Ewe would get on famously.”

  “Lots of mischief,” Jenny laughed, her face suddenly somber. “Saw me boy this morning, my Davie. He ain’t good. It worries me.”

  “Maybe it’s just the shock?”

  “Yes, the shock,” Jenny agreed. “Losin’ his baby and all.”

  We shared a simple meal with Jenny and I felt far more comfortable with her than I did sitting at the Hartley table. I almost dreaded the next invitation to dinner and confided as much to Jenny.

  “Yes, Madame Muck’s got her eye on you. Whoops.” She broke off, casting a quick look at Lianne.

  “You’ve called her that before,” Lianne smiled from her perch at the corner window as she worked on a puzzle, “so there’s no point whispering. I don’t care anyhow.”

  I shifted off my chair to view her progress but Jenny waved me down.

  “Let her do her puzzle,” she murmured, “it’s good for her mind.”

  “It’s a pity she doesn’t have more friends,” I said.

  “It’s because of the sickness,” Jenny said in a low tone. “They think she’s safer here with me, and I confess I’ve pushed it that way. Don’t want me girl goin’ out to the world and gettin’ hurt. At least here I can keep an eye on her.”

  “But she’s not really mad, is she?”

  Jenny paused to reflect. “I don’t think so. I think she’s got other problems, learnin’ problems.” Lowering her voice even further she added, “Her readin’ and writin’ is very bad, but she’s still tryin’ and that matters.”

  “Perhaps I could help,” I offered. “While I’m here in the area . . .”

  “Well.” Jenny pressed my hand. “You’re just a blessing in disguise, aren’t ye? And all pretty and smart, too. No wonder her ladyship fancies ye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FIVE

  I left Padthaway at three o’clock, giving myself a full two hours to scale the cliffs and search for clues since Ewe did not expect me until five.

  A late- afternoon breeze whipped across the headland. I pulled my cardigan closer, examining the gray sky. It would rain soon, the heavy clouds expanding and gathering in an ominous formation. A churning sea lapped against the shoreline and I walked the route along the top of the cliffs to the point where Victoria had fallen.

  As I reached the place, looking for any discarded shoes or clues missed by the police, I saw him. Standing alone on the jutted rock, the collar of his great coat high, his face hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He was peering over the edge, precariously close to the edge, and I called out, “Be careful!”

  Startled, Connan Bastion spun around, steadying himself just before I arrived.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  The wind loosened his hat and, catching it, he flung it out to sea.

  “Miss Daphne, I’m not about to kill myself.”

  “I certainly hope not,” I said, stepping closer. “You have so much to live for.”

  “To live for.” Throwing back his head, he laughed, his dark curls hugging the splendid contours of his face. “What do ye think I have to live for?”

  “Your family.”

  “My family,” he laughed. “Ha! What do ye know about my family?”

  “That you’re close,” I ventured. “I know you’d do anything to support your mother and I know that you were close to your sister, Victoria.”

  “She were my only true sister,” he spat. “Only we had the same father. The fancy cousin in town, my mother tells me. That’s why we lease the cottage, through him.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Met him,” he spat again. “Sure I have! He’s my father, ain’t he? Even though he’s a wife of his own and five children to boot. Don’t really care about any of us, just payin’ us off, as it were, leavin’ Mum and us two.”

  “Then your stepfather came along, Mr. Bastion.”

  “Bastion.” He rolled his eyes. “That ain’t my true name. Don’t really have a true name, do I? Since me own father won’t acknowledge me. I should be Connan Wright. Yes, Mr. Wright, if ye please.”

  “Was your stepfather kind to you, Connan?”

  Like a wild animal, he stared out at the sea. “Yeah, he were a decent fellow. Taught me how to get into the fishin’ business. Landed me with a job workin’ for a company owned by the Hartleys!”

  “Did it bother you before Victoria met Lord David?”

  “Bother me?” he repeated. “I s’pose not. Then Vicky gets a job up there. I warned her. I warned her from the beginnin’. But do ye think she listens to me? No.”

  I nodded my head in sympathy. “Girls don’t often listen to the wise advice of brothers and fathers. I know, because I should have listened to my father once— it was about a boy— but I didn’t listen and now I would, though. I realize now that what they say is often for our own good.”

  He nodded deeply and I suspected he’d been drinking at the local pub since lunchtime. “You do think your sister was murdered, don’t you? But you worry you can’t prove it?”

  He lifted his hand up. “How can I? How can I go against the man who pays me? Tell me that!”

  “But you already have, haven’t you? You’ve told the police what you think, your suspicions? Connan, did Victoria tell you she was pregnant?”

  “Aye, she told me. Me and him, she said.”

  “No other? Did she name the father of the child? It must be Lord David’s!
”

  “Maybe,” he shrugged. “And knowin’ Vicky, she’d not risk her chance of gettin’ to be a lady, if ye know what I mean. So Hartley’s it must be, tho’ she had plenty after her. Always had, from school. I had to punch out quite a few in my time, I can tell ye.”

  “You never tried to punch out Lord David?”

  He sent me a woebegone look.

  “I suppose not. Yet you must have wanted to. I mean, what did you think when she said she was seeing him?”

  “I warned her,” he said after a long pause, not sure whether to trust me or not.

  “You can trust me,” I assured him.

  “I warned her not to be with the likes of them. They’d use her and spit her out dry. She don’t listen to me, though. Then, she tells me she’s with child, she’s engaged! Engaged to Hartley! I laughed and she slapped my face. Then I realize she’s not joking. She really is going to marry him.”

  “What convinced you?”

  “She showed me the ring. The diamond ring.” His face paled. “You would have seen it on her finger.”

  I nodded, still uncertain of his present mood and intentions. Examining his profile, the heavy- lidded, red- rimmed eyes bespoke a hard night or two on the liquor. The pinched cheeks and steely jawline suggested anger and a frustration bordering on desperation.

  “You found the body, didn’t you? How’d she look?”

  Overcome by a profound sadness and stepping closer to the edge of the cliff, I searched for the sandy spot below, shivering at the memory of the young bride lying there. “She looked beautiful . . . almost peaceful.”

  “She were pretty, Vicky. The prettiest girl around.”

  A deep resonating pain echoed in his voice and I pictured the two of them as children, running hand in hand across the open fields. Two fatherless children, finding solace and comfort in each other. “Connan,” I said softly, “I met a Mr. Cameron at the funeral. Was he a friend of Victoria’s?”

  His mouth hardened at the name.

  “A tall auburn- haired fellow? He rents a flat in London?”

  “Friend!” Connan spat. “He just used her like the others. I warned her not to get that job in London. I warned her not to go to the club, but does she listen to me?”