Mistletoe Mystery

by Sally Quilford

  “Oh tell me about it,” said Philly. “We just run around a lot when we don’t have guests.”

  “I’m sure your godmother meant well in leaving it to you, but it is a big burden for a young woman. The occasional murder mystery weekends are a wonderful idea, but … well I hope you don’t mind me saying this, they won’t help in the end. The older the house gets, the more you’ll have to do to it. And it’s quite ancient in places now.”

  Philly would not have felt comfortable discussing such things with other guests, but she had come to think of Mrs. Cunningham as a friend. “I know. And because it’s a Grade II listed building, it generally costs more. That’s if we can even find the artisans with the skills to keep it maintained.” Philly smiled sadly. “You talk of being devoted to the house, and I am. But sometimes I think I hate it too. Oh, listen to me. I’m sure that’s only as a result of Monsieur De Lacey’s fall.”

  “I don’t think that’s all, dear. The talk amongst the guests is that there’s something going on between the headmaster and the games mistress. They all think it’s part of the play, but I’m not so sure. I think you have doubts.”

  Philly nodded. “I just don’t think that I’m ready for a relationship, with everything I have to do here.”

  “I don’t think that’s it either, but I shan’t press you for details. At least not with people in listening distance. Remember that if you ever need a friend, you can talk to me. Young people sometimes think us wrinklies know nothing of love and sex. But the truth is, you didn’t invent it in the twenty-first century. We discovered it in the nineteen-fifties.” Mrs. Cunningham’s kind eyes twinkled.

  “I thought Philip Larkin said it was invented in nineteen-sixty three.”

  “Oh, he was a few years out, that’s all. But as an ex English teacher, I am glad to hear you know your Larkin!”

  The men arrived back during lunch. Philly went into the hall to meet them, having only managed to chew a little bit of pizza.

  Monsieur De Lacey had a crutch. “Nothing is broken, as your good friend Puck said earlier,” he said, taking Philly’s hand in his. “Mademoiselle, I am desolated to think that you blame yourself for this. I am a clumsy old man, and it was entirely my fault. Monsieur Puck, Monsieur Matt, thank you for helping me. Now I am hungry, and I think I smell pizza, yes?”

  “Are you staying?” asked Philly. “Not that you’re not very welcome to. I just thought you might prefer to leave. We don’t have a lift, unfortunately.”

  “Please, do not fret. I am able to take the stairs one at a time, and I would not want to miss my Christmas dinner.”

  “We’ve saved you all some pizza,” said Philly, relief sweeping through her. “I promise that not too much of the dough was dropped on the floor.”

  “That’s very comforting,” said Matt, reaching down and kissing her cheek. Yet she could not help noticing that Matt and Puck exchanged serious glances. There was no time to ask them what was wrong, so she simply led them to the dining room, where Monsieur De Lacey’s return was greeted with happy cries of welcome from the other guests. He may not have broken his foot, but his fall went a long way to breaking the ice amongst the guests, giving them something to discuss over their meal.

  The rest of the afternoon was taken up with more improvised drama, as the hosts and assembled guests worked their way through several different motives for Monique’s disappearance. The guests seemed to be thinking in terms of Russian spies, and the race for space. It did cross Philly’s mind to wonder why such spies – and a French one at that – would be in a British boarding school, when the race was clearly between Americans and Russians. However, Matt’s presence did add some authenticity to the idea, so she did not argue. He was handsome enough to be an astronaut, though why he would be working as a headmaster was less plausible.

  “Maybe I’m CIA,” he said, when Philly mentioned her misgivings to him. She had a strange desire to make the solution plausible.

  “Yeah, that works. But why here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just followed my heart.”

  “Hmm. And just happened to be where you needed to be when there was international intrigue.”

  “Hey, if it works for Bruce Willis, it works for me.”

  “Do you own a white vest?” said Philly with a grin. “Because we’re not doing this plot if you don’t.”

  “Of course I own a white vest. It’s required of all American heroes. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s written in the constitution.”

  The panic of the morning had subsided, as Monsieur De Lacey happily joined in again, albeit from the comfort of whatever armchair was handy. He seemed to be enjoying himself, not least because a few of the ladies took it upon themselves to pander to his every whim, bringing him coffee and other drinks when he requested them. And sometimes, it seemed, even before he thought of it himself.

  The Bennetts and Mr. Graham, treated it with amusement, as did the Cunninghams. Only Stan Scattergood harrumphed and complained about the bourgeoisie.

  “I bet he’s on jealous because he’s not being waited on hand and foot,” said Meg, whilst the four friends were in the kitchen, making afternoon tea.

  “He’s certainly milking it,” said Puck, who seemed, unusually for him, to be in bad sorts.

  “You can say that again,” said Matt.

  “Are you two alright?” Philly asked them. “You’ve both been a bit quiet since you got back from the hospital.”

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” said Puck. “It’s just that… well, we don’t think De Lacey fell down the stairs.”

  “But he’s got bruises, hasn’t he?”

  “Oh yeah, they’re there. But … well, I’m not an expert at First Aid, not having had chance to use my skills, but Matt had misgivings. Perhaps you should tell them, Matt.”

  “I’m not much of an expert either,” said Matt. “But it seemed to me that the bruises weren’t new. They’re recent, but they came up far too quickly from the time he fell down the stairs. We wondered if De Lacey hurt himself elsewhere, before coming here, and decided to try to blame you, Philly.”

  “So he could sue me, you mean?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But he said in front of everyone that it wasn’t my fault. That’s a bit silly if he’s trying to get a fortune out of me.”

  “I don’t know.” Matt shrugged. “Perhaps he realised that we guessed what he was up to, so he changed his mind.”

  “We’re wasting our time on the Monique thing,” Meg said. “Maybe we should be investigating the mystery of De Lacey’s foot.”

  “I’m guessing the butler did it,” said Puck.

  “I think it’s more likely Mr. Scattergood,” said Philly. “They don’t like each other very much.”

  When they had finished preparing the tea, Matt picked up the tray of tea things and left the kitchen. Philly was just about to follow him with the plate of cakes, when Puck stopped her.

  “About Matt,” he said.

  “What about him?” said Philly, fearing that Puck had found out something she would prefer not to know.

  “Nothing. That’s just it. He seems a straight up bloke and a good friend. Last night when we were searching the attic, he was genuinely furious that you’d been frightened so badly. I was half afraid that if we did find someone, Matt would punch the guy’s lights out. I can’t work it out, Philly. I can’t work him out.”

  “But I heard…”

  “I know, sweetheart, but now I’m wondering whether you misunderstood.”

  “It was pretty clear, Puck.”

  “Then there must have some other explanation. If there isn’t, I can’t help thinking that it takes a very dangerous man to have fooled us all the way he has.” Puck sighed. “Sorry, I meant to set your mind at rest, but it doesn’t look as if I have.”

  “Let’s just get this weekend over,” said Philly. “Then I’ll worry about Matt.” If her friends could not even make up their minds if he was a bad guy or not, what hope did she have of
coming to a decision?

  As she walked to the drawing room with the tea cakes, she began to look forward to the weekend being over, and having the house to herself again. Or at least to herself, Puck and Meg. Opening her house up to paying guests was fine for helping to pay the bills, but not so good for her nerves. As well as Monsieur De Lacey’s fall, there were a dozen other things to worry about, along with the minor complaints and requests that the guests had, such as the loo in their en suite not flushing properly or simply wanting extra tea bags and milk for their rooms. It would be easier if she could employ chambermaids to help with cleaning the rooms and changing the bedding, but it was mostly left to Philly and her friends.

  There barely seemed to be a minute when she had time to stop and think about what was happening, not just with Matt and De Lacey but also with the prowler in the attic. So she slowed down a little, figuring that a few seconds late with the cakes would not make a difference.

  She felt certain the noise was not just a rat. Someone had unlocked the door and could be heard hunting around in the attic when she and Meg climbed the stairs. If only they had not dithered so much. They should have gone straight in there and confronted the person, before they had time to hide.

  Where had they gone afterwards? Had they somehow managed to get out of the room whilst Philly, Meg and Matt were on their way downstairs? Perhaps hiding in one of the upper rooms. No, that could not be it, as Puck had come from his room and was waiting at the top of the staircase when they went down. He went straight to the attic with the key that Philly secretly handed to him as she passed. As far as she knew there had not been a moment when the attic door was unattended, until Puck locked it after he and Matt had searched for the prowler.

  So whoever it was must have been hiding somewhere in there. But where? Matt and Puck had searched, but maybe they did not search everywhere. After all, the light bulb was not very bright, and did not reach into every corner. There were also many big trunks. It was possible the prowler hid in one of those.

  Reaching the drawing room, Philly put the plate of cakes down. “Help yourself,” she said, rather more brusquely than she intended. “If you’ll excuse me I need to … erm…yes. Sorry.”

  Let them think she desperately wanted the loo, she thought as she dashed out of the room. What she really wanted to do was get a look in the attic. Darkness would be falling soon, and she did not like the idea of going up there late at night. Not least because she did not fancy encountering another warm, furry rat.

  There was something spooky about the attic, even in daytime. It had not always felt like it, but due to the events of the night before, Philly felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she unlocked the door. Of course, no one could be in there now, unless the intruder had spent the night locked in. It was doubtful. All the guests had been at lunch, apart from Monsieur De Lacey, who had been at the hospital with Puck and Matt. The only alternative being that a stranger had come into the house, which did not bear thinking about.

  Philly grinned to herself. “Of course,” she muttered, wryly. “It’s so much worse for the intruder to be from outside, rather than be someone sleeping under my own roof.” On the other hand, it was better. Because it would mean it was not Matt.

  She wondered if she should have it out with him once the guests had gone. Find out exactly why he wanted to get into the attic. Thinking about it fortified her. It would be much better to get things out in the open, rather than coping with the doubts and fears which assailed her. Even if it did mean definitely getting her heart broken. It might be painful, but anything had to be better than the limbo in which she existed at the moment. At least then it would be over and she could get on with getting over him.

  As she went over the options in her mind, one moment thinking she would talk to Matt, and the next shying away from the idea like a frightened kitten, she searched the attic for signs that someone had been up there. It was not easy, considering that she had hunted around either on her own or with Puck and Meg. They had not exactly been methodical in their search patterns, simply lifting things up and casting them aside.

  As Philly passed the dormer window, she felt an icy draught, and drew her arms around herself. Even with a thick sweater on, she was cold. The attic had no heating, having been used for nothing but storage, but normally the heat from the rest of the house rose and kept it pleasantly warm.

  Looking closer, she saw that the dormer window was slightly open. She was sure Matt and Puck said it was fastened tightly. She went to look and opened it wider, looking out. It was then that she realised the window was directly over the kitchen. Stretching out as far as she could, Philly looked down and saw a clear patch of roof where the snow had slid down onto the ground below. But the rest of the snow was still on the roof and had clearly not thawed, as Puck suggested.

  Looking to either side, Philly saw that on the left hand side of the window, there were long ridges in the snow, where someone had obviously been perching outside the window.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Philly? Philly, where are you?” Matt’s voice called up from one of the lower floors.

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” Philly closed the window and fastened it tight. As she turned, she was sure that she saw a thin stream of light coming from somewhere in the corner of the attic. She had not noticed it before, and she was eager to investigate. Matt’s presence stopped her. It would be much better to check it out when she was alone, in case it was something to do with him wanting to get into the attic.

  “We need the key to the wine cellar,” said Matt, much closer than she imagined. He stood resting against the attic doorframe. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Someone was on the roof,” she said, feeling that there was no harm in telling him that much. “That’s what dislodged the snow. They left the window open slightly.”

  “Impossible. It was fastened when Puck and I checked last night.”

  “Then they must have hidden somewhere until you’d gone.” Philly was about to tell him about the stream of light, but again decided to keep it a secret. Until she knew what she was dealing with, she would only share things with Matt that he already knew about. “In one of the trunks, maybe.”

  “We checked everything. Do you doubt me, Philly?”

  Now that was a question and a half, thought Philly. Where to begin with answering it…

  “I’d better come and see to the wine, I suppose. We’ll talk about it later when the guests are settled down for the evening.”

  “Okay, but I do want an answer to that question eventually.”

  Ignoring him, Philly locked the attic door and put the key in her pocket. She could not help noticing that he watched her the whole time. She made a promise to herself to hide the key somewhere else as soon as she had the chance. Meanwhile an idea was forming. Something that would prevent anyone from prowling around the house for at least half of Saturday night going into Sunday morning.

  “How is the drama going?” she asked Matt, as they walked down the stairs.

  “Fine. Meg and Puck in their respective roles have had the big argument over Dominique’s disappearance. So the guests have decided I’m not in the CIA, but that there is some sort of criminal activity going on at Bedlington Hall involving the teachers. They think Dominique was silenced when she unearthed their criminal scheme. Pity, I really did want to be in the CIA.”

  “I hope Mrs. Cunningham is not offended.”

  “No, she thinks it’s highly amusing.”

  “It does make me wonder though…”

  “What?” Matt paused on the lower staircase, waiting for Philly to catch up with him.

  “Maybe there was something criminal going on. Why else would a man and woman in the grounds at night pay Harry off?”

  “If he was telling the truth. A petty thief, and a fourteen year old one, is not the most reliable of witnesses.”

  “Exactly,” said Philly. “This makes it more likely that his story is true.”

/>   “There’s logic in that, Jim, but not as we know it,” Matt said in his best Star Trek voice.

  Philly would have responded, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennett started coming up the stairs. “Are you both alright?” Philly asked.

  “Oh yes, love,” said Mrs. Bennett. “We’re just going to have a nap before dinner, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course we don’t. We want you to be comfortable.”

  “We didn’t get much sleep last night, with all the excitement,” said Mr. Bennett.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” said Philly. “I didn’t mean to disturb everyone.”

  “Oh don’t worry,” said Mrs. Bennett. “It was a bit exciting really. If you hadn’t had that rule about only doing the drama bits downstairs, I’d have thought it was part of the act. You ought to bear it in mind for your next one. Besides, it wasn’t you, dear. Someone near to us broke a glass. Then there was some bumping around. We know you didn’t mean to disturb anyone, but some people have no consideration at night, do they?”

  “No, they don’t, but I am sorry,” said Philly. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a bit of a refund. How does fifty pounds sound?”

  “Oh, no that’s…” Mrs. Bennett started to say, before her husband interrupted.

  “That’ll be grand, lass, thank you,” he said. “It’ll make up for the draught as well.”

  “The draught?”

  “Yes, coming from the room next to ours. There’s an adjoining door, you see, and I suppose it’s because there’s no heating on in there.”

  Philly remembered then that Rooms One and Two were indeed connected, having once been a gentleman’s bedroom and dressing room. The door was always kept locked, and she had considered blocking off the door, but changed her mind in case they ever decided to open up the house to family groups. “Actually the heating system works in all the rooms on that floor,” said Philly. “But maybe the radiator needs bleeding or something. I’ll check it before bedtime so you don’t have another night’s unrest. But I have to see the wine now, so if you could just put up with it a little while longer…”