The Murder of Lady Malvern (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 2)

by Frank Howell Evans

  “Yes, I can imagine that,” Haven replied. “I'm not quite sure what will happen now. With the horses, I mean. I'll try to keep my horse, but other than him?” Peter shook his head. He smiled ruefully. “Does that sound silly? That I'm worrying about the horses, when my aunt just died?” He made a vague gesture towards the house. “No, not at all,” Haven assured him. “Anyhow, let's try not to think about it for a while, shall we?” Peter said and mounted his horse. Haven followed his example and they rode away.

  Late in the afternoon Poiret returned from his trip. He was beaming with contentment. It was obvious that his enquiries had been to his satisfaction. He pulled Haven into an exuberant embrace, planting a kiss on each of his cheeks as if they had not seen each other for weeks instead of hours. Haven was at the same time embarrassed and touched by the little man's display of affection. “What did you find out?” he asked. “There is no time now, Haven! We must go.” “Where to?” Haven asked, astonished. Poiret was already walking down the hall and out the door. “Where are we going?” Haven asked again, when they were about to leave the driveway. “We are going to visit Monsieur Archibald. Poiret has been told he lives in a cottage near Malvern Manor.” “Lady Malvern’s business partner? Why?” “To interrogate him, of course!” Poiret said.

  Haven used the short walk to tell him about Mr. Hannover’s eye witness report and Mr. Damian’s weak denial. “You know, Poiret, I'm not sure whether Mr. Damian is lying or not.” Haven said as he concluded his statement. “But my dear Haven, he did not accept guilt or deny his actions.” “He was being evasive. But do you think he burnt something in the fire or not?” “Yes, it seems highly likely.” “Really?” Haven said, “But what was it? Lady Malvern's will?” “Poiret, he can only guess what it was that he burnt, but Poiret, he is certain that it was not the will of Lady Malvern.” “But where is the will then? Or didn’t Lady Malvern write a will at all?”

  “That, mon ami, only Monsieur Archibald knows,” Poiret said secretively.

  Mr. Archibald's cottage was about ten minutes away from Malvern Manor. The door was answered by a dour looking housekeeper, who looked at Poiret with suspicion. Where Poiret was able to charm most young women, he had less luck with the older variety. After Haven interceded, she hesitantly let them into the sitting room. Soon after she left, Archibald walked into the room, smartly dressed as usual, but the colours were gone from his attire. Haven looked from him to Poiret and back. They looked alike in appearance. “Ah, Monsieur Archibald!” Poiret said with a polite bow. “What can I do for you gentlemen on this darling day?” “My sincerest apologies to interrupt you at this hour, Monsieur Archibald. Poiret, he only has one very short question.” Poiret straightened himself up and fixed his eyes on Archibald. “Please to tell to Poiret why you lied about the will?” “I beg your pardon?” Archibald said, surprised. “You tell the lies about the will of Lady Malvern,” Poiret repeated. “I’m very busy right now. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Archibald said looking around for an escape route. “I could visit you at Malvern Manor right after breakfast, if it suits you.” Poiret narrowed his eyes and scrutinised Archibald, then he nodded. “Bon! We will await you tomorrow morning,” Poiret said.

  Obviously relieved, Archibald led them to the door and hastily closed it after they left through it.

  “What was that about, old boy?” Haven asked Poiret. “Does he have anything to do with the murder?” “I am confident he will explain all tomorrow,” Poiret said curtly. “And I presume you will not tell me why you think so?” asked Haven raising his eyebrows. “Poiret, he does not know everything yet, mon ami,” Poiret said. He pointed his walking stick in the direction of Malvern Manor and began walking quickly.

  At breakfast the next morning, a cheerful Poiret told the other guests that he would like everyone to meet him in the salon after the meal. Haven knew this meant that Poiret would finally confront them with the solution to the murder.

  When they entered the salon, Mr. Archibald was already there, as was Doctor Loomis and a stern looking Inspector Watkins. Haven now understood why Poiret had allowed Mr. Archibald the freedom to explain himself the next day and had not feared that he would escape during the night. Haven watched Archibald closely, but the nervousness he had displayed at their visit the day before was gone now. He was as calm as ever. Poiret greeted Watkins with a nod and pushed Haven against the fireplace. Haven understood his role, so he planted his elbow on the mantelpiece and soon found a comfortable posture. Poiret waited until everyone was seated before he began to speak.

  “The murderer, he left the misleading clues, but Poiret, he has finally seen through his games and Mesdames and Messieurs, what a game it was!” Poiret let his gaze wander across the assembled guests. Lady Malvern’s family and friends looked back at him. “Let us commence at the beginning. As you know, there is currently no will. There was the will until six weeks ago, but that one was withdrawn by Lady Malvern herself. The main beneficiary of the old will, besides educational charities, was Monsieur Peter, who would inherit the manor and the fashion business.” Poiret rested his eyes on Peter and the audience followed his lead.

  Poiret continued, “It is obvious to Poiret that he was not in his room during the night of the death of Lady Malvern, otherwise he would not need to lie to Poiret about his reason for not hearing the noises which emanated from the bedroom of Lady Malvern, the window swinging loose in the storm, the decanter falling down to the floor and shattering to pieces.” The detective was silent for a moment. “Perhaps he knew that in the new will, if there was one he would not inherit and that is why he was not in his room, but somewhere else in the house trying to find the will and destroy it.”

  Peter looked at him in horror, his face turning red. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something, but Poiret stopped him with a gesture of his hand. “However, Poiret is not easily misled by theories. Poiret, he knows the absence of Monsieur Peter from his room can be easily explained,” Poiret said. “It seems that the young gentleman, he is the addict and he was in the barn getting the, how do you say, fix.”

  Tulisa and her mother stared in surprise at Peter, who still had his eyes locked on Poiret. The little man looked at Peter. “Ah, les jeunes! Nothing in their heads but doing all the wrong things, before turning to the light!” he said. “In any case, Monsieur Peter, he needs the sympathy and the help of his family to become healthy again and go back to university. Maybe a study, where there are no needles or drugs available will be advisable. On to the next suspect then!”

  Peter slumped in his chair. He looked embarrassed that his secret had been exposed to his family.

  “Mademoiselle Tulisa.” Poiret turned towards the young lady. “What are you implying?” Mrs. Damian screamed before Poiret could say anything else. “Madame Damian, please to listen to Poiret,” Poiret said and although he was perfectly polite his demeanour allowed no protest. “Mademoiselle Tulisa, she too was not in her room on the night of the tragedy. Moreover, she has the bruises on her hands after the birthday party. The next morning she lies to Poiret about where she received the bruises. They look like scratches that one gets from branches of plants. Poiret, he sees everything. He sees how large parts of the house, they are covered with thick ivy, especially the rooms of Lady Malvern and Mademoiselle Tulisa. The ivy, it is very convenient for climbing in and out of the house.”

  Mrs. Damian gasped, stood up and raised her handbag, ready to slap the detective in the face. Inspector Watkins and Captain Haven rushed forward and stopped her just in time. “None of that or you’ll be arrested for assault,” Watkins said sternly, pushing her back onto her chair. Mrs. Damian looked at her daughter. Tulisa dropped her gaze.

  “However, Poiret found no motive for Tulisa to endanger the health of Lady Malvern or make her will disappear. She too had other plans for the night.” Tulisa put her hands in front of her face. Haven felt sorry for her. “My dear friend Captain Haven, he observed on our first night here how she left her room throug
h her window.” “Wait a minute!” Haven said. He stared at Poiret. He had seen no such thing and he was very sure he had not told Poiret anything that he could have misinterpreted that way. Haven began to worry about the accuracy of his friend’s other deductions.

  Poiret continued quickly, “Mademoiselle Tulisa, she likes to dress up as a man and go for the horse ride at nights, is it not so?” Poiret asked gently, bowing down to look in Tulisa’s face. Tulisa hesitated then finally nodded. “Tulisa!” Mrs. Damian cried, standing up. “That is not how I raised you.” Poiret paid no attention to her as he continued, “As to why, Poiret, he can only guess. Riding around as a man is more safe than riding around as a young lady, perhaps? So she borrows the clothes from Alfie, the chauffeur. This may be not very ladylike, but,” Poiret waved his hand “it is of no importance to our case.” Mrs. Damian sat down again. She said, “My sister was a bad influence on all she came in contact with.”

  Suddenly the pieces fell into place for Haven. The man he thought looked like Alfie, who he had seen running away from the house had been no other than Tulisa. The way she had looked at him, when he said Peter’s horse was too boisterous for her or when Peter said that the route he was taking was not suitable for a lady, all those times when Tulisa was about to disagree, maybe she already had done all of those things before and when he had seen her with a man’s pants, she was hiding her disguise in the barn.

  Tulisa raised her eyes slowly and looked at her mother, her chin stubbornly thrust out. Before any argument could ensue, however, Poiret interjected, “Perhaps you should not be too harsh with your daughter, Madame Damian.” He moved forward and said, “After all, there were not many people asleep in their beds that night and others, they were using the time to do far worse things than to ride the horses.” Mrs. Damian's face grew frightened. “You Mrs. Damian, as the sister of Lady Malvern, you will inherit everything, if there is not the will,” Poiret continued, now fully fixed on her, “So you have the motive to murder Lady Malvern and also to destroy her will.” “I don't need Anita's money,” Mrs. Damian replied coolly.

  “What made you suspicious to Poiret, was not your possible motives, but your lies to him about your whereabouts that night.” Mrs. Damian stared at the little man. He did not let up. “I was in my room,” she said weakly. “Poiret, he fully agrees, Madame,” Poiret said cheerfully. Mrs. Damian sighed, relieved. “But you were not alone, Madame. Monsieur Alfie South was with you.” “How dare you!” Mrs. Damian cried, leaping up and swinging her handbag again.

  Both Haven and Watkins were so surprised hearing what Poiret had just said that they forgot their duty and Poiret was almost knocked to the floor, when the handbag connected with his head. Haven rushed to his aid and kept him from falling. Inspector Watkins grabbed the angry lady and pushed her back on her chair. He took out his handcuffs and cuffed her to the chair. Haven looked back at Poiret. He was straightening his hair and clothes in a big mirror hanging on the wall.

  It was difficult to grasp the idea of Mrs. Damian having an affair with a chauffeur, who was twenty years younger than she was. He was almost as young as her daughter. But from her furious reaction it looked like Poiret was right.

  Poiret, now looking his old immaculate self, moved to stand in front of Mr. Hannover. He was the only one in the audience, who was enjoying Poiret's presentation. He hung on Poiret's every word like he was watching a movie. “Monsieur Hannover,” Poiret said, “You have no motive to kill Lady Malvern or destroy her will. However your extreme curiosity in the work of Poiret and the investigation is curious and Poiret has to admit, it puzzled him for some time. Poiret, he does not like the mystery unsolved!” Mr. Hannover sat on the tip of his chair and looked at Poiret, like he was talking about someone else. “What is more,” Poiret continued, “You were so careless as to leave a list of very effective poisons in your room.”

  Mr. Hannover, who had been listening to the detective with curiosity, was now listening with a shaking leg and making no move to answer. “Poiret, he already knows what you are going to say,” Poiret proceeded, “and it would be the truth. You lead the boring life and in your spare time you want to live the life that is exciting.” Mr. Hannover's eyes widened in a strange mixture of admiration and embarrassment. “Bon! Poiret, he hopes you have learned from the greatest detective of them all!”

  Poiret turned his attention towards Mrs. Hannover, who was sitting next to her husband. She was wringing her hands. “Madame Hannover, how are you feeling today?” Poiret asked gently. She nodded back slowly, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You were very nervous after the death of Lady Malvern. To be more to the point, you were afraid, when you heard that there were large amounts of opium detected in the blood of Lady Malvern.” Poiret looked at her. “We found a bottle in the medicine chest in the house, which did not belong to Lady Malvern, but which had your fingerprints on it!” Poiret pointed at her and she moved back. “Maybe you tried to poison Lady Malvern with opium first and when that did not work you resorted to cyanide instead?” Mrs. Hannover shook her head, her eyes wide. “But then you only arrived on the morning of the birthday party, not leaving enough time for such elaborate plans. There is, of course, always the possibility that you tried to poison her with opium and someone else poisoned her with cyanide.”

  Poiret watched Mrs. Hannover intently. She gasped and clung to her husband's side, pale and unable to speak.

  “Poiret, however, he is convinced this is not the case. Your surprise, when you hear about the opium in the blood of Lady Malvern, it is genuine. Your breakdown, however, it is not of a natural cause. You suffer from the sleeplessness. The opium was prescribed to you as a sleeping aid.” Mrs. Hannover sighed in relief. She nodded. “You are afraid someone, they will think you were involved in the death of Lady Malvern. You try to get rid of your opium bottle. But, you chose the medicine chest, which is the place Poiret, he will look first for the opium! The fear of being discovered caused the nervous breakdown!” Mrs. Hannover clasped her hands together as if thanking Poiret for coming up with the correct answers. Soft murmurs arose from the other guests.

  “Monsieur Damian!” Poiret continued after the audience had calmed down. “You were observed burning papers in the dining-room fire. You are denying this. You are a very apt liar.” Haven looked at Mr. Damian, ready to intervene. Mr. Damian didn’t move, not even a muscle in his face. “What do you have with you on the holiday that is so important that you have to burn it in secrecy? And what coincidence that you do so immediately after the death of Lady Malvern!”

  Poiret had been pacing the room, but now stopped in front of Mr. Damian. “Are you the person, who has forced open the drawer of the writing desk of Lady Malvern? Are you the one, who steals the will, perhaps? After all, it is your wife, who will inherit all, if no will, it is found.”

  All eyes turned towards Mr. Damian, who sat in his chair. He sighed without emotion. He did not show any signs of guilt.

  “But there was never the will in the drawer, is it not so? You did steal something from the drawer. A letter, it relates to an affair in the past.” Mr. Damian returned Poiret's gaze, his expression unreadable. “It's none of your business,” he finally said. Poiret bowed smiling. He walked to the other side of the room. He addressed Doctor Loomis. “Doctor Loomis, you are not honest with Poiret either. Poiret, he understands that you do not want to bring Lady Malvern discredit by telling of your love affair, but why do you continue lying to Poiret? You tell him you believe the death of Lady Malvern, it is suicide. You fail to tell to him that Lady Malvern, she had been ill. You deny knowledge of the needle marks on her body.”

  Doctor Loomis dropped his gaze and shook his head slightly and the polite expression he had on his face, suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but hurt feelings. Poiret continued softly, “Lady Malvern, she was ill. She asked you to lie, did she not?” “Yes,” Doctor Loomis answered, sobbing audible. “I loved her.” Poiret put a hand on his shoulder and looked in the distance for a while. He then wa
lked to the fireplace. There he stood with his back towards the room. Haven saw him wipe his eyes with his handkerchief. Then his face grew stern again. He turned around, looked in the mirror quickly then addressed the audience again.

  “Let us move to the most interesting question, the will! It is self-evident that Lady Malvern, she did not revoke her will without making a new will first. But her business partner, Monsieur Archibald says to Poiret she did not make a new will.” Poiret turned towards Mr. Archibald. “Where is the missing will, Monsieur Archibald?” Mr. Archibald, who was wearing a dark suit and a homburg and held a cane in his hand, straightened his back and looked at Poiret with a dignified expression on his face. Haven’s mouth opened as it became clear to him that Mr. Archibald was wearing the same clothes and was imitating the hand gestures of his friend Poiret.

  “You kept this information for yourself, because Lady Malvern asked you to do so, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Archibald?” “Mais Oui, Monsieur Poiret,” said Mr. Archibald. Haven frowned, he couldn’t believe his ears. He looked at Inspector Watkins. Watkins looked at him and shrugged in disbelief.

  “The darling Mademoiselle asked me to keep the will secret until a week after she was mort.” Mr. Archibald gave Poiret a document. Poiret read the document and smiled. He grabbed Mr. Archibald’s hand with both hands and shook it enthusiastically. “Congratulations, mon cher Monsieur Archibald.” Poiret said. “You have solved the murder.” Archibald beamed.

  “But, who’s the murderer?” Haven asked, beating Watkins to the question and leaving him with an open mouth. “Mrs. Damian, of course,” Poiret said nonchalantly. Mrs. Damian screamed and tried to stand up, but the handcuffs kept her tied to her chair, but so furious was she that she broke the chair and lunged for Poiret. This time Captain Haven and Inspector Watkins were on alert and they were able to restrain her, before she reached Poiret.