Mistletoe and Murder

by Carola Dunn

  He must be over seventy then, Daisy reckoned, though he didn’t look it. The tropical climate must have suited him. “Always in India?” she asked.

  “Always in India,” he confirmed, throwing a significant glance at old Mrs. Norville. “Naturally I came home on leave several times, though not in recent years. I see that England has not changed for the better.”

  “The War altered many things,” Daisy said, and used the excuse of refilling her teacup to exchange the Jeremiah for Miles’s more cheerful company.

  “Sorry about the old grouch,” he said, as she sat down beside him. “He’s a bit of a blister, isn’t he?”

  “Oh dear, did my face give me away?”

  “No, no! Or only because I was looking. I’m afraid the Rev is here for a purpose, and he’s going to be staying for Christmas. Uncle Victor told me what happened upstairs in Gran’s room. He’s a good egg, Uncle Vic, behind all the hail-fellow-well-met. By the way, he’s hoping you won’t mention that business to the rest of the family.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I want to thank you,” Miles said awkwardly, “for jumping to Gran’s defence.”

  “The chap with the blue face …”

  “Krishna.”

  “Krishna really did remind me of Picasso. On the whole, I prefer Krishna.”

  Miles laughed, and they dropped the subject.

  For the rest of the day and the following morning, Daisy saw the Norvilles and their clerical guest only at meals. She was madly trying to get her article, if not written, at least planned before her own family arrived. She had a wealth of material to sort out, much of it the kind of stuff which would make for a marvellously lively piece.

  By an hour after lunch on Sunday, she had her outline prepared and was ready to call it a day. The afternoon was overcast, but still mild, with no sign of impending rain. She decided to walk down to the Quay to meet Alec, Belinda, and the Dowager Lady Dalrymple. She couldn’t tell exactly when the boat would arrive, but she knew the early Paddington-Plymouth express ran an hour later on Sundays.

  In the entrance hall, she met Felicity and Miles, bound on the same errand to welcome the newcomers, and they found themselves following the pony-trap down the drive.

  “We didn’t like to tell you at lunch,” said Felicity, “because the Rev was there, but you missed his service this morning. Gran invited him to preside in the Chapel, and Uncle Vic herded us all in willy-nilly, servants too.”

  “How very remiss of me,” Daisy said, “though I plead that I didn’t know about it. No one herded me. But perhaps my lack of piety will make Mr. Calloway look more kindly on the rest of you.”

  “Not a hope,” Miles scoffed. “He took one look at Flick’s lip rouge and gave us a sermon on vanity.”

  “You’ve got the wrong kind of vanity,” his sister argued. “‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,’ that’s about the unimportance of worldly things.”

  “My word, you must have been listening!”

  “And you weren’t,” Felicity retorted.

  They went on teasing in a brotherly-sisterly way. Daisy thought how much she missed Gervaise, who had not returned from the trenches of Flanders, where she assumed Miles had left his arm. The loss of her brother still hurt, though she had to admit she didn’t think of him as often these days, nor of her dead fiancé. Michael held a corner of her heart forever, but Alec filled the rest, Alec and Belinda, and she was going to see them any minute. She hastened her steps.

  When they came in sight of the Quay, a motor launch was already moored at one of the wharves. The trap and a farm wagon stood nearby, with pony and cart-horse waiting patiently. On the Quay, a pile of luggage was growing, handed up from the launch by the boatman to the hands of two farm labourers. Alec was already ashore, directing the operation. The heap of bags concealed the passengers still aboard.

  Looking down into the boat, Alec said in his firmest voice, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, old fellow. If you don’t both land in the water, you’ll land in the mud.”

  Old fellow? The only thing less likely than that he should so address his daughter was that he should so address his mother-in-law. Whom had they brought with them?

  Alec reached down and helped Belinda up onto the wharf. She saw Daisy at once and came running, pigtails flying.

  “Mummy, Mummy!” She flung herself into Daisy’s open arms. “Mummy, Derek’s come too! He rang up and said couldn’t we invite him without telling Aunt Violet or Uncle John he’d asked, so Daddy rang back right away and I talked on the ’phone to Aunt Violet and told her I’d be frightfully sad if Derek couldn’t come and she said yes!”

  Before she finished, Derek had disembarked and was tearing along after her, hauled at top speed by Nana, the breeze ruffling his blond hair.

  “Nana!” Daisy exclaimed.

  “Hello, Aunt Daisy,” called Derek. “Did Bel tell you about me coming?”

  Fending off the puppy, Daisy listened with half an ear to her nephew’s rhapsodies on their journey up the Tamar. Meanwhile Belinda had turned to Felicity and Miles.

  “Hello, I’m Belinda Fletcher,” she said. “I’m most awfully sorry about bringing Nana. My friend she was going to stay with couldn’t have her, right at the last minute. Daddy says she’ll have to stay tied up outside.” Doubtfully she added, “He says she won’t be too awfully miserable.”

  Felicity glanced at Miles. Her eyes full of mischief, she said, “Nana might pine. We can’t have that. No one will mind if she comes into the house.”

  “The East Wing,” Miles qualified. “Father would have forty fits if she were let loose in the old house.”

  Belinda and Derek promised faithfully that the puppy should not put so much as her nose over the threshold, and Daisy performed belated introductions. By then her mother was ashore, moving towards the trap, leaning heavily on Alec’s arm.

  “Grandmama is in a fearful bate about Nana,” Derek observed, “and about having to come by boat, and because Uncle Alec told her in the train he thought Lord Westmoor wasn’t going to be here for Christmas, and because Mummy and Daddy didn’t come. She’s mad as a whole hive of hornets.”

  “Don’t speak of your grandmother like that, you horrid little brat,” said Daisy, quailing. “Felicity, I think it would be a good idea if you and Miles took the children up to the house while I see if I can smooth a few ruffled feathers.”

  “Right-oh,” Miles said promptly. “We’ll go the back way, through the woods, and give the dog a run. Come on, you two.”

  Felicity looked down at her rather smart shoes. “Not me. I’ll stick with Daisy.”

  “Mummy?” Belinda clung.

  “Go along with Mr. Norville and Derek, darling. Nana’s your puppy. You’re in charge of her, even if you let Derek hold the lead.”

  “You can have her now, Bel,” said Derek magnanimously. His dog, Tinker Bell, was a country dog and hardly ever had to go on a lead.

  Belinda felt better holding Nana’s lead. She had been worrying about coming to Brockdene. Gran had warned her that going to stay in a grand house with a grand lord would be very different from staying with Uncle John and Aunt Violet, who were practically part of her family. If Belinda’s manners were not perfect, they would look down on her as Ill-Bred! And then there was Grandmama Dalrymple, who was as grand as a grandmother could be and rather frightened Bel, and maybe already considered her Ill-Bred.

  Bel was awfully glad Derek had been allowed to come. Nothing bothered Derek, not even turning up with a dog who wasn’t invited. Belinda was in two minds about Nana. On the one hand, Nana would go on loving Belinda even if all the rest of the world thought she was Ill-Bred; on the other hand, she was an uninvited guest, and just turning up with her might make people think her mistress was Ill-Bred.

  “Mr. Norville,” she said, as they reached a path through the woods by the river, “do you really, really truly not mind Nana?”

  “Not at all. Why is she called Nana?”

  “Afte
r Peter Pan, because Derek’s dog is called Tinker Bell, only he usually just calls her Tinker. ‘Specially now he knows me, ’cause he calls me Bel, you see.”

  “I see. May I call you Bel? You’d better call me Uncle Miles, I should think. Mr. Norville is my father. And he won’t mind Nana as long as you keep her out of the old house.”

  “Why?” asked Derek. “I mean, I should have thought he’d care more about new stuff than old.”

  “He’s a historian,” Miles explained. “The old house is full of valuable antiques—tapestries and four-poster beds and cabinets with secret drawers and all that sort of thing.”

  “Secret drawers! Gosh!”

  “And a secret passage, and lost treasure, and a ghost.”

  “Crikey!” breathed Derek. “Ripping!”

  Belinda wasn’t so sure a ghost was “ripping,” but she saw a twinkle in Uncle Miles’s eyes and guessed he was teasing Derek. “Have you ever seen the ghost, Uncle Miles?” she asked.

  “Not I, but I live in hopes. Aren’t you going to let Nana off to chase squirrels, Bel? Won’t she come when she’s called?”

  “Mostly.”

  “She always comes when I whistle,” said Derek.

  “It’s not fair. Girls aren’t supposed to whistle.”

  “Who said that? Your gran or Aunt Daisy?”

  “Gran,” said Bel, grasping Derek’s point at once. Her new mother had very different ideas from her grandmother about what was proper for girls to do. “But I don’t know how.”

  “Let Nana off and we’ll teach you,” Uncle Miles promised.

  By the time they reached the house, Nana was exhausted and muddy, while Uncle Miles and Derek were wheezing from laughing at Belinda’s efforts, but she could almost whistle. Whenever she tried, Nana cocked her head, so it was worth persevering.

  “Better not whistle indoors,” suggested Uncle Miles, “and we’d better take Nana to one of the gardeners to be washed before she comes in. This way.”

  With the puppy clean and as dry as a couple of sacks could make her, they went into the house. Nana went straight to the fireplace, lay down on the hearthrug, and fell asleep. No one seemed very interested in her. They were busy fussing around Lady Dalrymple with cushions and tea.

  There was a girl not much older than Belinda and Derek, but she wasn’t a bit friendly. There was a cross-looking clergyman, not at all like chubby, cheerful Mr. Preston at home. Derek started to talk to a man who was a sailor, a captain. Belinda went politely to sit with an old lady who smiled at her. Her name was Mrs. Norville. She said she came from India, a long, long time ago, so Bel told her about her schoolfriend Deva, who was Indian. Mrs. Norville was very nice.

  After tea, Uncle Miles took Belinda and Derek on a tour of the old house. He warned them to be very careful because of everything being so valuable. They had to take a lantern because it was getting dark and there was no electricity, not even gas.

  “I’ve got an electric torch,” Derek announced. “Daddy gave it to me for an early Christmas present. I’ll go and get it.”

  “Save the battery for when you need it,” Uncle Miles advised, lighting his lantern.

  The old house was full of interesting things, but it was a bit eerie by lantern-light. There were shadows everywhere, and the people in the tapestries seemed to jump out at you when you went into a room. They kept moving, too, because it was windy outside now and the draughts made the tapestries ripple and rustle.

  “It’s sort of like being in a house full of ghosts,” Belinda said.

  “Real ghosts moan and rattle their chains,” Derek objected. “I say, Bel, let’s come back tomorrow when it’s light and look for the treasure map in the secret drawers.”

  “May we, Uncle Miles?”

  “I don’t see why not, as long as you’re careful not to break anything. Right-oh, we’d better get back now. It’s your supper-time, and I have to dress for dinner.”

  Jemima had supper with Derek and Belinda. She was simply furious because she usually had dinner with the grown-ups. The silly thing was she was angry with Bel and Derek, though it wasn’t their fault at all. She scowled and muttered, and after pudding (delicious apple pie with very thick cream the maid called “clotted”), she said loudly, “It’s going to be a rotten Christmas,” and went off without another word.

  “She can have a rotten Christmas if she wants,” said Derek, “we’re going to have a ripping Christmas. Nanny packed a big box of crackers and gummed paper for making paper chains. And Captain Norville said there’ll be a Christmas tree and carols and mincepies, and plum pudding with sixpences in if he has to put them there himself. And if we hang up stockings tomorrow night, Father Christmas will come, only he’ll have a grizzledy grey beard instead of white.”

  Belinda giggled. “What a nice man! I hope you didn’t tell him we’re too old for Father Christmas.”

  “Gosh, no! I said could we borrow a pair of his socks ’cause they’re probably the biggest stockings in the house, and he said yes. He’s a brick. Maybe I’ll be a sailor when I grow up.”

  “Right now what you’ve got to be is a gentleman. I have to take Nana out. Please, may I borrow your electric torch?”

  Derek hesitated, then came up with a compromise. “Tell you what, I’ll come with you.”

  Even with the torch, it was very dark outside, very different from London with its street lamps and lights in people’s houses. The wind was blowing in great gusts which hurried them along in one direction and held them back when they turned around. Some of the gusts showered them with raindrops. Derek thought it was very jolly, and Belinda could see what he meant, but she was glad to go back inside.

  They took Nana to the scullery where they had been told she was to sleep, then found their bedroom candles and lit them. They both thought it was very funny to be carrying lit candles up to bed with them, and Derek laughed so hard he blew his out halfway up the stairs. There were two lots of stairs, the second one very steep and narrow and sort of twisty, with a tiny landing at the top.

  The bedrooms were very small, with sloping ceilings because they were up under the roof. Derek’s was next to Belinda’s, with a connecting door. There was a door on the other side, too, which a maid had told her was to the Reverend Calloway’s room, and her parents were just at the bottom of the twisty stairs.

  She and Derek got ready for bed, then sat cross-legged on Belinda’s bed planning tomorrow’s treasure hunt. Derek was sure the map must have been hidden in the desk with the naked people on it. Bel voted for the other desk Uncle Miles had shown them, in the South Room, mostly because she didn’t think they ought to be looking at the naked people.

  “We won’t look at them,” Derek argued. “We’ll be too busy searching for the secret drawers no one else has found. I bet that’s why they didn’t find them, because they were squeamish about the naked people. You’re not squeamish, are you?”

  “No!” Bel denied hotly, though she wasn’t at all sure what squeamish meant. It was a good word, though. Derek probably learnt it at his boarding school.

  “Right-oh, that’s settled then. Oh, hello, Aunt Daisy. Is it bedtime already?”

  “Yes, darling, off you go. I’ll pop in when I’ve tucked Bel in. I’ve brought you a night-light, Bel, because you’re in a strange place and there’s no switch to turn on a light if you need one.” She lit a little, fat candle and set it on the chest-of-drawers. “All right, darling?”

  Belinda was asleep almost before Daisy had kissed her good night.

  She woke with a start some hours later. The wind was howling around the eaves and down the chimney, making the night-light flicker. When the howling paused momentarily, something scratched at the window-pane. Just the creeper growing up the wall, Belinda assured herself stoutly. That wouldn’t have wakened her—so what did?

  She lay straining her ears. Was that a footstep? Something moaned softly. Bel sat bolt upright.

  A white figure drifted towards her from the direction of Derek’s room.
It had a head, but no face. When she sat up, the moaning grew louder. The figure floated on across the room, and then came a rattling noise.

  Belinda screamed.

  5

  Daisy and Alec had retired early, though a considerable time passed before they settled to sleep. Daisy lay in bed, curled up against Alec, with his arm around her waist. He was already asleep. She mused on how wonderful life was. Before she was married, she hadn’t realized that one could miss a person physically as well as emotionally, and after just a couple of days apart.

  She was glad they had a double bed. No modern nonsense about separate singles in this old-fashioned house, she was thinking drowsily, when she heard Belinda scream.

  “Daddy!”

  Alec stirred. Daisy sprang out of bed. Not wasting time hunting for her abandoned nightie, she grabbed her dressing-gown, pulling it on as she felt her way through the pitch-darkness, barefooted on the chilly polished floorboards. Where was the door? Oh for the flip of a switch!

  A narrow line of light from a lamp left burning in the passage showed her the way. Flinging open the door, she stumbled up the awkward stairs to Belinda’s room. The child’s voice was a wail now: “Daddy!”

  “Darling, I’m here. Everything’s all right. Did you have a bad dream?” As she spoke, Daisy gathered the sobbing girl in her arms and glanced around the dimly lit room.

  A paler rectangle—the door to the clergyman’s bedroom was open. Daisy’s upbringing had not been so sheltered that she hadn’t heard tales of clergymen who …

  “A ghost! It was a ghost, Mummy, all white, moaning and rattling its chains.”

  “Did it touch you, darling?” Even as she spoke, Daisy became aware of voices in the next room. “Wait here, Belinda, I’m going to see just what’s going on.”

  Mr. Calloway, fully dressed, had the ghost by its thoroughly corporeal wrist. It had on an ankle-length white garment, with a lacy white shawl completely covering its head.

  “ … dabbling in the occult,” the clergyman was saying sternly, “a highly dangerous pastime. You put your immortal soul in danger for the sake of a silly prank.”