Mistletoe and Murder

by Carola Dunn

  “She wasn’t upset. I’d swear I saw a gleam in her eye. She hated him. Oh, darling, you don’t think … ?”

  “Jemima? Great Scott!” Alec looked at her in horror. “I’m afraid it can’t be ruled out,” he said soberly. “She’s at an unsettled age. Adolescents do commit murder. Why did she hate him?”

  “I suppose for the same reasons nobody else much liked him, topped by the wigging he gave her over the ghost business. He really was frightfully fierce about it, and at her age, feelings do tend to swing to extremes. Though once or twice I have wondered whether she’s slightly unbalanced. I didn’t tell you how she sneaked after me when I went to look at the chapel in the woods, before you came.”

  “You don’t think she was just playing a childish game? Like Belinda and Derek stalking buffalo?”

  “Yes, of course, very likely,” Daisy said, relieved.

  “All the same,” said Alec, “she’s going to have to go on my list, with the rest of her family.”

  “It does seem to be a family affair. I can’t see how the servants could have got involved. And you know, darling, I rather think there is a Westmoor son, a Lord Norville who’s the earl’s heir. He wasn’t at school with Gervaise, but I seem to remember he came to stay at Fairacres one summer, because of the distant cousinship. Nothing could affect his position as heir, so it wouldn’t matter to him if he’d somehow found out about Calloway.”

  “But you’re not absolutely certain, are you? I’ll ask first about the heir,” Alec decided. “If nothing else, it may disarm my suspects to find out they’re not the only ones. Doesn’t this right branch lead to the house? I’m going to have to go on back to the chapel to tell that young constable what’s going on.”

  “I’d better get back to the children.” Daisy had never realized quite what a responsibility children could be in a household not provided with a nanny and nursemaids as her own childhood had been.

  “Check whether the knife has gone, will you? But for heaven’s sake, don’t start asking questions. If the doctor from Saltash has turned up but hasn’t inspected the body yet, send him … No, say I request his presence at the chapel, before it gets dark.”

  “Yes, Chief. I’ll send someone with a lantern anyway.”

  “Yes, do, please. I’m pretty sure Calloway’s lantern burnt out and needs refilling.”

  The sun was sinking behind the house as she turned up the right-hand fork in the path. The few small puffs of cloud were tinted with pink. Another fine day on the morrow, Daisy hoped. Bel and Derek would be able to play outside and keep out of the way of the interrogation of suspects.

  Who had murdered Calloway? Entering the house, Daisy thought that perhaps, instead of going with Alec, she should have stayed to observe people as the fact of the murder sank in. The shock of her mother’s divulgence of Alec’s profession had superseded the shock of Sergeant Tilton’s announcement, muddying the waters of their reactions.

  She checked the hall table. The knife was gone.

  She went to the library. Jemima lay on her stomach on the hearthrug, reading the Boys’ Own Annual which was one of Derek’s Christmas presents. Captain Norville and Miles were playing chess with the exquisite ivory Chinese set the captain had given his nephew. Felicity lounged nearby, apparently in the terminal stages of boredom. She looked up and sat up as Daisy entered. Jemima obstinately kept her head down. The men started to stand.

  Daisy waved them back to their seats. “Alec’s been put in charge,” she said. “He’s gone back to the chapel. Has a doctor from Saltash turned up?”

  All three shook their heads. “Not that I know,” said Felicity. “Have you been deputized, like in a Wild West novel?”

  “Not exactly. Alec’s sergeant and a detective constable will be turning up in the morning. I said I’d have someone take a lantern to the chapel. Should I ask Mrs. Pardon to send someone?”

  “No, I’ll go,” said Miles, rising again.

  The captain shook his head, lumbering to his feet. “You’ve done your bit, my boy,” he said. Daisy saw that Miles was rather pale, his shoulders hunched as if his missing arm pained him. Or his conscience? Was he too eager to return to the scene of the crime? Was his Uncle Victor too eager? “I’ll go, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ve already left my footprints all over the place.” He went out.

  “Is Mr. Fletcher sleuthing for footprints?” Felicity asked, with an unconvincing attempt at casualness. “He’ll find mine all over the place, too. I quite often walk up that way.”

  Jemima raised her head from the book at last. “That’s because the chapel’s where you meet your lover,” she said spitefully.

  Felicity jumped up. “You filthy little sneak!” she cried, advancing on her sister. “I’ll show you what happens to spies!”

  Jemima abandoned Derek’s annual and scampered for the door, dodging Felicity. She squealed as Felicity reached out and yanked on a hank of her hair, but escaped further retribution, at least for the present, and disappeared.

  “Have you really been meeting a man secretly?” Miles asked, his face grave. “At the chapel?”

  “Oh, don’t ask me questions. What business is it of yours? We haven’t done anything immoral.” The stress on the last word was contemptuous.

  “Well, I am your brother,” Miles responded mildly. “But whether I ask questions is irrelevant at the moment. You can be quite sure Mr. Fletcher is going to.”

  10

  “I must speak to you, Daisy!” Felicity begged.

  “Of course. I’d better go and see where Belinda and Derek have got to. Come with me.”

  “It’s all right,” said Miles. “They came in a few minutes ago. Flick sent them to clean up for tea. I’ll go and make sure that’s what they’re doing.” He started to leave, then hesitated and looked back at his sister. But apparently he decided whatever he’d been going to say was likely to do more harm than good. He shrugged and went on, closing the door behind him.

  “Do you have to tell Mr. Fletcher what Jemima said?” Felicity asked.

  “It would be much better if you told him yourself,” Daisy temporized. “He’s bound to find out one way or another, from Miles …”

  “Oh, Miles might disapprove, but he wouldn’t tell. It’s not as if … my friend had anything to do with Calloway’s death. We hadn’t planned to meet on Christmas Eve, and he’s not the sort to come mooning around when I’m not going to be there. He had something else on anyway.”

  “Alec’s much more likely to believe you if you’ve told him yourself, before Jemima lets the cat out of the bag again.”

  “I suppose so,” said Felicity disconsolately. “What a little horror she is!”

  “If she found out, there’s a fair chance someone else has, too.”

  “What a frightful bore everything is, don’t you think?”

  “No, actually. On the whole I find life pretty interesting. Maybe you should get a job.”

  “No fear! That would be even more boring. I’m going to get married.” Felicity sighed. “Which will probably turn out to be the biggest bore of all. Daisy, Mr. Fletcher won’t tell the parents, will he? I’d rather keep it quiet as long as possible.”

  “Someone they will disapprove of?” An unsuitable young man madly in love might expect even more opposition if his beloved’s father suddenly became a legitimate, acknowledged relative of the earl. Motive enough for murder? “Mother was furious when I got engaged to a policeman.”

  “Not exactly like that.” Felicity gave her a twisted, sardonic smile. “Call it family complications. We’re a complicated family. Here’s Gran. It must be tea-time.”

  Bel, Derek, and Miles came in right behind Mrs. Norville. Daisy was kept occupied for some time listening to the children’s chatter of the afternoon’s adventures. Tremayne, Dora Norville, and Jemima came in together. Except for Belinda and Derek, everyone was subdued, speaking in low murmurs. Looking up once or twice, Daisy caught Dora Norville’s eye, which sent her a desperate appeal. When Lady Dalrymple entere
d a few minutes later, Daisy sent the children to talk to her and went over to join Dora.

  “Jemima, go and see if your father will join us for tea.”

  “Why?” the girl whined. “He hardly ever does.”

  “Because it’s Christmas Day and we have guests,” her mother said sharply. “He said he was going to the Drawing Room to write letters. Off you go.”

  Jemima slouched out. Dora turned to Daisy. “Mrs. Fletcher, I must talk to you.”

  “Be careful what you say,” Tremayne warned.

  “Oh, Papa, what can I possibly say that will make things worse? I’m not going to confess because I have nothing to confess to.”

  “All the same, my dear, be careful.” Excusing himself, the old lawyer went to speak to Miles.

  “Mrs. Fletcher, is your husband going to investigate this terrible business?”

  “Yes, he’s been put in charge of the case. I’m afraid it puts us in a rather awkward position as your guests.”

  “Not at all, not at all. You’re Westmoor’s guests, but in any case, I’d rather have Mr. Fletcher asking questions than the local people. So humiliating! At least, I suppose we must all be under suspicion?”

  “I believe so. But a new suspect has recently come to light who may change everything.”

  Her face brightened; a rabbit offered a carrot. “I’m sure it can’t possibly have anything to do with the family. We all had the best of reasons for preserving the Reverend Calloway in good health. I suppose it will all have to come out now.”

  “Alec will want to know your reasons, of course, though I rather think we have a pretty good idea already. He’ll be as discreet as is humanly possible.”

  “I’m sure he will. Quite the gentleman. One would never have guessed … But I’d better tell you the whole story to make sure you have it right. You see, when I was a girl, the earl—the seventh earl, the present earl’s father—used to bring house-parties to Brockdene in the summer and at Christmas.”

  “So I gather,” murmured Daisy, with an amused glance at the Dowager Viscountess.

  “It was always the best society, of course. I wouldn’t have dreamt of being invited to take part. But when Lord Westmoor wasn’t here, we used to come up to play badminton and for picnics and so on. The vicar’s children, and the squire’s, the doctor’s, and my sister and I, we were all of an age with the Norville boys.” Her voice sank to a near whisper. “We knew Mrs. Norville was a … a foreigner, of course, but that’s all. Our parents certainly had no idea she wasn’t married!”

  “But she was, wasn’t she?”

  Dora Norville flushed. “Yes, of course. She always told Godfrey and Victor so, and Godfrey told Papa so when he asked for my hand. But he had to explain the … the uncertainty, so that I wouldn’t expect to be included in Lord Westmoor’s company when he came down. Mrs. Norville and Godfrey and Victor were expected to keep to themselves at those times. So unfair!” she burst out aggrievedly.

  “Rather hard lines,” Daisy agreed. “When did Westmoor stop bringing parties here?”

  “When the old earl died, the present earl stopped coming so often. Just occasionally, really. The War finally put the cap on it. He hasn’t shown his face here since ’14. And then Victor turns up with the Reverend Calloway, who could swear to my mother-in-law’s marriage! Lord Westmoor would have had to accept us as part of his family. Why should any of us want Mr. Calloway dead?”

  “A good question,” said Daisy, but one which was not presently destined to be investigated, as Mrs. Pardon came in with the tea and Dora had to pour.

  Having walked to Calstock and back since midday dinner, Daisy was quite ready for Christmas cake and mincepies. Both were excellent. The former had a good thick layer of almond paste between the royal icing and the rich, dark cake. The mincepies were made with flaky pastry and thickly dusted with icing sugar. The latter, however, were not what she would have chosen to serve to children in company. Derek and Belinda both managed to get crumbs all over their clothes (and probably the floor, but Daisy didn’t examine it) and icing sugar all over their faces.

  “It just happens,” Belinda explained, “when you breathe.”

  “Go and wash your faces—and hands.”

  “Again?” Derek protested. They both sighed heavily and departed.

  Daisy was glad they had gone when Alec came in a few minutes later with Captain Norville. However hard they tried, they couldn’t have kept the knowledge of the murder from the children.

  “The doctor came up the river from Saltash and took the body away for autopsy,” the captain announced heavily, “though he’s pretty certain the blade nicked a lung and the poor man drowned in his own blood.”

  “Really, Captain!” Lady Dalrymple objected, outraged. But he didn’t hear, and she didn’t leave.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” he went on, going to old Mrs. Norville and enveloping one tiny brown hand in his great paws. “It’s all over. I did my best.”

  She laid her other hand against his cheek as he bent over her. “It doesn’t matter, Victor love,” she said gently. “I know, and the Lord knows, that the Reverend Calloway married me to your father.”

  “Married!” exclaimed Lady Dalrymple. “That presumptuous parson was here to testify to your marriage? Then Captain Norville is Westmoor’s heir presumptive?”

  “No, no, my lady, not I. Lord Westmoor’s son, young Lord Norville …”

  The dowager interrupted, stating flatly, “George Norville was killed in the Great War.”

  In the electrified silence, Daisy glanced around at the faces of the family. Victor Norville was astonished, no doubt about it. Whatever his motive for bringing Calloway to Brockdene, the expectation of succeeding to an earldom had not been part of it.

  Mr. Tremayne had known of George Norville’s death, Daisy thought. He had not told his daughter, and now looked anxiously at her to see the effect of the news. Dora Norville was surprised, doubtful, perhaps confused. She was trying to work out just what it meant to her family. In a minute or two, she would realize that nothing was going to change, because of Calloway’s untimely demise.

  The clergyman’s testimony could have made her a countess. Victor was childless, unmarried. By the orderly rules of aristocratic inheritance, his brother would have been his heir presumptive.

  Godfrey had come in just in time to hear Lady Dalrymple’s revelation. He stood in the doorway, behind but slightly to one side of Alec, so that Daisy could see his face. He was shocked, appalled even. Daisy was surprised by the strength of his reaction. She wouldn’t have expected a man of his studious habits to put so much stock in a title. Of course there would be a certain amount of wealth to go with the title, even in these days of death duties and income tax, and a love of history did not preclude a man from coveting wealth.

  Miles would have been his father’s heir, almost certain to become earl in the course of time. Daisy missed his immediate reaction to her mother’s announcement, but when she looked at him, she had the impression that it was no surprise to him. He had been in the army, and the identical surnames would have ensured that someone brought George Norville’s death to his attention.

  What about Felicity? By the time Daisy glanced her way, she was looking singularly inscrutable. Daisy could see no reason why she should want to hide surprise, which suggested that she had not been surprised. Which in turn begged the question, what was she trying to hide?

  Godfrey broke the silence. “I suppose,” he said heavily, “those upstarts the other side of the river consider themselves the earl’s heirs.”

  Daisy thought she saw a flash of dismay, almost alarm, in Felicity’s eyes, as Alec demanded, “Upstarts?”

  “Not exactly ‘upstarts,’” said Miles. “The Mr. Norville at Helstone is Lord Westmoor’s second cousin, Mr. Fletcher. I believe he’s acknowledged as the heir.”

  “We’re the earl’s first cousins!” cried Godfrey. “Miles, you knew George Norville was killed in the War? Why didn’t you tell me?”r />
  “It wouldn’t have changed our position, sir, or only to worsen the chagrin. And then, when Uncle Victor brought Calloway along, I didn’t want to queer his pitch with a complicating factor. The balance was delicate enough already.”

  “Quite right, my boy,” the captain approved. “Goodness knows what the Reverend would have thought of our chasing worldly honours. Well, that’s all done with and no skin off my nose. What do I know about lording it? The sea’s good enough for me, and I’ve got my little bit put away for later on. Let’s have another cup of tea, Dora, and I wouldn’t say no to another piece of cake. There’s no victuals like this at sea! Another cup, Mother? Another cup, Lady Dalrymple?”

  Amid the one-man bustle he created, Daisy made for Felicity, the only one whose reaction had aroused questions in her mind. Alec apparently had the same idea, though he stopped for a word with Miles on the way.

  Felicity took the offensive. “Mr. Fletcher, I have something to tell you. Shall we go to the dining-room?”

  “Yes, that will do very well. Do you mind if Daisy comes to take notes? She has no official standing, of course, but it would be a great help to me, until my constable arrives.”

  “Notes? I haven’t that much to tell.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Alec, “but I have several people to interview, and I have to keep their stories straight.”

  “Oh, right-oh. Daisy already knows most of it anyway.”

  “I haven’t got my note-book,” said Daisy, as they left the library. “I’ll have to go upstairs and fetch it.”

  “Where is Ernie Piper with his ever-sharp pencils when I need him?” Alec teased.

  “There’s a drawer in the hall table which should have writing paper among the gloves and odd keys,” said Felicity. “Yes, will this do?”

  Mr. Tremayne had followed them out to the hall. “Felicity, you mustn’t make a statement to the police without a solicitor present. I must assume I’m under suspicion, Chief Inspector. Does that preclude my acting for the rest?”