by Carola Dunn
“And they both knew of George Norville’s death,” Daisy said, “so they knew legitimation meant Victor inheriting the earldom, and thereafter probably Godfrey and then Miles.”
“Which gives neither the slightest hint of a motive for murdering Calloway.”
“Now wait a minute, Chief,” said Tom, “does this mean not everyone knew Lord Westmoor’s son died? You didn’t tell us that.”
“Didn’t I? Sorry! Tremayne and Miles knew, and Miss Norville, and Lady Dalrymple, who was the one to break the news to the rest, including me.”
“Miss Norville knew her uncle, then her dad, then her brother would be earl?” Tom shook his head. “Then I can’t see her bumping off Calloway so’s Mr. Cedric’d get the title instead. Mind you, I’ve known blokes bump off other blokes for some pretty silly reasons, but that doesn’t make any kind of sense.”
Daisy nodded agreement. “Especially as she had already told Cedric she didn’t want to see him again, so she couldn’t count on marrying him.”
“All right,” said Alec, “we’ve already said that Felicity is unlikely, though not quite as unlikely as Miles or Tremayne. Who did I see after Miles?”
“Darling,” Daisy said tentatively, “it’s fearfully confusing the way everyone’s all mixed up with everyone else, if you see what I mean. We’ve only covered your interviews with Felicity and Miles, yet practically everyone else has popped in. I think it would be easier to consider means, motive, and opportunity in turn, rather than go through the list person by person. I’d say we’d be less likely to miss something important.”
Predictably, Piper seconded her. “I’m getting confused all right, Chief.” He displayed a page of his note-book, the rows of neat shorthand symbols defaced with circles and arrows.”
Alec sighed. “You may be right, Daisy. We’ll try it that way.” He scowled at Tom, whose moustache had given the tell-tale twitch which meant he was amused. “Means is easy, now that Cedric’s out of the picture. Anyone in the house could have taken the knife from the hall table.”
MEANS, Piper wrote across the top of a fresh page. ANYONE, he wrote below it, and turned the page. MOTIVE was his next heading.
“We’ll tackle motive last,” said Alec, “as that seems to me the most complex of the three. Opportunity next.”
Piper diligently crossed out MOTIVE and substituted OPPORTUNITY. Tom’s moustache twitched again.
“Let’s consider the precise time of the murder,” Alec continued. “We haven’t got the medical evidence yet, and the time that passed before the body was discovered makes off-the-cuff estimates nearly worthless. Calloway said he was going to pray at the hour of Christ’s birth, generally assumed, for no reason that I’m aware of, to be midnight. Anyone planning murder would not leave it too much later, in case he had already returned to his bed.”
“That’s pretty early, Chief,” said Tom, “‘specially for a holiday.”
“Not for Brockdene. Lady Dalrymple yawned at twenty to eleven, in the middle of a game of bridge, and by quarter past everyone had turned in. No one has an alibi. There are a few other factors to consider. Felicity, for instance—If she had left the room, Jemima would probably have said so, unless she was sleeping too soundly to notice.”
“Jemima was in the habit of following Felicity to the chapel,” Daisy pointed out. “She must often have lain awake waiting for Felicity to go.”
Alec turned back to the notes of that interview. “Felicity seemed pretty sure Jemima was fast asleep when she went up.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten.”
Piper paused in his scribbling to ask, “Miss Jemima went to bed earlier then?”
“Yes,” said Daisy. “She’s always sent to bed at half past nine.”
“Anyway, neither has an alibi,” Alec said impatiently. “Nor do Miles and Tremayne, though they shared a room. I would judge all four to be robust enough for the effort involved.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey?” asked Tom. “Do they have separate rooms?”
“No, they’re together, but she claims she took a sleeping powder and he confirms it. So either she’s out of it, or he’s lying to protect her. Would you say she’s physically capable, Daisy?”
“I should think so. I don’t know if he’d lie for her, though. He’s pretty self-centred.”
“You’re telling me!” Piper exclaimed. “The way he took himself off when everyone else was fussing over Miss Norville!”
“Did he?”
“Yes, soon as the Chief moved away from the door, he sloped off. I would’ve stopped him, but I reckoned he wouldn’t go far.”
“Back to his antiques, no doubt,” Daisy said tartly. “Anyway, he vouches for Dora, but she can’t return the compliment. Who else?”
“The captain,” said Alec. “He had a room of his own. And the old lady.”
“Mrs. Norville doesn’t look strong enough to walk that far,” Piper objected, “let alone stab a man when she got there.”
“She’s not as frail as she looks,” Daisy said, “but that would be a bit much for her, don’t you think, Chief? In the dark, on those slippery paths?”
“I’m prepared to write off Mrs. Norville,” Alec conceded. “That’s the lot for alibis, or lack thereof, Ernie. Got it all down? Let’s get on to motive. We’ve already covered Miss Norville. Can anyone think of a motive for Miles strong enough to overcome his obvious interest in having Calloway testify to his grandmother’s marriage?”
Daisy shook her head, her shingled curls bobbing like a bronze chrysanthemum in a breeze. “He’s not so dedicated to his profession as to kill rather than give it up to be an earl. And he appeared to be mildly amused by Calloway’s diatribes, not particularly resentful, let alone furiously angry.”
“The servants say he’s a good-tempered chap,” Tom reported, “though he’s got some pretty funny ideas about Germans. But I gather that’s on the lines of ‘Forgive them that trespass against you,’ not shell-shock and thinking he’s surrounded by enemies.”
“I’ve seen no signs of shell-shock,” Alec agreed. He remembered the German carol Miles had sung so earnestly, and his forbearance with Cedric, whom he had every reason to abhor. “And he’s not the vengeful sort. To continue with the young people, what did the servants have to say about Miss Jemima, Tom?”
“Spiteful. Cantankerous. Holds a grudge. Sneaky—she’s been seen listening at doors.”
“She makes a habit of it,” said Daisy, her cheeks rather pink. Alec guessed she’d done a spot of eavesdropping herself, all in a good cause, of course. “I caught her at the squint in the South Room listening to Godfrey and Victor squabbling in the Hall.”
“Squint?” Piper’s busy pencil paused.
Daisy explained the mediaeval peepholes, which Alec hadn’t got around to viewing. He was more interested in the squabble.
“You haven’t mentioned a quarrel before. What were they arguing about?”
“Sorry, darling, I kept meaning to tell you, but other things got in the way. It didn’t seem vital because I didn’t hear what they were saying. Or rather, shouting. Jemima wouldn’t tell me. I dare say it hadn’t anything to do with Calloway. The captain told me Godfrey refuses to accept any funds to help the family make ends meet, so it was probably about that.”
“Possibly, but I’d like to be sure. If I can’t get a straight tale from Jemima, I’ll try the combatants themselves. Remind me, Ernie.”
“Right, Chief.”
“Where were we? Jemima and motive. She felt Calloway was spoiling Christmas, and she tried to drive him away with a stupid trick. He won that encounter and got her into trouble with her parents, so she then had a double grudge against him.”
“She hated him,” said Daisy bluntly, “and she has a temper, though I doubt she could sustain it through a cold, dark walk in the woods. And I’m not convinced the idea of cold-blooded murder would cross her mind as a way to get rid of Calloway. She’s very naive and childish. She’d be more likely to tie a string across
the stairs, hoping he’d break a leg, not even thinking it could be his neck. Besides, she must have been aware that he had come to Brockdene to benefit her family, including her father, who seems to be the only person she’s at all fond of.”
“Objections noted,” Alec said, “but Jemima had the motive, and in my opinion lacks the sense and maturity to foresee the consequences. What about her mother? That’s Mrs. Godfrey Norville, Ernie. Tom?”
“Well-meaning but useless, Chief. By which I take it they mean ineffectual.”
“Take care, your superior vocabulary is showing through.”
Tom grinned. He was superb at questioning servants but quite capable of coping with the gentry if necessary. Like his taste in clothes, his usually plebeian speech tended to make people underestimate him. “Mrs. Godfrey’s never been able to control her children,” he continued, “and she’s had no help from Mr. Godfrey.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Daisy asked rhetorically, with what might have been a snort if she had not been too much a lady to make any such sound. “Dora would have been sorry to leave Brockdene, but she’d hardly …”
“What?” Alec snapped.
“She told me that as a girl she’d always admired Brockdene from afar, and she considers it a privilege to live here. I’ve wondered if that’s why she married Godfrey. But she’d hardly go so far as murdering a clergyman so as to stay here, especially as …”
“But why should she leave?”
“Oh dear,” Daisy said guiltily, “I’ve only just thought of it. It’s the sixth earl’s will. Mrs. Norville has life tenancy of Brockdene, but only as long as she doesn’t kick up a dust trying to prove she really was married to Albert.”
“Which is exactly what Victor, with Calloway’s aid, was about to do.”
“I wouldn’t have thought the present earl would be so beastly as to throw them out—noblesse oblige, after all—if it wasn’t for how he treated Mother. But if what I’ve been told is correct, he’d have had the right to evict them all as soon as the captain started the ball rolling. Of course, when Mrs. Norville dies the rest will have to leave anyway. They’ll go and live with Tremayne, I suppose.”
“From what I’ve heard,” said Tom, “Mr. Tremayne’s often here, and they all get on pretty well with him. It don’t sound to me like Mrs. Godfrey would kill to avoid going back to live with her pa, ’specially if she’s going to have to in the end, come what may. And the same goes for the rest of ’em.”
“Tremayne may not care to have to support them any sooner than absolutely necessary,” Alec mused, “but again, it’s hardly a motive for murder.”
“The captain told me he and Tremayne are quite ready and able to keep them in comfort,” Daisy recalled. “Also, Miles will soon start earning his living. Godfrey won’t like having to depend on them, but as Tom said, it’s going to happen in the end, come what may.”
“That’s a wash-out as a motive then,” said Alec. “I can’t conceive of any other motive for Tremayne. He didn’t seem particularly upset by Calloway’s zealotry, would you say, Daisy?”
“Mmm? Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Calloway’s maunderings didn’t incense Tremayne.”
“Oh, no, not particularly. It was Jemima and the captain who got really upset.”
“Yes,” Alec agreed, “and what upset the captain was the possibility that Calloway’s disapproval was strong enough to persuade him to refuse to testify to the wedding after all.”
“Ah.” Tom ruminated for a moment. “You said that’s what he went to pray about, Chief? Seems to me likely what happened is Captain Norville went after him to find out what he’d decided to do. The captain has a temper? Quick to heat and quick to cool, they say.”
“He does.”
“So the reverend gentleman says, ‘Sorry, mate, it’s off’—doesn’t even bother to turn around to speak to him, to add insult to injury—and the captain blows up and sticks the knife in him.”
“The question here, Tom, is that if the captain killed Calloway on the spur of the moment, in a fit of temper, what was he doing with the knife?”
“That’s easy, Chief. It’s a seaman’s knife, right? Captain Victor Norville’s a seaman. Here he is off out into the woods in the dark, prob’ly scarier to him than being on deck in a hurricane. His eye lights on the knife as he goes through the hall. He’s used to carrying one just like it. So he picks it up just in case he meets any of those escaped convicts or lunatics, or deserters, or just plain tramps. When he loses his temper, there’s the knife to hand—and quick as winking, there’s Calloway dying.”
18
Belinda was getting just a bit tired of being a detective. She walked along rustling her feet through the dead leaves, wondering if Daddy really liked being a detective all the time. Not that he spent much time searching the woods for rags and bones, as far as she could see.
So far on their second hunt, she and Derek and Nana hadn’t found anything except two empty beer bottles. Nana kept finding sticks she thought were interesting and bringing them to Bel or Derek to throw. Here she came now, dragging a bit of branch so big she couldn’t pick it up and had to pull backwards. Derek started a tug of war with her. Belinda thought he was getting rather bored with being a detective, too, though he wouldn’t admit it.
She watched them. That was when she saw, where Nana’s feet scuffed up the leaves, something gleaming.
“Stop! Look!” she cried, running forward to pick it up. When she turned it back and forth in her hand, it sparkled, even though the sun had gone in. It looked like a shoe buckle, all covered with glittering stones.
“Crikey,” breathed Derek, awed, “diamonds! It must be pirate treasure.”
“They had smugglers here, not pirates,” Bel objected.
“I bet they had pirates, too. I bet they were friends with the smugglers. Anyway, I bet the smugglers got rich enough to put diamonds on their shoes, just to show off.”
“Do you think they’re really diamonds? If someone lost that many diamonds they’d search and search till they found it.”
Derek took it from her and twisted it back and forth. “They must be diamonds. Look how they shine, and they’re not coloured like rubies and emeralds.”
“They could be imitations, you know, like the diamonds we saw in the Natural History Museum. My gran has a hat brooch that’s all sparkly like this, but she says it’s diamanté, not real diamonds.”
“Oh well,” Derek sighed, “maybe. But it could be real and anyway I bet it’s an important clue. We’d better keep it safe. Here, you can keep it in your pocket,” he said generously. “But if Uncle Alec doesn’t need it for evidence, we can use it for pirate treasure. Let’s play pirates after we’ve finished looking for clues. I’ll tell you what, I’d like to make Jemima walk the plank.”
From behind a nearby tree came a screech. Jemima jumped out, shouting, “I heard what you said! That’s murder ! I bet you murdered Mr. Calloway, too! I’m going to tell.” She ran away towards the garden gate.
“Crikey!” said Derek, looking a bit scared. “I didn’t really mean it.”
“Never mind, Daddy won’t believe her. Come on, let’s find some more … Look, Nana’s got something. Nana, come!”
Nana wouldn’t come. When Belinda tried her newly learnt whistle no sound came out of her lips, however hard she blew, but anyway, the puppy took no notice of Derek’s ear-splitting whistle. She bounded off with something long and dirty white dangling from her mouth. The children ran after her. When she got far enough ahead to feel safe, she lay down for a good chew. Derek crept up on her and pounced. She gave up the object without a struggle, rolling over on her back for a tummy rub.
Derek held up her find; white artificial silk with lace trimmings. “What is it?” he asked blankly.
Belinda giggled. “Cami-knickers! How ever did they get here?” Then she had a sudden awful, terrible thought. “Oh, Derek, you don’t think the murderer killed a lady too and buried her in the woods?”
“’Course not. No ladies are missing, are they?” He glanced behind him, but not as if he thought a murderer was creeping up behind him; more as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening. “There are bad women,” he whispered, “who go into the woods with a man and get naked. I heard them talking about it at school.”
“Why?” Belinda asked sceptically.
“I ’spect they dance. Men like to watch ladies dancing with not much clothes on,” Derek said, in a very superior voice. “Gosh, Bel, you don’t think this is Aunt Felicity’s?”
The idea sent them both into whoops.
Meanwhile Nana, deprived of the cami-knickers, had wandered off sniffing. Now she came bouncing back and deposited yet another treasure at their feet. Bel picked it up.
“It’s the other glove of that pair.”
“What pair?”
“The pair we found the other one of before, ’member?”
“Oh, the mitten.” Derek frowned. “Yes, but it wasn’t in the stuff we showed your father. We didn’t stick it in the dust-bin, did we?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think we would’ve. Nana prob’ly ran off with it and buried it.”
“Stupid dog. Let’s see.” He took the dampish mitten and examined it. It was striped blue and grey, with a brown stain along the side of the hand. “Blood!” he said ghoulishly.
“It’s not red.”
“No, but it wouldn’t be. Remember when you get a cut or a graze and they put a sticking-plaster on you, and when they take it off it’s bloody inside and it’s brown.”
“I don’t look,” said Belinda.
“Well it is,” Derek insisted. “And look, the rest isn’t dirty at all, so it hasn’t been here very long. We’d better take this to Uncle Alec right away. And the cami-whatsit just in case no one’s noticed she’s missing yet. You can carry that. And the shoe buckle in case it’s hers and she was murdered by a robber. Come on!”
“So you think Captain Norville is our man, Tom?” Alec asked.
