by Rhys Bowen
“Henty and Fyfe, in Tunbridge Wells,” he said.
“Thank you, but they won’t be available until Monday, will they?” I felt remarkably near to tears. “I hope that’s not too late.”
He cleared his throat. “As it happens, my lady, I know the contents of the will,” he said, “because I was asked to witness it.”
I looked up at him.
“There were small bequests to the staff, and a generous bequest to the Royal Geographical Society. The rest of the estate was divided into three parts: Master Tristram was to receive one-third, yourself one-third, and the final third was to go to Master Tristram’s cousin, one of Sir Hubert’s French relatives, called Gaston de Mauxville.”
Chapter 28
Eynsleigh and Farlows
Near Mayfield, Sussex
Saturday, May 7, 1932
I stared at him, trying to digest this. “I’m to be left a third of the estate? There must be some mistake,” I stammered. “Sir Hubert hardly knew me. He hadn’t seen me for years. . . .”
“Ah, but he remained very fond you, my lady.” The butler smiled at me benevolently. “He wanted to adopt you once, you know.”
“When I was an adorable child of five and liked to climb trees.”
“He never lost interest in you, not even after your mother moved on to—” he finished that phrase discreetly with a cough. “And when your father died, he was most concerned. ‘I don’t like to think of that girl growing up without a penny to her name,’ he said to me. He hinted it was clear your mother was never going to provide for you.”
“How very kind of him,” I muttered, almost moved to tears, “but surely Mr. Hautbois should have been left the lion’s share of the estate. He is Sir Hubert’s ward, after all.”
“The master felt that too much money might not be in Mr. Tristram’s best interests,” the butler said dryly. “Nor Monsieur de Mauxville’s, even though he was his sister’s only child. Addicted to gambling apparently. Moved in shady circles.”
I fought to retain my composure while the butler took me downstairs to meet Cook and then had to eat a slice of her famous Victoria sponge I had always adored as a child. All that time my thoughts were in utter turmoil. The will gave Tristram a motive for wanting both de Mauxville and myself out of the way, but I had no proof that he had done anything. On the contrary, Tristram’s slight build against the stocky de Mauxville made it hard to believe that he had carried out that murder. Unless he had had an accomplice. I remembered the pally conversation at Whiffy’s house when I had been cleaning floors and they hadn’t known I could speak French. So it could have been a conspiracy, beneficial to both of them. Which meant I had two sources of danger, not one, waiting for me back at Farlows.
The obvious thing was to go to the police, even to summon Chief Inspector Burnall of Scotland Yard, but I realized that everything I would tell him was pure supposition. How clever my assailant had been. Every one of those attacks could be passed off as an accident. And as for killing de Mauxville, there was nothing that linked Tristram to that crime.
As I turned out onto the road another idea struck me. Maybe Tristram wasn’t the killer at all. I hadn’t found out who would inherit Sir Hubert’s estate if both Tristram and I were dead. Whiffy had mentioned something about Tristram falling over a suit of armor the night before. What if there was another person lurking in the background, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of Tristram and me?
I had reached the impressive stone gateway leading to Farlows and hesitated. Was it really wise to go back there? Then I decided I wasn’t going to run away. I had to know the truth. I glanced up at the colonnade of statues as I walked past. There was something about them. . . . I frowned, but it wouldn’t come. As I reached the lake I met Marisa, Belinda, and Imogen out for a walk.
“Oh, there you are,” Marisa called. “Everyone wondered where you’d got to. Poor Tristram was positively pining, wasn’t he, Belinda? He pestered everyone, asking for you.”
“I just went for a walk to see a house where I once stayed. Where is Tristram now?”
“I don’t know,” Marisa said. “But he seems awfully keen on you, Georgie. I think he’s really sweet—like a little lost boy, isn’t he, Belinda?”
Belinda shrugged. “If that sort appeals to you, Marisa.”
“And where’s everyone else?” I asked casually.
“Most of the golfers aren’t back yet. Apparently Mrs. Simpson wanted to go shopping in Tunbridge Wells—as if anything will be open on a Saturday afternoon,” Imogen said.
“It’s just an excuse to be alone with the prince; you know that,” Marisa added.
“The only person whose whereabouts are certain is your dear Prince Fishface,” Belinda announced with a grin. “He fell off his horse trying to make it jump a gate. He jumped the gate, but the horse didn’t. I gather he won’t be joining us for dancing tonight.”
In spite of everything, I had to laugh.
“So you’ll be stuck getting your toes trodden on by Tristram after all”—Imogen slipped her arm through mine—“unless some of the neighbors come. It’s always so much easier when my brothers are here.”
We started walking toward the house, past the last of the long line of statues.
“I gather one of our statues nearly toppled down on you today,” Imogen said. “What awful bad luck you’re having, Georgie.”
Suddenly I realized what had been worrying me. I realized that Tristram had given himself away. He had compared those statues to the vengeful angel at Rannoch House. But he could only have seen that statue if he had been upstairs on the second-floor landing, where the bathroom was.
Now at least I was sure of my adversary. I was lost in thought all the way back to the house, where Lady Mountjoy appeared to tell us that tea was being served and to eat heartily, as supper wouldn’t be before ten. We followed her into the gallery and found my mother already tucking in. For a small, slim person she certainly had an appetite. Mrs. Bantry-Bynge was trying to chat with her, with little success. For someone who had been born a commoner, my mother was rather good at cutting dead anyone she considered common.
“If anyone needs a costume ironed, just let me know,” Lady Mountjoy said. “You have all brought costumes, I hope. Those young men are always so helpless. Never bring anything with them. I had to throw together costumes this morning and then young Roderick complained that he didn’t want to be an ancient Briton. Too bad, I told him. I had managed to put together a highwayman and an executioner for Tristram and Mr. O’Mara, but that was it, apart from the animal skins and the spear. I sent him up to hunt through the attic. You never know what you’ll find up there.”
So at least that much of Whiffy’s story rang true. And I now knew that Darcy was going to be an executioner. He should be easy to pick out in that costume. I lingered over tea as long as I dared but neither Darcy nor Tristram appeared. When it was time to change, I suggested that the other girls might like to get ready in my room, since it was so spacious and had good mirrors. They agreed and that way I was guarded until it was time to go down to the ball.
They chatted excitedly, but I was a bundle of nerves. If I wanted to prove beyond doubt that Tristram was the murderer, I’d have to offer myself as bait. Only I’d need someone to keep an eye on me, who could later act as a witness.
“Listen, girls,” I said, “whatever you say, I believe that someone in this house is trying to kill me. If you see me leaving the ballroom with any man, please come after us and keep an eye on me.”
“And if we find you locked in passionate embrace with him? Do we stay and watch?” Belinda asked. She was still taking this as a joke, I could tell. I decided my only hope was Darcy. He was strong enough to tackle Tristram. But after the way I had treated him, had I any right to expect his help? I’d just have to throw myself on his mercy as soon as I got a chance to be alone with him.
I was still nervous as we made our way down the grand staircase, Belinda, Marisa, and I. A band was playin
g a lively two-step and more guests were arriving through the front doors. A footman stood at the bottom of the stairs with a tray, handing out masks to arriving guests who weren’t wearing them. Marisa took some and handed them to us.
“Not that one,” Belinda said. “It comes down to the mouth. I won’t be able to eat any supper. The slim highwayman type will be better.”
“There is a highwayman over there,” Marisa whispered. “It must be Tristram. I didn’t realize he had such good legs.”
“I’m looking out for an executioner,” I said. “Let me know when you see him.”
“I hope you don’t have a desire to follow your ancestors to the chopping block,” Marisa said.
“It’s Darcy O’Mara, you dope,” Belinda said, giving me a knowing look.
I smiled and put my finger to my lips. The ballroom was filling up rapidly. We found a table and sat at it. Belinda was whisked away to dance almost instantly. Dressed as a harem dancer, she waggled her bottom seductively as she stepped onto the floor. Whiffy Featherstonehaugh approached us, looking very uncomfortable as an ancient Briton with animal skins draped around his shoulders. “Care to hop around the floor, old thing?” he said to me.
“Not now, thanks,” I said. “Why don’t you dance with Marisa?”
“Right-o. I’ll try not to tread on toes,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away. I sat and sipped at a glass of Pimm’s. Everyone was having fun, dancing and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I was conscious of the highwayman, standing at the far side of the ballroom, watching me. At least I was safe among so many people, surely. If only I could find Darcy.
At last I saw the executioner’s black hood and ax moving among the crowd on the far side of the room. I got up and made my way toward him.
“Darcy?” I grabbed his sleeve. “I have to talk to you. I want to apologize and I really need your help. It’s very important.”
The band struck up the “Post Horn Gallop” and couples started charging around the room whooping loudly and shouting out “Tallyho!”
I took Darcy’s arm. “Let’s go outside. Please.”
“All right,” he muttered at last.
He allowed me to lead us out of the ballroom and onto the terrace at the back of the house.
“Well?” he asked.
“Darcy, I’m so sorry that I accused you,” I said. “I thought—well, I thought that I couldn’t trust you. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, you did come into Whiffy’s house that day and I couldn’t believe it was just to see me. . . . And all those strange things going on. I didn’t feel safe. And now I know who was behind them, only I need your help. We’ve got to catch him. We’ve got to get proof.”
“Catch who?” Darcy whispered, even though we were alone.
I leaned closer. “Tristram. He was the one who killed de Mauxville and now he’s trying to kill me.”
“Really?” He was standing close beside me and before I knew what was happening, a black-gloved hand came over my mouth and I was being dragged backward into the shadows at the edge of the terrace.
I squirmed to glance up at that black-hooded face. The smile was not Darcy’s. And too late I realized that he had said the word “really” with a w, not an r.
“That beggar O’Mara grabbed the highwayman outfit,” he said as I flailed out at him. “But this worked out rather well, as it happens. I bagged his scarf.”
I struggled to bite at his fingers, as the scarf came around my throat. I tried to thrash out at him, kick him, scratch his hands, but he had the advantage of being behind me. And he was much stronger than I had expected. Slowly and surely he was dragging me backward, away from the lights and safety, one hand still clamped over my mouth.
“When you’re found floating in the lake, O’Mara’s scarf will give him away,” he whispered into my ear. “And nobody will ever suspect me.” He gave the scarf a savage twist. I fought to breathe as he yanked me backward.
Blood was singing in my ears and spots were dancing in front of my eyes. If I didn’t do something soon, it would be too late. What would be the last thing he’d expect of me? He’d expect me to try to pull away to break free of him. Instead, I mustered all of my failing strength and rammed my head backward into his face. It must have hurt him a lot because it certainly hurt me. He let out a yell of pain. He might have been stronger than I had expected, but he still didn’t weigh much. He went down hard, with me on top of him.
“Damn you,” he gasped and tightened his grip on the scarf again.
As I tried to get to my feet he yanked me down, growling like an animal as he twisted the scarf. With the last of my strength I raised myself up then rammed myself down onto him. My aim must have been good. He let out a yowl and for a second the scarf went limp. This time I scrambled off him and tried to get to my feet. He grabbed at me. I opened my mouth to yell for help but no sound would come out of my throat.
“And you pretended to play the innocent virgin,” said a voice above us. “This is the wildest sex I’ve witnessed in years. You must teach me some of those moves next time we’re together.” And the masked highwayman stood there, holding out a hand to me. I staggered to my feet and stood gasping and coughing as he supported me.
“Tristram,” I whispered. “Tried to kill me. Don’t let him get away.”
Tristram was also struggling to his feet. He started to run. Darcy brought him down in a flying rugby tackle. “You never were any good at rugger, were you, Hautbois?” he said, kneeling on Tristram’s back and bringing his arm up behind him. “I always thought you were rotten. Lying, cheating, stealing, getting other fellows into trouble at school—that was you, wasn’t it, Hautbois?”
Tristram cried out as Darcy rammed his face into the gravel with a good deal of satisfaction. “But killing? Why was he trying to kill you?”
“To get my part of an inheritance. He killed de Mauxville for the same reason,” I managed to say, although my throat was still burning.
“I thought something strange was going on. Ever since you fell off that boat,” Darcy said.
“Let me up. You’re hurting me,” Tristram whined. “I never meant to harm her. She’s exaggerating. It was only fun.”
“I saw the whole thing and it wasn’t fun,” Darcy said. He looked up as there were footsteps on the gravel behind us.
“What’s going on here?” Lord Mountjoy demanded.
“Call the police,” Darcy shouted to him. “I caught this fellow trying to kill Georgie.”
“Tristram?” Whiffy exclaimed. “What the devil . . .”
“Get him off me, Whiffy. He’s got it all wrong,” Tristram yelled. “It was just a game. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Some game,” I said. “You’d have let my brother hang for you.”
“No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill de Mauxville. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yes, you did, and I can prove it,” I said.
Tristram started to blubber as he was dragged to his feet.
Darcy put an arm around me as they led Tristram away. “Are you all right?”
“Much better now. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“It looked as if you were doing rather well without me,” he said. “I quite enjoyed watching.”
“You mean you were standing there watching and didn’t try to help?” I demanded indignantly.
“I had to make sure I could testify he was really trying to kill you,” he said. “Quite a good little fighter, I have to say.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t look at me like that. I’d have intervened earlier if I’d seen you sneak out of the room. Belinda was doing a harem dance and I got distracted for a second. No, wait, Georgie. Come back here. . . .” He ran after me as I shook myself free and stalked away.
I strode out into the darkness until I stood at the balustrade overlooking the lake.
“Georgie!” Darcy said again.
“It’s nothing to me what you and Belinda do,” I said.
“St
rangely enough I’ve done nothing more with Belinda than sit next to her at a roulette wheel. Not my type. Too easy. I like a challenge in life, personally.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders.
“Darcy, if you’d come earlier you would have heard me apologizing. I thought you were dressed as the executioner, you see. I feel awful about the horrible things I said to you.”
“I suppose it was a natural supposition.”
I was very conscious of his arm, warm around my shoulder. “Why did you follow me into that house?”
“Mere curiosity and an opportunity to get you alone.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Georgie. I’ve got a confession to make. After that wedding thing I got a tad drunk. I made a bet that I could lay you within a week.”
