Murder on Bonfire Night

by Addison, Margaret

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Rose, trying to make amends. ‘If it is any consolation, your brother realises now that you did not try to kill him. He knows that you would never have mistaken Masters for him, even in the dark.’

  ‘Well, of course I wouldn’t. But that doesn’t change what you –’

  ‘Daphne, listen to me,’ Rose got up from her chair and clasped the woman’s arm. Daphne flinched, as if she had been stung. But the gesture had served its purpose because Rose now had the woman’s full attention. She saw the fear and misery in Daphne’s eyes. ‘Look here, one of us must tell the inspector about your parents’ will and your brother’s opposition to your proposed marriage. It’s no use trying to keep quiet about it. It’ll come out in the end, this sort of thing always does. I’d much rather it be you who tells him but, if you won’t, I shall. You see, I will feel obliged to do so.’ Daphne tried to pull away from her but Rose held her arm fast. ‘I don’t want to have to tell him but neither will I knowingly withhold information from the police.’ Daphne’s face was quite without expression. It was all Rose could do not to shake the woman. ‘Oh, do see reason. Don’t you see that you have placed me in a very difficult position? And really, it would be best if you told him; it would put you in a much better light and show you had nothing to hide.’

  ‘But I don’t have anything to hide.’ Daphne almost spat out the words. ‘You said it yourself that if I had intended to kill Linus I wouldn’t have killed Masters by mistake.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Rose, ‘you wouldn’t have made such an error. But there is nothing to say that your accomplice might not have done.’

  Daphne pulled away from her now and stared at her in disbelief. The fear had returned to her eyes and Rose noticed that she was also shaking. She had clearly touched a nerve. The woman was distraught and miserable. Instinctively, Rose put out a hand to her. Daphne stepped back and glared.

  ‘That is an interesting speculation. But you cannot prove a thing.’

  ‘Not yet,’ agreed Rose.

  She might have said more, had they not both been startled by a loud knock on the front door. It cut through the tension in the room. At once they became allies instead of foes. This time it was Daphne who stepped forward and clasped Rose’s arm.

  ‘Is it the inspector, do you think? It can’t be Linus; he wouldn’t need to knock because he has his own key.’

  ‘Yes. I think it is Inspector Newcombe.’

  ‘You must help me,’ cried Daphne. Her fingernails dug into the younger woman’s arm making Rose wince.

  ‘I will. But you must also help yourself. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.’

  ‘And if I’m not?’

  The words had escaped from Daphne’s lips before she had had a chance to stop them. Instinctively she clasped a hand over her mouth and looked at Rose who stared back at her in horror. Neither woman spoke. Later Rose wondered what would have happened next had Inspector Newcombe and Sergeant Bell not chosen that very moment to enter the room, unannounced.

  The inspector looked from one to the other of the two women, conscious that he had blundered into some scene or other for the atmosphere hung heavy in the room. If nothing else, he knew his presence to be unwanted but if he was embarrassed by the fact, he gave no outward sign.

  ‘Miss Spittlehouse … and, well I never, Lady Belvedere, I must say I did not expect to find you here.’ The inspector raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Rose.

  ‘I came to keep Miss Spittlehouse company, Inspector,’ said Rose, hoping that she sounded sincere. ‘Major Spittlehouse and my husband are attending a meeting of the Bonfire Committee and I didn’t think it right for Daphne to be alone at a time like this’.

  ‘Yes. It was most frightfully good of you, Lady Belvedere,’ said Daphne, rallying a little.

  ‘I see,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’

  Rose could not quite put her finger on it but there was something about the inspector’s manner which made her feel certain that he had not been so easily deceived. However, much to her relief, he did not seem intent on pressing the matter. Rather he appeared inclined to ignore her presence entirely and focus his attention instead on Daphne. The woman in question watched him anxiously. Her eyes never left his face save to steal a glance at Rose, who wondered whether it was as obvious to the policeman as it was to herself that Daphne was afraid.

  ‘Miss Spittlehouse, if you are feeling up to it, I should like to ask you a few questions,’ said Inspector Newcombe, indicating a chair.

  ‘Yes, of course, Inspector,’ said Daphne, sitting down.

  She had been standing when the policemen had entered the room and it was with something of a sense of relief that she now sunk on to the chair, taking the weight from her feet. She had not to worry now if her legs shook; they did not have to hold her up. Yet, the very moment she was seated, she felt at a distinct disadvantage. For one thing, she considered herself to be trapped for Sergeant Bell stood against the door, barring her escape.

  She gave Rose a brief imploring look and clasped her hands together in her lap. It was almost as if she were afraid that they would tremble if she did not hold them tightly; Rose had the ridiculous notion that the woman might be tempted to sit on her hands to keep them still. ‘And if I’m not?’ Daphne’s words still echoed in her head making her feel giddy. She had not had a chance to digest them before the policemen had seen fit to descend upon them, two pillars of the law to hold them to account. Inwardly she sighed. What had Daphne meant? Was Daphne …

  Abruptly Rose was recalled to the present. It was obvious that Daphne had said something that concerned her for both she and Inspector Newcombe were looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening. What were you saying, Daphne?’

  ‘Miss Spittlehouse has requested that you be present while she answers our questions.’ Inspector Newcombe was looking at her curiously. ‘I say, Lady Belvedere, are you all right? You look a little pale, if you don’t mind my saying.’

  ‘Yes. I’m quite all right, thank you, Inspector,’ said Rose, attempting a smile. ‘And of course I’ll stay, if Miss Spittlehouse would like me to.’

  ‘Very good. Now Miss Spittlehouse, I wonder if you could tell me when you last saw the deceased?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ said Daphne. ‘You see I kept to my room for most of the afternoon. I had some letters to write. Masters waited on us at lunch, of course, but after that I don’t remember seeing him. He might well have been in the basement with his wife or upstairs in the main part of the house. I really couldn’t say.’ She shrugged. ‘I just don’t remember noticing him, that’s all. And it’s so easy to mix one day with another, don’t you find? At least it is for me.’

  Inspector Newcombe stared thoughtfully at Daphne. Rose wondered whether he was of the opinion that the woman was talking too much. She worried that Daphne’s tongue would run away with her and that she would say something that she later came bitterly to regret. The inspector certainly looked as if he intended to press her further on when she had last seen the murdered servant. However, on reflection he appeared to think better of it for he rather abruptly seemed to change course.

  ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me your movements yesterday afternoon, Miss Spittlehouse?’

  ‘My movements?’ Daphne said dully, as if she did not comprehend the word. It was clear she had been taken off guard and a fleeting look of alarm crossed her face.

  ‘Yes, if you would. It is merely routine, you understand. I shall be asking the same of everyone else involved in this affair. I have already spoken with Major Spittlehouse on this very subject.’ The inspector gave her what was obviously intended to be an encouraging smile. ‘Shall we say from about half past four? If you could just tell me where you were.’

  ‘Half past four … let me think. I believe I was in my bedroom,’ said Daphne, casting her mi
nd back over the previous day. ‘Yes, that’s right. I had some correspondence to attend to. I remember now because I looked at the clock on my bedside table and it said five o’clock and I thought to myself that I had been writing for over half an hour, and hadn’t time flown and really I must stop because ...’

  Daphne’s voice seemed to drone on and on. Or was it only Rose who felt it did? Certainly she knew that inwardly she was willing the woman to stop. Why couldn’t Daphne just answer the question simply, why must she ramble on so? Did she not know how suspicious it made her look?

  ‘Yes? And what did you do then?’ said Inspector Newcombe. He was still smiling and nodding encouragingly. The words of Mary Howitt’s poem came to Rose’s mind. “‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly.” Rose stared down at her own knuckles; they had turned white.

  ‘Well, I finished the letter I was writing and I wandered out on to the landing,’ Daphne was saying. ‘I think I had some notion about going down to the drawing room and having a cup of tea brought to me there.’

  ‘But you decided against it?’

  ‘Yes. Because at that moment I heard my brother opening the front door with his key.’ Daphne coloured slightly. ‘I daresay you’ll think me awful, Inspector, but I decided to go back into my room before Linus saw me. You see, I really wasn’t in the mood to hear all about the preparations for the bonfire festivities. My brother has a tendency to be rather verbose on the subject. He’d have wanted to tell me all about the different fireworks and, really, I couldn’t imagine anything more dull.’

  The inspector looked up sharply. ‘Then you didn’t actually see your brother come into the house?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. But I heard his key turn in the lock, as I’ve said. And when I was back in my room I heard him close the door behind him and cross the hall.’

  ‘And you stayed in your room?’

  ‘Well, of course I intended to, and I most certainly would have done had I not heard my brother go back out almost immediately.’

  ‘What?’ The inspector looked distinctly interested. Even Sergeant Bell looked up from taking his notes.

  ‘Yes. I say, I thought it rather strange at the time. I suppose Linus had forgotten something to do with the festivities. But, whatever it was, he wasn’t gone for very long. Because when I came downstairs a few minutes later he was in the parlour helping himself to supper.’

  ‘Major Spittlehouse mentioned you looked rather surprised to see him,’ said Rose. It was her first contribution to the interview and the inspector eyed her with not a little annoyance.

  ‘Did he?’ Daphne asked vaguely. She did not appear even a little bit interested by the fact.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ asserted Rose. ‘He said you popped your head around the door and said you weren’t very hungry.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I remember now. He was rather put out. But, as I’ve said, I knew he wouldn’t stop talking about the arrangements for the bonfire, and besides, I knew I’d be eating heaps that evening.’ She smiled over at Rose. ‘Your cook’s black treacle toffee is absolutely divine, Lady Belvedere. I always eat far too much of it.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ said Inspector Newcombe.

  ‘I went back to my room, Inspector. Rather dull, I know, but there it is. I thought I might as well finish my correspondence.’

  ‘You didn’t by any chance go out?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Was it Rose’s imagination, or did Daphne hesitate slightly in her denial? Certainly she seemed to swallow before continuing, almost as if she were playing for time. She continued, however, in the same confident, slightly bored tone. ‘That is to say, not immediately. I went out later of course to go to the festivities.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’

  ‘Oh, about seven o’clock I should say. My brother had already left some ten minutes or so before.’ Daphne made a face. ‘He wanted to be there for when they lit the bonfire. I didn’t. It takes an age. But I suppose he felt he had to, what with him being on that wretched committee,’

  ‘You didn’t go out earlier?’

  ‘I’ve already told you I didn’t.’ There was a note of irritation in Daphne’s voice and a flash of anger in her eyes.

  ‘You hadn’t by any chance arranged to meet Mr Mayhew?’ asked Inspector Newcombe, watching her closely. ‘You didn’t go out to see him?’

  ‘No.’

  Daphne felt the inspector’s eyes upon her. It did not stop her, however, throwing a filthy look at Rose, though Rose appeared equally surprised by the policeman’s suggestion. It was not from the countess then that the inspector had heard about her relations with Archie. Another tongue had wagged. And, even as the thought came to her, she knew instinctively who it was, as if the name had been written down on a sheet of paper and placed before her. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew what was to follow as if she were saying the words herself instead of the inspector. It was Mrs Masters who had betrayed her. She could hear it in Inspector Newcombe’s voice, the way he phrased his questions, using the woman’s very words. And, what was worse, she could imagine Mrs Masters telling him, basking in the glow of his attention while in the midst of her own sadness. The woman loved to gossip, she had always said as much to Linus, though of course he would not listen. The Masters could do no wrong as far as he was concerned and yet now that wretched woman had told the police about their business. Linus would hate that when she told him and tell him she certainly would, because goodness knew what Mrs Masters had said. Daphne felt her cheeks redden. She wouldn’t have a single shred of character left. How very awful to have your character taken away by a servant.

  Daphne looked up. Inspector Newcombe had paused in whatever he had been saying and was obviously waiting for her to provide him with an answer. How stupid she had been to let her mind wander, to indulge in feelings of animosity towards Mrs Masters, when all the time she should have been listening to what the inspector was saying, trying to ascertain how much Mrs Masters had told him. And here she was now, staring at the inspector stupidly, trying to fathom what question he had just asked her and wondering if she might possibly ask him if he could repeat it. And all the time she was painfully conscious that his eyes were upon her, that he was watching her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  In the end it was Rose who came to Daphne’s rescue, giving her the time she required to breathe and compose herself.

  ‘Miss Spittlehouse was intending to tell you at the first opportunity, Inspector,’ Rose was saying, as Daphne’s attention was drawn back to the present. ‘We were only discussing it this afternoon, weren’t we, Daphne? Really, it’s a great pity Mrs Masters felt the need to mention it. It would have been much better if you had heard it from Miss Spittlehouse herself.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘Well, I daresay it can’t be helped. Happen we should have spoken to you earlier, Miss Spittlehouse.’ He still smiled, and his tone remained pleasant. Daphne recalled, when she thought about it later, that she had relaxed a little because she had thought the danger had passed. Certainly she had not seen the need to avert her gaze or clutch at the fabric of her skirt with nervous fingers. It was perhaps because of this that she was taken so unawares by what the inspector said next; she had not been ready with a mask to hide her feelings.

  ‘No doubt Mrs Masters was a trifle upset,’ said the inspector in his agreeable tone. ‘It’s not every day a woman is told her husband was killed by mistake for her employer. It’s a rum business all right and I daresay the shock loosened her tongue and made her say more than she meant to. I’ll say this for the murdered man, Major Spittlehouse must have thought a great deal of Masters, confiding in him about your parents’ will as he did. Lucky for us too that the manservant was the kind of man who liked to talk to his wife about such matters, because your brother doesn’t strike me as a man given to talk, Miss Spittlehouse. I don’t reckon he’ll breathe a word about it t
o us, not if we don’t tell him what we know.’

  The will. Mrs Masters knew about the terms of her parents’ will and had told the policemen. Daphne could not help herself from uttering a faint gasp. No doubt the wretched woman had poisoned their minds against her too. How stupid she had been to think that Mrs Masters had merely made some disparaging remarks about her relationship with Archie, the differences in their ages and social positions of which Daphne knew herself to be particularly sensitive. She glanced at Rose and caught a sympathetic look for her troubles. What a fool she had been. Lady Belvedere had tried to warn her but she had paid little heed, lulled into a false sense of security by the inspector’s courteous manner and dulcet tones. She cursed herself severely for being such a fool. And it was no use pretending that she had not been very shaken by the inspector’s words. It was too late to compose her features into a look of vague indifference for they had already given her away. But, though she felt like crumbling, there was still a defiant look in Daphne’s eye.

  ‘It seems you do not require me to say anything, Inspector. Another has apparently already done that for me?’ She looked the policeman directly in the eye; it was almost as if she were issuing a challenge. ‘It would appear you know the terms of my parents’ will and my brother’s opposition to my marrying Mr Mayhew. I really don’t think there is much more that I can add.’

  ‘We do, as you say, know all about it, or at least Mrs Masters’ version of it.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Daphne said, a note of bitterness creeping into her voice. ‘I am sure Mrs Masters delighted in telling you; her sort always do. It must have been obvious, Inspector, to someone of your experience in questioning people, that the woman has never liked me.’