Murder on Bonfire Night

by Addison, Margaret

  Rose’s first impression of Archie Mayhew was promising. He was undoubtedly a fine figure of a man. Though he might be rather slouched in his chair now as if he wished the back to open up and swallow him, when he had first walked into the room he had come across very differently. Unaware of the policemen’s presence, he had entered the room with a confident air. He had carried himself well, helped not a little by the fine cut of his clothes and his tall, lean frame. His dark looks had accentuated his regular, even features, so that the overall effect had been most pleasing. In truth, he was far more handsome than Rose had supposed him to be from Daphne’s description. But it had not been just his looks that were appealing. There had been something open and boyish about his manner, as if he greeted the world with a youthful enthusiasm, that was equally engaging. Rose did not doubt for a moment that he would be an entertaining dinner guest. She could well imagine him regaling the other diners with fascinating stories of his exploits and being one of the first to call for the carpet to be rolled up after dinner so that the guests might dance.

  It was little wonder then that Daphne should be desperate to marry such a fellow. He was precisely the sort of man one could lose one’s head over. Rose shuddered. Who could say what desperate lengths Daphne, impulsive by nature, might not go to to ensure that she did not lose the attentions of this man, as she had lost the love of Bunny and the curate, Harold?

  ‘Mr Mayhew, I understand that you and Miss Spittlehouse are engaged to be married,’ began Inspector Newcombe, pleasantly enough, but without preamble, phrasing what he said as a statement of fact rather than a question. ‘I must congratulate you both. I am sure that you will make a very fine couple.’

  Whatever Archie had expected him to say, it was obviously not this, for he looked distinctly taken aback, his cheeks crimson. ‘Yes …no… that is to say we haven’t given it out yet.’

  ‘No you haven’t,’ agreed the policeman. ‘Now, why is that, I wonder?’

  ‘We have only just become engaged, Inspector.’ This was from Daphne, whose voice travelled hurriedly across the room, before Archie had a chance to answer. ‘It is all so stupid and public this giving out. I should far rather we got married quietly somewhere before we become the subject of village tittle tattle.’

  ‘And you are of the same view, Mr Mayhew?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Archie, rallying a little. ‘It’s frightful how villages like Sedgwick tend to talk. And poor Daphne has an absolute horror of gossip, don’t you, darling?’ He half turned in his chair to face Daphne, smiling. She met his eye and something passed between them. Rose thought it was a warning look, a shared secret that they were debating whether to tell, or perhaps assuring each other that they would keep quiet for the sake of the other. Whatever it was, when Archie Mayhew turned back to face the inspector, his face was grave.

  ‘And Major Spittlehouse, he must be delighted by the news of your engagement?’ continued Inspector Newcombe.

  ‘You know full well, Inspector, that he’s not,’ cried Daphne. ‘Why must you ask Mr Mayhew such questions, when you already know the answers? One could be forgiven for supposing that you are trying to play us off against one another. If you must know, it doesn’t matter. The money, I mean. It doesn’t mean a thing to us. Archie would marry me if I was as poor as a church mouse, and I him.’

  ‘Very commendable, I am sure,’ said the inspector. However, some of his jovial air had left him. ‘But I really wish you wouldn’t answer for Mr Mayhew, Miss Spittlehouse. My questions are directed to him, not to you.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t insist that I be present,’ replied Daphne, rather petulantly. ‘You are only doing it to upset me. You are waiting for Archie to give different answers to my own. You are wanting to twist our words and trip us up and make us confess to things that we didn’t do.’

  ‘Daphne!’ exclaimed Archie. He looked quite appalled at her outburst and Rose thought better of him because of it. She sympathised, however, with Daphne’s predicament, for the inspector certainly seemed to be playing some bizarre game of cat and mouse.

  ‘It’s true, Archie,’ continued Daphne defiantly. ‘They believe you killed Masters by mistake because he was wearing my brother’s jacket. They think you really meant to kill Linus because of all that nonsense about his opposition to our engagement and the terms of my parents’ will, which means I will inherit nothing without his consent. But I’ve told the inspector until I’m quite blue in the face that you didn’t know about any of it, that I never breathed a word about it to you.’ She paused to stifle a sob and added rather desperately: ‘They don’t believe me. You must make them believe you.’

  Archie now sat quite rigidly on his chair. It was very apparent from his expression that Daphne’s words had shocked him into silence. As if to add emphasis to the fact, the room seemed strangely quiet and deathly still after Daphne’s rant. It was as if the very fixtures and fittings were waiting to hear his answer to the charge quite as much as those present in human form, who listened with attentive ears. But if he were aware that the world waited on his words Archie gave no sign of it. If anything, he rather took his time in responding, as if he were carefully deliberating his course and choosing his words with care.

  ‘It’s quite true, Inspector,’ he said at last. ‘Miss Spittlehouse never told me about her parents’ will, or her brother’s opposition to our proposed union, for that matter.’ He turned in his chair so that he might face the woman to whom he referred. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have mattered a jot.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it?’ Some normal colour had returned to Daphne’s cheeks. It was obvious to all that this declaration of sorts had taken her somewhat by surprise. She stared at Archie adoringly; they might have been the only people in the room for what little notice they took of the others. It occurred to Rose that the two of them could not have played the scene any better had they rehearsed it. Archie’s words had an air of sincerity about them, and it was obvious, to all those present, that Daphne had doubted whether, without the promise of her wealth, she had held much attraction for a man like Archie. It stood to reason, therefore, that she would have been at pains to keep the truth from him until they were safely married.

  Rose gave a sideways glance at the inspector. If he were disappointed that his theory was disintegrating before his eyes he did not reveal it by the expression on his face. Rather he appeared like a dog searching for a bone, stubborn and obstinate, persisting in digging a hole in a certain place because he was convinced, despite the evidence, that the reward for his labours lay there.

  ‘If Miss Spittlehouse didn’t tell you, perhaps someone else did? Major Spittlehouse, for instance?’

  ‘No,’ said Daphne quickly. ‘It’s not the sort of thing my brother would do.’

  She risked turning and giving Archie an imploring look for she had suddenly remembered his exact words when she had accused him of knowing about her parents’ will and Linus’ disapproval of him as her suitor. ‘It doesn’t matter’. That was what he had said. He hadn’t tried to deny it; he had merely been anxious not to provide her with any details. She took a deep breath and tried not to meet the inspector’s eye. Archie had as good as admitted that he had known about her brother’s animosity towards him for the very good reason that he had obviously met with the major and discussed the matter. Linus would have left him in no doubt as to his feelings, Daphne was certain of it. And Archie, without possessing her own knowledge of her brother’s character, could not be certain that Linus would not mention the fact to the police, particularly if he considered his life to be in danger. Archie then, quite understandably, would perceive it as being in his best interests to be the first to raise the matter, so as to give the impression he had nothing to hide. But she mustn’t let him speak. If she did he would tell them the whole truth and then all would be lost. Inspector Newcombe’s theory regarding Archie’s motive for the murder would be restored to its original position in the policeman’s mind. Oh, if only Archie would k
eep quiet and take his lead from her!

  Archie in turn had hesitated a little before replying himself to the inspector’s question, as if he doubted the wisdom of giving voice to what he knew would prove damaging to himself. Another nail in the coffin in the inspector’s eyes. It didn’t bear thinking about and it was certainly not what he had intended to do. He had planned a different course of sorts in the dingy tearooms and it was not this. But to lie … He felt himself to be in a battle with his own conscience with each side trying to grasp the upper hand. The consequence of this inner turmoil was that the word ‘Yes’ was frozen on his lips and therefore not articulated as such. But to a keen observer, of which there were four in the room, it was quite obvious what he had meant to say, for his mouth had formed the word, even if his voice had not actually uttered it. Inspector Newcombe certainly was not deceived for he smiled quite openly at having his theory proved right. Surprisingly, however, in Rose’s opinion, he did not press the point. Rather his questions followed another tack.

  ‘Did you arrange to meet Miss Spittlehouse yesterday evening before the bonfire activities commenced?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Archie.

  ‘No,’ said Daphne.

  ‘Well, I never,’ said the inspector. ‘A discrepancy. Now which was it? You can’t both be right.’

  ‘We are both correct in a manner of speaking,’ said Daphne rather sullenly. ‘We arranged to meet, but neither of us were able to keep the appointment. Really, it didn’t seem worth mentioning, which is why I said we hadn’t.’

  ‘So you lied to me, Miss Spittlehouse?’ said Inspector Newcombe, clearly having difficulty in keeping the anger from his voice. ‘May I remind you it is for us to decide what is relevant to this case, not you.’ He frowned. ‘I asked you most particularly whether you had arranged to meet Mr Mayhew and you said no. If you remember I pressed you on the point.’

  ‘Well, if you must know, I didn’t think it any of your business, Inspector. I knew it had no bearing on your investigation. It would only have muddied the waters. But,’ Daphne continued hurriedly as the inspector made to protest, ‘you are quite right. I should have told you. We did arrange to meet but Archie didn’t turn up because his bus was late, and then one of its tyres got a puncture, and I … well, I decided not to go.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded the inspector sharply. ‘Did you have an argument?’

  ‘Well, of course not,’ replied Daphne indignantly. ‘Archie and I don’t argue about silly things. I daresay it sounds rather foolish but the truth is I didn’t want to run into my brother. Rather stupidly Mr Mayhew and I had arranged to meet in Tucker’s Wood which, as you may know, overlooks the bonfire site. I suppose you might say that when the time came, I took fright. If you must know, I was awfully afraid Linus would cause a scene if he spotted the two of us together without a chaperone. He’s awfully old-fashioned that way, you know, and I didn’t want there to be any unpleasantness. He so looks forward to that silly old bonfire. You wouldn’t believe how important he thinks himself, being chairman of that wretched Bonfire Committee. I knew it would spoil the festivities for him and he’d go on about it for simply ages.’ Daphne made a face. ‘Really, I would never have heard the end of it, I can tell you.’

  Rose did not think that Daphne could have delivered her lines any better had she been an actress on the stage. She had given a very credible performance. There was conviction behind her words. It was very possible, therefore, that Rose might have believed what she had said to be true had she not remembered the hurried exchange of looks between Daphne and Archie, when the latter had entered the room, which had suggested some shared secret. She stared at the man and woman before her. Really, it was difficult to know if they were lying completely or merely concealing some elements of the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was not until the following morning that Rose had an opportunity to reflect on the findings of the previous day and, in particular, on Inspector Newcombe’s interviews with Daphne Spittlehouse and Archie Mayhew. This was simply due to Cedric having invited an old school friend and his new wife, recently returned from India, to dinner that evening. It had been a longstanding engagement and Cedric had been reluctant to break it, even if to do so would have been quite in keeping with the circumstances.

  ‘The problem is,’ he had explained to Rose when she had returned from Green Gables, ‘if I do, it’ll probably be years and years before I see old Chalky again. He’s quite a one for travelling, you know. I can’t see him remaining in England for more than a few weeks at most. He’ll find it much too boring a place. He likes exploring, you see. He could never sit still, even in class. We were awfully good chums at school. Both of us hated our lessons like poison and excelled at games. We were for ever thinking up ways to try and escape. On one occasion, Chalky hauled himself out of the window of our dormitory much to the delight of the rest of us, who cheered him on no end as he climbed down the ivy that grew up the wall. Unfortunately for him, the teachers must have got wind of his escape attempt because old Metters, the deputy headmaster, was waiting for him when he reached firm ground. Poor old Chalky got an awful thrashing for his troubles but it didn’t stop him concocting other plans.’ Cedric chuckled at the recollection. ‘Good old Chalky; it’ll be awfully good to see him again.’

  ‘Chalky?’ Rose had said, feeling distinct sympathy for the small boy with the adventurous spirit. ‘Is that short for something?’

  ‘No,’ laughed her husband. ‘I suppose you could say it is a sort of nickname. Chalky’s Christian name is the frightfully respectable Ronald, but his surname happens to be White, so we always called him Chalky; Chalky White. The same thing happened to his father during the Great War. His regiment always referred to him as Chalky on account of his surname and the name seemed to stick in the White household.’ He chuckled. ‘There was also a boy at school with the surname of Clark, who was always referred to as Nobby. And then of course there was old Miller, whom we called Dusty on account of the flour dust, and then –’.

  Cedric was forced to stop speaking for the simple reason that his wife had suddenly, and quite without warning, collapsed into a fit of the giggles. He grinned at Rose lovingly. How nice it was to see her laugh. They had both been so serious and sombre these past two days or so. Of course it was to be expected, what with the murder and all, but it was nice to have an excuse to chuckle.

  Chalky White and his new bride had lived up to expectations, proving a welcome diversion to recent events. For Cedric’s old school friend had shown himself to be a very personable young man, regaling his audience with highly exaggerated, but very entertaining, stories regarding his various exploits in foreign climes, while his wife appeared the most polite and attentive of guests and an accomplished pianist, much to the delight of all. Amid the laughter and the music, murder and sudden death seemed a distant memory, even if Rose knew that they were never very far away. For they seemed to linger in the very shadows of the room, clinging to the walls and ceiling like stubborn and persistent cobwebs, waiting.

  The following morning Rose was breakfasting in bed when Cedric had wandered into the bedroom from his dressing room carrying a cufflink.

  ‘I say, darling, would you mind fastening this for me? It’s damned fiddly. I’ve done the other one, but this one is proving to be a bit of a blighter.’ He handed her the offending article and sat down on the bed beside her so that she might assist him.

  ‘Rose, darling,’ said Cedric after a moment, a sudden thought having occurred to him, ‘you never did tell me what was in that third anonymous letter, the one that brought a smile to Masters’ face on the day the poor fellow was murdered. He took it away with him, didn’t he, the letter, I mean? The police made a thorough search of his quarters but they couldn’t find it. You said you could make a guess as to the contents of the letter.’

  ‘Yes, I did, though of course I can’t be absolutely certain. However, I’m fairly sure that our letter-writer proposed a meeting between himself an
d the major. I think that is what brought a smile to Masters’ face. You see, Masters had been looking for a chance to put an end to the letters and perhaps also to learn the details of the major’s awful secret. And here was his opportunity, handed to him on a plate, so to speak. Because of course he naturally made up his mind to go to the meeting in the major’s place which explains why he was wearing Major Spittlehouse’s jacket. He was banking on the blackmailer not realising the deception until it was too late for him to do anything about it.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that Masters was intending to blackmail the major himself, are you?’ asked Cedric, looking appalled.

  ‘No, of course not. I think he wanted to protect the major. But he was probably also curious as to the truth of the accusation contained in that second letter, the one that had caused him sleepless nights. If you remember, his wife told me he had been very troubled by what he had read.’

  ‘Well it would certainly make sense of that jacket business,’ said Cedric, straightening his sleeve. ‘Thank you, darling. Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Has the inspector been able to determine Daphne’s precise relationship to the major? Is she really his daughter?’

  ‘Yes, he has found out, as a matter of fact,’ said Rose, sipping her tea. ‘He told me after he had finished his interview with Archie Mayhew. Daphne is most definitely Major Spittlehouse’s sister. The inspector managed to find the old doctor who had attended Mrs Spittlehouse during her confinement. He remembered the case very well because Daphne’s birth had been a particularly difficult one; her mother had almost died.’

  Cedric made a face. ‘I see. Then I suppose you were right, darling. The major was being blackmailed over something far more serious than having an illegitimate daughter, or a mistress come to that. I wonder what it could have been?’ Absentmindedly he took a slice of the hot, buttered toast from his wife’s breakfast tray and chewed it in a contemplative fashion. ‘I say, I didn’t tell you, did I? Old Spittlehouse tried to tender his resignation as chairman of the Bonfire Committee as we’d feared he would but the other members wouldn’t accept it. Decent fellows the lot of them. They told him not to be so hasty to throw in the towel, told him to go home and think the matter over before he did anything rash.’