Murder on Bonfire Night

by Addison, Margaret

  Rose tapped on the study door and waited for only the briefest of moments before she opened it and entered, the librarian close behind her. Major Spittlehouse was seated behind his desk and looked considerably annoyed to be disturbed in his lair. The frown that creased his forehead was rapidly replaced with a look of surprise, as he recognised his visitor and hastily rose from his chair and came forward.

  ‘Lady Belvedere, what a pleasant surprise. I am –’

  ‘Good afternoon, Major Spittlehouse. Please don’t trouble yourself to stand up on my account. I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, but I was very keen that you should make the acquaintance of Miss Warren.’

  ‘Miss Warren?’ repeated the major. He looked decidedly bewildered, as if he thought Rose must have taken leave of her senses.

  ‘Yes, Miss Warren. You were an acquaintance of her brother, I believe? You knew him by the name of Bunny; Bunny Warren.’

  ‘Bunny …’ The colour had drained from the major’s face and he sank down heavily on to his chair. He dropped his head in his hands, hiding his eyes. ‘Bunny …’

  ‘Yes. Bunny,’ said Rose slowly. ‘It was Miss Warren who sent you that letter. She was desperate to find out what had happened to her brother. Of course she thought he was most probably dead, but she wasn’t certain. But she was right to believe that, wasn’t she? I was able to tell her where he was buried. Tucker’s Wood. But of course you knew that already, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the major very quietly. He did not lift his head, and Rose could only guess what was going through his mind.

  ‘Miss Warren sent you two further letters, neither of which you received,’ continued Rose, studying him carefully all the while she was speaking. ‘Masters intercepted them and went to confront the person he considered was intent on spreading scandalous lies about you.’ She paused a moment before she added: ‘He was killed for his trouble, but then you know that too, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ repeated Major Spittlehouse in the same dull voice.

  ‘You killed him! You killed my dear brother,’ cried Miss Warren, lurching forward blindly. She would have stumbled had Rose not caught her by the arm. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the major, ‘I am so very sorry.’ His voice was full of emotion now. He removed his hands from his face and got up from his seat. Rose marvelled at the man’s composure. He had just confessed to murder and yet he held himself well and with a certain dignity, admitting guilt and ready to receive the ultimate punishment. ‘I should be grateful, Lady Belvedere, if you would telephone for the police.’

  ‘Inspector Newcombe should already be on his way here,’ said Rose.

  There was a tap on the door and Daphne entered, something of a bemused look upon her face. ‘Biddy said you wished to see me, Linus,’ she began, and then stopped as she took in the scene. ‘I am afraid I don’t understand …’

  ‘It must be some mistake, I didn’t ask to see you,’ said the major hurriedly.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ agreed Rose. ‘I did.’

  ‘Daphne, go to your room at once,’ said Major Spittlehouse sharply. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘Oh, but I think it does,’ protested Rose. ‘After all, it is not every day that one’s brother confesses to murder.’

  ‘Whose murder?’ cried Daphne.

  ‘That of Masters and Bunny Warren.’ Rose turned to face Major Spittlehouse. ‘You are confessing to both murders, aren’t you, Major?’

  ‘I am,’ agreed Major Spittlehouse.

  ‘No,’ sobbed Daphne.

  ‘Look here, my dear,’ said her brother more gently. ‘It is for the best. Now go to your room. The police will be here soon and I daresay there’ll be some unpleasantness. I’d much rather keep you from it. There’s a good girl. Ask Biddy to sit with you.’

  His sister stared at them all for a moment, her mouth wide open as if she wished to say something, but didn’t dare. With one final glance at the major, who was looking at her imploringly, she made as if to leave.

  ‘Wait,’ cried Rose. ‘I’d much rather you didn’t go, Daphne. It seems awfully unfair after everything your brother has done to protect you, that you should forsake him in his hour of need.’ She leaned forward and grasped the woman’s hand. ‘You don’t really want to see your brother punished for your crimes, do you?’

  ‘Daphne, don’t listen to her,’ cried Major Spittlehouse. ‘She doesn’t know what she is saying.’

  ‘No,’ said Daphne dully. ‘I want to tell the truth.’ She stared at her brother with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Linus. I didn’t realise I’d done it, killed Bunny, I mean.’

  ‘Be quiet, Daphne. Don’t say another word.’ Major Spittlehouse leapt forward, his hands outstretched.

  His words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears. For it appeared that, now Daphne had at last spoken, she had no intention of being silent. Indeed, the words seemed to flow from her like water from a spring.

  ‘At least, I suppose I must always have known that I had killed Bunny. But I had forgotten, or perhaps I had deliberately put it out of my mind. I loved him, you see. I only remembered that we had argued and that he had left me without bothering to say goodbye. I thought it awfully bad of him to disappear like that. That’s what Father told me had happened and I suppose I allowed myself to believe him because the alternative was too awful. It was only when Masters shouted at me on Bonfire Night that everything came back to me. We argued and it reminded me of that time with Bunny.’ She stared at her hands which were trembling. ‘Masters wouldn’t stop shouting … He accused me of all sorts of awful things including blackmail. I had to make him stop, I had to …’

  Everything then seemed to happened very quickly indeed, like dominoes set in motion. Miss Warren collapsed on to a chair and sobbed bitterly; Daphne fainted; Major Spittlehouse sank back on to his chair and covered his face in his hands; and there was a knock on the door, followed swiftly with it being opened. Inspector Newcombe and Sergeant Bell came into the room and stared somewhat dumbfounded at the spectacle before them.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Well, Lady Belvedere, you promised to tell me how you arrived at the truth,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘We got our murderer and anonymous letter-writer in the end, but I’m blowed if I know how you worked it all out the way you did.’

  ‘Oh yes, do tell, darling,’ said Cedric. ‘I’ve heard bits and pieces of course, but not the whole story.’

  It was a few days later and they were sitting in the drawing room at Sedgwick Court. In less formal clothes, and without Sergeant Bell in tow, Inspector Newcombe looked less like a policeman than he had when he had been on duty. This impression was further heightened by his having a glass of whisky in his hand and the conversation, until then, having focused primarily on the various merits of the Sedgwick cricket team. Rose had listened to the talk idly, basking contentedly in the simplicity of village life, which seemed a far cry from the complexities of the recent murder investigation. It was thus with some reluctance that she roused herself from her pleasant reverie.

  ‘Very well, though, in these sorts of things, it is always so difficult to know exactly where to begin.’

  ‘How about at the very beginning?’ said Cedric, grinning.

  ‘I suppose that the very beginning occurred almost twenty years ago,’ said Rose contemplatively, ‘but I won’t begin my story there, because I didn’t find out about that until later. For me, it all began when Miss Spittlehouse came to see me to discuss her brother’s opposition to her proposed marriage. Without his consent the provisions of her parents’ will made it very difficult for her to marry. It struck me as very odd at the time that Daphne had been bequeathed no allowance in her own right, and was entirely dependent on her brother’s generosity.’

  ‘So that’s why you suggested that Miss Spittlehouse might really be Major Spittlehouse’s daughter and not his sister?’ said her visitor. ‘To make sense of the will?’

  ‘Yes. But what I found even m
ore baffling was that Major Spittlehouse had not settled an amount on his sister regardless of the terms of their parents’ will. Everyone spoke of Major Spittlehouse as being a very fair and honourable man.’ Rose turned to smile at her husband. ‘You did too, darling, if you remember? Even Daphne admitted that she would be very surprised if her brother had ever done anything over which he might be blackmailed. And yet his behaviour towards his sister, in making her financially reliant on him and doing his utmost to prevent her from marrying, seemed most unfair.’

  ‘And it was patently clear the fellow was hiding something,’ said Cedric. ‘Otherwise why would he have been sent those anonymous letters?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rose. ‘It was obvious the major had a secret all right which he was at pains to keep hidden. Anyway, that about sets the scene.’ She got up from her chair and went and stood beside the fireplace, turning to face her audience, aware that she had the stage. ‘Now, I should like to move on to the day of the murder itself. We know that the third, and final, anonymous letter was received at Green Gables on that very morning and opened by Masters. From Masters’ reaction, and the fact that he was wearing Major Spittlehouse’s jacket when he died, it was very obvious to me right from the start that the letter had proposed a meeting between the writer and the major, and that Masters had decided to go to that meeting disguised as his employer.’

  ‘The meeting was to take place in Tucker’s Wood?’ said Cedric.

  ‘Yes. Archie Mayhew has admitted that he moved the body from there and Miss Warren has advised me of the contents of her anonymous letters. What no one could have envisaged, however, was that more than one meeting had been arranged to take place in those woods at roughly the same time.’

  ‘I suppose it isn’t that much of a coincidence,’ mused Inspector Newcombe. ‘I mean, I assume they were all intending to go on to the bonfire festivities afterwards and so it stands to reason they’d choose somewhere close at hand to meet.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rose, ‘but it proved most unfortunate.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t rid myself of the feeling that, if only the bus hadn’t been late and one of its wheels suffered a puncture, Masters’ death might have been avoided.’

  ‘Do you know how it happened?’ asked Cedric. ‘The murder, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Rose. ‘At least I think I can make a jolly good guess.’ She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. ‘Masters set off from Green Gables for his meeting with the letter-writer, whom we now know to have been Miss Warren, at about a quarter-past five. Daphne, satisfied that Major Spittlehouse was eating his supper, also set off for Tucker’s Wood a few minutes later to meet Archie Mayhew before returning to the house before her brother left for the festivities. And this, of course, is when everything went wrong. For the simple reason that, because of the various problems associated with the bus, neither Miss Warren or Archie Mayhew were able to keep their respective engagements.’

  ‘Oh, I think I have it!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘Masters mistook Daphne Spittlehouse for the anonymous letter-writer, didn’t he? I say, I bet the fellow kicked up a right stink if he thought Daphne was trying to blackmail her brother. I always got the impression that he didn’t much care for her.’

  ‘That is exactly what happened,’ agreed Rose. ‘Daphne said as much. About Masters going into a blind fury, I mean. And unfortunately for him, it made her recall something that lay buried deep in her mind. I suppose it was Masters’ talk of murder and murderers, which had been mentioned in the second anonymous letter, as much as it was the man shouting at her in itself that made her remember. Almost twenty years before, she had had an argument with a man she had loved and had struck him. Only then, standing with Masters in Tuckers Wood, and hearing him talk of murder and murderers, did she realise that in so doing she must have struck Bunny, the man she had loved, a fatal blow.’

  ‘Do you think Masters realised the significance of what he was saying?’ asked Cedric rather quietly.

  ‘No, I don’t think he did. Miss Warren told me what the letter had said. “What would people say if they knew the village harboured a murderer in its midst?” Masters probably thought that Daphne was referring to the major’s role during the Great War and was furious, whereas Daphne knew that in fact the letter most probably referred to the death of her lover.’

  ‘So, in a fit of panic, she murdered Masters,’ said the inspector. ‘The unfortunate fellow turned his back on her for a brief second and she picked up a convenient stone and hit him on the back of the head. She told me he wouldn’t stop shouting at her, that it was the only way she could make him stop. I don’t think for one moment she meant to kill him.’

  ‘What a waste of a life,’ said Cedric sadly. ‘The poor fellow was only trying to protect his employer.’

  Silence filled the room as each pictured the ghastly scene in their mind. At length, Inspector Newcombe cleared his throat and said: ‘That’s all very well, Lady Belvedere, but you still haven’t told us how you arrived at the truth. For a start, how did you know about this fellow Bunny and what had happened to him?’

  ‘Well, I felt certain that there was a connection between the anonymous letters and Masters’ death. I was also curious as to the reason behind the major’s apparent determination that Daphne should not marry. Of course he couldn’t actually stop her, but he could ensure that her suitors were discouraged by making them aware that, if his sister went against his wishes, she would be penniless. And Mrs Masters told me something which appeared to confirm the view I was forming. The Spittlehouses only ever stayed in one place for a few years. I thought the likely reason for this was that the major was trying to prevent Daphne from forming any romantic attachments.’

  ‘I say, that sounds frightfully rotten,’ said Cedric, ‘not like Major Spittlehouse at all.’

  ‘But that is just my point. There had to be a reason for the major’s behaviour, and that of his parents before him when they composed their will. Why had they all treated Daphne so shoddily? It was certainly not in the major’s nature to do so. It made me feel certain therefore that, though it might appear to the contrary, the aim of it all was to protect Daphne.’

  ‘Or the interests of others to whom she might otherwise have done harm?’ suggested Inspector Newcombe.

  ‘You mean Major Spittlehouse and his parents wanted to ensure that Daphne didn’t kill any of her other suitors as she had done this chap Bunny?’ said Cedric.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I think they felt that, if they helped her to escape justice, the least they could do was to ensure that she never had an opportunity to hurt anyone else.’

  ‘How frightful,’ said Cedric. ‘What I don’t understand is what possessed a man like the major to conceal the murder in the first place? It doesn’t seem the sort of thing he would do.’

  ‘I can answer that for you,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘We asked the major the very same question. It seems he wasn’t there when his sister actually killed this Bunny chap. It was his father who decided to conceal the murder. As far as I can tell it went something like this. Miss Spittlehouse had an argument with her lover and struck him. It was a lucky blow, or an unlucky one depending on how you look at it, and killed him immediately. Miss Spittlehouse immediately fainted. Her father came upon the scene and realised what must have happened. Having ascertained that the fellow was indeed dead, he was faced with a dilemma, particularly when Miss Spittlehouse awoke and it became apparent that, while she remembered hitting Bunny Warren, she did not recall killing him. And that is when her father made his fateful choice not to tell her the truth and to conceal the murder.’

  ‘And when Major Spittlehouse returned home on leave his father told him what he had done?’ said Cedric. ‘I say, that sounds a bit rough. What was the poor fellow supposed to do?’

  ‘His father also told the major where the body was buried,’ said Rose. ‘In Tucker’s Wood. It was a considerable distance from where the Spittlehouses were living at the time.’

  ‘By J
ove!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘That must be why Major Spittlehouse paid over the odds for Tucker’s Wood. I’d always wondered why he purchased that piece of land. I suppose he wanted to make sure no one dug up this poor Bunny fellow.’ Another thought struck him. ‘I say, it also explains why he made such a fuss about the village boys trespassing on his land looking for sticks for the bonfire. He was afraid they might discover the skeleton.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed his wife. ‘It also explains why the Spittlehouses have remained in Sedgwick for as long as they have, and why the major chose to live here in the first place when he usually chose to reside in towns.’

  ‘I do hope Major Spittlehouse will feel able to stay on in Sedgwick after all this,’ said Cedric thoughtfully. ‘The village needs people like him. It seems to me that he’s had a pretty rum deal putting his sister’s needs before his own. And we need a chap like him on the Bonfire Committee to oversee everything. I say, I do hope, Newcombe, that you are not going to charge him with being an accessory after the fact or anything awful like that?’

  ‘No. I think the poor fellow’s suffered enough, don’t you?’ said the inspector. ‘Besides, a good barrister would be certain to get him off. Remember, Major Spittlehouse played no part in burying the body. All the barrister would need to argue was that he didn’t know the body was there, that he thought it was just some fanciful story of his father’s.’ He turned his attention to Rose, who had resumed her seat. He thought she looked a little sad and pale. ‘I know you’re fretting about Miss Spittlehouse, Lady Belvedere. You needn’t, you know. She’ll not hang. That same clever barrister we were talking about will see to it that she’s taken to some sanatorium or other. I doubt very much she’ll spend the rest of her days in prison.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Rose. ‘I can’t help feeling rather sorry for poor Daphne. She never intended to kill Bunny, or poor Masters come to that. I know her father meant well, but I do wonder whether his actions only made matters worse.’