Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  ‘That’s because she’s only allowed to treat women and children,’ Jocasta said scathingly.

  ‘In my opinion her husband should insist she devote her time to domestic duties rather than staring at bodies and risk catching diseases.’ Lady Venetia’s hand drifted to the high neckline of her dress. ‘Especially as she is a mother of a small son.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mama?’ Jocasta demanded. ‘Why shouldn’t women be capable of studying any subject men do and with as much success?’

  ‘It’s not simply the books, dear.’ Her fingers fiddled with a lace trim, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. ‘I cannot help feeling that a woman who aspires to medicine cannot maintain her natural modesty. She would have to look upon men’s bodies in a way which should be reserved for their wives.’

  ‘Incidentally,’ Jocasta asked as if taking a sudden interest, ‘how does arsenic get into beer by accident, Mr McCallum?’

  Lady Venetia slumped back in her chair with a long-suffering sigh.

  ‘Contaminated barley malt, or glucose and invert sugar used in the brewing process,’ McCallum said. ‘It’s not unheard of.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone notice what was going on?’ Lady Vaughn finally abandoned her sensibilities in favour of lively dinner time debate.

  ‘In Manchester, many of the sufferers were inmates of the workhouse, some of them children,’ McCallum addressed her as if they were alone in the room, making her flush. ‘Thus condemned as being alcoholics. Not until people began to die in large numbers did the authorities think to explore further.’

  ‘Did no one consider them special cases?’ Flora experienced renewed anger for the victims. It horrified her that as indigents, they were assumed to be vice-ridden as a matter of course. ‘I wasn’t aware children drank alcohol.’

  ‘Children often drink beer in slum areas of towns like Manchester, Mrs Harrington,’ McCallum said gently. ‘In some areas it’s safer than the water.’

  ‘Does that answer your question, Flora?’ Lady Venetia asked, an edge to her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Flora stammered as heat rose into her face. ‘I didn’t mean to interrogate you, Mr McCallum.’

  ‘Don’t apologize. The incident here at Cleeve Abbey was upsetting.’ He patted Flora’s hand. ‘And admirable of Maguire to take such an interest when neither the doctor nor the police gave the matter more than cursory attention.’

  As if to confirm the subject at an end, the empty entrée dishes were removed by the footmen, who replaced them with portions of lavender-flavoured ice cream.

  Flora smiled at the dish appeared before her, complete with the piped icing rose, beside which sat a tiny angelica leaf. Knowing it was her favourite, Hetty had always saved her some after dinner parties as a child and often made the treat on her birthdays. Had this particular memory broken through the fog in the housekeeper’s head, or was it a coincidence? As she savoured the delicate, creamy mixture on her tongue, Flora liked to think the latter.

  ‘I confess I too have an interest in motor cars, Mr Harrington.’ Mr McCallum’s voice cut across Flora’s thoughts. ‘I believe you have plans to enter into the manufacturing side?’

  ‘In a small way for the present,’ Bunny replied. ‘However, I hope to open a factory of my own one day.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Mr McCallum’s brows rose. ‘I would like to discuss that with you at some time. I have my eye on one of the new Daimlers.’

  ‘I own a ninety-eight Panhard model myself, though I would love to have a look at the more recent models.’ Bunny’s voice was tinged with envy.

  ‘Would you care to visit the Trusty Motor Works in Cheltenham tomorrow?’ William asked. ‘They have a four cylinder model on display.’

  ‘I would enjoy that immensely.’ Bunny’s boyish grin disappeared and he turned a frown on Flora. ‘Unless you have other plans for tomorrow?’

  ‘None that include you,’ Flora said, laughing. ‘You go. I know how much you like engines.’

  ‘We’ll make a morning of it and perhaps take luncheon at the Queen’s Hotel? They serve an excellent slow-roasted lamb shank.’ William rubbed his hands together. ‘What about you, McCallum?’

  ‘It sounds splendid, and I do enjoy the food at The Queens, but I shall have to decline. Business commands my attention, you understand.’ He turned his devastating smile on his hostess. ‘Although I have to say I’ve dined like a king myself tonight. The salmon was exquisite, Lady Vaughn. My compliments to your cook.’

  ‘I quite envy you young gentlemen your outing,’ Lord Vaughn spoke with a hint of regret. ‘More interesting than my morning will be, I suspect. I have to attend a meeting of the committee responsible for the organization of the next Earthstopper’s Feast. I’ve supported the hunt for years, so I’m expected to put in an appearance.’

  ‘What exactly is an earthstopper?’ McCallum asked. His question brought all eyes towards him. Some astonished and others perplexed.

  ‘They’re the terrier men on a foxhunt,’ Jocasta answered, her brows raised in surprise. ‘The night before the hunt, they go out with lanterns and stop up the fox earths and badger setts along the route.’

  ‘Stops the foxes going to ground during the hunt.’ Eddy stirred his spoon around a bowl of ice cream he had barely touched, replacing it in the dish with a clatter. ‘Makes ’em easier to catch.’ He yawned again, drawing his father’s critical stare, and said something Flora didn’t catch. Eddy straightened in his chair and made an effort to appear alert.

  McCallum pushed his empty dessert dish away from him with some force. ‘Isn’t a dozen men on horses and a pack of hounds enough ammunition against one defenceless fox without cutting off their escape route?’

  Lady Venetia dropped her gaze to the table, while Lord Vaughn’s face flushed bright red. Flora’s respect for Mr McCallum went up a notch. Having been raised in the country, the hunt was an accepted, if disagreeable part of her life, though privately she had never been comfortable with the destruction of small furry animals in the guise of sport.

  ‘I take it you disapprove, Mr McCallum?’ Jocasta propped her chin in her hand and gave him a flirtatious look.

  ‘I’ve simply never been a follower of the hounds,’ he replied.

  Aware any attempt to steer the conversation back to her father or the brewery would not only be rude, but pointless, thus Flora relaxed and enjoyed her ice cream, while conversation turned to the Paris to Innsbruck motor race the previous June; their enthusiasm enhanced by the fact the event had been won by Selwyn Edge, an Englishman.

  ‘I wish I had been there.’ Eddy propped his chin onto one elbow. ‘Must have been a fine sight.’ His voice slurred a little, bringing Flora’s attention to the fact his face was pale and yet a flush covered his cheeks and he appeared to have difficulty staying awake.

  Lady Venetia murmured something to him and nudged his elbow off the table. Eddy jumped back in alarm, blinking rapidly.

  Flora caught Jocasta’s eye. ‘Is Eddy unwell?’

  ‘He’s been up since six this morning.’ Jocasta sipped from her wineglass. ‘Probably just tired. He’s not over his cold yet. I expect Mama will send him to bed when dinner’s over.’

  Belatedly, Flora recalled her former charge’s welfare was no longer her responsibility. In fact she had overstepped her status in all respects lately. Both Lord Vaughn and Mr McCallum had answered her questions with more than reasonable explanations, so why did she still feel uneasy? Mr McCallum had entertained the contamination theory too, which had been refuted by the doctor. With all questions answered, what else was there to discover?

  Lady Venetia rose to her feet, effectively bringing a halt to the conversation. ‘Ladies,’ she said, though apart from herself, only Jocasta and Flora qualified. ‘I think it’s time for us to withdraw to the sitting room.’ She gestured to the footman, who sprang forward and pulled back her chair.

  ‘Why would Mr McCallum choose to live in the Cotswolds, when he clearly has neither knowledge of, nor inte
rest in country pursuits?’ Flora asked Bunny as they scraped back their chairs.

  ‘An aversion to blood sports is not a crime.’ Bunny shrugged. ‘I admire the fact he has the courage of his convictions, and Flora,’ he halted her with a hand on her shoulder as they were about to part in different directions, ‘perhaps you should stop looking for reasons to dislike Mr McCallum?’

  Flora bridled, irritated he could read her so well. ‘You only like him because he’s showed an interest in motor cars,’ she teased. ‘I don’t suppose he cares what I think.’

  Her conviction that a mystery hung over her father’s death seemed remote and fanciful now. Her guilt exacerbated by the fact she had repaid the Vaughns’ hospitality by questioning a perfectly agreeable guest like a barrister. Had she invented reasons to dislike Mr McCallum? And if so, why? Because he was attractive to women and owned a brewery?

  When Flora reached the bottom of the staircase she nodded to Lady Venetia, who stood with her arm round Eddy. He nodded a few times in response to what she was saying, then with a glancing kiss to her proffered cheek, he slowly climbed the stairs.

  Flora watched them with affection, resolving not to search for shadows any more. Maybe she could reconcile herself to the truth about her mother as well, although surely someone on the estate must know what had happened to her? People simply didn’t disappear without someone knowing anything – did they?

  11

  Bunny’s clothes smelled faintly of cigars and brandy when he joined Flora in their bedroom; not an unpleasant combination.

  ‘I thought the evening was less fraught than the other night, didn’t you?’ Flora pulled the pins from her hair and let the heavy tresses cascade down her back. ‘I’m beginning to feel more like a guest here. When we first arrived, I feared our presence was only tolerated because my father died on the Vaughns’ property.’

  ‘I don’t get that impression at all.’ Bunny’s right shoe hit the floor with a thump. ‘The family are very fond of you. There’s only one person who has attempted to remind you of your former status, and she wasn’t present tonight.’

  ‘Mrs Mountjoy.’ Flora smiled at her reflection. ‘Did you notice how relaxed William was this evening? He doesn’t like her much does he?’

  ‘As a confirmed bachelor, I’m sure he’s trained himself to spot a husband-hunter at a thousand paces.’ Bunny propped his left ankle on his right knee and tugged off his other shoe.

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’ Flora removed her dressing gown and let it fall on the chair behind her. ‘Why did Father keep those clippings if Mr McCallum had convinced him the fête beer wasn’t poisoned?’

  ‘I thought we had abandoned the subject of poison.’ Bunny dropped the shoe to the floor. ‘Maybe Riordan forgot he had them, or he intended to discard them, but before he could do so, he met with the accident.’

  ‘Possibly. I just feel he kept them for a reason.’ She plumped up the pillows against the backboard on her side of the bed. ‘The beer could have been poisoned deliberately couldn’t it? Arsenic isn’t difficult to obtain. Lots of people use it to rid their homes of rats.’

  ‘Even so, it hardly seems credible McCallum would poison his own beer.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t him. It could have been a malicious prank or a deliberate intent to harm someone at the fête?’ She eased between the covers. ‘Is it possible that person knew Father had found out and to silence him they—’

  ‘Dark secrets that roam the Abbey?’ He waggled his fingers in the air, grinning. ‘Now you’ve entered the realms of fantasy.’

  ‘How do we know what goes on? I don’t live here anymore. Perhaps something happened since I left which Father never mentioned to me. Maybe he died before he could unearth anything substantial.’

  ‘We’re here to bury your father, not solve a crime that might not even exist.’ He removed his shirt which joined his trousers on a chair in an untidy pile.

  Flora tried not to visualize the creases that would form in the material overnight, but resisted the urge to get up and put them away in the wardrobe. ‘If Father thought—’

  ‘You don’t know what he thought,’ Bunny interrupted gently. ‘All the evidence points to neuritis from heavy drinking. Perhaps it’s no more complicated than that.’

  ‘A young girl went missing the same day.’

  ‘Missing or left?’ Bunny perched on the side of the bed. ‘I heard she had run off with some young man.’

  ‘No one knows who and she left without a word. The police are still making enquiries.’

  ‘Why do you think the two things are connected?’

  ‘I’m not sure they are, but Father would have heard about it. I cannot see him just ignoring a missing girl. And you might think I’m being unreasonable, that people die in riding accidents all the time. But I knew my father, he didn’t ride.’

  ‘Unless the inquest says otherwise, there’s not much you can do.’ Bunny leaned across the space between them and traced her jawline with a finger, his expression softening. ‘You know, this reminds me of when you went poking about on the SS Minneapolis looking for clues when the Captain thought Parnell had died from a fall. You wouldn’t let your feelings about that go then either.’

  ‘His name was van Elder, and I was right then wasn’t I?’ Flora leaned into his touch, pleased to be able to remind him her instincts weren’t always skewed by emotion.

  ‘Indeed you were, and you didn’t give up until the man was caught.’

  ‘Exactly, so suppose for a moment that I’m right about this.’ She wrapped her arms round her hunched knees. ‘If, and I’m saying if, Father died because he was investigating a poisoning, don’t I owe it to him to seek justice for his sake?’

  ‘I understand your need to blame someone for Riordan’s death, Flora. Really I do. However, people get very nervous when someone asks questions. They get defensive whether they are guilty or not and I don’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way.’ The mattress dipped as he climbed into bed beside her. ‘You’re a married woman now with a home of your own.

  ‘Not my home,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘It’s more yours and your mother’s.’ She was being self-pitying but couldn’t stop herself. Her father was the one thing that tethered her to the world. She had no other relatives and hadn’t been married long enough to feel entirely at home with Bunny, much as she loved him. ‘I’m an inconvenient addition without the power to make changes.’

  ‘Inconvenient?’ Bunny halted in the act of removing his spectacles. ‘Why would you think that? Are you unhappy in Richmond?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Or maybe she did, and this was an appropriate moment to allow her real feelings to surface. ‘Richmond is beautiful, and I enjoy living there.’ It was true, she adored the neat Georgian house on the Thames, where their walks by the river on summer evenings had become one of her greatest pleasures.

  ‘Then my mother is the source of your unhappiness?’ His eyes clouded, making her wish she had not mentioned the subject at all.

  ‘I’m not unhappy as your wife. It’s all I ever imagined. Perhaps it’s because your mother and I have some adjustments to make.’

  ‘What sort of adjustments?’ He folded his glasses and slid them onto the table beside the bed. She eased closer, and taking his cue, Bunny twisted the fingers of his free hand into her loose hair, tugging gently.

  She leaned into his touch, glad she did not have to see the hurt in his eyes she was about to cause. ‘I would like to be more of a wife and less a guest in her house.’

  ‘My house too, my name is on the deeds, remember. In what way do you mean?’

  She sighed, playing for time so as not to sound too critical. ‘This might sound trivial, but your mother treats me as if I wasn’t there most of the time. My opinion is not sought on any subject, from the meals we eat to which flowers she puts in the rooms. She hired two new kitchen maids last month without telling me. They just showed up in my room one morning when I was dressing.’ Bunny made no attempt
to either comment or interrupt, which gave her free rein to bring up another complaint. ‘Your mother has got into the habit of announcing bedtime whilst simultaneously switching off the gas lights. I’ve been left in the dark with an open book in my lap more than once.’

  ‘I don’t recall her doing that in my company.’

  ‘Well of course she doesn’t, she saves that for when you are out. I—’ Afraid she had said too much, she bit back the rest of her mental list, especially the baby issue. Beatrice Harrington stood permanent guard for symptoms of pregnancy, a constant irritant to Flora but something Bunny would never understand. He would be delighted whenever that happened although had never intimated he was in any particular hurry. Beatrice, however went to great lengths to make Flora think the matter was entirely her responsibility – and therefore her failure. Her mother-in-law didn’t seem to take into account that Flora had not conceived after a year of marriage and had begun to worry.

  ‘I’m sure Mother doesn’t mean to be inconsiderate,’ Bunny said. ‘Perhaps she feels she saves you the trouble when it comes to housekeeping issues.’ She shot him a warning glance, at which he added, ‘No, you’re right. She ought to consult you.’

  ‘Will you speak to her?’ Flora pleaded. ‘In a diplomatic, sensitive way of course.’

  ‘When do I use any other manner of communication?’ He tightened his arm round her. ‘I promise I’ll give the matter some serious thought and have a strategy sorted out by the time we return home.’

  ‘Thank you for understanding. Even if you do think I’m an overly fussy wife.’

  Unless Bunny planned to build a brick wall through the centre of the house, a workable solution to her problem escaped her. Beatrice Harrington was a mistress of manipulation and achieved her own way with whatever weapons she could muster. Queen Victoria could have taken lessons.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the motor works tomorrow,’ Bunny went on, the subject of his mother shelved. ‘Will you be able to amuse yourself while I’m gone?’