“Yes, you admitted to that, and you were overheard speaking it. And though you now proclaim it was just in jest, perhaps it wasn’t. And the letters did conveniently start just after your arrival here,” said Matilda, relishing the chance to put Colin’s feet to the fire.
“Agreed. But what’s my motive?”
“You just plainly don’t like her, you paint violent and disturbing paintings and you generally enjoy, and dare I say, relish, the drama in this house.”
“Guilty as charged,” said Colin, holding both his hands up towards the ceiling. “And yet, I doubt very much my hand resembles the writing in those letters.”
“Perhaps, though you could have changed it, you are, after all, an artist,” said Matilda.
“I doubt you’d need to be an artist to change your penmanship in situations like this,” said Colin.
He turned to look at Lady Marmalade.
“So we have the four of us here with only three having motives based on fact. And yet, I fear, that all three motives are weak and held up by feeble sticks of fact.”
Frances looked at Colin with bemusement on her face for a moment and then looked at the others.
“I think Colin is an absolute genius,” said Penelope.
“But that’s only because you don’t have a motive,” replied Matilda.
“I can’t believe that any of us would really want to hurt my grandmother,” said Lula meekly.
“Well done, Colin. I think your exposition of the facts are quite well done. But it isn’t just the facts that matter but sometimes emotion and motive are more important. But based upon your facts, let me ask you one question. If you had to choose, who would you choose to be the one?”
Colin looked around, taking a moment to pause on everyone’s face. Then he looked at Lady Marmalade.
“Honestly, I’d have to say I’m probably the best candidate. Looking at the facts and also the circumstantial evidence, I think I’m the only reasonable choice.”
“Explain that a little more, if you will?” asked Frances.
Everyone was looking at Colin intently now.
“Well, let’s start at the beginning. I arrived just before the first letter was written and sent to Madge. And I imagine it’s easy for any of us, really, to change our handwriting especially if we’re going to be sending threatening letters to anyone, but perhaps Matilda makes a good point and being an artist, maybe it’s easier for me than anyone else.”
Colin paused for a moment and looked around.
“So right from the start it looks terribly suspicious. And as everyone here will tell you, I’ve made no secret of my distaste for the old lady since I arrived. Yet, I stay. Why is that? Because I enjoy the macabre and the drama? Perhaps, or, could it be I’m really plotting her demise. I think that’s a better reason.”
Frances nodded in encouragement.
“Then there’s the art I’m painting. It’s expressive and full of passion and depth, but most don’t see that, most see violence and anger, so there’s another mark against me. We all don’t care for her, but none of us except for me, seems to have a taste for the macabre. And lastly, I’m a man. I’m the only man amongst us, excepting Alfred, who doesn’t count anyway because he’s here on your behalf, Lady Marmalade.”
“Why do you think being a man is so important?” asked Frances.
“Wouldn’t you agree that men are most often more likely to commit murder than women?” asked Colin.
“As a rule, yes,” said Frances, “but it also depends on how murder is committed. I try not to be dissuaded one way or the other by trying to predetermine the sex of the murder but rather allow the murder itself to point me towards a likely candidate. But if I were to go by your sketch, then I’d have to say, that yes, drowning, being a violent method of murder would most likely be committed by a man.”
“And there you are,” said Colin, offering his hands out, wrists together, “handcuff me and take me to gaol for I’m obviously guilty.”
He looked around with a wicked grin on his face.
“Ah, yes, I quite forgot, there hasn’t been a murder yet, has there?”
He put his hands back on top of his sketchbook and looked around. Matilda was grinning but shaking her head in disappointment. Penelope was smiling broadly, quite delighted with Colin’s act, and Lula was looking furtively about.
“This might seem very funny to you at the moment, Colin, but if anything should happen to Madge, you might find yourself in deeper trouble than you’d like to think, even if you haven’t anything to do with it,” said Frances.
“Look,” said Colin, glancing at Frances, “all I’m trying to say is that I have no idea why we’re spending so much time on this. Nothing has happened except for a few, apparently threatening letters. And if I were a betting man, I’d put money on Madge as being the one who wrote them to herself.”
“By a show of hands then, who believes that to be the case?” asked Lady Marmalade.
She looked around as Colin, Matilda and Penelope all raised their hands.
“And who thinks that someone else wrote these letters?”
Frances, Alfred and Lula put up their hands.
“Looks like we are at an impasse,” said Frances.
“You can hardly count Alfred, no disrespect, but I’m certain he’ll just do as you expect of him,” said Colin.
“Not true, Colin. In matters like these, Alfred’s input is often different to mine and very valuable. In any event, the only opinion around here that really matters is mine.”
“Then who did it?” asked Colin.
“I haven’t determined that yet, but I will in time. But more importantly, I’d like to hear what you have to say about some of the other potential people we’ve heard about. For instance, what about Jeremiah? As we’ve heard from Matilda he seems to have quite a temper.”
Colin shrugged and tapped his fingers on his sketchbook, in a rhythm.
“I can’t say. Certainly he seems odd to me, but then doesn’t everyone? We’re living in odd times. Most of you would think I’m quite odd, too. Yet, I’m hardly a murderer.”
“But you haven’t shown anger or violence like Jeremiah did.”
“Right, but you’ve seen my art...”
“That’s not the same.”
“Well, maybe it isn’t, but only Matilda saw Jeremiah acting out that way, and no offence Matilda, but perhaps she read more into it than was really there.”
“I most certainly didn’t,” said Matilda crossing her arms over her chest again.
“Then you’d say that you don’t think Jeremiah would harm Madge?”
“I’m not saying that at all. Look, I suppose anyone could harm anyone else if it came down to it and they had good reason for it. I just don’t pay much attention to him, that’s all. Yes, he’s sickly sweet with his exaggerated servile facade, but that doesn’t make him a monster.”
“All right then, what about Mollie?”
“As someone else mentioned, I think it was Matilda, she could be Jeremiah’s sister, but really, I pay less attention to her than I do to him. She’s almost a non-entity around here. I barely notice her.”
“The milkman, the postman and the gardener?” asked Frances.
“Aha, there’s your triumvirate of harm.”
Penelope giggled and Matilda smirked, looking down at her feet. Colin looked up at Frances and could see that she was not amused.
“Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help myself. I find this all very taxing and tiring when nothing of note has really happened, except more drama which Madge seems to thrive on. I swear the woman would be dead if it weren’t for the drama around here that keeps her going. It’s almost like her air. I haven’t had enough to do with those three to really say anything about them one way or another. Though, as Matilda says, Silas sure seems a little odd.”
“Have you met the doctor or this fellow, Hiram?”
“Yes and no in that order. The doctor is a very gracious and, dare I say patient
, man. To put up with Madge’s whinging and hypochondria for all these months. He’s almost a saint, except I imagine he gets paid well for his troubles and sugar pills.”
“How long has Dr. Dankworth been visiting your grandmother?” asked Frances.
“A few years at least, I’d say,” said Lula.
Frances turned back to Colin.
“And Hiram Gaspar?”
“Never met him, don’t know him other that what Matilda shared. Again, quite odd what he said to her, and menacing too, I suppose. But everything about this bloody place is odd and menacing when you’re talking about Madge.”
Now Colin was crossing his arms over his chest. He was plainly getting exasperated and had his legs thrust out under the table in front of him. Frances looked at her watch, it was after ten thirty, the clock had just chimed not long before.
“You’ve all been terribly patient and I’m very grateful for that. I’m also grateful that you’ve shared your handwriting with me and your thoughts on who might be responsible for these threats, if in fact they are real.”
“That’s the clincher, if they are, indeed, real,” said Colin, still looking miffed at the wasted time that he was sure Madge had created for her own perverse enjoyment.
“And that’s how I’d like to end our visit, and let you get back to your evening. Penelope, if I can start with you. I know we’ve spoken extensively about who might be a candidate for having written these letters and you’ve mentioned Lula...”
“Yes, but I wasn’t quite serious.”
“But you said her name first so one must take that into account.”
Penelope looked at Frances without saying anything.
“For argument’s sake, you’ve suggested Lula...”
Lula was fidgeting and her eyes were flitting from person to person in the room.
“...and you’ve also said that you wouldn’t be at the least bit surprised if you found out that Madge had orchestrated this whole thing herself. So my question to you is this. If you have to choose just one of these options, which one would it be?” asked Frances.
“I’d have to say it was Madge doing this whole thing herself just to create more drama.”
Frances nodded.
“And you Lula, you seemed to think that if it could be anyone it might be Colin or Matilda.”
Lula looked at them both. Colin looked up at her with a blank expression on his face. Matilda looked at Lula and gave her a small smile.
“She also thought that Silas was quite odd and had spoken of robbing Madge,” offered Matilda.
“Right, thank you Matilda. So, Lula, you’ve offered up Colin, Matilda and Silas. But what about the idea that your grandmother is doing this herself? I’ll ask you the same question I asked Penelope. You can only choose one option or person, who would you think most likely?”
“She’s leading the witness my Lord,” said Colin. “You can’t tell her to choose one option and then tell her which person she thinks that is, that’s only giving her one option which is to say that it was someone else who did this to Madge, not herself.”
Frances looked at Colin coldly.
“She knows what I meant.”
Lula looked around the room.
“I’m sorry Colin,” she said, and then she looked at Frances. “I’d have to say if it was anyone it’d be Colin.”
Colin smirked and nodded his head.
“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“But I don’t think he’d really do such a horrid thing to Granny, um, I meant grandmother.”
“It’s okay, dear, you can call her whatever you’re most comfortable using,” said Frances.
Lula looked down, her face was flushed, most likely out of embarrassment. Perhaps she felt too old calling her grandmother ‘granny’, and she wouldn’t be wrong thinking that. But such were the ways of dysfunctional relationships.
“Matilda, you mentioned how upset you were by seeing Jeremiah kill that rat and her babies as well as the upsetting things that Silas said to you. You also thought that Madge might do something like this herself. So again, one choice out of these options. Who or what do you think it is?”
Matilda held out her left hand in her right and examined her engagement ring. It sparkled in the light of the living room and she was pleased. For she’d be getting out of this place soon enough when Max got back. Little did everyone else know, but they were going to move in together. Times were changing and they were on the forefront of it, they weren’t going to wait until they go married to live together.
“Definitely Madge. I’d have to say she set this whole thing up for her own amusement. Though you being the sleuth and all, and getting paid for it, I guess it’s only your opinion that matters.”
Matilda smiled at Frances sweet as the first peas of summer.
“Yes, only my opinion matters, but what matters above everything are the facts. And I’m not convinced of any facts yet, nor am I getting paid.”
“Well, you should. She surely has the means to pay you,” said Matilda.
“And I have the means to choose what I do for free. Lastly you, Colin. The same question as before.”
“Well, it must be me. I mean Lula said so, so it has to be true.”
He looked at her, his mouth dripping with sarcasm as if he’d just tipped a jar of honey all over his face.
“Now, now, Colin, that’s not nice nor necessary,” said Matilda.
“I don’t recall being nice or necessary the whole evening,” he said.
“I’d like nothing more than to see you locked up by the police should anything happen to Ms. Hollingsberry,” said Alfred.
“Yes, well, nothing’s happened to her, has it? In any event, I was only joking and Lula knows that. I’m with Matilda and Penelope. I’d put money on the fact that Madge has set this all up for her own amusement and to inconvenience all of us. Including you, I dare say, Lady Marmalade.”
Colin stood up and tucked his sketchbook under his arm.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up on my beauty sleep before those bloody Germans start bombing again.”
He didn’t wait for any response. He marched smartly out of the living room and they all listened to his footfalls echo down the hallway and become softer and softer as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor.
Frances stood up, as did Alfred. The other ladies stood, too, as soon as Frances did. They all wished her a good night and Frances and Alfred left into the black night. As dark as the lack of light that had shone onto this case so far. Frances felt certain that Madge had not written these letters herself, but who might have done it and for what purpose was not very clear as she walked silently with Alfred at her side. Not very clear at all.
EIGHT
Chapter 8
THE house was lit when Alfred and Lady Marmalade made it home. There should only have been Ginny keeping watch and if so, she had a lot of lights on that weren’t needed. Especially during the war. Frances appreciated the gesture but thought she needed to speak with her housekeeper about it. Even though they could afford it, there was no need for the extravagance. Particularly during wartime.
Alfred opened the door for Frances and she walked in. She heard men’s voices coming softly from the living room. The voices stopped and she heard the shuffle of feet as she and Alfred entered the house and Alfred closed the door behind them.
“Mother, dear,” said a young man walking up to Lady Marmalade and embracing her in a warm hug. “I’m very cross to find you here. Father wouldn't approve, and you know it.”
He stood back from her, holding her at arms distance. He was handsome, tall and slim, just like his father. He was six foot one, the same height as his father. He had the same thick, black, curly hair and the same bright-blue eyes. He grinned from ear to ear.
“Oh, Declan, my dear boy, how nice of you to visit, though it’s frightfully late,” said Frances.
“Only because you’r
e home so late. Everard and I have been waiting over two hours, haven’t we?”
Declan looked over at his friend who stood next to him. Everard was almost as tall and almost as handsome with brown hair and masculine, Germanic features with a square jaw and dimple. Though there was no German in him. Everard also had the most piercing green eyes, the color of pure garnet gemstones. He reached in and hugged Lady Marmalade, kissing her on both cheeks.
“So good to see you again, Frances, you look absolutely ravishing,” said Everard.
“Lord Marmalade, Master Silsbury,” said Alfred beaming at the two young men as he shook both their hands in turn.
“Where have you been, mother?” asked Declan.
“I’ve been down the street with Alfred, seems there’s some frightful business going on with a poor woman and her boarders. Perhaps you can help me with it. Let’s go into the dining room and see if you can’t help me sort it all out.”
“I let Ginny go already, seeing as I was here. Shall I get us a fresh pot of tea?” asked Declan.
“Please, my Lord, I can get the tea ready if you’ll go and speak with your mother,” said Alfred.
Declan looked at Alfred and smiled.
“Thank you, Alfred, that would be lovely.”
Declan put his hand around his mother’s shoulders and she put her hand around his waist and they walked liked that towards the dining room with Everard close behind them. They took a seat around the one end of the dining room table and Lady Marmalade put her handwriting samples face down on the table.
“This is very exciting,” said Everard, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “What do we have here?”
“These are handwriting samples from the people who live in Ms. Hollingsberry’s home,” said Frances.
“Never heard of her,” said Declan rolling up his sleeves under his sleeveless jumper.
“No, neither had I, and I don’t imagine she’d be someone I’d care to remain on friendly terms with.”
“Why is that?” asked Declan.
“She’s prickly, rather, and uncouth and rude, to be frank with you, my dear.”
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 30
