by M C Beaton
♦
In the following days, Fell and Maggie, insulated to a certain extent by love, waited anxiously for news that Gloria Lewis had been found. What if the madwoman came back to exact revenge?
Gloria’s photograph was shown in all the newspapers and on television. Dunwiddy called on them and said he was confident that she would soon be picked up. He was almost fatherly towards them, for neither Fell nor Maggie had claimed any credit for solving the mystery of the train robbery and Dunwiddy was basking in national fame.
Autumn had arrived and the heat of the dandelion summer was only a memory as days of steady rain drummed down.
Fell and Maggie began to plan their wedding day. Maggie wanted to get married in church, although Fell would have preferred a simple ceremony in a registry office. But Maggie felt that being on that bridge just at the time that Fell was in the river had been no coincidence.
Gradually the old living room was being transformed into the country kitchen that Fell wanted. It was after he had spent what he considered a small fortune on a very beautiful antique Welsh dresser that he confided to Maggie that they really should think of going into business after they were married.
Maggie was still very keen on the idea of a bookshop and Fell finally decided it was a good plan. They travelled around, consulting booksellers, reading up on bookshop management, and at last renting a shop in the High Street not far from Melissa’s health shop.
The wedding date was set for the first week in October at St. Peter’s. Fell had engaged the services of an organist. Maggie had pleaded with him to invite his ‘relatives’ and also suggested he should invite old Mrs. Wakeham. It took some persuasion because Fell was still bitter about the circumstances of his birth, but he wanted the wedding to be special for Maggie, so he at last gave in to her requests.
Now they bought all the newspapers and watched television news, hoping to hear that Gloria had been found. Maggie longed to have all the ends tied up before the wedding. Then there were the other two men who had also taken part in the robbery. Rudfern hadn’t known where they were, but surely they would not dare come back to Buss. Interpol was looking for the couple as well as for Gloria.
Then, a week before the wedding, Dunwiddy called. “Good news,” he said.
Maggie’s eyes shone with relief. “You’ve got Gloria!”
“No, not her. But we found out about the other two, Snotty Duggan and Harry Finn. Snotty – real name, George – and Harry are both dead. They moved to Turkey, to the south coast, and then had this idea of getting into the drugs racket to increase their wealth. The local mafia are not fond of interlopers and so the pair of them were murdered, and only two years ago. I had never come across them in their villainous days here, and although their murders got a small paragraph in the newspaper, it didn’t mean anything to me. Rudfern must have known; God knows why he would lie.”
“Maybe it was a news item that passed him by,” said Fell. “I think he would have told us otherwise. I mean, he told us everything else.”
“From what we’ve gathered,” said Dunwiddy, “Rudfern had begun to hate his own daughter. Their cleaning woman said they were constantly quarrelling and having scenes. She now tells us she overheard Rudfern saying, ‘I’ll shop you,’ and Gloria replying, ‘You can’t. I’ll bring you down with me’.”
Maggie shivered. “I don’t like to think of her out there.”
‘Don’t worry,” said the inspector. “There’s one place in the world she won’t dare show her face and that’s Buss!”
∨ The Skeleton in the Closet ∧
Epilogue
MAGGIE and Fell had decided to spend their honeymoon in Paris and then begin work on the bookshop as soon as they got back.
Fell had asked his ‘cousin’ Tom to be best man. He had finally agreed with Maggie that to have some pretend relatives was better than having none at all. Mrs. Moule, complete with Zimmer frame, was to be Maggie’s maid of honour. Maggie had invited her mother and could only hope that she would not get drunk at the reception, which was to be held at the Palace Hotel.
Maggie studied her wedding outfit. It was a green silk suit. She had been watching her diet so that there would be no danger of it straining at the seams when she went to the church in the morning.
As she came down from the bedroom, she heard the doorbell ring. Fell was out in the garden. He called, “Will you get that, Maggie?”
Fell had put his ‘relatives’ up at the Palace Hotel, but Maggie thought one of them might be calling round. And so it turned out. Aunt Agnes stood on the step. “I thought I’d bring your wedding present round,” she said. “You’ll want to take it on your honeymoon.”
“Come in,” said Maggie as Fell came in from the garden. “Aunt Agnes has brought us a present,” said Maggie.
“What on earth have you done here?” demanded Aunt Agnes, looking round at the new kitchen. “What on earth do you need a big kitchen like this for?”
Fell sighed. “It suits us.”
“It looks odd to me.”
“Mind if we open your present?” Fell wanted to stop any more criticism.
He unwrapped the paper. Revealed were two pink hot-water bottles in the shape of fuzzy teddy bears.
“How sweet,” said Maggie quickly, as a look of horror crossed Fell’s face.
“It’ll be a hard winter, mark my words,” said Aunt Agnes, “and you’ll need to keep warm on your honeymoon.”
Maggie began to giggle helplessly. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” said Aunt Agnes, bridling. “I took my hot-water bottle on my honeymoon and I was glad of it.”
Fell began to laugh as well and then Maggie said in a choked voice, “That’s the doorbell. I’ll get it.”
Still laughing, she opened the door. A thin man stood there, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. “Come to read the meter,” he said.
“Could I see some identification?” asked Maggie.
He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small pistol. “Get inside,” he ordered.
White-faced, Maggie backed into the house.
The ‘man’ dragged his baseball cap off his head, revealing the hard features and glittering eyes of Gloria Lewis.
In the kitchen, Fell and Aunt Agnes stared, astonished.
“You!” said Fell. He made a move towards the phone.
“Stay where you are,” snarled Gloria.
“What do you want?” demanded Fell.
“I want you dead, you interfering bastard. My father would be alive today if it weren’t for you. I’m tired of running.”
“Look,” said Fell. “The police only want you as an accessory to the robbery. You kill me and it’s murder. As it stands at the moment, a good lawyer could get you off.”
“No, he couldn’t. This is Britain, and you get a longer jail sentence for robbery than you do for murder. You’re for it.”
Her eyes glittered madly, but the hand holding the gun never wavered.
“Ho, just you wait a minute,” cried Aunt Agnes. “Nobody’s going to shoot my nephew.”
A small figure in a tightly buttoned-up tweed coat, she placed herself in front of Fell.
“Get out of the way!” raged Gloria.
“Auntie, do as she says,” ordered Fell.
“No,” said Aunt Agnes. “Guns don’t frighten me. She’s nothing but a bully.”
And Gloria shot her.
Maggie, who had edged around behind Gloria, screamed and threw herself on her, love and terror lending her mad strength.
Fell, who had never hit anyone in his life before, drew back his fist and struck Gloria full on the chin. Her head rocked back and she slumped in Maggie’s arms.
The gun rattled to the floor.
“Tie her up,” said Maggie. “Aunt Agnes. Is she still alive?”
Fell knelt down. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll phone an ambulance. And the police. There’s string in that drawer there, Maggie. Can you tie Gloria up?”
Ma
ggie nodded. While Fell phoned, she fumbled with the string, her hands shaking so much she thought she would never be able to get Gloria’s hands and ankles tied. But at last she achieved it and then rushed upstairs to the bathroom and was violently sick.
Fell slumped down on the floor beside the body of his ‘aunt’ and nursed his swollen and bleeding knuckles. The day suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet.
And then he could hear the sound of sirens.
Maggie crept down the stairs as the first cars drew up outside the house.
Then the kitchen was full of police, followed by ambulance men. The paramedics said that Aunt Agnes was still alive…just. Gloria was lifted up and taken off.
Dunwiddy arrived and the questioning began. After a time, Fell cut him off. “We’re both shocked and I have to get to the hospital to see my aunt. You know where to find us. For God’s sake, give us a little peace.”
“All right, but I’ll be back. That was some knock-out punch you gave her.”
Fell looked down at his swollen and bleeding knuckles. “It never hurts in books,” he said.
At last Maggie and Fell were left alone. “We’ll need to cancel the wedding,” said Maggie wearily.
“Oh, God, what a mess,” mourned Fell. “All I want to do is go to bed and sleep for a week.”
“You go to the hospital, I’ll cancel all the arrangements and guests, and then I’ll follow you there. I’ll phone and get you a cab.”
The doorbell rang. “Now what?” asked Fell. “Someone else come to kill us?”
Maggie gave a shaky laugh. “There’s nobody left.” She answered the door. It was Peter with his photographer, Derek.
“What’s going on, Maggie?” he asked. “Someone tipped us off that the place was full of police.”
“We haven’t any time to speak to you now,” said Fell, appearing behind Maggie.
“It’s all right,” said Maggie. “Have you got a mobile phone?”
“Yes,” said Peter.
“Then come in. I’ll tell you what happened and then you can help me to cancel all the wedding arrangements.”
And so Peter got the story that was to land him a plum job on one of the national newspapers.
♦
When Maggie finally arrived at the hospital, it was to find Fell sitting in the reception area. “She’s going to live, Maggie,” he said. “The bullet went through the side of her body. They say she’ll live. Whoever would have thought she would be so brave?”
“She saved our lives.” Maggie sat down next to him. “Peter helped me cancel all the wedding arrangements.”
“I’ll bet he enjoyed that.”
“Well, he did, rather.”
A doctor approached them. “Mr. Dolphin?”
“Yes, my aunt…?”
“She’s resting comfortably. She’s lost a lot of blood but she is going to be all right. There is no need for you to wait. You’ll be able to see her tomorrow.”
Maggie drove Fell home. He stood looking around the kitchen. “Do you think we want to go on staying here, Maggie? So many bad memories.”
Maggie walked to the stairs and turned and held out her hand. “There are good ones as well.”
Fell looked at her. Her face was white and her eyes still red with weeping. Her hair was lank. All he saw was a beautiful woman. He took her hand in his and they went up the stairs together.
♦
It transpired that Rudfern had salted away a great deal of the robbery money in a Swiss bank. Dunwiddy had taken to dropping in on them for a chat. He said that Gloria’s brain appeared to have cracked and it would be doubtful if she would ever be considered sane enough to stand trial. He was delighted to be asked to their wedding, which had been rescheduled.
Fell was looking forward to their honeymoon, to get peace and quiet, and above all, to get away from Aunt Agnes who, fully recovered, was as carping and irritating as ever. She, too, had become a frequent visitor, and how, thought Fell, can you send someone away who has saved your life?
At last the day of their wedding arrived, a cold, brisk, bright day, with the last of the red and gold leaves of autumn fluttering down from the trees in the churchyard of St. Peter’s Church.
Maggie and Fell were still local celebrities, and so the church was full of sightseers as well as Fell’s ‘relatives’. Maggie’s mother was there in an acid pink suit and a huge pink hat. Mrs. Moule, very excited at being maid of honour, had her Zimmer frame decorated with paper roses. Cousin Tom acted as Fell’s best man. Maggie was given away by Inspector Dun-widdy, who looked as large and untidy as ever in a morning suit which he had obviously not worn in years because it was too tight on him.
The vicar, Mr. Sneddon, had heeded Fell’s warning not to have any steel bands, and so the wedding march was played by an odd ensemble of young people with white spotty and villainous faces on two guitars, a glockenspiel, an electric keyboard, and a tambourine.
To Maggie, the day was perfect, and even when her mother got disgracefully drunk at the wedding reception at the Palace Hotel and tried to sit on the vicar’s lap, she felt that nothing could ever dim her happiness.
She did feel, however, that old Mrs. Wakeham, who had failed to make an appearance, might at least have written to Fell.
They left for their honeymoon, surrounded by cheering crowds. Maggie threw her bouquet, which was caught with amazing deftness by old Mrs. Moule.
And so they went to Paris on their honeymoon, and once abroad, decided to travel on to Vienna, Prague and Budapest. They stayed at the best hotels in each city and spent a great deal of money.
It was only when they returned home after six weeks that Fell began to worry about money. There was still plenty left, but they had spent so lavishly on the new kitchen, the wedding reception and the honeymoon that he was horrified at how so much had melted away. The bookshop was a problem. Stock would have to be bought. The lease had been paid. But it would be some time before they could start making a profit. And a bookshop in Buss? Would anyone come? He wished now he had talked Maggie into starting a restaurant. There was always room for another restaurant in Buss. But he kept his worries to himself. He was so deeply in love with Maggie that he wanted to protect her from any anxiety.
One morning, after they had been back for a week, the phone rang. It was Mr. Jamieson, the lawyer. “Could you step around to my office, Mr. Dolphin?” he asked. “I have something of interest for you.”
Maggie was out shopping and so Fell left her a note on the kitchen table and started walking towards the market square. Snow was beginning to fall from a steel grey sky.
What on earth did the lawyer want to see him about? Perhaps the lawyer had heard from the bank manager about his profligate ways and wanted to give him a warning.
Fell mounted the steps to the lawyer’s office.
“Come in,” said Mr. Jamieson expansively. “Tea?”
“No, thank you,” said Fell nervously. “What’s all this about?”
“Sit down. I have the papers here.”
Fell sat down in a chair opposite the lawyer. He could hear the noises from the market below, just as he had heard them on the day he had learned of his inheritance.
“Do you know a Mrs. Wakeham?” asked the lawyer.
Fell wondered whether to deny any knowledge of her but settled for a cautious “I met her once.”
“And that was your only connection?”
“Yes.”
“Amazing. You know she is dead?”
“No,” said Fell bleakly. He had nursed one last rosy dream of getting together with his grandmother at last, having one family blood tie. “When did she die?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know. I’m not long back from an extended honeymoon.”
“So you did not know her very well?”
“What is this about?” snapped Fell, terrified that something had happened to reveal the secret of his birth.
“Mrs. Mary Wakeham of Fellworth Manor…” He stoppe
d and looked curiously at Fell. “Of course, how silly of me. Fell-worth Manor and your name is Fellworth.”
Fell suddenly remembered that sunny day when he and Maggie had gone to see Mrs. Wakeham and how she had recognized Maggie’s merit before he had become aware of it himself.
He said, “As a lawyer, anything I say to you must be in confidence?”
“Of course.”
So Fell, relaxed by that thought of Maggie, and by the awareness that being a bastard no longer carried the stigma it would have done twenty years ago, told the lawyer the secret of his birth.
“Ah, that explains it,” beamed Mr. Jamieson.
“Explains what?”
“I will let you have a copy of her will. But the long and the short of it is that after she left the house and grounds to the National Trust and various other bequests, the bulk of her fortune, which is seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds, goes to you.”
There was a silence broken only by the sounds of the market. Fell stared at the lawyer. Mr. Jamieson took out a sealed envelope. “This is addressed to you, to be given to you after her death.”
Fell opened it and began to read.
“Dear Fellworth,” Mrs. Wakeham had written, “I have developed terminal cancer and do not expect to be alive for your wedding. You have had an unnecessarily hard life and I hope things in the future will be better for you. To facilitate this, I am leaving you a sum in my will. All my best wishes for the future. Mary Wakeham.”
Fell read the short letter over and over. Then he looked up at the lawyer. “I would rather have had her alive and well and willing to see me than this money.”
“Money’s money,” said the lawyer briskly.
“And they do throw it at you,” murmured Fell, “when they can’t give love.”
♦
Fell’s bookshop opened on the day Melissa’s health shop closed down. It was stacked with bright new books. They had a coffee shop at the back with a few tables. Maggie had baked a large supply of scones and little sponge cakes.
Curious customers wandered in. Some went through to the coffee shop. By the afternoon, the coffee shop seemed full of chattering customers. Fell heard one woman exclaim, “Ethel came in here by chance this morning and phoned me and said, ‘You must try their sponge cakes. Never tasted anything so light and delicious’.”
