by M C Beaton
Susie carefully wrote out cards in neat copperplate, with each guest’s name to be pinned to respective bedroom doors “so that they don’t creep into the wrong bed by mistake,” as Carter informed her grimly. But Susie did not know of country-house affairs, where the sprightly guests crept along the corridors at night, deliberately looking for every bedroom but the right one.
Flowers had to be arranged in all the rooms, and flowering plants and bushes had to be planted in the new flower beds, which cut their elegant way across a former tract of grazing land. Stands of trees had to be planted along the edge of an already existing lake, and lanterns had to be slung through the new trees and strung through the courtyards between the grim old walls.
In the middle of all this fuss and activity, Carter, who had become Susie’s lady’s maid, reminded her mistress that she ought to think about purchasing a ball gown, and since only the best would do, my lady would be advised to make a visit to London. Susie shrank from leaving the enclosed world of the castle, but she was young and feminine enough to want to look her best for Giles’s ball.
That was how she found herself back in London one hot spring day with the grim Carter in attendance. Carter knew all the best dressmakers and advised her young mistress to put herself in the hands of the famous Madame Henrietta. Madame Henrietta, despite her name, was not French but a middle-aged German Jewess with a clever eye. She leapt at the chance of outfitting the beautiful widowed countess, particularly when Susie murmured in her dreamy way that she didn’t care how much it cost.
So in the hot little salon in Conduit Street, Susie was treated to her first fashion show. She was very startled and amused to find that the models wore severe long black dresses when showing evening gowns or underwear. One particularly haughty mannequin looked quite ridiculous modeling a frivolous French corset over her black gown.
Madame Henrietta finally talked her into purchasing a gown of gold-colored peau de soie. It was daringly low at the front and very low at the back. The bodice was ornamented with an exquisite fall of fine black lace, and the full skirt of the dress was cut open above the hem to reveal a dashing black lace petticoat. Susie demurred. The gown looked very French and rather naughty. Ah, but the touches of black lace showed a delicacy, a reminder of milady’s recent bereavements, cooed Madame Henrietta in her mock French accent. Carter gave a sour nod of approval. Carter had taken one of her dislikes to Giles and privately thought the combination of Susie and the dress would “knock that young man in the eye. Him and his wanting to get married.”
Carter, like the rest of the servants, thought that Giles should marry Susie. That way their smuggling activities would go undisturbed.
Carter then took Susie off to several other shops. It was a new London to Susie, a London she had never seen before. Expensive shops with soft lights and soft carpets, obsequious sales people, glorious clothes, and exotic scents, and all to be charged and taken away.
Susie’s day was spoiled by a small twinge of guilt. She felt she really should go and pay a visit to her parents. But when it came down to it, she simply could not. She was anxious to get back to the familiar world of the castle.
She wondered what Giles was doing, and then wondered why she cared.
Giles was lying on the floor at the top of the gatehouse, sweating hard.
He had been leaning over the battlemented parapet to watch the workmen below when the seemingly solid stone had given way under the pressure of his fingers. He had fortunately thrown himself back and away from the gaping hole that had appeared as a large lump of masonry had hurtled to the ground below.
A footman came running breathlessly up the stairs, two at a time. He helped Giles to his feet and dusted him down. “It’s mercy you’re all right, my lord,” he cried. “Just to think, it could have happened to my lady. She was up here yesterday, looking over, and she wouldn’t have had the wit to throw herself back.”
“But what if you die?” Susie’s childish voice resounded in his brain. Could she have arranged this accident? It was impossible and yet…
All of a sudden he decided to pay a call on Inspector Disher. The inspector was not to be found at the police station but working in his shirt-sleeves in his little patch of garden. The inspector’s home was very like the cottage of Susie’s dreams. It had a heavy thatched roof, and tangled honeysuckle hung over a trellis around the low doorway.
“My lord!” exclaimed the inspector, delighted and gratified. “If you’ll just stop in, I’ll get my Mary to make us a cup of tea.”
“This is not a social call,” said Giles grimly. The inspector gave him a quick look and then said, “Well, whatever it is, my lord, a cup of tea will come welcome on this hot day. Did you ever see the like, my lord? Downright un-English this weather is.”
“I’m sorry to bother you on your day off,” remarked Giles, bending his head and entering a pretty little parlor, where the policeman’s wife stood bobbing and blushing. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“We do our best,” said the inspector. “Now, Mary, run along to the kitchen and make his lordship a pot of tea, and bring some nice hot scones and some of your strawberry jam.”
When his wife had gone, he adopted his official voice and manner. “Well, now, my lord, what can I do for you?”
The inspector settled his plump figure in a rocker and prepared himself to listen to some tale of poaching.
“It’s about Lady Felicity’s death,” said Giles abruptly. “Are you quite sure it was an accident?”
The inspector straightened up slowly and stared at his noble guest in surprise. “I’m sure as sure, my lord. Of course, it was just a token investigation, you might say. Riding accidents are very common, and that there horse was a regular devil.”
“Is,” corrected Giles gently. “Is, Inspector. Lady Susie refused to have the beast shot.”
“Did she now? Some ladies, of course, are very sentimental about animals. But let’s get this straight, my lord. Can it be you suspect foul play?”
Giles smiled reluctantly. “I never knew policemen actually said that, but, yes, I am suspicious. First there was the accidental death of my uncle. Look, I’d better tell you the truth. The night of my uncle’s death, Susie was standing at an upstairs window, looking out at the sea and saying aloud that she wished him dead. Shortly before Felicity died, the servants say that Susie shouted at her in the dining room and said she wished her dead. Recently Lady Susie was talking about her son inheriting the castle. I pointed out that I am the heir, and she said, ‘Oh! But what if you die?’” Giles went on to tell the inspector about his accident of the afternoon.
“Therefore,” he ended, “I decided that there were too many coincidences, too many accidents. I decided it might do no harm to reopen an investigation into Lady Felicity’s death.”
“Do you want an official investigation?” asked the inspector.
“No,” said Giles slowly. “I wondered if you could take up the case in your spare time. Go over the ground again. Talk to my head groom. I’ll tell him to be discreet. Find out if there was anyone in the vicinity, a tramp or a shepherd or a child. I’ll pay you well.”
The inspector rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way. “I don’t mind saying, a bit of extra money would come in handy, my lord, and I’ve got a bit of leave due to me. But I’ve a feeling Lady Blackhall is innocent. You now tell me you heard her saying she wanted her husband dead—which you really ought to have told me at the time, you know. But I can tell you this, my lord. That accident to the old earl happened the way she said it did. Couldn’t be any other way. How could a slip of a thing like Lady Susie push a great, hulking man like the earl out of the window?”
“She must be stronger than she looks,” said Giles stubbornly. “She’s the only person who’s ever been able to master that brute Dobbin.” Now that he had started, Giles was strangely determined to find Susie guilty.
“Very well, my lord,” said Inspector Disher. “But don’t be disappointed if I don’t fin
d out anything. You’d better take that foreman, Sam Cobbett, up to the gatehouse and get him to examine the masonry. If anyone’s been tampering with it, he’ll know. Ah, here’s Mary with tea. Try one of these scones, my lord.”
Giles left as soon as he politely could. As soon as he returned to the castle, he took Sam Cobbett up to the roof of the gatehouse. “I’ve already seen it, me lord,” grumbled Sam, “and it’s only that there bit that was weak. The rest’s as strong as anything.”
“Had it been weakened deliberately?” asked Giles.
“Oh, no,” said Sam in surprise. “Reckon a cannon ball or rocks or somethink hit that bit back in the old days, like. See here. It’s all crumbled and broke. My men’ll have it fixed in a trice. I’ve got the best bricklayer in Essex down there.”
Giles went thoughtfully back to the keep. He now felt a bit of a fool for having set the inspector to investigate Lady Felicity’s death. But there was, after all, something rather strange about Susie. He would study her more closely in the days to come.
But Giles had little time to study Susie, for the very next day the first of the house guests began to arrive.
The three hopeful debutantes were rather taken aback to find a very pretty young widow already in residence in the castle. Jealousy made them treat Susie very badly. Susie was locked away in her dreams and hardly noticed, but Giles did and obscurely blamed Susie for lowering his three hopeful candidates in his eyes. All the guest rooms in the keep, the bailey, and the gatehouse were soon full, and Giles found another thorn sticking in his flesh. He had invited several of his bachelor friends down for the ball, and every one of them seemed to be trailing around after Susie, with their tongues hanging out. They openly envied him for having such a lovely girl right under his nose, so to speak.
The elder guests, the ones without marriageable daughters, that is, all obviously found Susie charming and congratulated Giles on having such a delightful chatelaine.
The servants had all but forgotten their suspicions and fears of Susie until the head groom, Clifton, dropped his bombshell. The inspector had asked him some very searching questions about the day of Lady Felicity’s death and had said that he was looking for a witness. The inspector had sworn Mr. Clifton to secrecy, and Mr. Clifton had told no one but his friend the housekeeper, Mrs. Wight. Mrs. Wight had confided this tantalizing piece of gossip to Thomson over a bottle of the best smuggled port, and Thomson, feeling the secret too heavy to bear, had drunk more than was good for him and had confided in Henry, the footman, who was engaged to one of the upstairs maids, and Henry told her. And so it went on until the whole servants’ hall seethed with gossip.
“Master Giles’ll be the next to go,” they said gloomily. Hadn’t Lady Susie said he might die?
Unaware of all this activity, Susie competently handled the management of the large household and enjoyed the novelty of being courted by several dashing young men all at the same time.
But it was one late arrival who almost made her heart stop. Here was the pleasant, homely young man of her dreams! He was not a friend of Giles’s but turned out to be Miss Cecily Winthrope’s brother, Arthur. Arthur had never had any success with the ladies, being accounted a prize bore by both sexes. But his sister, Cecily, was quick to notice Susie’s interest and went all out to encourage her brother. Susie was a very wealthy widow, she pointed out. And with Susie out of the way, she, Cecily, could have a clear field with Giles, for although Giles pretended not to be interested in the young countess, Cecily’s eyes, sharpened by jealousy, had noticed that Giles watched Susie more than was necessary.
The handsome young bachelors were amazed and then angry to find the pretty Susie quite happy to spend her free time in the boring Arthur Winthrope’s company and gloomily turned their attentions elsewhere.
Susie was obviously enchanted with Arthur. All his conversational grunts and monosyllables she put down to manly reticence, and in her dreamy innocence she did not notice the rather nasty wet gleam that was beginning to appear in his eyes, or the way his eyes were roving freely over her body.
Giles became violently jealous of Arthur. But Giles did not know he was jealous. He merely thought Susie was a dangerous, scheming murderess, and he wanted to do all sorts of nasty things to her, like crushing her in his arms and forcing a confession from her.
Arthur meant to propose to Susie on the night of the ball and, had he waited until then, she would have certainly accepted him.
But he did not.
Susie, convinced that they were soul mates, decided to take Arthur to her favorite spot down below the bluebell wood, which she had shown to no one else. While Arthur plodded stolidly beside her in his natty blazer and white flannels and straw boater, Susie had a long conversation with him in her mind.
“This is my favorite place, darling,” she said to the dream Arthur.
“Gosh, it’s pesky hot,” said the real Arthur. “Where is this place?”
“Not far,” said Susie, smiling, and went back to the dream Arthur, who was saying, “It’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Those bluebells are the color of your eyes.”
“Silly,” teased dream Susie. “My eyes are brown.”
“You expect me to go down there?” complained the real Arthur as they stood at last on top of the small cliff above the bluebell wood. “My trousers will be ruined.”
“We can go down by that little gully,” said Susie. “Come along. We shall be quite alone. Just the two of us.”
“I say,” said Arthur, turning brick-red with lust and excitement. “I say, by Jove, eh what.”
He followed her gleefully down the slope, staring eagerly about him to make sure the spot was as secluded as Susie had told him.
Susie sat down on the boulder with a sigh of satisfaction. “Come and sit by me, darling,” she thought she said to the dream Arthur, but she said it out loud.
“By Jove, yes, what, eh,” said Arthur, plumping himself eagerly beside her. “Hot stuff, what?”
Susie’s dream was rudely shattered as Arthur seized her in a surprisingly strong grip, forced her mouth up to his, and shoved a hot, wet tongue between her lips. Having effectively gagged her, he clamped a leg over her body and began to rock himself up and down, making nasty noises in the back of his throat.
Giles had been right about one thing: Susie was stronger than she looked, and she was driven nearly mad with fear and disgust. She gave one terror-inspired heave and thrust, and tongue and legs and groping hands all suddenly disappeared in a loud splash as Arthur went hurtling back into the water.
His straw hat bobbed away on the waves, and his greased head popped above the water. “Help!” he cried. “I can’t swim!”
He was very near the boulder, which was covered by stringy seaweed at its base. He grabbed hold of it and tried to pull himself out of the water. Susie turned to flee. Her boot slipped on a patch of slime and she accidentally stamped on Arthur’s hand. He gave a cry and went under again.
“Are you trying to kill him?” demanded an icy voice behind Susie’s left shoulder, and she screamed in fright. Giles was standing behind her. He had been walking along the top of the cliff, looking for her, because he had heard from Lady Matilda that Susie had gone off walking with Arthur without a chaperon. He had been sure he would find her at her favorite place, and he was right. He had been annoyed and sickened to find the couple at the foot of the cliff clutched in what looked like an extremely torrid embrace and had been about to turn away when he had suddenly seen Susie throw Arthur into the water. Now, as he hurried down the hill, it looked to him as if she had deliberately stamped on Arthur’s hand as he was trying to climb out.
He stretched down and jerked Arthur out of the water. Arthur lay in the prickly grass beside the boulder and gasped like a landed cod.
Giles expected Arthur to accuse Susie of murder, but to his surprise it was Susie who began the accusations. “How dare you?” she shouted down at the gasping Arthur. “How dare you maul me and touch me?”
&n
bsp; Arthur found his breath and sat up wrathfully. “Well, what do you expect?” he cried. “Listen, Giles. She says to me, she’s going to take me to a place where we can be all alone. What was I to think, eh? I ask you, as a man of the world, what was I to think? So I try to kiss her, and she pushes me in the drink. I mean, she’s a married woman—”
“Go back to the castle and get changed, Arthur,” said Giles quietly. “I’ll escort Lady Susie home.” His sympathies had abruptly switched to Susie. Arthur was a repulsive, caddish beast.
Arthur stood up and gave the couple a slow grin. “So it’s like that, is it?” He leered. “Well, well, well. By Jove, eh what? What?” The last “what” was because Giles had kicked him in the seat of the pants as he had turned around. “Pack your bags when you get back, Arthur,” said Giles sweetly, “or I’ll drown you personally.”
Arthur took one look at Giles’s cold blue eyes and scrambled up the slope with the agility of a mountain goat.
Giles turned a look at Susie. Either she was a consummate actress, or she had indeed had a bad shock. Her face was white, and her eyes for the first time since the death of her husband had a wide-awake, alive stare, as if she had newly found herself in this present world of reality and didn’t like it one bit.
“Is it always going to be like that?” she sobbed wildly. “Messy and hot and groping? Oh, it makes me sick. It’s not what I’d dreamed it would be. Not at all.”
Giles led her gently up the slope while all the time she cried bitterly. At last, when they reached the top of the cliff, he spread his jacket on the grass and urged her to sit down and compose herself before returning to the castle. He handed her a large pocket handkerchief to dry her tears and then settled back to wait for her to recover. He stared at the slim shoulders, bent in front of him, shaking with sobs, and he longed to put his arms around her and comfort her, but he had not yet made up his mind. No human being could cause so many accidents, if accidents they were. A long strand of hair had escaped from its moorings and hung down over the high-boned collar of her blouse. He absentmindedly reached out and picked it up, watching the sun glint through its silky threads.
