Pushing Up Daisies

by M C Beaton

  * * *

  Agatha walked slowly into the kitchen in the morning with a sore head and a mouth like a gorilla’s armpit. Jake rose to meet her. “I’ve collected your car,” he said. “So we can get started.”

  “Not without coffee.”

  “You’re late,” said Jake. “I put some in a thermos. You can drink it at the office. I’ll drive you in your car.”

  “Okay,” said Agatha weakly. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

  “Don’t worry. With me driving, we’ll be there on time.”

  How could I ever be mad enough to even think about going to bed with this young man, thought Agatha. I feel a hundred this morning.

  In the office, as she was beginning to send her staff off on their respective jobs, she had a sudden idea. “Toni. I would like you and Jake here to go back to Harby Hall and then to the village. See if there is anything at all you can find out. Toni, you’ll need to use your car. Jake’s is at my place.” Then Agatha found to her fury that she was blushing.

  Chapter Seven

  Simon went off to the supermarket, seething with rage. Harby Hall was the prime investigation. This upstart newcomer, Jake, should not have been allowed anywhere near it. Also, it was being forcefully borne in on Simon that his pursuit of Alice was beginning to make him look ridiculous. And so his thoughts turned to Toni again. She had been looking particularly pretty that morning in a cherry red sweater.

  Jake was happily thinking the same thing as he sat next to Toni in her small car. It was a bright sunny day with the colourful leaves of autumn dancing in front of them on the country roads.

  “I had a marvellous evening out with the boss last night,” he said. “She’s quite a lady. Never come across anyone like her before. I like a woman to wear French scent and make-up. She is so feminine.”

  “Yes, we all like Agatha, and are very protective of her,” said Toni. “She has made mistakes with some awful men in the past, and so we all try to make sure she is never hurt again.”

  “I wouldn’t call Charles awful.”

  “No, he isn’t. And I think Agatha might have a chance; that is, if she didn’t keep falling for unsuitable men.”

  “You’re driving over the limit,” said Jake.

  “Sorry.” Toni realised that she had become angry. Jake was making her feel inadequate. He was posh, ex-public school, and very handsome. Toni was used to men being immediately attracted to her. But here was this Adonis babbling on about Agatha, of all people. Was it because he thought she, Toni, was common? Her sense of humour came to her rescue, and she told herself that she was in danger of being jealous of Agatha. What a hoot!

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Toni found herself asking.

  “Not at present. Hard to find the right girl.”

  I happen to be right here, thought Toni, getting cross again, or haven’t you even noticed?

  “Maybe if I had been living, like, you know, in the olden days, the Edwardians and all that lot. It would have been okay for me to go to Paris and get my rocks off with an experienced courtesan.”

  “You can pay for a tart just as easily in London today.”

  “Not the same,” said Jake. “You see, those courtesans learned all about how to behave outside the bedroom as well as in it, you know, amuse and charm and discuss politics and books and all that. I get easily bored. Now Agatha isn’t boring.”

  “I hope you are not thinking about having an affair with Agatha!” said Toni. She swung the car into a lay-by and stopped, swinging round to face him.

  “Why not?” demanded Jake. “She’s single.”

  “Look,” said Toni, “for you it might just be getting your rocks off as you so elegantly put it, but Agatha might fall in love with you, and love is a responsibility.”

  “This is too serious,” said Jake. “Don’t worry. I’m too keen on this job to want to do anything to screw it up. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” Toni drove on. “We’ll go to the hall first,” she said. “To give you a rundown, Damian is feminine and weird. They’re all weird. Daughter Andrea is the only one who really mourned Bellington. The wife is recovering from drink and drugs. Another oddball.”

  They checked in at the lodge and then moved on up the drive. “We’ve got a place in the country like this,” said Jake. “Pa likes playing the squire.”

  “Is your mother dead?”

  “Yes. She was a do-gooder. Women’s Institute, Save the Church Tower, all that sort of thing. Sat on a lot of committees. Never did see much of her. Nurse, governess, then off to prep school. By the time she’d died of cancer, my mother seemed like some do-gooding stranger.”

  “Didn’t that damage you emotionally?” asked Toni, coming to a halt outside the mansion.

  “Not really. Don’t know. Hadn’t time to think with Pa shoving me into one job or another. Should have stood up to him before this. Poor old sod. He must be feeling lousy. So let’s go and let me have a look at the zoo.”

  Damian greeted them with delight. “This is a treat. I do so like beautiful people. Read about you in the newspapers. Diamonds in the furniture. Wish there was some in mine. Oh, Andrea. What do you want?”

  “I want to say hullo to the guests,” said Andrea, gazing at Jake. “Is that a problem?”

  “Never bothered before. Oh, sit down. How can I help?”

  Jake, who had been reading up on the case, said, “The housekeeper, the old one, that is, she said Lady Bellington was down in the cellar with a syringe.”

  “Which turned out to be a lie,” said Damian, “as you were already told.”

  “Would you like to see the cellars?” asked Andrea.

  “That’d be great.” Jake got to his feet. “Coming, Toni?”

  “No need for both of you,” said Andrea.

  When they had gone, Damian grinned. “She’ll eat him alive. Oh, Mother, what is it?”

  “I was looking out of the morning room windows and saw the most delicious young man arriving. A friend of yours?” asked Lady Bellington.

  “No, another detective. Andrea has dragged him off to the cellar from which he may never emerge.”

  “I’d better rescue the poor lad.”

  “Just you and me,” said Damian with a grin.

  “This is still a murder enquiry,” said Toni. “And yet, you seem to treat the whole thing as a joke.”

  “If I didn’t,” said Damian, “I’d be as bonkers as the rest of the family.”

  The sun flickered through the ivy leaves half-covering the window and sent harlequin patterns flickering over Damian’s face.

  “That ivy,” said Toni. “Don’t you ever want to get it cut? It makes all the rooms so dark.”

  “I’m sure the factor will get around to it one day. Will you marry me?”

  “What?”

  “I’m asking you to marry me. Think about it. No more nasty murder cases.”

  “You don’t even know me!”

  “Don’t have to. You’re young, pretty, and would produce lovely babies.”

  “Let’s get down to business,” said Toni sharply. “If Mrs. Bull was talking rubbish about Lady Bellington being down in the cellar with a syringe, why should she end up down the well?”

  “Because she probably had some real nasty gossip about someone else. Ah, it must be them tharr wicked aristos at the hall, thinks you. Wrong. That village is full of vice. Go away and turn over a few stones. Mother has a cast-iron alibi. She was in rehab, or the home for the bewildered, or whatever you call these places.”

  Toni sat outside in her car, wondering whether to go back in to rescue Jake, when he appeared. “You know,” said Jake, sinking into the passenger seat, “they are all so mad that you begin to think you’re the one who’s odd.”

  “So what happened in the cellar?”

  “Andrea groped my bum. Mother arrived, told her to lay off, told me to get on with whatever I was supposed to be doing, and stood there with her arms folded watching me while Andrea slouched off. There was reall
y nothing I could do but beat a retreat.”

  “Oh, well, let’s see if we have any more luck with this Humphrey Sanders at Pear Tree Cottage than Agatha had. He’s the one who was angriest about Bellington raising the rents.”

  “Odd sort of place,” commented Jake as they drove into the village. “No shops, no pub. There is a church. Look! There’s a funeral taking place. Never tell me old Ma Bull has turned up her toes.”

  “Too soon,” said Toni. “She was alive earlier today. Let’s go and have a look.”

  She parked the car by the village green, and both got out and walked towards the church where the coffin was just being borne out and into the graveyard. “I really must see this,” said Toni. “I didn’t think they buried them in these old graveyards anymore.”

  “Must be Low Church,” said Jake.

  “What’s Low Church?”

  “Church of England without the bells and smells. High Church was considered too popish.”

  “So why do you think it’s Low Church?”

  “Coloured coats. No fancy hats. No black mourning.”

  As they walked into the churchyard, a woman approached them. “Are you friends of the deceased?” she asked.

  “No,” said Toni quickly, having a sudden instinct that Jake was about to lie. “We’re detectives.”

  “Oh, yes, poor Mrs. Bull. Still holding on?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “It’s just that these old churchyard services are so beautiful,” said Toni. “But we are sorry to have intruded.”

  “But you must stay. It’s a celebration, in a way. I am burying my mother. She was horrible. Do join us.”

  They were in time to hear the vicar intone as the coffin was lowered into the grave, “Goodbye to you, Mrs. Clutter. You had a long and busy life, and now you can rest with the angels.”

  “Whatever happened to ‘Man that is born of woman?’” hissed Jake.

  A stocky man in front of them turned round and glared Jake into silence.

  “You will be sorely missed by everyone,” intoned the vicar, “especially your daughter, Cassandra. Goodbye from all of us.”

  “Very disappointing,” whispered Toni. “They do it much better on television.”

  The woman who had first approached them caught up with them as they were leaving the graveyard. “I am Cassandra Clutter,” she said. “We are having some refreshments in the village hall. Do join us.”

  “We are sorry for your loss,” said Jake.

  “Then you must be the only two people in the whole wide world who are,” she said. “That’s the hall over there.”

  “Posh voice,” said Toni as they watched her walk away. “Come down in the world? I didn’t see any grand houses in this hamlet of a place.”

  “There is one,” remarked Jake. “Behind those trees at the back of the place. You can just see the chimneys.”

  “Then why not have the wake there?”

  “Maybe too many people. Lots of them heading for the hall, a lot that weren’t even at the service.”

  They were met by a roar of voices as they walked in. “Do help yourself to cider, m’dears,” said a small woman. “It do be the best cider this side o’ Devon. Humphrey does us proud.”

  “Would that be Mr. Sanders?”

  “Yes, that be he, over there by the gurt barrel.”

  “I don’t know that we can interview him here,” said Toni. “We’d better wait until later. Let’s try old Mrs. Ryan up by the allotments.”

  “Toni!” pleaded Jake. “Those sausage rolls they’re handing round look delicious, and I’m aching to try the famous cider.”

  “Oh, well, a tankard each and then we’ll get off.”

  “Thank you, mummy. You get the sausage rolls and I’ll get the cider.”

  When Jake returned with the cider, he found Toni clutching a paper plate with four large sausage rolls on it.

  “Let’s take this stuff outside,” suggested Jake.

  They sat on a wall outside the hall. Both agreed the cider was excellent.

  “It’s a creepy sort of place,” said Jake, looking about.

  “What’s up with it?” asked Toni. It was a sunny autumn day. Ducks sailed placidly on the pond. A gusty wind swung the branches of a willow tree, and its leaves, like little golden disks, flew out into the air.

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling. I think maybe we should wait on until later and perhaps have a word with Miz Clutter. She was so direct about her awful mother, she might be refreshingly blunt about other people here.”

  Jake surveyed Toni out of the corner of his eye. She really was very beautiful and had a sort of fresh, untouched air about her. He wondered whether she was a virgin and then dismissed that idea. They didn’t exist anymore, at least not when girls reached their late teens. Toni had given up wearing her long blond hair straight and had slightly curled it and tied it back with a jaunty tartan ribbon. She suddenly turned and looked full at him, and blue eyes met blue eyes in a long fascinated stare. A delicate flush rose to Toni’s cheeks while Jake fought down a sudden surge of elation. I’m in love, he thought. I haven’t felt like this since … well, what was her name? But surely it wasn’t like this.

  Toni gave herself a little shake and said briskly, “I don’t think we should have any more cider. It’s getting noisier and noisier in there, and it’ll probably go on for some time. Let’s go and see Mrs. Ryan and tackle Cassandra later on.”

  They got into Toni’s car after putting their paper plates in a garbage pail and returning the tankards to the bar.

  “Here it is,” said Toni, stopping outside Mrs. Ryan’s house. “And she certainly has a good view of the allotments.”

  But although they rang the bell and knocked, there was no reply. “Maybe, if she’s an old lady, she’s having a nap,” said Jake.

  “Or for all we know, she might be swigging cider at the wake. I don’t think the Church of England calls them wakes.”

  “No, they mumble politely ‘Refreshments at the George’ or wherever. Usually it’s only selected guests, but I suppose it’s a free-for-all in a place as small as this. I say, have you got a fellow?”

  “I don’t like personal questions,” said Toni.

  “You’re so gorgeous, you must have. Marry me.”

  Toni burst out laughing. “You are an idiot. Let me look up and see if there’s anyone else on the list. Ah, there’s a Mary Feathers, head of the allotments. Quite near. We’ll try, and if she’s out, we’d better look for her and Mrs. Ryan at the party or whatever it is. Agatha has written ‘Old bitch’ next to Mary’s name.”

  Mary turned out to be at home. “Two beautiful detectives!” she exclaimed, after they had introduced themselves. “Do come in. Have you been to the hall? Most of the village will be there for old Mrs. Clutter’s funeral.” Toni noticed the admiring looks Jake was giving Mary and felt a pang of jealousy, but reminded herself severely that Simon had been enough trouble. Better keep it out of the workplace.

  “We’ve been there,” said Jake. “We actually came to try to see Mrs. Ryan, but she isn’t at home.”

  “You’ll be trying to find out who attacked poor Mrs. Bull,” said Mary. “I don’t know why I call her poor because she was a walking sort of poison pen letter. How she ferreted out so many secrets is a mystery to me.”

  “I wondered if it might have something to do with the allotments,” said Toni. “Allotments do seem to bring out the worst in people.”

  “My dear, the Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on this lot when it comes to feuds. They are so jealous of their patches of land that if a thistle seed blows over from someone’s plot, there are cries of blue murder.”

  “So why does someone so beautiful and calm as you head the committee?” asked Jake.

  “How sweet you are, my love. It’s because I was voted in by all of them. I never quarrel, see. Just listen. Would you like some tea or coffee? Or I have my own dandelion wine.”

  “How do you make that?” asked Jake.r />
  “Quite simple. Dandelion petals, sugar, oranges, water and yeast. Wait there. You must have a glass.”

  When Mary had left the room, Jake lay back against the sofa cushions, his hands clasped behind his head and his long legs stretched out in front of him, and said dreamily, “I could listen to that clotted-cream voice of hers all day.”

  “I feel we’re wasting time,” said Toni sharply.

  “If you want to talk to Cassandra, you’ll have to wait a bit.”

  Mary came in carrying a decanter and glasses. “Bit chilly in here,” she said. She bent over the fireplace and struck a match to a pile of kindling. When the fire was blazing, she threw on some logs. “Now,” she said, pouring out three glasses, “that’s the taste of summer.”

  “It’s delicious,” said Jake after an appreciative sip, and even Toni said with surprise, “You could market this.”

  “Too lazy. I don’t do much once the autumn’s here and there’s not much to do on the allotments. Now, old Mrs. Clutter, she made Cassandra’s life hell. Used her as a sort of cross between a maid and a companion. Big house, they do have. Called Admiral’s Lodge, though none of them Clutters was ever in the navy. Yes, we thought old Ma Clutter would live forever.”

  “How did she die?” asked Toni.

  “Fell down the stairs.”

  “Pushed?”

  “Never say that, my chuck. Cassandra never had a bit o’ courage.”

  Somehow, they found themselves accepting a second glass. The day darkened outside, and Mary lit an old-fashioned oil lamp on a table by the window. The fire crackled. A large black cat slouched in and curled up on the hearth.

  Jake had a half smile on his face and his eyes were closing. I think she’s hypnotising us, thought Toni. She stood up abruptly and said sharply, “Jake! We must go!”

  “Oh, dear, must we?” Jake stood up. “Thanks for the wine, Mary.”

  “Call any time,” she said.

  The doorbell rang. They followed Mary as she went to answer it. Charles Fraith stood on the step. “What are you doing here?” demanded Toni.