Lord James Harrington and the Christmas Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  ‘That’s my dad there. We named our Tommy after him. And that bloke there is Paul’s father.’

  ‘What, our Paul?’ said Beth, ‘the maître d’?’

  ‘That’s right and that’s Adam’s grand-dad and your gardener’s brother.’

  Anne put her hand to her chest. ‘I didn’t realise your staff had so many ties.’

  James reminded them that it was a close community so it made sense that many of the staff would have those links. The noise of a car drawing up caught their attention. An elderly couple emerged from a large Daimler, gathered their coats and a small suitcase each and came in to Reception. One of the temporary staff rushed forward to take their belongings.

  ‘Ah,’ said James, walking toward them, ‘you must be Major and Mrs William Carlton. I’m Lord Harrington, welcome to Harrington’s.’

  The Major was an upright man, a little shorter than James, with some weight around his middle and a no-nonsense expression. He judged the man would not suffer fools gladly. James’ welcome handshake was not reciprocated by the Major but by his wife; a thin, elegant woman with shoulder-length greying hair.

  ‘So lovely to meet you, Lord Harrington. I’m Cynthia.’

  James gestured for Beth to join him and he introduced her. ‘We’ve been preparing the reception area for a reunion.’

  ‘Oh, how exciting,’ Cynthia replied. ‘Our son said something about this but I confess I wasn’t taking too much notice.’

  ‘Well, some of our party are a reunion of Pals from the Sussex Regiment.’ He faced the Major. ‘I say, Major, weren’t you a Captain in the Great War? Was that with the Sussex?’

  The Major’s face paled and James was quick to ask if everything was all right. Beth suggested that it would have been a tiring drive through the snowy country lanes. ‘Perhaps a lie down would restore you before the evening,’ she said tactfully.

  Paul joined them and steered the Major to a chair to complete the check-in formalities before ringing the desk bell. A young bell-boy, hired for the weekend, appeared.

  ‘Luggage to Number Eleven,’ Paul said to the boy and then turned to the Carltons. ‘Would you like some tea delivered to your room?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Cynthia said. She commented on the festive decorations. ‘I’m really quite excited about tonight, Lord and Lady Harrington. We rarely attend such functions these days and the ambience here is most welcoming. Reminds me of the big functions we used to attend when William was in the army, don’t you think, William?’

  William grunted and followed the bell-boy up the stairs. James raised his eyebrows at Beth. ‘He doesn’t seem to think so.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll be better after a lie-down.’

  Half an hour later, a loud Italian accent interrupted them as they put the final touches to the arrangement of photographs. ‘Lord Harrington; Lady Harrington.’ The man bowed. ‘Carlo Pisani issa back to play in your beautiful house.’

  James couldn’t help but grin. The man was so friendly, he felt he’d known him for years. He shook his hand. ‘Mr Pisani, lovely to see you. Has your band parked round the side?’

  ‘Si, si, the staff ’ave opened the doors and we can set up. Olivia has arrived, si?’

  ‘It appears not,’ Paul put in. ‘Is she driving down? The roads are a little icy. Perhaps she’s taking her time.’

  ‘Mandy is driving. She issa good driver, a good singer.’ He leant in towards Anne as she came across to greet him. ‘Maybe she’s a good lover?’

  Anne flushed. Beth suppressed a grin and James motioned for him to go straight through to the dining room.

  As if on cue, Olivia Dupree entered the reception area as if she’d been announced to the Queen. Mandy Billings and Enid Carmichael followed, carrying vanity cases. Olivia flung her gloves on the centre table. She spoke aloud but not to any one in particular.

  ‘This weather is too awful to drive in.’ She mumbled to herself. ‘What on earth possessed Carlo to take this appointment?’

  ‘I think you’re being terribly ungracious,’ Anne said with some asperity. ‘Lord and Lady Harrington are your hosts and employed you to perform in this wonderful setting. You really are terribly rude.’

  Olivia glared at her. James put an arm around Anne. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to live up to expectations, Miss Dupree.’

  Didier emerged from the kitchen and locked eyes with the singer. He put his shoulders back, sneered and returned to the kitchen. Miss Dupree chuckled. ‘What an odd little fellow.’

  Beth guided her through to the dining hall to meet up with Carlo. James scrutinised Anne.

  ‘Anne, is everything all right?’

  Anne heaved a sigh and put her hand to her forehead. ‘I’m so sorry, James, but you and Beth have given her such a warm welcome and Harrington’s is not some grubby bed and breakfast. She really is the most infuriating snob.’

  James chuckled and gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘You really mustn’t let her get to you. She’ll get her comeuppance one day.’ He suddenly hoped it wouldn’t be that day though.

  Anne let out a frustrated sigh and went to help Mrs Jepson refresh the floral display.

  A taxi drew up and a man in his fifties stepped out holding a battered suitcase with a number of travel stickers affixed to it. He surveyed the country hotel and brushed the toes of his shoes on the back of each trouser leg. Then he straightened himself up and smoothed his hair back. James dashed out to welcome him.

  ‘Hello, I’m Lord Harrington; welcome to Harrington’s. Have you come far?’

  The man looked a little startled and made a half bow as James ushered him through to Reception. His eyes darted around the exquisite interior and through to the dining room. He puffed his cheeks out.

  ‘Crikey, I know the blokes said it was a nice gaff but that’s an understatement.’ He checked himself and put out a hand. ‘Sorry, I’m Alfie Stone and, yes, I have come quite a way. Australia.’

  ‘Ah, you’re one of the Pals. You’re not Cavendish though, are you? I don’t recognise the name.’

  Alfie confirmed that he was part of the Loxfield cricket team. ‘Joined up with everyone else. Most of the Loxfield team were killed and I couldn’t face coming back so I went to Australia. A few of us ended up over there. When I heard from the Simmonds boys, I couldn’t believe it. We’ve been trying to get together for a few years and this is the first time we’ve all been able to make it.’

  ‘How long are you staying for?’

  ‘Just the night here. Thought I’d treat myself and the rest of the Pals are doing the same. But, tomorrow, I’m going to see my cousin in Cambridge.’ He studied the photographs. ‘These are of us, aren’t they?’

  James suggested he leave his bag at Reception and take a look around. ‘Paul will get you checked in and you can reacquaint yourself with your memories.’

  Didier came through from the kitchen and handed Paul a sheet of paper before returning to his area of expertise. Alfie followed his every move with intense concentration. James couldn’t help but ask if he’d seen a ghost. The ex-army man frowned and jabbed a finger at the kitchen door.

  ‘He reminds me of a lad that worked in France, sort of résistance fighter-type – like a runner, passing messages and bringing food in. Only a young man then but there’s something about the way he holds himself.’ He snapped his finger and thumb to try to bring back lost memories. ‘Didier something or other...’

  ‘Didier le Noir?’

  Alfie swung round. ‘That’s it. Is that him?’

  ‘It most certainly is. Did you say he was in the resistance?’

  Alfie nodded enthusiastically and gave James a quick rundown on Didier’s actions during the many battles in France. He and a number of the villagers from small villages in the Artois region passed messages to the allied commanders about German movements along the front line. They helped wounded soldiers back on their feet and provided food and shelter in farmhouses and barns. James was aware that he must have looked stunned. He coul
dn’t imagine his rotund chef doing anything but prepare beautiful food. He made a mental note to have a chat with him and perhaps encourage him to take a place at one of the Pals tables tonight.

  The afternoon soon went by and guests from all over the country trickled in for the evening event. The Christmas dinner-dances had proved to be popular among the socially elite and, over the last few years, were fully booked by the end of the summer. Many returned year after year and James found they now had to say no to a good number of enquiries. They’d already increased the dances to two during December and he wondered if, next year, he should hold three. He discussed the idea with Beth while they were getting changed. He looked in the mirror as he tied his bow tie.

  Beth agreed that they should. ‘It’s a wonderful evening and festive too. Last year, a few of our regulars said it wasn’t Christmas until they’d attended our dance. Perhaps we could have a theme for each one.’

  ‘A theme?’

  ‘Yes.’ She fastened her earrings. ‘Well most of our events follow custom and folklore. Perhaps we could do the same for the dinners. Christmas isn’t short on tradition.’

  Satisfied with his bow tie, James slipped his dinner jacket on. ‘What a splendid idea. We could have the Christmas Mummers at one, perhaps a carol service or something on another and the burning of the Yule Log at a third.’

  ‘We could combine that with the Lord of Misrule. Didn’t you say that was a Christmas feast of some sort?’

  ‘Good Lord, yes. That would fit in perfectly. I’d have to research it a little but I believe it’s a festival for dressing up and I don’t mean evening dress, I mean something colourful and gregarious.’ James stood behind Beth to fasten a diamond necklace round her neck and suggested they had a good chat about it once everything had quietened down.

  Beth turned to face him. She looked glorious in a long midnight-blue satin dress. She wore kitten-heeled shoes of the same colour and a beautiful matching bolero jacket. Her make-up was subtle and her chestnut hair shone in the light.

  ‘Beth, darling, you look beautiful.’

  She looked at him coyly. ‘And you, my Lord, look handsome and debonair.’

  He smoothed his hair back. A man couldn’t fail to look good in a well-cut dinner-jacket and, although not a vain individual, he did feel as if he had stepped up for the evening. There was a knock on the bedroom door.

  ‘You decent?’ Harry entered and took a step back. ‘Well, look at you two! You look like you’re attending dinner at Buckingham Palace.’

  Beth plucked a stray hair from Harry’s own dinner-jacket. ‘I think we all look grand.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’ve time for a sherry before we leave.’

  James said that would be wonderful. Beth snatched her evening bag and went. Harry commented on the number of people attending the dinner. He added that he hoped Olivia Dupree wouldn’t be ill again. James groaned.

  ‘I have to say, I couldn’t care less if she was. I find her incredibly rude and, truth be told, I rather prefer Mandy Billings.’

  ‘Me too.’ He sat on the corner of the bed. ‘Do you think someone intentionally poisoned Olivia?’

  ‘You can’t mistakenly take strychnine, Harry. Someone was either wanting to make her ill or trying to kill her.’

  ‘Well, I know who I’d put my money on. There’s only two people who would do that. Carlo has motive and opportunity. He wants Mandy singing for him now but doesn’t have the guts to tell Olivia. And Olivia is lusting after him and he wants nothing to do with her. And Mandy is being told by all and sundry that she’s better than Olivia. She wants her place in the spotlight and who better to do it with than Carlo? He could open doors for her.’

  James reminded his son of his reluctance to be involved in any mysteries. ‘Not my bag, I think you said.’

  Harry grinned. ‘I can see why you do it. It’s interesting isn’t it?’

  They wandered downstairs and into the lounge which they had earlier transformed for the season. Christmas had emerged from the cupboard in the form of a wonderfully decorated tree, and festive tinsel was draped artistically over paintings and mirrors. A set of red candles flickered on a corner table. Harry accepted his sherry from Beth.

  ‘Who is Olivia sitting with tonight?’

  ‘The same group as last time plus a couple of others. We have an extra Pal on the table; Alfie Stone. A few are on the next table with Stephen and Anne. Oh, and Didier has a place laid.’

  Harry and Beth stared at him. He took a quick swig of sherry and picked up a white silk scarf.

  ‘Yes, it appears our chef was quite something in the French résistance during the Great War. Alfie Stone recognised him when he arrived. I had a chat with Didier afterwards and, of course, he played everything down but I insisted he join the table for at least one course. He has plenty of help in the kitchen so he’s joining us for the soup and then returning to his domain.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ said Beth who went on to say how surprised she was to find so many descendants from the Pals working at Harrington’s. ‘Remind me who we’re entertaining?’

  ‘We have the Major and his wife, their son, John, Juliet Brooks-Hunter and a couple who are celebrating a wedding anniversary.’

  Beth let out a satisfied sigh and emphasised how much she enjoyed Miss Brooks-Hunter’s company. ‘I think it’s because she is so like her sister. And although I didn’t know Delphine that well, she’s someone I warmed to immediately.’

  Delphine had been the subject of James’ investigation during the spring and he had to agree with Beth. Juliet not only mirrored Delphine in looks but personality too; assertive with a wicked sense of humour beneath the surface.

  James slipped an overcoat on and draped a fur coat over Beth’s shoulders. ‘Right, come along. Let’s get ourselves over to Harrington’s. Adam and his team are serving cocktails in around half an hour.’

  ‘Is Dr Jackson coming?’ said Harry.

  ‘Yes he is. Why?’

  ‘Thought you might want to have him on standby just in case someone falls ill.’

  His son laughed and Beth chuckled along with him. ‘Harry, don’t tempt fate.’

  Outside, James locked the front door and they strolled toward the Jaguar. He hoped things would go smoothly that night. There were some odd personalities attending; the standoffish Major Carlton, for one, who appeared none too pleased about the reunion. Then again, perhaps he simply didn’t want a reminder of those days.There were the ambitious Mandy Billings, the flirtatious Carlo Pisani and the infuriatingly dismissive Olivia.

  Although Harry had joked that Dr Jackson should be on standby, James hadn’t told them that he’d already had that discussion with Philip who, himself, had raised concerns. Indeed, he and Philip would be searching for anything untoward during the evening. DCI George Lane, although off duty, had arranged to meet Charlie for a drink in the Half Moon should he be needed.

  James swung the passenger door open for Beth and silently prayed to the heavens that the evening would run to plan.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Carlo Pisani started as he meant to go on. The bandleader had promised a festive evening and he’d planned that every number played and sung that night would be Christmas-themed. True to his word, the band’s first three numbers, while guests tucked into their entrée, were a medley of hits from the wonderful film White Christmas.

  Ten tables, each seating up to eight guests, surrounded the dance floor and, to James’ delight, not one person had failed to arrive, even though light snow continued to fall. The entrée of French Onion soup was light and warming and James sensed an air of anticipation. The majority of guests had attended this particular dinner for several years running and made a purpose of making merry and celebrating. That energy permeated the room.

  He regarded the table alongside. Olivia Dupree’s expression never really changed. She looked down her nose at everyone. The Simmonds brothers, together with Walter and Scotty, shared a joke with Mandy and Enid. Alfie Stone and Didier chat
ted with some animation and appeared grateful to have met each other again.

  The table beyond was occupied by four other Pals along with the Merryweathers and the Jacksons. The Pals had arrived from the North that morning. They’d set off early as all were slightly disabled and they’d wanted to ensure they arrived in plenty of time. Philip, as instructed, cast an occasional eye over to Miss Dupree’s table in case anything suspicious might be happening. The waiters and waitresses scurried around them with bottles of wine, champagne and cocktails. Adam scanned the room for guests requiring service and delegated staff with a click of his fingers. Paul managed the desk and operations between the kitchen and the dining room. James let out a contented sigh - so far, so good.

  The medley finished and Carlo lifted his baton and unleashed ‘There’s Frost on the Moon’, a nifty number that prompted some to have a dance before the next course. Beth struck up a conversation with Juliet Brooks-Hunter by her side; opposite, Harry chatted with the couple celebrating their anniversary, so James arrowed in on the Carltons.

  ‘So this is your first visit to Harrington’s?’

  The Major gave a curt nod and Cynthia, as if to compensate for her husband, exaggerated her enthusiasm. ‘It is, Lord Harrington. I’ve heard many wonderful comments from people who have stayed here; well, I thought it was time to attend the famous Christmas dinner and dance. We’d probably still be sitting at home if I left it up to William to arrange; but when we heard John was performing, I thought it an opportune time to visit. I noticed the guests taking an interest in your photographic display.’

  ‘The Pals, yes, our librarian Charlie Hawkins dug those up. I believe that he has a number stashed away in the reference library. Of course, his father and those of many of the villagers joined up.’ He raised his voice so that the Major could hear him. ‘I say, Major, do you recognise the chaps here or in the photographs?’

  The man visibly bristled and although it could have been the warmth, his face turned florid. James dismissed the heat notion: it looked more like anger, impatience or intolerance. Perhaps it was all of those things. The Major bellowed. ‘Do you know how big that regiment was, Lord Harrington?’