Major Carlton sat by the window, his jacket draped across his lap. His face wore an odd expression. James wasn’t sure how to describe it. He’d expected to see a grieving husband but the Major was overcome by another emotion that he could only liken to fear. Of course, there was distress in the eyes but it was accompanied by a haunted air. Anne had gone straight across to join him, pulling up a matching chair as she did so. She held his hand and offered quiet words of sympathy, although he appeared to take little notice.
Philip examined the body of Cynthia Carlton while George scanned the room. James peered over Philip’s shoulder and queasiness came over him. If Mrs Carlton had ingested strychnine, the person responsible for administering it had made sure it was a heavy dose. Her face was contorted and her body twisted unnaturally. Her terrifying strychnine grin forced him to look away.
George tugged his sleeve. ‘Do you see anything untoward in this room? Anything placed where it shouldn’t be? Anything missing?’
James gazed around. Everything appeared to be as it should be. George turned to the Major and, after a brief apology for having to ask, put the same question to him. The old man sat up straight and slowly studied the room. After a few seconds, he got up and opened drawers and wardrobes and checked his wife’s vanity case. He shook his head.
‘We brought clothes. The only jewels Cynthia had were for tonight and she’s still wearing them.’
Not a robbery then, thought James. He watched as the Major slumped back in his chair. The reaction to his wife’s death seemed unusual and he sensed that George felt the same. He quietly suggested to George that the Major might be more comfortable in the lounge. George opened the door.
‘Major Carlton, I obviously have questions to ask but I don’t want you distressed by staying here. Anne, perhaps you could escort Major Carlton to the lounge where we were sitting.’
Anne jumped up. ‘Of course.’
She went to help Major Carlton but was rebuffed and advised that he was quite capable of walking unaided. Without glancing at his wife, he left the room. Anne followed behind and flagged up a helpless look at James who gave her a what can you do? shrug in return. He closed the door behind them.
‘Is that a natural reaction to such an awful death? I can see a mixed bag of emotions there but not much in the way of grief.’
George considered his question before answering. ‘Shock affects everyone differently; but there was a resignation with him, don’t you think?’
Philip got to his feet. ‘I agree. It’s as if he felt it was inevitable.’
James snapped his fingers. ‘That’s exactly what I was trying to convey. It really is as if he were expecting it.’
‘Well,’ mumbled George, ‘I’ll see what I can glean from him. Philip, your prognosis?’
‘Professional opinion is that this was strychnine poisoning – a heavy dose in the jug of water.’ He pointed to the glass lying on the floor next to the body. ‘Make sure no one touches that or drinks from that jug.’
‘Do we know who delivered the water?’
James undid his bow-tie and put his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s normally one of the regular staff. Everything comes from the kitchen and whoever has a free moment delivers the water.’
‘Anything else to add, Philip?’
‘Not that I can think of. I’ll write up my report. Is the ambulance on its way?’
George confirmed that it was and that he would be sure to keep the glass and jug for evidence. ‘The snow’s not expected to last down in Lewes so I should have some help over the next few days. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.’ He slapped Philip on the back. ‘Now I think that you need to get back down to that dinner. I want to keep things as normal as possible.’ He winced as he spoke.
‘You’ve done that a few times tonight,’ Philip said. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘I keep getting a stabbing pain here.’
Philip placed his hand on George’s stomach. ‘Any nausea?’
‘A little, yes. Probably indigestion.’
‘Not necessarily. Come to the surgery tomorrow and we’ll take a proper look.’ He turned to James. ‘Sorry your evening’s been spoiled.’
James groaned. ‘Just make sure that everyone else is having a good time. Keep Beth and Harry updated.’
‘I will.’
After he’d left, there was a lengthy silence between the friends as he and George collected their thoughts. James went across to the window and closed the curtains. ‘You did tell the ambulance men to come to a side entrance?’
George assured him that he was doing everything as discreetly as possible. There was a knock on the door and Paul entered. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if there was anything you need us to do.’
‘You could confirm who brought the jug of water up here.’
Paul caught his breath on seeing Mrs Carlton on the floor. He quickly met George’s eyes. ‘That would be Adam.’
‘Did he prepare it?’
‘No sir. We put a jug of water in all of the rooms. Didier would normally instruct the kitchen staff to prepare them and one of the waiters or waitresses would distribute them. As Mrs Carlton went up a little earlier than planned, that particular jug was brought up ahead of the others.’
‘So anyone could have tampered with it.’
‘Yes sir. The jugs are kept right by the door leading out of the kitchen.’ He glanced at James. ‘I’m attempting to accommodate Major Carlton in another room but we’re fully booked.’
James ran a hand through his hair. ‘Have a word with my wife. Miss Brookes-Hunter is a lady to whom we can offer accommodation at our place. She decided to spend a few nights here instead of GJ’s cottage. Do that now before the evening comes to a close.’
Paul confirmed he would and left them to it. James stared at the body of Mrs Carlton and chewed his lip.
‘What’s the matter, James?’ George asked.
‘Mmm?’
‘You look as if you’ve lost something.’
James was aware that he must have looked confused and he was. Something nagged at him and he couldn’t think what it might be. He opened wardrobes and drawers, then stood motionless. He was aware that George was allowing him this time; that he realised something relevant might come out of his musings. What was it though? What little snippet of information had lodged itself in his subconscious? His gaze settled on the Major’s jacket, still draped over the chair.
‘Aha!’ He dashed across and snatched it from the chair. ‘Something alarmed the Major during dinner. He’d brought his hand out of his pocket and looked like he’d seen a ghost.’
George came closer as James delved into the Major’s pocket and gently brought the item out. George sucked the air. ‘You know the significance of that?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said James holding up a white feather. ‘The sign of a coward or deserter during the Great War. ‘Major Carlton was a notable war hero. Why would someone put this in his pocket?’
George frowned, contemplating Cynthia Carlton’s body. ‘And why kill Cynthia Carlton because of it?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The dinner and dance continued without a hitch with no suspicions aroused over the missing Major and his wife. The couple had not mixed with any other guests so they were either not missed or it was assumed the pair had retired early. James and Beth spent the rest of the evening dancing and chatting and planting in their guests’ minds the idea of a third dinner and dance for the following year. The suggestion went down well and, by the end of the evening, James had decided that an extra dinner and dance would indeed be on the cards the following Christmas.
The band packed their instruments away. The guests agreed, as they made their way upstairs, that the evening had been another roaring success. If only they knew, James thought.
At around midnight, in their own home, he prepared drinks for Beth, Harry and their guest, Juliet Brooks-Hunter. He and Beth were delighted to accommodate Juliet and she had jumped at the
opportunity to stay with the people who had solved her sister’s murder. Packing her belongings took little time as she always travelled light.
Harry stoked the fire into life and added a couple of logs for the flames to latch onto. Beth lit the candles and plugged in the fairy lights on the tree. She then placed cheese and crackers on the table and James distributed whisky and ginger for him and Harry and gin and tonics for Beth and Juliet.
‘Well, Lord Harrington,’ said Juliet in her matter-of-fact tone, ‘you are a one for attracting a mystery. Tell me, do you intend to investigate this one? And there’s no need to tell me that nothing happened tonight because your son’s already spilled the beans.’
Some good humoured banter commenced between Juliet and Harry about James’ investigations. He took it in his stride as he eased into his favourite armchair and stretched his legs out.
‘The thing is, Juliet, something rather untoward happened on the first of December. Did Harry tell you about that?’
She glared at Harry. ‘No he did not. I know that awful Dupree woman was taken ill but -.’ She sat up with a start. ‘Oh!’
James went through a brief outline of the events of that evening and how the police seemed to think that Dupree had been given a similar dose of strychnine to John Carlton. He added that she appeared to be disliked by anyone she came into contact with. ‘I’m not sure that she actually has any friends, or acquaintances, even.’
Harry helped himself to a slab of cheddar. ‘Mandy and Enid, her two assistants, say she’s always opinionated and demanding.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Juliet. ‘Unfortunate for her. I don’t take kindly to egotistical behaviour; it’s unbecoming of a woman.’
‘I agree,’ Beth put in. ‘But what link does she have with John and Mrs Carlton?’
‘Perhaps a distant relative,’ suggested Juliet. ‘That Major chappie is as standoffish as the diva – perhaps they’re of the same blood.’
James held his palms open to indicate that it could be anything then picked up his whisky. Harry playfully kicked his shin. ‘What are not telling us, Dad?’
He wondered whether to impart his news and decided there was no harm. Juliet had a good mind and he was interested to know her thoughts.
‘I believe the nature of this crime relates to something historic, although how Olivia Dupree fits into it I don’t know.’
Instinctively, his audience edged forward.
‘During dinner, Beth noticed the Major go pale. He’d reached into his pocket and he looked like a rabbit in the headlights. When I asked if he was quite well, he dismissed my concern. Well, after Cynthia’s death he left his jacket on the chair upstairs so I took a look. George was with me. I found a white feather.’
Juliet gasped.
‘Does that mean what I think it means?’ asked Harry.
James confirmed that a white feather had become a symbol of cowardice during the Great War. ‘They were given to conscientious objectors, deserters, that sort of thing.’
His son frowned. ‘But why kill Cynthia Carlton? What had she done? And Major Carlton fought. He led men into battle. He received a DSO.’
‘Someone thinks otherwise,’ said Juliet. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that a soldier made up stories of bravery.’
Beth questioned how someone in the Major’s position would get away with cowardice. ‘I mean, if he was leading men into battle, those men would know if he shied away.’
‘There’s something else too,’ James said. He put his glass down, felt in his pocket and brought out a slip of paper. ‘One of our staff found this. It’s a record of a diary entry dated 1917. It hints at something untoward.’
Juliet took it from him. ‘France April 12th 1917: His orders are vague.’ She studied the entry.
James motioned for her to turn the paper over. She did so and read on.
‘France April 14 1917 : This isn’t war; it’s slaughter. What’s the point? These generals are miles away telling us where to fight. The plan is set up to fail. He’s leading us to our deaths.’
‘So, Dad, you’re thinking that this plan being spoken of is something to do with Major Carlton?’
‘I do.’
‘Sweetie, have you shown this to George?’ said Beth.
‘No, I didn’t think anything of it. I simply assumed someone had mislaid it. But I will do. My concern now is that the Pals may be involved. I checked the handwriting against the register but I can’t see a match to this writing.’
‘Mmm,’ Julie pondered, ‘handwriting may change slightly, but rarely very much. It’s faded and difficult to read. The Pals must be connected. They’re all jolly men who I’ve enjoyed spending time with tonight but this smacks of revenge. Something happened that’s been bubbling under the surface all these years and now, someone wants to cause harm.’
James looked to the ceiling. ‘But why kill Cynthia Carlton? Why attack Olivia and John? If the Major is the cause of this anger, why not kill him?’
She sat up with a determined look. ‘You need to investigate this, James, and I don’t envy you. There is a hidden past that needs to be uncovered. You did it with my sister; you need to do it again.’
James groaned. ‘Good Lord, I wouldn’t know where to start?’
‘With the Pals.’
Harry cleared his throat and winced. Beth frowned. ‘What’s the matter, dear?’
‘If we’re to do that, remember that Adam’s and Paul’s relatives fought in the Pals.’
‘You’re right,’ said Beth. ‘And our gardener has links too.’
James rubbed his chin. ‘And Charlie. And don’t forget that Didier played his part in the résistance.’
There was a thoughtful silence, eventually broken by James who began buttering a cracker. ‘I don’t even want to mention this but aside from the gardener, all would have had access to the water jug delivered to Mrs Carlton.’
Beth’s eyes opened wide. ‘You can’t think our staff are capable of such an attack. They’ve been loyal and devoted; I can’t imagine any of them wanting to spoil your good name. It’s unthinkable.’
‘My dear,’ said Juliet, ‘when revenge is this strong, common sense and duty become secondary. This was planned. The poisonings of Olivia Dupree and John Carlton were planned. Whoever killed Mrs Carlton arranged to do this tonight.’ She turned her attention to James. ‘Do you have people present at both evenings when the attacks took place?’
‘The staff, of course, were the same. Then _’
‘Did anyone push to volunteer?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. We generally get the same people in because we know they do a good job. We had the four Pals, Carlo Pisani, Olivia Dupree and her two assistants, Mandy and Enid. The Merryweathers were here along with the Jacksons.’
‘Strychnine is so dangerous. Who would know about its use and how to measure the dosage?’
James shrugged. ‘Apart from Philip, I’ve no idea.’
‘Appleton would,’ Harry put in, explaining to Juliet that he was the gardener. ‘Well, that’s used for killing rats and moles, isn’t it? And athletes, don’t they sometimes use it?’
‘I believe they did,’ Beth said, adding that a relative used it once for a track event in around 1910. ‘It was deemed to be a stimulant and supposedly used if you had an endurance event to help keep you going.’
James settled back in his chair. ‘I don’t know about any of that but Appleton wasn’t at the dinners. He was at home.’
‘Was he?’
James glared at Harry who returned it with a helpless shrug. ‘Dad, you don’t know for sure. We presume he was at home but he could have been up at the house.’
‘But why?’
‘My dear, that is your task,’ said Juliet. ‘You and your friend, George, must delve into the history of these people.’
Beth sighed. ‘I, for one, would like to know why Olivia Dupree was poisoned. What links her to the Carltons?’
Juliet gave James a knowing look. ‘Then why don�
��t you start with her. She was the first target. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on that evening?’
‘An argument between Carlo and Olivia. Olivia becoming ill and accusing someone of trying to kill her. That’s it.’
‘She is your first line of inquiry, James. Why is someone is trying to kill her? We must get to the bottom of this. Was this an attempt on her life or a warning of some kind? Once you clear that up, we can look at John and Cynthia Carlton. If Major Carlton is the target, why have they been attacked?’
James watched as Beth gathered the empty tumblers and plates. Juliet announced her retirement to bed; Harry escorted her up. James wandered around the room, switched the fairy lights off, blew out the candles and secured the fire guard. This wasn’t going to be straightforward. People had been holding on to secrets, lies and revenge for forty years. How on earth could he unravel it? Beth slipped her hand into his.
‘I think you should have a chat with Bert. He’ll lead you in the right direction about Miss Dupree. If this is to do with the past, perhaps her parents will be of help.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll track him down tomorrow and see what I can find out.’
‘He’ll be here. It’s St Nick’s day tomorrow – we’ll all be at church.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Anne and the ladies of the Women’s Institute had pushed the boat out for the St Nick’s day celebrations. Fresh forest ferns, holly, hawthorn, mistletoe and tinsel were ornamenting the oak beams and the pulpit as well as the end of each pew. A beautiful wooden Nativity scene took centre stage.
The children had decorated a Christmas tree with baubles and tinsel and to the side of this was a huge wooden chair that Stephen had found at the back of the church. He and Anne had dusted it down, painted it gold and placed it by the tree like a royal throne. Under the tree was a pile of presents, each wrapped in brightly-coloured Christmas paper. The children gazed at them and chatted among themselves about what each present might contain.
Lord James Harrington and the Christmas Mystery Page 8
