Snuffed It in the Library

by Kate Hamilton

  ‘And did you see Shapley then?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When you went to collect his tray.’

  ‘Oh, well, we all saw him then. I mean to say, he was dead, wasn’t he.’

  ‘Ah, so you didn’t leave the tea things upstairs?’

  ‘No. No. Mrs Hoskins wanted to get off home.’

  ‘She clears up after tea, then?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, she clears up after tea.’

  III

  Something was not adding up.

  Edie could not possibly have murdered her mother. It was inconceivable. And there was no reason to do so. There may have been friction surrounding this second wife. That she was beloved and much lamented by her husband was irrefutable. There was, however, the step daughter, Caroline. That would have to be gone into, no doubt. And the question of Sir Tempest’s will. There were always problems, Miss Lavender found, where a will was involved. Of course the linking of the two deaths was perhaps far fetched. There was no reason to suppose that Prudence Harrington and Wittering Shapley had known one another. It might be rather more fruitful to follow up the lead with Travers, the gardener.

  Sir Tempest came across her, a little later, ensconced by herself in the conservatory.

  ‘Ah, you’ve brought your knitting then. Good show.’

  ‘I always find that it helps me concentrate. Lace. Its intricacies match the workings of the mind, don’t you think. All the subtle ins and outs. The subterfuges.’

  ‘Have you come across subterfuges, Rosamunde? Do tell!’

  ‘Oh, nothing that all families don’t have. Little fidelities. A result of good will. Often mistaken good will, really.’

  ‘Well, I do hope everyone has been straightforward with you. We are trying to clear this thing up.’

  ‘Quite. Anything more from the police?’

  ‘The usual. Going on with our inquiries. Will keep you informed.’

  ‘Their workload is a heavy one.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about Prudence.’

  His face clouded, momentarily. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Now, I know this might be a bit painful, but it may have a link. After all, there have been two deaths in the house, and only six years apart. Can you expand a little.’

  ‘On her death? Very well. She’d been a bit low. Well depressed, actually. You know Christmas can be a difficult time. Dr Radcliffe had changed her prescription.’

  ‘Antidepressant?’

  ‘Benzedrine. She shouldn’t have been taking alcohol with it. But she did. Personally, I think that is what did for her.’

  ‘She had taken too much, either of drink, or the drug, and had wandered, under the influence, as it were, into the garden. Very sad.’

  ‘Of course the whole thing was hushed up. Wouldn’t do for that getting out. Not with the children to consider. Fenella was wonderful, of course. She’s a perfect angel.’

  ‘I hear she has been organising for their future.’

  ‘That’s right. Of course Edie will marry. A good looking girl like that will be snapped up in no time. Simon’s a different kettle of fish. Always resented Caroline. Difficult. But if we can swing the opening in France, it should set him on his feet.’

  ‘A vineyard, I hear.’

  ‘Chateau Montlouis-sur-Loire, yes. The Roche-Armand family. Of course, he has little idea as yet, just what an opportunity this is. And he would need to work hard. But I trust him to do that. Certainly he’s itching to leave home.’

  ‘Not University?’

  ‘Not academic. Good all rounder. Good at sports. But picks things up pretty quickly.’

  ‘Will the language be anything of a problem?’

  ‘Shouldn’t have thought so. He has a quick ear.’

  ‘Fenella must have some interesting friends.’

  ‘Did have. She’s been buried down here in the country for the best part of twenty years.’

  Miss Lavender concentrated on her knitting. These Freudian slips were disconcerting.

  Sir Tempest continued. ‘She decided to come and live with us when Prudence and I married. After Mildred died. I think she has been happy enough.’

  ‘She certainly seems to be - very happy. Did she study horticulture?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. No, I think what she does comes absolutely naturally. Our mother was a very keen gardener. Taught Ella from when she was tiny. She is quite a lot younger than me. I was the eldest and she the youngest. Five of us altogether. Our three brothers were all killed in the war. The Somme. Within a week of one another.’

  ‘How simply dreadful,’ said Miss Lavender softly.

  ‘Actually, Ella trained as an artist. But I suppose you could say she is an artist in the garden.’

  ‘You certainly could. And Caroline? How old was she?’

  Sir Tempest sighed heavily. ‘Yes, Caroline. Well, of the three, she perhaps had the raw deal. She and Mildred were extremely close. And Caroline never did take to my remarrying. Well, understandable really. You know how it is with teenage girls. Think the world revolves round them.’

  ‘And Caroline and Fenella?’

  ‘That is something you are going to work out for yourself, Rosamunde. Women are beyond me. Present company excepted, naturally. Of course they are very different personalities. I’ve never quite understood who has the upper hand there, myself.’

  ‘And did Fenella help with getting her launched?’

  Sir Tempest laughed. A dry rough laugh. ‘Certainly not that I noticed. No. Caroline needed very little help, as far as I could make out. But she has done well for herself. Rupert’s Colonel of the Regiment. Medals. Mentions in despatches. That sort of thing. But you will meet them, Rosamunde. They are coming tomorrow for dinner.’

  IV

  Miss Lavender was of the Gertrude Jekyll school of gardening, preferring to potter in her own or to visit others. She was used to the gentlewoman’s approach, and was therefore somewhat astonished to come across the muscular Adonis who worked for Sir Tempest. He appeared to be something of a gentle giant. She found him offloading a wheelbarrow onto the compost heap at the back of the glass houses. It was sheltered here. A small, idle part of the garden. An old metal bucket, cluster of flower pots, discarded riddle and weatherworn trug occupied the corner. Miss Lavender, looking beyond the side of the nearest glass house, had a clear view of the conservatory across the lawn. It certainly would be possible from here to discern the family taking tea.

  Beyond the compost heap a hedge curtained off a part of the property made dark by a small stand of fir trees. She made out an old wooden garden house, now very much neglected.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have a moment to spare in a garden this size,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s all in the organisation, you see.’ His voice was surprisingly cultivated. He gave her a quick appraising look. His eyes were brown. And intelligent. He must have been forty at most. She supposed he had been injured in the war. So many were. Then, on being finally demobbed found it hard to gain employment.

  ‘You have an interest in gardens?’

  ‘Oh, only in a small way. I have a cottage, you see.’

  ‘Cottage gardens are almost as much work.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’

  ‘So much variety. Annuals, perennials. Not much laid down to lawn.’

  ‘Well, I must say, I do rather rely on bulbs. And there are the roses, of course. But tell me, Mr Travers, have you worked in many different gardens? What would you say was your preference?’

  ‘Any garden will do me. As long as I am paid.’

  ‘So you are happy with Sir Tempest - being at The Court, I mean?’

  ‘It suits me well enough at present.’

  ‘And I hear you have an assistant?’

  ‘Ben. That’s correct. He’ll be in the vegetable garden, if you wanted to ask him. It’s about the murder, I take it.’

  He was no fool.

  ‘Well, hardly my busi
ness, of course. I simply wondered, you see, if you kept the key to the garden door.’

  He gave her a patient smile. ‘Now which garden door would you be referring to exactly, Miss -’

  ‘Lavender.’

  ‘Appropriate.’

  ‘Appropriate? Oh, yes. I see what you mean. Well, there it is. I was meaning the side door, into the library.’

  ‘All the keys are hung up in the shed. Miss Fenella is in charge of the garden. She’s the one to ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I must get cracking.’

  He strode off with the wheelbarrow, his white sleeveless vest, somewhat grass-stained, revealing bronzed neck and shoulders.

  ‘Now, I wonder what brings him to a place like Lower Wallop,’ Miss Lavender asked herself. She could have sworn he had a London accent.

  V

  She found Ben as garrulous as Travers had been reserved.

  ‘You’ll be askin’ about them there body, then.’

  He leaned on his rake and pushed back his cap. He was a stocky, well built lad. His apple red cheeks and bright eyes reminded her of a robin.

  ‘That’s right,’ Miss Lavender replied, relieved he had come straight to the point. ‘Were you here when it happened then?’

  ‘Not me. More’s the pity. No. I come on a Monday, not a Tuesday. Pity. Nothing much happens round here. Though, come to mention it, the old lady copped it in the garden a couple of years back.’

  ‘Were you here then, Ben?’

  ‘Not me. Still at school.’

  ‘And Mr Travers?’

  ‘Richard? No. He’s only been here since last summer. Come down from London.’

  ‘Oh, so not local then.’

  ‘Na. I reckon one of Miss Fenella’s friends got him the job. They are very chief. Richard and Miss Fenella.’

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘Friendly-like. As if they’ve got a lot to talk about.’

  ‘So, I don’t suppose you know anything about this latest - er - death, then.’

  ‘Gossips in the village say it was poison. I don’t know. He might just have died natural like.’

  ‘I think the police are treating it as murder. You didn’t see anything - different about the garden, I mean?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Do you think they are linked. Her ladyship, and this bloke?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘You’re here to find out, aren’t you.’

  ‘Well, Ben, I am a friend of Sir Tempest’s and any little helps.’

  ‘Well. If you were to ask me,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I’d look out for that Miss Edie.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘Can’t say no more than that. But I would keep an eye on her, if I were you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ben, I’ll do that. Oh, and, I do have to say your vegetables are quite wonderful. I haven’t tasted such delicious sprouts in a long time.’

  Chapter FOUR

  If she had enjoyed the sprouts, it was nothing to the asparagus that was served that evening at dinner. Caroline had breezed in full of news of the horse trials she and her husband had attended that afternoon at Tidworth.

  ‘Well Daddy, I had thought you might have put us off tonight. Seeing as . . . they are all talking about it at the Mess, you know.’ She kissed her father, who was standing in the middle of the drawing room, a bottle of gin in his hand.

  ‘Is that gin?’ she added. ‘Pour me one, would you, I’m simply gasping.’

  ‘The pity of it is they felt they had to release anything to the papers,’ said her husband to no one in particular.

  ‘You know Rosamunde, of course,’ said Sir Tempest, who passed the bottle on to Seddon to sort out the gin and tonics.

  ‘Oh, Seddon, do dig out some of those new cheese straw things you gave us last time we were here, will you? They were incredibly more-ish.’ Caroline flung herself into an armchair.

  ‘That’s the trouble with journalists, simply can’t keep their noses out of other people’s business.’ Rupert nodded vaguely in Miss Lavender’s direction.

  ‘I wonder,’ ventured Miss Lavender. ‘Would you not say that someone might see the article and give vital information to the police.’

  ‘What I cannot understand,’ said Caroline ignoring the remark, ‘is why we have to have any murders at all. Two within a few years. Bit excessive, wouldn’t you say.’

  ‘Oh, so you think the other was a murder also?’ Miss Lavender said. ‘I had thought . . .’

  ‘Caro likes to exaggerate,’ said Sir Tempest in an exasperated tone of voice.

  ‘Do I, Daddy?’ Her voice rose.

  ‘It was never finally settled, of course. Poor Prudence,’ said Rupert with a sigh.

  ‘Well. I think we ought to leave Prudence out of it,’ said Sir Tempest.

  ‘Out of what?’ said a voice from the doorway.

  ‘Oh, hello, Simon old chap,’ said Rupert getting up. ‘Come and join us. Is he allowed g and t?’

  ‘Of course,’ snorted Simon. ‘Evidently I am being forced into the drink trade, so might as well enjoy it while I can.’

  ‘What I cannot see is who the hell would have done it,’ continued Caroline.

  ‘That is the reason I have asked Rosamunde to stay. See if she can come up with anything.’

  ‘Oughtn’t that to be a matter for the police,’ Rupert frowned. ‘No offence meant, of course. But dash it all.’

  ‘When they get around to it,’ said Sir Tempest.

  ‘You mean they haven’t been back since Tuesday?’ said Caroline.

  ‘I imagine they’re doing all they can,’ Sir Tempest replied.

  ‘They were quick enough with the autopsy. Poison,’ Simon added with relish.

  ‘Of course,’ said Rupert, ‘we don’t know for sure he was poisoned here, at The Court. Could’ve been something he had for breakfast, perhaps. He must have made a very early start from London.’

  ‘Oh, but didn’t you see the note?’ said Caroline.

  There was an almighty crash behind them.

  ‘So sorry, sir,’ said Seddon. ‘It just slipped out of my hand.’

  ‘Good God,’ exclaimed Rupert. ‘Are you alright? That’s a devil of a mess. Here, let me help you.’

  The crystal decanter lay in smithereens. Whisky soaked in an enormous brown puddle into the carpet. It took quite some time to deal with. But Miss Lavender remembered the comment.

  Of course she had been aware that the pen and ink had been used recently. The blotter was evidence of that. And Churston Deckle paper always came in sheaves of twelve. She had noted six envelopes, but only eleven pieces of notepaper. It made sense a note had been written. She hardly thought Wittering Shapley himself would have used it. One seldom came across Churston Deckle in mint green.

  II

  She found Mrs Hoskins alone in the kitchen doing the washing up.

  ‘Do let me give you a hand,’ said Miss Lavender as she took a blue and white check teacloth from a hook and began to dry the crystal glasses. ‘I thought you might have gone by this time. It’s past nine at night.’

  ‘Always do with the extra money. And Seddon has enough to do with the serving. He’s getting on a bit now.’

  ‘How long has he been with the family?’

  ‘Came with Miss Mildred, as was. Must be at least thirty years ago, if it’s a day. Why do you ask?’

  ‘So he has known the childre - that is Simon and Edie, since they were born?’

  ‘That’s right. Fond of Miss Edie, he is. She’s such a little duck. Frail and fairy-like. Yes. He took a great delight in her from the first. Not so much Simon, though. But the Simon was always his mother’s pet.’

  ‘Were they happy, as children? Would you know?’

  ‘Bless me, as much as they could be. Their mother, Prudence, was always a nervous, hysterical type. Tantrums. That sort of thing. A difficult woman. Ballerina, wasn’t she. Had to give up the stage, on account of the children. But she and Simon were always very close.’

  ‘I imagine it w
as very difficult for Caroline.’

  ‘Not that difficult. Always knew her mind, that one. Still does. And gets her own way. She’s not the one to have suffered.’

  She undid the tiers on her apron. ‘Now then. That looks like I’m done. It’s my day off tomorrow. But there’s plenty made up in the fridge.’

  ‘Oh, before you go,’ said Miss Lavender. ‘I don’t suppose you saw to the trays when they came downstairs?’

  ‘Trays?’ She looked blank.

  ‘There were three, I think. On Tuesday.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes. Seddon brought them down. There was so much going on. You’ll appreciate.’

  ‘And the note?’

  ‘Note?’

  ‘On the tray, for Mr Shapley. Perhaps on the saucer? Or under the teapot?’

  Mrs Hoskins frowned, and looking away mumbled, ‘I can’t help you there I’m afraid.’

  It did not take long for her to take up her bag and coat, just as Bert appeared at the back door.

  ‘That’s well timed. I’m off then. You enjoy the steak and kidney pie I’ve made for tomorrow, now. One of my better creations.’

  Miss Lavender gave a quick nod and smile at Bert who was obviously too reticent to come in and merely doffed his cap. He took his wife’s arm and carried her bag as she went out through the back door. Obviously well trained.

  Miss Lavender lingered in the kitchen until they were well out of sight. Then, donning a pair of kitchen gloves went out to investigate the kitchen bin.

  Chapter FIVE

  She found Sir Tempest finishing his breakfast alone.

  ‘I trust you slept well, Rosamunde,’ he said, rising slightly in his chair and putting the newspaper aside. ‘Can I interest you in a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thank you. I had a very pleasant breakfast in bed. Such a luxury, don’t you think.’

  ‘Whatever we can do. It is a small way to repay you for all your help, you know.’

  ‘It is simply a pity that my stay should be for such a troubling reason. Otherwise it would all be perfectly pleasant. But there is no getting away from the fact that we are here to get to the bottom of this terrible crime.’