Snuffed It in the Library

by Kate Hamilton

  ‘Quite so. And? Have you come to any conclusions?’

  ‘Indeed so. And a conclusion that will, I fear, greatly disturb you, Sir Tempest.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You may not be aware of it, but there was a note left on Wittering Shapley’s tea tray.’

  ‘A note, you say?’

  ‘Caroline, I think, referred to it last evening.’

  ‘Oh, Caroline. You don’t need to pay much attention to what Caroline says, you know. Bit of a drama queen.’

  ‘Well, as it happens, I have been able to find that note.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘It had been disposed of. That is, the note had been torn into several pieces, crumpled, and consigned to the outside bin. I was able to retrieve it late last night.’

  ‘Well, I never. Miss Lavender you are a gem.’

  ‘You may not be so happy when you hear what it says.’

  ‘You have it with you?’

  ‘Indeed I do. But - .’

  ‘Oh, I think we can safely say we will not be disturbed. Fenella is in her glass house and the others don’t rise before ten.’

  ‘Well then.’

  Miss Lavender took up her knitting bag and pulled from it several scraps of paper. Churston Deckle in mint green.

  ‘That’s from the desk in the library.’

  ‘Quite.’

  She smoothed them out on the breakfast table. The writing was clear and bold.

  ‘As you can see it has been written with the pen and ink on the desk.’

  ‘Go on. What does it say?’

  Why speaks my father so ungently?

  Pity move my father

  To be inclined my way.

  Sir Tempest looked up at Miss Lavender with a quizzical expression. ‘You’ve lost me I’m afraid.’

  ‘I have reason to believe that it was not Mr Wittering Shapley who was the intended murder victim.’

  ‘Well who then?’

  ‘Yourself.’

  ‘Good God. How come you to think that?’

  ‘This quote. It is William Shakespeare. From his play “The Tempest”.’

  ‘You are up on me, for once, Rosamunde. Let me go and fetch his complete works from the library.’

  ‘All in good time. Do you recall that a number of your family, Seddon included, remarked on your similar appearance to the dead man?’

  ‘You think then it is a case of mistaken identity?’

  ‘I do not rule out the possibility. What, for example, was Mr Shapley wearing?’

  ‘Well, now you come to mention it, very much the sort of thing I wear. Cavalry twills, I think. And a tweed jacket not unlike mine. We could have gone to the same outfitters, in fact.’

  ‘Same height and build. Much the same age. From behind - if you slipped down the side of the house and came by the garden door - just what one would see. A gentleman browsing over his books, in his library.’

  Sir Tempest looked ashen.

  ‘A clever note, I think, with reference to your name.’ Miss Lavender shook her head. ‘I am sorry to say we need to change our line of inquiry.’

  ‘What do you propose to do?’

  Miss Lavender smiled a little grimly. She realised Sir Tempest was emotionally compromised in the matter. She wished to spare him further grief. But the killer had to be found, at all costs.

  ‘The question we have to ask ourselves is this,’ she said. ‘If the murder of Wittering Shapley is indeed a grievous mistake, then will the killer attempt to strike again? I need to ascertain two things. Who wrote the note. And who tried to dispose of it. It is obvious that you were the one under threat as your name matches that of the play’s title. As I said, it is subtle, and clever.’

  ‘I cannot think of anyone who would want to kill me.’

  ‘Yet we know it was Bidcombe who was due here at The Court on Tuesday. No one knew that it would be Wittering Shapley who would turn up in his stead.’

  ‘Unless he was followed down from London.’

  ‘But the note would indicate otherwise. No, dear Tempest. We must look closer to home.’

  Sir Tempest sighed and gazed out the window for a moment before saying, ‘What do you propose to do?’

  ‘I need to have your help in this. I think that the library would be best.’

  ‘By all means,’ said Sir Tempest ringing the bell and rising from the table. ‘I may accompany you?’

  ‘I think that imperative, dear Sir Tempest. You will be needed as witness. And although it is Saturday, I must ask your help in summoning the others.’

  II

  ‘I say, isn’t this getting rather too intense. I mean the police have already questioned us, haven’t they.’ For once Simon’s offhand attitude seemed to have left him. He was quite indignant.

  Miss Lavender kept calm.

  ‘As we all know, these days the police are stretched to the limit. Any little helps to find the killer, Simon. Just answer Miss Lavender’s questions, will you.’ Sir Tempest glared at his son.

  Certainly there might be better ways of approaching the young man. Speaking to him in exasperated tones was only going to put his back up. Miss Lavender motioned for him to take a seat behind the large desk where she and Sir Tempest had placed themselves. The pen, ink and blotter were the only items on the desk apart from a small lamp and the holder containing the Churston Deckle paper and envelopes. Simon shrugged and sat down. Miss Lavender, in order to put him at his ease opened her knitting bag and pulled out a ball of cream wool and silk mix and a set of double pointed needles. She began busily to cast on stitches. Sir Tempest followed suit reaching for his pipe. Simon sat rather slumped and glared at them, sullenly. He had still to learn the beauty of acquiring a habitual distraction.

  ‘It occurs to me,’ said Miss Lavender after taking a moment to count her stitches, ‘that Mr Shapley was left very much alone to get on with his task. Did you look in on him at all, say earlier in the day?’

  ‘Yes. As a matter of fact I did. Not much goes on round here. I heard the bell go at eleven. Wondered who it was.’

  ‘So you were not aware that someone was coming from Shapley, Shapley and Orde?’

  ‘Is that what they call themselves. Very fine. No. I wasn’t aware of it. I’m kept pretty much out of the loop. Father and Aunt Fenella see to that.’

  His father chose to ignore the remark.

  ‘And how did you find him?’

  ‘Decent enough chap. Very intense. Quite obviously potty about books. Seemed to know his stuff. I say. You think he might have been an interloper? Not from the bookshop at all?’

  ‘Well,’ said Miss Lavender with a dry laugh, ‘that hadn’t actually occurred to me. But didn’t someone come down and identify the body?’

  ‘I think we can rule that out. It was Mr Shapley alright,’ said Sir Tempest.

  ‘Friendly enough. Showed me some ancient old volumes. Latin. Said they were valuable. Seemed pretty dull to me. He was quite excited about them. Then I saw him at lunch. He ate a great deal. Didn’t drink anything. Said he didn’t when he was working.’

  ‘Would you have said he was apprehensive in any way? Nervous?’

  ‘He wasn’t jumping at shadows, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Who was there, in the afternoon?’

  ‘You mean for tea? Well, Caro turned up - like the proverbial bad egg - that must have been at three. It’s very easy round here to know the exact time. Father sees to that. Seddon got the door. I met her in the hall. Then I saw Aunt Fenella who told me she wasn’t having tea. So that just leaves me, Father and Edie.’

  ‘Shapley didn’t join you?’

  ‘No. I expect he was too engrossed.’

  ‘And you all stayed in the conservatory for tea?’

  ‘That’s correct. Though actually Caro left. She popped off to remind Seddon to bring the sugar. He’d forgotten it the last time.’

  ‘Gone long?’

  ‘Couple of minutes or so.’

  ‘But you
didn’t leave?’

  ‘Er - no.’

  ‘So. Seddon served the tea.’

  ‘The usual. I had scones and raspberry jam. And a cup of tea.’

  ‘Did the tea come on a separate tray?’

  ‘Good grief, now you’re asking. Couldn’t rightly say. Sorry.’

  ‘And Seddon brought the tea at half past.’

  ‘Er, there, or there abouts.’

  ‘And your Aunt Fenella. She wasn’t served tea in the glass house?’

  ‘No, she didn’t want any. She was busy with her plants. Working away.’

  ‘So, then what happened?’

  ‘We finished tea. Caro was banging on to Father as usual.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘This and that. I didn’t pay much attention, as a matter of fact. She can be a solid bore. Then Seddon came to collect the trays. Caro had mentioned something about the man in the library - Shapley - and Edie said she would pop along and see if he needed anything. Then there was an almighty scream. We all rushed through. And there he was, slumped over a pile of books. Dead as a dodo.’

  ‘How much time elapsed between Edie leaving the conservatory and her scream?’

  ‘Not long. Maybe five minutes.’

  Miss Lavender paused to place her cast on stitches on four needles before continuing.

  ‘And you all rushed to the library?’

  ‘That’s correct. Quite a commotion, I can tell you. Of course, we didn’t touch the body. Seddon rang for an ambulance. We thought he’d had a heart attack, you see. It wasn’t that murder occurred to any one of us.’

  ‘And yet, Edie screamed. Rather over reactive, perhaps?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think she just got a terrible fright.’

  ‘What was Mr Shapley, wearing. What did he look like?’

  ‘Old. Like Father, here. Bit past it. Balding. Couldn’t tell you what he was wearing. Jacket. trousers. Nothing unusual. Certainly not a business suit.’

  ‘Oh, and was he smoking?’

  ‘Not after lunch. I mean, I didn’t see any pipe at the murder scene, if that’s what you mean. He was smoking in the morning, though. But then we’re used to that round here, aren’t we. Father smokes like a chimney.’

  ‘I like a pipe,’ his father replied in a quiet voice.

  ‘You have a very fine library of books here,’ said Miss Lavender, glancing round. ‘Do you read much yourself?’

  Again, Simon shrugged. ‘I worked through some detective novels a couple of summers ago when I came down with glandular fever.’

  ‘Any Shakespeare?’

  He laughed. ‘Not if I can help it. We did Julius Cheezer at school. Dead boring.’

  ‘Simon’s sporty,’ said Sir Tempest.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Simon, hotly.

  ‘Oh, sport. Now there’s the thing,’ put in Miss Lavender quickly. ‘Swimming, running, cricket?’

  ‘Rugby. I like rugby best.’

  Miss Lavender put down her knitting, and pushed a sheet of paper toward Simon across the desk. ‘It would be such a help if you could jot down a few details you recall of Wittering Shapley’s appearance. Balding, didn’t you say.’

  He did so. Miss Lavender noticed he was left handed. She wondered if he had been forced to write with his right hand at school.

  III

  Miss Lavender was struck afresh by the pale, madonna-like beauty that was Fenella Harrington’s. She moved into the room with grace, removing her gardening gloves as she did so, and settled with a peaceable air across the desk from her brother. There was no mistaking the family likeness, but there was a considerable age difference between the siblings. She reckoned the sister was about fifteen years younger than Sir Tempest. He look markedly agitated when his sister came in. Naturally. Heaven knows what he was thinking - his very own sister potentially accused of attempting to murder him. It was a grim situation. He fumbled for his pipe. Miss Lavender noticed that his hands were shaking.

  ‘I apologise for putting you through this, Miss Harrington. Naturally we do not for a moment suspect you. But any small details you can add to the picture would be a great help.’

  Miss Lavender left her knitting in her bag.

  Fenella smiled pleasantly. ‘Of course, Miss Lavender. I quite understand. Such a horrible business.’

  ‘I understand you did not appear for tea.’

  ‘That’s right. Not much of a tea drinker myself. Prefer herbal, as a matter of fact. I wanted to get on with things.’

  She slipped her hands into the large pockets of her gardening smock and smiled again.

  ‘And you were not aware of Mr Shapley’s being in the library.’

  ‘Nor at The Court.’

  ‘Oh, so Simon did not mention it to you?’

  ‘Simon?’ She looked faintly amused. ‘No.’

  Miss Lavender changed tack. ‘I understand you came to stay with your brother after Mildred died.’

  ‘Just when Simon was born. Prudence was seven months pregnant and making rather heavy weather of it. I came to stay for a few weeks. And somehow it suited everyone that I move down permanently.’

  ‘Down?’

  ‘I was living in London. I say, would you have a cigarette?’

  Her brother jumped up, obviously relieved to go from the room to fetch the cigarette box. Again the mysterious, somewhat whimsical smile on Fenella’s face.

  ‘You must be close to the children, then.’

  ‘Family. It has its ups and downs of course. And what with Prudence’s accident - well, you know. Difficult.’

  ‘I understand you have been doing sterling work getting Simon placed at the vineyard.’

  ‘I have connections. It helps,’ she said smoothly. ‘I know how difficult it is to start out when young.’

  ‘And Edie? The spell in Switzerland?’

  ‘Oddly enough at that age I was simply dying to go and do something like that. Edie - well she tends to take things rather for granted. I’m not sure she appreciated the opportunity. Or took enough advantage of it. She resents her father, you see. Never forgave him for her mother’s accident.’

  ‘And Simon?’

  ‘Oh, I think the vineyard will be the making of him.’

  Again she smiled sweetly. It was rather like trying to speak to someone through a mist. Her expression never wavered from madonna-like sweetness.

  Her brother reappeared with a silver cigarette box, and she lit up, waving the match gently in the air before searching for an ashtray. Her brother motioned to the waste paper basket. She leaned back in her chair.

  ‘And how old was Caroline when you came to live at The Court?’

  ‘Mid teens. Difficult age. But she is the robust type.’

  ‘Did she resent you?’

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t think so. She was at school. Taken up with riding. I am sure she was not affected by Prudence’s death. As a matter of fact she made it very difficult for Prudence and Tempest. Bolshy teenager. She had always had her own way. I don’t think we have anything in common, as it happens.’

  ‘Would you say you got on with her?’

  ‘Mmmh. Yes, I think so. I get on with most people, of course.’ She took a puff at the cigarette.

  ‘I understand from Mr Travers that the organisation of the garden is very much your responsibility.’

  For a brief moment she looked at Miss Lavender, her pupils becoming large, then inhaled on her cigarette before smiling.

  ‘It is considered my domain.’

  ‘We left the gardening side of things to Fenella after, I mean to say, when she came down to visit,’ explained her brother, hastily. Rather too hastily, thought Miss Lavender.

  ‘You were responsible for planning the new layout, weren’t you, Fenella. It had been left in rather a state, you see. More of a paddock than a garden, really.’

  ‘Ah, so you were visiting The Court over a longer time, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fenella, shortly. Her tone brooked no further questi
oning.

  ‘If I told you we think it a distinct possibility that it was not Mr Shapley who was the intended victim, but your brother, what would you say.’

  Again her eyes widened. She looked like a fawn caught for a moment in a wood.

  ‘Evidently Mr Shapley bore a distinct resemblance to Sir Tempest.’

  She nodded. ‘Really? Well,’ she swallowed, her fingers coming to her lips, ‘that is something of a surprise.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But no one would want to kill you, Tempest surely?’

  Her lips quivered and tears came to her eyes.

  ‘Now, dearest, you must not upset yourself,’ said Sir Tempest. ‘It is only a theory.’

  She reached for a hankie and dabbed the corners of her eyes. ‘It’s just - what with dear Prudence. And now this. It is something of a shock, you see.’

  Her brother went to her, patting her shoulder. ‘Probably enough questions, Miss Lavender, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, quite, quite, absolutely,’ said Miss Lavender, giving Fenella a piercing look. ‘But one thing. Could you perhaps write the name of the seed merchant you use? I am so taken with your nursery.’

  ‘Write - ?’ She looked up at her brother briefly, for reassurance. He smile and nodded. Fenella took the pen and paper Miss Lavender pushed across the desk.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘It’s Smetton’s. They have been providing seeds for decades. They are considered the best.’

  ‘Quite. So very kind. Oh, and the keys.’

  ‘Keys?’

  ‘To the garden door. Where are they kept?’

  Miss Fenella stood, pushing her hankie back in her pocket.

  ‘You know, Tempest, we really need an ashtray in here. Yes, Miss Lavender. I have all the house keys. Those for the outside and garden doors are kept locked in the shed. Of course I can show you, if you like.’

  ‘And the shed key?’

  ‘It is kept in the pantry. By the back door.’

  ‘Any other copies?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I expect we could all do with a sherry, after this,’ Sir Tempest looked drawn.

  ‘Not for me, if you don’t mind. I really must be getting back.’

  ‘Oh, Fenella, one last thing. Travers. Did you employ him?’