Snuffed It in the Library

by Kate Hamilton

  He had relaxed as the cigarette took effect, and she thought it best to bring out her knitting again. Sir Tempest had a caged look.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to ask the Colonel a few questions, Sir Tempest?’ She counted her rows and began the next one.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Sir Tempest with an embarrassed sigh, ‘I think we had better come straight to the point. The fact is, Rosamunde and I have reason to believe that someone killed Mr Shapley by mistake.’

  The Colonel raised his eyebrows, and reached to tap his cigarette into the ashtray on the desk. ‘Really. Well, I’ll be damned. Some accident, wouldn’t you say.’

  ‘Quite. In actual fact, we think I was the intended victim.’

  ‘Good Heavens! I mean to say! Well, old chap, that does take the biscuit, what?’

  Rupert Blessington-Smythe looked genuinely flabbergasted. ‘I mean - whoever would want to do such a thing.’

  He suddenly quieted himself, and gave his father-in-law a piercing look. ‘Nothing to do with Prudence, I hope. That was a pretty fearful business.’

  Sir Tempest looked mollified.

  ‘Be that as it may,’ said Miss Lavender, ‘we need to stick to the point and gather what facts we can about the present situation. When did you hear of the murder?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Well, naturally, of Mr Shapley. On Tuesday.’

  ‘Let me see, I had taken Henry for a run after work. Looked in on the bursar at the Mess. That must have been getting on for six. So reached the quarter at seven. Evidently Caroline had been trying to get hold of me. But she had gone round to Amelia and Charles, our neighbours for a sherry and to unburden herself, I think. It had been quite a shock.’

  ‘So you saw her at home?’

  ‘No. I took myself round to them. Caroline had left a note for me on the kitchen table.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Miss Lavender, tugging at the ball of wool to loosen some more yarn, ‘you wouldn’t by any chance have that with you?’

  ‘Matter of fact, I do, as it happens. He took out a field pocket book and pulled a folded note from it.

  Miss Lavender glanced at it. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘How did you find your wife?’

  ‘Oh, well, upset of course. But one doesn’t need to make too much of these things. Gave her a stiff whisky. And talking it through with Charles and Amelia - well it got it off her chest. Caroline is made of pretty tough stuff. It would take quite a lot to bring her down.’

  ‘Did she say whether she had seen the body?’

  ‘Oh, I got all the details, if that’s what you mean.’ He finished his cigarette, pushing the stub into the ashtray. ‘Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d best be getting along.’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ said Miss Lavender, setting her knitting to the side. She looked around. ‘It’s quite a striking room, is it not.’

  The Colonel looked faintly surprised. ‘Ah. Yes, I suppose it is.’

  ‘Do you read much, yourself.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do. Can’t turn out the light without a chapter read.’

  ‘Really? What sort of things do you read?’

  ‘A mix. Quite like that chap Tolkien. You won’t have heard of him. Interesting fantasy work, though. Just out. Then Churchill. Sound stuff. History. Don’t go in for thrillers. Like to avoid cheap paperbacks. Keep the brain cells active.’

  ‘Shakespeare?’

  He coloured slightly. ‘The Bard? Well, of course everyone’s read Shakespeare. Might revisit now and again. Hamlet’s my favourite. Prince of Denmark - what.’

  He hesitated at the door. ‘Look, just between you and me, Tempest, can’t say how dashed sorry I am you are having to put up with this business. Especially after Prudence. Damn poor show. Damn poor show.’

  VII

  Caroline had been with Fenella in the garden.

  ‘Just passed Rupert in the hall. He said you wanted a word with me.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Do take a seat Caroline. Your father and I have been chatting things over.’

  ‘About Tuesday, you mean? Quite. So do you have any suspects?’

  ‘We are all suspects, Caroline,’ said her father quietly.

  She snorted and tossed her blonde curls. ‘Well, that is according to the police. I was talking about you. What conclusions have you come to?’

  Miss Lavender shifted in her seat and picked up her knitting again. ‘There certainly is a great deal to discuss. What does Fenella think?’

  ‘Fenella?’

  ‘Presumably you and she have come to some conclusion yourselves?’

  ‘Fenella and I were discussing the garden,’ said Caroline, defensively. ‘I think it better not to talk about what happened on Tuesday. Best kept under wraps.’

  ‘Ah, so you haven’t talked about it with anyone?’

  ‘Well, obviously with Rupert. But one has to be circumspect about these matters. You can’t think how perfectly frightful it was when Prudence died. All that gossip. Don’t you remember, Father? Went on for simply ages. Horrid.’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ said Sir Tempest quietly. He looked very strained for a moment. ‘Look, if you don’t mind. I’m going to bow out of this one, Rosamunde. Got a few bits and pieces to see to. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  Caroline seemed to relax when he had gone. ‘Knitting away, Miss Lavender. What is it? Socks?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Miss Lavender, lightly. She held it up. ‘A new design, I’m attempting. Imitating Brussels lace. Of course one cannot truly imitate lace in wool. But the pattern is very pretty.’ She passed the book of patterns to Caroline.

  ‘Oh, I absolutely must have this,’ said Caroline, flipping through the book.

  ‘You knit yourself?’ said Miss Lavender, in some surprise.

  ‘Tapestry mostly. But I learned to knit at school of course. It’s useful in the evenings when Rupert is away.’

  ‘Is he away much?’

  ‘Well, he would like me to accompany him abroad. But frankly I don’t do well with foreign climates. Tend to let him go himself. Last posting was to the Middle East. Well, one can’t put up with all that sand. And think of the scorpions. I couldn’t leave Daddy. He’d fall to bits without me, of course.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well Fenella is pretty useless.’

  ‘I thought she was doing a pretty good job with Simon and Edie, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, she simply cannot wait to get rid of them. Like me.’

  ‘Like you?’

  ‘You know she didn’t want me back here.’

  ‘No. I thought you were up in London. What did you do after leaving school?’

  ‘Floated around a bit. Did the Season. Tried to catch a man. You know the sort of thing.’

  ‘I thought Fenella was up in London too.’

  ‘She went to Heatherleys, the Art school. I think she had a good time.’

  ‘You din’t want to go to Art school?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. No, I just wanted to catch a man. Make a good match.’

  ‘Which you have.’

  ‘Yes. Well, Rupert pretty much lets me do what I want. The Army isn’t a bad way of life, really.’

  ‘I expect you make a great many friends.’

  ‘Well, of course, we keep to the Regiment. There are a few who were at school with me. You could say we are pretty close knit.’

  ‘Is that how you met one another?’

  ‘Through friends? Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You must have been pretty put out when your mother died, and your father remarried so quickly.’

  Caroline’s bright smile faded. For the first time she became quiet.

  ‘It was a shock, yes. One feels pushed out, you see.’

  ‘And didn’t Fenella befriend you? Your aunt?’

  ‘I didn’t see anything of her until she came to live here. Even then, by that time I was up in London.’

  ‘So, s
he didn’t help you settle in, in London. After you left school.’

  Caroline stared at Miss Lavender.

  ‘Of course, you were really Mummy’s friend, weren’t you. So you wouldn’t have known. Aunt Fenella cracked up. They had to put her away in a nursing home for years. It’s been a dark family secret. Father is extremely protective of her. Once Mummy died I was pretty much left to fend for myself.’ She stuck her chin out. ‘And so I did.’

  Miss Lavender had reached the heel.

  ‘Oh, dear me. I am going to have to concentrate. Do you have a preferred method?’ She held up her knitting.

  ‘I was taught the square heel, and stick to that,’ Caroline replied. ‘It makes for a very neat finish. And why learn something new, if one is happy with a particular method.’

  ‘Too true.’

  They say in companionable silence for a moment while Miss Lavender worked away busily on the heel.

  ‘You know, I remember when you were born,’ said Miss Lavender, with a smile.

  ‘Really,’ gasped Caroline.

  ‘Actually, I was invited to your christening.’

  ‘And was I a very pretty baby?’ asked Caroline with a grin.

  ‘Pretty as a peach. And the apple of your mother’s eye.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline soberly, ‘Mummy and I were very close. She was my best friend,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘Loss, is a difficult thing to come to terms with. Especially the loss of a mother.’ Miss Lavender continued to knit rhythmically. ‘What were you - thirteen, fourteen?’

  ‘I was thirteen. But one is such a little beast at that age. My world was Snowball, my pony. Naturally I cried. But I had no idea then just how much I would miss her.’

  ‘You put a brave face on it.’

  ‘No other choice. The school were great. I had a fabulous housemistress - Miss Dodds. She got me through. And the other girls. Some of my friends had already lost parents. Not so unusual in a boarding school. The Head was really sympathetic and supportive later. When I needed to make choices. When I couldn’t even approach Father.’

  ‘A nasty situation for you. Having a stepmother arrive on the scene.’

  Caroline’s eyes went black. A look of pure hatred passed over her face. ‘I hated her. Father should never have remarried. If only he hadn’t. If only . . . ’

  ‘If only Simon and Edie hadn’t been born.’ Miss Lavender finished the sentence for her.

  Caroline nodded. ‘Edie’s the worst, of course. Little spoiled brat. The way those two speak to Father. It’s absolutely disgusting. And I wouldn’t trust her. She’s dark, you know. Very dark. Prudence lying frozen to death at the bottom of the garden. In her nightie. What do you make of that!’ She stopped herself with difficulty. ‘Anyway. Things were never the same after Mummy died.’

  ‘You feel pushed out, naturally.’

  ‘Still do. It’s not nice feeling an outsider in your own home.’

  ‘But you have your husband.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline, in a flat tone. ‘I have my husband.’

  Having now successfully turned the heel, Miss Lavender laid the knitting in her lap and looked steadily at her companion.

  ‘Would it surprise you to learn that it is possible Mr Shapley was murdered accidentally.’

  Caroline did indeed look surprised. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Tell me again. Last Tuesday, you saw Shapley. Before he died.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’d arrived at three. Seddon opened the door for me. Simon and I chatted in the hall. I think it was he who mentioned there was a chap in the library. I went through to see. Seemed busy enough. Of course I wanted to see exactly what he was up to. Assessing books. Father’s will. But the thing is I have to keep an eye on that side of things. The will I mean. Mother had some really valuable books. Frankly, Miss Lavender they are rightfully mine. I can’t have them sold off under my nose, you know.’

  ‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said Miss Lavender, looking at her shrewdly. She twisted round in her chair. ‘Tell me, are they still here?’

  ‘Good point,’ said Caroline, getting up. ‘They are normally kept in this alcove. Ah yes, here they are. Dusty old tomes, in Latin. But worth a mint.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Mummy told me. She wanted me to have them.’ Caroline lingered over the large volumes.

  ‘Did your mother leave a will?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘Not to my knowledge. That’s why I’m keeping a close eye on Father.’

  ‘Do you know what time you went through to the conservatory?’

  ‘Oh, it can’t have been later than a quarter past. I was only in here for a few minutes. He - Shapley - was pretty much taken up with his work.’

  ‘And you didn’t see anyone else?’

  ‘No. Simon said Fenella wasn’t having tea.’

  ‘Was that unusual?’

  ‘Not particularly. Then Seddon came with the trays. He brought the food first. Then went back for the tea. He’s a bit slower than he used to be.’

  ‘Did you leave the conservatory at all?’

  Caroline shook her head.

  ‘And who was having tea?’

  ‘Simon, Edie, Father and myself.’

  ‘And did you see Fenella?’

  ‘Well, as I said she wasn’t coming across for tea. She was working in that glass house of hers.’

  ‘You could see her.’

  ‘Absolutely. There’s a clear view across the lawn.’

  ‘Was she there all the time, in the glass house?’

  ‘All the time. Yes.’

  ‘And yourselves. You all stayed in the conservatory having tea. None of you left?’

  Caroline faltered. ‘Well, as a matter of fact we all did. But that was before the tea actually arrived.’

  Miss Lavender kept knitting steadily. Caroline had come back to sit opposite her.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let’s see. I had forgotten my hankie. Left it in my fur coat pocket. I went to fetch it. From the cloakroom. I came across Edie on my way back. She was going to the cloakroom too, to pay a visit.’

  ‘And Simon?’

  ‘He’d slipped out too, for a moment. Don’t ask me what he was doing.’

  ‘Do you recall if the tray with the teapot for Mr Shapley was on the hall table.’

  Caroline frowned. ‘No. I don’t believe that I saw it there. But I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘No. When I returned he was already tucking into sandwiches. He likes his afternoon tea.’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Miss Lavender quietly, ‘that someone had meant for the poison to be put in your father’s tea, Caroline.’

  She went pale. Look horrified. There was a dead silence. ‘Father?’

  Miss Lavender nodded. ‘Did you know that there was a note left on Mr Shapley’s tea tray which would lead one to suspect it was your father who was the intended victim.’

  Caroline drew a long breath. ‘Now that sort of changes things, doesn’t it, Miss Lavender.’

  Chapter Six

  The slow pace of life at The Court, Lower Wallop was gradually getting to Miss Lavender. She was very active for her age. She was used to jumping out of bed first thing, as soon as her alarm had gone off, and flinging wide the windows of her cottage bedroom. Everything about Bramble Cottage, Tangley Tarrant was spruce and well ordered. It was a good sized property, having five bedrooms, and lay in a half acre of ground. There was always something to keep her occupied. She may not have lived life by the clock, but there was always some visitor or other dropping in for some advice from the village. Or a friend to stay for further afield. She kept hens. And of course there was her beloved cat, Opus, a black and white mouser of exceptional pedigree and fine manners. Miss Lavender trusted that he was comfortably keeping an eye on Minnie, her maid.

  Here at The Court, apart from the overriding stress of the situation, the slow pace of life had had a calming effect on her. The
striking of the clocks were a steadying backdrop to the days and nights. There was a gentility to living in the old house. She rather wondered at the descriptions of Prudence Harrington. One could not imagine someone living here, having a reliance on drugs. The very way of life here had a dulling effect on one’s nerves. Miss Lavender wondered if there had been something of the prima donna about Sir Tempest’s second wife. It was totally understandable that Fenella Harrington had made The Court her home after what could only have been a nervous collapse of some sort. The garden was an absolute haven. Whatever had happened to her? She must still have been young at the time - she could not stand the pace of London, perhaps.

  Yet, it was quite understandable, too, that the young people, Simon and Edie, found the place dull. The Court, with its daily rituals, was no place for the liveliness of youth. They seemed close, those two. She wondered how much they relied on one another. They were very close in age. Of course they had been packed off to boarding school, so already had lived apart from one another. But they were indignant at their aunt Fenella for organising their departures.

  There was so much about this case that simply did not add up. Much like the lace pattern of her knitted socks she realised there were great intricacies. She needed perspective in order to get a plain view. Being bogged down in details was not a help. She welcomed the fact that she was putting a little distance between herself and The Court. Being Sunday, it was natural that she would want to attend church. This also gave her the excuse to bow out politely for a day or so.

  The bells of St Michael and All Saints, Tangley Tarrant, were concluding their toll as Miss Lavender drove up. She would go to check her post and greet Opus later. The ancient church was filled with bright spring sunshine. That did not dispel the vague smell of damp intermingled with candle smoke. Mr Hunter was playing Bach on the organ. There was the welcome hush as the congregation settled.

  II

  The Reverend Gregory Honeybun, curate at St Michaels, was now celebrating his seventy-fifth year. Somewhat deaf, not entirely well read, and indeed not of a particularly secure faith in the tradition to which he had dedicated his entire life, was the wisest person Miss Lavender knew.