After several hours the first evidence of civilization appeared with no further sign of their pursuers.
Grateful that his quick thinking had got them all to safety, Julian’s colleagues all rushed to assure him he was in no way to blame for what had happened. On their first night back at Para, Hewson espoused quiet good sense. It was his opinion that Julian valued over Forster’s, who remained aloof from the whole thing, as if common matters never touched him. The men agreed that Charles Frobisher was always going to die on one of these trips. He took far too many risks and was drawn to living on the edge.
Hewson had followed him outside into the hot, still night, alive with the trill of insects.
“You take too much on yourself, Grieve,” he had said. “You can’t be responsible for the actions of others.”
“Such a waste, Hewson.” Julian hated to see Charles die in that horrible way. He had been an intelligent man with much to offer the world, and his life had been snuffed out like a candle. “If only I hadn’t lost my temper. But when he admitted to an affair with Clara, I lost my head.”
“As any right-minded man would do. You’re thawing out, Grieve. Since the breakup of your marriage, you’ve been like a ghost walking, denying yourself any pleasure. At least until you met Vanessa. You finally came to your senses and chose a fine woman.”
“I hope she won’t be disappointed in me.”
Hewson had taken him by the arm. “You can’t be blamed for any of this. Have sense. We know what Charles was, and Clara well. You married a butterfly, Grieve. Clara flittered from place to place, touching only lightly. You managed to pin her down for a moment, and then she was gone.”
A crude analogy, but accurate. Hewson’s words were brutal, but they hadn’t hurt quite as much as they might once have done. Julian could think only of Vanessa now. Explaining all this to her would be hard. He didn’t know what he would do if he found disappointment in her eyes. Especially not now, when he wished to tell her, to convince her, that her love and Blythe’s happiness was all he lived for. What if he lost her? He went cold inside. He had to hurry home.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vanessa was in the middle of dressing when Blythe entered the bedroom. “You’re an early bird,” Vanessa said.
Blythe sat cross-legged on the bed. “Can we go to Clapham Junction today, Nessa?”
Mary took a skirt and jacket from the wardrobe. “You can go, Mary.” Vanessa slipped into her skirt and tucked in her blouse as she looked through the window at the lowering clouds. “Why Clapham Junction?”
“I’d like to visit the shops.”
“We’ll see what the weather does.” Slipping on her jacket, Vanessa began to do up the buttons but paused when she felt something hard in the pocket. She poked her fingers in and drew out the cameo. She had forgotten all about it.
“What is that?” Blythe reached for it.
“A cameo.” Vanessa dropped it into her hands. “Johnson found it under the folly.”
“I remember this.” Blythe turned it over. “It must have fallen off Miss Lillicrop’s brooch.”
Vanessa stared at her. “Are you certain, Blythe?”
“Yes. It was her favorite.”
“She must have lost it while sitting in the folly.”
Blythe shook her head. “Miss Lillicrop would have told me. She wore it every day. I’m certain she wore it the last day she was here. She said it was special, a present or something. She never went anywhere without it.”
Vanessa frowned. It was certainly odd. “We’ll return it to her by post, shall we?”
“It won’t take as long as Father’s letter, will it?”
“No, indeed.”
The previous day a letter finally arrived from Julian. It had been sent from Para, at the very beginning of his trip, and made no mention of him receiving any of theirs.
Although he was more concerned for their safety than declaring his love for her, missing him had caused Vanessa to toss restlessly for most of the night.
“Go down to breakfast, sweetheart. I want to speak to Johnson.” Vanessa did up her belt and glanced in the mirror to smooth her hair.
She made her way to the servant’s quarters, and located Johnson in the butler’s pantry, polishing the silver. He jumped to his feet as she entered. “Yes, my lady?”
“I want you to ring Scotland Yard. I should like an inspector to call.”
The butler’s eyebrows shot up. “Very well, my lady.”
“That cameo belonged to the former governess, Miss Lillicrop. Blythe tells me she would not have left without it.”
Johnson considered the same possibility as she, with a slight widening of his eyes. She prayed she was wrong as he hurried off to use the telephone.
A short man with a ginger moustache and a green plaid suit came to see Vanessa. Removing his brown bowler, he shook her hand. “Inspector James Knott, New Scotland Yard.”
“How do you do, Inspector? Please sit down. Will you have some tea?”
“I would appreciate it, thank you.”
Choosing a blue linen-covered wing chair, he cleared his throat. “I believe Lord Falconbridge is away?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“Something has concerned you about the previous governess, my lady?”
Vanessa explained how her suspicions had been aroused, telling him about the lantern taken into the folly and the grooves made on the floor. “But then my stepdaughter, Blythe, told me Miss Lillicrop always wore the cameo. Because she disappeared without notice and would not have left without it, I decided to contact the police.”
“What makes you think she didn’t lose it in the folly?”
“I don’t see how it could have fallen underneath, Inspector.”
The inspector thoughtfully stroked his moustache with thumb and forefinger. “I see. The local police handled the inquiry, I believe. The investigated Miss Lillicrop’s disappearance and the painting, which vanished on the same night. Has the painting turned up?”
“No. And there was that other incident. The poor girl from the village who hung herself in the wood.”
“Mmm. The two are unlikely to connected.” He swallowed the last of his tea and replaced the cup in the saucer. He turned a page of his notebook in a business-like fashion. “Was there anything else you might deem unusual?”
She mentioned the horse and cart in the wood and the flattened bushes. “I thought it might have been poachers. But I’m told they wouldn’t use a cart.”
“No one can explain why the cart was there?”
“I’m afraid not. I questioned the staff. I asked Mr. Davison, the estate manager, whether he had seen anything. His office faces onto that part of the garden. He assured me he didn’t.”
“I’ll speak to him in due course. I don’t like mysterious disappearances such as Miss Lillicrop’s left unsolved. Young women should be safe in their beds when the police are on the beat. I’ll have my men search the wood.”
“Oh?” Vanessa drew in a quick breath. She hadn’t wanted to face the possibility that Miss Lillicrop had met a violent death. “You feel that necessary?”
“It’s merely an avenue of investigation.” He rose and held out his hand. “If you do recall anything else you feel is important, please let me know. I’ll be here in the morning. Let’s hope for a quick resolution.”
“I would be most grateful. Thank you, Inspector.”
As good as his word, Inspector Knott returned with a dozen uniformed police and police dogs on leashes. They trailed through the wood for most of the day and returned the next morning. Vanessa tried to shut out the excited barking and shouting coming from the wood while she distracted Blythe in the schoolroom.
She and Blythe had just come from lunch when Inspector Knott was admitted. One look at his face, and she knew it was not good news. “Blythe, please go to the day nursery. I’ll join you soon.”
When Blythe had left, the inspector spoke. “We have found a woman’s body buried in the woods. N
asty business, this, my lady. I shall need to interview every member of your staff. I’m afraid there will be disruption at the Hall for a while.”
Vanessa’s knees trembled, and she needed badly to sit down. “You may use the ballroom to question the staff. Please ask me for anything you require.”
“Please inform everyone I will return at four. We shall also be looking into the theft of the painting.”
“At the time, the police suspected poor Miss Lillicrop had stolen it,” Vanessa said.
“We know very little at this point, my lady. We can’t rule anything out.”
“You will notify her family?”
“When we have confirmation that the body is indeed that of Miss Agatha Lillicrop, it will be done.”
“I shall write to them,” Vanessa said. “I’d like to return the cameo, if I may.”
“Not just yet, I’m afraid. It remains police evidence and part of the investigation. Someone will come from the morgue and remove the body for a postmortem. That is customary in these cases.” He rose to shake her hand. “I’ll say goodbye until four o’clock.”
Vanessa went to instruct Mrs. Royce to arrange for all staff members to be present as the Inspector had requested. She found the housekeeper in her room. Unlike her usual brisk and busy demeanor, she seemed unfocused, standing with her hands clenched in front of her.
“The Inspector asked me to describe Agatha’s appearance, my lady.”
“I’d like to know too, Mrs. Royce.”
“She was a small woman, God rest her soul with soft fair hair. I believe her eyes were blue.” Mrs. Royce’s mouth quivered. Like everyone else at the hall, the housekeeper was rattled.
“I think everyone should stop work and have a strong cup of tea, Mrs. Royce. And please warn the staff to be careful out of doors, especially the women.”
Mrs. Royce’s eyes widened with alarm. “Certainly, my lady.”
When the housekeeper gathered her ragged nerves together, she went briskly off to carry out Vanessa’s instructions.
Vanessa roamed the house trying to calm herself and keep busy. A maid came to the conservatory where Vanessa was wandering among the plants with a watering can. “Johnson wishes to see you, my lady.”
“Can’t he come here to me?”
“No, my lady.”
“Very well.” Vanessa put down the can and removed her gloves.
Johnson waited for her in the front hall. He stood in his socks, his boots in his hand. “I do apologize, my lady, but my boots are muddy. I shall attend to them forthwith.” His mouth was a thin line, and his eyes were grave. “It’s very bad news I’m afraid.”
Vanessa swallowed. “So it is poor Agatha Lillicrop, Johnson.”
“Without doubt. The deceased woman has a broken brooch pin on her collar. I believe that cameo will fit it.”
Vanessa fell into a chair. Could things possibly get any worse? “I don’t want this horrible business discussed in front of Blythe. Please inform the staff.”
“Yes, my lady.”
A police van came and took Agatha Lillicrop’s body away. Vanessa tried to shield Blythe, but with the whole house in uproar and the servants suddenly very visible and gossiping in corners, it was impossible.
“Why would anyone kill Miss Lillicrop?” Blythe asked, her eyes huge with distress.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. The police will find out.” Vanessa tried to keep the anguish out of her voice. She placed an arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Shall we say a prayer for Miss Lillicrop at church on Sunday?”
Blythe nodded and buried her face in Vanessa’s shoulder.
She stroked Blythe’s hair. She was determined to remain strong for her, but she was becoming increasingly unnerved.
At four o’clock, the inspector questioned the staff. After which, he returned to speak to her in the drawing room. “Would you and the child please remain inside as much as possible? As well as the female staff. There’s a murderer out there somewhere, and at this stage, we have no idea who that could be.”
Vanessa shuddered at the icy fingers climbing her spine. The inspector putting it into words somehow made it more frightening and real. Whatever he might have learned from the staff, he kept to himself and he left after a courteous goodbye.
After a restless night, Vanessa spent the whole day with Blythe in the schoolroom, trying to concentrate on arithmetic and spelling. At afternoon teatime, they finally closed their books.
She asked Blythe to play the piano for her and settled down to listen, sensing the child’s distress through the music. When Blythe had finished playing a halting ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’, Vanessa decided they should talk about what had happened.
“You must be feeling very sad, sweetheart, first losing your mother and then Miss Lillicrop.”
“I did like Miss Lillicrop,” Blythe said in a small voice, “even though she recited poetry a lot.”
“Did she have a favorite poet?”
“She liked Tennyson best.” Blythe ran her hands over the keys, making a jarring sound. “The Lady of Shallot.”
Vanessa wondered again, what had happened to the governess. Was she murdered in the house and buried in the wood in the dead of night? Who would do such a thing?
Blythe went to have her bath, and Vanessa hurried downstairs. Two of the servants were talking in hushed voices in the hall. She caught the tail end of a sentence “… and me mum wants me to find another position.” At the sight of her they hurried away. She wondered how many of the servants would leave as she went to fetch her sewing. She needed to keep her hands busy.
True to their word, the police were ever present, searching the house, the gardens, and the woods. They questioned each of the staff, some more than once. The air seemed to crackle with tension and expectation. The servants scurried about with their heads down. No doubt, everyone’s opinions were expressed in the servants’ hall.
The scullery maid, Molly, a girl of barely seventeen, gave notice, and Vanessa was relieved to let the frightened girl go. Falconbridge Hall wasn’t a place for the tender hearted. She expected others to follow, but so far, everyone had remained loyal to the family.
Johnson and Mrs. Royce proved their worth each, and every day, with Johnson fending off newspaper reporters and the merely inquisitive. Julian had been right. No one passed through the front door unless invited.
Mrs. Royce came to tell her she’d found a replacement for Molly. A niece of hers who didn’t seem intimidated by the constant stream of big, flat-footed policemen stomping through the corridors and across the grounds, clasping their truncheons as if some foe might leap out of a bush at any moment. Perhaps she took after Mrs. Royce, Vanessa thought with a brief flash of amusement.
“It’s just as well she did go, my lady,” Mrs. Royce said darkly. “I’m not one for dismissing silly young women for making a mistake, though.”
“What do you mean, Mrs. Royce?”
“She had confessed to me that Lovel was having his way with her.”
Vanessa felt a swift rush of anger, heating her face. “Molly’s barely out of childhood.”
Mrs. Royce nodded. “I talked to her. She admitted it was wrong. It was by the grace of God that nothing eventuated if you know what I mean.”
“This must not happen again. I shall speak to Lovel, Mrs. Royce.” And have him replaced, Vanessa thought. Julian would surely agree.
“As you wish, my lady. But it would be like trying to stop a rutting ram, stopping that one.”
Vanessa left her to find Blythe. Lovel must be dismissed. It wasn’t safe to have the man around.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vanessa spent hours in the schoolroom with Blythe. They huddled together, counting the days until Julian’s return, and distracting themselves with books while the hubbub carried on around them.
At the end of the second week, the inspector and a group of his policemen arrived with a wagon. Knott informed her that Maurice Lovel was their chief suspect.
“Lovel!” Vanessa had been reassuring herself that the murderer would come from the outside world, not the Hall.
“I’m here to arrest him. My men are searching for him now.”
“Are you sure it’s Lovel, Inspector?” She detested the man but had never thought him capable of murder. “Have you questioned the estate manager? I thought he was hiding something.”
“You did mention the estate manager. Under questioning he admitted to forming a friendship with a widow living in Clapham which caused him to be late the morning the trap appeared in the wood.”
“He might have told me.”
The Inspector cleared his throat. “I believe he was embarrassed.” Knott turned to the parcel wrapped in brown paper one of his men just brought into the drawing room. “I think we have uncovered your missing painting.” He untied the string and tore the paper away. “Can anyone here confirm it?”
Vanessa went over to examine it, still in its gilt frame. It was a rather ordinary little painting, a muted scene of horses in a misty field. “I have never seen it, Inspector. I’ll call Mrs. Royce.”
Mrs. Royce cast it a cursory glance. “That’s the missing painter, Inspector Knott. I’m sure of it.”
“That is most helpful, thank you, Mrs. Royce,” Vanessa said.
“I’ll just nip back to the servants’ hall and make sure none of my girls are tempted to stray outside to talk to your handsome policemen,” Mrs. Royce said, regaining some of her vigor.
The painting’s frame was battered, and the canvas dusty, but it appeared to be otherwise undamaged. “Strange choice to steal, Inspector,” she said. “I doubt this work is of much value. And there are many paintings here worth much more. Is there a connection between the robbery and Miss Lillicrop’s death?”
The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 19
