Murder on the Moor

by Julianna Deering

  “Sabrina—”

  She shoved his hands away from her. “It was over the threshold. You know what that means.”

  “Sabrina, dear—”

  “It means someone in the house is going to die!” There was a moment of utter silence, and then she drew a sobbing breath.

  “It’s nothing but a story,” Beaky said gently. “You know that.”

  She turned to Drew, a glitter of frustrated tears in her eyes. “I told myself it was foolishness and I wasn’t going to listen to it. I’m from London, not one of these backward villages on the moor. But now . . . Oh, I just don’t know what to think.”

  “We don’t know exactly what Mrs. Norris saw,” Drew said quietly. “Or the scullery girl. Perhaps it was paw prints. Perhaps it was something else. I’m fairly sure that whatever it was, it was not caused by a spectral hound seeking to avenge itself on unpunished wrongdoers.”

  She gave him a defiant glare, yet she seemed to calm somewhat. “There were paw prints up in the north wing. You can’t deny those.”

  “No,” Drew admitted. “But we can find out what made them and why.” He leaned down just a bit, looking steadily into her eyes. “We will find out, I promise you that. For now, try not to worry about what these superstitions say.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not saying there’s no danger. That, I believe, is very real. Like the perpetrator. We just don’t know what all of this means yet.”

  She didn’t say anything more, but only looked back at him, her dark eyes wide and as vulnerable as a child’s. Then she pursed her lips and flipped open the carved box on Beaky’s desk and extracted a cigarette. Beaky immediately lit it for her.

  “He’s right, my dear. I don’t want you to worry. Drew here’s the expert. We just have to give him time enough to solve the case.”

  She exhaled, the smoke coming out in jerky puffs rather than a smooth stream. “Yes, of course.” She forced a smile. “It works on one, you know. The moor. Miles and miles of emptiness, and the wind. Oh, the ceaseless wind.” Her voice shook, and she took another deep drag on her cigarette.

  Beaky looked at Drew, clearly distressed, and then he turned again to his wife. “You know I’m supposed to go to Harrogate about the loan for the remodeling this afternoon. Would you rather I put it off?”

  “Don’t be silly, Beaky. I’m not going to have a hysterical fit. Go do whatever it is you need to do.”

  “Perhaps you and Madeline could go shopping in the village or go out for tea or something nice.”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m not so badly off that I need minding. I’ll find something to do. Don’t you worry about me.” She crushed out her cigarette and let herself out of the room.

  Drew watched her go, taking particular care to keep his thoughts out of his expression. The hound’s prints had been seen in the upstairs of the north wing and, perhaps, near the kitchen door. Both places had been locked, inaccessible to anyone or anything from the outside. But what about the inside? Someone who would have been locked in rather than out? For someone who seemed so practical and cynical, Sabrina had seemed awfully shaken by a creature formed wholly out of superstition.

  “Are you certain you ought to go just now, old man?” Drew asked.

  Beaky frowned. “I can’t say it’s the best of times, but Treadwell at the bank there has offered me an excellent rate, and I’d very much like to get that settled while it’s available. We can’t start the work until winter is over, of course, but I’m also supposed to meet with the architect while I’m there. I’d like to get him working on plans and get things like furnishings and draperies and such started. There’s a man in York who does lovely carved furniture pieces and even moldings and such for the house itself. I’d like to be able to get him going as quickly as possible, too.”

  “Very nice.”

  “And just between ourselves, I think it would do Sabrina a world of good to have something to occupy her time for a few months. She’s seemed a bit moody the last little while. I know the moor is not what she’s used to.”

  “Perhaps brightening up the old place, making it more her own, would be just the thing.” Drew hesitated. “Do you think your car’s in the sort of shape she ought to be to make the drive? I thought she sounded as though she was struggling a bit on the way back last night.”

  “It seems everything happens at once,” Beaky said, looking resigned to his fate. “There’s nothing for it, but I must take Sabrina’s little Austin.”

  Drew chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be positively fetching in it.”

  Beaky made a face. “Well, besides it being that hideous shade of yellow, I always look rather the fool driving it. I always end up with my knees up around my ears trying to accordion myself behind the wheel.”

  Drew swatted his shoulder. “You’ll survive, I’m sure. Oh, what do you think about me sending someone along to St. Anthony’s to ask after this Faber chap? Some of these fellows who can’t remember yesterday can talk in great detail about what happened twenty years ago.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen that before. Very well, if it’s not too large an imposition, I’d appreciate your seeing to that. Let me know what you find out. But really, Drew, mind who you send. Don’t have some ninny blunder down there and badger the poor fellow. He’s clearly been through enough already.”

  “Not to worry,” Drew assured him. “I have just the man for the job.”

  Once more, Mr. Stapleton requested the honor of Mr. Selden’s presence. Nick looked even scruffier and more disreputable than ever.

  “I’ve had more time with Midgley,” he said by way of explanation.

  “‘Bad company corrupts good morals,’” Drew said piously. “I think you shall have to be sent away for the sake of your own soul. If it’s not already too late.”

  Nick made a great show of remorse.

  “Seriously,” Drew said, “I need you to go down to Norfolk for me and speak to this chap Faber. Or if he’s not in a position to see you, find out more about him.”

  He gave Nick a card with St. Anthony’s address on it and the name of the superintendent.

  Nick looked at him, eyebrows raised. “An asylum?”

  “He was employed at the Lodge before the war.” Drew gave him the details. “I’m hoping he might know something about those days that might tell us a bit about the vicar or even Miss Patterson. It’s a long shot, I grant you. He may not be able to speak to you, or make much sense if he does, but I’d like you to go down all the same. If you would.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “And do be very gentle with him, eh?”

  “Naturally,” Nick said. “It can’t be easy for him, no matter how well he’s treated there.”

  “One last thing. I called down to Farthering Place this morning, just to see how things were getting along and all. Denny wanted me to give you a message.”

  “Good old Dad. How’s the buttling coming on? I expect he’s perishing to see me.”

  “He did mention a shocking lack of tomfoolery about the place without you there.”

  “I promise I’ll make it up to him when I get back. And what was it he wanted you to tell me?”

  “He says he’s sent an envelope with no return address to one Tom Selden, care of General Delivery here in Bunting’s Nest. He thought you wouldn’t want to wait to see the contents until after you returned home.”

  “The contents being?”

  “A letter from a Miss Holland, Charleston, South Carolina, United States of America.”

  Nick’s face lit. “Carrie. I was hoping to have something from her before too much longer.” Concern darkened his expression. “Poor girl. I wish I could be there with her.”

  “How is Mr. Holland?” Drew asked. “Still the same?”

  “Carrie says he’s been declining since last year. She hasn’t come out and said it, but I think she fears the worst is coming.”

  Drew felt a sudden heaviness in his heart. He had liked Carrie’s f
ather. Madeline had been close to him, so close that she had asked him to give her away at their wedding. And poor Carrie, she was clearly her daddy’s girl. Dear God, if it is his time, comfort them both.

  “If you want to go to her, Nick, you know you need only say so.”

  The concern in Nick’s eyes was overshadowed by pain. “I’ve begged her to let me come. I told her I didn’t want her to go through this by herself, but she said it would be better if I left things as they are. She said she needs to be with her father if . . . if this is to be the last. I suppose she’s right.” He drew in a hard breath and then squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “She knows she can call on me if she needs me. For now, though, I have a job to see to. Anything you need while I’m out? Milk? Bread? Some of that fishy sandwich paste they serve at the pub?”

  Drew chuckled softly. Nick was never one to stay down long. “I think we’re well stocked at the Lodge. How are things at Mrs. Denton’s? Anything you need?”

  “Apart from at least one morning when I’m not jarred from sleep before six? No, can’t think of anything.”

  “Well, buck up, old man. You’ll have a night or two in Norfolk to catch up on your rest.”

  “Right. I’ll let you know what I find out from Faber.”

  With a nod, Nick strode back toward Partridge Row.

  “Oh, Nick,” Drew called after him, and he turned. “Do stop by the post office before you go.”

  Nick grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Fourteen

  Drew returned to the Lodge just before teatime, happy to see that Madeline hadn’t gone into the village with Sabrina after all. The three of them sat down to cucumber and prawn and egg and watercress sandwiches, petit fours, and the promised tea cakes and jam. Their hostess ate very little, and no matter how much Drew and Madeline tried to engage her in conversation, she responded only minimally. It was already growing dark when the maid took the tea things away. Soon the footman came to replenish the fire and turn on more lights.

  “I suppose we’d all better go dress for dinner,” Sabrina said, startling the dog dozing at her feet. “Of all the nights in the year, Beaky would be late tonight.”

  Without another word, she tossed her ever-present cigarette into the fireplace and stalked out of the room. Still dazed from sleep, Raphael trotted after her.

  Drew looked at his wife, one eyebrow raised.

  “I think that paw print at the threshold bothers her more than she admits,” Madeline said, her voice low.

  “She does seem rather unsettled,” he mused, “but is it over something that’s happened or something she thinks will happen?”

  “The barghest?” Madeline glanced toward the door, lowering her voice even more. “Do you think she truly believes all that?”

  “Or wants us to believe she does.”

  Madeline put one finger to her lips and then hurried upstairs to dress. Soon Drew found himself admiring her reflection in the tall looking glass. Her simple gown of draped rose-colored silk made her skin look as fine as porcelain with just a hint of a blush, and the Farthering pearls complimented it admirably, but she frowned as she touched her chignoned hair.

  “I wish I had Beryl here. Just for twenty minutes or so.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve done it beautifully.” He kissed the one shoulder the gown left tantalizingly bare. “Besides, we haven’t got twenty minutes. I’m sure they’ll sound the gong for dinner any time now.”

  But they heard nothing. They found Sabrina precisely where she had been earlier, sitting before the fire in the drawing room, puffing away on a cigarette with Raphael at her feet. The only difference was that there was a diamond clip pulling back her golden hair at one side and she had on an ice-blue beaded gown that gave her blue eyes a spark of cold fire.

  “No gong?” Drew asked, checking the time on the mantel clock. It was three minutes past eight.

  “No Beaky,” Sabrina said, her mouth turned down in annoyance. “He might at the least have rung up to say he’d be late.”

  Just then the telephone did ring. There was a moment’s delay, and then Halford appeared in the drawing room doorway.

  “The telephone for you, madam.”

  “At last.” Sabrina put out her cigarette and snatched up the receiver from the telephone at the end of the sofa. “Really, Beaky, if you’re going to be as late as—oh.”

  As she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, her expression changed from annoyance to bewilderment and then was suddenly without emotion at all.

  “How bad? He’s not—”

  She listened again, and then exhaled, a touch of color returning to her face.

  “Yes. Of course. Right away. Thank you.”

  She rang off and stood looking as if she didn’t know which way to run.

  Drew took her arm, steadying her. “What is it?”

  She pressed her clasped hands to her mouth for the briefest of moments, and then she pulled away from him, giving him her usual hard smile. “Beaky’s gone and cracked up my car coming back from Harrogate. No, no, don’t look like that, he’s all right. He’s at a house in Ripley, where the police took him after the accident, and he’s had a doctor look at him and everything. Would you mind terribly driving with me over to collect him? Has the Bentley been seen to, Halford?”

  “Basset told me earlier this evening that he had found the problem and had mended it, madam. I should think it would handle the drive nicely now.”

  “Good. Very good.” Sabrina turned again to Drew. “Will you go with me?”

  “Right away,” Drew said. “Would you like to come along, Madeline, or had you rather stay here?”

  “I could do with just Basset, if you two had rather not,” Sabrina began, but Madeline was already telling Halford to get their things.

  “We couldn’t let you go by yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Drew took Sabrina’s coat when the maid brought it and politely helped her into it. “We’ll get over to where they’ve got Beaky and bring him right home. No need to worry.”

  Ripley lay just north of Harrogate. Sabrina smoked the entire length of the drive from Bunting’s Nest, leaving Drew and Madeline no choice but to leave the windows down despite the frigid night. They talked hardly at all. Sabrina knew little more about what had happened than what Drew had overheard of her conversation, and it was only natural for her to be preoccupied and upset just now.

  The trip was not a long one, and soon they were pulling up at the end of a row of houses at the west end of the village. Drew peered up at the last one.

  “I think this is Greengate, Basset. I can’t tell if the gate is green or blue or lavender, but it’s the only one with a light on. I think it’s worth a try. Stay here until I find out for certain.”

  The chauffeur pulled over. Drew went up to the house and was quickly back again.

  “He’s here all right.”

  He opened the rear door of Beaky’s car to hand the ladies out, but Sabrina was too quick for him. She was nearly at the door before Drew and Madeline caught up to her, but the three of them went in together.

  The house belonged to an elderly couple called Blankensop, and it seemed unlikely that either of them had stayed up at such a scandalous hour since Armistice Day. They both sat owl-eyed on the sofa staring at Beaky, who was bundled up in an easy chair with his clothing torn and bloodied and one bandaged leg propped up on an ottoman.

  “There you are, my dear,” he said when he saw Sabrina, trying to smile and then thinking better of it when it tugged at his split lip.

  She merely stood there, hands on hips, mouth in a tight line. “What in the world were you thinking, Beaky? And what have you done to the Austin? You know how much I love that one. How could you?”

  Beaky winced and smiled anyway. “Sorry, darling. It couldn’t be helped. The brakes just went on me all of a sudden.”

  “How bad is it?” Drew asked, and Beaky shrugged, wincing again.

  “She’s a go
ner, I’m afraid. I hit that stone wall and then—”

  “No, not the car, old man. How are you?”

  “Oh, right.” He glanced at his wife. “It’s not so bad. Bumps and bruises mostly. I’ll likely have a few scars as souvenirs. There’s the leg and this wrist.” He held up his left arm, showing the hand and forearm tightly bandaged. “And my head is going something awful.”

  “What did the doctor say?” Madeline asked.

  “Looks worse than it is,” he said, again glancing at Sabrina. “I bashed my wrist and my head when I crashed. The leg I bunged up trying to get out of the ditch. The trousers wouldn’t be so bad if the doctor hadn’t had to cut one side open to the knee.”

  “So you were coming back from Harrogate when you—”

  “Oh, no,” Beaky said. “Hadn’t got there actually. I was headed that way at a pretty good clip and came to a rather sharp bend in the road. Well, the road bent but the car didn’t. I couldn’t slow her down enough to take the turn without flying into that wall. I think I must have sat there some while before I came round again. Then I had to work my way out of the car. The front’s sort of mashed to one side, a bit like an accordion.” He looked again at his wife. “Sorry, darling. Anyway, once I got myself out, I fell into the ditch at the bottom of the wall. It was full of slush and I don’t know what. Nasty. Gave myself a fairly good cut on the shin—nearly to the bone, the doctor said.”

  Sabrina shook her head, lips pursed. “You’ve got to be more careful, Beaky. Really.”

  “The doctor did clean it up well, didn’t he?” Madeline asked.

  Beaky chuckled. “I don’t know how even one germ could have survived, judging by whatever he poured into the cut. It stung like blue blazes.”

  “Good old Beaky,” Drew said, giving him a gentle shake of the shoulder. “Do you think you can manage getting out to your car?”

  “If you’ll lend a hand. I’d rather like to get out of these folks’ way as quickly as I can.”

  “It’s no trouble, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Blankensop, though it seemed from her tone that it was a great deal of trouble indeed. “It was rather a surprise when young Mr. Clopton brought him in here, wasn’t it, Father?”