by Leslie Meier
“What need would there possibly be?” demanded the old woman. “And how would I know whether my niece and nephew will need me here or whether it would be better for me to go? And in that case I might very well visit a friend. I have many friends, you see, as well as numerous relations, and they all beg me to come and visit. I simply don’t know what I’m going to do. As it happens, I’ve been evicted from the Chinese bedroom because of the smell and they want me to stay in one of the old servants’ rooms. Can you imagine?”
The sergeant didn’t seem too troubled by Lady Wickham’s predicament. “Well,” she said, closing her notebook, “in that case you had better stay here until Inspector Hennessy notifies you otherwise.”
“Well, I never,” said her ladyship, drawing herself up to her full five feet. “If you persist in this nonsense, I shall have to call my dear friend the commissioner.”
Sgt. Matthews had moved on and was methodically moving from one person to another, jotting down their names and details. When she reached Sue and Lucy, and learned they were Americans, she warned them they might need to provide their passports.
“Will we have to surrender them?” asked Lucy, mindful of Sue’s warning.
“That will depend on how the investigation develops. Inspector Hennessy will make that determination,” Sgt. Matthews said. “As I’ve been telling everyone, no one is going anywhere unless the inspector gives permission.”
“I understand,” said Lucy, noticing that Perry and the inspector had returned just as a white police van arrived, delivering several officers who began suiting up in white crime scene overalls.
Perry led them inside, along with Sgt. Matthews and DI Hennessy, leaving everyone else standing in the stable yard.
Lucy felt rather deflated and suspected that the others did, too.
“Well,” said Poppy, letting out a big sigh, “we have to keep body and soul together. Rather a lot of bodies and souls,” she added as more police vehicles arrived and the officers began unloading numerous cases containing equipment. “I could use some help making tea and sandwiches.”
In no time at all, with her usual efficiency, Poppy set everyone except Aunt Millicent to work in the kitchen. Her ladyship considered herself far above such mundane chores and withdrew to a sofa where she began reading the latest Country Life magazine.
Lucy and Sue were setting out cups and saucers on trays when Robert Goodenough arrived to offer priestly support, having heard there was trouble at the manor.
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Poppy. “We’ve got a body in the wall.”
“How dreadful,” said Robert.
“The police are talking about using jackhammers to get it out.” She shook her head. “What a mess! Just think of the damage . . .”
“To the manor, of course,” said Robert in a thoughtful tone, as if switching gears. “I had thought it might be a friend or relation, perhaps an employee.”
“We have no idea who it is,” said Poppy. “Nobody is missing, that’s for certain. I rather do resent people coming and dying here at Moreton. One was bad enough, but two is excessive. I think it’s most inconsiderate.”
“Perhaps I should go and lend a hand. See if there’s anything I can do,” offered Robert.
“They’re up there,” said Poppy, indicating the manor house on the opposite side of the terrace. “You can cross through the tunnel and take the stairs up to the second landing. Tell them there’s tea and sandwiches down here.”
“Splendid,” said Robert, gratified to have a mission. He marched off, only to return a few minutes later.
“Good news,” he reported. “No jackhammers, at least not yet. They’ve gone to see Willoughby in the library. They’re looking for old plans to the manor, hoping to find the entry point. It was Winifred’s idea.”
“God bless Winifred,” said Poppy, breathing a sigh of relief
“Yes, indeed,” said Robert, “and all His creatures here on earth.”
“Perhaps I should cover the sandwiches and save them for later?” asked Poppy, offering a plate of assorted sandwiches. “We’ve got ploughman’s, roast beef, and chicken. I don’t want them to dry out.”
“I can take them along to the library, if that’s all right,” offered Robert. “Research is hungry work.”
Seizing the opportunity, Lucy grabbed a tray filled with mugs of tea and followed him. “They’ll need something to drink,” she said, trying to sound helpful.
“I’ve got the cream and sugar,” said Sue, refusing to be left behind.
“It’s a mission of mercy,” said Robert, smiling as they left the kitchen and made their way to the library.
They found the inspector and Perry consulting with Willoughby and Winifred; all four were bent over a table filled with maps and various documents. Some were clearly ancient with ribbons and dangling wax seals, others were modern architectural renderings. The estate manager Quimby and several crime scene officers were standing slightly apart, ready to assist if needed.
“We’ve brought food and drink!” exclaimed Robert, holding the plate of sandwiches aloft as if presenting a suckling pig at a banquet.
“How thoughtful. Thank you,” said Perry, absorbed in the plan he was studying and taking no interest in the refreshments.
There was an awkward moment as some of the officers eyed the food hungrily, not sure if they should partake. Willoughby settled the matter and broke the ice, declaring a cuppa was just the thing to clear the mind.
Lucy thought cuppa was an odd term for the librarian to use, but she remembered he was not to the manor born, and had attended what he called a bricks and mortar university and not Cambridge or Oxford.
“I’ll have milk and two sugars,” he told Sue, accepting a cup of tea and perching on a sofa with the mug in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Soon everyone was eating, except for Winifred and Perry, who continued to pore over the plans.
When Hennessy finished his tea, he came to a decision. “We’ll have to open the wall,” he said. “I know you don’t want to damage the fabric of the manor, but it has to be done. We can’t wait.”
“If the body got in there, there must be some sort of opening,” argued Winifred.
Perry turned to the historian. “Willoughby, you’ve been studying this building for months. Have you found any reference to walling off the window?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Willoughby, moving on to his second sandwich.
“Then I guess we have no choice,” said Perry with a sigh. “Poppy will be devastated.”
The police officers trooped off to begin the process of dismantling the wall and uncovering the body. Perry went to inform Poppy, and Lucy and Sue began collecting empty tea mugs and crumpled napkins.
“I can’t believe there’s no record of such a significant alteration,” said Winifred, furrowing her brow and searching through the pile of documents.
“I’m sure you’re right, but I haven’t found it yet,” said Willoughby. “You know how it is with these places,” he added with a shrug. “They’ve never had an organized, systematic scholarship—what we professionals would consider standard operating procedure. In times past, they wrote it all down and tucked it away in a chest or someplace they thought would keep important papers safe. Two or three generations later, somebody decided that old chest was an eyesore and banished it to the attic or a pantry. Think of that inventory they found at Burghley. Used to wrap china, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Winifred. “And I imagine they’ll find the secret entrance once they’ve got inside.”
“Mystery solved,” said Willoughby.
“Well, one mystery, anyway. There’s still the question of the corpse’s identity.”
“Of course,” said Willoughby, busy rolling up the documents and replacing them in their glass case.
Lucy and Sue departed with their loaded trays and returned to the kitchen. They found Lady Wickham dozing on the sofa, and Robert and Poppy sitting at the kitchen ta
ble. The vicar was doing his best to console Poppy.
“You must think me awful,” said Poppy, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “After all, a person is more important than a building, right? Instead of worrying about the wall, I should be thinking of this poor corpse and the people he left behind.”
“It’s completely understandable,” replied Robert, covering her hand with his. “The manor is part of your heritage. It’s like a member of your family.”
“You’re so understanding,” said Poppy, giving Robert a long look before lowering her eyes.
As Lucy and Sue loaded the mugs into the dishwasher, they were aware of the demolition work taking place in the ancient building. Through the windows, they saw the crime scene officers moving back and forth, carrying equipment. They could even hear the faint whine of power tools grinding through the thick stone wall, as well as bangs and crashes, and occasional grunts and exclamations. A sudden cessation of noise indicated the barrier had been breached, which was followed by an ear-piercing shriek.
Lady Wickham started, suddenly awake, and raised her head. Robert and Poppy came to attention at the table. Lucy and Sue were frozen in place at the sink.
The silence was broken when Sgt. Matthews brought an ashen-faced Harrison into the kitchen. “We need some strong tea with lots of sugar. She’s had a shock.”
“Why, Harrison, I wondered where you’d got to,” said Lady Wickham, looking up from her magazine.
“I am sorry, m’lady,” said Harrison, quickly wiping her eyes and tucking the tissue into a pocket. “I was gathering up your things. We had to move you, of course, because of the work. Them taking down the wall, you see,”
“Very well,” said her ladyship in a rare exhibit of cooperation.
“Well, to make a long story short, I saw the body and it gave me quite a turn,” continued the lady’s maid.
“Quite natural, I’m sure,” said Lady Wickham.
“It was me son, Cyril, you see,” said Harrison, waving away the cup of tea that Lucy had prepared for her.
“Your son?” inquired the elderly countess, whose face had gone quite white. Then she quickly added, “I had no idea you had a son.”
“Oh, how awful!” exclaimed Poppy, full of sympathy.
“I’m so sorry!” added Sue.
“What a dreadful shock that must have been,” said Lucy, proffering the tea once again.
“Do sit down,” urged Poppy. She glanced at the vicar. “Perhaps a prayer?”
“No, no,” insisted Harrison, waving them all away. “It’s time I got her ladyship settled in her new room”—she paused and added with a disdainful sniff—“such as it is.”
Poppy turned to Sgt. Matthews. “May Harrison take my aunt to her room?”
“Of course,” replied the sergeant, writing in her notebook.
“I shouldn’t think I need permission to move about in my nephew’s house,” snapped Lady Wickham, accepting a helping hand from Harrison to rise from the sofa. Leaning heavily on her maid’s arm, she was led away from the kitchen.
“My goodness,” said Poppy after they’d gone. “You’d think it was Aunt Millicent who lost her son, instead of the other way around.”
“Grief takes people differently,” said Robert. “Poor Harrison is most likely in denial, clinging to her routine duties as a way of avoiding the dreadful truth.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that Aunt Millicent is a monster,” said Poppy, looking up as DI Hennessy entered the kitchen, followed by Perry and Quimby.
“We have made a preliminary identification of the body, one Cyril Harrison,” said Hennessy. “Considering the identity of the victim and his relationship to a member of the household, not to mention the location of the body, I will require a complete list of employees and family members and will be conducting interviews over the next few days.”
“We are prepared to offer every cooperation,” said Poppy. “Will it be possible to keep the house open for the visitors?”
“What about the hat show?” asked Perry. “Can it open as scheduled?”
“If I may,” began the vicar in a reproachful tone. “Might I suggest a prayer?”
Somewhat chastened, they all fell silent and bowed their heads.
“O God, we give you thanks and praise for your goodness and pray that you may give to the departed eternal rest and let light perpetual shine upon them, and most especially on Cyril.”
They all joined in the final amen, but Lucy knew that while Cyril might or might not find perpetual light and eternal rest, there would certainly be no rest for those left behind at Moreton Manor.
Chapter Twelve
“Now, if you’ll show me the way, I would like to offer some support to the lady’s maid, the victim’s mother,” requested the vicar.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” asked Desi. “She didn’t seem to want any sympathy.”
“I won’t press the issue,” replied Robert, “but I do want to let her know that the church is there for her if she should find a need for support and consolation.”
“Well, it’s your funeral,” said Poppy with a sigh. “Aunt Millicent’s been moved upstairs here in the family wing. Desi can show you the way.”
They left and Poppy collapsed in a chair at the big kitchen table, her chin propped on one arm. “I suppose we ought to do something about dinner,” she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“I don’t think anyone’s very hungry,” volunteered Flora. “I know I’m not.”
Lucy didn’t like the way this was going, not one bit. She was starving, although somewhat ashamed to admit it. “Aunt Millicent will certainly expect something,” she said in an effort to divert blame.
“There’s an Indian take-out place in the village, isn’t there?” suggested Sue. “Lucy and I could pick up some supper there.”
“What a good idea,” said Perry. “I haven’t had Indian in ages.”
“I simply adore chicken korma,” volunteered Vickie, who had just arrived in the kitchen with Gerald. She seemed to have made a full recovery from last night’s binge, although she had substituted a pair of nubby-soled flat driving shoes for the perilously high-heeled Louboutins.
“What about Lady Wickham? Will she be okay with Indian?” asked Lucy.
“Absolutely,” said Desi, returning to the kitchen. “It reminds her of the glory days of the Raj.”
“But only if we put it on a Crown Derby plate,” said Poppy with a laugh that was verging on the hysterical.
“I’ll go dust one off,” said Perry, handing a set of keys to Sue. “You can take the Ford. That’s probably the most familiar to you. Before you leave, you better check with the inspector and make sure it’s all right.”
“Maybe they’ll want some food, too,” said Sue.
When Sue and Lucy found the inspector in the stable yard, he was deep in conversation with a scene-of-crime officer and wasn’t interested in Indian food. “No, no, none for us. We’ll fend for ourselves, but thank you for asking.”
“It’s all right for us to leave the estate, then?” asked Sue.
“Just don’t try to leave the country,” he advised.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Lucy, speaking more honestly than the inspector imagined. She was finding the whole situation absolutely fascinating, and her reporter’s blood was up, keen to discover the story behind the murder. “Do you have any leads so far?”
“Early days, early days,” said the inspector, dismissing them.
When they reached the garage, actually converted from part of the stable, they found Sgt. Matthews busy checking out the vehicles parked there. In addition to Perry’s Ford Focus, there were several Land Rovers, Flora’s Mini Cooper, and a sporty MG convertible.
“Quite a collection,” said Lucy.
“Never ceases to amaze me,” said Sgt. Matthews, “how some people have so much and others have so very little.”
“We’re supposed to take the Ford to go get Indian food,” said S
ue. “The inspector said it was all right.”
“I’m just getting the registration information,” said the sergeant. “Routine.”
“Any leads so far?” inquired Lucy. “It seems like one of those locked room mysteries. Something Agatha Christie might write.”
“I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff and this one is right up there,” said Sgt. Matthews. “Did you happen to notice anything out of the usual in recent days?”
“Only the awful smell,” said Sue.
“Well, there was the body in the maze,” offered Lucy.
“The OD,” said Sgt. Matthews with a nod.
“There might be a connection,” said Lucy.
“Perhaps,” admitted Sgt. Matthews. “We’ll be looking into it.”
“We’re only visitors,” continued Lucy, responding to the sergeant’s dismissive tone, “but it does seem to me that there’s quite a bit of tension in the household.”
“How so?” asked the sergeant.
“I think it’s just the unexpected arrival of Lady Wickham,” said Sue, giving Lucy a warning look. “She’s rather difficult and demanding.”
“It’s more than that,” said Lucy, disregarding Sue. “Poppy and Gerald don’t seem to be getting along, Flora’s anorexic, Gerald disapproves of Desi being a dancer, and I think there may be money problems”
“Money problems?” asked Sgt. Matthews, somewhat incredulous.
“Poppy frets about money all the time. There’s a lot of expense running a place like this and there’s dry rot and paintings falling off the walls. Things are not as perfect as they seem,” said Lucy.
“They never are,” said Sue in a cautionary tone. “But Lucy’s one of those glass-half-empty people. On the other hand, there’s a lot of excitement about Perry’s hat show. It’s due to open in a few days and it’s already generating quite a buzz.”
“I don’t suppose you knew the victim, this Cyril Harrison?” asked the sergeant.
“How could we?” replied Lucy. “We’ve only been here a few days.”
