Mrs. Malory and the Festival Murder

by Hazel Holt

  I heard a little murmur of conversation and then Michael came back into the kitchen.

  ‘It’s your chum Roger,’ he said. ‘Classified information, by the sound of it. He wouldn’t tell me, even though I told him that you were chained to the toaster.’

  I picked up the telephone with some misgivings.

  ‘Roger?’

  ‘Ah, Sheila. I thought you’d like to know. Your guess was correct. There were traces of blood on one of the candlesticks from St Decumen’s. The same blood type as Adrian Palgrave. Congratulations.’

  ‘No fingerprints?’

  ‘No. It had been pretty thoroughly cleaned and polished (they’re trying to identify the kind of polish that was used), but it’s quite an ornate thing and there was a certain amount of blood in the engraving and chasing round the base.’

  I was silent for a moment, and then I said, ‘The church is always open. Anyone could have taken it.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘And,’ I continued, ‘I gather you’ve had a word with Father Freddy. I jumped to the wrong conclusion there. He doesn’t seem to have a motive after all.’

  ‘Well, not the blackmail one, certainly,’ Roger agreed.

  ‘I can’t think of any other,’ I said. ‘And somehow I can’t see him taking a candlestick from his own altar...’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Oh dear, it’s all so awful. Do you think that Robin...? I mean, the fire might just have been vandals.’

  ‘It would certainly be a neat solution, but somehow I don’t feel it’s the right one,’ Roger said.

  ‘No,’ I replied sadly, ‘I’m afraid you’re right. So what do you think?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a dead end,’ he replied. ‘Two obvious suspects would be your friend Eleanor or her housekeeper. If you eliminate Freddy Drummond, then they were the nearest to the church and the most familiar with it. But they were together in the kitchen, surrounded with people at the crucial time.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quickly, ‘yes, they were.’

  ‘So probably all I can do is leave it alone for a bit,’ he said, ‘and see if anything develops. There’s always a moment in a murder case when you have to do that. It sort of clears your mind. Well, I’d better get on. I’ll keep you posted – and thanks again for your inspiration about the candlestick. Forensic may come up with something useful on the polish.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ I said, ‘if the whole thing were to rest on a small domestic detail like a brand of metal polish! It’s like something out of Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t actually build a whole case on it; the defence would have it in ribbons. But it might be a pointer’ which way to look. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Ma?’ Michael said as I went back into the kitchen.

  ‘This beastly murder,’ I said. ‘Oh, Michael, do use the marmalade spoon, that knife is all crumby.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. What particular aspect of this murder is making you look so uncheered?’

  I told him about the candlestick.

  ‘I should think,’ he replied, ‘you’d feel quite chuffed that your remarkable powers of deduction have been so successful.’

  ‘But it’s so appalling! Who on earth could have done such an unspeakable thing? I mean, it’s sacrilege, on top of everything else.’

  ‘I suppose when you’re about to commit a murder, then a little thing like sacrilege is neither here nor there.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ I went on. ‘It really does mean that it was premeditated. The murderer didn’t just get carried away by emotion and snatch up the nearest thing to hand. No, it must have been planned. That’s somehow even more horrible.’

  Michael gathered up his plate and mug and put them into the sink with a crash.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I’m going to the Magistrates’ Court in Taunton with Edward today. Some joker up for stealing traffic cones, if you can believe it! Still, we can’t all hobnob with the higher echelons of the Law like you. Shan’t be late, Don’t worry about all this. Leave it to Roger. Go shopping with Rosemary or something, and take your mind off it.’

  But as I washed the dishes and, later, as I made the beds and did a little desultory dusting, my mind was still churning around. Certainly Eleanor or Jessie could perfectly easily have slipped into the church and taken the candlestick. They were near at hand and in and out of the church quite often, so that the presence of either one of them would not have been remarked upon. The fact that they were together didn’t, as Roger implied, give each of them an alibi. He had no idea (and I had not told him) just how devoted they were to each other. There was no way that Eleanor would betray Jessie. Especially if she felt, as she obviously did, that Adrian had treated her abominably.

  And I also knew that although there were a lot of people milling about just before the concert started, Jessie would have allowed no one, except Eleanor of course, into her kitchen. And it was possible to get from there to the old dairy without going into the main house.

  Foss, sensing my mood, as he always does, followed me round the house wailing and weaving about my feet. I stooped and picked him up, holding him in front of me and staring into his unblinking blue eyes, as if there I might somehow find the answer to all my problems. He hung supine for a moment in my hands, then gave a loud cry of protest, so I swung him up on to my shoulder and walked over to the window. It was a grey, brooding sort of day and the low cloud increased my feeling of depression.

  ‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go and see Eleanor and Jessie.’

  I put Foss gently on to the windowsill, picked up my handbag, and set off before my courage had time to evaporate.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I got to Kinsford it was still dull and overcast, but now there was a chilly wind so that I shivered as I got out of the car and wished I had put a cardigan over my summer dress.

  Jessie opened the door. She looked really unwell and her face was puffy, as if she had been crying. I asked for Eleanor and she said, ‘Miss Eleanor’s just gone over to the church to do the flowers for the graves.’

  ‘If you don’t think she’ll be long, can I come in and wait for her?’

  Jessie let me in rather reluctantly.

  ‘Just a minute,’ she said, moving the Hoover out of the drawing room doorway. She bent down to unplug it and swayed slightly. I moved quickly over towards her and took her arm.

  ‘Come and sit down, Jessie,’ I said. ‘You really shouldn’t be doing this. I thought Mrs Carter came in to do the housework.’

  ‘She’s got this flu thing and I can’t let the house go to rack and ruin...’

  I guided her towards one of the big sofas and made her sit down. She sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat and protested, ‘I’m all right, Mrs Malory, really I am. I just came over a bit giddy. It was nothing.’

  I gathered my courage, took a deep breath and said, ‘Jessie – I know about Adrian Palgrave.’

  She gave a startled exclamation and turned to face me, her dark eyes seeming to grow enormous as the blood drained from her face. She clasped her hands together tightly and said, ‘You know?’

  ‘Yes, that he was the father of your baby.’ She put her hands up to her face and began to cry with great wracking sobs.

  ‘Jessie,’ I put my arm around her shoulder and the weeping became more violent

  After a while she appeared calmer, though she continued to cry, but quietly and with what seemed a deeper anguish.

  ‘There is something else, isn’t there?’ I said.

  She nodded without speaking and I went on.

  ‘It’s to do with the murder, isn’t it?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’ I asked gently. ‘You have to tell someone. You can’t go on like this. It’s so bad for the baby.’

  The mention of the baby brought on another fit of weeping, but gradually she gained some sort of control of herself
and said, ‘You’re right, Mrs Malory, I’ve got to tell someone. It’s just that...’

  ‘It involves Miss Eleanor, too,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  She looked at me hopelessly.

  ‘I can’t keep the baby,’ she said. ‘He’ll have to be adopted.’

  ‘Jessie, what do you mean?’

  She was crying again.

  ‘How can I keep him,’ she burst out, ‘when I helped to kill his father?’

  ‘You helped...’

  She made a great effort to pull herself together and tried to speak more coherently.

  ‘I knew it was wrong, him being married, and really, I didn’t want ... but he was after me all the time. He’d come when he knew Miss Eleanor was out. He kept on and on, stupid stuff, poetry and such-like. But he was such a good-looking man,’ her voice was wistful now, ‘and I’d never had anyone after me, not like that – except – but that was a long time ago.’

  She was silent for a moment and then continued.

  ‘There was this holiday cottage, miles from anywhere. We used to go there. No one ever saw us. I used to worry about his wife, but he said they’d settled to go their own ways long since and, I suppose, I wanted to believe him, though I knew in my heart that it wasn’t true.

  ‘When I knew I’d fallen for the baby I had to tell Miss Eleanor. When I told her about Mr Adrian she was very upset and angry. Not angry with me, you understand, she was always very good to me. He said-’ her voice broke. ‘He said I had to get rid of it. I couldn’t do that, Mrs Malory. Well, you’re a mother, you’d know how I felt.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know how you felt.’

  ‘And Miss Eleanor, she felt the same, she was horrified. Then Mr Palgrave came to see her. Not about me, something to do with some old letters he was making into a book. I don’t know what it was all about, but it was something terrible. When he’d gone, Miss Eleanor, she was like a wild thing, pacing up and down the morning room, and the look on her face! I can tell you, Mrs Malory, it frightened me. I didn’t recognize her!’

  I put my hand on hers. It was icy cold.

  ‘She said he wasn’t fit to live and things like that. I didn’t realize, but she meant it. She told me to tell him to meet me in the old dairy at half-past six so that we could talk about the baby. Then she went-’ She broke off and turned her head away.

  ‘She killed him?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was almost a whisper.

  ‘With the candlestick she took from the church?’

  Jessie turned and looked at me, her eyes open wide.

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know about the candlestick.’

  ‘Then she came back,’ Jessie went on, quickly now, as if she couldn’t tell me fast enough what had happened. ‘I took the candlestick – she’d put it in the pocket of her skirt – there was some blood, but it didn’t show because of the colours.’

  Black and red, I remembered, black and red.

  ‘Then she went on into the concert as if nothing had happened. I was in a terrible state. Well, you can imagine. Then at the interval she came and told me that she thought she’d lost her bracelet in the old dairy – the safety clasp wasn’t very secure – and would I go and look for her.’

  ‘How could she!’ I burst out. ‘How could she make you go and look at Adrian, like that!’

  ‘She couldn’t go herself, she had to talk to all the people, else they’d wonder why. She knew I’d do it for her. She said if anyone saw me to say that I was going for those dinner plates. That’s what I did, when I saw you, Mrs Malory.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said,’ I remember.’

  ‘I found the bracelet, it was there all right, and then I looked at him. And do you know, Mrs Malory, I didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t the Mr Adrian I knew, just a man lying there...’ She paused again, as if to consider this. ‘It was only later,’ she went on, ‘when the baby started to grow, that I realized what I’d done. And everything went wrong. Poor Mrs Palgrave.’

  ‘Eleanor couldn’t have...’ I protested.

  ‘She never knew that Mrs Palgrave was there, Mrs Malory,’ Jessie said earnestly. ‘She would never have done that. She just wanted to get rid of those papers. She was in a terrible way, when she knew. And then there was Mr Robin.’

  Tears came into Jessie’s eyes again.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Malory, I thought she’d die when she heard about that. She went up to her room and wouldn’t come out for two days. Nothing to eat. And I heard her crying, dreadful it was. She’s never been like that since the day Sir Ernest was taken.’

  ‘Poor Eleanor,’ I said. ‘Poor Jessie.’

  ‘And what’s to be done now, Mrs Malory?’ she said. ‘I don’t know. She’s so ill and moody. I’m afraid ... I’m afraid it may have turned her mind.’

  ‘The police know it was the candlestick that killed Adrian. They’ve found traces of his blood.’

  ‘I gave it a good rub-up,’ Jessie said, ‘and put it back the very next morning.’

  ‘So you see,’ I continued, ‘they’ll put two and two together some time soon, even if I don’t say anything.’

  She caught my hand and said urgently: ‘You won’t say anything, Mrs Malory, not to the police.’

  ‘Jessie, my dear, someone has got to. This can’t go on. Leaving aside the question of right and wrong, look at what it’s doing to you...’

  ‘Please, no!’

  She was hanging on to my arm, repeating the words over and over.

  ‘All right, Jessie. I won’t go to the police just yet. Eleanor must tell them herself. I’ll go and find her.’

  With a calmness I didn’t feel, I got up and left the house. As I drove down to the church I tried to think coherently. I knew that Eleanor was obsessively protective of her cousin’s reputation, but what could there have been about Sir Ernest in the Meredith papers that had frightened her so much that she was prepared to commit murder to prevent their publication? As Father Freddy had reminded me, the dead have no recourse to the law of libel. The letters must have been among those destroyed by the fire, for there’d been nothing about Sir Ernest in the ones I had read. I suddenly remembered what Will had said about the young man in the Foreign Office. So Sir Ernest had been some sort of spy. It all seemed fantastic and unreal, part of a television thriller, not real life.

  The churchyard was empty; there was no sign of Eleanor. But, as I went in through the lych-gate, I saw that the door to the storage room where the mowers were kept was open and, approaching, I saw that there was a light on, so I went in.

  Eleanor had just filled a watering can at the tap in the corner and had half-turned to see who had come in. I stood in the doorway and said, ‘Hello, Eleanor.’

  She straightened up and looked at me. Something in my face must have told her what I knew.

  ‘Hello, Sheila.’

  We stood facing each other for a moment and then she said, ‘You know, don’t you?’ ‘Yes,’ I said sadly. ‘I know.’ ‘But,’ she said harshly, ‘you don’t know why’

  ‘Jessie,’ I said, ‘and Sir Ernest.’

  She gave me such a fierce look that I instinctively stepped back a pace.

  ‘What do you know about Cousin Ernest?’ she demanded.

  ‘That there had been some scandal in France years ago and that there were letters in the Meredith papers about it that Adrian was going to publish.’

  ‘He came to me,’ Eleanor said, ‘and calmly told me that he was going to put them in this book, destroying the reputation of a man whose name he wasn’t even fit to mention.’

  ‘Would it have been so very bad?’ I asked. ‘It would have been a nine-days wonder. There are so many spy stories nowadays.’

  ‘Spies? I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Eleanor said brusquely. ‘It was nothing to do with spies. It was about Cousin Ernest and that child. Her parents made such a fuss, there was a scandal and he had to transfer.’

  ‘A child!’ I asked.

  She suddenly burs
t out, ‘All he wanted was love. Is that so much to ask? Even Phyllis, even his own daughter didn’t understand. I understood, though. I loved him. I was the only one who understood.’

  A sickening realization came over me.

  ‘You mean – Phyllis?’

  ‘The stupid girl,’ Eleanor said scornfully. ‘Leaving that note, saying she couldn’t bear it any longer.’

  ‘She killed herself? It wasn’t a boating accident?’

  ‘She said she felt defiled,’ Eleanor spat out the word, ‘and that there wasn’t enough water in the world to make her clean again. I destroyed the note before he saw it. He would have been so hurt. He was upset, of course, but she’d been difficult for ages and he had me – and then Jessie came, too.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I said, thinking of the two women shut up in that great house with that monstrous secret for all those years.

  ‘It was love,’ Eleanor repeated, staring at me fixedly. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’

  I couldn’t speak and stared back at her.

  ‘I had to kill Adrian, you do see? There was Jessie as well. He betrayed her, wanted her to kill her baby. He tried to take a life.’

  She shook her head as if to clear it.

  ‘I had to destroy those papers. I did destroy them, didn’t I? They say you’ve got them now.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, ‘you destroyed them.’

  She gave a great sigh.

  ‘I swear I didn’t know Enid was there. Oh God, how I’ve thought and thought about that! And Robin! My poor Robin! But you do see that I had to do it? I couldn’t let Adrian publish those awful things about him for people to read and snigger at and not understand. And Jessie...’

  ‘What have you done to Jessie?’ I said. ‘How could you involve her like that!’

  Eleanor looked at me sharply, as if actually realising for the first time who she was speaking to.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone about the papers, about Cousin Ernest?’

  ‘I can’t promise you that,’ I said.

  Eleanor gave me such a look of hatred and malevolence that I instinctively recoiled. I remembered Jessie’s words about her being unrecognisable.