A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

  “This is awkward.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what is going on but my grandmother told me that Iris made the Cleopatra costume for the midsummer ball.”

  “What?” I whispered as all romantic thoughts vanished. “I don’t understand. Why would she make it for Pandora?”

  “It wasn’t for Pandora,” Shawn said bluntly. “It was made especially for the dowager countess to wear to her birthday ball.”

  “Are you sure?” But of course, I knew he was. Mum had known about it but in typical fashion, had decided not to tell me.

  “And there is something else,” said Shawn. “Gran told me that she saw Iris and Pandora arguing out on the terrace on the night of the ball.”

  “Oh.”

  “The terrace was out of bounds apparently to everyone except the help they hired from the village.”

  “I really don’t know what to say,” I said miserably.

  “Look, I just want to get to the bottom of it,” said Shawn. “The problem is that we can’t keep quiet on this one. In a matter of days this story is going to be all over the newspapers. You and I both know that your mother is hiding something.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” I said.

  “Please do. Good night.”

  As I watched Shawn get into his car, I suddenly realized exactly what this could mean. It wasn’t just about Pandora’s murder being exposed, it was much, much more. Mum’s alter ego as Krystalle Storm was bound to come out, too. Her carefully groomed persona, which was splashed all over her website, included owning a Devon manor house, an Italian villa and a Pekinese called Truly Scrumptious. None of which were true.

  Mum also claimed that my father had been an international diplomat who had died in a plane crash and not a tax inspector for HM Revenue & Customs. This could trigger an investigation into her substantial earnings that she had given Alfred to manage and that were currently stashed in an offshore account in Jersey.

  I didn’t care about myself—after years in the public eye, I was used to it—but such revelations could really damage my mother.

  It was time to have a heart-to-heart chat. But first, I had to get out of this ridiculous costume.

  Chapter Nine

  “Yes, I did make Edith’s costume for her birthday,” Mum said hotly. “What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”

  “Where is Alfred?”

  “Gone home,” said Mum. “Police officers make him nervous.”

  “They should make you nervous, too!”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Mum poured herself another gin and tonic. “If anyone is making me nervous, it’s you. Sit down.”

  So I did.

  “You looked quite fetching in that little blue Electra dress,” Mum mused. “You should have seen Shawn’s eyes pop out. Why did you take it off?”

  “Because I’m cold and the wig was heavy—and don’t change the subject. Come on, Mum, I’m just asking.”

  “Very well.” Mum frowned. “You have to understand this happened donkey’s years ago. Memories can be funny things. What I remember as one thing can be seen in a completely different light to someone else.”

  “Let’s just start with your memories and go from there.”

  “I spent weeks making that beaded headdress. Everything was sewn by hand, of course—and a beautiful toga that was threaded through with gold. I stole the material from the Arabian Nights sideshow and got into awful trouble with Aunt June.”

  “Go on.”

  “I sewed tiny sequins along the hem, sleeves and neckline,” Mum continued. “Alfred knew a trapeze artiste from the circus that had set up in Plymouth. She gave them to me. It was a beautiful costume.”

  “What about the jewelry?”

  “I borrowed the bracelets—”

  “And the heart-shaped pendant?”

  “I know nothing about that,” said Mum hastily. “Her ladyship looked stunning. She said I was very gifted.”

  “You are.”

  “The next thing I know is that Pandora is wearing my Cleopatra costume. I was furious. I couldn’t understand why she was wearing it and not her ladyship. I’d worked my fingers to the bone and it had all been for nothing.”

  I thought of Shawn’s grandmother seeing my mother and Pandora arguing. “And you confronted her?”

  “You bet I did,” said Mum. “I waited until she walked out on the terrace. I followed her into the topiary garden. There was a topiary maze back then. She was obviously planning on meeting someone, having some kind of tryst because the moment she saw me she said, ‘Oh, I was expecting someone else.’”

  “What else did she say?”

  “She pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about and when I told her I’d made the costume for her ladyship, she said her ladyship didn’t like it so she’d given it to her.”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling upset.”

  “Of course her ladyship didn’t do that! She wouldn’t. She’d even had a fitting that morning. If Joan were still compos mentis, she would back me up. She was there. She heard her ladyship praise my work.”

  “You mean Joan at Sunny Hill Lodge?”

  Mum nodded. “Of course, she didn’t like me much, either, because she had this obsession with Bryan—”

  “And he was just interested in you.”

  Mum gave a mischievous grin. “I can’t help it if I’m naturally alluring.”

  “Yes, you certainly are.”

  “It was all so childish. There was Pandora wanting Alfred, then she wanted Bryan—who was dressed as a slave in a loincloth, I may add; Joan pining for Bryan but of course he wasn’t interested in anyone except for me.”

  “That must have made you popular,” I said dryly.

  “I admit I did kiss Bryan once,” said Mum. “It was horrible. Rather like being washed by a cat.”

  “Ugh!”

  “And speaking of cats…” A shadow crossed Mum’s features. “Women can be cats. They can say the most horrible things. Things I will never repeat.”

  I reached out and touched Mum’s hand. It couldn’t have been easy growing up on the road. “I know, Mum.”

  “But I found a way to get my revenge,” said Mum briskly. “Madame Z’s Psychic Touch! Women can be so gullible. You just tell them what they want to hear.”

  I thought for a moment. “What was Edith wearing?”

  “Just an evening gown—gray-green satin and taffeta,” said Mum.

  “Didn’t you ask Edith why Pandora was wearing her costume?”

  “No. Because Pandora told me that her ladyship had given it to her,” Mum said. “I was only fifteen, remember, and a bit in awe of the toffs. So, no, I let it go.”

  I nodded in sympathy but in the back of my mind was the word “motive” that just wouldn’t go away.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” said Mum. “I did Pandora in. The last time I saw her was when they started to play that game of squashed sardines—”

  “Rupert calls it Smee,” I said mildly.

  “Whatever it’s called. Hide-and-seek in reverse, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I thought you weren’t allowed in the Hall.”

  “I told you, Alfred and I used to sneak up into the minstrels’ gallery and spy on everyone.”

  “So Pandora must have disappeared during the game of squashed sardines,” I said slowly. And then it hit me. “When she went off to hide or look for someone, perhaps?”

  Mum nodded. “She could have triggered the catch, just like you did?”

  “The location of the body just doesn’t make sense,” I said. “She’d broken her neck—”

  “Oh! Don’t!” Mum flapped her arms in horror. “Don’t say that!”

  “You must tell Shawn what you have told me,” I said.

  “Oh, Kat,” Mum wailed. “What if, what if it was … her ladyship who did it? Her brother could have told her where to find the double-hide.”

  “Is that who you’re protecting?”

  M
um shuddered. “I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Mum? Tell me.”

  “I always felt there was something more going on. I think Pandora knew about her ladyship’s love affair with the gamekeeper but wanted him for herself.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because we camped in the park and once I was walking in the woods and came across Pandora talking to him,” said Mum. “He wasn’t interested, of course, he adored her ladyship.”

  “But she could have threatened to tell Edith’s brother out of spite,” I suggested.

  “We’ll never know, will we? They’re all dead now.” Mum looked sad. “Some things are best left alone.”

  We fell quiet for a moment. “But why leave a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover in the priest hole? Is that supposed to be a clue or just a way to frame you? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Mum shrugged. “None of it does.”

  The doorbell rang—a continuous buzz, urgent and insistent, and then a second long, loud burst.

  Mum turned ashen. “Is that the door? Oh God. They’ve come to arrest me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Or had they? It was nearly ten-thirty. “I’ll go.”

  The doorbell rang again followed by persistent knocking. “Wait!” I shouted. “I’m coming!”

  I threw open the front door and to my surprise Ginny Riley was standing on the doorstep.

  “I’m sorry—Oh!” Ginny’s eyes widened when she saw what I was wearing. “You’re in your pajamas! Did I get you out of bed?”

  “No,” I said. “Whatever’s the matter?”

  Dressed in sweats and devoid of makeup, Ginny’s face was pale. She looked terrible. “Are you alright?”

  Ginny looked over my shoulder. “Are you alone?”

  “My mother is here but come in.”

  She shook her head. “Is there somewhere else? Somewhere private where we can talk?”

  Grabbing a coat from the coat stand, I ushered her outside. “This way. We’ll go into the old feed shed.”

  We crossed the cobbled courtyard and headed for one of the outbuildings. I led the way inside and turned on the electric light. It was full of disused metal grain bins, rolls of chicken wire and bits of an old henhouse.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  Ginny looked as if she was about to cry. “I’m really sorry, Kat. And you’ve always been so nice to me.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. “Tell me.”

  “You’re going to hate me,” she whispered.

  “Of course I won’t!”

  “I didn’t mean it to happen. I swear I didn’t.” She took a deep breath, and then, “You’re going to be on the front page of the Daily Post tomorrow.”

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure I had heard her properly. “I don’t understand. You don’t work for the Daily Post.”

  “They heard my story about the priest hole on the local radio station and called me,” Ginny went on. “They asked for more information so I filed a story and…” Ginny’s lip began to wobble. “I just saw it. They said they rewrote it a bit and…”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say.”

  “But it is. They got the missing heiress in there and everything.”

  “But how?” I was confused. “We only found out ourselves this afternoon.”

  “I didn’t know anything about that, I swear,” said Ginny.

  “Well, we all knew that sooner or later it would all come out,” I said. “Who called you from the Daily Post?”

  Ginny hesitated and then said, “I should never have spoken to her. I know how much she hates you.”

  And then I knew. “Trudy called you,” I said quietly. Would I ever get away from my nemesis? She even had David all to herself now, too.

  “I had to warn you,” Ginny went on. “I’m sorry.”

  I felt disappointed but I knew only too well how these things could happen. It was the dowager countess that concerned me.

  Ginny pulled out a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I’m sorry you’re mixed up in it but I suppose your name still sells newspapers.”

  “In a day or so it will be someone else in the news,” I said.

  “I wish that were true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The newspaper wants to serialize the story—you know, make a feature of Honeychurch Hall and all the things that have gone on up there.”

  “But … what kind of things?”

  Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about a romance writer, other stuff that’s been kept quiet over the years.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But it wasn’t, and I knew it. It was just as I feared. Everything was going to come out, after all.

  “Trudy’s assistant called me,” Ginny went on. “She asked me about my job at the Dipperton Deal. She said that they wanted access to all the archives.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said I could get them—oh, Kat, I’m sorry.” Ginny wailed again. “I was excited. I didn’t know it was all going to come out.”

  I studied Ginny’s face and felt a flash of anger. Ginny had known how I felt about Trudy Wynne and yet she’d still gone ahead with her story. “Really? You really didn’t know what would happen?”

  “What? You think I did this deliberately?”

  I wasn’t sure. I desperately wanted to believe her. “I wasn’t born under a rock, Ginny.”

  “I know, but you sound like you’re accusing me of something! I mean, what’s it all to you? You weren’t even alive in 1958.”

  “Who told you about 1958?” I said sharply.

  Ginny reddened. “Whatever. Whenever. Be it 1950, 1960, 1970. Who cares?”

  “I think you should leave now.”

  “Seriously?” Ginny gave a snort of disgust. “Just because David went back to his wife in the end there’s no need to take it out on me!”

  “Good night Ginny.” I pushed past her and strode back to the Carriage House.

  I found it hard to get to sleep. Thoughts of what would be revealed in the Daily Post filled me with dread. I wondered if I should warn Edith but decided against it. Ginny had very little to go on but when it came to the Daily Post, what they didn’t have, they implied, which was often far worse.

  I kept wondering if Edith had been involved in Pandora’s death. I thought of Edith and the costume Mum had labored over. These things really mattered when you were young but was it enough to commit a murder?

  And then there was Bryan Laney. It seemed odd that he’d suddenly reappeared and yet he seemed genuinely shocked upon learning of Pandora’s death. I suppose he’d be calling on my mother soon as well. Oh dear, Alfred would really love that.

  As I lay there I thought of Mum at age fifteen with all the boys falling in love with her. Electra! The 27,000 Volts Girl! I was beginning to see her in a different light—I chuckled to myself at the unintentional pun.

  I’d always taken my mother to be frail and a little bit feeble judging by the hours she used to spend up in her bedroom. I had never dreamed that she had been faking a migraine just so she could write her books. I was actually incredibly proud of her.

  Tomorrow was going to be a busy day—a meeting with Bryan, a ride with Harry, valuing the Hollar drawings—and all overshadowed by the exposé from the Daily Post.

  I pulled the duvet up under my chin and turned over to get some sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane’s Cottage had been built as a summer house in the 1800s on the foundation of Warren Lodge. It was constructed of red brick with stone dressings under a pyramidal slate roof. Two bay windows flanked a Venetian entrance with ionic pilasters under a pediment door with a fanlight over. Inside there were two bedrooms downstairs, a spiral staircase leading to an upstairs loft area in the eaves and on the ground floor, a living room with what would soon have a wood burner stove to heat the whole house. The kitchen was a galley affair
and beyond that was a small bathroom that had been tacked on under a cat slide roof. The outside loo or “privy” was still there, just visible in the undergrowth.

  Jane’s Cottage was quirky and unusual and I really loved it.

  Now that I had seen the Hollar drawings showing the original building, I was struck by how much the place had altered over the centuries. The solitary oak tree was now joined by dozens of other trees and dense undergrowth, blotting out the spectacular view.

  As I walked up the rise to the entrance I was surprised to find Bryan’s green-and-white camper van was already parked out front. He was early.

  In fact, he was actually inside the house. It really bothered me that he hadn’t waited. I found him in the kitchen, brandishing a retractable tape measure and a screwdriver. He turned and greeted a hello, looking rather dapper in cavalry twill trousers and sport coat with a paisley cravat underneath. Coupled with the odd green-and-white camper van, my doubts about him being up for the job increased.

  “Did I leave the house unlocked?” I said.

  “I know a way to get in.” He grinned. “The window in one of the back bedrooms has a quirky catch. You should get that looked at.” Upon seeing my surprise he added, “I used to come up here as a kid. It looks like the place has been empty for decades.”

  “You know that’s trespassing,” I said lightly but Bryan didn’t seem to have heard.

  “What was this place like when you first saw it? Find anything of interest?”

  “Why?”

  “No reason. Just curious.”

  “Just a lot of rat droppings,” I said. “Pieces of old furniture riddled with woodworm. I did quite a lot of clearing out.”

  Bryan made a meal of strolling around the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling and muttering to himself.

  “Are you going to Sunny Hill Lodge to visit Joan?” I said to make conversation.

  “I’m thinking about it. My aunt suffered from Alzheimer’s and didn’t recognize my dad but remembered every single detail of what she got for Christmas in 1914.”

  “I’ve heard that can happen,” I said.

  Given that Joan had been at Sunny Hill Lodge for years, I thought that was pretty optimistic but it made me wonder. “What about Pandora?” I said. “Can you remember anything about her?”