Fifteen Sixteen Maids In The Kitchen: A Grasshopper Lawns whodunit

by EJ Lamprey

  ‘Butler is both, land agent and executor. He reckons the old man’s net worth, thirty years ago, was down to around quarter of a million. He spent a huge chunk of that taking out lifetime international patents on inventions that people didn’t want any more, and drew out most of the rest in cash for making all the changes to the house. There was barely enough left in the bank account, after the funeral, to cover the legal fees so far and the annual management fee to Butler & Son. That’s it. Now do you see why I’m not excited about it? Share certificates would be excellent, I hadn’t thought of that, but the odds are against him picking something good. He knew the value of a penny but wasn’t what you’d call sensible about money.’

  ‘Did Stuart show you the figures, or just tell you?’ Vivian glanced around as though she thought the land agent was about to appear. ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘My uncle did, and he was a good judge of character.’ William’s brows rose. ‘I thought you liked him. Now you’re saying you don’t trust him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, but – well, it’s a family firm. Thirty years ago your uncle for sure dealt with his father. And Stuart’s nice, but he didn’t strike me as the cleverest man I ever met.’

  ‘He’s a pedantic old fool but he’s keeping me straight on the will.’ William was dismissive. ‘Once I’ve signed over my rights to the place, anyone who finds the cache keeps it. Butler said the will was very specific about that. Uncle knew I would probably have to hand the house over to some kind of Trust. Up to the day I sign the property over, the cache defaults to me and I could sue the pants off anyone who intercepts it. The day after, no matter who finds it, even a cleaner or artisan working in my employ, I have no claim. Butler never stops wittering on about it, frets him to death.’

  ‘So, back to sourcing writers.’ Edge looked thoughtful. ‘You won’t be besieged with offers, but give writers a mystery to solve, spooky things to identify and atmosphere like this, some would jump at it. I worked with Martha Smith about four years ago, we were turning her novel into a script, and she’d be ideal. Tough as old boots, too, so she’d take skeletons jumping out of cupboards totally in her stride. Better than I would, I’m not looking forward to springing traps at all.’

  ‘Not before lunch, anyway.’ Vivian firmly led the way back to the kitchen where they sat expectantly at the enormous kitchen table as she swiftly unpacked her picnic hamper, heaping containers in the centre of the table and finally producing four vacuum flasks. ‘Two with chicken noodle, one minestrone soup, one stilton and broccoli. Rolls, focaccia, pre-made fillings, Scotch eggs, chicken legs. Cherry tomatoes. Two types of cheese, and shortbread and fruit for afters.’

  ‘You’d make someone a grand little wife,’ Donald teased as he reached for a plate. William winced and Vivian flipped the hamper shut with a snap.

  ‘Funny.’

  Edge glanced from her to William and silently reached for a plate herself. The slightly awkward silence was broken by William, who waggled a chicken leg in a slightly agitated way.

  ‘What if Donald’s right and it is share certificates, or bearer bonds, or something totally transferable?’ He was suddenly looking worried. ‘We won’t know the writers from Adam, for the most part. If they know there’s something of value, what stops them taking it?’

  ‘Why don’t you haul in Edge’s aunt? This isn’t exactly her area of expertise but anything a potty old man could hide, she could find.’ Donald was a little cautious: William was suffering, for the first time in his life, from writer’s block, and his increasing irritability had made him terse with the redoubtable old lady, who had promptly lectured him sharply and at length in the Lawns conservatory in front of many of their fascinated and appreciative neighbours. He had yet to forgive her and glared at Donald.

  ‘She’s completely capable of burning any papers she found to spite me, the woman is an evil old bat. Sorry, Edge, but she is. But what if one of the guests does find it and decide to hang on to it? That’s me shafted.’

  Edge poured herself some soup. ‘Tell them part of the truth, you know, wanting their help to find all the booby-traps. Then say that to make it interesting, you’ll include a treasure hunt, but that you’re not telling them whether it is counterfeit money, or a box of fake gold, or forged documents. However, the one who finds it gets a thousand pound reward. You’d gamble that much, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Aye, I would. That’s not bad.’

  ‘Wait, wait!’ Donald was impatient. ‘You guys haven't looked around at all. I told you, I had a quick look in five rooms while I was upstairs. I wouldn't stay a week in any of those rooms for a guaranteed thousand pounds, never mind paying for the privilege.’

  ‘You’re not a hungry writer, and you’re a bit precious,’ William said unkindly. ‘I’ve lived in digs you wouldn’t have entered, never mind slept in. They can’t be that bad, the cleaners are in every month.’

  Donald was unmoved. ‘I haven’t exactly always lived in the lap of luxury myself. Struggling actors don’t have much spare cash. Don’t take my word for it. Go look at any of the bedrooms.’

  ‘When we’ve eaten.’ Vivian was firm. ‘I’ve seen more of this horrible place than you two have. We need fortifying. I’m taking my food through to eat in the hall, I don’t know about you but I’m no longer surprised there’s no fridge. This entire kitchen is cold enough to store meat for a month.’ She opened the back door and whistled for the dogs, who took the chunky bones she offered and retreated with them back to the sunny warmth of the kitchen courtyard.

  ***

  ‘We’d better get on with it.’ William put his cleared plate down on the side-table next to his chair and reached for his stick to haul himself to his feet. ‘There’s a lot of rooms to look through. Start upstairs, I think.’

  Edge shuddered as they made their way back to the stairs by the kitchen and moved slightly closer so that her shoulder touched Donald’s. ‘I swear that portrait’s eyes moved!’

  ‘You saw it too?’ He stopped, intrigued. The portrait stared blandly back at them. He lifted his hand and waved, and there was a flicker of response. ‘Clever! There’s something reflective in the whites of the eyes. As soon as you stop to look, no movement.’

  Vivian was already climbing the staircase, clutching the handrail rather nervously as it creaked in protest under her weight, and William looked back querulously. They hurried forward, Edge with one last backward glance.

  The bedrooms all opened onto the open walkway overlooking the hall. The bathrooms were at either end of the row, and the first was fully as large as William had promised. It contained a vast slightly stained claw-footed bath standing in isolated splendour under the window, a mercifully modern toilet rather than an overhead pull-chain cistern, and even a two-seater couch, presumably for any visitors invited in during the ablutions process. Donald toggled the red switch on the wall, looked guiltily at the others and toggled it back, but none of them ventured in. William marched to the flanking bedroom and threw the door open. Even he looked slightly daunted by the elderly brass bedstead, but strode to the cupboard doors as the rest followed him dubiously into the bedroom, which also featured a deep-set window, much faded sprigged wallpaper, a rosewood desk, two sizeable armchairs and a Victorian wash-stand.

  ‘What a view! The room’s a good size, you have to admit, and this closet is probably big enough to convert into a toilet at some point in the future.’

  As the doors swung open a body swung out, horribly mummified and papery, held upright by a rope stretching back into the darkness,. He swore violently and recoiled.

  Vivian gasped, the colour draining from her face, and sat abruptly on the lumpy bed which groaned and shook in protest as she put her head between her knees.

  ‘Not funny!’ her voice was muffled. ‘Your uncle was a sick, sick man!’

  Edge, fists to her mouth, stayed upright but her colour also ebbed. ‘It isn’t—it couldn’t be real?’

  ‘No. Good, though.’ Donald took her upper arm
in a firm grip and gave it a little shake. ‘Sit down before you fall down. I promise, not real.’ He pushed her into the closer chair, walked forward to gently touch the discoloured livid cheek, and rubbed his fingers together. ‘Definately linen. But it is good. Better make this a male room. An imaginative woman writer might have a heart attack on the spot.’

  Vivian lifted a horrified face. ‘You can’t leave it in place!’

  Donald shrugged. ‘They’ll have fair warning. Want me to take a photie for the promoting? If I ken people, half of them will girn they didn't get this room.’

  ‘We can come back for photies.’ William gently pushed the dummy back into the recesses of the wardrobe, and closed the door before looking at them with a glimmer of a smile. ‘We could find worse.’

  Edge’s colour had returned, and she stood up again. ‘I think it’s horrible, but I agree. Once we’re promising Gothic horror, they’ll want to shriek.’

  Vivian also got determinedly to her feet, with another screech from the bedstead. ‘Better add WD40 to the list if all the beds are going to sound like this one. Would he hide your treasure behind that horrible thing?’

  ‘We’re not searching for the cache,’ William said impatiently. ‘If we’re going to do this thing, the guests will search their own rooms. This is just a fact-finding mission. Split into pairs: you two do downstairs, Vivian and I will do the upstairs.’

  Donald led Edge along the walkway towards the back stairs that opened out next to the library, to show her the lush aspidistra which had reacted to him, but slightly to his disappointment it remained rooted to the spot.

  ***

  ‘There’s surface damp on this wall.’ Edge touched the drawing room wall and turned back to Donald, who was bending forward to peer at a panel near the door. ‘If it’s on all the walls, those panels will be rotten. That would explain why the stink’s much worse in here than in the other rooms. What have you found?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and moved along the wall. ‘Someone has chalked x marks on these panels. The first nine of them. Why do that? There’s nowt to show they’ve been treated or polished or are in any way unlike the others. You’re right about the smell, but it isn’t musty, more like an animal. Do you think those French doors still open, or will they be jammed in place? It would help to get some air in here.’

  ‘Jammed or not, they’ll certainly be locked. Maybe we should skip this room. I’m not keen to disturb a territorial badger. The more of this place I see, the more awful it becomes.’

  Donald turned from his study of the panels to grin at her. ‘It’s perfect for a freak week, you have to admit. The old man may have been a nutter, but he was a genius in his own way. The subtle stuff is the best, those reflective eyes are brilliant. William will have to get everyone to sign indemnity forms.’ He walked over to join her, his nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘The smell’s definately stronger this end of the room. I think your badger left a present behind one of the chairs. Good, look, that door’s got a key in the lock.’

  ‘Praise be.’ Edge crossed to the door and twisted the key. ‘It’s a bit stiff—arrghhh!’

  Donald’s reactions were always swift. Even as she screamed and dropped through the floor, he took a long, lunging stride to catch her round the waist and she twisted in his arms to clutch frantically at him, gasping in pain as her thighs smacked against the rim of the trap.

  ‘Got you. Can you step out?’

  Her face had gone paper-white and her voice was a husky whisper. ‘There’s something moving under my feet. . .’

  Lorna

  It took the combined strength of both Donald and William to ease the woman free of her prison and she was shaking with weak, breathy sobs as they laid her carefully on the nearest sofa. Her voice had no strength left at all but it was obvious she was desperately trying to tell them something. Vivian rushed to get the last of the hot soup from the kitchen and Edge hurried to the library to phone 999 from the old-fashioned rotary dial phone on the big desk.

  ‘I’ve warned them about the terrible road. They’re asking if she needs a helicopter ambulance.’ She ran back to the drawing room, wishing the phone was a cordless one. ‘They also asked if her name is Lorna Granger.’

  ‘Are you?’ Donald asked gently, and got back a tearful nod. He persisted, ‘Do you want an ambulance?’ She shook her head violently, her eyes fixed on his face as she tried to speak. He bent his head to bring his ear to her mouth, then straightened again. ‘Alec?’ She nodded again violently and weakly beckoned him to bring his head back down. ‘Alec is trapped too?’ he finally asked and she slumped back, nodding, fresh tears spilling down her ravaged cheeks.

  William shook his head and glanced back at the floor, which had soundlessly closed again. ‘I specifically looked, there was no-one else.’ She wagged her finger and he nodded. ‘Got you. Not there. Somewhere else. Do you know where?’ She shook her head, her face twisting in anguish, and shut her eyes. ‘Bloody hell. Better ask for sniffer dogs, Edge.’

  Edge went back to the phone. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you, this is the only phone in the house. She said she is Lorna Granger and she doesn’t need an ambulance, but that there’s someone else trapped somewhere in the house. That probably sounds mad, but it’s a bit of an odd house. We do have two dogs with us so we’ll see if they can find anyone but they’re not trained to search.’

  ‘She probably should have an ambulance anyway.’ The policewoman on the emergency line was brisk. ‘She’s been missing nearly four days. If she was trapped all that time she’ll be terribly dehydrated, if nothing else. As for the missing man, have you checked whether he was carrying a mobile phone? That could help you find him, if it still has a charge.’

  ‘I’ll ask her, but it won’t help us find him. There’s no signal in this area at all, none of our mobile phones are working. I don’t think she can be dehydrated. Part of the difficulty getting her out was that she was on a wet surface so she had all the water she needed.’

  ‘Tell me again where she was?’ There was human curiosity in the other’s voice and Edge, rather wishing one of the others was handling the call, tried to explain.

  ‘It’s a sort of booby trap. The floor drops away and you fall through onto a wet slide, like one of those water park ones. She got stuck in the tunnel, but she’s quite a big woman so I’m not sure that was supposed to happen.’

  ‘We’ll send emergency services that can handle the terrain, and a dog unit. Please could you find out if the missing man had a mobile phone and give me the number, if there is one?’

  Edge went back slightly wearily to the drawing room to get the details, her bruised legs starting to ache quite fiercely. Lorna managed to husk out a phone number, which she wrote down and read back to the policewoman. She was put on hold. After a moment the brisk voice was back on the line. ‘You can tell Missus Granger that her friend has answered, and is talking to another officer now. I have cancelled the dog unit. The emergency services should be with you in an hour at the outside.’

  Lorna Granger, sitting up and sipping soup, widened her puffy eyes as Edge passed on the good news that Alec was alive and well. Vivian had found a flannel dressing gown in the master suite and a stack of towels, one which she had soaked in hot water to do a quick blanket wash. The two men left the drawing room so the women could help Lorna strip off her sodden tracksuit, wipe her down and rub her dry before wrapping her in the gown. William’s uncle had obviously matched him in size and the gown hung nearly to the floor, the cuffs having to be turned back several times. Lorna uttered not a sound during the process, although she shuddered from head to foot once or twice and sat limply when she was dressed. Vivian bundled the heavily soiled discarded clothes in the used towels and took them away.

  ‘Are you feeling any better?’ Edge asked helplessly. ‘Would you like some more soup, or a coffee?’ She flinched at the depth of misery in the pale blue eyes turned on her. Lorna nodded mutely, and mouthed ‘tea’ even as tears
started to spill down her cheeks again. Edge felt a slow burn of anger at the man who had left her trapped and helpless: it was hard to imagine how Lorna must be feeling. She searched her handbag for paper tissues and gently wiped Lorna’s cheeks, but the younger woman caught at her hand and sobbed all the harder. Vivian reappeared with four steaming mugs on a tray.

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d want coffee or tea, so I made both. The tea’s probably better for you. Oh pet, don’t cry, it’s all over now.’

  Lorna wailed in response and Edge escaped to the kitchen to find more tissues. William and Donald were sitting at the huge kitchen table, gloomily sipping coffees.

  ‘No way we can stay here once the polis are done.’ William glanced up as she entered. ‘That stink has spread through the house, it’s making me queasy. You and Vivian probably wouldn’t anyway.’

  ‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Edge agreed frankly. ‘The place gives me the creeps. Do either of you have tissues on you? She’s reached the weepy stage and I’ve run out.’

  William waved vaguely at Vivian’s shoulder bag on the table. ‘Try Mary Poppins’ bag. It leads straight into another dimension. I’ll ask her for a spare tyre for the car one of these days and I won’t even blink when she produces it.’

  Edge grinned, rummaged in the bag and triumphantly produced a neat packet of tissues. ‘It’s the Mum factor. She’s the most organized person I ever met. Should I phone Kirsty and ask her to keep an eye on the case? She could maybe fill in a few details for us. The absconding guy, for instance. What a prince!’