Murder at Mullings

by Dorothy Cannell

  ‘Are you missing your beloved Labrador, Edward?’ The inquiry was a little wistful.

  ‘No, my grandson Ned writes that they are providing each other with plenty of exercise. Why do you ask?’ He was touched by her sensitivity.

  ‘That sigh, just now.’

  ‘I was thinking how quickly a holiday passes when in enjoyable company, and that I would like to stay on longer here,’ he hesitated, ‘if I would not be making a nuisance of myself.’

  ‘Are you sure it might not be the other way round?’ The look in the dark brown eyes was intent.

  ‘My dear,’ he replied earnestly, ‘meeting you has brightened my life more than you can know.’

  It did not cross his mind that he might have implied more than an appreciation of her company, that she might misconstrue that statement as a declaration of deeper feelings, leading up to a proposal of marriage. He was not a worldly man; indeed, he was very much an innocent abroad in his present situation. Thoughts of anything more than friendship never entered his head. He liked Regina Stapleton, found time passed quickly in her company, and realized that what he’d initially taken for a hard edge to her expression was the determined compression of painful thoughts.

  The subject changed, as they sipped their post-luncheon coffee, to the pleasure of listening to plays on the wireless on wintry evenings. It failed to occur to him that Regina might assume he was painting a permanently companionable portrait of the two of them ensconced in wing chairs, savouring a hearty blaze in the fireplace. His mind was otherwise occupied, considering various expeditions that might appeal to Regina during the remainder of their stay, including another London play or perhaps a concert.

  It wasn’t until the evening prior to each returning to their homes that he realized he had unwittingly misled her. It was still light and they were seated in their usual places in the conservatory. The sliver of moon was barely visible in the pale sky. Nearby branches rustled gently, and the air was permeated with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earthiness that always seemed to signal autumn. Edward was feeling the awkwardness preceding their adieux, sharpened by the possibility – indeed, the likelihood, of their not meeting again. He was now eager to be home, which brought a pang, verging on guilt, that she could not be feeling the same pleasurable anticipation.

  ‘I shall miss you,’ he said. Then, impulsively, ‘It is my great wish that you should come to Mullings …’ Before he could add, on a visit so I can show you our countryside, which is regarded by many as delightful, she forestalled him. Her look was both direct and steady, accompanied by her rather thin lips curving into a mischievous smile. He dared not allow himself to think of Lillian.

  ‘I shall not flutter my hands and say, this is so sudden, because you must know I have been pleasurably anticipating you asking me to marry you, my very dear Edward; and, yes, I will be honoured to be your wife.’

  His Lordship was staggered. It took a long moment for him to realize that this wasn’t an unreasonable assumption on her part. The past month unfolded in his mind like a map, revealing all the little byways to this destination. He had unintentionally raised hopes that were now impossible for a gentleman to dash. Only a cad would do so. This being the case, was it such a bad outcome? Regina would be removed from a life of being housed under sufferance, and there could be benefits for members of his own family. He sometimes worried that Madge felt obliged to provide him with company to the extent of curtailing her own inclinations for relaxation. She was still a relatively young woman. She should be going on outings with people of a similar age to herself and enjoying the opportunity to pursue interests beyond discussing books and playing chess with him. His Lordship was very fond of Madge – considerably more so, regrettably, than he was of his daughter-in-law, Gertrude, admirable though he thought her in many ways, particularly in her sufferance of William’s boorishness, for want of a better word. There was no condemnation sufficient, in His Lordship’s view, for the man who had brutally abandoned Madge at the altar. It was unconscionable, as would be his subjecting Regina to humiliating rejection.

  ‘Edward,’ her deep voice sounded unaccustomedly hesitant, ‘have I been precipitate? Have I made a pathetic fool of myself?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he responded resolutely, ‘I have grown very fond of you during these past weeks and we have much in common.’

  ‘Then I could not be happier at this moment.’

  ‘That being the case, we must begin planning our future together.’ He placed his hand on hers, its thinness and raised blue veins offset by the manicured nails. With that simple gesture the irrevocable commitment was made, as bindingly in his view as if accompanied by the wedding vows. He wondered if an observer would see their smiles as one. He hoped so; because from this time forward her happiness and peace of mind must be his primary concern. Not easy in a second marriage with a family to consider, but so it was written. With sensitivity and co-operative goodwill, a unity of thought and purpose could be achieved.

  ‘Your going suddenly quiet just now worried me, my dear. Foolish, I know, but I am afraid my self-esteem has taken something of a battering over the years, causing me to doubt my personal value, especially to a man of your calibre.’

  He stood and kissed her on the forehead before returning to his chair.‘You have been surrounded by people unworthy of you, but this is a new start for both of us.’ The attempt not to think of Lillian failed. Her face was there vividly behind his eyes and her beloved voice spoke to his heart from out of the past: ‘We are so often frustrated in our desire to make the world a better place for the many who suffer, but we can make a difference for the better in the lives of some we are destined to meet.’ That memory brought him a measure of peace. As if Regina read his mind, her eyes met his eyes squarely.

  ‘There is something I have to say, Edward, which I hope will bring you ease of mind. That your feelings for me will never come near to equalling your love for your late wife is as it should be. It not only causes me no distress, but indeed heightens my estimation of you. My aspiration is that our union will be built on a different foundation, one of companionship, affection and shared interests. As for,’ she paused, ‘physical intimacy, I think it unnecessary at our time of life. Your not wishing for it, either from disinclination, or because it would cause you to feel like an adulterer, suits me very well. Even as a young woman, perhaps because of my husband’s insensitivities in that direction, I never had much interest in that side of marriage. If I am wrong regarding your wishes, I do hope you will tell me so.’

  It would not have done for His Lordship to respond that Regina had greatly relieved his mind on this score, and that to have lain in the biblical sense with any woman other than Lillian would have seemed tantamount to adultery; he again reached for her hand, his expression warmly appreciative.

  ‘I am very grateful for you being forthright and frank with me, Regina, and I am in full agreement that we have much beyond what would have been considered important in our youth to build upon.’

  She sat looking thoughtful for several moments.

  Concern showed on his face. ‘Now you are the one to turn quiet. Is there something else you feel needs to be discussed?’

  ‘Nothing monumental, but there is something else I would like to broach. It concerns a tradition that has existed in our family and a favour I hesitate to ask of you, yet I feel an obligation to do so.’

  Lord Stodmarsh listened attentively and having heard her out agreed to the request. He did so out of an understanding of her feelings, which he thought admirably compassionate. And yet, he had recoiled from the image evoked – the one that had triggered his disturbing dream on the night of his return to Mullings. Now, on the following morning, he returned to the present to discover that he had grown physically chilled sitting on the stone bench by the summer house, and that his heart was still troubled.

  With Rouser trotting at his heels, His Lordship returned to the house and partook of a solitary breakfast, the other family members no
t yet having risen. He then requested that Grumidge attend him in his study. After informing the butler of his impending marriage, he requested the news be disseminated to the rest of the staff. He sat alone for a half-hour in the leather chair behind his desk, the portrait of Lillian painted in the first year of their marriage facing him above the fireplace. Eventually, he pulled the bell rope to summon the housemaid. At her prompt appearance, he asked her to request Mrs Norris to come to the study to join him at her convenience.

  Florence arrived within minutes. He rose and invited her to take the chair across from his before reseating himself. Looking at her, he found himself remembering the reed-thin girl she had been when she had first come to Mullings. There were now some threads of gray in her abundantly coiled hair, but to him she would always be in part the eagerly wistful Florie Wilks. A snippet of memory had come to him on his return journey to Dovecote Hatch. Sometime during her many years at Mullings she had mentioned her mother having been in service with a family in Northumbria which had continued an eccentric tradition, long after it had passed out of vogue. As with many attentive listeners, he had excellent retention of minute detail, and in this case it was the name of that family – Tamersham.

  He invited Florence to sit down. ‘Grumidge has given you the news, Mrs Norris?’

  ‘Yes, Lord Stodmarsh.’ She expressed her best wishes for his future happiness with no visible sign of the concern that made her glad to be sitting down.

  Some of the foreboding Lord Stodmarsh had experienced since wakening ebbed away as he thanked her. They talked for several minutes about the obvious – that change was always unsettling initially, but he had every confidence she and Grumidge would ease the understandable anxieties of the staff, and, he concluded, ‘ensure that my wife will be given a reception deserving of,’ here he paused, due to a catch in his throat, ‘of the new mistress of Mullings.’

  ‘Have no worry, sir. Lady Stodmarsh will be accorded the warmest and most respectful of welcomes, and any alterations to the running of the house that she requests will be immediately instigated and adhered to without question.’ Florence felt a twist of pain as she spoke. Added to the trepidation already assailing her, she had a strong sense that something had propelled him into this marriage that had little, if anything, to do with love.

  ‘As I told Grumidge, no one amongst the staff need fear dismissal in a clean sweep.’

  ‘That will relieve minds, sir.’ Hands folded on her lap, Florence waited for His Lordship to continue. She could see he was bracing himself to tell her something he had not imparted to Grumidge. Discomfort was visible in his eyes. The urge to ease the words from him, as she would have done with Ned, must necessarily be stifled; doing so caused her insides to tighten.

  Lord Stodmarsh reached for his pipe and studied it, as if hoping it might prove helpful, then laid it back down. Rarely, if ever, did he actually smoke it, but Florence thought it probable he was sorely tempted to do so at this moment. When he finally spoke he did so with awkward abruptness. ‘Mrs Stapleton’s maiden name was Tamersham.’ His gaze met hers expectantly.

  ‘I see.’ This was indeed information to be assimilated. ‘My mother’s employers were Sir Peregrine and Lady Tamersham.’

  ‘Mrs Stapleton’s parents.’

  Florence felt the finger of fate moving down her spine. ‘Grumidge said your future wife was from a Northumberland family, but I didn’t consider the possibility of it being the one my mother worked for. There are other, notable titled members of society in that part of the country – the Reverend Pimcrisp’s cousin, Lord Asprey, for instance. The Tamershams – especially Her Ladyship – were very kind to my mother.’

  ‘Yes, I remember your telling me so. I have very much enjoyed our conversations, unrelated to household affairs, over the years, Mrs Norris. And I know how much my wife valued your ones with her.’ His Lordship shifted the inkwell on his desk. His discomfort appeared to increase sharply on drawing out his next utterance. ‘I found your mother’s tale of the family’s idiosyncratic tradition intriguing and thought-provoking. Mrs Stapleton’s brother, and only sibling, Sir Rupert Stapleton, recently informed her of changes he wishes to make to the estate, one of which distressed her deeply. It was in regard to ridding the property of the ornamental hermit. Never a practice she had favoured, but the idea of turning the old man out upon the world after being so long withdrawn would, she believed, be devastating for him.’

  ‘Yes, it would seem very likely he’d have difficulty readapting.’ Florence could not be unaware of what was coming. Everything within His Lordship’s make-up must recoil from the demeaning, even sacrilegious usage of one’s fellow man, by arrogant members of the upper class for the titillation of inane vanity. The result in this case bringing matters to a sorry pass for the equivalent of a cast-off trinket. ‘Could Sir Rupert not have waited until …?’

  Lord Stodmarsh answered her uncompleted thought. ‘Mrs Stapleton begged her brother to allow the man to live out his days on the estate, but he refused, saying he was doing more than sufficient in providing him with a small pension.’

  ‘May I assume, sir, he is to come here?’

  ‘Mrs Stapleton felt impelled to make the request and I could not refuse.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Florence smiled in hope of cheering him, ‘you are far too compassionate to deny the poor man the chance to continue living as he has done. His arrival will cause a stir in the village, but hopefully it will be of the nine days’ wonder sort.’

  Lord Stodmarsh nodded. ‘I have utmost trust in the profound good nature of the locals, Mrs Norris, but word will inevitably spread well beyond Dovecote Hatch. How can such a personage inhabiting our grounds fail to attract attention from the curious and voyeuristic?’

  ‘I agree, Lord Stodmarsh.’ In Florence’s view, some shopkeepers wouldn’t mind at all, and it would also be good for business at the Dog and Whistle, but in the main locals would object, albeit silently, to the invasion, and she was sure George would be with them – hang the benefits.

  ‘It seems to me, Mrs Norris, that a “No Trespassing” sign posted where the woodland pathway enters the village would not deter the determinedly curious, making it necessary to encircle that area with a wall. That does not sit well with me. It has always been accepted that we not only permit but encourage those living in Dovecote Hatch to take walks in the woods whenever they so desire. And then there is Alf Thatcher, who uses the pathway as a short cut when delivering the post.’

  The sigh that escaped His Lordship wrung Florence’s heart. ‘What about a gate, sir, which could be unlocked with keys given to those of your – and the future Lady Stodmarsh’s – choosing?’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Norris. An idea well worth considering.’ He rallied determinedly. ‘As to housing for the poor fellow, there is that hut used for storing fishing tackle close to where the stream broadens at the base of the big waterfall, and within a few yards of those two entwined trees that all the children – including Lionel and William, then Ned, and doubtless generations before them – have loved to climb. I will have the hut reconstructed and furnished to make as comfortable a dwelling for him as possible, with plenty of warm blankets and a stove for heat. Which of the maids to send out with his meal will, of course, be your decision. It should always be the same one, to provide constancy, especially important in this new environment.’

  ‘I’ll make sure to select the right girl.’

  ‘May the newcomer find contentment here, Florie.’ The old name slipped out unaware. ‘Will you please convey to Grumidge what is to occur? I wanted to talk with you first because of your understanding of the nature of ornamental hermits and how they wend into the Tamersham heritage.’ His Lordship rose from his chair. ‘Thank you, Mrs Norris, for listening patiently.’

  After leaving the study, Florence did not immediately seek out Grumidge but went into the housekeeper’s room, closed the door softly behind her and sat down. She needed time alone. It had been obvious that Lord Stodmarsh
was not happy about his forthcoming marriage, which strongly suggested he’d been manipulated into it, something that could only have been accomplished by a very wily woman – but if there had to be a new Lady Stodmarsh, wasn’t it better that she should be one with all her wits about her? Florence stared unseeingly at her hands resting on the accounts book. Over the past few months she had begun to think she might have added two and two together and made six in regard to Lillian Stodmarsh’s death, and sacrificed George in vain. She now prayed fervently that either this was the case, or that murder wouldn’t strike at Mullings again.

  SEVEN

  At the Dog and Whistle that evening the regulars could talk of nothing other than Lord Stodmarsh returning from Weymouth as a newly engaged man. Once past the initial shock, George Bird’s thoughts concentrated on Florence, as conversations buzzed around him. What would she make of His Lordship marrying again? Was she worrying that the new Lady Stodmarsh would insist on changes that would turn Mullings inside out?

  Despite the passage of time since Florence had severed ties between them, a day rarely went by when George didn’t think of her and hope she was getting along all right. He still had his little chats with his departed wife Mabel, but these didn’t bring the comfort they once had; instead they brought home to him the depth of his loneliness. Far from a conceited man, he’d believed Florence had grown fond of him. So what had happened? Her explanation hadn’t rung true. He could still picture her face; it had been etched with anxiety.

  Had she guessed on the drive back from her mother’s home that he’d come to love her and, not being able to reciprocate, decided the kindest thing possible was cutting off any hope of a shared future? If it wasn’t that, was there something else wrong in her life, some trouble at Mullings that she felt obliged to keep strictly to herself, but feared might leak out if they continued seeing each other? Or had one of the Stodmarshes been headed for a breakdown, or someone turned nasty after Lady Stodmarsh’s death because they didn’t think they were getting their due from the will? It could be any of a dozen things. It didn’t do to keep dwelling on questions without answers. By the end of the first week after he’d received the blow, he’d given himself a stern talking-to. A man of his height and girth standing around looking pitiful would make a joke of himself, and that would wear thin fast with the customers. He’d straightened his back and shined up his smile. It wasn’t like he was the only one with heartache these days.