Murder at Mullings

by Dorothy Cannell

  Mrs Tressler, who in contrast to Madge Bradley and Sylvia Jones did not exhibit signs of being cowed, lit up as she beckoned Rouser. ‘Ned, what a delightful relief. When did Rouser get back?’

  ‘I heard him at the study door when I was going down the hall to give Grumidge and Mrs Norris the inspector’s instructions about none of the staff being allowed upstairs until their rooms had been searched.’

  Sergeant Wright stared sourly at the dog. ‘Where’s he been? Holiday on the French Riviera? Wouldn’t be Southend or Blackpool, would it?’

  ‘Missing.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘The night before last.’

  Sergeant Wright made a display of scratching in his notebook. ‘Not that it matters; I’m merely showing a friendly interest, to let you know I’m really a softie deep down.’

  ‘Anything, even a dropped pin, can matter.’ Inspector LeCrane spoke from the doorway.

  ‘As you always say, sir.’ The answer came unabashed, though the Sergeant did choose to rise for his superior. ‘Haven’t barely started with Lord Snodgrass, but made some general headway with the ladies.’

  ‘He’s been entertaining us very pleasantly,’ Mrs Tressler assured the inspector.

  ‘Oh, indeed!’ Madge Bradley’s words did not match her pallor. ‘We regretted … felt so rude … not being able to offer him a cup of tea, but I for one was afraid to pull the bell rope in case it was restricted along with the telephone.’

  Sylvia Jones sat silent, brown eyes wide and unfocused. The Sergeant’s jerk of the head at her could have been a thumbing gesture. ‘Young lady’s attitude hasn’t been what you could call cooperative. Did get out of her that she showed up here unexpected a few days ago. Claims to be Regina Stodmarsh’s granddaughter, but admits to never having set eyes on the old lady before. Getting anything else out of her’s been like yanking teeth. Could be,’ he added sarcastically, ‘she’s shy, making her not the type of platinum blonde we usually come across.’

  Sylvia Jones showed a flash of spirit. ‘Have you received commendations for bullying, Sergeant?’

  Inspector LeCrane remained in the doorway, his expression neutral. ‘Hopefully I can put you more at ease, Miss Jones. Here’s an update for all of you. Mr William Stodmarsh and his wife have been taken to hospital.’

  ‘We heard their departure; the sounds of a stretcher being carried downstairs would be impossible not to notice,’ said Mrs Tressler.

  ‘His recovery is to be wished for his sake, along with the opportunity to question him as to what he may know or surmise. Doctor Chester has provided his initial findings. Photographs of the scene have been taken and fingerprinting is under way.’

  ‘What sort of knife was it?’ Despite his extreme lack of affection for Regina, Ned’s stomach churned.

  ‘The sort found in numerous kitchens for chopping meat. We may learn more from the post-mortem, but the cause of death is not in question. Lady Stodmarsh was stabbed repeatedly.’

  ‘In a frenzy of rage?’ Madge Bradley cupped her face with her hands. ‘Oh dear, that doesn’t seem to fit a stranger, does it? Which means that it must have been someone who knew and hated her!’ Her eyes flinched away from Sylvia Jones, while avoiding those of Mrs Tressler and Ned.

  ‘Not necessarily. Equally likely it was a matter of making a thorough job of it to ensure no chance of recovery. The body will shortly be removed and the search of Lady Stodmarsh’s bedroom for evidence will continue. Meanwhile if you haven’t yet breakfasted I suggested you do so soon. I would like to begin seeing each of you in private in not much more than an hour. Is there a room I may use for that purpose, Lord Stodmarsh?’

  Ned offered the study as planned. ‘I’ll take you there.’

  ‘Thank you; sounds ideal.’ His gaze circled. ‘Any further questions?’

  ‘How long before we’re allowed to enter our bedrooms?’ This was Mrs Tressler.

  ‘Reasonably shortly for those of you where we discover nothing of significance; this may be true with all of you, but that waits to be seen. Sergeant, I’d like you to get started on this at once, assisted by Constable Trout.’ He made way for the man to head past him into the hall before continuing.

  ‘One of our primary objectives will be to search for bloodstained clothing, including both day- and nightwear. In doing so we will scour not only the bedrooms but all other areas of the upper levels where such items may have been hidden. Does anyone have on what they wore last evening?’

  ‘I do,’ came Madge Bradley’s stricken response. ‘I just grabbed for what was at hand … my dress and petticoat lying over the chair. I never thought, didn’t consider that they might need to be checked, but now, of course, I see … It’s all so ghastly.’

  ‘I regret the imposition. We’ll need a woman in attendance when you change. Constable Trump is a married man. I’ll request him to phone his wife and ask if she would be agreeable to come here and assist you. A couple more things, Lord Stodmarsh.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is there a chambermaid who could tell if any apparel is missing from wardrobes or other storage places?’

  ‘There are two – Daisy and Gladys.’

  ‘I’ll have Constable Trump fetch them when I speak to him about getting in touch with his wife. Finally, for now, did Lady Stodmarsh have a lady’s maid?’

  ‘She’s had several,’ Ned told him, ‘sacking them each in turn under one pretext or another. A new one is – was – expected next week.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate. We need to know what of value was in that room, with particular emphasis on her jewellery.’

  ‘Perhaps I can be of help there,’ Madge Bradley volunteered nervously. ‘Between maids she sometimes had me assist her in dressing for dinner, getting out what she wished to wear and performing other small tasks. I did not mind in the least. I know myself fortunate that little else is required of me in return for being able to continue living here.’

  ‘The jewellery?’

  ‘That was kept in a safe behind a panel to the left of the fireplace. She never had me open it, nor showed me how to do so. Nor did I see her do so. She rarely wore any jewellery except her pearls.’

  ‘How frequently was that?’

  ‘Nearly every day – if not always.’

  Ned backed her up. ‘That’s correct, Inspector.’

  ‘I am only at Mullings at few times a year,’ contributed Mrs Tressler, ‘but during such visits I’ve observed the pearls to be a constant of her apparel.’

  Sylvia Jones winced.

  ‘It must be difficult, Miss Jones, to hear your grandmother spoken of in the past tense. Miss Bradley,’ he turned his head, ‘did you assist Regina Stodmarsh in preparing for bed last evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you know what she did with the pearls after taking them off?’

  Madge Bradley nodded, hands knotting. ‘She’d put them in a silver-topped tortoiseshell box on her dressing table.’

  ‘Never in the safe?’

  ‘Not in my presence. I recall being surprised the first time I saw her do it. I supposed them to be quite valuable. They had a beautiful sapphire clasp.’

  ‘I’d state,’ said Ned, ‘it would be in character for her to enjoy daring someone to steal them, including Miss Bradley, in the hope of mounting a head on a platter. It was the sort of vicious gamesmanship she relished.’

  ‘I did wonder … Thank you all, that should be it now.’ Inspector LeCrane inclined his head and left them to their own devices, which consisted of five minutes of sinking into silence.

  By ten that morning they had breakfasted and learned that the body had been removed from the house. Ned was the first to be summoned to the study. The inspector rose from the chair behind the desk, waved him to another angled towards him and reseated himself.

  ‘I hope not to keep you long, Lord Stodmarsh.’

  Ned felt much as he’d done when asked to present himself at the headmaster’s office and assumed a severe reprimand, b
ut answered equably. ‘Not to worry, it’s not as though I’m going anywhere.’ Rouser had come in with him, but no objection was made. The first questions levelled at him were perfunctory in nature, delivered in an almost desultory manner. How long had Mullings been in his family? Where had he been educated? How did he currently occupy his time? They then became more directed.

  ‘Did you hear any sound of a disturbance in the night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with your step-grandmother?’

  ‘I loathed her.’

  ‘Any recent altercations?’

  ‘Yes. I may have been overheard saying I could murder her.’

  ‘Perhaps you will be so good as to fill me in on the whys and wherefores.’

  Ned discovered he did not need to brace himself to make his disclosure. However, before he could answer, the telephone on the desk rang and the inspector, with a murmur of apology, lifted the receiver.

  ‘This is LeCrane.’

  Ned heard a burbling at the other end that extended in length to that of a many versed poem without interruption from the inspector, whose expression had altered strikingly. At last he spoke.

  ‘Seems we’ve been barking up not one wrong tree but two.’

  Pause.

  ‘I’ll get on to that at once. I’ll phone within a couple of hours, whether or not we meet with success.’ He listened again. ‘There is a lake. We’ll have to concern ourselves later if necessary. Meanwhile I’ll stay put and attempt to get what I can without alarming the party here into taking off. As for the other, I think it best not to make an immediate arrest.’

  More burbling from the other end of the line.

  ‘Yes, of course – those premises will be kept under constant surveillance by two constables. I’ll instruct that any attempt to leave is reported back to me by one of them, while the other discreetly pursues. Meanwhile we may get lucky coming up with something damning within these walls, but somehow I doubt it. We would seem to be dealing with a mind that’s thought of all contingencies, except – thank God, the one that counted.’

  ‘Sorry for the interruption, Lord Stodmarsh.’ LeCrane might have been apologizing for breaking off to make a sandwich. A further delay occurred when the study door opened and Sergeant Wright came in, walked over to the desk and handed the inspector what looked to Ned like a woman’s handkerchief sachet.

  ‘You may find the contents interesting, sir, although from going through them I’d say they could be the result of an active imagination. Apart, that is, from a letter also contained.’

  ‘Would you mind leaving us for a few moments, Lord Stodmarsh?’ Inspector LeCrane requested. ‘I would appreciate you remaining in the hall, as I will wish you to come back in. And I’d like you to keep your dog with you.’

  Those moments turned into close on ten minutes. It was the Sergeant who then summoned him, also returning to the study. The sachet was not in view.

  ‘Lord Stodmarsh, I have a request of you.’ The inspector looked down at Rouser. ‘We’d like to borrow your dog for a scouring of the grounds, in particular the woods.’

  ‘A search for what? The knife?’

  ‘A body. That of the curiously named “Ornamental Hermit”.’

  Ned’s interest switched to shock, vividly bringing out every freckle on his whitening face.

  ‘Whatever makes you think he’s dead?’ He waved an unsteady hand. ‘No, don’t bother answering that. You must have your reasons and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear them yet. As for Rouser, I doubt he’d go with you without me.’

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t accompany Constable Trout and Sergeant Wright.’

  Ned cleared his throat. ‘Would you prefer I not mention this to other members of the household?’

  ‘Better not to create further panic until we have more by way of answers to offer. Besides, I wish the search to begin immediately. Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Kindly explain to the other two constables that they are freed from their present duties and advise them of what is now required of them. They will continue with their new responsibilities until informed otherwise.’

  Forty-five minutes later Florence was surprised when Grumidge returned from his summons to the study to say Inspector LeCrane wished to see Mrs McDonald next. She had expected to be the second member of the staff to be interrogated. Mrs McDonald also looked puzzled.

  ‘Well, that’s out of order, Mrs Norris.’ She attempted a chuckle. ‘Hope it’s not because I’m a major suspect.’

  Florence answered encouragingly. ‘I don’t think you have the least cause for worry. It’ll be routine questioning.’

  Grumidge concurred. ‘I imagine it’ll be much as it was for me, Mrs McDonald, nothing more alarming than inquiring whether I’d seen or heard anything yesterday, or before; and anything that might have suggested Lady Stodmarsh’s life was in danger.’

  When they left, Florence went into the housekeeper’s room. A letter from her cousin Hattie Fly had been placed on her desk. She was tempted to open it to draw comfort from Hattie’s voice on paper, but it was as much as she could do to sit down. She was gripped by intense fatigue, which numbed both body and mind. Up to this point she had been so fully occupied in calming down the staff, having the most difficulty with the hysterical Annie, and attending to her duties, that there hadn’t been room for thought beyond absorbing the inevitability of Regina Stodmarsh’s murder. Now, when she should have been endeavouring to sort through events, she was capable of nothing but staring blankly into space. The minutes ticked by until she heard Mrs McDonald return. There was no mistaking her weighty tread, and Florence rejoined her in the kitchen.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Well, I’m not in handcuffs, am I?’ came the breezy reply. ‘And I’ll hand it to the inspector that he set me at ease right off. It was like Mr Grumidge said, Mrs Norris; he wanted to know if I had anything to tell him about yesterday. Of course what leaped to mind was Mr Ned being so upset when he came down in the morning and found his dog had disappeared, and then Jeanie’s tumble on the stairs after going to fetch down Lady Stodmarsh’s breakfast tray.’

  Florence’s thoughts quickened. ‘How did he respond?’

  Mrs McDonald was putting the kettle on to boil. ‘He wanted to know if the dog had taken off before. I told him: Never! Then he got into what’d been the thinking on how it had happened and I said that somebody must have left the house during the night and accidentally let him out.’

  ‘Did you tell the inspector that Rouser had been shut in the study?’

  ‘I did when he asked me where he would’ve been, and it seemed that whoever it was who had gone outside must have opened that door for some reason or other. How about a cup of tea, Mrs Norris?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Florence, though sure she wouldn’t be able to take a swallow.

  ‘Do us both good.’

  ‘Was that the end of the inspector’s questions?’

  ‘No.’ Mrs McDonald reached for cups and saucers. ‘He went back to Jeanie’s fall and how she said it happened. So I told how she said she was pushed, but that was as maybe seeing as she isn’t always truthful. He then wanted to know if there were any repercussions besides her sprained ankle. And I said how it meant she couldn’t take out the hermit’s midday meal. He asked who did so and I explained how Annie got all worked up that it would have to be her and how nice Miss Jones was about going instead.’

  ‘I see. Was that all?’

  ‘It was, other than the inspector thanking me very nicely for being cooperative. As though I’d’ve dared be anything else. I have to say he struck me as a man that won’t let the grass grow under his feet, like the London police seem to’ve done – the man that knifed that old lady still being at large.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  Mrs McDonald placed a cup of tea on the table in front of Florence. ‘It’s been in all the newspapers.’


  ‘I’m ashamed to say I rarely look at one.’

  ‘Worst of it is that it’s different from Lady Stodmarsh; she seems to have been a kind old girl. She’d taken in this young artist fellow, given him a roof over his head while he was getting ready for a showing, or whatever it’s called for his painting,’ Mrs McDonald blew into her cup, ‘and that’s how he rewarded her – knifing her to death in her sitting room.’

  The kitchen tilted under Florence’s feet. ‘Did the papers give his name?’

  ‘Well, let me think … I’ve got it – Arthur somebody.’

  ‘Did they give a middle name?’

  Mrs McDonald considered before coming up with a reply. ‘James, if I remember right.’

  Florence felt as though her insides were being hollowed out.

  ‘Why so interested, Mrs Norris? You don’t think that it could be him that got in last night looking for something to steal to help in his getaway? The mistress’s bedroom would be the place to look for something valuable and easy to carry. And if Lady Stodmarsh awoke … well, goes without saying. Maybe I’m giving way to wishful thinking; it would be such a relief to have everyone at Mullings cleared of suspicion.’

  ‘Yes. Very convenient.’

  Grumidge came in to say Inspector LeCrane would see Mrs Norris now. Florence was never sure afterwards how she made it to the study. So much had slid devastatingly into place: George’s collapse on the green, in all likelihood on opening the paper – she remembered that, unlike her, reading both morning and evening editions was part of his daily routine; his refusal to see her, seemingly so contrary to his generous nature; and Mrs McDonald saying yesterday that according to rumour a plain-clothed policeman, or someone resembling such, had shown up at the Dog and Whistle a couple of days earlier.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Norris. Please sit down,’ said Inspector LeCrane.

  She did so without thought or feeling, unable to respond verbally.

  ‘I need only keep you for a very short while. What questions I have mainly relate to this.’ He pushed the handkerchief sachet forward on the desk. ‘I hope you do not object to it being removed from a drawer in your bedroom.’