Secrets at Wallisford Hall

by C. G Oster

  Vivian seemed uninterested in dining and smoked, looking formal in his dark suit, his hair slicked back with a darker hue than usual.

  Livinia's laugh was tinkling and laced with a degree of venom. "Well, Vivian is interested in anything wearing a skirt, so it's hardly surprising, is it? That should teach you, Vivian. If there is a murder, they will automatically look at you."

  Vivian made a face to say he wasn't amused. In fact, he seemed unusually grumpy that night. Before, he had been overly attentive to Dory, now he didn't acknowledge her when she put his plate down. Hopefully Mr. Holmes noticed that, too.

  "If Vivian is going to stick something in a girl, it's hardly going to be a knife," Cedric said, his voice thin and brittle.

  "Cedric!" Lady Wallisford chided, but Livinia laughed. "I will not have that kind of talk around the dining table." Lord Wallisford chuckled. If anyone managed this family, it was Lady Wallisford. Her husband tended to keep quiet and enjoyed the incorrigible antics of his children more than he chided them.

  Chapter 11

  Sunshine made Dory ache to be outside. It felt as though she had been inside all winter, and now she longed to be outside. The gardeners had to love days like this. But for her, there was little opportunity. Perhaps she would sit out by the kitchen garden for a few minutes after lunch.

  Lady Pettifer was taking advantage of the sunshine, going for a walk along the property, and Livinia was out riding as usual. In truth, Dory was impressed because she was frightened of horses herself, seeing them as unpredictable and crushingly large. But it had to be exciting going full tilt on the back of one in an unrestrained gallop. Most likely, she would never know.

  Dory carried down the last of the family's lunch, which had been conducted in near silence that day, attended only by Lady Pettifer and Lord Wallisford. The silence between the siblings was a comfortable one, though. Everyone else had chosen to spend the day away. Maybe the fine weather had them all seeking to get out of the house as well.

  The downstairs was noisy as the staff gathered for lunch. As above, once seated, it was a silent affair, many finishing as quickly as they could to return to work or to steal a few moments for themselves, like Dory was going to do.

  She sought the bench outside which sat along the wall of the house in the full view of the sun, where she stretched out her legs and absorbed as much sun as she could.

  The seat creaking next to her suggested someone had joined her and she opened her eyes to see Larry rolling a cigarette from his pouch of tobacco. He looked troubled, his brow drawn tight.

  "What's the matter, Larry?"

  He didn't speak for a moment. "This business with Michael Jones. It doesn't sit right. I went to school with him. Always a big teddy bear, you know? Not a mean bone in his body. Granted, not the brightest spark out there, but he'd never hurt anyone. I can't see him coming up here and stabbing Nora. I just can't see it."

  "You never really know what's in someone's heart," Dory said.

  "Not with Michael Jones. What you see is what you get. I would bet my right arm that he has nothing to do with this. If he was stepping out with Nora, he'd be treating her well. It's just not right. If that's the way they're looking, they're barking up the wrong tree. I'll never believe Michael Jones is responsible for this."

  "Convenient for someone if you are right," Dory said, feeling conflicted. Of course a friend would never see the blackness in someone which could lead them to kill, or could they? If she were asked, she couldn't readily point her finger at anyone she had met here and say that person had inside them what it took to take a life. Taking someone's life—it was such an alien concept, she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

  In a sense, she wanted to believe that this Michael Jones was the culprit, predominantly because they would then have all the answers and there wouldn't be that uncomfortable feeling that someone sinister was hiding behind a smiling face. Villains didn't actually look like they were supposed to, with beady and cold eyes, dressed in black trench coats. No, someone was disguising themselves very well—whether it be Michael Jones or not.

  With a sigh, Dory rose and returned to her duties. As she walked in the door, Mrs. Parsons told her that Lady Pettifer had rung her bell and Dory redirected herself to her mistress.

  Lady Pettifer had risen from her nap and was sitting at the dressing table. "I miss my dog," she said. "My Beauty. She is always such a joy in my life."

  "I never had a dog. My mam never liked them."

  "Man's best friends, and that can't be argued. It is such a shame about the quarantine laws, but they won't budge. If I brought her, she'd have to sit in a cage the whole of summer. She must be pining for me. It is the worst thing about coming back for the summer. I think I shall go for a walk before supper. I do so enjoy dusk."

  Dory went to the wardrobe and pulled out Lady Pettifer's preferred walking coat.

  "What is the matter with you? You look glum today."

  Dory sighed again. "Not glum, exactly. It's this business with Michael Jones. Larry, the gardener, knows him well and says it would be completely out of his character to do something like this."

  "Can't always trust someone's opinion of character."

  "That was what I said, but Larry wouldn't have it. Said with Michael Jones, you get what you see."

  "Well, I am sure that DI Ridley will sort it out. By nature of being the girl's beau, it is only natural that he is questioned."

  "Of course," Dory said and helped Lady Pettifer dress. A simple brushing was all she wanted, before pinning her hat. It was one thing Dory didn't feel comfortable doing, running a sharp hat pin along someone's scalp.

  "I'll see you at supper," Lady Pettifer said before she left, grabbing her walking stick perched in the corner of the room.

  *

  With aching feet, Dory sat down at the servants' dinner table later that night after finishing serving the family supper. Tiredness had set in and she ached for Sunday when she could sleep in and even do nothing at all. Obviously, that would only be for an hour before she grew bored, but how she longed for that hour right now.

  "They've arrested Michael Jones," said George Henry, the chauffeur, as he sat down at the table, putting his uniform hat in his lap.

  A gasp spread around the table and Larry looked thunderous.

  "They have to have it wrong," Mavis said. "Michael Jones wouldn't hurt anyone." It seemed Mavis’ testaments to his character was the same as Larry's. "It will be a travesty of justice if they pin this on him."

  "Well, they had to have some reason, don't they?" George challenged. "They wouldn't just arrest him with no evidence at all."

  "Been known to happen," Larry countered, sitting with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed. "Wouldn't be the first time. I'm sure they've hung innocent men and all."

  "Poor Michael," Mavis said, a worried expression on her face. "This is awful. They won't hang him, surely."

  "There would have to be a trial first," Mr. Holmes said. "If he is guilty there, then he will hang, and it will be the end of it."

  "Not when the real murderer gets away with it. Who's to say they won't do it again? Maybe we are all at risk of being murdered in our beds," Mavis said, a hint of hysteria in her voice.

  Dory hadn't guessed this news would have such a devastating effect around the table. It was certainly divisive and some were now questioning the effectiveness of the justice system in general. For herself, she didn't know what to think. Both Larry and Mavis, who knew Michael Jones, didn't doubt his innocence, and why would he come up to the house to murder his girlfriend?

  Well, he certainly wouldn't do it at his house, but why here? Down some dark alley, maybe, but to sneak into a large hall and commit murder?

  Savagely chewing her nail, Dory looked around the table. Everyone looked uncomfortable with this news. The people who knew him said this was incorrect, while others probably wanted a culprit, any culprit, to be found. Hanging the wrong man, though, that would be tough to live with when the tr
uth really did come out.

  Dory was one who believed the truth always came out in the end. It was a mantra her mother used to raise her children by, and over time, that mantra had always proved true. Any wrongdoing always got back to the doer in the end.

  After supper, Dory returned to the bench outside along the kitchen garden. It was dark as black ink outside, but she just felt like she needed some air. Even she had to admit that something felt very wrong about this. But perhaps it wasn't. She didn’t know the things that DI Ridley knew. It could be that he had concrete proof and this man was responsible. In a way, she hoped not, because she didn't want Larry and Mavis, who knew this man well, to be unable to tell that this person was deceptively dark and despicable. How was anyone supposed to know anyone if you couldn't trust your own judgment?

  Chapter 12

  "Well, so speak to him, girl, if all you can do is worry," Lady Pettifer said.

  "Who?"

  "DI Ridley. He seems a sensible man and I'm sure he didn't just accuse a man because it was convenient."

  "If he thinks he has his man, he is unlikely to come here anytime soon. In fact, he will probably leave the village in short order if he hasn't already."

  "Then go see him if you can't settle your mind."

  "I can't just go see him. I have duties. It would take half a day to walk to the village and back."

  "True, you do have duties. There is a bicycle in the garage, upon which you can go to the village and get me some sherbets. The great compensation for getting older, dear, is that you can rightfully insist on being unreasonable. Now, go. I want my sherbets."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Let me know what the man says and we shall see what evidence he has."

  At this point, Dory knew that Lady Pettifer was as interested in knowing about the investigation of this murder as she was. "I will ride like the wind."

  A quick wave of Lady Pettifer's fingers and Dory was gone, rushing downstairs after getting her coat and beret. The lady wanted sherbets—who was she to argue.

  "Aunt Gladys," she said as she entered the kitchen, thinking she should tell someone.

  "And where are you off to?"

  "Lady Pettifer has asked me to bike down to the village to get her some sherbets."

  Gladys raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure you should be used in that way."

  "She had missed them so much in her time in France, I hadn't the heart to say no." Lying wasn't something she was entirely comfortable with, but it was an innocent lie and there was potentially an innocent man at risk. "I will ride like the wind."

  "See that you do. Mrs. Parsons won't be happy about this."

  "Maybe I can get back before she notices."

  "Nothing gets past that woman."

  Walking over to kiss her aunt on the cheek, she continued to the door. "I will be as fast as I can. Do you need anything?"

  "Might as well get me some sherbets, too."

  Dory smiled. "I probably shouldn't tell anyone else or I will be overburdened with confectionaries on the way home."

  She ran to the garage and opened the door. Sure enough, there was an old but serviceable bicycle leaning up against one of the walls, which she led outside and set off. It had been a while, so she wasn't entirely stable at first, until she picked up some speed. Then she pedaled like fire was racing up behind her, glad she had brought her coat because the wind was cool at speed.

  It took about half an hour to get to town and Dory went straight to the pub, looking in the window to see if DI Ridley was there. Luckily for her, he was nursing a pint in the late afternoon.

  "Hello again, Mr. Ridley," she said, walking in with her beret in hand. "What a coincidence seeing you here again." She really was getting terribly good with her little white lies. Perhaps that was not something to be proud of.

  "Miss Sparks," he said, looking up from his paper.

  "Rumor has spread around the hall that you have made an arrest."

  "So we have," he said after returning his pint to the table.

  "The mechanic in the village."

  "Yes," he confirmed grudgingly.

  "Of course, the people who know him say you are barking up the wrong tree with him, the sweetest man you would ever meet."

  "Are you interrogating me, Miss Sparks?"

  The idea shocked her. "No, of course not." Maybe she actually was. "Perhaps I just wanted to let you know that there are quite a few who know him, who believe it is not in his character."

  The man sighed and folded his paper. "I can tell you aren’t going to leave this be. We found a bloody rag at his shop."

  Dory's eyes widened.

  "It is human blood."

  "He is a mechanic. Injuries as part of the profession."

  "Well, he could not present a cut of any kind."

  "So he ran up to the hall, because surely, it would have been noted if he drove there, stabbed Miss Sparks and then ran what had to be a good hour and a half to his garage to clean his hands on a rag as if no one would ever look there, bypassing a multitude of streams along the way?"

  "Or discarded a rag he had in his pocket," DI Ridley said. There was a tightness around his mouth that suggested he wasn't pleased.

  "The rag could have been there days before, or even days after the murder. How does he explain it?"

  "He said he had a nosebleed."

  Dory was stunned. "Is this sufficient grounds to charge him?"

  "It obviously is since I did."

  "It is pretty circumstantial evidence to hang a man by."

  "The arrest, Miss Sparks, is a more preventative measure until we find more evidence either for or to the contrary. We cannot have him run at this point. Accused men have a habit of doing that—innocent or not."

  "So you are not convinced he is guilty?"

  "You have a habit of interrogating me, Miss Sparks. Do you fancy yourself an amateur sleuth?"

  "Don't be preposterous," she stated. "I just grow concerned when the people around me are so adamant that he is innocent."

  "There are always people who are adamant about someone's innocence, no matter what they have done. He could have been seen doing the actual murder and someone would say he was innocent."

  Well, he had her there. "I am sorry, but I think we all need to pay attention when a man's life is on the line, and a woman's forfeit."

  "Thank you for your concern and vigilance, Miss Sparks, but please don't make assumptions. The investigation is far from concluded. But yes, it is unlikely that a man travel such a far distance to murder someone on a whim. Usually, an unobserved murder involving such distances would involve something meticulously planned. Murder is rarely well planned. In fact, it is rarely planned at all, simply a reaction."

  Dory found herself absorbing everything he said. His insight was fascinating. "If that were true, it would suggest someone at the house."

  "Yes," Ridley said and lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke billowing over the table and into the air.

  "You have not given up on investigating the people at the house."

  "Except you, Miss Sparks. Somehow I can't see you having a strong enough ambition to murder for your current role."

  "Pfft," she said dismissively. "I'm more likely to murder to get out of it." He raised his eyebrows. "Figure of speech, of course. I would actually never murder anyone."

  "Everyone can be induced to murder if the circumstances are right."

  It was a chilling thought and he said it with such certainty, Dory had no doubt he believed it. What things had this man seen in his career; she shuddered at the thought.

  "So, I take it we will see you at the hall again?"

  "Probably very soon. In the meantime, no harm is being done to Michael Jones in our cells. In fact, it might serve the investigation if the real murderer believes they have gotten away with it."

  Dory nodded, seeing the logic of it.

  "Of course, it will serve very little," he continued, "if you go around and speak of it to all and sundry
."

  "I won't," she assured him, knowing that Lady Pettifer would want to know everything he said. As she had not been present, or even in the country, when the murder happened, it could not have been her. But she did see the sense in not divulging anything of this to anyone. How she was going to deal with Lady Pettifer was something she would have to consider on the way. "I had better run. On an errand."

  Rising, she gave the detective a nod before slipping away. She could feel him watching her. Likely he found her a professional annoyance, but he had taken her into his confidence to some degree—probably to shut her up. She would not betray him. There was too much riding on this for the innocent and victimized.

  Grabbing the bicycle by the handles, she walked over to the general merchant, thoughts racing around her head with what she'd learnt. DI Ridley firmly thought someone at the house was responsible and his logic was hard to fault—which meant she, and Gladys, were living under the same roof as a murderer. She would definitely be locking her door that night, and every night after until the person was caught. Still, Nora had been murdered for a reason and they had no idea why.

  Chapter 13

  Sherbets in her pocket, Dory cycled back to Wallisford Hall, thoughts still racing through her mind about the things DI Ridley had said. It seemed, he, too, did not think Michael Jones was responsible for the murder. But he also thought someone at the hall was. In her mind, Dory went through all the people there, trying to see any reason one of them would kill Nora Sands, but nothing presented itself.

  Noise assaulted her with the force of a wave, stunning her as she sat perched on top two wheels. Her front wheel veered off and she just about lost her balance when a car zoomed past her at speed. Wind blew grit in her face and a cloud of dust enveloped her.

  "Damn it," she swore, trying to stabilize herself as she looked at the car speeding away down the road. Of course it was the sporty white car Vivian Fellingworth drove and she saw the back of his blond hair in the distance. Why had he driven past her so fast? Had he not noticed there was a bicyclist on the road? He'd just about driven her into a ditch. Not to mention that she was now covered in dust. Rude, boorish and uncouth.