Chapter 14 – strange conversations
Etta wanted some time to compose herself and thought that she would go outside for a walk but before she had got very far, Algernon Wainwright accosted her.
‘Just had an interview with Inspector Brighton? How did it go?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure. Have you been interviewed by him yet?’
‘No, I’m next on the list apparently. What sort of things did he ask you? I’m afraid of making an ass of myself in there.’
‘The usual things, name, address etc.’ Etta wasn’t sure if he had heard about her escapade with the car and decided not to mention it. ‘Oh, and he asked me if I’d known anyone before I came here. Apart from Dotty, of course.’
‘And what did you say?’
It seemed to Etta that he was anxious to hear her reply, looking directly into her eyes and coming a little closer. She moved slightly away.
‘I said no, I’d never met anyone else before.’
‘By the way, my man tells me that the ladies of the house are suffering from a lack of maids to help them dress for dinner. Perhaps you could ask Mrs. Marjorie Mowbray if she would like your maid to help her before dinner tonight.’ He looked very intently at her as if there was a secret message.
‘OK,’ Etta said.
‘Good show,’ he said and smiled, turned round and went back to the house.
Etta retraced her steps there a half hour later once she had calmed down and as soon as she was in the hallway, was met by Cook the butler.
‘Oh Miss Ashcroft, I’ve been looking for you. A gentleman rang for you a short while ago and said he would ring back shortly if you’d like to wait by the phone.’
He directed her to the old-fashioned dial phone on its own little table in the hall and moved discreetly away.
Etta was burning with curiousity by the time the phone trilled, she snatched up the heavy receiver and said into the mouthpiece, ‘yes?’
‘Etta Astley?’ a man’s voice asked. It was deep, slow and measured.
‘Yes, I mean no, I’m Hetty Ashcroft,’ she said, belatedly remembering her new identity.
The man laughed. ‘Etta or Hetty, it doesn’t matter. Listen carefully, I shall say this only once.’
‘What?’ asked Etta.
‘Shut up and listen. You and your mother are trapped in the book. You can only recover from your comas if you find the murderer. You have to solve the murders before you can escape.’
‘What if we don’t?’
‘Then you stay here forever,’ was the icy reply that chilled her to the bone.
‘Who are you?’ asked Etta but the only reply was the click as the phone was put down at the other end. The phone call had been terminated.
Etta stood there, rooted to the spot.
Dorothy Mowbray went past. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, seeing Etta’s stricken face.
Etta nodded mutely, unable to speak. She desperately wanted to speak to her mother but she knew that she was being watched and needed to act normally. Running off to find Jen would not be considered normal.
So she forced herself the rest of that long day to behave like a character from a thirties murder mystery would. Having lunch, chatting to the other guests, fending off questions about her little jaunt as they put it.
She remembered to ask Mrs. Mowbray if she would like some help with dressing and received her surprised and grateful thanks.
She almost collapsed with relief when she was finally able to escape to her room to dress for dinner. Jen was there, laying out a powder blue chiffon gown for her.
‘Mum, I got a phone call,’ she gasped.
Jen stopped what she was doing. ‘You got a what?’
‘I had a phone call from a man. He said that we would only recover from the coma if we solved the murder.’
‘What?’
‘We can only escape from the book if we solve the murders,’ Etta repeated impatiently.
‘Tell me exactly what he said,’ Jen ordered, sitting down on the bed, and patting the space beside her.
Etta tried to repeat what the man had said, word for word.
‘So, he said that we were trapped in the book?’ Jen asked.
‘Yes.’
‘But we’ll escape if we solve the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, 'Lets look on the bright side,' Jen said. 'At least we know what to do to get out of here now.'
'By solving a murder? How are we going to do that? It's impossible!' Etta almost shouted at her. Jen remained calm.
'No, it's not impossible, just difficult. And we do have one advantage.'
'What's that?'
'We have an expert on crime fiction with us.'
'Who?'
'Me. I don't know why you're looking surprised, Etta.' Jen admonished. 'Golden Age of Detection novels had to follow rules.'
'What were they?'
Jen started counting them off on her fingers. 'One, the murderer must be someone mentioned in the early part of the story and can't be anyone that the reader has seeing their thoughts.'
'I don't think that's very helpful for us, Etta commented. Jen ignored her. 'Two; nothing supernatural so no ghosts or pixies. Three; only one secret passage or room. Four, no unknown poisons or anything that needs a long-winded, scientific explanation at the end. Five, no Chinese men can be the murderer.'
'Why?'
'Because there was a whole load of stories where Chinese people were the villains,' Jen explained.
'I get it. They were racist. Anyway, there aren't any Chinese people in the book,
'True. Six, no accident can help the detective and no secret intuition. Seven, the detective can't find a clue that the reader doesn't know about straight away. Eight, no twin brothers or doubles can appear unless the reader is prepared for them. Nine, the stupid friend of the detective can't conceal his thoughts and must be only slightly less intelligent than the average reader.'
'You know, Mum, most of these aren't really helpful to us.'
'The last one is. The detective can't have committed the crime.'
'The detective?'
'Miss Mittens, we are in a Winnifred Warlock novel, after all.'
'But Mum, if that’s true, all you have to do, is work out which novel we're in and we'll know who the murderer is,' cried Etta.
Jen looked at her for a long moment. 'You're right,’ she finally said.
'Come on then, which one are we in?' asked Etta eagerly.
'Let me think.' Jen frowned in concentration. 'Not the precious stones set; "Sultans and Sapphires", or "Rajahs and Rubies" or "Emperors and Emeralds", that was set in nineteen thirties' China, you know.'
'Mum, keep to the point.'
'OK. Then there are her poison ones; "Cyanide and Cocktails", "Arsenic and Antimacassars", that was the first Winnifred Warlock.'
'Mum, please focus,' Etta begged.
'I'm trying. "Digitalis and Debutantes", "Hemlock and Heirs", "Deadly Nightshade and Dukes", "Foxgloves and Furs", "Belladonna and Baronets.”' Jen stopped, the frown lines deepened on her forehead. 'I can't think of any with a diamond necklace.'
'You must be able to!'
Jen shook her head. 'Not at the moment.'
There was a long silence. Etta drooped on the bed, full of despair. To be so close to and yet so far from, escaping.
‘Look, go down to dinner. Give me time to think about it,’ urged Jen. ‘Maybe if we take the pressure off, it'll probably come to me when I'm not thinking about it,' Jen offered.
‘How long do you think it will take?’
Jen shrugged her shoulders. 'How long is a piece of string? Perhaps I'll remember tonight, perhaps tomorrow after a good night's sleep.'
'But I hate it here, having to talk to these strangers all day long.'
'Try being a servant,' Jen snapped.
Etta knew she was being selfish, thinking only of herself but she really hated it when she was trapped in awkward social occasions that she couldn't get out of. But
Jen's words made her realise that it must be worst for her mother.
'I'm sorry, Mum.'
Jen softened. 'It's hard for both of us. Go down and try to enjoy yourself. I’m off to help Mrs. Mowbray get dressed.’
‘Yes, Algy asked me to arrange that. Why?’
‘They want me to look for something in their room.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. He just said evidence.’
‘Be careful, Mum.’
As Etta trailed down the stairs to the dining room, she was struck by a brainwave. If Jen couldn't remember the plot of the novel, they needed to get Miss Mittens to help them. This was followed by another light bulb idea but one that was not half so welcome. She would have to be the one to talk to Miss Mittens and she would have to be her sidekick. Panic gripped her; how was she going to do it? Then she told herself that her mother was relying on her and needed to be brave.
There was a half hour before dinner was served. She went in hunt of Miss Mittens. She was not in the Drawing Room. Lorenzo Spinoza was there, sitting on a sofa, looking very haggard and surrounded by a circle of sympathetic female faces. Etta peeped into the Morning Room; Miss Mittens was not there.
She finally ran her to ground in the Library. It was a gloomy room with bookshelves that ran round the walls and thick, burgundy curtains at the one set of long windows. She was alone, Etta was thankful to see. Miss Mittens was standing near the fireplace, thoughtfully perusing a large volume, laid open on a table. It looked like a book of drawings of houses and plans.
‘Miss Mittens, might I have a word?’ she began.
Miss Mittens looked up, closed the book and replaced it on a shelf. The spine read ‘Drawings of Wilkington Hall.’
‘Certainly, my dear.’
Etta approached. Now that the time had come, she hadn’t got a clue how to start. A couple of moments passed in silence. A clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven. Etta started a little.
‘You seem to be a little jumpy, not that I blame you. It is rather distressing to have a murder in the house.’
This was Etta’s cue.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the murder.’
‘To me? What about it?’
‘Do you really think that Evangeline, Mrs. Spinoza was killed for the necklace?’
‘The police seem to think so.’
‘Yes, but what do you think?’ Etta persisted.
‘What does it matter what I think?’ Miss Mittens asked.
‘I thought that you were sort of an amateur detective,’ Etta said, choosing her words with care.
‘An amateur detective?’ echoed Miss Mittens.
‘I thought someone told me that you had investigated some crimes and found the murderer.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Etta lied. It was like being back with the inspector and the sergeant. She held her breath. What would Miss Mittens say next?
‘I have had some minor successes with a few little crimes; it is true but nothing as dreadful as a murder. I’m very flattered that you might have heard of them.’
Etta was relieved, she had been afraid that Miss Mittens would deny all knowledge of being a detective.
‘So you’ve had experience of finding things then?’
‘I have had some adventures but I am sure that it is all best left in the hands of the police. Inspector Brighton seems most capable.’
‘Yes, but suppose he doesn’t find the killer.’
‘Are you worried that the killer might strike again? The general consensus is that Mrs. Spinoza came across the thief and was struck down in fear of the alarm being raised. ‘
‘Do you think so?’ asked Etta.
‘It does seem the most likely explanation but if I were the inspector, I would want to look a little more closely into the backgrounds of Mr. and Mrs. Spinoza.’
Etta nodded. ‘You mean because most wives get killed by their husband.’
Miss Mittens looked at her more closely. ‘That’s an interesting fact. Where did you hear that? Is it a statistic?’
‘I thought it was common knowledge.’ Etta said evasively. She wanted to change the conversation. ‘Who here could be a jewel thief?’
‘That is also interesting. ’
‘Do you know everyone here?’
‘I’m an old friend of Miss Tyneham, Lady Mowbray’s aunt. I’ve met Lady Mowbray and her family a few times. I am not acquainted with Algernon Wainwright, Stewart Grenadier or the Spinozas. And I gather that you only recently met Dotty Mowbray.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I wonder, why was the necklace stolen from Mrs. Spinoza and not Lady Mowbray?’
Miss Mittens scrutinised her. ‘You really are a most perceptive young person, Miss Ashcroft. That is a very pertinent question.’
‘Please call me Hetty.’
‘Well, Hetty, I would suggest that Mrs. Spinoza was targeted and not Lady Mowbray because Sir James and Lady Mowbray share a bedroom and Mr. and Mrs. Spinoza did not.’
‘But,’ said Etta, thinking aloud, ‘ that means that only people who knew that Mrs. Spinoza was wearing the necklace and people who knew that they didn’t share a bedroom, could steal it. ‘
‘Rather a small group, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure the inspector will have thought of this, too though.’
‘Yes, but people don’t always tell everything to the police,’ argued Etta. ‘Sometimes you find something out just by letting people talk to you and asking the right questions. Sometimes, they think it’s too trivial or unimportant to mention to the police.’ She was channelling Miss Marple now.
‘Are you a murder mystery aficionado, Hetty?’ Miss Mittens asked, smiling broadly.
You have no idea, thought Etta.
‘They can be very entertaining but real life is not so simple and it could be dangerous to go around, asking questions.’
‘Not if you’re careful what questions you ask. You’d have to leave the difficult questions to Inspector Brighton. Wouldn’t you like to know if the murder of Evangeline Spinoza and the theft of the diamond necklace are connected or not? Have the police found the diamond necklace yet?’
‘They have not.’ Miss Mitten’s protuberant blue eyes gleamed. ‘It would be jolly fun if we found the necklace first,’ she admitted. ‘Of course, we would have to be careful not to interfere with the police’s efforts.’
‘Of course not,’ said Etta piously. Then she added, ‘and my maid, Jane, would be happy to help with any questions that we might have for the servants.’
‘Is she trustworthy?’ Miss Mittens enquired. ‘Can she be discreet?’
‘Absolutely.’
They arranged to meet after breakfast the next day and go treasure hunting.
‘The police have looked in all the usual places and not found anything, so now we have to look in the unusual places,’ Miss Mittens told Etta. ‘We have to put ourselves in the mind of someone who needs to hide something that is quite distinctive but also small, that may need to remain hidden for a while.’
Murder and Mittens Page 14
