Mydworth Mysteries--Murder wore a Mask

by Matthew Costello

  “Put like that, it sounds like a lot of fun.”

  And she took his hand, and they walked towards the dining room, just like a couple arriving a tad late for dinner.

  *

  Everyone at the grand table took notice of them. Though some – now fortified with dessert wines and such – took a bit longer in the chain reaction of taking them in.

  Added to the startling effect, Harry thought, was the fact that they were obviously not dressed for dinner.

  He looked at Kat, and tried to not let his face show that he wasn’t at all sure about what they were about to do.

  “Um. Excuse me everyone. Dreadfully sorry! We hate to be disturbing puddings and all that. But you see we have something rather urgent to discuss with all of you.”

  Some of the people at the great dinner table had absolutely nothing to do with the events to be discussed, Harry knew. Still, best to get the lot all together. And, either way, they should enjoy the show!

  “Lady Mortimer and I, you see, have some rather important things to discuss.”

  Then Kat offered an edit. “Questions to be asked.”

  Ah yes, he thought. Questions. Stoke those fires a bit. No one likes questions.

  He could see, at the head of the table, his aunt, looking smashing of course. And wearing what appeared to be, well, a surprised smile.

  Say this for Lavinia, she’s always had rather broad taste in what qualifies as after-dinner entertainment.

  Let’s hope that includes tonight’s performance.

  People at the table began turning to each other; some looking intrigued, others not terribly pleased, muttering.

  So, Harry raised his voice.

  “So now, if you will, everyone! To the ballroom, please. Should take but a few minutes. Best without the distraction of McLeod’s delicious puddings.”

  He turned to Kat. “Isn’t that right, Lady Mortimer?”

  Kat nodded, clearly doing her very best to hide her own grin. This was a serious business, but that didn’t take away any of the element of thrills and surprise from it, he guessed.

  People – a handful of them grumbling – got up from the table.

  Palmer shaking his head, doing his best irritated act. No sign there of any alarm. Celine and Douglas Sawyer, slowly getting up, Sawyer shrugging as he tossed down his napkin upon his half-consumed crème brûlée.

  Must hunt one of those down later, Harry thought. McLeod wielded the blow torch like a master.

  Forsyth and Quiller both wore wary looks as they stood up, turning to some of Lavinia’s other guests, doing their best pretence of acting clueless.

  What in the world is going on?

  Then, to bring up the rear, Harry turned to Kat.

  “You go first, hmm?”

  “Glad to.”

  Lavinia had hurried back to him as the dining room emptied.

  “I do hope this little dramatic turn of yours has a point to it?”

  Kat answered: “Oh, that it does, Aunt Lavinia. Exactly what… well, we don’t know all that yet.”

  “But soon to be revealed?”

  “That’s the idea,” said Harry.

  “Well, good. After last night’s high jinks, this evening’s little gathering was certainly in need of something to jazz it up.”

  “Glad we could help,” Harry said, grinning, as the trio turned and walked towards the ballroom.

  It is, Harry thought, showtime.

  Here’s hoping we have the right script.

  *

  Kat heard Harry clear his throat, silencing the muttering, as he turned to her.

  And she started with a bit of surprise. “Mr Benton, please see that anyone who’d like a brandy has one? Not sure, despite Sir Harry’s promises, how long this will take.”

  Benton nodded, and departed to organise trays of snifters.

  “Now then,” Kat started, realising, while she may have attended similar scenes in that lawyer’s office back on Park Avenue, taking notes, it was not exactly the same as leading one! “Imagine you are all very curious. All this… drama. But, you see, Sir Harry and I are afraid it’s not simply ‘drama’ that’s going on here.”

  She paused.

  Ah to be an actress, she thought.

  “It’s more of a report,” she said, slowly, “about murder.”

  At that, the room seemed collectively to take a breath.

  Kat looked around, the faces now stilled by that terrible word.

  “And – worst news – it turns out that the murderer is in this very room.”

  The assemblage took their cue to fire out an assortment of “whats?” and “my Gods”.

  Which Kat allowed to subside. If this played out right, she realised, they would soon stop their display of consternation and turn back to take in the main event.

  Where more surprises were promised.

  18. Fun in the Ballroom

  Kat looked around the ballroom, one of the grand rooms in Mydworth Manor that Lavinia so rarely allowed to be opened.

  Yards of precious red satin formed perfectly shaped curtains for the ten-foot-tall windows, and the walls were dotted with historical paintings, one or two of them, she knew, by the Old Masters.

  One wall was dominated by a giant tapestry of what looked like a rather vigorous fox hunt, with the snarling foxes not cooperating.

  And on the far wall – on either side of a gathering of ancient family portraits – hung a bold cluster of lances, pikes and swords, gathered together as one might have placed a faux elephant foot by the front door, filled with umbrellas, should they be needed.

  The crowd standing in the room’s centre, looking almost as if they might be awaiting a last-minute train announcement, gazed expectantly in the direction of Harry and Kat.

  And Harry, with a broad grin, wasted no time.

  *

  “Jolly good. Now, Lady Mortimer and I are deeply sorry to have interrupted pudding et cetera – it’s just that a deuced important thing has popped up.”

  The sea of people standing in the room were curious, to be sure, but not at all happy with this little show so far.

  Hang on, Kat thought. It’s about to get better.

  “You see, dear friends, Kat and I have been doing a little digging around to see, well, whatever there was to be seen regarding the good Mr Carmody’s untimely passing.”

  That – at least – prodded Sawyer, his snifter held like a petite chalice at his waist. “Untimely? The old sod had a heart attack.”

  Sawyer, swaying slightly, looked around at the guests, waiting for the nods of agreement which did in fact come.

  Kat could see the newspaper magnate Forsyth with his writer Quiller. No nods there, and their eyes showing an intense gleam of interest.

  “Well, yes, Sawyer. Did appear that way, old boy, to be sure. But, well… best I let my wife explain it all. She’s uncannily good at connecting dots, crossing ‘ts’ and – in my experience – making the truth clear as glass.”

  Harry turned to her and Kat gave the slightest roll of her eyes. Her Harry was… what was the word? A card.

  *

  “Thank you, Harry. So, as my husband has suggested, we now know that Mr Carmody was in fact—” dramatic pause here, “murdered.”

  Kat waited until the grumbling and muttering ended.

  “Good Lord,” said Palmer.

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it, Mr Palmer?” she continued. “But, you see, on the way back here tonight, we ran into Dr Bedell. He had some very interesting news from his colleagues at the morgue in Chichester.”

  Another pause.

  “Turns out that Wilfred Carmody had some unusual pin-point injections in his neck. The work of a syringe, apparently. And worse, I’m afraid, something had been injected into ‘old Carmody’ as you call him, with the intention of killing him. Murder. Clear as day.”

  Palmer now knew that he had become part of this show, as Kat saw people turning and looking for the man’s next riposte.

  “W
hy would anyone want to murder Carmody?” he said. “What in heaven’s name would be the motive?”

  At that, Kat saw that Forsyth and Quiller, who certainly had opinions on that subject, now actually wore small smiles. Were they perhaps imagining all this playing out on the front pages of their newspaper?

  Oh, the sales when those papers hit the streets.

  “Motive? Great question. Well, I’ll be honest with you, Mr Palmer, at first we did have a bit of a tricky time with that. Sir Harry – best you carry on from here?”

  “Absolutely, Lady Mortimer. You see, Mr Carmody was a man of unimpeachable integrity. An honourable man. He went down to the lake last night, because he had received an invitation to do so, apparently from a ‘concerned’ friend.”

  Harry stopped, looked around at the faces. Taking his time.

  “An invitation to a meeting, that led to his death. Now, as Lady Mortimer and I have investigated this terrible event, it has become clear to us that only one person in this house would benefit from his demise. Only one person had a powerful enough motive to murder Wilfred Carmody.”

  Kat saw Harry pause again, like a seasoned prosecution lawyer, then swivel to face the jury. “Cyril Palmer!”

  A wave of “ohs” and “ahs” and mutterings rippled across the room.

  But Harry silenced them by raising in the air the stack of paper he had been carrying in his hand, almost triumphant – “Indeed! I found these papers, incriminating papers, in your room, Palmer. Had to ruin your briefcase, old man. Sorry about that. Locked and all.”

  Palmer’s face turned puce, as he practically spat out the next words.

  “What the—? I will sue you, Mortimer!”

  “Imagine you will, old chap,” Harry said. “But that’s why God created solicitors, no? So, sue away. Anyway, where was I?”

  Another grin from him, and Kat thought, I, too, could not be having a better time.

  Even though a successful end to this performance was – still – far from certain.

  “Oh yes, of course. These papers. Well, we know – thanks to two talkative little ‘birds’ – that Carmody was planning on sharing the damning evidence in these papers with the wider world. Isn’t that right, Mr Forsyth?”

  Forsyth made the slightest of nods.

  Harry went on. “I mean, Palmer, you really have done some quite terrible things. Things that, well, might even destroy you. Now, naturally, that seemed like motive enough to us, wouldn’t you all agree?”

  Kat had her eyes locked on Palmer – knowing they did not have proof of the whole story here.

  And that fear deepened when Palmer himself smiled back, took a step forward as if it was his time to shine in the spotlight.

  “Oh, really… I hate to spoil all this ridiculous ‘sleuthing’. But as a number of guests here can verify, I was in the house for the whole damn time of whatever transpired down at the grotto.”

  Kat knew that Palmer’s defence wasn’t relevant, but letting it play out was certainly amusing.

  “The entire time – and then some. Winning a tidy sum at billiards, don’t you know. So whatever nonsense you hold in those papers in your fist, Sir Harry – which you will pay a legal price for – I could not have done a damned thing.”

  Kat smiled. As for Harry, she knew he wasn’t at all intimidated by Palmer’s threats. Even though her husband had sawn though a locked briefcase!

  “Well, Palmer, your day in court will come. And I imagine you may have a lot of them ‘to come’ if even half of the revelations in these papers are true. As to—”

  Then Kat heard the front door open. The sound of feet.

  And a sight that, well, probably didn’t occur often, if ever.

  Grayer the gardener, big rubber boots on, still wet and muddy, tromping into the ballroom.

  And he, too, held something in his hand. Something mucky, dripping lake water.

  *

  Harry watched as Grayer came up to him. He kept his voice low, clearly aware that whatever he had walked into, all eyes were now on him.

  “Sir Harry, found this. Just as you said.”

  And without ceremony, Grayer handed over the item which in its current muddy, weed-strewn state didn’t look like anything much.

  To preserve decorum – and all that rigmarole – Harry said: “Thank you Mr Grayer. Lady Mortimer and I will handle this from here on.”

  And Grayer – dismissed – turned and walked out of the room, creating a new set of muddy tracks on the polished wood floor.

  “Now then,” Harry said, “here’s where all this gets very interesting, if it wasn’t already. You see, Palmer, yes, of course, we knew you couldn’t have been down there, by the grotto. Could not have killed Carmody.”

  “Then why the hell have you just accused me here in public, you damned—”

  “But hang on. Show’s not over yet. See, we do know that you certainly wanted him dead.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “In fact, we have a witness, whose account of what he saw last night, led us to this,” Harry hefted the sodden, dripping item, “which Grayer found just now in the lake. By said grotto. And guess what it is, boys and girls?”

  And Harry, seeing Kat watch as if he was a magician about to pluck the biggest rabbit of all time out of a hat, let the crumpled item unfold.

  To reveal a mask.

  And not just any mask, Harry knew.

  “I do believe, Palmer, this is yours, no? The Plague Doctor mask, which – amazingly – Carmody was wearing last night at the grotto. You see, whoever killed Carmody, thought they were killing you. Which leaves one last question. Lady Mortimer?”

  The room was still – even Palmer had a sick expression on his face.

  Kat spoke. “Yes. Who on earth could that have been?”

  19. One Last Point

  Kat scanned the guests. Harry had his eyes on her so she knew it was time for her to wrap up this show. Harry had walked over to Benton.

  She guessed he was making a quiet request for the butler to summon Sergeant Timms.

  But first…

  Kat began. “So now we ask not who wanted to kill Wilfred Carmody, oh no. We ask who would want to murder Cyril Palmer, esteemed Member of Parliament for these parts? Well, maybe a lot of people wished him ill. But to kill him? With a syringe? Using some deadly substance?”

  And Kat swore she felt a chill fill the room, the windows open to the night air. Late summer all right, but in here, suddenly like an electric refrigerator.

  “Well, I guess we know who that would be, isn’t that right… Douglas Sawyer?”

  Another gasp from the room. And Kat noticed those guests near Sawyer – including his wife – step back from him, as if his guilt was somehow contagious.

  “And motive? Oh, maybe the most ancient of motives. Your dear wife, Celine and our trusted MP, their little trysts for the last year hardly a state secret. Jealousy, Mr Sawyer. Such a dark, suffocating feeling, isn’t it?”

  “Ridiculous!” said Sawyer, his voice quavering, the unfortunate squeak so evident in this silent, echoing room.

  “Oh, and let’s not forget,” Kat continued, “besides motive, there must be ‘means’ to think about. In this case, as we now know – a syringe.”

  Slowly she held up the small velvet case and opened it so all could see.

  “Found this in your room, Mr Sawyer,” said Kat.

  Now all eyes were on the movie star.

  He stood silent as if there was not a possible word he could say.

  “And that note I mentioned, written to Mr Carmody, inviting him to meet at the grotto? It’s in your handwriting. You wrote that note, didn’t you? And placed it in Mr Palmer’s room?”

  “This is all nonsense,” said Sawyer. “A tissue of lies. I shall also sue, sue both of you.”

  “But I guess you didn’t figure your unfaithful wife would be so concerned that she’d warn Palmer,” said Kat. “Who then redirected the note to Mr Carmody and persuaded him to wear the mask. So y
ou ended up killing the very person Palmer needed out of the way.”

  Now the small crowd turned to look at Palmer, this whole scene playing out as if on a West End stage.

  “And Palmer?” said Kat. “For a while there it must have seemed that all the cards were falling your way, hmm?”

  For once, Palmer was silent.

  Gotcha, thought Kat. Then she turned back to Sawyer. “Terribly ironic, isn’t it, Mr Sawyer? You’ll hang – all for doing Palmer’s dirty work for him.”

  And at that, with everyone’s eyes trained on him, Sawyer moved.

  “You can all… go to hell!”

  And he pushed through the crowd, and dashed to the clustered weapons on the far wall, reached up, and to the whole room’s clear astonishment…

  Drew a sword – some kind of heavy cutlass.

  “I’m leaving here, and not one of you will stop me!” he squeaked, slicing the lethal-looking weapon through the air above his head.

  Kat watched as the actor raced back across the room, the crowd scattering, men and women screaming.

  Which is when she saw Harry take a quick run at the other stand of weapons, withdraw a matching sabre, and call out: “Not too sure about that, Sawyer, old chap.”

  Sawyer stopped dead in his tracks, then laughed.

  “You fool, Mortimer – have you seen none of my films? I bloody well know how to use this!”

  But Harry just smiled. Then – and was he just being dramatic? – he bowed elegantly and took up a fighting stance, one arm behind his back, his sabre outstretched: “En garde!”

  And while guests ran around trying to take in the show but avoid becoming another unfortunate victim of any errant thrusts, her husband and Sawyer duelled.

  *

  At first, Sawyer seemed to be getting the best of Harry, and Kat suddenly became worried.

  What had been fun, had now turned dangerous.

  The blades crashing into each other, both looking as sharp as scythes, the metal edges slicing through the air. Of course, Kat thought, Sawyer had appeared in all those swashbuckling movies. He really knew what he was doing.

  And even as Harry took great steps forward, accompanied by forceful thrusts, Sawyer easily swatted them away, his own thrusts and cuts coming within inches of Harry’s face.