by Issy Brooke
“Very well. And I will make enquiries as carefully as I can. I will talk to people here in the town and perhaps something will emerge.”
“And by the time of the great unveiling...”
“By then,” said Theodore firmly, “we will know who really killed Sir Phileas, and why they did so. We will watch everyone at the tower. Everyone will be there, and that will include members of the constabulary. It will be the perfect time to pin the culprit down and have them arrested.”
“By pin down – you are speaking metaphorically, aren’t you?” Adelia asked anxiously, concerned for her husband’s creaky knees.
He simply raised his glass to her in a mock salute. “To justice,” he said.
“To justice.”
Eleven
Adelia and Theodore spent the afternoon shopping. That was to say, Adelia indulged herself by wandering around the various small shops of Pever Magna and Theodore trudged along behind, condemned to carry boxes and pay for everything. She didn’t buy much although one particularly impressive hat caught her eye. Rather than have Theodore carry it and potentially drop it in the mud, she organised for it to be sent back to their own house. Theodore was burdened only with a few little trinkets and some pretty little truffles from a chocolatier, which she intended to give to Reverend Shale to thank him for his hospitality. Neither she nor Theodore felt particularly inclined to give the philanderer anything, but certain conventions had to be stuck to.
If one completely abandoned the everyday civilities, society would surely collapse, after all.
When they got back to the vicarage that evening, there was a message left on a card from Reverend Shale saying he had been unaccountably called away to a neighbouring parish but that he would be back by the following evening, ready for the unveiling the day after that.
“Clearly that is an excuse to avoid us,” Adelia said.
“Avoid you in particular. You were awfully close to spilling out what we know.”
Adelia laughed. “Close? Oh, I laid it out quite plainly. He knows that we know all about him and Mrs Smith.”
“Are you sure? He didn’t say so, and neither did you.”
“We didn’t need to.” Adelia smiled kindly at her very intelligent, not so clever husband. “Trust me,” she said. “I didn’t need to spell it out. He understands and he wants to avoid any more awkwardness. I also suspect that he hopes we will simply leave. After all, we should.”
“But we’re not going to, are we?”
“Of course not. Let us explore the good man’s wine cellar this evening.”
“You would rifle through a man’s vintage bottles while he is away?” Theodore said.
“He showed no reticence in rifling through another man’s marriage,” she said. “Forgive my indelicacy but we owe the reverend nothing more than this box of truffles and even that is something of a stretch.”
“No apology needed,” Theodore replied. “Tonight I am in the mood for a nice smooth Burgundy. How about you?”
ADELIA WENT TO VISIT Mrs Frankhaus an hour or so after lunch the next day. It was almost the time of day for paying social calls and she hoped that Mrs Frankhaus would be At Home, even if it were not her designated day for receiving visitors. Adelia was lucky and she was shown into the same pleasant parlour as before. Mrs Frankhaus soon joined her, and greeted her warmly.
“How long do you intend on staying with the reverend?” she asked as they sat down to some light refreshments.
“We will leave after the unveiling of the bells tomorrow,” Adelia said.
“Bells? Plural?”
“We believe he has had more than one cast, although I have not seen them myself,” Adelia told her. “I understand there has been something of a local competition to be the family who contributes the most.”
Mrs Frankhaus rolled her eyes, glancing up meaningfully to the ceiling for a long moment. “The matter has exercised my husband beyond all reason,” she said wearily. “And caused far more rifts to emerge between us and the other families.”
“Yet I do not think that there has been much warmth and cordiality between you and the Smiths in the first place,” Adelia said frankly.
“That is true. Mrs Smith and I will pay calls upon one another a few times of year for who else are we to visit? But I am not known for my social mixing. And she is not, in any case, the first person I’d ask for help.”
“She is the very last person I’d ask for help,” Adelia said, and Mrs Frankhaus nearly dropped her tea-cup in shock.
“Lady Calaway...”
“I stand by it.” Adelia dropped her voice. “Do you realise that the death of Sir Phileas was not an accident?”
“I do realise that you don’t think it was accidental; and that you are investigating it all.” Mrs Frankhaus put her cup down. “Lady Calaway, are you suggesting that Mrs Smith could have had something to do with it?”
“I did not say that. What makes you think so? What do you know of the matter?”
“Nothing. I am reading between the lines. You have pressed me as to my whereabouts when the horrible tragedy occurred, and thereby discovered my little secret. Fair enough; I knew I could not keep it secret for ever, although my husband is still unaware of my activities and I am not planning on returning to the classes for a few weeks.”
“Please, don’t stay away on my account.”
Mrs Frankhaus dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “My husband is very anxious at the moment. When he has relaxed again, I will tell him what I have done. Or at least, a version of it. He may allow me to return.”
“Would he really prevent you?”
“Yes, he might. I will have to catch him at the right time.” She smiled. “Do not be concerned for me. I know what people think of us, you know. I am sure that from the outside, we look like we are locked in a perfectly horrible marriage, with me being oppressed and cowed by a bullying man. And yes, it is like that. Yet I have ways of getting what I want. I simply have to decide what the most important thing is for me to fight for, and then be clever about how I go about it, that’s all. It’s a challenge which – well, I might not relish it, but I accept it. It could be worse. After all, I am not Mrs Smith, who is drowning in the disappointment of her life.”
“So if I said to you that I did believe Mrs Smith was at the root of Sir Phileas’s death, what would you say to that?” Adelia asked. “Could you believe it?”
Mrs Frankhaus nodded. “I keep myself to myself here, as much as possible, unless I am engaged in artistic pursuits. Gossip reached my ears about those two but I paid it no heed. Yet yes, it is possible they were lovers, Mrs Smith and Sir Phileas. And I can also imagine them arguing and from that argument the tragedy could have unfolded. But do you have evidence?”
“I do. But we must eliminate all the other suspects. One of those suspects is your husband.”
“Goodness. Why?”
“Because of the bell, or bells. He wanted to contribute the most money and be lauded as the greatest benefactor but Sir Phileas had gone to the reverend and offered even more money.”
“I see. Ah, so you need him to give you an alibi!”
“Exactly so. And he will not speak to me or my husband. So perhaps, therefore, you might be able to help?” It wouldn’t be the most reliable of alibis. A wife, however hard done by as she was, would surely always defend her husband. But Adelia hoped that Mrs Frankhaus would tell them something that they could check.
Mrs Frankhaus cast her mind back to the previous week. She spoke slowly. “Let me see. I did not leave for Pever Magna until he had left the house. It was Thursday, wasn’t it? He generally goes to High Wycombe to see our banker on a Thursday and he pays calls on various other men of repute if they are available. Some days he is out until the evening, but last Thursday he was home by around three in the afternoon. He left as normal, and when he returned he brought me a fine pair of gloves from the town. They have the shop’s label and are in their own distinctive box. I don’t know if that is e
nough of an alibi, but it gives you something to check, does it not?” Mrs Frankhaus’s face was full of concern, then. “My husband is rough, loud and occasionally brutal, Lady Calaway, but he’s not a murderer. His manner is unfortunate but it’s just his way. A gentle sort of man could not have done as well as he has done in his military career, don’t you think?”
Adelia wanted to agree with her just to make her feel better but she found that she couldn’t excuse the man’s behaviour. She said, somewhat shortly, “He is not in the military now though, is he, Mrs Frankhaus?”
Mrs Frankhaus blinked and looked away. Adelia realised that she might have gone too far; Mrs Frankhaus was a meek and timid woman, and Adelia had forgotten that. Much of what Mrs Frankhaus said – about not really minding how she was treated – was mere bravado. Hastily, Adelia added, “But I understand. You are a goddess, an angel in the house, dear Mrs Frankhaus and I don’t think he appreciates your true goodness. Thank you for your time, and I shall not trouble you any longer.” She got to her feet and paused. Should she tell Mrs Frankhaus that Mrs Smith now knew her secret about her attendances at the life drawing classes?
No. If all went well, in two days’ time, Mrs Smith would be under lock and key, and unable to use her knowledge for mischief.
ADELIA RUSHED INTO Pever Magna, accompanied by her maid, whose assistance was essential in Adelia’s search for Theodore. There were inns and other places that her maid could go, or two women together could go, that one aristocratic woman alone was barred from. It took over an hour for them to track him down but eventually they discovered him as he left a dining club on the main street. Adelia had to shout, which turned some heads, but she no longer cared. He came to greet them.
“Are you having any luck?” she asked. But she could tell from his face that he was not. He shook his head.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” she said in reassurance. “I came to tell you that you need to be in High Wycombe, as that is where he went – according to his wife.” She gave him all the details and saw him off at the railway station on the next fast train across the Chilterns.
Adelia and her maid returned to the empty and echoing vicarage.
Such was the lot of the dutiful wife. She had nothing to do now but to wait for her husband’s return. She tried to apply herself to some embroidery but made a mess of a robin she was trying to outline and gave up. She went to explore the reverend’s rapidly diminishing wine cellar once more.
Twelve
Adelia hadn’t meant to drink the whole bottle of wine, but she did. It went down in small glass-fulls, so she didn’t realise how much she’d put away until she tried to stand up and greet Theodore as he came into the parlour. She collapsed against him, giggling. He lowered her back into her chair and squinted at her embroidery.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“Yes but look at my robin!”
“That’s a robin? Has it been hit by a locomotive?”
“You are so rude,” she pouted.
A door slammed elsewhere in the house and she froze.
“Yes,” Theodore said, in a stern voice that made her giggle again. “I suspect the reverend is home. I am going to take you to bed and make excuses for you, and let us hope that your head hurts very much tomorrow.”
“How mean!”
“It will be a lesson for you.” He hauled her back to her feet and she leaned heavily on him as he steered her as quickly as he could back to their room, and deposited her into the care of her maid.
“What about dinner?” she said blearily as he left the room.
He didn’t answer. She sat on the bed, and then slowly collapsed backwards as the room began to spin around her.
THEODORE WAS NOT LOOKING forward to a strained evening meal with Shale that night, although the absence of Adelia meant that the reverend seemed a little more relaxed than Theodore had expected him to be. They ate quickly, making light conversation about nothing of any substance, and remained in the dining room after the plates had been cleared away, enjoying some brandy and cigars. At one point, Theodore tried to raise the matter of the death. After all, this was the sole reason they had been invited to stay.
“I have established an alibi for Frankhaus, you know,” Theodore said.
“Mm? What?”
“Frankhaus. He was in High Wycombe when Sir Phileas was killed. I have spoken to men who met him that morning.”
“I see.”
There was a lengthy pause. Reverend Shale coughed and eventually broke. He said, “I say, look here. I asked you here to investigate what I thought was a suspicious death. The thing is, the thing is – you know, this is dashed silly of me – but I rather think I overreacted. Hmm? Don’t you?”
“I realise that the course of our investigation has been fraught. We have inevitably uncovered things that people wished to keep private. But did you not expect that?”
Shale went pink in the face. “No, I have to confess, I did not. I thought you’d find the culprit and that would be that. But in hindsight, perhaps I panicked and brought you in for no reason.”
“You don’t believe it was murder?”
“Ah – mm – no, maybe not. As you say, Frankhaus has an alibi, and he would have been my first suspect. So perhaps it’s better that we believe the police and trust their experience and follow their lead, hmm?”
“Hmm,” said Theodore, aware he was mirroring Shale’s little mannerisms but strangely unable to stop himself. “Are you sure?”
Shale slammed his empty brandy glass on the table and his angry gesture seemed to take himself by surprise; it certainly startled Theodore. “Yes,” he spat out. “Yes. Look, I am sorry for shouting. Things are getting to me. I am full of anxiety. I cannot find peace at the moment. I am wrestling with ... things. I very much appreciate that you and your good wife came to my aid when I called but now I realise that it was all better left alone. I know you understand. I should like you both to leave at the earliest opportunity.”
“You’re telling us to leave?”
“Asking. Requesting. Please,” he added.
“And what of the little favour you asked my wife to perform for you?”
Shale looked alarmed. “I beg your pardon?”
“To find you a wife.”
“Oh. Oh! She told you?”
“We are married. She keeps nothing from me.” At least, he thought that she didn’t, though he sometimes wondered. “Would you like her to make enquiries around a larger area? She is awfully good at making matches,” he added with pride. “Suitable matches.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Shale’s pink cheeks were darkening to a livid puce.
“Just that. She will find you a suitable wife.”
“As opposed to an unsuitable one! I know exactly what you’re saying, Calaway. Yes, I do! I think it is time to retire for the night, don’t you?” Shale leaped to his feet and grabbed the depleted decanter of brandy. “Good night to you, sir!” He left with all the flounce and panache of a Parisian dancer.
“Oh,” said Theodore to himself. “That was unexpected.” He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, and then slowly went up to bed.
THE DAY OF THE GREAT unveiling turned out to be bright and sunny, but the general atmosphere was strangely subdued. The young cook flapped around in a panic because Shale had not given her explicit instructions to organise any refreshments, so she hadn’t, and now people were milling around the churchyard muttering about the lack of cake.
Adelia took her off to one side and said, kindly but firmly, “There is absolutely nothing to be done about it now. You can’t feed all these people on five loaves and two fish, even if you do work for a vicar.”
“I only have four loaves!” the cook said, eyes wide.
“That’s not quite what I was getting at,” Adelia replied with a sigh. “Never mind. If you try to offer food and drink now, you will fail, and you will feel awful. No. People ought to not expect to be fed especially
on holy ground. This is a solemn unveiling of a church object, not a festival. I will advise Reverend Shale to remind everyone of that.”
“But what shall I do? They are all looking at me as if I ought to have known.”
They weren’t, but Adelia understood the girl’s agony and embarrassment. “In your position, I would retire to the vicarage kitchen and perhaps take a small glass of medicinal sherry to calm your nerves. Cooking sherry will do in an emergency. Go on.”
“But...”
“Go.” Adelia put her hand on the girl’s upper arm and gave a light push, which seemed to be all the momentum she needed to make her finally flee back to the vicarage.
Meanwhile a small altercation was happening on the other side of a sarcophagus. Adelia expected it to be a heated discussion about the lack of salmon paste sandwiches, but it turned out to be her own husband being pursued around a carved angel by a very angry Vice Admiral Frankhaus.
“You get back here and explain yourself, you rodent of an aristocrat – leeches on society, the lot of you, and now you’re leeching onto my own wife!”
“Excuse me, I have done no such thing!” Theodore said in a fluster.
Adelia stepped in front of Frankhaus and he skidded to a stop, stymied by her sudden presence. He might consider the titled upper classes to be leeches, but he was not about to grab a Countess and fling her to one side out of his way.
She spoke before he could organise his thoughts.
“My husband has been nowhere near your wife. I have been speaking to her, and therefore it is I whom you need to address on this matter.” She tipped her chin up and glared at him, challenging him to do just that.
He quivered and he flared his nostrils. “Well. Madam. I. This. No, this won’t do.” But his stuttering speech was hesitant and his voice was lower. It was a strange but not unfamiliar reaction to Adelia. She had noticed before that when two men were arguing, their blood seemed to be stimulated by martial instincts, but when a woman intervened in a certain way – forcefully, direct, uncompromising – they seemed to respond as if she were representing their mother.
