02 - Flight of Fancy (2 page)

“Wasn’t this the old boy’s
study?” Remarked Colonel Brandt, casting his eye around the smaller drawing
room O’Harris had escorted his chosen guests to, “It took me a moment but, yes,
I am sure of it. This was his study. I used to visit him here, oh, a good
twenty years ago!”

“You are referring to my Uncle
Goddard.” O’Harris said, placing a glass of brandy by the Colonel’s chair.

“That I am. Fine fellow, always
good to his visitors. I used to come here when I was working with my father at
his surgery. Used to bring Goddard’s rheumatics pills personally. He used to
regale me with stories of the Boer war and I was so taken I ended up joining
the service quite to father’s dismay.”

“Oh yes, I remember too.” Piped
up Mrs Rhone who had come accompanying her husband, who was a reverend at
Margate, “I was a Brighton girl and I do recall that Mr Goddard O’Harris used
to always help out at the summer fete and parades. He was a rather good
horseman, I believe, and liked to ride at the head of any marching event.”

“Poor Goddard.” Sighed Captain
O’Harris, settling himself into a chair with a glass of port, “Auntie Flo tore
him to pieces most days, can’t quite imagine why he married her.”

“It was love, Captain.” Mrs Rhone
added, “I was only a girl, but I do remember the day they were wed and it was
quite spectacular. Florence was so excited and happy she cried on the church
steps. Such a shame how it all ended. It must have broken your aunt’s poor
heart.”

“I think auntie was made of
sterner stuff than that.” Winked O’Harris.

“But did they ever work out
what happened?” Colonel Brandt asked.

“No, quite the mystery.”
O’Harris shrugged his shoulders, “All I know is auntie had this room rearranged
before he was cold in the ground, metaphorically speaking of course.”

“It was the shock.” Mrs Rhone
said sympathetically.

“If you say so.” O’Harris took
a glug of port, “But here, look, we have one of the first rate detectives in
Brighton in our midst and we haven’t even asked her opinion!”

Clara looked up at the handful
of guests who had turned to her rather eagerly.

“I’m afraid you have me at a
loss.” She said, “I do not know what mystery you are referring to?”

“Surely everyone knows the
Goddard O’Harris mystery!” Mrs Rhone was stunned.

“I, unfortunately, do not.”

“Quite understandable.” The colonel
nodded, “Before your time and once the matter was over with, only us old souls
who remembered it bothered to talk about it. Florence O’Harris kept
tight-lipped on the subject.”

A general air of disappointment
descended on the audience.

“However, if you would care to
give me the facts of the matter, I would certainly be interested.” Clara suggested.

“The facts are really quite
straightforward Miss Fitzgerald.” O’Harris emptied his glass and eased himself
further into the chair, “My uncle Goddard died one day in the garden and then
he, quite simply, vanished.”

There was a pause.

“Vanished?” Queried Clara.

“Into thin air, between the
span of time it took for my aunt Florence to rush indoors and call a servant to
fetch a doctor and then to go out in the garden again.”

“Perhaps he was not dead?”
Clara offered.

“Oh but he was.” Interjected
the colonel, “I saw him meself. Dead as a dodo. His face twisted in horror and
grey as ash. You see, while poor Florence O’Harris ran for the servants I ran
for the police. If ever I saw a man murdered in me life, I saw him that day.”

Clara put down her own glass of
sherry, her curiosity peaked.

“I think this needs some
clarification; a man died, possibly murdered and then the body evaporated into
thin air? Did the police do a search?”

“Of course, once they concluded
I wasn’t lying. I dare say they thought I had had a little too much of the good
brandy. Talking of which?” Colonel Brandt waggled his glass at O’Harris who
obediently filled it.

“I see we have your attention Miss
Fitzgerald, perhaps you would care for me to explain in greater detail?”

“I am certainly interested.”
Clara agreed, “It is a rather odd mystery. And no one has ever solved it?”

“Far as I am aware, aside from
the police and, I suppose, auntie Flo, no one has ever bothered to try.”
O’Harris shrugged, “Still it makes a rather good fireside story with the
evening drawing in.”

“Oh do tell the tale.” Mrs
Rhone clapped her hands together keenly, “I would love to hear Miss
Fitzgerald’s perspective on this little mystery that has quite troubled me all
these years.”

“I do not promise a solution.”
Clara protested.

“Just give your opinion.” Colonel
Brandt added, “Can’t hurt. O’Harris, tell the story.”

Captain O’Harris crossed his
legs and poured himself another port.

“I suppose I should do that old
story telling lark and say it began like this,” He grinned, “Goddard O’Harris
married Florence Highgrove in 1868. Typical Victorian wedding as Mrs Rhone will
tell you.”

“My dear it was beautiful!” Mrs
Rhone obediently commented, “I was a mere girl but Goddard was so dashing and
Florence the perfect blushing bride. I remember the carriage all decked in flowers
and pulled by pairs of roan geldings.”

“So you see, it all started
well enough.” O’Harris regained the conversation, “And I imagine it went the
way most marriages do. They got on all right, far as I could tell, not that I
knew them until the 1890s, of course, by then they seemed quite old to me. My
father, Goddard’s brother, was a decade younger than him you see, so by the
time I was on the scene and old enough to take account of anything they were
both in their forties. I dare say father had caused them some strife in his
time, he was rather like me and too fond of adventure to be terribly sensible
and he married mother quite on a whim and she was deemed by the O’Harris clan
as eminently unsuitable.”

“Dear me, you do cast them in a
sorry light.” Mrs Rhone shook her head.

“It’s only the truth, I’m
afraid. Still, they finally came around to mother, she had quite a way with her
and so I, the unruly sprog of Oscar O’Harris the prodigal brother, paid my
first visit to this grand manor in, I think, 1893. I was six and found it all
quite horrid. Everything was so old-fashioned and stuffy. Auntie Flo really
couldn’t abide children, I dare say that was why she never had any! She
terrified the living daylights out of me, no surprise I suppose after she
whipped me herself for riding down the bannister in the grand hall.”

The colonel laughed.

“Too tempting that polished
wood!”

“Quite right.” O’Harris joined
in, “But auntie Flo was a harridan and I only dared it once. Odd, in the end
really, how I grew so fond of her, but there you are.”

“Money does that to you, old
boy!” The colonel, a little too merry for his own good, put caution to the
wind.

O’Harris laughed with him, but
Clara noted a frown on his forehead. The comment had stung, but was that
because it was true or because it was not?

“Anyway, uncle Goddard was bit
more of a laugh. Even helped me put together the model fort he had had as a
boy, he was rather fond of military stuff and could go on for hours and hours
about British battles. If we played at soldiers he always had to be the English
and he
always
had to win. Used to bawl my eyes out over it, until my
father agreed to play and then we could both be the English and fight him.”
O’Harris smiled to himself, “You forget that sort of thing, don’t you? But he was
a good soul, old Goddard. Constantly being harangued by auntie Flo, of course,
some days I thought the old beggar would just curl up into himself like a
tortoise and pretend he wasn’t there. He looked like someone who could do with
a shell to hide inside.”

“Florence was a forceful
character, but a kind woman at heart.” Mrs Rhone objected mildly, “She always
donated lovely things to the church raffles.”

“I tell it as I saw it Mrs
Rhone.” O’Harris rebuffed politely, “Still, I was only six and perhaps that was
a bad week I visited. After that I paid a visit most summers, sometimes with
the folks, other times alone. Funny how they seemed to age every time I came,
like each winter had scoured a little more life from them. Goddard in
particular.”

“Someone once told me he was
quite ill.” The colonel remarked, “Could have been my old father actually when
I was home on leave. One of those nasty wasting illnesses.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs Rhone
interrupted, “He was fit as a fiddle!”

“Your uncle and aunt seem to
have been masters of contradiction.” Clara smiled at O’Harris.

He grinned back.

“Now, I’ve been rambling on, I
do apologise, I must get to the mystery at hand. You see, I was trying to paint
a picture of them for you. I know detectives lay a good deal of stock on a person’s
character and manner when making their case.”

“Sometimes.” Clara answered
noncommittally, she was hoping the expectant crowd were not anticipating a
clear-cut solution from her.

“So, let’s spin on a decade or
two. Last time I saw Uncle Goddard alive was in 1908. I was twenty-one and just
finished from university, having utterly failed my maths exams. I was on
somewhat of a retreat from life, not really knowing what I was going to do and
quite depressed with myself. Remarkably, old Goddard and Flo proved to be
sympathetic to my peril. I remember Goddard spending all his time talking with
me, trying to fix up my future. I felt quite rotten for messing up everybody’s
expectations, but Goddard wouldn’t let me feel sorry for myself. I’m afraid I
blew my top with him a few times, was determined to hate myself and didn’t like
being told to buck up. Regret it now of course, in fact, regretted it at the
time and always meant to apologise, just never got around to it. Then it was
October and I was back off to London to face my seemingly doomed future –
though not as bad as I thought in the end – and just over a week later we had
the news Goddard was dead.

“Of course, they hid the fact
of the missing corpse. They even had a funeral with an empty casket. Quite incredible.
I probed auntie Flo for the details, I was pretty obnoxious about it really,
still was carrying around the guilt of not apologising to him before he died I
suppose. Anyway, she told me they had just finished dinner in the dining room
as usual, Colonel Brandt, here, was their guest.”

“Indeed I was!” The colonel
gave a toast to the air with his glass in agreement.

“And Goddard said he was just
going outside for a cigar, auntie Flo wouldn’t let him smoke in the house
because she said it stained the wallpaper.” O’Harris continued, “Out he
trotted, down the terrace steps, between the formal roses and barely a minute
passes and,
thump
! They hear him fall and, well, actually the colonel
should tell this bit.”

The colonel suddenly looked
flustered at being handed the reins of the story, but rose to the challenge
valiantly.

“As Captain O’Harris said I was
sitting at the dining table having just finished a lovely lamb and onion pie
and feeling quite nicely full, I might add, cook in those days was extraordinary.
The lightest of pastry-makers, oh yes! In fact I remember that pie almost as
clearly as the events that followed it. I was just dabbing some gravy from my
coat jacket and listening to Florence remarking on the state of the military,
not quite up to the standards of when Goddard was an officer, when we heard
this thud. Sort of a clatter, then a thud. Like someone stumbling into
something and then falling. Well I look at Florence and she looks at me and
then we both jump up and run to the window, and there is old Goddard face down
on the path between the roses.

“We ran down the steps towards
him and rolled him over. His eyes were popping out his skull and his mouth
gaped. There was no doubt he was dead, though I listened for a heartbeat
nonetheless. Florence was shaken, but she was always stoical. Most women would
have screamed seeing their dead husband lying on the ground, but she got to her
feet and said she would fetch a doctor. She was racing back towards the house
before I could tell her there was no point.

“Oh, but the more I looked at
wretched Goddard, the more I felt it was all horribly wrong. I know the rumours
were that he was ill, perhaps his heart gave out, you might argue, but it was
the look on his face. I don’t know, there was something there that chilled me.
Like that old legend of seeing the face of a murderer reflected in his victim’s
eyes for a few moments after death. I just knew something awful had happened.
I’ve seen enough dead men in my time, but this, this was different. I just got up
and took to my heels to find the nearest policeman. I should have told
Florence, really, but I was so flustered.”

The colonel shook his head
sadly.

“By the time I got back with a
policeman the body had just… vanished. Like a magic trick. Florence was crying
and couldn’t fathom what had happened. The doctor was then turning up too. The
policeman was rightly unimpressed by the scene and it took a lot of talking to
persuade him there genuinely had been a body. Of course not being able to find
Goddard alive helped prove that. But the body was gone! Just gone! They
searched all over as soon as the dawn came up. Never knew a thing like it,
quite remarkable.”

“So Miss Fitzgerald, what do
you make of it all?” O’Harris leaned over and topped up Clara’s sherry glass as
he asked.

Clara mused on the question as
she took a short sip.

“It is certainly peculiar.” She
said, hedging her bets as her audience leaned in excitedly, “I am inclined to
agree with the colonel that it was foul play.”

“Knew it!” Colonel Brandt
laughed jovially.

“But why is that Miss
Fitzgerald?” O’Harris pressed.