02 - Flight of Fancy (8 page)

Millie, the new girl, has
not come downstairs to sweep the hearths. Cook has apologised and says the girl
has eaten something that disagreed with her. It was her afternoon off yesterday
and she went into town, perhaps she ate something there. I hope this does not
become habit.

Millie appeared today. Looks
rather pale. Told her if she’s infectious she could stay away, but she said she
just had a bad oyster while she was in Brighton. It shall not hurt her, the
girl is growing rather fat and if she carries on will need a new uniform. It
will have to come out of her pay, I am generous enough as it is.

Terrible accident today.
Millie tumbled down the stairs. Goddard says maybe the food poisoning made her
giddy. Doctor has pronounced her dead and police had to come. Feel bad about my
last comments. Poor lass left behind a mother and three younger sisters.

May ‘07

Inquest on Millie today.
Cannot bear to go, feel something was deeply wrong.

Verdict came back as
accidental but coroner revealed Millie was with child. Goddard told me. Don’t
know who the father was, cook doesn’t think she had a sweetheart. Seemed such a
quiet girl. Having terrible thoughts. John was here at Christmas and I remember
seeing her talking to him and laughing. Told Goddard I want to go away for a
while, but his gout is bad again. Instead have to face the Mothers’ Association
with this hanging over me.

Roses have started to bud,
have cut a few to put in water and wait for them to bloom. Wisteria is looking
vibrant this year. Thinking of planting some new strawberry bushes in the
kitchen garden, cook has an inkling for gooseberries…

Clara scanned the next few
entries but aunt Florence had seemed to suddenly find more interest in her
gardening than the fate of Millie. There was something unsettling about the
sudden change of subject, it almost felt as though Florence was shoving the
matter to the back of her mind for better or worse. Or was she reading too much
into this? After all a great deal of time may have elapsed between the first
May entry and the last, perhaps Millie’s accident had drifted from peoples’
minds. But what were these terrible thoughts Florence was having? And had she
been suggesting what Clara thought she had?

Gathering her ‘treasure’ Clara
made her way downstairs and went to find O’Harris. He was in the dining room
looking less miserable and more his usual self. There was a glass of water by
his hand and a clutch of aspirin pills.

“Trying to stem the tide.” He
shrugged apologetically to Clara, “Did you find anything?”

“Odds and ends.” Clara sat the
diaries on the table, but did not offer them to the captain, “Your aunt was not
terribly open even in her diary.”

“She was rather a closed book,
excuse the pun.”

“It seems that way, still,
would you mind if I took these to read? Might give me an idea or two?”

“Of course, if it helps.”

“I’ll bring them back when I am
done.”

“So what does auntie Flo write
about?”

“Gardening a lot of the time.”
Clara looked away and tried to appear nonchalant, “There was one little thing
that caught my eye. A story about a girl Millie? I believe she was a maid
here?”

O’Harris went a touch pale, at
least Clara thought he did.

“Millie had an accident.” He
said rather dully.

“Yes, I did have this notion it
could be connected to your uncle’s death. Perhaps he knew something he should
not?”

“Millie threw herself down the
stairs because she found she was pregnant.” O’Harris said.

“Threw? Or was she pushed?”
Clara met his eyes, they looked at each other for a moment.

“You have no need to play games
with me Clara.” O’Harris said sadly, “You are too sharp to fool me into
thinking you could be this dull.”

“Was Millie murdered?” Clara
said, cutting to the chase.

“I wasn’t here when it
happened, so I cannot say.” O’Harris sighed, “I always thought it was suicide.”

“Who was the father of her
child?”

“You’ve guessed that too.”

Clara shook her head.

“No, rather it was your aunt
who guessed, or should I say suspected. She had seen you together at Christmas
laughing, I suppose it looked a little cosy for comfort.”

“Then I suppose there is no
point beating about the bush, Millie and I… we had a bit of a fling that
Christmas. It was nothing serious, at least I didn’t think so. Millie was quite
a confident thing, would you believe me if I said I felt more liked the seduced
then the seducer?”

“I imagine you would know.”

“That is harsh, Clara. Do you
think that badly of me?” He stared at her and Clara felt a touch bad.

“You are a charmer captain. You
are dashing and lively and good fun to talk to. I can only say that, from an
outside perspective, I find it hard to imagine you have any difficulty
attracting women.”

“And I don’t, not now. But in
my younger days I didn’t have this confidence. The war gave me my wings Clara,
in more ways than one. But back in 1907 girls still had the power to scare me,
especially attractive girls. I won’t deny I encouraged Millie, but she was not
bashful or meek. To be blunt, I don’t think I was her first lover.”

Clara didn’t know what to say
to such talk. On the one hand her sympathies went out to Millie and she found
herself thinking of her as the wronged innocent. The seduced girl who found
herself pregnant and killed herself in despair. But on the other hand she had
no reason to assume O’Harris could be callous or cruel, nor that he was lying.
Yet it was hard to tie together the image of wronged Millie, with the image of
her as an experienced woman of the world.

“I suppose whichever way you
look at it I shall come out wrong.” O’Harris sagged in his chair, “I didn’t
know she was pregnant until after, if that is any comfort.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No. I must admit that puzzled
me, I thought she would have done. I would have taken care of her, you know.”

“I do believe that captain.”

“At least that is something.”
O’Harris took a gulp of water and swallowed another aspirin, “What more can I
tell you? I always thought it was an accident.”

“It may have been, but it is
just a rather startling coincidence.”

“Can you find out for certain?”

Clara took a moment to think.

“Perhaps if I was to know who
was in the house at the time, and where, I could make a guess. There is another
possibility, however.”

“What is that?”

“Millie
did
take her own
life, but someone thought she did not, or they blamed someone for her suicide,
for getting her pregnant. And how far would you look but to the lord of the
manor?”

O’Harris suddenly perked up.

“Are you suggesting this may
offer up more suspects? That auntie Flo could be off the hook?”

“I wouldn’t get carried away
just yet, but I think it is something to bear in mind. Could you provide me
with a list of servants in the house in 1907?”

“Certainly!”

O’Harris jumped to his feet and
began rooting for a pencil and paper in a nearby bureau when a serving girl
appeared with two platters of food.

“Put them on the table.”
O’Harris motioned without looking.

The girl smiled at Clara and
placed down the two platters, removing their lids without looking.

“Chicken liver pate and smoked
salmon sandwiches… oh my Lord!” The lid of the platter fell to the floor with a
crash.

O’Harris turned sharply and
looked from the stunned maid who had her hands to her mouth, to Clara who was
calmly picking a dead mouse out of the decoratively arranged dish of pate.

“Good Heavens! What has been
going on in the kitchen?” O’Harris said appalled.

“I should say a great deal.”
Clara indicated a small label around the mouse’s neck. Printed in block
capitals upon it, in black ink, were the words ‘LEAVE THE PAST ALONE.’

“It’s a warning.” The colour
drained from O’Harris’ face.

“I know.” Said Clara, “It’s my
first, I confess to being a touch excited.”

O’Harris gave her a curious
look.

“Excited?”

“Well, it means I am on the
right path.” Clara explained eagerly, “It wasn’t aunt Flo who committed the
crime, it was someone else, someone who is still alive and doesn’t want any
trouble.”

“But only cook and the
housekeeper have been here that long?”

“Could be either of them, or
then again it could be someone from outside the house who snuck in while food
was being prepared. By the way your gardener has been here that long too.”

“Has he?”

Clara rolled her eyes at the
captain.

“You must pay attention, now
this is really very good news. I was starting to think I was going off on a
tangent and letting my imagination run away with itself. This proves my
instincts were right.” Clara handed the mouse to the servant girl, who took it
with a look of revulsion by the tail, “Please dispose of that and bring a fresh
tray of pate.”

The girl left holding the mouse
as far from her as possible.

“You know she will report all
this to anyone she speaks to.” O’Harris looked worried.

“Yes, I know. It is quite
delightful, I finally feel like a real detective and you know the best news of
all?”

“No, do tell?”

“This means that in all
probability the murderer is still alive!” Clara’s eyes sparkled, “It means I could
actually bring your uncle’s killer to justice!”

Dec ‘07

Goddard rather peaky since
his brother’s death. Tragic to lose a younger brother. He won’t eat. Keeps
fretting. I imagine I shall miss poor Oscar too, shame about the cancer, nasty
business.

Reading of the will, usual
stuff. Oscar knew he was dying and left a few special gifts to his family. He
bequeathed me a pretty Victorian vase of his mother’s that I had always
admired, and to Goddard a box of expensive cigars. Goddard hasn’t the heart to
smoke them. Rest of Oscar’s money went to John, poor lad has no one except us
since Susan’s death.

“So Captain O’Harris’ mother
was called Susan?” Tommy looked up from the diary he was reading.

“Yes, she was an actress I
think, haven’t got to that part yet.” Clara was going through the letters she
had gathered from the hall.               

“I get the impression aunt Florence
didn’t get on with her.”

“My impression is that Florence
did not get on with anyone, or at least it sounds like it from her diary.”

“Waspish is, I think, an
appropriate word for her manner.”

Clara laughed.

“Exactly, I have been trying to
think of the right term all day!”

Tommy made a note on a piece of
paper beside him and then closed the diary and faced his sister.

“So I am beginning to have a
feel for what Florence was like, but Goddard is another matter. I can’t get a
handle on him.”

“He just seems to have been
nice.”

“Nice? What sort of thing to be
is that? That’s the sort of thing you say about someone when you don’t know
what else to say and when you would rather avoid speaking the truth. No one is
ever completely ‘nice’.”

“You’re a cynic, Tommy.”

“There was a lad in the
trenches, joined us in ’17. Small, quiet, frightened of his own shadow and a
bit of a loner. He always seemed to be around when you wanted to change your
trousers, not that we did that often, but if you did you could guarantee he was
suddenly there and watching. No one really wanted to be chummy with him,
polite, yes, but not pally. When he bought it in early ’18 the chaplain asked
us for a few words about him he could send back to his parents. All we could
think of was ‘he was nice’.”

“I get your point. And I agree
Goddard is rather a mystery, but I am running out of people to interview on the
subject and the diaries have proved another dead-end so far.”

“Anything in the letters?”

Clara gave a sigh and sorted
through the papers beside her.

“Nothing much, usual thing,
letters to friends and to her mother. Really can’t see why she kept them so
close in her bedside table, they are rather every-day, except for one which
congratulated her on her wedding.”

“That’s the trouble with
letters, you only get to see one side. We’ll never know what Florence wrote in
hers.”

“Judging by the diaries, not a
lot.” Clara leaned back in her chair and stretched her neck, “Go on then, tell
me I am looking for things that aren’t there.”

“The mouse could have been a
practical joke.” Tommy shrugged, he had at first been angry to know his sister
had been presented with a dead rodent and a warning, but slowly this had waned
to a feeling that it was all a little too dramatic. Real murderers did not go
around leaving notes on dead mice, it was the sort of thing you found in books.

“I think I am on to something.”
Clara replied, “I’ve still got that builder to talk to. The body had to go
somewhere.”      

“All right, say you dig up the
barn and find Goddard O’Harris, it still could make his death accidental.”

“But unlikely.”

“And you have yet to even
hypothesise a murder weapon.”

“That is my biggest hurdle.”
Clara admitted, “If we rule out an external weapon, a knife or bullet say, by the
lack of any wounds – which we have to accept at face value from the witnesses –
then we come to a rather short list of alternatives. Ruling out natural
conditions such as a bad heart, we have to look at either a long-term poison
that just happened to act at that moment in the garden or something hazardous
Goddard inhaled, a gas or something.”

“Have you looked for a poison that
takes a long time to act?”

“Was hoping you would.” Clara
smiled.

“Thought as much. I’ll have
Annie worried again when she goes to pick up my library books. Right, and the
gas is a non-starter because where would it come from?”

“Exactly. I recall stories of
things like pockets of thin air in caves that can kill a man quickly, but not
in an English garden.”

“What about something he was
injected with before he died?” Tommy thought out loud, “An over-dose of
something, say morphine?”               

“He wasn’t taking any such
medicine as far as I am aware, though Mrs Rhone did mention a wasting disease.
I suppose you are suggesting an accident again?”

“I was also thinking, what if
it was suicide and Florence wanted to hide the fact of what her husband had
done? It would be easy enough to get the good colonel on board and then she hid
the body to prevent anyone learning the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because of the shame? Or
because she thought it might rekindle suspicions about his role with that maid?
You know, he topped himself over remorse at getting her pregnant and then her
dying?”

“All theories and nothing
definite.”

Tommy shrugged again.

“Right now I am finding the
Goddard mystery a little hopeless. Unless you can find a motive, other than
this notion of a connection with the dead maid, then we really seem to be up a
creek without a paddle.”

“Oh don’t say that.” Clara
pulled the diaries towards her, “There must be something
,
here you look
at the letters.”

Tommy casually glanced through
the papers.

“What of that fellow who was
supposed to be involved with her?”

Clara returned her brother’s
shrug.

“Rather vague, Mrs Rhone
thought it was a load of nonsense made up by another girl. He was in the army,
I think.”

“What division?”

Clara rolled her eyes.

“Honestly Tommy, he is a very
random loose end, I didn’t even get his name. He probably didn’t exist.”

“Was he a Royal Marine?”

Clara hesitated.

“He might have been, why?”

“The wedding congratulations
letter, it is from Edward Highgrove, RM. That stands for Royal Marine.”

Clara took back the letter.

“I assumed he was a cousin,
because he had the same surname as Florence.”

“Perhaps he was.”

“And also he referred to his
own wife in the letter…” Clara stared at her brother, “If Edward Highgrove was
the other man, the man she loved…”

“And he was married, so she
could not have him.”

“Then she married Goddard as
second-best, maybe even to spite Edward.”

“And that letter to me sounds
like a farewell note. He cut her adrift, look here he says, ‘I think you have
made a wise choice, let me wish you fondest congratulations from myself and Mrs
Helen Highgrove.’ He could not have made it plainer that he had a wife, he
could have just said ‘Helen’, but he spelt her name out in full. He was cutting
ties.”

“She kept it all these years, a
letter so full of heartache. She never forgot him.”

“And she never forgot she
married Goddard because her true love abandoned her.”

“But Tommy, we have just given
Florence a better motive for killing her husband.”

They looked at each other
forlornly. At that moment Annie appeared.

“Begging pardon, but a colonel
Brandt is on the telephone. He wants to speak to Clara.” Annie looked puzzled,
clearly she had thought a colonel would only want to speak to Tommy.

“Ah, one of my star witnesses.”
Clara moved from her chair, “Probably wanting to know how I am getting on.”

“Ask him about Edward!” Tommy
hissed as his sister left the room.

Colonel Brandt sounded breathless
on the phone, he ‘ummed’ and ‘ahhed’ a lot as he exchanged pleasantries with
Clara. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Colonel Brandt, you sound
rather put-out?” Clara went straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, I’ve wrestled this phone
off the butler at the club. He says I am only allowed ten minutes.”

“Then perhaps we better skip to
the reason you rang?”

“Ah, yes.” Brandt went quiet
for a moment, “Are you making any progress?”

“Not a great deal.” Clara
admitted, “Other than an interesting coincidence of a maid dying at the hall.”

“Oh that? 1907 wasn’t it?
Nothing to do with Goddard.”

“I have established that, only
someone else might think differently.”

“Like who?”

“That I have yet to determine.
Did you have something to tell me colonel?”

“Just was thinking, that’s
all.” The colonel fell into silence briefly again, “The other night when we
discussed Goddard, well, it occurred to me I had not been entirely honest with
you. Goddard was a good man and a good friend, but no one is perfect and I fear
I may have been too conscientious in presenting my old friend’s reputation as
spotless. Truth is Goddard had his secrets like all of us.”

“Anything in particular?” Clara
asked.

“I have to say I have given
that a lot of thought. I mean, there were odd things, awkward words between
Goddard and the old captain of the golf club, an argument with the council
about replacing the old hospital with more housing, that sort of thing, but
people don’t kill over such mundane matters.”

“Not usually.”

“Then it came to me, there was
one thing that was very pertinent and could present a motive for Goddard’s
killer.”

Clara perked up. Just what she
was looking for!

“What is it colonel?”

“The thing is, I would rather
not talk on the telephone. Could you come down here?”

Clara glanced at the clock, it
was a little before two and it would not take her more than a few moments to
walk to Brandt’s Club.

“I can be there in half an
hour.”

“That would be grand. I shall
wait for you in the lobby.”

Clara put the phone down, a
ripple of excitement racing through her. Just as she thought the case had gone
cold it had come alive again. She went back into the parlour and explained
where she was going.

“Will you be back for dinner?”
Annie asked.

“Probably.” Clara grinned,
feeling excited at this new lead and rushing to grab up her hat and gloves.

She arrived at the club
completely distracted and found the colonel waiting in the lobby as he had
promised. He hurried her through into the guest parlour before the butler had a
chance to cast a sneer at them.

“I am very grateful you came so
soon, can I offer you afternoon tea?”

Clara waved away the offer.

“I cannot this afternoon colonel,
thank you for the offer.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you when
you must be busy. Life as a female detective must be hectic.”

“It can be, but there are just
as often quiet patches when you can’t wish hard enough for someone to drop in
or write a letter.” Clara took a seat, “You sounded quite anxious on the
telephone colonel, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I am feeling a touch…” The
colonel shook his head, “Honestly I don’t know what I am feeling, all I know is
that I had to talk to you and be honest. Goddard was my friend and I won’t help
find his killer by hiding my head in the sand and making out he was the perfect
man. He was not Miss Fitzgerald, none of us are.”

“On that I shall concur.” Clara
smiled, “I think we would be all rather boring if we were perfect.”

“Everyone keeps describing
Goddard as ‘nice’. Do you know how much I hate that word? Nice is meaningless.
In my day if you had a soldier die in your unit and you couldn’t think what to
say about him you wrote ‘he was nice.’”

Clara nodded, reminded of
Tommy’s sentiments.

“To be honest, I’m rather sick
of pretending there was nothing but harmony between Goddard and Florence, I
feel as though I am in some awful play and describing off-scene characters the
audience never get to meet. They were flesh and blood people, friends, yet I
feel like I’m discussing strangers when I open my mouth. It’s my own fault, I
just don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

“You cannot speak ill when you
are only telling the truth.” Clara pointed out, “Besides, Goddard’s killer may
still be alive and that means they can still be caught.”

The colonel nodded unhappily.

“I’ve been thinking about that
too. It makes me unbearably miserable to think Flo might have done him in.”

The colonel looked deeply glum.

“The more I think about it the
more it crosses my mind that she could have done it.” He continued, “Under the
right circumstances with the right push… I feel awful just saying it.”

“No one has condemned her yet
and, if it is any consolation, I have come across some documents that imply
that Florence had a genuine affection for her husband, even if it was deep
down.”

“Yes, Flo could seem hard I
admit. She would give her life for you though. I once had a bit of a scrape
with some lads down by the pier. Silly stuff, all of us trying to throw our
weight around and me fresh in uniform. I took the worst of it. Flo came to
visit me in the hospital. I’ll never forget that. She came in, called me a
silly fool and brought me the evening papers. It was her way, you know.”

“Colonel,” Clara smiled, “You
don’t make her sound like a cold-blooded murderess.”

“Well you better just hear the
rest of what I have to say before you hold to that conclusion.” The colonel
groaned as he sat in a chair, “Damn lonely business getting old. Mark my words
girl, if you get the opportunity get married so you have someone to complain to
when you are old and grey and the world seems to have left you behind.”