A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (14 page)

“Are you going to ask Mrs. Cropper about Bryan Laney?” I said.

Mum looked startled. “Why?”

“I saw him up at Jane's Cottage. There is something odd about him that I just can't put my finger on.”

Mum's face paled. “He's not coming here, is he?”

“As far as I'm concerned, he's not coming anywhere,” I said and went on to tell her how my initial hopes that he put up a few shelves and hang some mirrors had vanished. “I don't think he's ever held a hammer in his life.”

“But—if Alfred finds out he's even here…”

“If it makes you feel any better, Bryan didn't ask after you once.”

“Oh!” Mum seemed miffed. “Perhaps he was too shy to ask?”

“Perhaps.”

“So much for me being the one who got away.” Mum gave a sigh. “Well. I suppose it's for the best.”

“Have you asked Mrs. Cropper about him?”

“I was just about to when”—Mum pointed to the row of servants' bells on the wall—“her ladyship rang. Mrs. Cropper will be back in a minute but I don't think she'll be so forthcoming if she finds you here.”

I had a sudden thought. “Did you ask her about the shelf-liner paper?”

“I already did but she said that when the other girl was here—you know the one who had that accident with those cows—she cleared the whole lot out.”

“Did you describe the paper?”

“Of course not,” said Mum. “I didn't want to be too obvious. And besides, she's very busy. The woman who comes up from the village to help with the housework called in sick again today. They just can't seem to get a new housekeeper—or at least one who stays.”

“Well, I saw the shelf-liner paper in Jane's Cottage,” I went on. “In the walk-in pantry.”

Mum brightened. “You see! I knew it was nothing to do with me.”

The wall phone rang. It was an old-fashioned ring—earnest and persistent. Mum was within arm's reach so she snatched it up. “Honeychurch Hall,” she said in a grand voice, giving me a wink.

I couldn't hear the voice on the other end. “No, this is not Peggy. Can I take a message?”

She cocked her head and listened. Mum's eyes widened. “Well, my daughter Katherine has.” And listened a little more. “You want me to tell Mrs. Cropper that a friend called. She has lots of friends. Who is this?” Mum frowned. “Who am I? Iris—yes, Iris. Hello?” The click was audible. Mum looked at me in surprise. “How odd.”

“Who was that?”

“No idea—ah, here she is.”

Mrs. Cropper hurried in. She was wearing her usual pink-striped pinafore over a plain white linen short-sleeved dress. I'd never seen her wear anything else. This morning, her gray hair seemed unusually disheveled with strands falling from beneath her white mobcap. “She's up and about, thankfully—oh, Katherine. Good morning.”

“Kat was just leaving,” said Mum pointedly. “She just came here to ask after her ladyship.”

“The dowager countess is much better, I think,” said Mrs. Cropper. “It's so hard to tell. She's taken Mr. Chips down to the equine cemetery. Did I hear the phone ring?”

“It was most odd,” said Mum. “Some woman asking if Bryan Laney was here.”

I caught a flicker of alarm cross Mrs. Cropper's features. “Did she leave a name? A number?”

“She hung up.”

“I'm sure if it's important she'll call back,” said Mrs. Cropper briskly.

I regarded the two women with suspicion. Something was going on.

I got up. “Right, I'll take a walk down to the cemetery, in that case.”

“I really think her ladyship should be left alone,” said Mrs. Cropper.

“That's right,” Mum chimed in. “Don't go asking all your questions, Katherine.”

“I need to talk to her about the Hollar drawings.” In fact, I really did. “If Edith wants to sell them, I must take them to Luxton's today. As it is, I had to pull a few strings to get them into Thursday's sale.”

“Well—don't mention anything else,” said Mum.

“Oh—Mrs. Cropper.” I paused at the door. “I just wondered if you had any red shelf-liner paper left—”

“I already asked—”

“It's called Royaledge,” I cut in. “I saw it in the walk-in pantry at Jane's Cottage and since I'm going for a retro look in my kitchen, I wondered if you still had some laying about?”

“All the larders down here were lined with that but as I told your mother, it was all thrown out.”

“I just wondered,” I said. “Okay—I'll leave you both to it.”

Edith's equine cemetery was set on a gentle slope and enclosed by a thick, ancient yew hedge. The fourth side lay open affording a spectacular view of the River Dart. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot and I loved it.

Even though I'd been here countless times before, I still glimpsed at each headstone as I headed down the hill to the wooden memorial seat. I could see Edith sitting there, gazing out over the water with Mr. Chips lying at her feet.

I knew the epitaphs off by heart.

MR. MANNERS

MAY 1958–DECEMBER 1970

A REAL GENTLEMAN

AND

APRIL SHOWERS

FEBRUARY 1914–JANUARY 1935

ALWAYS GRACIOUS

I'd grown to love this sanctuary more than I imagined anyone could. Each one-line inscription revealed the personality of a much-beloved horse. There was Sky Bird, Nuthatch and Braveheart: “Adored Mud,” “Unstoppable!” and “Never Beaten: A True King.” Old horses from the Carriage House were laid to rest here, too, Fiddlesticks, China Cup and Misty—their names still living on in the tarnished plaques in their abandoned stalls and in the tack room.

There was a freshly dug grave with a brand-new headstone dedicated to Pixie Dust, who, at twenty-nine, was the youngest of the three “old ladies.” Her epitaph was touching.

PIXIE DUST

DECEMBER 1987–APRIL 2016

SPRINKLE YOUR MAGIC IN HEAVEN

I felt a lump in my throat as I remembered the morning I found Pixie Dust motionless in the straw. Ian Masters, the vet, told us that she'd just fallen asleep in the night and didn't wake up. I found some consolation in knowing that her passing had been so peaceful.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked Edith.

She looked up and nodded. Her face was pale and drawn. For once, Mr. Chips seemed subdued—as if he was sensing his mistress's distress—and only acknowledged my presence with a desultory wag of his stumpy tail.

I sat down on the wooden bench, glancing at the gold-plated plaque inscribed with the words R
UPERT—
M
Y
B
ROTHER,
M
Y
B
EST
F
RIEND
. I wondered if Rupert had ever told his sister about the location of the double-hide but didn't think this was the right time to ask. It was obvious that Pandora's death had upset Edith far more than I realized.

“How is Harry?” said Edith at last. “Has he settled into his new school?”

“I think he's still trying to make friends.”

“He should have stayed at Blundell's,” she said bluntly. “He was with his own kind there and not the riffraff from the village. It doesn't do to mollycoddle boys. The world is a hard place. No one is doing these children any favors by fussing over them and making it easy.”

“I think Harry is more sensitive than most,” I protested.

“All the more reason for him to toughen up.”

“Harry mentioned you are thinking about selling the
Titanic
mourning bear,” I said, changing the subject. “Don't you think the Hollar drawings should generate enough revenue? A lot of Hollar's work was lost in the Great Fire of London and it's highly sought after by collectors.”

“I have no idea,” said Edith. “Rupert has arranged for a restoration expert to take a look at the ceiling next week.”

“What about Rupert's train set?” I remembered he'd mentioned having one up in the attics. I suspected it could be highly valuable.

“Frankly, it's all a drop in the ocean, Katherine,” said Edith. “We're slowly going bankrupt.”

“I know you are against opening it to the public—”

“Absolutely not—”

“Please hear me out,” I said. “The Historic Houses Association offers tours of private homes. You'd be open whenever you wanted to be. The tours are for a limited number of people and it's ticketed.”

“What could anyone possibly find interesting about the Hall?”

“The Museum Room, for one,” I said. “And the grounds—the grotto, stumpery, sunken garden—there is so much here to see.”

“But even to get it to a point of being acceptable to visitors would cost a fortune.”

Edith definitely was right about that. We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

“Rupert was so sure that he'd find the silver coins in the double-hide,” she said at last. “So
sure
! Finding the tools…” She shook her head. “All so frightful.”

I knew I had to say it. “I'm so sorry about your friend.”

“Friend? I'm not sure if I would call Pandora a friend,” said Edith with a trace of bitterness. “We were pen friends. I had met her in London just the once. We had a lot in common. My parents had died in the Blitz and hers had been killed in a car crash on the Continent.”

“So you were both orphans.”

“She had a guardian but of course, Pandora did exactly as she pleased.” Edith paused. “She was unforgivably rude to the servants. Even struck poor Joan who couldn't have been more than eighteen at the time. My mother always told me that servants are trained to do skilled work that we could not possibly do and should be treated with the utmost courtesy. They are in no way inferior. They are part of the family.”

“And Pandora didn't understand?”

“Well. She was American. Of course she didn't understand.” I could see it still upset Edith. “You must always be polite to people whose position forbids them to be rude to you, Katherine. Otherwise they will despise you.”

“And they despised Pandora.”

“We had a frightful row the night of the ball. It all sounds so childish now, but it was my birthday and she stole my costume.”

“The one my mother had made for you?”

“I've never seen anyone so angry. Iris was devastated.” Edith fell quiet again, and then turned to me saying, “Pandora sent me a thank you note, you know.”

“A
thank
you note?” I gasped. “But how…?”

“Someone forged her name,” said Edith. “That's why I didn't think twice about her vanishing. But to know she has been here! Here!
For all these years!
It's just … it's just too frightful to bear.”

“You couldn't possibly have known.”

“Of course I couldn't have known,” Edith said hotly. “But don't you see? Someone from
here
forged that note. I am quite certain that it would
never
have been one of the servants.”

The silence between us lengthened. A peculiar feeling started to form in the pit of my stomach as I realized exactly what Edith was implying. “You think my mother had something to do with this?”

Edith didn't answer.

“But … how would she have known about the double-hide?” I went on. “How could she physically have put Pandora in there?”

“Perhaps Iris didn't act alone,” said Edith quietly.

“You mean…?” I couldn't even finish my sentence. Edith's meaning was clear. “Surely it could have been anyone who went to the ball,” I protested. “And besides, Mum told me that they were not permitted to roam around the main house.”

“I know,” said Edith.

“But … when did you receive the thank you note?”

“One week later,” said Edith. “I distinctly remember the day because it was the same morning that Braveheart was born.”

I recalled the epitaph on the hill above us: B
RAVEHEART:
N
EVER
B
EATEN:
A T
RUE
K
ING.

“He was born prematurely but we couldn't get him out,” said Edith. “It was touch and go whether he would survive.” She took a deep breath. “So I can assure you that I didn't give Pandora or her thank you letter another thought. The following week, there was all that frightful business with my brother and Walter.”

I knew that Edith was alluding to the duel that ended in both their deaths but I was surprised that she was being so candid, especially to me. It was hard to know what to say.

“I should have suspected something was wrong,” Edith went on. “I knew Pandora had planned a trip to the Orient. I should have written to her but I didn't. She used to send me postcards on her travels—to brag, naturally—but I didn't receive a single one. As far as I was concerned, our friendship was finished.”

“Have you told the police about the thank you letter?”

“Good gracious, no,” Edith exclaimed. “It would prompt all sorts of questions. No, far better to let things be. Pandora stumbled into the double-hide by accident—just like you did.”

“But her … injuries?”

“She died from her injuries,” Edith said firmly. “
We
may know the exact placement of the body but we can keep that between ourselves.”

Roxy was right when she'd mentioned Honeychurch hush-ups. “What about your brother? As the head of the house, wouldn't he have known about the double-hide?”

Edith regarded me coldly. “What exactly are you trying to say, Katherine?”

“Nothing.” I faltered. “I just meant—or wondered if your brother knew Pandora.” I wanted to add that according to Mum's family tree, the thirteenth Earl of Grenville would have been quite a catch and perfect marriage material for the American heiress.