Cavalier Case (17 page)

"He scooted off this morning to play in some friendly match in Hertfordshire which he'd completely forgotten. He's desperately sorry!" Charlotte was looking remarkably pretty in a white-spotted blue dress with a wide white collar and straw boater with a pale blue ribbon round it on her long fair hair. Was the style just a bit too girlish for the mother of three children? But then Charlotte was herself so girlish-looking that she could get away with it. She was suitably and gracefully apologetic; well, she must have had a good deal of practice at covering up for her wandering husband, thought Jemima rather acidly.

"Zenas here, of course, who knows far more about the Celebration then I ever will; but Dan really should be here, shouldn't he? And on top of it all"—Charlotte pulled a face—"there's this fete. I've promised to take you, just for five minutes. I'm afraid we absolutely
have
to go. Zena too."

It turned out that the real force in persuading Charlotte that "we absolutely
have
to go" was the owner of Taynford Grange herself, Jane Manfred. "She'll be furious with Dan for skipping it but she'll forgive him. But she'll be even more furious with me if I don't come—and she
won't
forgive me. Luckily, bringing you makes up for everything in her opinion. You're such a star! You won't mind signing autographs, will you? Oh dear, I know I'm being dreadful, dragging you off like this. Apart from anything, it'll all be so terribly dull."

"I'm sure I shall find it all totally fascinating." And so, of course, in its own macabre way, it all turned out to be. You could even go further and say that well before the booming news over the tannoy transfixed those present, the fete itself, that peculiarly English social function, had aided Jemima by casting various people, involved one way or another in the Cavalier Case, in an interesting new light . . . 

Marcus Meredith, for example, exhibited quite an unexpected side to his character. It might be going too far to describe his demeanour as positively jolly—there remained something slightly lugubrious about him, dark-suited as ever, sporting the tie of some impeccably respectable club even on this hot day, and the reek of his gentleman's hair lotion was to Jemima as powerful as ever—but he was certainly far more cheerful than usual and looking as a result a good deal less hunched. His wide smile and warm handshake to all and sundry as he ranged through the various stalls and sideshows came indeed as a considerable surprise to Jemima (as did the kiss-on-both-cheeks Marcus bestowed upon her personally) until she remembered with amusement that he was of course the local M.P. Even if the rather dour figure encountered previously was his true self, and the extrovert Marcus Meredith she witnessed not only shaking hands but shying coconuts and buying sponge cakes was proof of hitherto unsuspected acting abilities, it was still a welcome apparition.

The sponge cakes in question, as with a whole host of other elaborate and delicious-looking cakes, buns, breads and quiches, had been contributed by Charlotte Lackland herself in the name of her shop, Charlotte's Cakes. Jemima, fresh from her encounter with the frenzied and neurotic Babs, looked at Charlotte with new interest. She no longer wondered just why Dan had chosen Charlotte of all people to marry since Babs had told her bitterly of Charlotte's pregnancy. But she still wondered if he had been in love with her at the time. (supposing he knew the meaning of the word.). It was clear—very clear—that he was no more faithful to Charlotte than he had been to Babs. Now perhaps she understood. Charlotte gave Dan the kind of domestic tranquillity he sought as a base of operations (that was something Babs could surely never have provided). And of course Charlotte provided the deep unquestioning adoration he also sought. Babs herself had been clear—if malicious—on the subject.

"He
hates
being criticised," she had told Jemima. "Just can't take it. Especially by women. All those fans, screaming girls and so forth, years ago,
ruined
him. I should have kept my mouth shut, I suppose, if I wanted to keep him. But then how could I?" It was a reiteration of what Marcus had told her in the Chinese restaurant at Taynford. Charlotte, on the contrary, knew how to keep her mouth shut. She had even apologised to her husband for turning up at the Planty in what was surely an arrangement botched by Dan's extramarital carelessness, not her own inefficiency.

Jemima was directly reminded of Babs by one of the stalls which contained a plethora of china ornaments in which kittens in blue bows appeared to predominate. She could have donated her own recently purchased china cats to the stall—except that Midnight, in an unparalleled act of clumsiness (unless it was purposeful good taste) had swept them off the kitchen shelf with his strong black tail. But the uneasy, even sinister, impression left behind by her interview with Dabs was not so easily swept aside.

Could Babs—a woman of strong personality and convictions if unbalanced— be the Decimus Ghost? A ridiculous idea. But was it
possible
? She herself had derided "them and their ghosts, their history" to Jemima: but that could be a cover-up. Anyone could come and go at Lackland Court—the police had made that clear—and in any case in the old days Babs had been a welcome visitor. On the other hand, the thing made no sense. It was true that no one, but no one, was going to be automatically eliminated from Jemima's investigations. But if you took the death of the old Lord Lackland, Babs had so clearly been the loser by the end of the old regime.  Then there was the question of the butler, what about Haygarth's money, now in trust for Nell, as a motive for killing him? That made no sense either: you certainly didn't go to such dangerous lengths to secure a nest-egg for your daughter which would be hers one day, anyway, and if left the old Lord's death—by which Babs and Nell lost a valued patron—unexplained. When it came to motives,Babs had some right on her side when she pointed to the one person with a strong motive for both deaths (if they were linked): her ex-husband, Dan.

Nell: no doubt it made sense for Nell to cling to Zena's side from the moment they arrived at the fete, if only to distance herself once more from the "babies"—her step-siblings—but Jemima had the impression that Nell was at the same time seeking to avoid any conversation with her personally. Did she regret those confidences in the cathedral? Another potentially sinister thought crossed her mind. Was Nell too frightened to talk further? Was Nell being threatened in some way? She had hinted to Jemima she might have some idea about the identity of the Decimus Ghost. Once again, this line of argument led far away from the notion of Babs, as the ghost-murderer. "I recognised it and yet I didn't recognise it"—wasn't that something to do with the smell? Why try to frighten her daughter at Lackland Court when she had total control of her most of the time at home?

Yet it was Nell's reluctance which first suggested to Jemima that beneath the surface of this apparently innocuous outing there were certain new tensions. This was no longer the outwardly happy family of that first summer lunch party; but Haygarth had been alive then, he had served the food to the outwardly happy people at the outwardly happy lunch, and the Cavalier Case had not begun in earnest. Today, Zena herself was in an odd mood. It was Zena, after all, who had begged Jemima to conduct her investigation, "whatever she found"; this afternoon she was thoroughly out of sorts for some reason and not even particularly warm in her welcome. Suddenly, she had the air of one who regretted having invited Jemima to investigate dark doings within her own family circle.

It was the plaintive voice of Louisa (or was it Emily?), one of Charlotte's little girls quaintly got up in a miniature version of her mother's clothes, straw boater and all, which gave Jemima the clue.

"Where's Daddy.' I want to sit with Daddy, it's my turn," wailed the little voice.

"Where indeed, Louisa?" commented Zena from the middle seat of the big estate car, in her sharpest tone.

That was the measure of it. All these females were in their different ways reacting to the unexpected absence of the central male figure in their lives, including his independent-minded sister. Marcus was the only other male in this family circle (Dessie had a few years to go yet before he filled the role) and Marcus too seemed in a curious way in perpetual subordination to the personality of his glamorous older cousin. Even his pursuit of Zena could perhaps be seen in the light of Zena's own obsession with her brother. Furthermore, it was noticeable that the "extrovert" Marcus was only emerging on his own ground as the M.P.—and in Dan's absence.

Only one member of that original lunch party was apparently oblivious to all the tension. Jane Manfred glowed. Unlike the Meredith women, young and old, Jane had taken Dan's defection in her gracious stride.

Oh, that wicked Dan!" was all she said; the swift frown which creased her remarkably smooth olive brow was as quickly dismissed.  She was wearing a green dress, the colour of some remarkable ancient liqueur and, for all Jemima knew, the roughly cut objects dangling in profusion round her neck were actually emeralds. Unlike Charlotte Lackland (and Charlotte's small daughters) she did not wear a hat; thus the startlingly black sheen of her hair in the sunlight had its greenish tinges too.

Was it the self-confidence of great riches which gave Jane Manfred that air of sensuality, unabated by middle age or the fact that Jane Manfred was not even, strictly speaking, beautiful? She was too fleshy altogether, not only her figure, but her features also, for the photogenic standards of modern beauty (Jemima had seen a terrible photograph of her recently in sweetly spiteful
Taffeta
, sagging in every sense of the word on the arm of Dan Lackland, at a charity cocktail party held at the Plantaganet). Or you could look at it quite differently: it was Jane Manfred who had the sensuality in the first place and the great riches had merely enabled her to hang on to it a little longer than most women—and, maybe, to gratify it from time to time.

The Green Knight was at Jane Manfred's side, attempting—as usual—to discuss something to do with the famous north-facing conservatory (all the same, rather an odd moment to choose, Jemima thought). But Jane Manfred's radiance was entirely directed towards the man presently destined to open the fete: Stuart Gibson, the Home Secretary.

Stuart Gibson greeted Jemima with a remark about the splendidly dry and sunny weather: "They couldn't have known I was coming— otherwise they'd have sent rain." Who were they, she wondered. Whoever they were, he liked the remark enough to repeat it at least four times within earshot. Otherwise he praised the house lavishly— "What a perfectly delightful situation you've got here" and "Good to get all this fresh country air after Westminster"—in terms which irresistibly reminded her of Duncan arriving
chez
the Macbeths: "This castle hath a pleasant seat." Duncan too had praised the good fresh (Scottish) air: Jemima trusted the Home Secretary's fate at Lady Manfred's hands would be kinder.

Gillian Gibson, on the other hand, a slight and nervous figure compared to a husband both bonhomous and bulky, made a series of intelligent and informative remarks about hospices, albeit in a very low voice. It then transpired that the fete was actually being given to. raise funds for a local hospice and not, as Stuart Gibson sornehow implied by his solid presence, the Conservative party. Jemima meanly asked herself whether his forthcoming speech would also reflect that fact.

She was never to find out. For it turned out next that Gawain's presence at Lady Manfred's elbow, jabbering away about his conservatory, was not quite the intrusion it seemed. On the contrary, one of Jane Manfred's characteristic little plots was in progress. Before the Home Secretary was allowed to make his speech, political or not as it might be, he was first of all to watch Jane Manfred ceremonially dig the first sod for the foundations of the famous new structure. With attendant Press photographers, of course, and a few words from an important botanical person.

"A little surprise, dear Stuart, dear Gillian," murmured Jane, taking each of them by the elbow. "We shall go round the corner of the house, seeing the new layout of the late summer garden on the way—we didn't allow that to be used for the fete, I'm afraid, any more than we opened the swimming-pool—this is not Cliveden," threw in Lady Manfred sternly. "But you too, Stuart, are a gardener"—the Home Secretary looked startled but pleased—"you will understand— and you will find it so much cooler round the north of the house as well. A botanist of great distinction is here for the occasion, a good friend of our dear Gawain's, giving up her Saturday, such an enthusiast tor what I am going to do. For with Gawain, I am planning a most extraordinary botanical treasure house ..."

It was now Gillian Gibson's turn to look bewildered but delighted: Is Jane building a hospice
here
?" she enquired of no one in particular. How absolutely marvellous of her!"

No, she damn well is not." Marcus Meredith, who had been as he supposed on the point of introducing the Home Secretary to the crowd, looked thunderous. "Sorry, Gillian," he added. "But really, when Stuart has come all this way, and you too, of course, it's a bit bloody much. Never mind that poncey decorator. Sorry," he threw in once more.

All the same, Marcus moved off in the wake of the Home Secretary and Mrs. Gibson, who had themselves moved off obediently in the wake of Lady Manfred. The only person who showed any sign of independence from her imperious will was in fact Stuart Gibson's detective . . . Jemima could only assume that the words being babbled into his small black intercom were as unflattering in their own way as the general reactions around her. Zena's was the most outspoken.

"Do we have to go and watch
that
—' Jane making a travesty of the original plans of the house." She was tight-lipped and angry. "Jemima, let's take the opportunity to nip into her library; she's got some wonderful things, if you can forgive the curtains. Pelmets! Absolutely the wrong date. Nell, you stay here with Charlotte and the children."

"I won't stay here. I want to watch the digging." Nell, evidently resenting Zena's sudden attention to Jemima, scampered off after the retreating official party.