Eat, Drink and Be Buried (26 page)

Angela's breasts heaved in anger. Her hands twitched and her face was hardly recognizable. Her enormous eyes moved ceaselessly.

“But why?” Felicity asked plaintively. “Did she hate us that much?”

“Angela has been jealous of you ever since your father married her mother. She is ambitious and sees herself as the lady of the manor. With her mother insane and Lord Harlington with only months to live, she saw her opportunity. Remove Richard and Felicity and her way would be clear.”

Neville was still lounging against the iron-barred door. He heaved a sigh of boredom. “Fascinating. Fictional, but fascinating.”

He heaved himself erect and said, “Come on, Angela. Let's proceed according to plan.”

Angela's eyes still blazed and she looked about to erupt, but she turned and walked quickly to join Neville.

I had been scanning the chamber while I was talking. The four walls were stone. The gate with wrought-iron bars was the only entrance. The only other feature was an iron frame that fitted into one wall. It did not appear to have any function. As soon as I had that thought, an alarming possibility loomed. For the second time, I had that same regret—that no one knew where I was.

I walked over to the table and plucked a new bottle of champagne from it. I peeled the foil away. “A final drink before you go,” I suggested. Richard and Felicity were looking at me in astonishment. “Now that we are all aware of Angela's ambitions,” I continued, “we deserve to learn more about your plans too, Neville.”

Angela glared at me. If I had had any doubts about her mental condition before, I had none know. Her contorted face looked like that of a different person. “What plans?” She turned sharply on Neville. “What is he talking about?”

I didn't give Neville the chance to speak. “Neville doesn't care about your ambition to be queen of the manor,” I told her. “He's just using you. He intends to sell the castle to Leisure Holdings. You know who they are—they lost out on the contract to build the British Disneyland and so they are planning a rival, a medieval equivalent. They want to use Harlington Castle as the core attraction.”

Neville might be a perfect example of the bored and indolent aristocrat but his brain moved fast. He realized it was no time to argue and that I was trying to drive a wedge between them. He pulled open the iron gate, grabbed Angela by the arm, and dragged her through. Richard showed that he was no slouch either and made a dash for the door to stop it closing.

He was too late. The gate slammed shut in his face with a metallic crash. “Don't let them lock it!” I shouted. Richard seized bars in both hands and pulled. Neville was struggling to turn the huge key but Richard managed to pull the door open an inch and it was enough to keep the key from slotting home in the lock.

Out of the corner of his eye, Neville saw Angela reaching for the lever in the wall outside the door. “No, no!” he shouted. “Not yet!” I knew then what the lever was. I still had the champagne bottle in my hand. I shook it violently and gave the cork a twist.

Eyes blazing, Angela ignored Neville and dragged the handle down. It moved smoothly and a grinding noise came from the inside wall of the chamber. The metal frame moved and the whole center section of the wall swung inward.

Water rushed in, a white cascade, boiling and bubbling, and the floor was knee-deep in seconds. The chamber must adjoin the moat and it was going to flood the chamber—the traditional way of disposing of unwanted prisoners.

Neville chopped down on Richard's fingers with the edge of his hand. Richard let go the bars of the gate with a cry and Neville seized the massive key and began to turn it.

I gave the champagne bottle another hasty shake and aimed it. The cork came out with a noise like a shotgun.

I have spent many years opening champagne bottles, always carefully holding them so as not to hit anyone. This was the first time I had taken deliberate aim. If I had had time, I would have argued that if I could miss people at will, then I could hit one at will.

The cork hit Neville in the face, just under one eye. He yelped and let go of the key. Richard promptly wrenched the gate ajar. I turned for Felicity, snatched at her arm.

The spray from the incoming maelstrom now obscured everything. We could not see one another and I had not gone more than two or three steps when the surging waves were already chest-deep. The noise reached a crescendo that deadened the senses.

O
N THE WEST SIDE
of Harlington Castle, above the residential wing, a roof had been reinforced and rebuilt as an outdoor dining and lounging area. Large umbrellas kept the scorching English sun from burning those at the tables. At least, that was the fond hope, although the sun rarely cooperated.

Crenellated battlements permitted a view of the green countryside that rolled away to the horizon. It was a pleasant day, with only a few billowy white cumulus dotting the blue sky.

Felicity, Richard, and Norman sat there with me and we had gone through a number of “if only's” and “perhaps we should's.”

Norman broke the silence that ensued. “From what you tell me, I suspect that Angela would have preferred to drown rather than face life. If so, she got her wish. I doubt if Neville felt the same way, though.”

“The last I saw her,” Richard said somberly, “she was trying to grab Neville. I couldn't see whether she was helping him or trying to save herself.”

I thought that another possibility existed—that Neville was more concerned about saving himself, even if it was at Angela's expense. But I didn't say so. He had drowned too, so my speculations were irrelevant.

“You've known for some time, haven't you, Norman?” Felicity asked.

Norman looked up at the sky. “She started to show signs of uncontrollable behavior when she was eighteen. She concealed it very well.”

“We were all aware of her swings of mood,” Felicity said, “but we didn't realize how much further they had gone.”

“You shielded her a lot, didn't you?” asked Richard.

Norman nodded miserably.

“But you didn't suspect her of murder?” Richard persisted.

Norman hesitated. “I—I was aware that she was capable of it. I knew she was jealous of Felicity, but I kept telling myself that she would never really kill anyone.”

“One thing I don't understand,” said Felicity, “is who shot at her during the culling?”

It was my turn to look up at the sky. “Someone who wanted to divert suspicion from her, I suppose,” I said. Norman flashed me a glance, then looked away.

One of the staff arrived with a pot of coffee. She set out cups and poured.

“It was when you were away in America, Felicity.” Norman said suddenly. “Angela went to the Plantation quite often. At first, I was surprised she was even interested, but then I realized she saw herself in your place. I watched her. She'd parade around the Plantation giving orders to Dennis as if she knew what she was talking about.”

“Some comment by Dennis must have drawn her attention to the owlsfoot that had sprung up,” I suggested. “She took an old book out of the library and read the description of it.”

Norman nodded. “She must have read up on it, picked some, and squeezed out the juice.”

I knew that the police had searched her room and found the incriminating book that had told her all about the deadly owlsfoot. Felicity shuddered. “I'm sorry, Norman, but I can't help feeling sorry too for those poor people who came to the castle while Angela was experimenting. None of them died, fortunately.”

“I still find it hard to believe that you went to Dr. Wyatt's cottage thinking she had phoned you,” Richard said to me. His tone was not exactly belligerent but it was critical.

“I had never heard Dr. Wyatt's voice.” If I sounded irritated it was because Inspector Devlin had spent some time harping on the same point. “The voice on the phone did sound familiar but I didn't suspect at the time that it was Angela. When she said she was Dr. Wyatt, I accepted it.”

Inspector Devlin had gone on from there to hint that the ploy to have me shoulder the blame for poisoning Dr. Wyatt might have worked had not Inspector Hemingway intervened. It was the nearest to a concession I had heard her make.

“It would have been a nice touch to have me accidentally drowned along with you two,” I added. “Alleviate a lot of suspicion that you two alone were the targets.”

“Thank you for not being obliging,” Felicity said wryly. She sighed. “We knew, of course, that Angela and Neville were—well, were lovers. Between half cousins it's supposed to be acceptable, but still it's the kind of relationship that families tend to sweep under the carpet. We ignored it. Perhaps we should—Oh, I don't know.” She turned away and I knew that despite everything, she had nurtured a strong affection for her stepsister.

“How are the preparations for the Empire Historical people coming along?” Richard asked me. He caught my surprised look. “I'm taking much more responsibility for the operations here from now on,” he said. “My father has suffered enough, it's time for him to take it easy.”

“It's all well in hand,” I told him. I didn't think it appropriate to congratulate him on growing up. Neither did I intend to tell him I was glad he had given up the jousting or that I hoped he had finished fooling around with the village girls. “I'll be keeping in touch with Victor on that. As for the changes in the routine banquets, most have been made and I'll be back next week to confirm a few more. By the way, there are a couple of minor changes in administration I would like to suggest. Perhaps you can see they are put into practice?”

“Certainly,” he said briskly. “What are they?” He sounded as if he really meant it.

“Victor should take more time away from the kitchen to check suppliers. A schedule should be set and adhered to. The supplies office should handle the arrangements for the visits and file Victor's reports. Check sheets should be prepared.” I saw no reason to mention Seven Seas.

Richard nodded firmly. “I'll see to that. Anything else?”

“Tighter security at the gates. On vehicles.”

He frowned. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Better all round if I don't,” I said pleasantly. I had already talked privately with Madeleine, Victor Gontier's efficient assistant in the kitchen, and referred obliquely to Roberto's restaurant in the village. A few inquiries had quickly revealed that “Roberto” was really Robert, Madeleine's cousin. The blue van had been taking him “surplus” foods from the castle kitchen where they were not missed, so as to help him in these early days when finances were tight. She was too valuable a member of the kitchen staff to lose and she had accepted my warning in the right spirit.

Richard was about to pull rank on me and demand more information, but Felicity caught his eye and in his new role he merely nodded. “One further suggestion,” I added while he was in a compliant mood.

“The Muffin Man is an outstanding bakery. Much more could be done with it. A young woman called May has been running it since her father had a stroke. He didn't want his condition made public; he was afraid it might lose him business. She has a very good knowledge of the baking side of the operation, but she's weak on the business part—sales, marketing, and so on.”

“What are you recommending?” Richard asked, and Felicity was listening curiously.

“I think you should buy it. The price can't be too high. If the Muffin Man does recover, have him run it for you. If he doesn't, his daughter can take over with a little help. The castle consumption of The Muffin Man's products alone would justify it and outside sales would quickly turn it into a real moneymaker.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Richard said. “Unusual and different kinds of bread are popular.”

“Have you got the people coming in to repair the flooding mechanism, Richard?” Felicity asked. “We don't want that to happen again, even by accident. Particularly if you're thinking about reopening it as a torture chamber.”

“You hadn't mentioned that,” I said. “It's an excellent notion.” I finished my coffee. “Have to go,” I said. “A final word with Inspector Devlin.”

I shook hands with Richard and Norman. Felicity gave me a peck on the cheek, making it linger long enough to murmur softly, “I'll see you when you come back next week.”

There were two of them in the hall. “Ah, two inspectors with one stone,” I greeted them. Hemingway was his usual imperturbable, well-groomed self. Devlin had given her hair one stroke of a brush that had not even partly tamed it.

“We have most of what we need,” said Inspector Devlin in her uncompromising voice. “I will probably want a further statement from you in the next days.”

“I am at your disposal, Inspector,” I told her in my most cooperative manner.

She nodded brusquely and turned to Hemingway. “Thank you for your support on this case, Ronald.”

Ronald! Had it been this case that had brought them to first names? Or did they already know each other that well? Were there some things I didn't know? Had I been manipulated?

“You were correct, too,” she added to Hemingway. “Your advice worked out well.”

I looked from one to the other. Was I going to be let in on this?

Not by Hemingway—he gave me his tightest smile. Devlin, however, was not one to be constrained by tact or subtlety. She turned to me. “Inspector Hemingway suggested that I give you your head and you would blunder into the truth.”

I had been manipulated. Devlin had known all the time of my contact with the Food Squad.

“Glad to be of help.” I tried to sound bitter but it was a dismal failure. Hemingway just eyed me pleasantly and Devlin gave me her usual bleak gaze. “If my blundering can be of further assistance, just let me know,” I added, doing the best I could to make it sound caustic. It was about as effective as pouring chocolate sauce over profiterolles.