Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (22 page)

“Billy your stepbrother.”

“I
told
you about Billy and Alfred. They were boxers, you know.”

“Stay here!” I demanded. “I will be right back.” I raced upstairs to Mum’s bedroom and snatched the framed photograph of Mum and the boys off the mantelpiece.

Thrusting the photograph under Mum’s nose I said, “This is you with Billy and Alfred, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Mum smiled. “They were happy days.”

Mum took another draft of gin. “Lady Edith gave Billy and me a mouse each. Mine—Jazzbo Jenkins—had a blue cardigan and Ella Fitzgerald’s was red.”

“What about Alfred? Didn’t he get one?” I asked.

“Her ladyship didn’t like Alfred,” Mum said dismissively. “Every time the boxing emporium set up camp by the seaside, Billy bought a souvenir badge.”

“I still can’t believe you are actually talking about
the
Lady Edith.” It was hard to picture the fierce old woman as someone who collected velveteen mice and knitted tiny cardigans.

“You should have seen Lady Edith in her youth,” said Mum. “She was so beautiful. We idolized her. Everyone was in love with her. Men fell over themselves just to walk in her shadow. She was always so nice and didn’t treat us like scum—not like her brother.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” I said. “The World War Two pilot who was shot in a poaching accident?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Mum said, rather too quickly. “It was all so long ago.”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell Lady Edith that you’ve been here before?” I demanded. “I’m surprised she didn’t recognize you.”

“The last time I came here was in 1959,” said Mum. “That was—goodness—over fifty years ago and let’s face it, I don’t look my normal self.”

“You can say that again,” I said. “Billy must have come back before he had his aneurism. Why else would Ella whosit be here?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Mum frowned. “Ella Fitzgerald was Billy’s lucky mascot in the boxing ring. He’d never part with her.”

“You parted with Jazzbo.”

“That’s different. I gave him to you,” said Mum. “Where
is
Jazzbo anyway?”

“Tell me more about Billy.”

“Aunt June and Uncle Ron were convinced that Billy was Lady Edith’s love child.”

“No! Honestly Mum, you have such a vivid imagination. No wait—” I laughed. “Don’t tell me—the father was the gamekeeper?”

“Yes,” said Mum with a haughty sniff. “Why else would Lady Edith spend so much time with us? She bought gifts, clothes, and toys. Took us on walking adventures in the park. Played the elephant umbrella stand game—”

“Go on,” I said.

“After your father died, I tracked Alfred to—well, Wormwood Scrubs actually,” said Mum.

“Wormwood Scrubs, the
prison
?”

“Alfred told me that Billy died on Blackpool Pier,” said Mum. “He was there with him.”

“You should definitely tell Lady Edith,” I said. “If Billy was her love child, she should be told what happened to him.”

“No,” Mum exclaimed. “It’s none of my business and it’s definitely none of yours.”

“You are so infuriating,” I cried. “Then why buy this place if you weren’t intending to tell Lady Edith?”

“I have my reasons,” said Mum stiffly. “Don’t get all hot and bothered. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“I
am
getting hot and bothered. Why can’t you ever be honest?” I realized I was angry—very angry indeed. “First you admit that you spent my entire childhood pretending to be ill but really writing pornography—”

“Erotic suspense—”

“And then you make up this Krystalle Storm character who lives in Italy with her Pomeranian—”

“Pekinese.”

“And now—fanfare of trumpets—it turns out you
did
have a family after all! What did Dad think about all this or are you going to lie about how you met him as well?”

“I told you I met him on Brighton Pier,” said Mum. “That part was true.”

“But he wasn’t rescuing you from a flock of seagulls, was he?”

“I made that bit up.”

“
Just
that bit?”

“Your father was working for the tax office at the time. He was sent to investigate a suspected ticket receipt scam at our boxing emporium.”

“A scam,” I snorted. “Oh lovely. Criminals!”

“Of
course
we were fiddling the books!” said Mum with a mischievous grin. “I liked Frank and then we fell in love and—” She shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“Was I born out of wedlock or did you definitely elope?”

“Frank and I eloped,” said Mum. “After that, Aunt June and Uncle Ron never spoke to me again. They felt betrayed. And of course, Frank’s father wasn’t too happy. He was a vicar and died before you were born—in case you wondered.”

“You are unbelievable!” I sputtered. “You wrote about it.
You’re
the gypsy temptress! It’s your story! ‘
He was a man of the cloth. She—an outcast from her kin.
’”

“They do say to write about what you know,” said Mum sheepishly.

“Don’t you
dare
write about me!” I cried.

“Not even if I make Trudy a lunatic?”

A knock on the door put an end to our conversation that was just as well.

“That must be Dylan,” said Mum. “For the first time I’m grateful for his timing.”

“Stay right there,” I said. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Thank God you’ve arrived!” I said.

David stood in the doorway dressed in navy slacks, blazer, and muddy Florsheim shoes. With his black, wavy hair streaked with silver at the temples, he looked every inch the powerful, sophisticated businessman that I loved.

I threw myself into his arms and kissed him full on the lips.

“Steady on,” he exclaimed, turning pink. “Isn’t your mother here?”

“I’ve missed you and I’ve had a horrible day.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” said David. “This is a quick stop to say hello.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “We can meet up later.”

“How is your father-in-law feeling?”

“Not good, I’m afraid. I left Trudy and the kids in Dartmouth. We’ll stay there tonight at the Dart Marina Hotel. The town is a zoo.”

“You’re
all
staying in Dartmouth?” I said, unable to hide my jealousy and disappointment. “I thought they were going to stay near the hospice and you would try the local pub.”

“Kat, please,” said David. “It’s just for one night. I’ll share with Sam.” He ruffled my hair. “Come on, don’t be silly. Trudy knows I’m seeing you this evening.”

I wasn’t sure if this was supposed to make me feel better. The shock of discovering Vera dead coupled with Mum’s stupefying revelations and the mysterious business with Gayla had left me very wobbly. “I really need you, David.”

“And Trudy needs me more. You must understand what she’s going through, after all.”

Of course I understood but frankly, I found it hard to believe that Trudy had parents. I’d always felt she’d been beamed down from another planet.

“Alright,” I said with a sigh. “Mum’s in the kitchen. Follow me.”

I threw open the kitchen door and ushered him in.

“Iris!” beamed David. “Good God. What happened to you?”

“I am truly a miracle to behold,” said Mum.

“Mum had a car accident, fell into a manhole, fractured her foot in the downstairs loo when the cistern fell off the wall, plunged through the floorboards, narrowly escaped electrocution—shall I go on?” I said.

“And it’s all Eric Pugsley’s fault.”

David raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Eric is the man I told you about on Friday,” I told him.

“Ah yes,” said David. “The bloke with the scrapyard.”

“That’s right,” said Mum. “And he’s just murdered his wife.”

“What?” David exclaimed.

“We don’t know that, Mother,” I said.

“But it’s true,” said Mum. “Kat found Vera’s body in the grotto this morning. Just before lunch.”

David’s jaw dropped. “What?” he said again.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “I found her. It was horrible.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now!”

“She’s telling you now,” Mum echoed. “Would you like a cup of tea? We’re on gin.”

David turned to me. “Is she joking?”

“No, we’re definitely on gin.” Mum raised her glass. “Cheers!”

“It’s true. It happened—actually, no one knows when it happened. Can we talk about something else please?” I marched over to the kettle, checked there was enough water inside, and flipped the switch. “And honestly, I’m fine.”

The three of us waited in silence for the kettle to boil. I watched Mum, who kept on staring at David, who stared politely back.

“Good grief, is that a Meissen?” David walked over to the dresser. He picked up the snuff box and examined it closely. “Very nice. The painting of the elephant is exceptionally fine. Is this yours, Iris?” Gesturing to the dresser shelves he added, “No, of course not, you collect coronation china.” David didn’t even try to mask his distaste. “Not that there’s anything wrong with collecting coronation china.”

There was another awful silence.

“The snuff box belongs to Lady Edith,” I said, desperate to fill the silence. “She has quite a valuable collection so I’m told.”

“Really?” David cocked his head. “How interesting. Very interesting.” He put down the snuff box and picked up the mouse. “How is Jazzbo these days?”

“That’s not Jazzbo Jenkins,” Mum and I chorused.

David jumped. “Sorry,” he said and dropped the toy back onto the table.

“Don’t do that,” we chorused again, shared a look, and laughed.

“Ah, what an interesting photograph,” said David, peering at the picture of Mum and her stepbrothers. “Surely that isn’t
you,
is it, Iris?”

“No.” Mum seized the photograph and put it back on the dresser.

David started opening and closing drawers, closely watched by my mother who mouthed the words “
nosey parker.
”

He wandered over to the pantry and looked inside. “Lots of space here, Iris. Good heavens. All those long-life meals and gallons of water—are you preparing for an invasion?”

“I’m being invaded right this second,” said Mum sweetly.

David opened the back door and gave a start of alarm. “Cows!”

“This is the country,” Mum declared. “They live here.”

I joined him, whispering, “I am so sorry about my mother.”

“She hates me.” David pointed to the partially submerged tractor in the field. “What happened there?”

“It fell into an old tunnel.”

William was circling the submerged tractor with a long stick. Every few moments he’d poke the chassis.

David sniggered. “He’s not going to get that thing out in a hurry.”

“You might be surprised,” I said. “Apparently he used to be the strongest man in the world.”

“Is that the bloke who was supposed to have murdered his wife?”

“No, that’s William,” I said. “He’s the stable manager here.”

William spied us and strolled over. “Afternoon!”

“Ask William in,” Mum called out. “Then we can have a party.”

William poked his head in. “I can’t stay long. Rupert is on his way. He’s going to help me get Eric’s tractor out.”

“Where
is
Eric?” Mum asked.

“Helping police with enquiries.”

“I bet he is,” she said.

William stepped onto the back doormat and removed his muddy Wellington boots and padded inside. He wore clean, white socks. I thought of Vera’s lone polka-dot Wellington boot and her painted toenails.

“They’ve actually arrested Eric?” I asked.

“No. From what I’ve heard he’s denying everything,” said William. “Says he’s got a firm alibi at the Hare & Hounds.”

“Of course he’d say that!” Mum said with scorn. “But who else would have done it?”

William shrugged. “We’ll soon know. The police seem to think it could be connected with that poor girl—Gayla.”

“Do you think there
is
a connection?” I asked, surprised.

“Who’s Gayla?” said David.

“She was the nanny,” I said. “Unfortunately, she’s gone missing.”

“Goodness, it’s never dull around here.” David offered his hand. “I’m David.” The two men introduced themselves.

“Grab yourself a mug—or a glass—from the dresser, William,” said Mum.

“Just tea, please. Are you feeling better, Kat?” said William. “I was worried about you.”

David threw a protective arm around my shoulders. “She’s fine.”

“We’re all in shock,” said Mum.

William padded over to the dresser. There was a crash as Mum’s photograph fell onto the flagstone floor.

“Oh, what an idiot I am,” William cried. “Sorry. I think it’s broken.”

“Be careful of the glass,” said David. “Dustpan and brush?”

I retrieved both from under the kitchen sink and handed them to David who stooped down to clear it up.

William removed the photograph from the broken frame. “Good heavens. Is that
you,
Iris?”

“No,” said Mum, snatching it from his grasp.

“Boxing, eh? Looks like one of those old emporiums at the fair,” said William with a nervous laugh. “Where was it taken?”

“I have no idea,” Mum lied. “It was here when I moved in.”

“Did you know that a boxing emporium used come here every summer?” said William.

“Really?” said Mum, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ll be blowed. Fancy that.”

“Let me.” William went to take the dustpan and brush from David but David held on tightly.

“I’ve got it.” David deftly swept up the pieces. “Could have been worse,” he went on. “Thank God it wasn’t one of your coronation specials, Iris.”

William gave a cry of surprise. “Or this—thank God!” He picked up the snuff box. “It’s Lady Edith’s! She’s been looking for it for weeks. Who found it?”

“Kat,” said Mum.

“
You
found it?” said William, turning to me. “Where exactly—?”

“How many snuff boxes does the countess have, William?” said David.

“Quite a collection. About thirty or forty,” said William. “I’ve never really counted. Where did you say you found it, Kat?”