Murder by Mistake (15 page)

Mia was happy.

A sudden movement startled the girl, and she stopped dancing to look at someone who’d come along the passage past the dining room. The music continued to play so Ellie couldn’t hear what was being said, but she thought she detected Thomas’s deep tones. The girl nodded once, twice. Then, moving like a sleepwalker, she passed out of sight, leaving the music to play on.

Ellie made her way downstairs, turned off the stereo and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. There was a big tote bag on the table, and from it spilled the things which Ursula had brought for Mia. Another pair of sandals, some make-up, a pretty jacket. How thoughtful of Ursula, and also, how good of her, as she must be living on the remains of her student grant, and perhaps was even in debt. Most students ended up in debt, didn’t they?

Rose had retired to her own room for her afternoon nap.

Ellie made herself a cuppa, sat down with it in her hands, put both her elbows on the table, and gave way to tears. She cried softly, because she didn’t want to disturb Rose. She told herself that she had no real cause for tears, that she was just annoyed by the way Diana was behaving, not even asking her mother to be a witness at her wedding, and then there was the horrific expense, and she didn’t know how she was going to manage it, but manage it she must. Then Thomas had lured Mia into his room and the girl had gone without a hint of alarm, when she’d been shying like a frightened horse if any other man came near her, which meant . . . which meant that Thomas was much better at dealing with Mia than Ellie.

Which meant that she was being self-indulgent, self-pitying, sorry for herself, call it what you like. Crying like a baby for no good reason. She ought to be thanking God for all His goodness to her, instead of crying.

Well, she did thank God, and on the whole she trusted that He’d see her through her present set of crises. She knew she ought to be able to dump the whole lot of problems in His lap in a sort of ‘over to you’ fashion. If He couldn’t solve them, nobody could.

Which made her laugh. For in the cosmic scale of things, her problems were really nothing, were they? There were wars and floods and famine happening all over the planet, and here was she, wailing away over trivialities.

She mopped herself up, looked at the clock, peeped into the oven to discover that her largest casserole was at work there . . . beef stew, by the scent of it? Mm. Wonderful. With dumplings, perhaps? All right, perhaps not the perfect summer’s evening meal, but the sky had clouded over and it looked like rain, so why not? The vegetables had been prepared and were cooking already: carrots, peas and potatoes.

Ellie had nothing to do but fret.

In came Mia, exclaiming that they’d been looking for Ellie everywhere, but Ursula had had to go eventually, and wasn’t it a shame that they’d missed one another? And here came Rose, fresh from her nap, rosy-faced and relaxed, saying that supper was ready. It was easier to push problems away and eat, than to continue to fret about them.

After breakfast Ellie called a meeting to brief everyone on what was going to happen next. ‘It’s going to be chaos for a few days, but if we keep our heads we’ll get through it all right.’

Thomas rubbed his beard. ‘I have to stick around today. I’m expecting some phone calls. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘I really don’t know. Mr Balls, the Party Planner, should be able to sort out any tangles, but there may be times when he’ll need to ask about power points and all that. I’m afraid there’s going to be all sorts of people coming into the house, putting up the marquee, and running cables around. Then there’s the cleaning team and the men bringing in the tables and chairs . . .’

‘Bacon butties and tea needed all day,’ said Rose. ‘Can do. Right, Mia?’

‘If I’m going to make canapés for Ursula’s buffet, I’m going to need one or two things from the shops. Mrs Quicke . . .?’

‘Give me a list.’

There was a rumble of lorries turning into the driveway, and everyone jumped to attention. First the Party Planner rang the front doorbell and came in, trailing his two slaves. The marquee arrived, with the men to assemble it. Mr Balls was pleased with himself, for not only had he managed to find a marquee, but also some flooring upon which the partygoers could dance in the evening. More men arrived, propping the front door open to carry poles and tent and then boards through the hall and out into the garden through the conservatory.

By the time the dishwasher had been set going, another two lorries appeared: electric cabling, and lighting, plus the cleaning team to polish floors. Then came a further lorry bringing tables and chairs for the buffet. The cleaners and the furniture people argued about who had the first crack at the dining room.

Ellie was distracted, didn’t know what to say or do. Her usual ability to make decisions seemed to have deserted her. She was aware of it, and despised herself accordingly.

Mr Balls cut the Gordian knot. ‘The cleaners can do the reception rooms first. The furniture can be unloaded into the hall, leaving a passage through to the conservatory for everyone else.’ And so it was done. The tables and chairs for the buffet were terribly in the way, but what else could they do? Thomas slid through them somehow, carrying his beloved stereo to safety in his study. And slammed the door behind himself.

Ellie said, ‘Mind the grandfather clock,’ though no one seemed to be listening. There was something the matter with the clock. Somebody’s cap or hat had landed up there. Ah. It was Midge the cat, surveying everything from a safe distance.

How on earth had he got up there? Was it worth while trying to get him down?

Ellie decided it wasn’t and made her way down to her own study – where she was met with a mountain of furniture which had been removed from the reception rooms. Edging her way round a rolled-up carpet and the leaves of the dining table, she managed to make it to her desk. Pat was already there, huffing and shaking her head. Pat was not amused.

‘Dear Pat, I know, I know. But can you cope, somehow? It’s only for a couple of days. Oh, and could you run off some notes to be delivered to the neighbours? Something to the effect that Mrs Quicke’s daughter is getting married on Saturday and the music at the party afterwards may be rather noisy. We apologize for any inconvenience. You’ll know what to say better than me.’

Pat raised her eyebrows and booted up her computer in silence.

Oh. We’re going to get the silent treatment, are we? Right.

Ellie decided to get out of the house and make herself useful. She’d get the bits and pieces which Mia needed for her cooking first – better take an insulated bag to transport them in – and then visit the new flower shop to discuss the flower arrangements for the two weddings, and at the same time find out what they had to say about delivering scary bouquets to Mia.

Ellie hadn’t been inside ‘Stems’ before. It was an upmarket flower shop which had no truck with mixed-bunches-for-a-couple-of-quid. The proprietor was a young woman with long flowing hair, who was making up a professional-looking posy of pink and white roses as Ellie arrived.

‘Can you spare a minute? I’m Mrs Quicke. I believe you’re supplying flower arrangements for the two wedding receptions at my house on Saturday?’

The proprietor was happy to bring up the details on her computer, and she produced a scrap book showing Ellie photographs of work she’d done in the past for similar occasions.

‘We understand that the first wedding on Saturday – the Belton one – is to be done on a shoestring. I will arrange the flowers in church on Friday; one large floral arrangement by the altar, and one by the font. The bride’s bouquet and buttonholes for her family and the ushers will be delivered to Mrs Belton’s address the same day, but the bridesmaid’s bouquet is to be delivered to you. Then, moving on to the buffet on Saturday morning, I am to prepare some of my glass candelabra wreathed in ivy, plus six small table decorations. The colour scheme throughout to be white and lilac.’

Ursula had been as good as her word and had directed the invoice for her event to be sent to herself. Ellie nodded.

‘Now, as to the second wedding, the colour scheme is to be all gold and white. We’ll use some more glass candelabra for the top table and for three of the smaller tables. They, too, will be wreathed with ivy, but will have white and gold flowers entwined in them as well. The candles will be gold, of course, to match the other decorations. On three of the tables, by contrast, we’ll have low arrangements of white hydrangeas, with gold ribbon puffing up between each one. There is also to be a bridal arch, which is going to be delivered today because it comes straight from the nurseries. The bride’s bouquet and buttonholes for the men to be delivered to you on Saturday morning, together with the invoice.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ellie, feeling rather faint and reaching for a chair. ‘Now, do you think you could include some puffs of gold ribbon in the Belton bouquets? Let me tell you why.’

As Ellie explained that there needed to be some rationalization, the proprietor frowned, obviously thinking that she was going to lose money on the deal.

So Ellie said, ‘I see you have a good selection of unusual flowering plants for sale, and I shall need some more plants to brighten up what we have growing in our conservatory at the moment. I had intended to make a trip to the Garden Centre, but if we can come to some arrangement about hiring or buying some from you for the day . . .?’

Suggestions as to the appropriate plants were made and accepted. When the proprietor was nicely softened up, Ellie said, ‘By the way; I’ve recently received a sheaf of lilies and a wreath of red roses from your shop. Can you remember anything about the person who ordered them? I assume it was the same person on both occasions, though of course I might be wrong.’

‘It was a young man, who stuttered a bit. I thought perhaps it was the first time he’d ordered flowers for anyone.’

This was odd. Who on earth could he be? ‘There are three women currently living at my house, and we weren’t sure . . . Did he say who they were for?’

‘He wrote out a card, didn’t he? Didn’t he address it properly? We shall have to look out for that, make sure it doesn’t happen again. My father does my deliveries. He’s retired and likes to have something to do. Did he get the wrong address?’

‘No, I don’t think he did, but it’s a bit of a mystery, all the same. Did the man pay by cheque or card?’

‘Cash. He was . . . I don’t know . . . a little strange. He kept muttering something. A poem, I thought.’

‘How was he dressed?’

A shrug. ‘Like any other young man, casual clothes, a bit scruffy. Unruly hair, dark, a bit too long. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever be asked to—’

‘No, of course not. You’ve been a great help. May I leave you my phone number? If he ever comes in again, may I ask you to let me know?’

TEN

E
llie bought the things Mia needed for her cookery and walked home, thinking hard.

Who was the young man who’d sent flowers to Mia? One of the students who’d once formed part of the Priors’ social circle? According to Ursula, Mia hadn’t had a boyfriend before she was abused. At that time Ursula herself had been engaged to a lad called Dan Collins but, after he’d sided with the Priors and refused to help her look for Mia, she’d sent back his ring and refused to have anything more to do with him. And now was going to marry someone else.

Could Dan still be carrying a torch for Ursula? Mm, yes. Would Dan know anything about these threats to Mia? Ellie would ask him. Later.

Her house was in chaos. Mr Balls was conducting an orchestra of shakers and movers, of sparks and chippies, all working at the top of their voices. Midge had disappeared from the top of the grandfather clock, for which Praise Be.

Ellie took evasive action as two workmen in dirty overalls carried some piping through the hall and followed them to discover the Party Planner, standing in the conservatory. ‘Mr Balls, how is it going?’

‘Very well, dear lady.’ He put his arm round her and gave her a hug. She stiffened. He wasn’t gay at all! Oh.

Smiling nervously, she disengaged herself and circumvented a stack of chairs to disappear into the kitchen . . . to find that Rose had turned up the radio to deafening level to drown out the noise in the garden. Mia was hooked into her own MP3 player, cutting rounds out of dough and laying them on baking sheets to cook.