Murder on the Cliffs (15 page)

He kept walking and did not look back. “Who is he?” I felt myself say aloud. “What does he do?”

“Don’t know much about him,” Ewe confessed. “Out- of- towner, obviously. His uncle lives around here but was too sick to come, so Mr. Brown came in his place.”

“He just showed up then? How rude of him.”

“Oh, no,” Ewe corrected me, “he called by after the funeral.”

“He was at the funeral?”

“Yes, that’s where I met him.”

“He seemed to know all about me; like he knew I was staying here, with you?”

Ewe shrugged. “Well, I never mentioned you.”

I wondered about Mr. Brown on my way back to the house. He had an uncle here, he went to the funeral, but what was his business? I was not entirely sure of this Mr. Brown.

Tired from the day’s affairs, I thought I’d visit Padthaway instead of Castle Mor, to visit Miss Lianne and be a friend to her. Hadn’t Lord David himself asked this favor of me? And it was no chore. I was fond of the girl even if she proved a little spoiled, which was not entirely her fault. If she proved a little misplaced in the mind, one could put it down to the bad blood running through her veins.

I found Lianne alone at her Sunday afternoon siesta in the drawing room.

Mrs. Trehearn hovered in the background, asking if I wished a fresh pot of coffee.

“Yes, please,” I smiled. “That would be lovely.”

She departed, her blank expression disconcerting me. I yearned to learn of her experiences with Victoria, the kitchen maid who’d risen from the ranks to future mistress of the house, a woman with the power to fire Mrs. Trehearn if she so pleased.

Sensing Lianne in a good mood, I settled on asking her about Victoria’s last days at the house.

“She was snappy that last week. I should have pieced it together but I thought she was just being her usual self. Now some things begin to make sense.”

“What kind of things?” I asked.

“Oh, just little things like picking at the servants and ranting at poor Annie and Betsy when they accidentally dropped her dress box from London. She accused them of doing it deliberately.”

That sparked my interest. Victoria seemed convinced everybody was against her. “Was the wedding dress damaged?”

“No! It’s still hanging in her room. I’ll take you there when I can steal the key off Mrs. T. She only got it back this morning from Sir Edward.”

So there was only one key to Victoria’s room and Sir Edward had finished his investigation.

“That night, she was drinking more than usual. I remember David kept trying to take the bottle off her but she kept drinking.”

“Why? Was she upset?”

There was no time to answer.

Lady Hartley swept down the stairs on David’s arm and past where we were sitting. Both immaculately cloaked in austere black, they slid into the first humming polished Bentley waiting in the drive.

“Where are they going?” I whispered.

Lianne seemed as surprised as I. “I don’t know. They always shut me out. I’m just the ‘child.’ ”

“You’re not just a child,” I said in her defense. “You’re my friend. And I like having you as friend.”

Happiness gleamed in her face. “Thank you, Daphne. I really like you, too.”

“I love your dress,” I gushed.

She wore a pink lace dress, tied with a neat bow at the back.

“Jenny did it.” She glowed when I said how pretty she looked. “Jenny’s good with bows.”

“Is it a new dress? Did you ask your mother?”

Finding a spot for her little pink bag and gloves, Lianne faced me coyly. “I don’t need Mother’s permission. I’m a grown- up.

“It’s so awful,” Lianne whispered as we went outside to enjoy a spot of sunshine. “I knew she’d been sick one morning but I just thought she drank too much wine. Victoria liked her wine.”

“Not champagne?”

Lianne shook her head. “Mother prefers champagne. Victoria liked red wine. She drank lots of it. She said it ‘relaxed’ her.”

“Oh? Did she become merry and slur her words?”

Lianne reflected. “She got silly at times, but that’s odd. And yet, on the night she disappeared, she drank.”

“She drank what?” I insisted. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lots, I suppose. Lots of what she shouldn’t have . . . if she was carrying a child.”

“Did her drinking affect your brother? What was his reaction?”

My question raised a serious brow of concern. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked such a question.

Mrs. Trehearn chose that moment to make her entry and inquire whether I required more coffee. I said “no” in a cool manner and Lianne quivered behind the chair. When she’d gone, I lifted a brow. “So, you’re scared of her, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not!” came the defensive answer.

“You aren’t but you are,” I revised, and nodded. “It’s understandable. I was scared of
three
of our house keepers. They’re scary creatures, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lianne laughed. “
You
scared, Daphne? But I thought nothing frightened you.”

“Oh, death without natural causes frightens me. Doesn’t it you?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s death with a murderous intent,” I explained. “It’s very unpleasant. And very cowardly.”

“Cowardly,” she mused, thoughtful. “Murder makes one strong, doesn’t it?”

Her question disturbed me. I stared unseeing at her for a time. Could she really have murdered Victoria? I wondered.

I walked to Rothmarten Abbey in the rain. It was foolish of me, considering it blew sideways, and by the time I reached the abbey grounds, my soaking skirt clung to my legs in a most unpleasant fashion. Windswept, I entered the abbey through a gust of rain. Not precisely the graceful entrance I wished in the shocking presence of David, Sir Edward, and the abbess.

The three of them gaped, eyebrows lifted in unison.

“You walked all that way in the rain, Miss du Maurier?” Lord David asked, concerned.

“Come in here,” the abbess cried. “You’ll catch a chill.”

I submitted, conscious that I’d interrupted a private meeting between the three of them. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” I began, accepting a spare habit the abbess handed to me. Taking off my wet clothes, she helped me into it.

“We were only discussing abbey security.”

I suspected a very different subject occupied the three of them. “Did Victoria ever come here?”

“Once,” the abbess replied, guarded. “She came with Lord David.”

She turned and left, leaving me to finish dressing and emerge in my new attire. Sir Edward had gone, but I spied Lord David in a corner with Sister Agatha and his lips curled into a smile when he saw me.

“Is that comfortable?”

“Better than wet clothes,” I said, noting his pale, drawn face, no doubt suffering from many sleepless nights.

Returning to the section where I’d worked under Sister Agatha’s supervision, I commenced where I’d left off, not sure whether I should say something to Lord David or not. What did one say two days after the funeral?

The papers had not been kind, my father said, casting further doubt as to Sir Edward’s ability to investigate his own landlord. Sir Edward had looked grim and I wondered if he’d be replaced.

Lord David said nothing, keeping focused on the job at hand and this in itself helped with the grieving pro cess. I saw one or two nuns pause and shake their heads sympathetically. None of them showed the slightest doubt in his innocence.

Victoria ,
I petitioned the dusty pigeonholes.
What secrets are you hiding?

“Poor laddie,” Sister Sonya crowed beside me. “Not fair if he should hang for that strumpet’s sake.”

The words had tumbled out and Sister Sonya, recognizing her mistake, covered her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me. I shall do penance, speaking ill of the dead.”

She tried to scuttle away but I pulled her back. “Why do you call her a strumpet?”

Her face reddened.

I pleaded with her again.

“Very well,” sighed she. “If ye must know, she’s the spawn of a strumpet. Mrs. Bastion were no Mrs. Bastion when she had her eldest two. Oh no, no. They are the spawn of her rich cousin; that’s why she leases the cottage from him. Mr. Bastion, he came along later. Just a plain old sailor and father of the little ones. But the eldest two . . .” She leaned over to whisper haltingly in my ear, “they are changelings . . . and dangerous ones. Oh, Saint Mary and Joseph!”

The abbess headed straight for us.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I
pray
Sister Sonya is not regaling you with any untrue tales, Miss Daphne,” the abbess addressed me, casting one mortifying glance in poor Sister Sonya’s direction.

“Oh, no, indeed,” I strived to dispel some of Sister Sonya’s dread. “Her concern was that I should leave Windemere Lane earlier than expected.”

My ploy worked. Lifting a brow, the abbess questioned my plans.

“My plans,” I echoed, loud enough for Lord David to hear in the far distance, “are yet unfixed.”

“Until I give permission for you to release details of our treasure?” the abbess teased.

“Whether you do or not,” I replied, “it is of little significance. I came to Windemere Lane to visit my mother’s old nurse . . . and to enjoy a holiday. Anything else I do here is a bonus.”

“A bonus. Would you come with me, Miss du Maurier?”

Commanded by the abbess, I had no choice but to agree, leaving a stupefied Sister Sonya in my wake.

“I didn’t want to say anything out there,” she said upon closing the doors to her private study. “But you are in a unique position, Miss du Maurier.”

“Oh? How so?”

“
You
are instrumental in this case now, since you found the body. Lord David is innocent, I tell you. I
know
him. I don’t know what happened to Victoria. Lady Hartley is not to be ruled out as suspect and suspect she ought to be more than Lord David! I’ve known the boy since a child and he d oesn’t have the heart to murder . . .”

“But Lady Hartley does?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to, but her silence answered for her. I nodded, asking, “Will they replace Sir Edward?”

“I don’t know” came the shrill whisper. “Someone in London doesn’t want this to be wrapped up quietly.
Someone
is out to get Lord David. If you gave me the Bible now, I’d swear on it. I’d swear someone wants Lord David dead and buried alongside his bride.”

Her words left a marked shiver down my spine. “You said I was in a unique position. How do you think I can help?”

“Stay close to Padthaway,” she mouthed as if in a trance. “To Lady Hartley and Miss Lianne, especially. Neither can be trusted.”

“Miss Lianne!” I cried. “But she’s just a child!”

“A child she may be,” came the definitive answer, “but she’s the daughter of a madman and bad blood doesn’t lay silent.”

Stay close to Padthaway.

I didn’t mind, in truth. I loved the old house and any excuse to visit was a plea sure. I was commissioned now by two ladies to solve the mystery, Mrs. Bastion and the abbess of Rothmarten Abbey.

I understood their desperation. Abbess Quinlain for the preservation of her abbey and the sacred records guarded by David; Mrs. Bastion for the honor of her dead daughter, the injustice done, and for robbing her and her young children of a secure, comfortable future.

So I went to Padthaway once again, only to be informed by a cool Mrs. Trehearn that the family was out for the day and did I wish to leave a card? I said I had no printed card to leave and certainly would not write one. While we were standing there during the whole debacle, Jenny Pollock happened by and braved Mrs. Trehearn’s displeasure by inviting me in to take tea with her.

Mrs. Trehearn could scarce say no since Jenny Pollock enjoyed the same privileged status she did.

So inside Jenny Pollock’s parlor I found myself, enjoying a fresh pot of tea and gossiping about the funeral.

“How dreadful for Davie . . . my heart
bled
for him, having to sit there, listen to all the accusations, and he bore it like a saint! I never venture into town, never ever, but I went to the church for him. I sat up the back, my head covered in a veil. You probably didn’t see me?”

“No, I didn’t. It must be a relief to you all that it’s now over.”

“Well, it’s not over, not until they get the murderess.” Her eyes narrowing, Jenny hoped I’d not heard what she’d just said but I most certainly had.

“Oh, take no notice of me, Miss Daphne. My mouth runs away from me— it always did and it’s got me into trouble.”

“So you’re afraid of trouble now? If you speak out with what you know?”

She stared at me dumbly. “What I know?”

“About Victoria’s death? Her secret life?”

Jenny looked scared. “I know
nothing,
nothing really. She came here to work in the kitchen, under Soames. Now, if you’re a cluey miss and you’re after diggin’ up what happened to her, Soames is the one to question. Go and try your luck with him. Go on.”

She goaded me to it and after finishing my cup of tea, I agreed. I’d go to the kitchen on a pretext of fetching more tea and see what transpired.

To my luck, I found Mr. Soames alone in the kitchen, tidying up what appeared to have been a large effort.

“A big lunch?” I asked.

Keeping his head down, he nodded. He didn’t want to talk and his expression remained taut and closed. I should have just left it there, ordered my tea and left, but something within impelled me to say, “I heard you worked in Paris. I attended a finishing school there. Who’d you work for? Lianne said it was for a famous painter?”

Endeavoring to be as casual as possible, I noticed his lips tightening at the questions. He was not the polished Soames today. Something was bothering him and I suspected it had to do with Victoria.

Setting down his fry pan, he retreated into busy mode. “Ah, Paris! Isn’t it wonderful?”

I watched him bustle about while he made my tea, his edginess increasing by the minute.

Handing me my tea, he saw he’d forgotten the milk.

“Forgive me, Miss du Maurier, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

“I believe I understand,” I murmured, accepting the little pot of milk from his hand. “Victoria worked in your kitchen, didn’t she? Of course you are upset. The whole house is.”

Surprisingly, he guffawed at that and I lifted a mild, probing brow. Hating to use these tactics, I pressed my hand gently on his arm. “How long did she work for you?”

“Not long. A year at most.”

“She wanted to be a cook?”

“She a cook!? No, she came here to . . .”

“To?”

Silence.

“To strive for a better life?”

Immeasurably uncomfortable, Mr. Soames abandoned my hand, taking refuge among his pots and pans. Remembering his face when Sir Edward delivered the verdict and accompanying news, I nodded my sympathy. “Did you know her mother?”

“No. I knew none of her family.”

The abrupt denial, followed by a speedy demonstration of rearranging wine glasses and calling for assistance forced me out of my chair. It did not seem wise to press Mr. Soames.

Leaving him to mull over the encounter, I carried the remainder of my tea to the parlor. As I expected, I drank my tea in silence and curled up on one of the settees to await Miss Lianne.

And Miss Lianne, in her heavy- footed mode, soon bowled in to see me.

“Oh, the most
annoying
tea party! Mother was somewhere else. Mrs. Beechley had to ask her the same thing
three
times.”

It seemed everyone’s mind existed somewhere else. “Do you think she’s worried about Mrs. Bastion’s threat? At the funeral, I mean.”

Lianne’s mordant look said “I don’t think so.” “She did have a row with Davie just after the funeral. . . . I heard them in the garden. It’s the money thing. They’re always fighting about money.”

Yes, money was the cause of many family disruptions, but I sensed a significance to this particular row, so soon after the funeral. Surely, one could leave such affairs to a later date? “Did you hear anything else?”

Wriggling her nose, she reflected. “David said something like ‘
I won’t have her name besmirched any more than it has.
’ ”

Did David suspect his mother’s involvement in the blackening of his beloved’s good name?

“So what do you want to do now?” Eager, Lianne presented me with several possibilities.

I listened to them all. “I think I should like to stay here, in the house. Perhaps we can spend the day with Jenny?”

“Jenny?” Her nose screwed up. “We can see her another day.”

“But you like spending time with her,” I reminded, “and it’s a kind thing to do to visit someone who is lonely. Why does she never venture into the village? Has she no friends? Is she scared of seeing someone there?”

I could see the thought had never occurred to Lianne. “Scared of someone? I don’t think Jenny’s afraid of anyone or anything.”

While escorting me through the house to Jenny’s parlor, I tried to steer Lianne toward the murder case. I longed to explore Mrs. Trehearn’s famous green house and Victoria’s room. I felt confident I’d find something the police had missed. I remembered in my reading of mystery books that a tiny clue, of the smallest significance, could lead to the answer.

I had one or two clues already. The absence of Victoria’s shoes remained my primary focus. Were they hiding somewhere or had the murderer thrown them out? Or did they rest neatly in her closet wardrobe? Had she fallen, or was she pushed or placed on the cliffs, in her nightgown, poisoned by a fatal dose of ricin?

Jenny’s place in the house bloomed like a summery haven for the second time that day. Lianne and I listened to her account of the wake at the Bastion cottage.

“Soames took me. Got to see Mrs. Bastion. Sad, that were. Lots of screamin’, cryin’, papermen and the like. It’s been years since I seen townfolk, I s’pose, and my life’s here now. They thought me a big snob when I stopped goin’ into the village. My friends back then, they were all jealous I’d such a great post at Padthaway. It’s a big house, you see, and they could’ve got a fancy nanny from London when Becky Shaw got married.”

“I met Rebecca Shaw . . .”

“Oh? What did you think of her?”

“A trifle edgy. Did something happen here at Padthaway to frighten her? She didn’t want to talk about it.” I did not mention, of course, that Rebecca Shaw had warned me against the Hartleys.

“Can’t say.” Jenny lifted her hands in the air. “But gettin’ back to the funeral, Mrs. B ain’t good, is she? She’s got it stuck in her head her girl was murdered, but I think it’s more to do with the baby. The baby, the baby,” she echoed, “I had no idea . . .”

Nor did anyone else but Lord David and perhaps Victoria’s brother, or so it seemed.

“Vicar Nortby struggled with that one, didn’t he? Them priests don’t know much about life. How did Ewe’s lunch go yesterdee, by and by? Meet anyone new?”

I told them about Mr. Brown.

“Don’t know of him,” Jenny sniffed, “but I did hear of the others movin’ in. Betsy . . . she keeps me up with all the gossip. Can’t live without me gossip.”

“You should come next time,” I said. “I think you and Ewe would get on famously.”

“Lots of mischief,” Jenny laughed, her face suddenly somber. “Saw me boy this morning, my Davie. He ain’t good. It worries me.”

“Maybe it’s just the shock?”

“Yes, the shock,” Jenny agreed. “Losin’ his baby and all.”

We shared a simple meal with Jenny and I felt far more comfortable with her than I did sitting at the Hartley table. I almost dreaded the next invitation to dinner and confided as much to Jenny.

“Yes, Madame Muck’s got her eye on you. Whoops.” She broke off, casting a quick look at Lianne.

“You’ve called her that before,” Lianne smiled from her perch at the corner window as she worked on a puzzle, “so there’s no point whispering. I don’t care anyhow.”

I shifted off my chair to view her progress but Jenny waved me down.

“Let her do her puzzle,” she murmured, “it’s good for her mind.”

“It’s a pity she doesn’t have more friends,” I said.

“It’s because of the
sickness,
” Jenny said in a low tone. “They think she’s safer here with me, and I confess I’ve pushed it that way. Don’t want me girl goin’ out to the world and gettin’ hurt. At least here I can keep an eye on her.”

“But she’s not really mad, is she?”

Jenny paused to reflect. “I don’t think so. I think she’s got other problems, learnin’ problems.” Lowering her voice even further she added, “Her readin’ and writin’ is very bad, but she’s still tryin’ and that matters.”

“Perhaps I could help,” I offered. “While I’m here in the area . . .”

“Well.” Jenny pressed my hand. “You’re just a blessing in disguise, aren’t ye? And all pretty and smart, too. No wonder her ladyship fancies ye.”