Murder on the Cliffs (24 page)

“Naturally, one has to eat.”

The scarlet letters of Crowley’s loomed before me.

Tucking a wisp of hair behind my ear, I paused on the landing and imagined Victoria’s entrance to the infamous club.

Unlike my plodding arrival, I fancied I heard her quick, light step running up the stairs full of purpose and gaiety. On the landing, she stood still, her poise perfect, her figure a dream in her little red suit, a diamond- shaped feather hat and string of lavender beads gracing her beauty. Dancing off her wrist was a lady’s purse, red and beaded, with a mirror and a tube of lipstick inside.

The doors to Crowley’s swung open, the rigid- faced guardian charmed by her, all eyes drawn to this mysterious beauty traversing through the dimly lit private lounges. She drifted past the bar, bestowing a gracious smile to one admirer, and sailed toward the far back where a man waited under the shade of a greenish lamp.

I headed toward that lamp, alongside the major, toward a man of my father’s age relaxing upon the armchair, his combed black hair splintered with gray, his facial structure of fantastic proportion, Roman almost, purple eyes dark, intense, changeable, eyes I’d seen before . . .

“Let me do this,” the major hissed under his breath.

No formal greeting or introduction ensued. Commandeering the seat opposite the man, the major casually crossed his legs and ordered a drink. Opting for the end of the settee facing the two of them, I struggled to manage my nerves. Here was the man, the unknown tormentor Victoria feared. Searching his face, I had my answer. “You’re her real father, aren’t you?”

The halting whisper left my lips before I could stop it.

I dared not look at Major Browning.

Robbed of his anonymity before he chose to publicize it, Victoria’s father smiled, an elusive smile of wary caution. “How’d ye know?”

“The eyes . . . I found her on the beach.”

“I thought Miss Hartley found her.”

“We found her together,” I explained, undaunted, ignoring any silent reprimand from the major. Despite his theory, I felt this was the way to proceed. Natural, open, unmilitary.

“And you’re the girl from the papers— Miss du Maurier, isn’t it? Allow me to introduce myself. Elias Wynne.”

His accent sounded faintly Welsh but I wasn’t sure.

“I follow everything Lord David does,” Elias said as he winked at me, “ever since me daughter become engaged to the man.”

I thought of Victoria’s unrelenting search for her true father, her need to find him. Once she succeeded, how did she feel?

Elias chuckled, reinforcing the instinct of distrust creeping up my arm. A vulnerable Victoria, at last finding her father, wanting desperately to recapture the love and affection she’d missed throughout her life, now understanding why she always seemed merely tolerated at home. She must have opened her heart to the man sitting before me, and invited him to share her new life. Her new life with Lord David, as Lady Victoria Hartley, mistress of Padthaway.

Oh yes, it all became so clear to me. Elias’s selfish gratification upon discovering he had a beautiful daughter, a gratification that transformed to opportunistic gloating when she announced her wedding plans, and his shock at her death, came into warped view.

“You’re trying to blackmail Lord David now, aren’t you, Elias? Just as you did your daughter.”

Swilling his glass of whiskey, the major ordered another round of drinks.

“I fancied gettin’ to know me daughter a bit. What’s wrong with that? Besides, she wanted me round for
safety
reasons. Were plan-nin’ to meet me here after her weddin’. Proves she were murdered.”

I bristled at the horrific vision of this creature showing up at Padthaway, plundering through the house, demanding to see her ladyship and Lord David. Had Victoria seen Elias this way, as he truly was? I had to find out. “Mr. Wynne, did your daughter invite you to her wedding?”

Now the truth emerged. He couldn’t hide the fact.

“No, she didn’t, did she? She didn’t want you in her life. And when the blackmail attempt failed upon your daughter’s death, you decided to blackmail Lord David. Were you successful?”

“Were I successful?” he barked, laughing. “I’d say
more
than successful, for he paid a pretty penny for me to keep me mouth shut. For
I
know.”

“What do you know, Elias?” The major refilled the man’s beer.

“I know she were murdered, pure and simple. I seen it with me own eyes.”

“Liar. You’re too drunk to ever find your way to Padthaway.”

He shrugged. “Maybe so, but I’ve got a letter. A letter from me Vicky. In it, she wrote it might be awhile till she can next see her dad and give him a bit of money. I didn’t like that note so I, Elias the drunk, if ye please, gets on a train and goes down to Cornwall to see me girl, see me girl get wed, was me plan.”

“When did you arrive?”

“On the night of her murder. For on me way to this grand place . . . it were late, I stopped by the pub first, got directions, then went along the sea to the place. Didn’t expect to see me girl out there on the cliffs, did I?”

The major and I exchanged an incredulous glance. “You saw her? On the night? Did she see you?”

“Nope, she did not, for she had company.”

I didn’t like the way he said “company.” “Do you mean a man?”

“I mean,” his eyes narrowed, “her murderers.”

“Murderers?” the major and I echoed, astonished.

“That’s what I said and what I saw, me, Elias, with me own two eyes . . .
two
of ’em, yep, two. One, me future son- in- law.”

“And the other person you saw was a girl, wasn’t it, Elias? Did you see them kill her?”

The major asked the questions now, for I felt too ill to do so. I kept seeing David’s face. No, I could not believe it.

“They must of, for she were dead on the beach the next day, weren’t she?”

“If Victoria was in trouble, why didn’t you go to help her? What happened, Elias?”

Elias now grew quiet, his reddened face betraying his embarrassment. “I tried to get to me Vicky. I tried. But I’d drunk too much beer and threw up. I must have passed out for I remember nothin’ till the morning.”

“Did you see Victoria dead?”

He nodded, his face grim. “I saw her shoes. And then I looked over . . .”

“And saw the dead body,” the major finished. “Why did you scally away then, Elias? Why didn’t you report it? I think I know why. You thought you’d turn Victoria’s death to your advantage. You thought you’d blackmail Lord David instead and make more than a pretty penny. You gave yourself away before, Elias, when you mentioned he’d been paying you. Paying you to stay quiet! A
chief
witness in your own daughter’s murder.”

Elias didn’t like the denunciation. “What were I to do, then? She was dead so why not make a buck out of it?”

“Elias, you’re going nowhere until you make a full statement, here and now. I hope at some stage of your life you regret your actions for they lack all common decency.”

“The shoes are important,” I said on the road back to Cornwall the next morning.

“Lord David is the next target,” the major replied, “and I leave him to you, Miss Daphne du Maurier. If he trusts you, he’ll confess to you.”

I doubted his theory, as much as I doubted my own ability to face the family now, after hearing Elias’s story.

I went, though; I had no choice as Lianne had called for me.

“Where’d you go?”

Fresh from her bath, Lianne tugged the robe of her dressing gown.

“You were gone
all
day. Ewe says you went to London.”

“Yes, I went to get a typewriter.”

“I can’t believe you went to London without me!”

Sighing, I shook my head, and sat down on the bed. “I fear you’re going to be very angry with me. I went with the major. He asked me to go . . . to see if we could discover any more about the man Victoria went to meet in her diary.”

“So you didn’t go to get a typewriter. You went off to find out who this person is. Well, did you succeed?”

I nodded.

“Who is it?”

“Victoria’s father.”

“Her father . . .”

The word sounded foreign on her lips. “Funny. I never thought Victoria had a father.”

“He wasn’t a nice one. He was blackmailing her. I have to speak with your brother.”

“What do you need to speak to me about?” Lord David entered Lianne’s bedchamber, carrying her ribbon in his hand. “I found this on the terrace.”

“Oh, thank you! It’s my
favorite
ribbon. Daphne’s been busy, Davie. She went to London. Met Victoria’s father.”

“Did she?”

Lord David’s eyes turned suddenly dangerous.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “Elias is a nasty person. Wouldn’t surprise me if
he
murdered Victoria.”

I hoped to allay the growing suspicion in his face, but it didn’t work.

“There’s a painting I want to show you, Daphne. Lianne, you stay here for the moment.”

“All right.” She smiled her merry smile, whistling, quite oblivious to my fear.

We reached the top of the stairs. Searching for any sight of Annie, Betsy, or even Mrs. Trehearn, I attempted to appear calm.

“This way,” Lord David gestured down.

“Where are we going?” I said in a small voice.

He did not reply, and I prayed for Annie or Betsy to turn a corner and find me, to save me from this madman.

I soon found myself staring up at the
Beneficent Bride
.

“The lost bride,” he murmured. “You have developed a very singular interest in what happened to my lost bride, haven’t you, Daphne?”

I felt numb. The voice didn’t sound like Lord David’s. It sounded like a stranger’s.

“Why did you not come to me with the diary?”

“You said your mother did it,” I breathed, afraid to look into his eyes. “Has she confessed?”

“Confessed?” He laughed.

“Yes, for she went with Sir Edward willingly. I thought . . .”

“She has no need of confession, for
I
killed Victoria. Why else do you suppose she went to jail? To protect
me
.”

I stopped to peruse his face. “You believed she was meeting a man in London, didn’t you? A lover? You also thought she and Soames planned to plant a bastard on you. Is that why you chose to get rid of her by poison?”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “I am innately curious how you deduced all of this. What did Elias really say?”

“He was blackmailing you because he saw you and Lianne with Victoria on the cliffs that night. Which one of you did it? What happened? Lianne hid the shoes, didn’t she? Victoria’s shoes.”

Heaving a deep sigh, one verging on regret, he stared up at the painting. “I will finish the story I began in front of this painting. For you, Daphne, for you. I am a man and I will not allow my mother to suffer for a crime I committed.”

“You followed Victoria to London a few times, didn’t you? You watched her go into the club, thinking she met a lover there, the father of her child.”

“Yes.” Silently, he touched the face of the bride in the painting with his finger. “She was beautiful, like a doll. But I couldn’t trust her. She had not told me about Soames, and I found out. Her necklace fell off one day— the clasp opened. She swore Soames and she had never been lovers but I didn’t believe her.”

“She was a virgin when she came to you. She said so herself in her diary.”

“Was she,” he whispered, a haunting pallor creeping into his face. “I couldn’t tell; we’d drunk too much that first time.”

“She
was
innocent,” I maintained. “But she should have trusted you. She tried to handle everything herself— Soames, Connan, her father— but she only served to feed your doubts.”

He nodded, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “You do care for me, don’t you, Daphne? You justify things for me.”

“I can’t justify murder, David. That’s why you’ve written your confession, haven’t you? To release your mother?”

He nodded again. “When I saw her sacrifice herself for me so willingly, I knew the truth would come out. Besides, I am tired of people bleeding me. Elias is only one. Death or jail for me is a release, a haven.”

“What happened? You bought the poison or did Mrs. Trehearn mix it for you?”

“A friend of mine gave me the poison.”

“Bruce Cameron?”

“We were at the club, drinking. I started talking and by the end of the night, the poison ended up in my pocket. I took it home. I saw the perfume bottle on her dresser and simply slipped it inside. That was after the argument when she taunted me about the baby. We made up before dinner though, and I went to her room to get the bottle, but it had disappeared . . .”

“You were too late. She’d sprayed herself with the poison, its lethal inhalation worsening through dinner.”

“Yes.”

“Then she fled to her room, not knowing the reason for her sickness, maybe thinking it had to do with the baby and emotional distress, and decided to go for a walk. She felt heated, maybe. She collected her shoes and walked out to the cliffs. Why did you follow her? You knew she was going to die, didn’t you?”

“I was hoping to save her, but she ran so crazily. When I caught up to her she just stood there, her black hair blowing in the wind, and laughed at me. ‘You poor fool, David,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see I want to be alone?’ She ordered me to go and stood on the edge of the cliff, peering over. ‘Why do I feel so ill?’ she kept saying, and I asked her if she’d used the perfume spray. She looked at me then, a queer kind of look. I saw the notion of poison occurring in her eyes and it surprised her so much she stumbled and fell. Fell straight down to the sea, and to this day I don’t know if she meant to do it or whether it was an accident.”