Peril at Somner House (11 page)

The stone and slate cottage was easy to find. It was the first cottage on the left, and I noticed the closed shutters; the tended, yet suffering garden; and the weathered roof. I love seaside cottages and this one was undeniably charming.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

“Who is it? Ivy? Is that you, Ivy?”

“It's not Ivy,” I said through the wooden grooves. “I'm a stranger. You don't know me but I just spoke with your husband.”

“Eh?” Pounding footsteps and then the door sprang open to reveal a wiry-haired woman. Her keen eye quickly examined me. “Ye lost then? We don't get any fancy folk knockin' on our doors.”

Realizing this woman may be my closest find to a village gossip, I explained my purpose.

Heavy-lidded eyes narrowing, she crossed her arms and I wondered if she intended to keep me standing out in the cold wind. “Please,” I implored as the door began to close.

Shrugging, instead of shutting it, she opened the door wider and bid me entry. Without saying a word, I was led inside the tiny cottage, to the warm kitchen out the back. I tried not to look at the stacks of dirty dishes waiting to be washed or the faded curtains at the windows bearing more than a few years of dust.

She faced me from behind the kitchen, clicking her tongue. “I tell me man to keep quiet on the subject, I do. But does he listen to me? What's he say, then, about Arabella Woodford?”

“Not much. He said I should ask you.”

She clicked her tongue again. “Why do ye want to know about her?”

“She may be,” I cleared my voice, “we
all
may be suspects in the murder of Max Trevalyan.”

She smiled. “Always knew it'd happen. Those house parties, bringin' all sorts to the island…I said so to Ivy. Ivy's a
great friend of mine and we've watched the goings on of Somner House for many a year.”

I ached to learn more but she remained closemouthed. She was the kind of gossip, I feared, who collected information to share only for her benefit or among her inner circle. I did not belong to her inner circle and I had nothing to pay her with except news from Somner, news about the murder inquiry, news that might be priceless to a woman like Mrs. Pencheff.

“Did you go to the funeral?” Mrs. Pencheff asked archly.

“Yes, of course. My sister and I had only recently arrived before it happened. We were shocked, naturally.”

“And who is your sister and who are you?”

She wanted to know every pertinent detail so I humored her, giving a brief summary of my upbringing, my connections, and how I'd arrived at Somner house.

“Du Maurier,” she mused aloud. “I ain't heard the name but that's nothin'. I've been here me whole life, I have, and never ventured off it.”

“The island? You've never left the island?”

“No. Why should I? Me parents were same before me and me grandparents before that. All fishermen and boatbuilders, we are.”

“And your family has witnessed many things during that time, has it not?”

Mrs. Pencheff huffed. “Maybe we have or maybe we haven't.”

I lowered my eyes, trying a new tactic. “It's all very shocking to us, my sister and myself. We don't know what to make of it.” And I went on to volunteer information regarding Kate's fears regarding the reading of the will the next day.

This interested Mrs. Pencheff. “The readin's tomorrow, is it?”

“Yes. We all believe Lord Roderick will inherit, which is only fit.”

“It
should
be only fit. He's the only good blood in the family.”

“What of Max's son?”

“Eh? That little bastard? He's nothing, though ye can't tell Jackson that, can ye? He has grandiose ideas for the boy but he won't be cheatin' Rod out of his rightful inheritance. That boy's a bastard and he's the wild eyes of his father, I can tell ye that.”

“I confess I never knew Max Trevalyan very well,” I ventured slowly, “but I thought him very wild, very wild indeed.”

“Pfff!
Wild
is not the least of it. He was very bad.
Evil,
even. I says so to Ivy and Mr. Pencheff many a time. But do they listen to me? No! Only
now
they listen.”

“Lord Max had few friends, it seemed,” I went on as Mrs. Pencheff bustled away to boil the kettle. I allowed myself a little smile as I hoped she'd accepted me into her inner circle.

Bringing back a tray of fresh tea, Mrs. Pencheff shook her head. “There's none blamin' Lady Kate over it, poor lass. Who's to blame her goin' off with her gentleman fellow for puttin' up with such a husband as him! I'm surprised Mr. Fernald's locked up the lover. Not fair, if he were protectin' her.”

“I agree completely,” I murmured, drawing up to glance out the window while she poured the tea. “You have a very fine view here, Mrs. Pencheff.”

She shivered. “Not with them winds up. The only place on the island to get warm is down at the pub.” Flicking a hand toward the other room, she gestured to the cottage's dismal spurting fire. “So, ye want to know 'bout Miss Woodford, eh? What d'ye make of 'er?”

“She's quiet and reserved, however, there has been an oc
casional emotional outburst. She loves her cousins, which is natural—”

“Hark!”

A tirade of curses sprang forth in a language unknown to me.

“No
natural
thing there. To the cave, they'd go, first with Max, Max and she, barely off the apron strings and once it were Mr. Rod. Well, I only saw
him
go there once, but that Max”—her mouth took a grim line—“he's a rogue to do
that
with his own cousin!”

Concealing my surprise, for I never suspected Arabella would interest a man like Max Trevalyan, I mentioned his affair with Rachael Eastley.

Mrs. Pencheff raised her eyes to the ceiling. “There's likely half a dozen bastards of 'em around. You've seen Mrs. Eastley, have ye?”

“Yes. She's very attractive.”

“Psh!
Attractively
landing her son on Max. Tho'…the boy has the look of him and he's the only bastard he's claimed.”

“Claimed,” I echoed. “So Max accepted the boy?”

“Well,” Mrs. Pencheff pressed my hand. “Ye never heard it from me, but Ivy and I, we've seen him visit her and the boy, bringin' the boy presents. If that's not acceptance, I don't know what is. Heard a few other girls over the years tryin' the same sort of thing, but he'd have none of it.”

“Mrs. Eastley was different. Perhaps he loved her?”

“Who knows? The person I feel sorry for is that Lady Kate. It ain't right what Fernald's doin'. Who'd blame her or her fancy fellow for protectin' themselves. That's not murder, I say.”

“They will view it as manslaughter.”

“Manslaughter my foot! How can it be when ye protectin'
yourself? It don't make no sense to me and that half-baked brain of Fernald, he ain't real clever. Ye watch him now, won't ye, over at the big house?” She looked at me then, archly. “And ye'll come back and visit me with the news, won't ye?”

I promised I would. “Good-bye, Mrs. Pencheff.”

She stood at the door watching me, despite the cold, and I wondered what she was thinking as she watched me go.

“Sir Marcus is looking for you.”

Languidly sprawled on her bed, Angela directed a lazy eye at me. “He seemed very put out you weren't around. Said something about the kitchen and dinner?”

Oh dear! I'd forgotten completely. Whipping off my coat and gloves, I headed down to find him juggling two steaming saucepans.

“Quick!” he ordered. “Take this.”

Muttering under his breath, Hugo stood cross-armed while I hurried over to rescue Sir Marcus, emptying the charred remains of the saucepan down the sink.

“You were supposed to be here at ten,” Sir Marcus growled. “Now my minestrone casserole is ruined. Where were you? You'd better have a good excuse.”

After tying on my apron, I smiled mysteriously. “I do have a good excuse but first, what can I do to help? We've still time to make another dish.”

Giving me one last glare, he fired a series of curt instructions and I followed them to the best of my ability. I seldom
ventured into the kitchen, except to extract an apple or a picnic basket, and it never occurred to me the amount of preparation involved in preparing a dish. Sir Marcus's extravagant plan bemused me. “I should call you ‘Lord Kitchener,'” I joked while peeling and cutting vegetables and fetching various herbs and spices.

Within the hour, we'd finished. A watchful Hugo still haunted a corner of the kitchen, but Sir Marcus continued blithely on, whistling away. I wished I had his sort of temperament. I couldn't relax in an atmosphere where I knew we weren't wanted. Hugo objected to noisy guests blundering about his domain and making a mess in the process.

Locating a space on the kitchen bench to sit and observe his new creation bubbling away, Sir Marcus struck up a conversation with the unwilling Hugo. “We met Mrs. Eastley at the funeral, old chap.”

Hugo's slanted eyes remained uncommunicative.

“Max's son is a nice-looking boy,” Sir Marcus continued. “Wonder he didn't leave the estate to him. Oh, but, how silly of me. He's not legitimate, is he? Does it matter with these Trevalyans? I know my own estate can only pass on the well-oiled line, but others are more accepting of children out of wedlock. What say you, Hugo, old boy?”

The hunchback floundered like a fish caught on pavement. “Er…”

“Er. Er—yes,” Sir Marcus pretended to understand. “All will come out in the official reading of the will. Tomorrow, isn't it? Shall you be there?”

“What,
me
? His lordship said nothin' to me. What's it got to do with me?”

His eyes betrayed the smallest hint of fear.

“But you're always the man about the house,” Sir Marcus pacified in his best engaging manner. “You
see
things. You caught Miss Daphne here creeping into a forbidden room, so what else have you seen? What else have you witnessed?”

Hugo became indignant. “I told the police everythin' I know and seen.”

“And heard?” I blurted out. “It's funny how one often forgets hearing things in the middle of the night. You must have heard
something,
dear Mr. Hugo,” I pleaded in a sweet tone.

The hunchback paused to brood and I gently laid my hand on his arm. “Please, it may be important. I know you wish to protect the Trevalyans and I promise no harm will come to them.”

Not sure whether to trust me or not, or whether to speak or not, he groaned.

“There were a squeak,” he said eventually.

“A squeak?” Sir Marcus echoed.

“The terrace door. It makes a noise, even tho' I've tried to oil it. Three times, I hear it that night.”

“And you told Mr. Fernald this?” Swooping upon the clue, Sir Marcus's eyes glimmered like a cat.

“He weren't too interested in it.” Hugo shrugged. “The first two times it were quietlike, as a thief would do, and then the last time it was loud. I left me bed and went down there, but nobody was there.” Crossing his arms, he frowned at us. “I told Fernald all this anyway…why's it so important?”

“Because little things are important,” I said, following his gaze to see Kate hurrying into the room, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Oh, Hugo,” she began, stopping short when she saw Sir
Marcus and me. She smiled a little uncertainly before delivering her instructions to set another place for dinner.

“Max's friend,” she explained to us. “They were in the war together and when he received the news, he braved the seas to get here.”

She seemed relieved this friend had arrived.

“You'll meet him at dinner. Forgive me.” Her voice faltered. “It's been a long day.”

“It's all right, Katie girl.” Sir Marcus enveloped her in his great bearlike embrace. “All will turn out well. You'll see.”

“Somehow,” she said, and paused, raising deep, haunted eyes to me. “Somehow…I don't think it will this time.”

She left Sir Marcus and me, and we used the opportunity to press the issue of alerting us to any little abnormality out of the usual order of things. What Hugo truly thought of his previous master came out in his next words.

“Poor lady. She don't deserve no bad. No bad after what she went through with him.”

“You're her best witness,” Sir Marcus incited. “If you want to help her and help Mr. Lissott, you must tell Fernald what you saw. Oh, I
know
you must have seen or heard
something
. The lord catching the lady in her lover's embrace? The fight that followed? Wrestling in the hall perhaps? Then dragging a body out through the squeaky terrace door?”

Hugo looked conflicted. “But I told him everthin' I seen and heard.”

“But what of all the other times when you witnessed Lady Kate suffering at the hands of her husband?” I implored. “Is there a reason by which she had to defend herself? Is there, Hugo? You must know.”

“Mr. Josh will get off and you'll make Lady Kate a very
happy woman,” Sir Marcus added. “
And
you'll earn the gratitude of Lord Roderick.”

Considering the enviable prospect of keeping his job and pleasing his new employer, Hugo stared down at the floor. “I'll think on it.” He nodded and returned to his kitchen duties.

 

I went to dress for dinner. Wearily climbing up the stairs, I wished I could take my meal in my room, for the day had proved too eventful for me. I just wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

Yawning, I was glad to greet an empty room. When tired, the last thing I wanted to do was to humor Angela, whose strange behavior quite frankly disturbed me. Was she party to a crime? Or worse, was she party to a murder? She seemed pleased for Kate regarding Max's passing and pleased that Mr. Lissot remained incarcerated in the local prison.

“That
stupid
girl's in the bathroom again!”

Storming into the room, Angela kicked off her shoes and threw down her handbag. Commencing to peel off her stockings, she further denounced Bella.

“She's not all prim and proper, either. Caught her
smoking
this afternoon, oh yes, I did. Footed the stub when she saw me but it was too late. She's definitely hiding something,” Angela added, her hands diving into her toiletry bag. “Can't quite fix it, though. Is it Lord Rod she's after? The house? Or something else?”

A knock sounded at the door.

Angela smiled in return. “Oh, it's Kate. She's come to dress you.”

“Dress
me
?”

I had no time to compose myself before Kate came in, her arms laden with dresses.

“Yes.” Angela clapped her hands. “We're going to make you up and parade you before all the gentlemen visitors.
No,
don't deny us the pleasure, and it'll be a good diversion for Kate. Look, she's picked all these beauties from her own collection.”

There was a significant pause. Should I show gratitude, being the prized cow of Angela and Kate? I ground my teeth. The notion of being paraded about appalled me. And I hated to be anybody's
hobby,
even for a short period of time.

And knowing Major Browning, he'd assume I had purposely spent hours adorning myself for his benefit.
Coiffuring curls in front of the mirror and pinching my cheeks.
Oh! It was too…humiliating. Unfortunately, Angela dismissed the downward turn of my mouth as Kate began to dress me. After examining my hair and skin color, she set about her work, ordering me in and out of gowns too numerous to count.

At last they proudly shepherded me to the bathroom to see the result. I kept my eyes downcast, hoping,
praying
Bella's mocking sneer remained in her room. I still found it difficult to believe Mrs. Pencheff, which I planned to keep to myself. Bella Woodford…and her cousin?

 

Descending the massive staircase, the young bride glowed with nervous pride. She knew, for this one night, she looked beautiful. Tiptoeing in her high-heeled satin shoes, she allowed herself only one backward gaze, waving a shaky hand to the maids lined up to watch her triumph.

She couldn't wait to surprise her husband…

“Daphne! My
word.
”

Dismayed to see, not my expectant, proud husband, the slender and tall one, his brooding brow vanishing at my glorious arrival, but a bustling, red-nosed Sir Marcus, I paused, my hand resting on the balustrade.

Beaming, Sir Marcus let his cultured eye study me from head to foot. “Ah, but wait until Browning sees you.”

I stopped short, a sudden fear overcoming me. I didn't want to face the crowd. I didn't want to see Major Browning. I didn't want him examining me.

“You dressed for
yourself,
not for him, I know,” Sir Marcus said, tapping my wrist. “You're a sly one, aren't you? What were you dreamin' about just now if you don't mind me asking?”

“A scene for a book,” I answered.

“Hmm. Well, I trust it has a bitter, dark twist then, this story of yours. Too boring otherwise.”

“I can't go down.” I halted again, flushed of face.

“Why ever not? You look better than I've ever seen you before. Look in the mirror, Daphne girl. See for yourself.”

Drawn to the hall mirror, I stared at the picture of a girl I didn't recognize. Young, slender, curling honey-colored hair swept up and curled on the sides of her face. Swathed in a gown of ivory silk, strips of pearl-encrusted and silver embroidery framing a delicate neckline, she resembled a bride. Skin of peaches and cream, deep-set wondering eyes, innocent lips, and a face too young for the diamond earrings on her lobes or the diamond-pearl necklace at her throat. My fingers drew up, ready to rip the necklace away…

“Come on.” Sir Marcus drew me downstairs. “I'm here to protect you.”

“I am not frightened,” I clarified on the way. “I merely have no wish to be ogled at.”

“I thought all girls like to be ogled at. Isn't that how they catch husbands?”

We made our grand entrance, all eyes assessing me. Perhaps it was bemusement. The customarily plainly dressed Daphne was exhibiting herself in the magnetic apparel of a skilled femme fatale. Male hushes ensued and Kate, to my eternal detriment, expressed pride in her creation.

Sensing the Major's proximity, and eager to avoid his mocking eye, I found myself a quiet corner of refuge by one of the paintings.

“Hello,” said a voice. “I don't believe we've been introduced?”

A nondescript man leaned gracefully against the wall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. He was in his mid-twenties, with brown hair brushed back, clothing neat and uncomplicated, and a demeanor modest and unobtrusive. He was the kind of person one felt very safe with at social gatherings such as this, the undemanding person lagging in the background.

He introduced himself as Peter Davis, Max's friend from the war. Standing in front of a painting called
The Two Soldiers,
I expressed my condolences and he began to speak of his friend.

“Yes, the townsfolk kept us alive.” Mr. Davis nodded, his light brown hair gracing his forehead. “Max and I,” he said, pausing to smile, “we were inseparable, you see. We went to college together, then the club, and the war…we've been friends forever. Where others would've left him for dead, I dragged him through the forest. I couldn't accept his death, though the severity of his wounds suggested I should have.”

“That was good of you,” I murmured, noting the grief wash over his face.

He shrugged dismissively. “It doesn't signify now, does it? He's dead. I wish I'd been here.” His gaze slowly went around the room. “It's ridiculous to go on normally when something like this happens, yet I suppose we must.” Mr. Davis remained bound to his grief. “I just don't know how I'll manage, Miss Daphne, without him. Max and I shared so much together. A lifetime.”

“Then you must busy yourself.” I laid a kind hand on his arm. “Since his marriage, you can't have been with him all the time. What have you been doing since the war?”

A frank smile passed his lips. “I work at the museum, and I suppose I've given the wild days up to become a bit of a hermit. I keep to myself and my piano mostly.”

“Oh, you play the piano? How glorious!”

We launched into a lively discussion, which progressed to the dining room, where Lady Kate shrewdly placed me beside the Major.

“Perfect,” the Major breathed, sliding out my chair for me.

I sat down and pretended not to notice his mocking swagger as he drew his chair closer to mine.

“Dare I assume you've dressed for me? After our long parting, I hoped it would be so.”

“Your opinion of yourself is grossly overdeveloped,” I said, smiling through my teeth, reinstating the former distance between our chairs, “and is unwanted here.”

“Unwanted by whom?”

His casual gaze strayed in the direction of our hostess, who, despite her intention to dress deadly dull, had turned out a picture in blue and white. Dispensing with the black widow's weeds, she also made a concession by adding a tiny feather headpiece to her curled hair. I wished, rather enviously, that I
could master her becoming smile, so charming and perfect and contagious.