Peril at Somner House (18 page)

“You are mistaken. We both know Josh is no murderer, and as for Sir Marcus, he is my friend.”

“A risqué friend.”

“No more than you,” I retorted.

“Oh,” he smiled, “I am delighted to hear I am your friend again. Gallivanting around the world's greatest estates and mixing with high society must produce a forgiving nature in you. But, by and by, did you know your friend Sir Marcus is ‘Mysterious M'?”

“No!”

“But yes. Wonder what he shall write about this affair, hmmm?”

I gaped at him in utter disbelief, followed by shock and denial. I began to shake my head. It couldn't be true. However, thinking over the past weeks, from the very first day I'd met Sir Marcus, the possibility unfurled like the sails of a ship. It made perfect sense. Sir Marcus was the famous gossip columnist Mysterious M who reported on society's scandals and mysteries. Nobody knew his identity, but now that I thought about it, Sir Marcus was in the right position with the right contacts and he had the likable and trusting personality to do the job. “The phantom of society revealed,” I murmured, unable to curb my astonishment. “Yes, that explains his experience with listening devices and so forth.”

“What listening devices?” the Major asked.

“Oh.” I saw I'd betrayed myself, so I relayed the conversation Sir Marcus and I had overheard between Kate and Josh Lissot. This led to other confessions; I couldn't help myself, for the Major's attentive, handsome face, keen to hear and to talk, encouraged me. I hadn't experienced such a rush of excitement
for a long time and I think, I hoped, he felt it, too. Perhaps I allowed the fine day to carry me away in a romantic fancy, but something sparked between us that day, and I was eager to hold on to it.

“I love this place.” His wistful appreciation brought fresh color to my cheeks as we strolled around the gardens later in the day. “I came here as a boy…and I never forgot it.”

“It isn't a place you can forget. Serene and…”

Angela's raucous laughter spoiled the moment.

“Your sister sounds like she's having a merry time,” the Major remarked, stepping to the side as the others descended upon us.

I tried not to scowl as Kate struck up an instant flirtation with the Major, bringing quick pallor to Mr. Lissot's cleanly shaven face.

“We are going to the museum,” Angela announced gaily, usurping the role of tour guide. To the Major, she held out her hand. “How delightful to see you! Shall you join us for the picnic? We've
plenty
. You simply must join us, mustn't he, Roderick?”

“Yes, please do.” Roderick, returning from the house, shook hands with the Major. “I am glad you have joined our party. Are your men here with you?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then we are very happy to have you.” Angela nudged my arm. “Aren't we, Daphne?”

“Y-yes.” A strangled sound emerged from my voice. “Very.”

We headed for the museum, Roderick and the Major sharing a private chat while the rest of us lagged behind. So, I was wrong. The Major had been invited; he had not intercepted our plans and decided to follow. I felt a pang of disappointment.

“Daphne.” Sir Marcus took my arm. “It was my idea to invite the Major. Does he join us for you?”

I glanced up at him with a secretive smile. Mysterious M, are you? Yes, it fit.

“What say you, Daphne girl? The Major is a shady fellow. He claims bad weather brought him to the island but I think he has come for another reason.”

“Oh? What reason?”

“I think he's come for a woman.”

I tried hard to swallow the lump rising in my throat. “You mean Kate.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. Although she has not admitted it, I believe she invited him, you know, at the same time we all received our invitations. I think this whole little holiday of ours is a diversion.”

“A diversion for murder?”

Sir Marcus lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps, my girl. Perhaps.”

Walking into the museum, I concentrated on the Valhalla collection. As I strolled past each relic born from the sea, from various shipwrecks over the ages, I envisaged each tragedy. Pausing by a painting of a beautiful woman dressed in a flowing royal blue gown, I stared up at her face and whispered, “Hello, Katherine Trevalyan. Did you murder your husband?”

“No, I didn't,” came Kate's response from where she stood just behind me.

“Want to go outside? I fancy a smoke.”

“I don't know what to say,” I blurted. “Please forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive.” Snapping out her silver cigarette case, Kate smiled. She lit her black ebony pipe and stared out over the green as we moved onto the hall's veranda. “I know everyone thinks I did it, but I'm innocent. If I'd wanted Max dead, I would have paid someone to do it.”

“And you didn't pay someone—”

“I know it looks that way. That horrible man Fernald twisted all of my words…and Josh's. He won't give up until he pins this murder on us both and”—she laughed—“I mean, who else could have done it but the wife and the lover?”

“Jackson?”

“Jackson,” she said, her eyes narrowed, “and his daughter.”

“They could have hoped to gain an inheritance,” I went on, remembering that she did not know Angela and I had eavesdropped on the reading of the will.

“Fools. Roderick will be kind, but he won't give up Somner now that he has it.”

“As has Arabella.”

She looked at me and laughed. “Daphne, Daphne, you have a mind for a murder case. I prefer to think Max died of a random killing. If only we weren't so isolated, it may well have been the case. But he had a knack for making enemies faster than friends.”

Seeing Angela and the Major a short distance away, I said: “I'm sorry for my silly ramblings, Kate.”

She gazed at me then, her huge blue eyes turning sea green with tears. “You do believe me, don't you, Daphne?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied, but I didn't. I didn't trust the way her eyes shifted when she spoke, or the way her brow furrowed. It was as though she was contemplating and choosing her words very carefully. She was too careful for innocence.

 

Hackney carriages carried us on a short tour of the island before we reached our picnic destination near the Trevalyan cottage. Despite my misgivings, I endeavored to be a pleasant companion and dismissed all thoughts of murder from my mind. I wanted to enjoy the fine day, the fine food promised us by Sir Marcus, and the scenery.

I thought of my poor parents in cold London, and Jeanne in wintry Paris. No, I wanted to be no place else but on that island, breathing in the fresh sea air.

The cottage, rented by the Trevalyan family over the years, resembled an old rectory one might find in the heart of Hertfordshire, gracing the far side of a sloping hill strewn with tiny blue and white flowers. Long grass bowed to the hum of a mild breeze and a maze of pale pink primroses grew up each side of the cottage.

Upon walking down the modest clipped path leading to the ancient stone house, I wished Angela and I could have rented the lovely place for ourselves. The caretakers, Mr. Trent and his wife, a contented plump couple of middle years, warmly greeted us.

From the moment we arrived, the couple bustled about, directing us down to the lake, where we planned to conduct our picnic, and I noted the particular regard bestowed upon Roderick. A gentle smile and nudge of approval here and there indicated their support of his inheritance. I pictured Max here, bringing his latest mistress, and I wondered if Mrs. Eastley had spent time at the cottage. When she found herself with child, had Max brought her to the cottage to bide the time until the birth?

Mrs. Dorcas Trent interested me. A robust Cornish woman with shrewd eyes, she missed little and I saw her place a sympathetic hand upon Kate's shoulder as we walked down the path.

“Daphne, do help me with this thing.”

I hurried ahead to where Sir Marcus labored with a cumbersome gramophone.

“So you are Mysterious M?” I teased, pinching his arm and grabbing one side of his load.

Snagging his finger on the gramophone, Sir Marcus scowled. “I most certainly am Mysterious M, and if you breathe a word of it, I'll—”

“You don't have to worry.” I smiled. “Your secret is in very safe hands. I won't breathe a word of it, I promise. Are you writing a piece on Kate and the scandals of Somner House, perchance?”

He colored. “It was my intention, but after Max…I don't know. Now, here's a good place to set it up.”

“Music by the lake,” I mused. “A charming idea.”

Mrs. Trent instructed her husband to set up chairs by the lake and our men assisted Mr. Trent while she spread the blanket over the grass. In no time, a picnic laden with bread, fruit, ham, and cheese emerged to the lulling sounds of a beautiful composition.

“It's called ‘Jazz in New York,'” Sir Marcus informed, trying to inspire us to dance.

I shook my head, preferring to keep my legs outstretched on the grass and to watch the black swans swirling in the lake.

Lord Roderick took a place beside me. “You're not going to dance with the others?”

From the corner of my eye I surveyed Kate and the Major engaged in a fox-trot, Josh and Angela laughing beside them. “No. You?”

“Certainly not.” He grinned and reclined there in companionable silence.

After a time, I turned to him. “This is like a dream.”

“Yes, it is, but I'm afraid to believe it…to believe what I hope is possible.”

This dire admission drained some of my sleepiness away. “Why don't you believe good times are possible? They are yours for the taking. You don't need to bury yourself away in your tower, you know. It takes courage, but surely such happiness is worth the gamble.”

“You're speaking of love,” he laughed, his voice so soft it echoed with the afternoon breeze.

“Love is not alien to you.” I reminded him of the book of poetry I'd seen at his tower. “If it were, you would never keep such a book on your shelves. I find the fact that you do most…”

My voice drained off. I couldn't find the word. I didn't want to encourage him unnecessarily, yet I felt the urgent need to promote the belief that love prevailed over all else. No struggle surpassed the truest love. I believed it with every fiber of my being, yet I, sadly, had not experienced it.

“Oh, Daphne,” he murmured, not daring to face me, “I love how you live each day with such optimism. I sincerely hope your time at Somner hasn't been too catastrophic?”

I assured him it had not. His brother's death, though I dared not admit it, had interested me far more than it should. Was it a callous disregard for the victim, or a growing obsession with my study of life, the study of people and their motivations? I wondered.

“I wish I knew who murdered my brother, but he had so many enemies, who can tell?” Roderick asked.

“Jackson the gardener seems your most likely suspect,” I said. “He has the greatest motivation. A daughter and grandchild to think of.”

“No,” came the gentle response.

I languidly turned my head to see Bella sprawled out as I was upon a blanket beside Sir Marcus and Angela. In amongst this happy crowd lay a resplendent Kate and the dashing Major. “Your sister-in-law says that she's innocent as well.”

“I am sure she is. A man had to have done it, judging by his face.”

I lowered my eyes.

“It's curious, you know, I thought Max was invincible. He survived the war and many scrapes in it only to die…like that.”

“Whatever he did, he didn't deserve such a death.”

My words echoed in the ensuing silence and Roderick sug
gested we join the others at cards. I stayed a little while apart, sensing the Major's amusement at my antisocial behavior. At social events, he had the upper hand, whereas I paled into the shadows.

When Mrs. Trent came to take away the basket and dirty plates, I offered to help and followed her inside the cottage.

“Bless ye, dearie, ye didn't 'ave to help me. I can do it on me own.”

“Oh, I know you can. How long have you been here, Mrs. Trent?”

“Oh, a few years now, ever since I got married. It's a bit quiet and I miss Penzance, that's where I grew up, but it's a good livin' workin for the Trevalyans.”

“It must have come as a great shock, Lord Max's death. Did he ever come here with…friends?”

I'd caught her unawares and her guilty expression answered me.

“I suspect she had the child here,” I went on. “Is it true, Mrs. Trent? Did Lady Kate know of it?”

Mrs. Trent looked outside. “She knows everythin'. Lord Max had many vices, but at least he didn't keep secrets.”

“She wanted a baby…Lady Kate. It must have been heart-wrenching when her husband's mistress bore the son she can never have.”

Mrs. Trent arched her brows. “Well, that's the way of it. I know nothin' more of the matter.”

I turned to leave her, knowing she thought I spoke out of bounds. But I had one last question. “What did you think of Rachael Eastley?”

“A lady. Not born one, mind.”

Yes, but was she a lady with secrets?

“Daphne, what on earth are you doing out here?”

“Oh, hello Josh. I'm interested in this particular flower. Do you know what it's called?”

“I don't blame you.” He grinned, kneeling down beside me in the garden. “I'm not very good with cards either. That's why I went for a walk, hoping…” He glanced down the hill to where Kate stood clapping her hands. “Women! I can't make them out.”

“I am a woman, sir.”

His keen eyes studied me. “So you are. But you're different somehow. You see people and you glean the beyond. I've watched you, you know. One has to keep aware of the quiet observers.”

I laughed. “I am not entirely a hermit.”

He smiled, his haunted gaze intent on the merry card group.

“I suppose it's too early to ask if you and she—”

“Plan to marry?” Scowling, he took the unusual blue flower from my hands. “Kate is like this flower. She's like a wild
thing who has to be protected. How I wish I had better means to do so!”

“Both of you never imagined there would come an opportunity where marriage would become possible.”

“No,” he agreed. “We did not.”

“And now it's awkward?”

“Devilishly awkward! I don't even know how to treat her. Friend? Lover?”

“Will she marry you?”

“I don't know,” he murmured. “When this business is over, I guess we'll see.”

“They cannot arrest you again, surely.”

“They can and they will. For who else do they have but me?”

I followed his retreat down the steps to the others. Greeting him with fervor, Kate suggested we take a walk before we were due to catch the boat home.

Josh's lips tightened. My heart went out to him. He didn't know whether to go or to stay as he was forced to accept crumbs from his changeable lover.

“A walk,” Sir Marcus protested. “After all this food and wine? I daresay that's a criminal offense.”

So the party, save Sir Marcus, started out for a late-afternoon walk. The shoreline lay not far from the cottage. We strolled along the beach and into the hinterland beyond, exploring, absorbing the delightful sea air under the watchful eye of squawking seagulls.

What I enjoyed most was just listening, to the sound of the surf rolling into the solid backs of the rocks; to the crunch of the soft, sandy beaches beneath our feet; and the gentle breeze blowing across the hills.

“Hullo there!”

I stopped and shut my eyes. I could no longer hear the sea air. “Major Browning, you are not helping my cause at all. Shhh. Listen.”

Grinning, he watched my effort to stand perfectly still and unruffled by his presence. “I think it only
proper
to advise that the wind is lifting your skirt, Miss du Maurier.”

“I know it is but I don't care. Hear the storm coming? It is growing and shall strike soon.”

And it did, with dire precision. A sudden lightning streak across the darkening sky and I jumped into the Major's arms.

“You should predict more often.” His laughing breath caressed my forehead. “It's not every day you jump into my arms.”

“I did not jump
willingly
,” I pointed out.

“
Willfully,
you did.
Willfully,
you want to kiss me.”

He was right. I did. There was something comforting about a storm brewing on the horizon and being wrapped in his arms. Throwning my pride to the wind, I gave myself to him completely, moving so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. I had taken him by surprise for once.

“Daphne!”

“Browning!”

“Now there's a name.” Waving to our friends on the opposite headland, the Major reluctantly let me out of his arms. “Mrs. Daphne Browning.
My
Mrs. Browning.”

“You are wrong. I shall never marry you,” I avowed, nearly slipping on the rocks before he steadied me.

“I am never wrong,” the Major returned, climbing down and holding out his hand for me to follow. “The fact is you need a husband to look after you. Otherwise, lightning will strike your head one day.”

“I'm not an imbecile,” I retorted. “I can take care of myself.”

We'd reached a sharp stretch of jagged rocks. I faltered at the wide gap and he gallantly proffered his hand once more.

“I know you can take care of yourself, Miss Independent. Jump across now before the rain comes.”

Grinding my teeth, I accepted his helping hand. We had nearly caught up to the others and must have looked a sight, running back along the beach to the cottage, the rain and thunder pelting down upon us. We all sat with blankets around ourselves within the fire-blazing parlor of the cottage.

“We'll have to stay. We can't go back now,” Roderick declared.

A party of guests, stranded at her humble, wayside cottage by the sea, all demanding food and lodging for the night was quite the unforeseen occurence, but Mrs. Trent handled the situation with aplomb. Disappearing and reappearing, she pronounced the rooms ready and waiting, and to my eternal distress, it appeared that I would have to share with Arabella. Angela and Kate were in one room, Roderick and Sir Marcus in another, and Josh Lissot and the Major were designated the study enclosure.

Fresh towels and basins of steaming water awaited us in the bathrooms. I realized this was the primitive offering of a bath in such circumstances, and I offered Bella the opportunity to go first. She accepted without reservation, and I waited on the hastily made bed, quivering from the cold.

Eventually, she emerged and apologized for taking so long, to which I lamely smiled. Once inside the bathroom, I rolled my eyes. Could I survive a night with Bella? I knew she considered me a threat. When I emerged in my towel and began
combing my newly washed hair, she eyed me with a tinge of hostility.

I sat down on the edge of my bed to dry my hair and put it in some kind of order. “Oh, did you ever think we'd be stranded here overnight!”

To my amazement, Bella, curled up in her swamp of warm blankets, sent me an uncharacteristic smile of quiet, self-assurance mixed with curiosity.

“Is there or is there not something between you and my cousin?” Her whisper shot out in the semidarkness.

“I…I cannot tell you,” I stammered truthfully.

“Or is it the Major? I've watched you two together, too, and I won't allow you to hurt my cousin. He's doesn't like to be played.”

I was about to answer “I am not the kind to do so” when my pride got the better of me. Knowing it would annoy her, I answered her question with a question. “I might ask something of you. Are you in love with Rod or with Somner House?”

She laughed the nervous schoolgirl laugh one makes when discussing boys and secrets. Discarding her blanket, she began to undress, stripping almost bare before me and parading her lithe figure about the room.

I turned an abhorrent eye. She did it for the purpose of an exhibition, to shock, to prove she was a desirable woman.

Determined not to give her any recognition, I feigned complete nonchalance. Outside, the wind howled as lightning flashed, and from down the hall, the gramophone started playing a French song I hadn't heard since the war.

Eager to get away from Bella and sacrificing my vanity by leaving my hair unset, I strolled out of the room and into a dream.

Lounging by the window, Major Browning lay reading a book, his profile partially softened by the lamplight, a gentle smile upon his lips as he listened to the lilting caress of Edith Piaf's “
Non, je ne regretted rien.
” The rest of the room, a collage of floral-covered chairs, faded carpet, burgundy-and-cream-striped wallpaper cluttered with small pictures of various animals and children's faces, and lamps, a dozen lamps adorning every nook and cranny, blurred into the background.

Since I approached quietly, the Major didn't see me at first. Choosing the opportunity to linger awhile in the shadowy hallway, I studied the man of many faces. Scotland Yard trusted him. My father respected him.
I
should rely on him. He had an interesting face more than a handsome one, I decided, his nose not quite aquiline but distinctive, his cheekbones and jawline well-defined, all leading down to the sensual curve of his mouth.

A peaceful radiant warmth accompanied me as I walked into the room. As his long fingers caressed the pages of the book, I choked away a sigh of longing for what could not be mine. A man like the Major was too well-liked by women to be anything more than a friend, and suddenly, seeing him in this repose, I wished it wasn't so. His hot gaze now fell upon me, slowly dissecting every inch of my unkempt appearance. A slow smile played at the corner of his mouth. He rose out of his chair and ever so subtly caught me, his hands cupping my face and his lips engaging mine in an ethereal, intoxicating kiss. Forces out of my control gripped us both and I suddenly understood the danger of passion.

“Well, well, here's a to-do.”

Gaping dramatically from the door, Sir Marcus whistled.

“No, no, go ahead, my friends. I'm not one for interrupting romantic interludes.”

Scarlet-faced, I detached myself from the Major. Fleeing to the safety of the vacant parlor, I proceeded to engross myself in the business of finding another record to play as, blessedly, Mrs. Trent announced the time for dinner and asked if we would like a predinner drink.

I said yes, hastily. Sensing my distress, Sir Marcus slid to my side the moment the others entered the room, all convivial and noisy as usual. Had I really wantonly kissed the Major? Had I really given him a glimpse of my inner soul, the secrets I guarded so passionately?

“There, there.” He proudly patted my hand. “All fixed and all's well, as Shakespeare says.” He next whispered, “I'm so relieved you're not a prude, m'girl. Though I
am
distressed you didn't pick
me
as your kissing partner.”

I sipped my champagne and allowed it to drift straight to my head. I didn't care. I had to forget my momentary lowering of the guard. To no one had I shown what I'd shown Major Browning, a man who chatted amiably with Kate Trevalyan and Arabella Woodford as if nothing had occurred between us.

Thunder rumbled outside.

“How glorious,” Angela laughed, clapping her hands. “We're stranded!”

“With only the clothes on our back,” echoed Roderick, his curious, questioning eye darting from the Major to me.

I blushed. Did he know? Had he seen us? Oh dear. If he
had
seen me with the Major, what must he now think of me? Did he think me a wanton gadabout?

Roderick's good opinion mattered to me. He had displayed
a romantic interest in me by opening his mind and his heart and I did not wish to repay the compliment by flirting shamelessly with another man.

Apologizing for the lack of time to prepare a proper meal, Mrs. Trent shepherded us into the cramped dining parlor adjacent to the kitchen. It proved a tight squeeze accommodating all eight of us around her walnut country table. Her best linen and dinnerware had been brought out of the cabinet on the far wall for the occasion.

“Smells delightful,” Sir Marcus said as he sniffed the air. “Roast beef and potatoes and Cornish pasty pies. Heaven!”

Bottles of wine lay open on the table and the Major swiftly rose to his feet to see to the ladies first, and then the gentlemen. Draped windows kept the terror of the storm outside, its odd clap of lightning and thunder heightening the drama of the occasion.

“Where on
earth
is Josh?” Kate muttered, poking around. “His dinner will grow cold or lies in deep peril of Sir Marcus devouring it.” Smiling as Mrs. Trent brought out yet another tasty dish, she covered Josh's plate with a napkin. “It smells absolutely delicious, Mrs. Trent. You're a marvel…doing all this at the last minute.”

Mrs. Trent beamed. Eager to impress, she left us to help ourselves to the roast beef and vegetables and potato pie wrapped in pastry.

“If Josh doesn't show up soon,” Sir Marcus warned, heaping his plate to a pinnacle of splendor, “I'm afraid there won't be any left! And it's no good trying to hide that plate from me, Katie girl. I know exactly where it is.”

“I ought to fetch him,” Kate said, but the Major, as he was Josh Lissot's designated roommate, offered to do the duty.

He returned almost immediately, his face whiter than I'd ever seen before.

“Whatever is the matter?” Kate, half laughing at a quip of Sir Marcus's, looked up with an innocent, childish gaze.

“Mr. Lissot…”

There was a long pause.

“Mr. Lissot,” the Major attempted again with a deep swallow, “is dead.”