The Trouble with Harriet (33 page)

“So how did the Voelkels—mother and son—come to be in Harriet’s car the evening of the crash?” Freddy stood up, stretched, and sat back down.

“They collected it from the garage of her flat,” I said. “They had a key. It probably seemed less risky than renting a car and giving someone the chance to identify them later if things went wrong. Anna phoned while Daddy and I were at the Old Abbey to speak to Mr. Jarrow and confirm the appointment for that evening. He was acting for Sir Casper in the matter and had been over to Germany, as we suspected, to keep an eye on Harriet to make sure that she was doing what she had been paid to do. But sensing that Sir Casper might balk at coughing up more than the fifty thousand, the Voelkels decided that Ingo’s mother—who presumably was the most adept at turning the screws—would accompany him to the meeting. And if all went well, arrange to hand over the urn. Anna had been to Cliffside House that morning hoping to see the Hoppers and advise them how to behave when they came to Merlin’s Court to collect it. But they had already left to come here. It was then that she dropped the button from her coat. The one Doris later picked up and put in her handbag, meaning to give it to Mrs. Blum in case someone was looking for it. That sent me down the wrong track, because it matched the one the Gypsy gave to me supposedly for a good-luck charm and I leaped to the conclusion that the Gypsy was Harriet.”

“I wonder why she spoke to you in the square that afternoon.” Ben got up and poured the three of us more tea.

“I think she did it on a malicious whim,” I said. “She must have recognized me from the family photo Daddy gave Harriet and was able to reel off information about my life from what Harriet had told the Voelkels about her conversations with him. Probably she got the idea from Harriet’s own meeting with a true Gypsy, but didn’t give enough thought to the possibility that she had told Daddy about it. And that the coincidence would set off alarm bells. Cold-blooded murderers must have enormous egos. I lay in bed last night wondering why she became worried when I said we were going to France, Ben. And I think it must have been because she was afraid that if we were gone, Daddy would head out of the area, and there would be all the bother of tracking him down. And it must have already been crystal clear to all three of the Voelkels—having met them before at Harriet’s flat—that Cyril, Doris, and Edith were not readily adaptable to a change of plan.”

Freddy leaned forward in his chair. “But there still remains one burning question. Was the car crash the other night an accident that couldn’t have happened to two nastier people, or was it another murder?”

“Desperate to save herself from what she considered a fate worse than death,” I continued, “Lady Grizwolde went out onto the cliff road, hoping to confront the Voelkels before they had a chance to see Sir Casper or Mr. Jarrow. Her idea was to talk them into giving her the relic and taking its container away with them to sell to someone else. Whichever one of them was driving, either mother or son, must have swerved toward the cliff edge when she appeared as a dark shape in their path. Her ladyship twisted her ankle and wrenched her back in avoiding being run over. Mr. Jarrow, who had followed her when she left the house, took her back inside. At which point there followed a scene with Timothia Finchpeck, who had been out in the garden spying on her ladyship and seen enough to be convinced she had witnessed her enemy shove the car over the cliff. But the police have now assured Miss Finchpeck, on the basis of skid marks, that she was indulging in wishful thinking.”

“And that about sums it up,” Ben said, eyeing the kitchen clock.

“Except to say,” I reminded him, “that Lady Grizwolde hired Mr. Price’s boss to steal the urn for a second time—from Harriet and company, before it could be handed into Sir Casper’s eager clutches. Her ladyship might not believe in the St. Ethelwort legend, but she understood the power of suggestion upon a susceptible mind. Sir Casper was already capering after her with renewed, if wobbly, vigor, and talking about installing fairy lights in the matrimonial bedchamber. And this only in anticipation of the relic’s return! How could she not be terrified that with the thing actually back in the chapel he would become sufficiently energized to make repulsive attempts at restoring connubial relations?”

“It’s a sad thing when husband and wife are at cross-purposes,” Freddy said, looking dolefully around for something else to eat. “But there is a lesson to be learned in all this if we will but heed it. You get what you pay for in life. I expect Lady Grizwolde had to hire Mr. Price out of the housekeeping money. And a right mess he made of things.”

“Well, you do have to bear in mind that he is, as Ben guessed, a butler who happened to work for a crook,” I pointed out. “He only took over when his boss was injured trying to get hold of Daddy’s suitcase on the escalator. So it isn’t all that surprising Mr. Price bungled his attempt to snatch Frau Grundman’s canvas bag. And when his second attempt at acquiring the reliquary resulted in finding the silver powder box filled with fireplace ash, he must have thought we had tried to trick him. So when he heard about the church service for the accident victim he showed up first in the church and then at the dress rehearsal, planning to nab Daddy and get him to see sense. He must have got the shock of his life when Mrs. Malloy pulled out that gun onstage.”

“Desperation tends to do away with common sense,” said Ben. “Hence Anna Voelkel showing up.”

“Oh, I think—from her Gypsy stunt—that she was probably always the loose cannon among the Voelkels.” I stood up and stretched. “That’s probably why Ingo didn’t have her come down and speak to Daddy when he broke the news to him about Harriet’s death. And with him and his crone of a mother gone there was no one to keep a reign on Anna.”

“Imagine what she had to be thinking when Mrs. M. fired and hit the reliquary.” Freddy had wandered off to help himself to the last slice of strudel.

“Luckily, the only damage was to the plaster casting that had been put on to camouflage it. And hopefully Father Bergdorff will get it back safe and sound after the powers that be at this end are done with the red tape.” Ben handed Freddy a plate to prevent a trail of crumbs, and we both followed him to the door, where he bade us an affectionate farewell.

“Don’t count on seeing much of me in the immediate future,” he called back as he went down the steps. “I’ll be on the go every minute keeping Mumsie up to scratch and doing the play. I suppose you’ve heard that Mrs. Potter is taking over the role of Malicia Stillwaters. As prop manager she’s been at all the rehearsals and knows the part backwards and forwards.”

We hadn’t heard, but we doubted that Mrs. Malloy would be horribly disappointed.

“See you at opening night!” Freddy’s voice faded into the dusk, and Ben and I quickly went inside. Moments later, we heard footsteps out in the hall. We found my father and Frau Grundman standing there with their suitcases at their heels.

“You’re not going yet?” I exclaimed.

“We thought you were staying at least another couple of hours.” Ben eyed them worriedly. “I was just about to put the casserole in the oven for dinner. It won’t take more than forty-five minutes.”

Frau Grundman nodded at us. “This I know, but Morley”--she blushed— “Mr. Simons, he thinks we should be on the road if we are to catch our plane in good time.”

“Ursel can’t continue to delay in getting back to the guest house in Schonbrunn.” Daddy cleared his throat. “And I have to say, I want—need to return and confront my memories in order to try to put them behind me.”

“We’ll miss you.” My smile included Ursel as Ben bent to pick up both suitcases.

“My dear Giselle.” I was relieved to hear that Daddy was back to emoting. “I lament the need to part with you and Bentwick after so short a duration, but if kindly providence allows, we will be reunited before too long.”

“And you make the promise to write?” Ursel was misty-eyed. “I want to know all about how life stays here at Merlin’s Court and if there should be any interesting news from the Old Abbey now that the relic is back in the little chapel.”

“It was good of Father Bergdorff to agree to that,” Ben said. “Mrs. Malloy, being practical to the core, thinks Lady Grizwolde should take the miracle into her own hands by being artificially inseminated before Sir Casper passes on.”

“Alas, charming as it is to do so, we can’t stand here saying good-bye all day.” Daddy kissed my cheek, dashed a few drops from his eyes, and told me not to come outside. So I stood waving at the door while Ben went with them to stow the luggage in the boot of the Rent-A-Wreck. Unable to stay watching as they drove away, I retreated into the drawing room and sat in what I had come to think of as Daddy’s chair, staring at the floor until Ben came in.

“Don’t say it, Ellie,” he admonished with a lowering of his black brows.

“Say what?”

“That Ursel would make your father a splendid wife.”

“But she would,” I protested, getting to my feet. “She’s in love with him. And she’s patient. She’ll be willing to wait until one morning he looks at her across a crowded breakfast table and realizes she is the love of his life. But I must say that being who he is, he’s bound to give her a lot of trouble from time to time.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He lifted my face to his kiss. “Life without trouble isn’t worth living.”

“Are you sure of that?” I asked him tenderly.

“Quite sure.”

“Good,” I said, “because I just looked out the window and a taxi has deposited two Asian gentlemen on the drive. I have this sinking feeling they are the Japanese ones Daddy spent an evening chatting with at the guest house and graciously invited to come and stay with us at Merlin’s Court for as long as they like.”

“They do have rather a lot of luggage with them.” Ben drew back after taking a cautious peek out the window. “Quick, we’ll have to hide in the pantry in case they come around looking in the windows.”

“There’s no need for that. We’ve got time to run upstairs.”

“The pantry will be cozier.” Ben spoke firmly as he took hold of my hand and tugged me along. “Plenty of food and bevs on hand if we’re holed up for a long siege. And”—I could hear the smile in his voice— “just the right amount of room in which to experience what it means to be alone at last.”

To my daughter Rachael, who was the best Christmas present her father and I ever received and has been a blessing ever since.

Many thanks to my friend Rita Wilsdorf for her very special contribution.

Copyright © 1999 by Dorothy Cannell

Originally published by Viking/Penguin (ISBN 978-0670886296)

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.