The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (17 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The possibility of Jeanne and me being driven around by a murderer was discomforting, to say the least.

Charming and talkative, Harry behaved like an impeccable gentleman. He proved himself informative and educated and over a quiet seaside lunch, I inquired as to his family.

“Oh, there’s no one really left but me. It was Mum and I for a long time. We lived in a small Dorset village. Ma was a schoolteacher. We used to travel down to Cornwall for the holidays.”

“That explains your passion for the land.” I smiled, sipping my glass of cider.

“Where did you go for your holidays?” Jeanne asked.

“Not any grand house, Miss Jeanne. We’d go to Penzance. Ma had a friend there who ran an inn. Years later I discovered Ma was his mistress. He had a wife and four daughters.”

“Oh.” Jeanne and I looked at each other in shock. “Is he your father?”

“I suspect so, since he left me a few bob in his will. I was never fully acknowledged, you must understand, so there wasn’t any home for me in Penzance after Ma lost her mind. She lives in a home now. She doesn’t recognize me when I visit.”

“That’s sad. What of your half-sisters?”

“They weren’t interested in a young half-brother, probably because their mother poisoned them against me.”

“That’s sad.”

He shrugged. “That’s life. Life is what you make of it.”

“Daphne.” Jeanne tugged my sleeve. “Do you mind if I walk down that jetty? I won’t go far.”

Squinting, I inspected the ground. It seemed safe enough so I said yes and turned back to Harry. “So you went to London to seek your own fortune as the term goes?”

“Yes. I became a jack-of-all-trades. I had a knack for people, though, and through the clubs became an introducer. It paid well.”

“Did you see Ellen as a potential client when you met her?”

He paused then, his eyes softening at the memory. “Not at first. I didn’t even know who she was. It soon became evident, though. People talk. And she talked. Her family had cut her off. It was my job to structure a reconciliation.”

“And you posed as her husband?”

“At first. Her father was dying and her mother was very ill. He wanted to see her settled one last time. I went down to Cornwall with her and the baby. It was a happy family reunion. The father died and her mother asked us to stay on.”

“That must have made you happy. You’ve been a father to Charlotte.”

“She calls me Uncle Harry. Ellen never wanted me confused with her real father.”

“It must have been a relief when the pretense ended. Ellen’s mother never suspected?”

“No. She lingered on a few months and then died. We lived quietly at the house so very few knew about the pretend marriage. After her mother’s death, we put it about that I was a distant relation. Nobody questioned it to this day.”

I swallowed. No wonder poor Ellen feared what the newspaper people might find out about her. What if they got to Harry? “You’d never do anything to betray Ellen, would you?”

He gave me a woebegone look. “She’s like a sister to me. A sister that I never had.”

“And she thinks of you affectionately.”

“We bonded through circumstance. The war, and the birth. The saving of Thornleigh.”

“She owes you a lot,” I replied, recalling the letters. “She called you her ‘savior’ and if you weren’t there, she may have been disinherited.”

“Despite her father’s threats, that wouldn’t have happened. Thornleigh is entailed. She’s the next Hamilton in line. And after her, it will go to Charlotte.”

“Charlotte’s a very rich little girl at the moment. I worry for her…”

“She’s got protectors.” Harry’s reply was fierce. “If anybody were to harm her…”

His tone became murderous.

“What did you think of Mr. Grimshaw,” I whispered. “What did you
really
think of him?”

“A swine.” He laughed. “At first. How could he have deserted poor Ellen? Then I came to understand the reasons. The missing letters. The miscommunication.”

“You must have resented his coming back on the scene?”

“Yes and no. In some ways it settled Ellen and Charlotte. He needed them and they needed him.”

“And he brought money to Thornleigh,” I pointed out. “A very good virtue.”

Gazing at me, he laughed again. I thought he didn’t mind me; he respected that I’d taken the time to talk to him and not consign him to his position. In truth, he was much more than Ellen’s estate manager. “You’d do anything for Ellen, wouldn’t you?” I asked as a final question to our little conversation.

“Anything,” he confirmed. “Anything.”

*   *   *

Mevagissey, on the east coast, was a delightful little town. Upon reaching it, I made good my promise to Jeanne and spent an hour or so browsing the gift shops and art galleries. Jeanne found a painting she liked but my haggling failed to bring results and we left the shop downhearted.

Like Fowey, where we had a home, Mevagissey attracted many tourists. Small and unspoilt, the traditional fishing village was an ideal place to begin my research. With Harry’s help, I found the shipbuilding company I wanted to talk to on the west quay.

“We are a family business.” The owner’s wife agreed to speak to me. “Prichards has been in our family for five generations.”

After taking me on a tour of the warehouse, she invited Jeanne and me for tea at her home.

“We live above the office. It’s nothing but we call it home.”

The apartment surprised us. Small, yes, but well planned and filled with tasteful furniture and a charming burgundy-and-cream theme.

“What is your story about, Daphne?”

Looking through the old family photographs, I replied I still wasn’t sure. “The characters will lead me. I want to create strong characters, based on what is real.”

“Then you’d love the story of my grandmother, Adelaide. I hope you brought a pen and notebook?”

*   *   *

Upon our return to Thornleigh, I raced straight up to my room to write. An idea kept buzzing through my mind and I was anxious to get it on paper. I didn’t always trust my memory.

“Are you coming to dinner at all?”

Jeanne. Her stomach persistently rumbled.

“Yes. I’m nearly finished. A whole chapter. I can’t believe it.”

My excitement failed to illicit a smile from Jeanne. When she was hungry, she was hungry, and nothing else mattered.

“All right,” I conceded. “I’ll put it aside and continue later.”

She beamed. “I wonder what we’ll have for dinner tonight? Nelly cooks so wondrously.”

“Yes, she does.” Nelly, I thought. I have to talk to Nelly.

After dinner, a chance presented itself. Ellen wanted a blackberry pie for tomorrow’s afternoon tea.

“Nelly, I visited Mevagissey today where your grandmother lived. It’s lovely and Mrs. Morgan from the pastry shop said to say hello. She remembers you as a little girl.”

“Dear me,” Nelly reflected. “Is she still alive?”

“Alive and working. Her pasties are famous.”

Nelly’s eyes rounded. “And she won’t share the recipe?”

“No. And I
did
ask.” I paused and offered to help put away the fine china. “While I was in the shop, something came to mind. I remember Mr. Grimshaw speaking of the pasties. He loved them. Are you sure he didn’t have anything to eat? Could someone have brought him a pasty from the village?”

“It’s possible … but I doubt it. Lots goin’ on that day. Who knows what madness struck.”

I could see Nelly resented the idea of anyone bringing in pasties into
her
house and offering them to guests.

“That nice sergeant came back today … he asked after ye.” Nelly winked. “Nice lad. Had a cup of tea.”

“Oh?” I raised my brows. “Ellen didn’t mention the police calling. What did they want?”

“Funny. The sergeant was askin’ the same thing as you and went to speak to all the maids again. Nothin’ came of it that I know.”

“It had to be from one of the guests.” I spoke aloud, deep in thought. “They delivered the death-dealing food. I say food and not drink, don’t you? It doesn’t stand to reason somebody bringing him a drink unless it’s hundred-year-old whiskey or some sort—” I broke off. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “Nelly … do you remember if there were any empty glasses used by Mr. Grimshaw on the day?”

She sighed. “As if I’d remember! I had me hands full … there were a hundred things goin’ on. Things goin’ back and forward from the kitchen. You’d best to ask Olivia.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Nelly frowned at me. “Where’s all this leadin’ though? You’d best to leave police business to the police.”

“Yes, I know. You’re right. Good night, Nelly.”

Of course, I’d do exactly the opposite. Whiskey. Mr. Grimshaw liked whiskey and he might have indulged in a nip on the day in celebration. Nobody would think anything of it. Our maids at Cannon Hall often cleared and replaced my father’s port glasses daily. It was so ordinary.

Ordinary enough to have been overlooked?

*   *   *

“Here is our defense.”

Ellen shoved the newspaper before me, almost knocking my cup of tea. Pushing the teacup and saucer away, I proceeded to read aloud the following:

TRAGIC LOVE by Jeffrey Leighton

Last month we were all shocked to hear of the untimely death of American millionaire Mr. Teddy Grimshaw on his wedding day.

Since this tragic event, startling controversial claims have arisen from Mr. Grimshaw’s former wife, Cynthia, who is pursuing a legal case against her husband’s will.

Cynthia maintains her ex-husband’s bride Ellen Hamilton (the main beneficiary of his will) is responsible for his death.

“There is little doubt Mr. Grimshaw died unexpectedly and we are investigating all leads,” police say, but they are unwilling to confirm if Mrs. Ellen Grimshaw is a suspect.

“Her claims are outrageous,” Ellen replies, agreeing to an exclusive interview at her home Thornleigh in Cornwall.

“She received a lucrative divorce settlement but instead of investing it wisely, she has spent a large portion of it and seeks more by using her daughter as a pawn.”

I mentioned the late Mr. Grimshaw’s will at this stage.

“Yes, I knew of the details in the will and the reasons behind my husband’s decision. It is not true Rosalie Grimshaw was left nothing. She received twenty thousand pounds and forty percent of shares in a company. My husband intended that she work for the company.”

“Do you think it’s a fair settlement? Cynthia claims the will is a forgery,” I asked.

“She claims a lot of things which aren’t true. For instance, it was she who committed adultery and broke up her marriage, not my husband’s alleged affair with me. I met Mr. Grimshaw in France during the war. He was injured, and had been recently divorced. We fell in love and planned to marry after the war. However, forces worked against us and in a cruel twist of fate my letters never reached him.”

“What do you think happened to the letters?”

“They were destroyed.”

“You believe his family had a hand in sabotaging your relationship?”

“Yes, I do, but that is past now. We found each other again.”

“And you have a daughter by him? One he only recently claimed?”

“Yes … things were difficult after the war. When I didn’t hear from him, I thought he had abandoned us.”

“And on the other side of the ocean, he was thinking the same?”

“Yes … I’m sorry. I wish to stop now.”

Mr. Teddy Grimshaw married Ellen Hamilton at her family estate Thornleigh on June 6. Together they have a daughter Charlotte. Ellen maintains her innocence in her husband’s death.

“It’s good,” I said at the end.

“I feel I can show my face again. Your mother telephoned today. She’s organizing a dinner party but she didn’t want me to feel impelled to go if I am not up to it.”

“You should go. It will stop people talking, too, if you are out in society.”

“Yes, I know.” Ellen hung her head. “I’m fighting
her
game.”

“She won’t be accepted if you’re in town,” I reminded. “She’s an outsider with few connections. Wait. I have an idea. My friend Sir Marcus is back in town. Shall I get him to host a soiree? He knows all the right people.”

“Sir Marcus.” Ellen’s brow fluttered. “The one your mother wishes you to marry?”

“Yes.” I groaned. “It’s the title she’s after. Imagine.
Lady
Daphne. It doesn’t suit me.”

“I think it does. Even better still
Lady Daphne Browning.
”

I admitted I liked the sound of it and my heart became heavy thinking of him in Germany. Was it safe? What did he hope to achieve?

“Come.” Ellen squeezed my hand. “You’re in need of some cheering up and so am I. Charlotte is safe with Jeanne and Nanny Brickley. Let’s go for one of our old rambles through the woods.”

A good walk was exactly what I needed and we waved to Harry as we headed out. The fineness of the day darkened upon reaching the woodland. It didn’t quite threaten rain yet. I estimated we had an hour or so.

“Life’s strange, isn’t it?” Ellen whispered. “Things could have turned out so differently. I was a young woman and you were a girl. What aspirations we had! What happened?”

“The war.”

“Ah, yes, the war.” She bit her lip. “Do you think there’ll be another one?”

I shivered. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to acknowledge the love of my life working in dangerous Germany. I shivered again. If anything happened to him I didn’t know what I’d do. I couldn’t live without him. I choked back a sob just imagining him dead.

“Here. Take my coat. You’re cold.”

Without waiting, Ellen draped her fine ivory cashmere over my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I replied and we resumed our walking and reminiscing through the woods. As we drew closer to the tree where we’d carved our initials as children, I thought I heard something. A twig breaking.