The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (27 page)

“Escaping the crush or people?”

“Both,” I said.

“Are you afraid?” His eyes danced with amusement.

“I suppose I am. You’re an actor, aren’t you?”

“An actor of Shakespearian tragedy, at the moment,” he presented, flashing white teeth.

“Do you work for my father?”

“I hope to. I’m interested in trying new roles and he’s an eye for direction.”

I knew his ilk. Eager young actors with ambition. “You hope to go to America?”

“No, I hope to stay here. Produce my own, like your father.”

The crush had dwindled to an odd straggler or two searching for their seats. “I must go. It was nice to meet you, Mr.…?”

“Olivier. Laurence Olivier.”

As I made my way to our box, I thought I must mention his name to Papa. His cavalier demeanor reminded me of Major Browning. I wondered where his seats were and who he’d brought to my father’s theater.

“Here.” Ellen shoved her spyglass to me. “I found him. He’s over there on the left.”

My heart fluttered. Was he with
her
? Squinting through the glass, I smiled with relief to see him sitting with two male friends. However, three rows behind him I also discovered Lady Lara Fane. She was accompanied by a male friend but I caught the odd fleeting glance to the major when he responded to the play.

As expected,
The Ringer
was a great success. The mystery kept one’s interest and as I watched the various scenes unfolding, I couldn’t help but apply it to the case at hand. A master of disguise, the villain masquerades as anything to get near his prey. His prey? His very own partner, the one closest to him. Why? For revenge, revenge because his partner killed his sister.

“It was originally called
The Gaunt Stranger.
” My father beamed on his first audience appraisal. “Daphne came up with
The Ringer.
”

“She has a way with words.”

My heart stopped.

Crouching under the door, Major Browning joined us without ceremony. I flushed. I felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t I called him to say I’d be in town? It was immature of me and decidedly feline.

My shame echoed in my mother’s face. “Tommy, how delightful. Didn’t Gerald invite you to our box?”

Thank goodness she’d not said,
Didn’t Daphne invite you to our box?

“Yes, he did, but I was already committed.”

His eyes bore into mine and my face turned scarlet.

“Daphne, care for some fresh air?”

“Y-yes.” I leapt to my feet.

He said nothing to me until we were outside. Once down the main corridor, we ran into the general mill, the major breaking off to shake hands with an old friend of his. While I stood there stupidly, suppressing the urge to bite my nails, Lady Lara brushed by me.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you…”

I am certain you did.
“Oh, hello.” I smiled through my teeth. “Enjoy the play?”

She looked beautiful. Bathed in a feminine pale mauve gracing her figure, she stood over me, tall and graceful with red lips and manicured hair. “Yes … I didn’t see you with Tommy.”

She was assessing me, wanting to know the reason why we’d not sat together. Curious hope flickered in those long-lashed aristocratic eyes.

“You came alone?” I asked. It was my best attempt at an insult.

“Oh, no.” She laughed. “Tommy gave me the tickets. We attached ourselves to his trio.”

Her mouth curled on the word
attached.

Before I could inquire as to the “we,” the major usurped our dangerous tête-à-tête. He steered the conversation toward the play and said how proud he was of his future father-in-law.

Her eyes seethed behind their demure congratulations.

“She is why I didn’t call you,” I said to the major as our feet touched the street. “I have friends, you know, friends who care about me. When they see my fiancé spending time with his ex-fiancée, it gives cause for comment—”

“Lara.” He laughed. “She’s just like a sister to me … how can I convince you?”

“She’s too beautiful to be anyone’s ‘sister.’”

“Do you think I’d really want to marry someone like her? She’d make my life a misery. I’ve known her all my life and while she’s beautiful, yes, she’s also selfish and superficial.”

I lowered my lashes. “I should have telephoned you. We’re only here for a night.”

“Then we must make the most of it. Have you dined?”

“My mother’s organized a supper party back at the house. Can you come? Bring your friends.” I grinned. “I’m sure we can find some cozy corner…”

Sharing a cab with the major and his two friends, Ellen and I reached home about nine-thirty. In preparation for our arrival and the subsequent party, every window emanated a deep yellow glow. I loved old houses lit up at night.

Having indulged in a sweet champagne punch at my father’s premiere, I slipped out of the motorcar a little light-headed. Thankfully, the major prevented my foot from making a dramatic plunge into a ditch.

“And here is your shawl.”

Draping it across my shoulders, he lowered his lips to mine. “Shall we go in? I’m famished.”

I was, too. I realized I’d hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

Among the first to arrive at the house, and, as daughter of the house, I gave the order for the kitchen to start serving. Shepherding everyone into the designated room, I flicked on the gramophone and listened to the first accordion ballad my mother had selected. Adjusting the volume, I watched with a smile how music relaxed one’s guests. We might have been in a French cafe.

Seeing that everyone had a glass in hand, I handed mine to the major to look for Ellen. After helping me settle the increasing number of guests, she said she’d sneak a peek at Charlotte and then return. Since her husband’s death, it was the first night she was actually enjoying herself and the entertainment. Being in London, without the responsibility of Thornleigh, its renovations, and the recent quarrel with Harry, made this trip all the more appealing to her.

Hurrying up the stairs, I heard a door slam.

Ellen charged out, a sleepy Jeanne crawling at her feet. “Daphne, quick! Call the police!”

I halted at her panic-stricken face. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Charlotte. She’s missing.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Missing?”

“I don’t know anything.” Jeanne wept into my mother’s arms. “Last time I looked she was asleep like me. I went back to bed. Where could she have gone?”

Suddenly, my father’s successful party turned to one of morbid concern.

“I think it’s a good idea if everybody left.” My father nodded to Major Browning and he began escorting the masses outside.

“Now, Ellen. Didn’t you mention that Charlotte sleepwalks? Daphne used to sleepwalk. One night she went walking outside. As you can imagine, Muriel was in a panic but we found her. I’ll send Tim and William out to look. Rest assured they’ll search every nook and cranny. She can’t have gone far.”

Still waiting for the police, Jeanne was questioned again.

“I don’t know the exact time, Papa,” she wailed. “I swear I heard nothing, not even a peep from her. We had our dinner, I read her a story or two, and then she fell asleep. I stayed with her for a while and then I went to my own bed. I woke up once to check her and then I went back to bed.”

After a gentle coaxing of the facts, my mother established Charlotte had gone missing between nine and ten o’clock.

“It’s my fault.” Alicia shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left her. She was in
my
care.”

“No, it’s mine,” Ellen cried. “I’m her mother. It’s
my
responsibility to ensure her safety and now she’s gone … kidnapped, murdered, or worse.”

“Now, now, Ellen m’dear, don’t go jumping to conclusions.” My father reined her into his solid embrace. “We’re doing all we can to retrieve her.”

“But don’t you see? She’s not just
any
child. She’s Charlotte Grimshaw, a great heiress in her own right.”

“When was the last time she sleepwalked?”

“Two months ago?” Ellen conferred with Alicia.

“Six week ago,” Alicia said. “The night she had the bad dream. She walked out of her room and into mine.”

“We’ve summoned all the household staff,” my mother said. “Someone must have seen her.”

Still waiting for the police, my father began the interviews.

“No, sir, we seen nothin’. Not since they went to bed.”

“Who walked through the front hall between nine and ten o’clock?”

Seven faces stared at him.

“All of us, sir.” The butler spoke. “Except Mrs. Ireson.”

The cook. Yes, well she didn’t leave the kitchen often.

“And did any of you see Miss Jeanne go into Charlotte’s room like she says?”

“No, sir. Most of us were down here, you see, helpin’ with the party.”

My father looked grave. The same look registered in the police inspector’s face when he finally arrived at eleven.

“Sorry, we’ve had a murder hereabouts. It’s been busy. If you say, Mrs. Grimshaw, your daughter sleepwalks, then there’s little we can do. Sir Gerald has already sent out his men to look for her. I’m sorry. We’re understaffed and murders take precedence over missing people. She’ll show up.”

“You
hope
she’ll show up,” Ellen shrieked. “You don’t understand. I don’t think she’s been sleepwalking. Someone’s taken her. They said they’ll strike and they have! Oh, I never should have left her, not even for a moment!”

Squeezing my hand, the major glanced down at me. “I’ll join the search.” And to my appealing gaze, he smiled. “No, you can’t come.”

I protested, asking my father if I could go with him. Obtaining permission, I hooked my hand in his.

“I’ll come.” Alicia jumped to her feet.

“Me too,” Ellen said, glaring at the inspector. “It seems in this town one can’t rely on the police.”

“Or perhaps it’s the people who are the problem and not the police, madam.”

Pausing at the door, Ellen turned. “What are you insinuating, sir?”

“Only that misfortune has occurred to two people close to you. Your husband … and now your daughter—”

“Are you daring to say I had anything to do with it?”

“You say ‘it,’ madam. What is it?”

Seething, Ellen shook her head. “I won’t waste my time. Good day, Inspector.”

“Good night, madam.”

“I can’t believe the gall of that creature,” Ellen railed once we were on the street and into a hired cab. She gulped. “They still think I’m guilty, don’t they? That woman’s poison did it. Everybody believes I murdered my husband.”

“No, they don’t,” I soothed, but what she said was true.

“I know you didn’t do anything to hurt Uncle Teddy,” Alicia spoke out, quietly, keeping strict lookout for Charlotte.

“Thank you.” Ellen seized her hand. “You’ve been so good to me.”

“It’s an unsolved case,” the major explained. “Naturally, the police feel the pressure when they have no answers. Don’t take it personally, their assumptions, Ellen.”

“And you, Major? Do you believe I’m a murderess? That I murdered my husband on our wedding day out of spite?”

“Spite? I believe you mean for his money?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Forgive me. My mind is all over the place…”

In the deep shadow of the taxicab, I examined Ellen’s fine profile. Her shrivelled nerves had suffered an attack from a police inspector who should have known better. However, why had she reacted so strangely?

It was a curious reaction and one I felt uncomfortable attributing to my innocent friend.

*   *   *

Innocent? I reckon she’s as guilty as sin. She didn’t have to see her fiancé on the day of his death. She merely had to ensure he drank or ate the poison. Who better than she knew he had a bad heart? That a small amount ingested into his system would achieve a so-called natural cardiac arrest.

Tearing out the typewritten page, I read it over. “What shall we call you? Inspector Pessimist?”

Scrapping the page, I threw it in the wastepaper basket and resumed Janet’s world. However, the quiet seaside village of Polruan seemed as far from me as the moon. Unable to concentrate during this infernal waiting period, I rejoined the group downstairs.

“It’s been too long,” Ellen was saying. “
Someone’s
taken her. I just hope it’s money they want.”

“Charlotte might turn out like Oliver,” Angela tried. “She’s smart and adventurous. She could walk in through that door any minute.”

Alicia suspected the worst. Fear framing her face, she endeavored to read her book. Besieged with guilt, I imagined what kind of torment went through her mind. She hadn’t wanted to go to the play. She was happy to stay at home with Charlotte. And if she had, Charlotte might still be here.

Poor Jeanne. I felt sorry for her, too. She hadn’t stopped crying and apologizing, from one to the other. Eventually, Angela took her out.

While they were gone, the butler delivered a note to my father. I caught the exchange on my way back from the bathroom.

“… are you sure? What age?”

“About ten, sir. He was too fast for us. I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s all right, Stamford.” My father sighed, picking up the neat little letter. “This can only have bad news, but bad news is better than no news—eh?”

“I agree, Papa.” Going to him, I anxiously hung on his sleeve. After last night’s search ended in nothing, the major promised to continue it today. He said he knew someone familiar with parts of London criminals inhabited. “What does it say?”

Grim, my father bore the note to Ellen. “Shall I read it?”

“Yes,” Ellen whispered, looking like a ghost.

“‘Mrs. Grimshaw, I have your child. If you want her back alive, it will cost you ten thousand pounds. The longer you delay, the higher the price. Deliver the money to post office box number five-four-two in the name of Hillier. When I get confirmation of its arrival, I will release your daughter by the ticket office at Victoria Station.’”

“There’s no name? No signature?”

“No … and the writing is in black capitals, probably not even by the hand of the kidnapper, though I am no policeman.”