The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (9 page)

“Me?” Ellen seemed confused. “But what I can do? I know nothing about running a company.”

“The principle shareholders are entitled to attend a company meeting once a month. Scotland Yard wishes you to go to these meetings and report what you see and hear. In simple terms, Mrs. Grimshaw, we wish you to stand in your husband’s place.”

“Teddy agreed to spy for you?”

There was a pause before the answer came. “He refused; doubtless for reasons of his own.”

Ellen sunk into her chair and spun it around. She turned very pale and I knew she was thinking about those threats Teddy had received in the mail.

“I suppose, Major Browning, you can’t tell me exactly what all this is about, can you?”

“No.”

“Can’t you give me some kind of encouragement? Before Teddy died, we were looking at simplifying our lives, not making things more complicated.”

I watched the major’s face. He didn’t want to give out details, any details. Perhaps he thought such details compromised the case. A case of high-class company fraud?

“We believe,” the major conceded, casting a surreptitious glance in my direction, “your husband was murdered.”

CHAPTER NINE

“Murdered?”

“Of course we have yet to receive the official verdict of death but I’d wager my best fishing set against it.”

Turning white, Ellen’s shaky hand reached for a glass of water. “I feel ill … so Teddy didn’t die of a heart attack?”

“So it appears, however, certain poisons are known to produce such a reaction.”

“Poisons?” Now Ellen turned completely white. “Who would want to poison Teddy? Would his business competitors stoop so low?”

“That’s why we want you to be our eyes and ears at Salinghurst. The first meeting is scheduled on the twenty-eighth. They won’t be expecting you—”

“Fine. I will go.” Rising to her feet, she rang the bell. “Fetch Harry,” she said to the maid, “tell him I will meet him on the green.”

After the maid bobbed and left, Ellen picked up her shawl. “They release the body tomorrow. I had thought to have him interred in the parish grounds, but we have an ancient graveyard here, under the yew tree near the woods. Once when we walked by, Teddy joked they ought to put a new ‘straight’ headstone there to counteract the disorderly ones. Ironic now that they are erecting such a one, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” She stopped at the door, examining us both. “I am trusting you with Teddy’s files and since Scotland Yard is asking me to spy, I think the least they can do is lend me a manager until I can find a replacement. Are you, Major Browning, equipped to handle these matters?”

“I can fill the position for the time being,” came the major’s smooth reply, a slight smile etching the corners of his mouth, “but I shall need an assistant, a secretary, one equipped with shorthand and dictation.”

“Daphne.” Ellen touched my shoulder. “Will you help the major? I must go … I have things to do.”

The door shut, leaving us alone.

“I have a huge desire for a cigar,” the major confided, stretching out his long legs.

“Your best fishing set, hmm? Do you really know what you are doing?”

“Not in the slightest. That’s why I need a cigar.”

This rare display of humility warmed me to him. Normally I’d have a sarcastic reply ready but sensing the inadequacy behind his heavy frown I laid my own hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you.”

At my soft murmur, his hand covered mine and drew me to him. The suddenness of the action caught me unawares and before I knew it I was in his arms.

“This working closely appeals to me by the minute.” He laughed.

My heart racing, my rebellious mouth sought his. I didn’t care if it might be considered forward or even wanton. I wanted him.

“Oh.” Nanny Brickley burst into the room. “I was looking for Ellen.”

I sprang to my feet, blushing furiously. Had I forgotten that in the world’s eyes he belonged to another woman?

“She went outside to meet Harry,” the major said, calm, amused, charming as ever. “I daresay it’s about the gravesite.”

“Yes, of course, yes…”

Alicia Brickley could scarcely look at me. And I couldn’t look at her, either.

“Oh, the shame of it!” I cursed under my breath when she left.

“Shame?” He chuckled, unaffected. “What shame?”

“You forget you’re an engaged man. What if she tattletales?”

“What if she does?”

“Aren’t you concerned with the feelings of your fiancée?”

“Not in the slightest. It’s a business arrangement.”

“Lady Lara might see it differently. She must be on the hunt for a husband, this being her fifth season.”

“Oh, she’s had plenty of offers,” the major replied, taking out the files from the first box.

“Was there none to her father’s liking?”

“None to
her
liking is more like it. Lara has…” he paused, thinking, “particular tastes.”

“And you’re to her taste?”

I hadn’t meant to sound angry.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t signify if I am. You’re my girl.”

His casual statement caught me off guard. Something sang inside me and I sank to my knees on the floor beside him. Somehow it seemed so natural to do so. “What do you want me to do?”

“Sort those out first,” he said, handing me a pile of papers. “In date order.” Moving to Ellen’s desk, he began reading, his eyes narrowing in the bad light.

“Why don’t we use the study?” I suggested. “Or the library? The light is good there.”

My suggestion appealed to him and twenty minutes later we were on our way to the library when Angela ran into us. Her hostile stare bespoke her thoughts as she pulled me aside.

“What is going on with you and the major? One minute you hate him, the next Nanny Brickley catches you in his arms. He is
engaged,
you know, and Megan was present when Brickley told me. What if she tells Lady Lara?”

We were standing outside the library and I prayed nobody overheard Angela’s furious whisper. Drawing her away from the closed door (for I imagined the major lingered on the other side, curious as to my sister’s “urgent business”), I endeavored to make atonement.

“I can’t fully explain but he is … I am…”

“He is. You are … what? Lovers?”

“No!”

“Then why are you creeping around like a pair of schoolchildren? Stealing kisses behind doors?”

Nanny Brickley had wasted no time in spreading gossip. I suppose she, like my sister, scorned my weakness. My friends had supported me against the major, consoled me during dark moments, and now couldn’t make sense of my defection.

Nor could I. “He is working on something important and I’ve been asked to help him. Believe me, if Ellen hadn’t asked me personally, I wouldn’t do it. I know our being together will generate rumors.”

Angela examined me squarely, putting on her older-sister face. “Lady Lara Fane isn’t one you want to draw swords with. And you should know the American cousins are dining at Rutland House tonight.”

“Then whatever tale they take is their business. As it is, the major and I are working on Ellen’s finances. Scotland Yard is involved. I can’t say how; I am sworn to secrecy, but don’t be surprised if there’s a shock in the next day or so.”

Angela picked up my insinuation. “It’s murder, isn’t it?”

I shrugged, slipping back toward where we had left the major. I’d given her enough to keep her occupied and off my back for the present. I knew she’d not run to our parents. Since Somner House, we shared a special bond of trust.

However, later that evening my father said over his pipe: “Heard Browning came here today.”

“Oh?” I feigned mild surprise.

“And he came without his fiancée.”

“Ooh.” I lowered my gaze so he couldn’t read the truth in my eyes.

My father continued smoking. “Thought you’d be interested.”

“Why?”

He grimaced. “So as to avoid the man.”

“Ah.” I pretended to keep reading my book, hoping Angela stayed longer downstairs. If she’d heard our father talking this way, she’d probably say something about it. Glancing across the room to my mother and Jeanne listening to a story on the radio, I breathed an inward sigh of relief. At least, they knew nothing about my sojourn with the major.

He’d decided to take the files back to the inn and asked me to resume our work there the day after the funeral. I had my reservations, working with him unchaperoned.

“Then we can remain in visible view,” he said on parting, leaving a light kiss on my cheek. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Good night sweetheart.
I treasured the memory of those words and the manner in which they’d been delivered. Familiar and fond, a verbal intimacy my father and mother often shared. Dare I hope it led to so much more?

He couldn’t be thinking of marriage, could he? I didn’t want to trust myself to think upon it, though I lay restless in bed throughout the night. What future did we have? How long did he have to keep his public engagement to Lady Lara? When could we make our romance public?

My father might refuse. I hadn’t considered this very real aspect before and now shuddered. Sir Gerald could be a formidable person when he wanted to be. He also exercised great authority and acted the
faire l’important
personage.

And a man like Major Browning had his pride. Assuming he presented himself at my father’s door and asked his permission to court me, what outcome dare I expect? I thought of Elizabeth Bennett and her father’s grave concerns when Mr. Darcy showed up at his door. She had to defend him. She could do so whereas I could not. I was not privy to certain details and the fact maddened me. I’d sooner prattle out the man’s cologne fragrance than where he grew up and in what kind of family environment or how he’d come to work for Scotland Yard or even his current living situation.

“Excuse me,” I said to the mirror the next morning. “How much do you earn per year? Do you own a house? Can you expect a legacy from a soon-to-die relative?”

The callousness and yet urgency of such matters plagued me as I dressed for the funeral. Instead of the local church, Ellen had decided to have the service outside by the yew tree.

The day was sunny and chilly. As we made our approach across the green, I picked out black dots arriving from all directions. For a man who didn’t belong to this country, the turnout was remarkable.

During the service, I scanned the faces. Relatives, business associates, longtime friends of Ellen’s family, neighbors, nosy locals, and an unexpected late arrival: Rosalie and her mother.

I saw Ellen tense as they approached, a large black umbrella shielding their faces from the sun.

“Behold the witch,” my father whispered.

Though wrapped in a lush ermine coat, it didn’t hide the plumpness of Cynthia Grimshaw’s belly or her short stature. Beneath frizzy blond hair, the woman’s face, much older than Ellen’s, remained fixed and hard. Holding her daughter’s hand tightly, they moved to and stopped by the Fairchild family.

“… we hereby commit thy body to the ground from whence we came. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Silence accompanied the shining coffin to its final resting place. Glimmers of sunlight danced on the bronze handles as they lowered it, down and down into the cool ground. Ellen and Charlotte stepped forward to place their wreath on the coffin; however, Rosalie broke free from the crowd and hurled hers down first.

Astonished whispers echoed all around. Even the priest looked offended and frowned. He quoted some further bible verse to dissolve the incident while Rosalie returned to her mother, triumphant.

I glanced at Ellen. Shaking with grief and anger, she seized Charlotte’s hand and turned from the gravesite, my mother steering her away.

“Yes, go,” Rosalie urged, completely unabashed. “We don’t want you here, do we, Daddy?”

The upper
croûte
of English society frowned. She’d committed a great faux pas without any remorse whatsoever. Slightly embarrassed by her outburst, her American cousins had the sense to take her from the scene. The other attendees soon followed suit, each leaving their token flowers.

Having walked a few yards from the site, I returned to fetch my mother’s shawl. She often left it lying around here and there and in her haste to support Ellen, it had slipped to the ground. And, at any rate, I’d seen Cynthia Grimshaw linger and wanted to catch her expression.

The expression had hardened, noticed upon arrival. And then, in the crevice of her mouth the tiniest smile emerged as she stared down at the filling grave.

Shocked, I stepped back onto a dried leaf. Cringing at the loud crackle, I met Cynthia Grimshaw’s icy stare.

“Ellen’s little friend, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, holding my head high.

She looked down at the grave, almost smiling. “He thought he was invincible…”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, lifting a caustic brow.

Throwing back her head, she laughed. “The English; they always have a way with words … the right response for each occasion. Well, let me tell you something, I’ll see justice done. Let that bitch know we’ll see her in court. She won’t get a penny of my husband’s money.”

“He’s not your husband anymore,” I replied, but she’d swept out of earshot.

Relieved, for I was in no mood to go to war against a woman whom I knew only by reputation, I picked up my mother’s shawl. The moist ground left it damp and I stood awhile watching the grave diggers complete their job.

“Sad business, this is,” the older gray-haired one said to me. “I dug her parents’ graves, y’know. Poor Miss Ellen. So much tragedy for one so young.”

“Do you know the family well, Mr.…?”

“Haines, it is. Me and mine been here abouts me whole life.”

“Then perhaps you remember me? As a young girl, Ellen and I used to ride through the woods.”

Leaning on his shovel, the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“My hair was cropped short like a boy,” I added.

“Ay.” Haines grinned wide. “I think I might do. Used to lend a hand up at the manor in those days. So did the Missus.” He shook his head. “My Mary’s softhearted. She didn’t like it when Sir Richard and Lady Gertrude turned out Miss Ellen durin’ the war with the lad dyin’ and all.”