An Invisible Murder (8 page)

‘Which one?’ Jenny asked quickly, and even more quickly added off-handedly, ‘If it was any good, I might take a look myself.’

‘Oh it was some sort of weepie,’ Janice said quickly, then frowned. ‘You know, one of those sugary-sweet American ones? Thing is, I can’t quite remember what it was called.’

‘And you never returned to the castle? When Danny didn’t show up?’

Janice vehemently shook her head, and again Meecham stared at her, then turned away abruptly. But by then Jenny had already gone to the stove and so missed the butler’s sharp glance.

The cook’s thoughts were elsewhere anyway. Janice had been stood up. Danny had failed to show. Where had he been instead?

‘I think, Janice,’ Jenny said, beginning to stack the dishes, ‘that you should find the police and tell them the truth. There’s an Inspector Bishop and a Sergeant Myers about somewhere. I’m sure they haven’t left. I should go and see them and get it over with, if I were you.’

She returned to the table, noting that Janice couldn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘It would be better if you sought them out and offered your own story, rather than wait for them to come to you. It might look a bit odd, otherwise,’ she added quietly,
sure that the maid had got the message by now.

Jenny sat down and then promptly shot back up again, with just a small ‘yip’ of surprise. Startled, everyone
half-rose
, varying looks of panic on their faces as they stared towards the cook.

Jenny, though, had not been stabbed.

Staring down at her chair and rubbing her ample bottom, that was tingling unhappily, she reached forward and lifted Henry from her chair, holding the tortoise aloft and scowling at the aloof-looking reptile.

‘How the dickens did this creature climb onto my chair?’ she asked breathlessly. If the circumstances had been different, she might have believed one of her fellow dinners had put him there deliberately as a practical joke.

The tortoise certainly got about for such a cumbersome animal.

Elsie was the first to break out into laughter, which
immediately
set everyone else off. Jenny held Henry out in front of her as if he had leprosy, and laughed the hardest of them all.

Naturally, just because they were all laughing like loons, Inspector Bishop chose just that moment to walk into the room.

I
nspector Bishop came back the next morning at 7.30, having slept like a log. He must have woken up like one too, for, as he walked into the castle’s warm kitchen, his face was wooden, and he was walking in a particularly stiff manner. He’d come to keep Miss Starling ‘appraised’.

He’d had a phone call at his house late last night from the chief constable himself who’d told him to get this case solved fast. But word was now rife in the village. Already, he could feel them banding together. Who knew what clues were being buried? What alibis were being sharpened up? If the killer were local and popular, it would make his life
practically
unbearable.

Jenny took in the policeman’s misery with one all-seeing glance and took a plate from the hotplate. She herself had been up since six, unable to sleep, her mind going in circles. Although it was true that she had helped the police in the past, she’d never been caught up in anything quite like this. For a start, nobody at the castle appeared to have a
motive
for killing Ava Simmons. At least, none that she knew of. But then, she was a stranger here. She didn’t know these people well. The castle might be teeming with all sorts of secrets that she had no way of tapping into. And yet, she must. She didn’t like murder. And she certainly didn’t approve of people getting away with it.

She carefully lifted three sizzling sausages, two rashers of thick bacon, two fried eggs, tomatoes and fried bread from the pan and transferred them to the plate.

Where to start? Ava Simmons, respectable woman, middle-class, well educated and perfectly pleasant, just wasn’t your average murder victim. So why was she dead?

Bishop, who’d come away from home on a piece of toast and a boiled egg, watched the approaching plate with acute envy. That envy turned to astonished delight when the cook put it in front of him. ‘There’ll be toast and marmalade to follow, Inspector,’ she said mildly, and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she added, a definite twinkle in her eye. She hadn’t, but she wanted to get the inspector into a good mood.

‘So, I expect you’ve questioned all the cleaners from the village and checked their alibis? And the gardeners?’ she began, so conversationally, that Bishop, tucking into a
succulent
sausage, nodded his head without even thinking about it.

‘I did, but no dice.’ Bishop waved a fork smeared with egg, and shook his head. ‘Not that it’s likely one of them did it. No, I think we can rule them out.’

Jenny sighed. She’d rather feared as much.

‘Sir George, Lady Vee, the colonel and Mrs Attling were all together at the time of the murder,’ she murmured, missing the strange look Bishop sent her way. Then he was smearing tomato over his fried bread and crunching down in bliss. ‘So that leaves us….’ she finished softly.

Bishop nodded, looking at her closely. The fact that she had even dared to suspect Lord Avonsleigh and company had raised her inestimably in his opinion. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

At least the woman seemed to have some ability. ‘Yes,’ he
agreed bluntly. ‘And of you lot, Meecham and Gayle alibi each other. Lady Roberta and her art tutor do likewise. You and Elsie were together apart from that one time. By the way, I’ve had Myers do a dry run on that cellar thing, and Elsie
could
have done it, but only at a real stretch. And that’s assuming that she knew that Ava Simmons was in the conservatory beforehand and that she caught her totally by surprise. Even so, she would have had to run at a fair old clip all the times in between. And I doubt the old girl has it in her.’

Jenny, remembering Elsie’s silent gait and surprising agility, wasn’t so sure. But she was not about to tell the inspector that.

‘I don’t see how Elsie could have known that Ava would be in the conservatory,’ she said instead. ‘Unless they’d arranged to meet there. You didn’t find any note, did you?’ she asked, without much hope.

Bishop shook his head, dunking his bacon in egg yolk. ‘Nope. Only correspondence we found in her room was the odd letter to her father, and a letter from the Lady Beade Girls’ School, offering Ava Simmons the post of fine art tutor. So we know she was leaving. Or seriously thinking about it, anyway.’

Jenny felt a cold shiver pass over her arms. She couldn’t help but frown, and the inspector paused in his ravenous eating, watching her closely. Catching his eye, Jenny gave a slight shrug. ‘I find that very odd, Inspector. Ava had only been here a short time. Why would she seek a new job so soon?’

‘Perhaps she knew what was coming. She’d made an enemy of someone here at the castle and thought she’d better get away. Quick. But just didn’t make it in time.’

Jenny waved her hand. ‘That’s the first thing that occurred to me. But that’s not what I meant. I’ve heard of the Lady
Beade School. It’s a top-notch affair. I can’t understand why they’d offer a provincial gallery-owner’s daughter the job of art tutor. I mean, they could have their pick. Now if it had been Malcolm Powell-Brooks they’d asked, I’d have
understood
it. He graduated from the Ruskin School of Fine Art in Oxford. But Ava Simmons?’

‘She was the governess, or tutor, or whatever, to a lord’s granddaughter,’ Bishop pointed out, lamely.

‘The Lady Beade has daughters of nobility coming out of their ears, Inspector,’ Jenny pointed out with a small smile. ‘No. It all strikes me as particularly odd. Do you think you could spare someone to go down to Lady Beade’s and learn a little more? When did she apply? Before or after coming here? Why was she chosen. That sort of thing?’

Bishop nodded his head. He told himself it was the least he could do for someone who’d given him such a good
breakfast
. And he’d be humouring her ladyship, and her orders to keep the cook ‘appraised’.

But in his heart, he suspected that Jenny Starling had
got
something. That she’d picked up on something that he had missed. Perhaps bringing the cook in on the investigation wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all.

By nine o’clock the kitchen was full, and Bishop wisely absented himself. Jenny noted that most of her colleagues had regained their appetites. Only Meecham seemed
uninterested
in the feast, and nibbled desultorily on a piece of toast.

‘Well, I suppose I’d better go up and see their nibs,’ Malcolm said, a little nervously. ‘I mean, someone has to take over Roberta’s other lessons until a replacement has been found.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be relieved by your offer to stand in,
Malcolm,’ Gayle reassured him kindly, and watched him go with fond eyes.

Jenny glanced at her thoughtfully, then at the
disappearing
back of the art tutor, his white canvas smock showing up in the gloomier recess of the kitchen as he made his way to the door. So that’s the way the wind blew, was it, Jenny mused? And worried. Would someone of Malcolm’s ilk look on a maid-cum-tour-guide as a possible partner? She rather doubted it.

She shook her head, and hoped for the best. Gayle was a sensible girl. Let’s just hope she was only being her usual, helpful self. Gayle as the peace-maker – not Gayle the smitten.

‘I hear the police have been in the village, questioning people,’ Janice said quietly, looking wan and dark-eyed. ‘I expect they’re learning all sorts of things by now.’ She fingered a small brooch on her dark blue blouse nervously.

Jenny had never seen her wearing it before. It was a silver ballerina, and looked totally out of place on her uniform. Janice, unaware that she was fingering the brooch so compulsively, was thinking about her Danny. He’d been in just a little bit of bother with the police once. Something about not being properly insured on his motorbike. If word got back to her dad she’d be for it.

‘Damn coppers,’ Elsie barked. ‘They hadn’t better go near my old mum. Upsetting her and all.’

Jenny was surprised to hear that Elsie’s mother still lived. She’d assumed that Elsie lived in at the castle, but perhaps she went home every night.

‘Don’t worry. All that’s old news, Elsie dear. Why would the police want to know about it?’ Gayle said, making the cook’s ears perk up.

‘What old news?’ she asked, with a carefully general smile.
Gayle, however, looked promptly disconcerted. She darted an apologetic glance to Elsie, who was showing definite signs of unease.

‘Oh, nothing. Nothing really,’ Gayle murmured lamely.

Jenny let the embarrassed silence deliberately drag. She glanced at Elsie who was staring into her cup of tea, then at Janice, who looked away quickly.

‘Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters now,’ Elsie finally said gruffly, the silence stretching her nerves. ‘Me old mum never married me dad. Whoever he was,’ Elsie added bitterly, lifting her chin defiantly.

Jenny met her gaze without expression. Although
illegitimacy
meant nothing nowadays, she supposed that when Elsie was born, her mother would have been branded a scarlet woman. And even nowadays, in villages full of mostly older folk, she supposed something of a slur still attached itself to unmarried mothers.

‘No, Elsie, I shouldn’t think it matters a bit,’ Jenny said kindly. ‘You want some more kidneys? I fried some extra.’

For a second, the old kitchen maid’s eyes swam, and Jenny realized, with a pang, that she’d been expecting some kind of cruel put down. Being born illegitimate had obviously been a burden that had haunted her all her life. It was all such a shame since nobody would give it a second thought nowadays.

Elsie, in fact, lived in unnecessary dread of the fact that their nibs might find out about it, and give her the sack. Even the old cook had always been a little scornful about it. That this new cook was so obviously different caught her off guard. She felt her stomach tremble in the way that it always did when she felt herself getting mushy, and she sniffed. Loudly.

‘All right. Wouldn’t say no,’ she agreed, more harshly than
she’d meant. It came out sounding deeply ungrateful. Jenny, however, didn’t seem to notice. She returned with the frying pan and heaped out some kidneys onto Elsie’s plate.

Elsie began to eat with evident pleasure.

But at the back of her eyes lurked a look of fear that pained Jenny for the rest of the day.

Malcolm Powell-Brooks hesitated at the door to the
breakfast-room
. His palms felt just slightly damp. Then he knocked briskly, and tensed. He hated dealing directly with Lady Vee. She was just so damned formidable.

Her ladyship boomed at him to come in, and he obeyed, noting with relief that they had finished eating. Roberta glanced up and began to glow at the unexpected treat of seeing him so soon.

Lord Avonsleigh glanced at his granddaughter’s shining eyes, and felt his lips twitch.

‘Er, good morning, my lord, my lady,’ he turned to each in turn, glanced at Roberta, wasn’t quite sure what to say to her, and turned back to his lordship. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and wondered where to begin.

George smiled and rose. ‘Sit down, dear fellow. What can we do for you?’

Lady Vee watched the art tutor seat himself and wished she was twenty years younger. She’d liked to flirt when she was a girl, and Mr Powell-Brooks was just the kind she went for. She couldn’t blame Roberta for mooning over him like a lovesick calf. It was good for a girl to do so.

‘I was wondering, that is, I thought I should come and offer my services as a temporary tutor that is, until, well, someone is sent to replace Miss Simmons. I have a fairly good working knowledge of literature,’ Malcolm plunged on, feeling his palms growing wetter by the minute. ‘I don’t
know much about … well, er, female deportment and that sort of thing, but I know a good bit about music, as you know, and philosophy and so on. Just until—’

‘We get a replacement for poor Miss Simmons,’ Lady Vee interjected for him, noting his rising panic with a gentle smile. ‘Quite so.’ The dear boy was blushing to the roots of his hair.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Malcolm said gratefully.

‘Thank you for the offer, Brooks,’ Lord Avonsleigh said heartily. ‘I think we’ll have to take you up on it for the time being. Unless of course,’ he added, winking across at his wife, ‘Roberta objects?’

Lady Roberta most definitely didn’t, and nearly fell over herself making it plain. Malcolm met his lordship’s eye with an apologetic ‘What can you do but wait until she grows out of it?’ look, and relaxed.

He’d had to offer. It would have looked most odd if he hadn’t.

‘Well, I’m sure Lady Roberta can fill me in on Miss Simmons teaching regime. I….’ He was getting to his feet, anxious to make his leave, when there was a tap on the door and Meecham walked in.

‘Excuse me, my lord, but there’s a gentleman here with an appointment to see Miss Simmons. I thought, under the circumstances….’

‘Good grief, yes.’ Lord Avonsleigh rose, and smiled as a tall, silver-haired man, who was eighty if he was a day, walked into the room. ‘I think you’d better get Inspector Bishop, Meecham,’ he said, walking forward and holding out his hand.

Before it was taken, however, Bishop appeared at the doorway. Nothing went on in this castle that he didn’t know about, for he’d seconded a few constables from Bicester to
patrol the place on the pretext of providing extra security. In reality, they were his eyes and ears, and badly needed they were too.

The bewildered old man glanced at the inspector, then at Avonsleigh, looking distinctly puzzled. If he’d known that Ava was going to have him meet his lordship he’d have worn his best tie. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Avonsleigh. I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’

Vee went forward and gently led him to a seat. ‘Tea, Meecham,’ she said briskly. ‘We’ve run into a spot of trouble, I’m afraid, Mr…?’

‘Oh, excuse me. Grover, Anthony Grover. How do you do?’

She took his hand and pulled out a seat close to him. ‘You’ve come to see Miss Simmons, you say?’ she probed gently, not even glancing in Bishop’s direction.

Unable to do a damned thing about it, Bishop took a seat and ground his teeth.