The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) (23 page)

“There, that wasn’t so awful, was it?” the major teased later, steering me down a prettyish kind of wilderness. “The humble wayside flower has a charm all of its own.”

“It does,” I agreed, grinning, “and am I really like a storm?”

“You certainly have stormy eyes when you’re angry.”

“And foolishly inquisitive?”

“I trust you have learned caution after your shoulder wound.”

“I have.” Linking my hands around his neck, I pinched him on the ear. “Where’s your sympathetic concern?”

“It’s here.” He removed my hand to his heart.

“A ring!” I gasped, ripping open the box. “Oh, it’s lovely…”

“It’s a family heirloom. The reason we met my parents today is because of the ring. They offered to bring it. Does it fit?”

I examined it under the sunshine. Old gold, a scrolling pattern entwined with rubies and diamonds.

“It belonged to my great-great-grandmother. I thought you’d prefer something antique?”

“How well you know me. I love it! It’s perfect.”

Inspecting my hand, he frowned. “Even if a little big? We’ll have it resized.”

Walking back arm in arm, proud to show off my ring to any passerby, I told him of my intentions in regards to Ellen.

“Go back to Thornleigh? Are you mad?”

“Ellen’s sold her shares. There’s no reason for her to stay on in London and she’s keen to resume the renovations. She asked me to go home with her, only for another month or so.”

His brows knitted together as I explained that I must go. “I’ve started my novel. I have a feeling about this one but I need to do some more research. I’ve decided to set it in a fishing village instead of a grand estate. What do you think?”

He laughed, tucking my hand under his arm. “You’re impossible. I had envisaged going out with you every night. Enjoy the town and so forth.”

“You know I prefer the country. You could come? Ellen wouldn’t mind—”

“Before you race ahead and scheme, my precious, remember I’ve work to do and I need to do it here.”

Hailing a cab home, we climbed in and sat close together. I leaned my head against his chest, thanking him for the wondrous day and for my ring.

“Darling, go to Cornwall if you want. You must go, if it’s good for your writing.”

“There’s less distractions there.” I smiled up at him. “It’s the quiet I love. I hope we live there one day.”

He was amused. “What do you have in mind? Grand estate or modest fishing village?”

“Either.” I laughed back. “As long as we are there, overlooking a harbor. Can you imagine? Looking at the sheet of white water daily, the jetties, the moored ships, the gray roofs, and clustering cottages—”

“All right, Miss Writer. It’s an agreement.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I had promised him to stay out of trouble. That meant screwing up my page of murder suspects and the notes I’d made about those suspects.

It was a difficult thing to do. Though the police put Teddy Grimshaw’s death down to “unknown,” doubt still lingered in the air.

“I never want to go back to London.” Ellen shivered. “Those ruthless newspaper people. Hounding the door every day. I hope they won’t follow us to Thornleigh.”

So did I. Nothing sabotaged quiet inspiration time like noisy cockney reporters.

“I can’t wait to show Uncle Harry my bird,” Charlotte said when we reached the gates.

I offered to open the gates. The drive from London went too quickly for my liking. I so would have loved to stop for lunch, but Ellen was determined to get back. She was not the most confident of drivers.

As it happened, the usually splendid drive gazing at the passing scenery became a nightmare. Charlotte’s bird, sitting on a gilded cage on her lap, squawked the whole time, dissatisfied upon being confined behind bars.

Grinding my teeth, I pushed open the gates and the car went through. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.” I waved to Ellen.

We’d left the good weather in London. A light shower drifted from a deepening gray sky. More rain. Suddenly, I ached for the warm sunshine with my major.

Bearing down the long winding path with its foreboding ancient trees and ghostly branches, I questioned the wisdom of my decision. The doubt lingered only a moment for there, through the rustling leaves stood Thornleigh, proud and old and beautiful.

Approaching the place, I understood Ellen’s passion for it. It was her home and filled with memories.

“I’m going to mount our family portrait up there.” She pointed upon entry, Harry carting in the package for her. Waylaid by Charlotte and the bird, he put the portrait down.

“His name is Harry, too,” Charlotte informed him with a parental gravity.

“Well, hello, Harry. Nice to meet ye.”

“How is everything?” Ellen asked. “Did you contact the builders while I was away?”

“Yes. They said they’ll start after a first payment. I have the bill in my office.”

Ellen nodded. “Good. I’ll see you later then. Oh, Harry. Ask Nelly to set another place at dinner. Nanny will be joining us from now on. She is, after all, family.”

“I know certain people of my acquaintance would frown at such a thing,” Ellen said to me later, “me having nannies and estate managers to dinner, but we’ve all suffered the anguish of loss. Alicia lost her father and Teddy took her up. She’s quite determined to stay on as a governess. I warned her doing so she’s less likely to meet men cooped up here down in the country.”

“What about her mother? Doesn’t she want to go home eventually?”

“She doesn’t get on with her mother. It’s exactly like me. Remember how hard my parents were on me?”

I recalled what Alicia had said about her parents.

I spent the rainy afternoon in the library. Convinced I was starting my novel at the right place, I drafted out the first chapter.

Rereading what I’d written, I was pleased with my effort. As the time grew close to wash and change for dinner, I wished I’d stayed in London. Dining with Ellen, Harry, Alicia, and Charlotte came in a miserable second to an evening out with my fiancé.

I smiled whenever I glanced down at my ring, though. I’d insisted on taking it with me. There was time to resize it later.

“Don’t lose it,” Ellen warned me over dinner. “You’d be in a sorry state then.”

“The Pendarrons called while you were gone,” Harry informed after a mild tête-à-tête with Alicia. “They are having the annual masked ball. Everybody who’s anybody is invited.”

Feverish with excitement, I dropped my fork. The Pendarron ball was famous. My mother had always craved an invitation but had never made the list.

“The household of Thornleigh is invited,” Harry went on.

“They honored us with a personal invitation?” Ellen gasped.

“You are relations,” Harry reminded, smiling.

“A cousin of a cousin of a cousin. They didn’t invite us in previous years because my parents never went. I always begged them to go but I was either too young, in the war, or in the black books.”

“Her ladyship also passed on her sympathies,” Harry murmured. “She asked after Charlotte, too.”

“Oh Mummy, can I go? Can I go?”

“You’re too young, dearest.”

“But I’m not too young. Really, I’m not.”

“They have an age limit at these kind of things.”

“I shall stay home with her,” Alicia said.

She blinked away, seemingly immune to the thrill of a ball. Didn’t every girl long to go to one? Perhaps she’d had a bad experience and dreaded the idea?

After dinner, we retired to a sitting room for tea. Declining an invitation to join us, Harry returned to his office.

“The tradesmen are coming back during the week. If you keep away from the west wing, Daphne, they shouldn’t disturb you.”

“When I’m writing, I don’t hear the outside world. Jeanne was calling me the other day and I vow I didn’t hear her until she was standing right over me.”

“How is your writing going?”

This question came from Alicia, peering over the book she was reading to Charlotte. Surprised by this rare show of interest, I said a little about the story. “I can’t say too much otherwise I won’t write it.”

“How liberating it must be,” she reflected, “to conjure up a world and people and have them do exactly your bidding.”

“That’s why I love it. The power to create.”

“Daphne’s going to be famous.” Ellen grinned. “You’d best seek her company now while she’s unknown.”

“I’ve never sought other people’s good opinions,” Alicia replied, her voice smooth as silk yet laced with acrimony.

“You should hear what poor Alicia put up with in Boston,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “It’s a cutthroat society.”

“Only certain families,” Alicia advised.

“They didn’t accept your father, did they?” I remembered.

“No.” She put the book aside as Charlotte amused herself by the fire.

“You loved him? You were close to him?”

“Yes.”

I nodded, sympathetic to her plight. “And your cousins? Did you spend much time with them growing up?”

“We were invited to the annual Christmas gathering and I went on vacation with my cousins whenever they felt a duty to me. That was once every two years.”

I felt sorry for her. “Your cousin Sophie is nice…”

A faint smile touched her lips. “You omitted the others. I admire how you English adhere to social etiquette when you really want to say how horrid my other cousins are.” She sighed. “You are right. Amy was nicer a few years back but then she became pretty and started getting attention and it went to her head. Rosalie, well, you know the story with Rosalie. She’s her mother’s protégé.”

“Alicia did write her a note of condolence,” Ellen murmured. “They had the funeral on Thursday.”

“I suppose I should have attended the funeral.” Alicia wrinkled her nose. “But Dean carried my note and flowers for me. I was never really part of the family.”

“And since your inheritance, you are hated,” Ellen added. “Emotions are rife at funerals. I advised her not to go.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Alicia said. “This is my home now.”

Ellen’s face softened toward her. “You are part of our family now … you’re always welcome. Charlotte loves you.”

“Thank you.” Alicia turned away to hide the tears in her eyes. “It’s very kind of you. And I like it here. I like England.”

Going to bed, I reviewed my first impressions of Alicia Brickley. I had mistaken her character. Sullenness for reservedness, furtiveness for candor. Candor with those whom she trusted. She trusted Teddy Grimshaw. She trusted Ellen.

She was an interesting person.

And devoted to her adopted family.

But could such devotion invite danger?

*   *   *

“The muse has left me.” I sounded sullen on the telephone to Tommy. “It’s strange calling you Tommy … I shall always think of you as the major.”

“I trust you are not interfering in any ensuing investigation?”

“No…”

“But something bothers you?”

“Yes. It’s Ellen. I’m worried about her. She lied to the police, you know. She was resting that day Cynthia was killed but she forgot to mention she took Charlotte to the park. It’s not a big thing but I can see worry lines in her face. The police can’t frame her, can they?”

“The daughter is making all kinds of statements. She says her mother was murdered.”

“Murdered by Ellen?”

“Yes. A hired killer.”

I swallowed. “Still no word on the other woman who was in the hotel room?”

“The lead is cold. Unless two charming young women own up to a foolish antic?”

I felt very ill all of a sudden and twisted in the hallway, staring up the grand staircase. “Some things are better left out. I can see now why Ellen refrained from mentioning the visit to the park that day.”

“She did have the child with her,” the major murmured. “If it comes to it, the child can testify in her favor.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good news.”

“But as for you, young lady…”

“I am incorrigible. I can’t help myself. Everything I see I want to capture with words. Oh, guess what? We’re invited to the Pendarron ball. It’s on the thirtieth. Do say you can make it. Come down for the weekend.”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything.”

“How’s your work going? I know you can’t discuss it with me, but are you all right? Did Ellen do the wrong thing in selling those shares?”

“No, it was a very clever move and one I imagine Teddy Grimshaw planned to do himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Buying into that company to direct its ventures, ventures which make his competitor company profitable. I put my money on Dean Fairchild. Gildersberg is destined for success.”

“Is that fair practice?”

“Absolutely not. That’s why we’re involved.”

“Will the boys get into trouble for it?”

“Since the shares changed hands from Teddy to his widow and now to his nephews, it’s going to be hard to prove it. If Teddy were alive, certainly, he’d find himself in hot water.”

My eyes widened and I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Do you think he committed suicide?”

“It’s possible. A death on a wedding day is out of the ordinary.”

“And he died to protect Ellen … and his money … have you conveyed these suspicions to the police?”

“Yes, but they won’t visit Ellen until they have proof. There is no need to cause her further grief. Teddy Grimshaw is dead. He won’t rise from the grave … although, I think that is maybe what he originally intended.”

“Do you mean to fake his death?”

“Yes. You must admit, it’s a good plot.”

I was astonished by this piece of news. Of course, it was supposition. What proof was there unless Teddy Grimshaw showed up from the grave?

I hung up the receiver to take a long walk. My head ached with images of the wedding, the guests, the emotions, the terror of finding the groom lying dead … had he intended to live? Had he taken too much potion and, instead of faking his death, accidentally killed himself?

I felt immeasurably saddened and steered toward his grave under the tree. The place looked so peaceful I wondered whose body lay beneath it. Teddy Grimshaw was an extremely wealthy man. He could have paid off people to achieve a fake death.