Murder Goes Mumming (19 page)

“He provided me with a forged passport and a ticket to Canada. I wrote myself some excellent references promoting myself to butler and obtained this post at Graylings. My intention was to move on once my credibility had been established, but as you see, I never did. The pay is excellent, the work is not arduous by and large, and,
entre nous,
some of the ladies in the area are most obliging.”

“But don’t you miss your family back in Wales?” cried Janet.

“I had not been in contact with them for some years prior to my abrupt emigration. I had run away from home at twelve to avoid going down into the mines. As there were at least eleven other children at the time, I doubt whether my parents ever noticed my absence. I order gift packages to be sent them from time to time, but as circumstances prevent my enclosing a return name and address they never know where to reply and probably don’t much care.”

“The warrant for your arrest has no doubt expired some time ago,” said Rhys. “I’m sure you could return unchallenged if you so desired.”

Ludovic shrugged. “Perhaps I will, someday.”

“If you care to give me a name and address, I will have discreet inquiries made.”

“Thank you.” The butler didn’t sound overcome by gratitude. “I suppose it would be as well to know whether anybody is left to receive my packages.”

Janet shivered and Rhys noticed.

“Tired, my darling?”

“Not particularly. Maybe a goose walked over my grave. Life’s a complicated business, isn’t it? That’s a trite and silly thing to say.”

Janet straightened up and adjusted her skirt. “Why don’t you tell us who killed Mrs. Condrycke, Ludovic, so we can all get some sleep?”

“I should be more than willing to tell you if I knew,” the ex-forger replied. “It is shocking to me that such a thing can have happened here without my knowing.”

He rose and returned the empty teacups to the tray, as if to reassure himself that he was still able to function. “May one ask, Inspector, whether your presence here is an indication that you anticipated some such occurrence?”

“You may ask, but the answer is no. Our coming is simply a result of my mother’s never-flagging urge to make cozy arrangements for people. I had never met any of the Condryckes till the night Donald and Babs asked us up here, and it appears Donald knew more about Janet than she did about him.”

“At least Donald and Babs couldn’t have been planning to kill Granny if they invited strangers into the house for the purpose of separating Val from Roy,” said Janet. “Don’t you think that lets them off the hook?”

“Never let anyone off the hook till you’ve got somebody else safe in the net,” Rhys answered. “That’s what we learn in detective school, love.”

“Sounds like some of the neighbors back in Pitcherville. Guilty till proven innocent and even so there’s no smoke without fire. You were just lucky enough to get away with it and you needn’t think you can pull the wool over their eyes because they know better. All right, then. Donald’s guilty, so is Babs, and everybody else is even guiltier. I’ll take Roy for a starter. Since he probably never set eyes on Granny alive, he’s sure to be the likeliest suspect.”

“And his motive?”

“Easy. He wants to marry into the firm and Granny was out to put a spoke into his wheel because she didn’t think he was good enough for Val.”

“Do you?”

“They look to me like two peas in a pod.”

“Is Roy capable at his job?”

“So-so. He’s clever enough, I suppose, but he’s inclined to be lazy. The secretaries have been covering for him because he butters them up, but his charm’s begun to wear thin in spots. I think he might be good at the public relations stuff, like Donald. And I noticed Val started being awfully sweet to Uncle Cyril once she found out he holds the purse strings, or thinks he does, so I suppose she could do the same with the big butter-and-egg men from Manitoba. What do you think, Ludovic? Am I just being catty because Val dresses better than I do?”

“That is open to dispute, Miss Wadman. I have not seen you other than appropriately and attractively dressed. Miss Val is inclined to err on the side of fashion as opposed to taste, as she has perhaps done with Mr. Robbins. In fairness to that young man, I do not see how he can have become a serious bone of contention between her and her grandmother, although Mrs. Condrycke did in fact meet him at tea the day he arrived. As far as I could see, they got along well enough. Mr. Robbins is only one in a long string of suitors Miss Val has brought here, and Mrs. Condrycke was more amused than annoyed by them, as a rule. Only a couple of months ago, Miss Val was crowing that she was virtually engaged to the distinguished tenor, Mr. Dafydd Rhys.”

“Many young women have made the same mistake,” said Madoc. “By now, Dafydd has probably forgotten her name, if in fact he ever remembered. He writes them on his shirt cuffs to remind him, usually. By the time his laundry is done, so is the romance.”

“I must remember to keep writing my name on your cuffs,” Janet observed.

“And I must remember not to let my brother borrow my shirts. How did Val get on with Granny, by and large?”

“As well as could be expected, sir. The late Mrs. Condrycke was not a particularly amiable old lady, and sometimes diverted herself by encouraging Miss Val’s more outrageous antics while her parents were endeavoring to restrain her. On the other hand, Mrs. Condrycke scorned the laxity of the modern generation. To be sure, she scorned every other generation, including her own.”

“Did she have any special animosity toward Val’s parents?”

“When it came to animosity, Mrs. Condrycke did not play favorites. She thought Donald a fool and Cyril a sot, Lawrence a pettifogging bootlicker, and Herbert a gladhander with an eye to the main chance. She frequently berated May and Clara for letting themselves be taken in.”

“What about Babs?”

“She had a grudging respect for Mrs. Donald. She once asked why Mrs. Babs hadn’t held out for a better offer.”

“And what did Babs say to that?”

“She said, ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might be in love with your grandson?’ Mrs. Condrycke emitted what I can best describe as a snort and inquired what love had to do with marriage. Mrs. Donald then replied, ‘I’m afraid you’re too advanced in your views for me, Granny,’ and the episode ended with general merriment, in which the elder Mrs. Condrycke joined.”

“Did she generally laugh at the jokes they seem to be so fond of around here?”

“One could never predict how Mrs. Condrycke would react. In general she appeared to enjoy other people’s discomfiture.”

“Do they do it all the time, or is it laid on for company?”

“The jesting is customary, sir. Squire is greatly taken with stories of the late Queen Alexandra and her royal brood engaged in innocent merriment.”

“I suppose he doesn’t have the scope up here to do an Edward VII.”

“That, sir, is about it. So long as Squire has a regal precedent to follow, he doesn’t much care who set it. On the whole, I think he also realizes the continual horseplay provides a more or less healthy outlet for the hostilities that might otherwise become aggravated by so confined a situation.”

“That’s good sense. Instead of ripping somebody up the back with a butcher knife, you put a spider in his soup. There’s a motto for the force, Madoc.” Janet yawned. “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Stab and you stab alone.”

“Darling, you’re barely keeping your eyes open. Come over here on the sofa with me,” Rhys coaxed. “Ludovic won’t mind if you nap a bit.”

“Perhaps Miss Wadman would allow me to tuck the afghan about her,” the butler suggested gallantly.

Miss Wadman would. With her head cradled on her sweetheart’s manly bosom and her nether limbs swathed in crocheted wool, she dropped off to slumber as decorously as the heroine of any Victorian novel. Ludovic surveyed the charming tableau with parental benignity.

“It is a great pity that Miss Wadman could not have paid her visit to Graylings at a more auspicious time.”

Madoc smoothed the soft bronze-brown curls away from Janet’s clear forehead. “Poor Jenny. She’s not had a decent night’s sleep since we got engaged. I wish this storm would break so we could airlift her out of here.”

“She appears content to be where she is at the moment, sir.”

“Ah, she’s a good little woman, my Jenny. Would you happen to know, Ludovic, whether Babs Condrycke is much of an athlete?”

“Meaning would she at this time be capable of opening that door against the wind, sir? I should be inclined to think not. Last winter the family took up snowmobile racing and Mrs. Donald took a bad spill, sustaining a fractured arm and torn ligaments in her left shoulder. She was in a cast until Eastertime and did therapy for some time afterward. I believe she has still not regained total command of the arm. I noticed this morning that she had to leave off trimming the Christmas tree as the reaching and stretching bothered her.”

“She carried all those trimmings down from the attic, though.”

“Yes, sir, but only to the foot of the attic steps, which is a short flight. That appears to have been all she could manage. I believe she made some comment to that effect.”

“So she did, and stuck me up on the ladder while she sent Jenny off with that Robbins chap to bring them down. A fat lot of good it did her.”

Rhys snuggled his sleeping beauty with pardonable self-satisfaction. “Babs was quite right about being in a spot, you know. After all, she and Cyril were the only ones out there with Aunt Addie, and Cyril was in no shape to remember what might or might not have happened.”

“You may or may not be right about their being the only ones present, sir, if I may make so bold as to contradict you. The upstairs facilities had been visited by most of the party after dinner, and it is not impossible that one of them did not return to the Great Hall. Everyone’s being in costume does suggest certain possibilities, does it not?”

“Such as what?”

“For one thing, Mr. Herbert might have got one of his helpers to dress in a duplicate of that distinctive lobster costume and slip into the Great Hall in his stead for a brief time. I suppose that appears a farfetched idea.”

“It’s worth considering, Ludovic. Would any of the men be willing?”

“For a joke, and for an extra Christmas bonus, I should say any of them might be willing to do almost anything right now. They’re all bored and fed-up at not being able to go home to their families on Christmas Eve because of the storm. Baptiste would be about the right size and build to pass for Herbert. The difficulty would be in Mr. Herbert’s getting his aunt and Mr. Cyril into the hall at the same time. He could have had no way of knowing it would happen fortuitously.”

“That may not have been part of the plan. Putting Aunt Addie out in the snow could have been a last-minute inspiration. A simple push down that crazy, twisting staircase would have been equally effective if Herbert’s main objective was to have her wind up dead.”

“But why, sir?”

“One can only conjecture. Perhaps Miss Adelaide knew her sister had been murdered and by whom. Perhaps she didn’t yet know but somebody was afraid she’d find out. Did those so-called presentiments of hers ever work retroactively?”

“Often, sir. I can testify to that.”

Ludovic smiled ruefully. “On occasion, we have ladies of, shall I say, susceptible tendencies staying at Graylings. It was only this past August that a comely member of her sex found occasion to remind me privately that it is more blessed to give than to receive.”

“And you and she were jointly blessed, eh?” Rhys grinned. “Ludovic, you devil!”

“Those were more or less Miss Adelaide’s words some weeks after the lady had departed and the light dawned. I managed to convince Miss Adelaide that I was merely upholding Squire’s tradition of hospitality. At least, I think I did.”

“What did Squire himself think?”

“Fortunately he was not present at the time. Miss Adelaide and I were alone.”

“Was that tact or just luck?”

“Just luck, sir. Miss Adelaide was well meaning but never tactful. She would have said the same thing in front of a houseful of distinguished guests. It was her habit to blurt out whatever came into her head at any given moment regardless of the possible consequences.”

“And everyone would have believed her?”

“She did have this alarming way of being right, sir.”

“Yes, well, that would be reason enough to put her out of the way if you’d just killed her sister, wouldn’t it? One would never know when Miss Addie might go off like a time bomb.”

“Precisely, sir.”

“Getting back to the notion of somebody’s impersonating somebody else this evening. You do think it would have been feasible?”

“Don’t you, sir? There was the diversion of the Phantom Ship, then Mr. Cyril was striving to attract everyone’s attention to himself. He was standing under the kissing ball in the main doorway that leads out into the front hall, by the stairway. However, as you have doubtless observed, there are other doors, the one at the opposite end through which you helped to drag the Yule log, and a small one on the side where the fireplace is. This last door is now partially obscured by the large Christmas tree in that corner. It would not be any great feat for some member of the party to stroll around behind the tree, slip out that door, and have somebody else slip in wearing a similar costume. If the impostor remained more or less in the shadow of the tree, he could no doubt escape detection for at least a short time. You may recall that the battery lantern intended to illuminate the tree from behind had ceased to operate. It is no great trick to put a battery lantern out of commission.”

“Good point, Ludovic. I can’t quite buy Baptiste in a spare lobster costume, though. For one thing, he seems a bit redundant since there were already three lobsters besides Herbert. With everyone moving around, as you say, three could easily pass for four. There would also be the problem of Baptiste’s getting out of that complicated arrangement of claws and feelers after he’d done his impersonation, without being caught and blowing the so-called joke. On the other hand, I can easily see Lawrence taking off that coonskin coat and porkpie hat for someone else to put on, or even Squire swapping his crimson robe and fur-trimmed cap. They’d be quick enough to exchange, and if Baptiste or whoever decided he’d better clear out he could just drop them and go. If they were found, it would be assumed the wearer had got too hot and shed his costume to give himself a breather. Where does that little door lead to?”