Murder Goes Mumming (7 page)

“Oh yes, sir. Squire would normally have been informed at once of any untoward occurrence. He is somewhat cast down by the prospect that the late Mrs. Condrycke’s demise may dampen the spirit of the gathering.”

“But not by the demise itself?”

The corners of Ludovic’s mouth allowed themselves to twitch again. “Mrs. Condrycke was a very old lady, sir. Well into her nineties, I believe, although she exercised a lady’s privilege of subtracting a few years. She had been in frail health for some time and uncertain in her temper as a result. Also, she was Squire’s mother-in-law, which you will allow may make a difference.”

“But her name was Condrycke, too.”

“Yes, sir, Squire took the family name when he married her daughter, the late Dorothy Condrycke. There was no male heir at that time, you see. Miss Dorothy was an only child.”

“You surprise me. One gets the impression Squire is to the manner born.”

“One does indeed, sir. One does not, if I may say so, do anything to contradict that impression.”

Rhys nodded. “One wouldn’t dream of it. A most affable host, certainly. As a matter of vulgar curiosity and between countrymen, was Graylings his or hers?”

“Graylings was built by the Condryckes, sir, at the peak of the lumber industry in these parts. Lumber was the foundation of the family fortunes.”

“And who controls those fortunes now?”

“Under the terms of his marriage agreement, Squire holds life tenure as overall manager of the Condrycke interests.”

“Drove a shrewd bargain, did he?”

“Squire is an excellent man of business, sir. His late father-in-law recognized that fact and so did the late Mrs. Condrycke. It was in her interest to let him continue handling affairs at Graylings as he had done so successfully for many years. Even in her more heated moments she has never suggested a desire to change. There would have been no point in his doing anything to hasten her demise, if that is what you are thinking, sir.”

“It would be most ill-bred of me to think any such thing,” Rhys protested.

“It would be natural enough in your case, sir, I believe.”

“Ludovic, you are a credit to your dark and devious race. How did you ever wind up on the Bay Chaleur?”

“It beats a Cardiff coal mine, sir.”

It would beat a Cardiff jail, too. If Ludovic could recognize a Mountie in his pajamas, there was probably a reason. Rhys smiled up at the butler in comradeship.

“Is Miss Wadman awake yet, do you know?”

“The young ladies are both asleep, sir, or were when I glanced into their room. Miss Valerie does not take tea in the mornings as a rule.”

Ludovic took the empty cup from Rhys. “Speaking as a Welshman and not as a butler, sir, I have seen a great many young ladies in and out of this house, but never one to beat Miss Wadman. She is not also Welsh, by any chance?”

“Her mother was a Hughes, so she must have one foot over the border, at any rate. The Wadmans came out from Derbyshire, I believe, shortly after that unfortunate disagreement among the colonies. They were yeoman farmers and bought part of a Loyalist grant down in Pitcherville.”

“The land has remained in the family, sir?”

“Absolutely. Her elder brother is doing an excellent job with the ancestral acres and is raising three fine sons to carry on after him.”

“You will be doing the same soon, sir.”

Rhys smiled. No doubt Lady Rhys and Janet had that all arranged between them. A boy’s best friend was his mother. “Mine is not a hereditary position, Ludovic. Who gets the property after Squire?”

“Strictly speaking, Squire has never had it. Mr. Cyril, as the eldest son, is the legal owner. There is an entail of sorts. Excuse me, sir. I have enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of your conversation, but I must be getting on with my work. Squire will be down to breakfast any minute now.”

“Then I mustn’t keep you. I’ll be down myself as soon as I get dressed.”

“Squire will be glad of your company.”

“Ludovic, does he know who I am?”

“He knows you are Sir Emlyn’s son and Sir Caradoc’s nephew, sir.”

“Great-nephew, actually. Thank you, Ludovic. I’ll do as much for you sometime.”

“I trust I shall not require to avail myself of your services, sir.”

They parted on the most amicable of terms and Madoc went to get shaved. So Ludovic knew the Mounties had arrived and Ludovic, unless he was a liar as well as a sometime knave, had not seen fit to apprise his employer of that fact. Rather had not informed his non-employer. It was hard to think of Squire as not being head of Graylings in fact as well as in demeanor and appearance. Rhys wished very much indeed that he knew exactly how the financial arrangements worked at Graylings and what effect Granny’s death was going to have on them.

So Cyril was the actual lord of the manor? But did Cyril have any control over the purse strings? And where did Donald, May, and Clara come in? Not to mention Herbert the faithful steward, Lawrence the faithful family lawyer, Ludovic the allegedly faithful old retainer, Valerie the no doubt frequently unfaithful granddaughter, whatever offspring Lawrence and Clara might have, and that pair of May and Herbert’s who, from the look of their eyeballs by the end of last evening, had been playing at something other than billiards. With a silent cheer for the marvels of modern electronics, Rhys turned on the shower, reached under the things in his shaving kit, and pulled out a small black box.

“Dick Tracy here,” he murmured into the microphone end. A tinny cackle from the receiver assured him he was on. “Listen, Hercule, I think I’ve got into something. No, murder for gain, most likely. Looks to me like an old woman done with a pillow, but I’ve nothing but hunches so far. Everyone’s being very polite about it. I’m not asking for help. You’d have a job flying anybody in under these conditions, and at this stage there’s not even a case to warrant the effort. I just wanted you to know what’s up, and be ready to fly my girl out if things turn sticky. When’s the storm supposed to … oh, not good, eh? Well,
Joyeux Noël.
”

Down in the States, radio disc jockeys must be dreaming of a white Christmas. Over in Britain, some sweet middle-aged lady with a penchant for gore and a driving lust for an advance royalty check would be pounding out a mystery novel about a house party trapped in a blizzard. This wasn’t any real blizzard, not by Canadian standards, but it was pretty thick out there and likely to remain so for a day or two, according to his informant. Fa la la. Rhys buried the midget transistorized two-way radio under his shaving tackle again and went to put some clothes on.

As he was leaving his room, looking especially poetic in the rust-colored heather mixture pullover Janet had so lovingly and laboriously knit for him, the knitter herself came stumbling out into the hall, still wearing her bundle of blue fleece and, no doubt, her pearls and thermal underwear.

“Oh, Madoc, am I late for breakfast?”

“You’ve missed your morning cuppa, that’s all. Ludovic was around with tea a while back. He begged leave to congratulate me on my taste in brides, which I graciously granted. Don’t get up yet unless you feel like it. Breakfast will be laid on for at least another hour, I’m sure. And don’t prim that stiff upper lip at me or I’ll kiss it.”

He did anyway. “I’m going down and break a bun with Squire. As to Granny, Ludovic says the drill is that we behave as though nothing has happened.”

“Madoc, has something?”

“Not now, darling. I’ll see you downstairs. One doesn’t make one’s own bed, by the way.”

Janet looked horrified. “All right if you say so, but I’ll never be able to explain to Annabelle.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek to ease the pain of parting and went along to the bathroom. Rhys knew he should wish her elsewhere, but how could he when the mere thought of being away from her was too dreadful to admit into consciousness? Anyway, there was no chance of getting her out without putting her to greater risk from the weather than she stood at in the house, and furthermore Ludovic liked her. Whatever had happened to Granny must surely be a family affair. The best protection Rhys could give Janet was to leave it that way, for as long as he could manage.

Playing the role of an undistinguished member of a distinguished family, in love with a young woman as eminently loveworthy as Miss Janet Wadman and not much interested in anything else, should convince any murderer that neither he nor she was a threat. It would involve a lot of hand holding and so forth, but Rhys was not one to shirk so manifest a duty. He had no trouble putting on a shining morning face for Squire.

“Ah, there you are, Madoc. I was wondering if I’d have to eat my porridge alone.”

Rhys went to the sideboard and took a plate. “Janet should be along sooner or later. She’s getting up now, I believe.”

“That’s a pleasant surprise. I thought she and Val would chatter half the night and sleep all day.”

“Oh, they ragged a bit. Girls will be girls and all that. But Janet was rather done in as she’d mentioned before we went up. By the way, I must tell you that she and I are aware of last night’s sad event. We were with Babs and Clara when they found Mrs. Condrycke. It had been a question of whether we were to be introduced, you see. We quite understood why they felt it would be wiser not to spoil the memory of a delightful evening by rousing everyone and spreading the bad news. Janet and I do sympathize most sincerely. If the weather permitted, we’d take our discreet departure, but as we can’t do that, please count on us to do whatever will make things easier for you and your family.”

“My boy, you mustn’t think of leaving. Surely you realize that while we’re all naturally grieved, we’re not in the least surprised. Considering Granny’s age and the state of her health, she could have gone any time these past two years. We’d all bowed to the inevitable some time ago.”

Squire put down his porridge spoon and bowed to the inevitable a moment longer, then shook his head and bravely picked up the spoon again. “With the lads home from school and the whole family gathered together for a happy holiday, it would be too cruel to go into mourning for what couldn’t have been helped. Clara was quite right in her decision. We must carry on. Granny wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, nor do I.”

He took a manful scoop of porridge. “Between ourselves, Madoc, life can be damned dreary up here for my daughters during these long winter months. Not that they complain. Wonderful women, both of them, always ready for a prank. I can’t help thinking of Queen Alexandra and her children. Did you know that when they got together, those grownup princes and princesses used to romp and play like a crowd of young hobbledehoys? That’s the true family spirit, Madoc. That’s what I like to see here at Graylings. And damn it,” Squire wiped his nose rather savagely on his napkin, “that’s what we’re going to have this Christmas. I suppose,” he added on a more conventionally matter-of-fact note, “it’s much the same when your family get together.”

Rhys tried to picture his Welsh relatives romping like young hobbledehoys for the edification of his great-uncle and couldn’t manage it. They’d more likely be either singing in parts, making up rude rhymes in the ancient bardic tradition, drinking, eating, or exchanging heated views on their pet subjects of religion, music, and sheepdip.

“Oh, you know the Welsh,” he murmured. “Our idea of a wild time is reading the juicier bits from the Song of Solomon. This is marvelous bacon, Squire. Home-cured, by any chance?”

“Every bite of it. Herbert’s a great hand with the hogs. There’ll be roast suckling pig tonight.”

“My word, you do your guests proud. Tell me, sir, do we go ahead with the mumming you mentioned?”

“Absolutely. They’ve all been working on their costumes for months, I shouldn’t wonder. Can’t deprive them of the chance to show off.”

“I’m afraid Janet and I didn’t come prepared for a masquerade.”

“Oh, we’ll rig up something for you. Ah, Janet, there you are now. Looking blithe and bonny, I must say. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept later than I should have, I’m afraid,” she replied in a neat evasion. “I do hope I’m not the last one down. Where is everybody?”

“Most of them are still in bed, the wretches. May’s out in the kitchen holding a staff conference. Babs is up in the attic hunting out the Christmas trimmings. We always set up the tree on Christmas Eve. Clara came to my room earlier, but I sent her back to bed. I expect she’ll be down to help with the tree, though. Perhaps you’d like to lend a hand after breakfast?”

“Of course, I’d love to.” Janet hesitated a moment, then came over and gave Squire her hand. “I expect Madoc has told you how sorry we are about your mother-in-law.”

“Thank you, my dear, he has. And I’ve told him we’re grateful to have had Granny with us for so many years longer than we could have hoped, and we’re not going to spoil our happy time by useless mourning. We’ve done what little we could for her until the storm lets up and the undertaker can get through, and now we’re going straight ahead with our plans as Granny would have wanted us to.”

He patted the hand he was still holding. “You know, my dear Janet, back in earlier and happier times when Old England was truly Merrie England, there’d be a Lord of Misrule appointed to preside over the holiday festival, and everybody was expected to obey his royal commands. I’ve given myself that exalted position, and I hereby command you to step over to that sideboard and choose whatever suits your fancy. Come along and I’ll show you what we have.”

“No you won’t.” Janet deftly freed herself from his grasp. “It would be highly improper for the Lord of Misrule to wait on one of his subjects. You stay where you are and look regal. No, Madoc, sit down and finish your eggs before they get cold. I’ll be a lady-in-waiting and wait on myself.”

Squire chuckled. Madoc had no trouble managing a suitably fatuous laugh.

“Yes, my love. You see, Squire, I’m practicing to become a happily henpecked husband. It’s the only way, don’t you think?”

“It’s the path of least resistance, at any rate. By the way, Janet, you did say you’d been working for Donald?”

“For the firm, at any rate. Not very long, actually. I worked for a while last year, then went home for the summer, and now I’m back and set to quit. He’ll be glad to get rid of such a feckless creature, I daresay.”