The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5) (13 page)

Atomic science was not Angela’s strongest point, but she was beginning to get the idea that something very important was at stake.

‘So, then, am I to understand that if the professor’s theories could be demonstrated in practice, a lot of people would be interested in knowing the secret?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Clemmie said. ‘Why, it would be the biggest discovery since the invention of the steam-engine. Everybody would want to know about it. Klausen would be very rich indeed if he decided to sell his knowledge—would have been, I mean,’ she corrected herself dolefully. ‘It’s an awful tragedy for science that he’s dead.’

‘So it appears,’ said Angela. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t give him the credit he was due while he was still alive. Perhaps I shall read something about his theories one day.’

‘I can help you,’ said Clemmie. ‘Wait here.’

She darted off and returned a minute or two later with a book.

‘I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the really dry stuff,’ she said, as she handed it to Angela, ‘but you might like to read a novel about it instead. It’s a bit more palatable than the real thing.’

Angela read the title.

‘
The World Set Free
,’ she said, intrigued.

‘Wells isn’t a physicist, you understand, but he’s been following developments for years,’ said Clemmie. ‘I rather like him.’

‘Thank you,’ said Angela. ‘I shall certainly take a look at it. When do you go to university, Clemmie?’

‘Not until next year,’ said Clemmie. ‘I have a few months to persuade Mother and Father to let me do it. Gertie has promised to help me. Of course, it helps that Mother thinks I want to train to be a nurse. I’m not sure they could take the awful truth.’

Angela laughed.

‘I hope you can convince them,’ she said. ‘Perhaps one day you will complete Professor Klausen’s research for him.’

‘I should like that,’ said Clemmie, her eyes shining.

‘Always assuming that he didn’t complete it himself before he died,’ said Angela to herself. ‘I must say, it’s starting to look as though he might have done.’

As Gertie had promised, the Fives New Year’s feast was a magnificent occasion, during which the presentation of the food took precedence over that of the guests. The table in the grand dining-hall was laid according to the most exquisite etiquette and elegance, with a brilliant white, starched cloth and a quite bewildering array of knives, forks, spoons, glasses, finger-bowls and napkins. Careful arrangements of dried flowers, nuts and silver-painted fir-cones were placed to great aesthetic advantage, but these were as nothing to the main
chef d’oeuvre
: a three-foot-high representation of Fives Castle, carved in ice and placed in the centre of the table as though to remind everybody of exactly where they had eaten this truly spectacular meal, lest they should forget it in the inevitable haze of post-prandial indigestion.

And then there was the food. The guests watched in something like awe as a seemingly never-ending procession of dishes piled high with mouth-watering meat, game, poultry, lobsters, pies, potatoes, vegetables and other delicacies arrived one after the other, to be placed with solemn ceremony on the table. After that came sweets and savouries, ices, cheeses, meringues, fruit salads, mousses,
petits fours
and a gigantic fruit-cake. Even Angela, who had attended many private and public banquets in her time, had to admit that they had made a good job of it.

St. John was in his element, and bent his attention to his task with a single-mindedness that was quite remarkable to behold. Angela, who was sitting next to him, watched as he put away mouthful after mouthful of food, pausing only to take the occasional gulp of wine or water or to dab his mouth, and wondered how on earth he remained so thin with such an appetite. She herself, despite her earlier protestations to Marthe, was no more wedded to her principles than the next woman and, mindful that the dress she wore clung more than was perhaps strictly necessary, decided with regret not to have second helpings of pudding after all.

Once he had replenished his stomach to his satisfaction, St. John sat back with a great sigh, took a sip of coffee, which had just then been served, and indicated that he was available for conversation.

‘I must say, they put on a good spread here at Fives,’ he began. ‘It was awfully sporting of Gertie to invite me to stay after I made such a fool of myself. Perhaps she doesn’t despise me as much as I thought.’

Angela
forbore
to point out that he had been invited more for convenience than for anything else, given his present position as the chief suspect in a murder case.

‘Have any of the men—er—spoken to you yet?’ she said.

St. John stifled an indelicate noise with his hand and nodded.

‘Yes. Old Strathmerrick and that Jameson fellow button-holed me and demanded the low-down, so I put on my best honest face and told them what I told you—that I knew nothing and was merely here to see Gertie.’

‘Did they believe you?’

‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘They didn’t say they didn’t, but I have the feeling they were looking at me rather askance.’

‘Well, you must admit that your arrival was somewhat unorthodox,’ said Angela.

‘I suppose it was,’ he said. ‘It was just my bad luck I happened to turn up when I did, though. By the way, I was rather surprised to find out that Jameson knew all about me already. Who is he, anyhow?’

‘He works for the Intelligence service,’ said Angela.

‘Does he really?’ he said in surprise. ‘He doesn’t look the type, does he?’ An idea struck him. ‘Then they must have been spying on us,’ he said. ‘I thought our activities might be of some interest to the authorities, but I didn’t expect them to send in the undercover chaps.’ He drew himself up and his face assumed a pleased, almost flattered expression. It might even have been said that he preened. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘just wait until I tell the chaps back at H. Q. They’ll be tremendously bucked that we’re being taken seriously at last. We’ve always had the feeling that most people consider us to be rather a joke.’

He tossed back a glass of liqueur and looked about him for the bottle.

‘Did they ask about your alibi?’ said Angela. ‘I suppose they wanted to be certain that you did leave the castle just after midnight, as you said.’

‘Oh yes, and I told them I was quite sure of the time, as I happened to look at my watch just after I bumped into young Bobby, and it was twenty past twelve, or possibly twenty-five past, but certainly not later than half past. From something Jameson said, I gather the murder took place after that.’

‘I don’t think they know exactly
when
it took place,’ said Angela. ‘However, the body was deposited in the chest in the billiard-room at some time after two o’clock.’

‘Well, then, that lets me out,’ he said cheerfully.

‘I suppose it does,’ said Angela.

Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired to the drawing-room as gracefully as they could, given that most of them were feeling distinctly heavier than they had before dinner.

‘Oh, how I should like to lie down and groan,’ announced Gertie, throwing herself into a chair, ‘but I suppose it won’t do.’

‘If you do it, I declare I’ll join you,’ said Selma. She went up to the Countess and clasped both her hands. ‘Lady Strathmerrick, I’m speechless,’ she said. ‘Why, that was the most divine banquet I ever saw or ate—and I guess I’ve been to more banquets than any of you. It quite deserves to go down in history.’

The other ladies joined in the chorus of compliments. Lady Strathmerrick blushed a little. She rather prided herself on the New Year’s feast, but it was always pleasant to have one’s hard work appreciated.

‘Oh, we’ve been doing it for years,’ she said, ‘and we couldn’t give it up now—although we don’t do it on as grand a scale as we used to before the war, of course.’

Angela rather wanted to lie down and groan herself, but she saw the dangers of a sleepy lull in the conversation and made an effort to talk. She was assisted by Freddy and St. John, who came in after a few minutes. St. John, in a rare display of diplomacy, went to make himself agreeable to his hostess, and Freddy joined Angela.

‘Ass,’ he said, with a scowl.

‘Thank you,’ said Angela.

‘I meant St. John, of course,’ said Freddy. ‘He wanted to stay in the dining-room and talk to the other chaps and wouldn’t take my hints that we were most likely
de trop
, so I pretty much had to whisper in his ear and tell him that Gertie wanted him in the drawing-room.’

‘I shouldn’t like to be in your shoes when she finds out,’ said Angela.

‘Oh, Gertie will forgive me anything. She’s half in love with me, although she doesn’t know it herself.’

‘Is that why she hit you with a cold sausage at the Copernicus Club, that night you all got arrested? It seems rather an odd way of demonstrating one’s love, don’t you think?’

‘Mere jocular high spirits,’ said Freddy blithely.

‘She told
me
she was rather keen on the Foreign Secretary,’ said Angela.

‘Nonsense. He’s ancient and probably ga-ga. Besides, he’s married.’

‘That doesn’t seem to stop you. And that reminds me,’ she said. ‘Go and work your charms on Priss again. I’m finding her engagement to Claude rather a mystery, especially after what I saw last night.’

‘Why, what did you see last night?’

‘Oh, didn’t I mention it?’

She told him of her encounter with Eleanor Buchanan on the stairs, and he whistled.

‘So they were sneaking about together in one of the bedrooms, were they? By Jove, I never should have thought it of either of them.’

‘Has Priss said anything about Claude to you? Does she love him at all?’

‘What do you think?’ said Freddy.

‘I think she finds him rather a crashing bore,’ said Angela.

‘She does,’ said Freddy.

‘Then why did she agree to marry him?’

‘As far as I understand it, because it seemed like a good idea at the time. She’s desperate to get away, you know—finds home life terribly dull, and she’s always been under pressure to make a good marriage—I mean good from a political point of view.’

‘I see. And presumably he is also marrying
her
for political expediency. I must say, it doesn’t sound like the ideal match.’

‘It doesn’t, does it? I dare say she’ll break it off sooner or later, when someone better comes along.’

‘Well, then,’ said Angela. ‘If she’s so indifferent to Claude, there shouldn’t be any difficulty in finding out whether she knows anything about him and Mrs. Buchanan.’

‘Why are you so interested in the perfectly harmless private affairs of two people who are of no importance to you?’

‘Because I’m not so certain they are perfectly harmless,’ she said. She turned to him and went on seriously, ‘Look here, you must have realized that a simply enormous scandal is about to blow up at Fives, once the news gets out about the murder. They can’t possibly keep the thing quiet, and so we are all of us going to be under very close scrutiny for a while. I hope you have nothing to hide.’

‘I have plenty to hide,’ said Freddy. ‘As do you, no doubt.’

‘Then go and talk to Priss. Perhaps we can solve the mystery before the word spreads and we have reporters following us everywhere.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ said Freddy. ‘I shall follow myself and give myself an exclusive scoop. That will be one in the eye for Corky Beckwith at the
Herald
. He’s been dying to do me a bad turn ever since I beat him to the story about the Archbishop and the collection-plate.’

‘Go,’ said Angela, and Freddy went. She saw him take a seat next to Priss, who tossed her head but did not seem unwilling to speak to him.

Eleanor Buchanan was standing in her customary spot by the window, staring out into the darkness and fidgeting with her gold locket. Angela went to join her.

‘I don’t suppose I shall need to eat again for another week or two,’ she said pleasantly, by way of beginning the conversation.

Mrs. Buchanan smiled faintly.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I feel rather like that myself.’

Angela watched as the woman’s long fingers twined unceasingly in and out of the gold chain.

‘That’s a very pretty locket,’ she said. ‘I’ve noticed that you wear it often. Is it a favourite of yours?’

‘Yes,’ replied Eleanor. Her fingers stilled for a moment as she took the pendant in her hand and glanced at it. ‘It was a present from my father shortly before he died.’

‘Do you keep his picture in it?’

Eleanor regarded Angela with narrowed eyes, as though assessing her.

‘No,’ she replied at last. She opened the locket and held it up. Angela saw that it contained a photograph of a dark young man, taken perhaps a few years earlier. ‘It’s my brother,’ she said in reply to Angela’s questioning gaze.

‘Oh. Is he—?’ said Angela delicately.

‘No, he’s still alive, but we haven’t seen each other for some time.’ She looked at the floor. ‘There was a—a disagreement, you see. I very much hope that one day we will be able to patch things up, but at present that’s not possible.’

‘Oh, why?’ said Angela. She was being inquisitive, she knew, but could not resist asking the question.

‘The situation is a little—complicated, let us say,’ said Eleanor.

‘Couldn’t you pay him a visit?’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,’ said Eleanor with finality. ‘That would be quite impossible in my position.’

Angela longed to ask another question, but Mrs. Buchanan fixed her with such an intense gaze that she dared not risk it.

‘I know why you’re asking me these questions,’ Eleanor said after a short pause. ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Angela in surprise.

‘But you’re wasting your breath,’ went on the other woman. ‘I’ve had enough of it all now. I’ve done what you asked and I won’t do any more. There’s nothing more I
can
do, is there? If you don’t leave me alone I shall tell my husband everything I know. I’m sick of it all—sick of it, I tell you!’

She turned on her heel and walked off, leaving Angela quite astonished and wondering what she had said that had offended Eleanor so much.