The Winter Garden Mystery (13 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: The Winter Garden Mystery
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There they sat at backgammon like Ferdinand and Miranda over their game of chess—and Alec had less than no right to be jealous. He was going to have to be extraordinarily careful to treat the young man fairly.
The colour in Parslow's face drained, leaving in truth the cold
white perfection of marble, save for blue eyes and golden hair. He pushed back his chair and stood up, leaning with one hand on the table.
“Yes?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Scotland Yard. I have one or two questions to ask you, sir, regarding the death of Grace Moss.”
“I'd better go,” said Daisy, rising with visible reluctance.
“No,” Parslow said unexpectedly, his voice uneven, “do stay, Daisy. I don't suppose this will take long, and then we can finish our game.”
How the deuce did she do it? Alec could have asked her to leave, but when she looked at him with her head cocked like a robin hoping for a worm, he hadn't the heart. She wasn't wearing powder or lipstick, he noticed. The tiny mole which looked like an eighteenth-century “Kissing” patch was unmasked. He liked her that way.
If Parslow thought her presence would forestall awkward questions, he was in for a shock.
“Do sit down, Mr. Parslow,” he suggested.
Daisy discreetly retired to a chair in a corner, while Parslow, after glancing around with a helpless air, waved Alec to her relinquished seat and resumed his own. Alec moved the backgammon board aside, taking care not to upset the men, and placed his notebook on the table though he doubted he'd need to make notes at this stage. It was a nuisance they'd be sitting at the table—he wouldn't be able to see Parslow's hands—but the gas-brackets above the mantelpiece lit his face well enough.
Interrogation was a game at least as complex as backgammon, the significant difference being that it was only necessary for one player to know the rules. Himself. And if he was any judge, Parslow's backbone was less marmoreal than his features.
“Grace Moss worked here at Occles Hall for several years, did she, sir?” he began mildly.
“Yes, I suppose so. I don't know exactly how long.”
“So you knew her well?”
A hint of colour tinged Parslow's pallid cheeks. “Hardly. I don't suppose I ever exchanged more than a word with her while she was a housemaid. Dash it, one doesn't, you know.”
“I'm aware of that, sir. And when she was promoted to parlourmaid?”
“One saw more of her, of course, serving at table and so on. My mother was pleased with her. She was a very competent parlourmaid, a rare creature. But as for conversation … .”
“It's not conversation I'm concerned with, sir, but a rather more intimate relationship. I've been given to understand the deceased was your mistress.”
The marble crumbled like chalk. Burying his face in his hands, Parslow said hopelessly, “I suppose you were bound to find out.”
“Tell me about it,” Alec coaxed. “A pretty, lively maid, a vigorous young man, it's not unnatural.”
Parslow shuddered. Then he pulled himself together and sat up straight, though the rigidity of his shoulders told Alec his hands were clenched in his lap.
“As you say, it's not un … uncommon. She used to bring my morning tea, and sometimes a nightcap if I was feeling restless. The mater didn't like me to keep whisky in my room, so … .”
“Just a minute, sir. Were those among the usual duties of a parlourmaid?”
“Good Lord, how would I know?” Parslow sounded genuinely mystified, but then he frowned. “No, come to think of it, it's usually a housemaid brings the tea and I'd expect old Moody to toddle up with the whisky and soda. What are you suggesting?”
“It's not for me to suggest anything, Mr. Parslow.”
“Well, Moody's not so brisk on his pins as he was, and it's impossible to get footmen since the War. It wouldn't surprise me if Grace carried it up for him as a favour. She was a good-natured girl, at least until … . She was an obliging girl, it was the sort of thing she'd do.”
Alec let the “until” lie for the moment. “So you don't think she was making a dead set at you?”
“It's possible,” Parslow said thoughtfully. “That would explain … Well, I didn't have to make much effort to … to … .” He flushed.
“To seduce her.” Alec pronounced the word without embarrassment, but for some reason knowing Daisy was listening to his next question brought the heat to his own cheeks. “Was she a virgin?”
“No!” Parslow shook his head violently. “She told me she'd had a sweetheart, a village boy, who was killed on the Marne right after he was shipped across. She must have been just out of school herself, but in those circumstances … .” He shrugged, regaining his fragile composure.
“You did have a certain amount of conversation with her, then. Did she ever talk about another sweetheart?”
“No.”
“About your mother?”
“Hardly. She'd know better than to try. A chap doesn't listen to that sort of stuff.”
Alec bit back a smile at the obvious inference that anything Grace might have said about Lady Valeria was unlikely to be complimentary. “About her father?” he asked.
Unexpectedly, that rattled the young man. “Stan Moss? Only that he was a rotten blighter—‘a ruddy bastard,' I think she said, actually—which I already knew. I dare say you've heard about his quarrel with the mater.”
“Yes. What else did she tell you?” Alec pressed him.
“About Moss? Nothing.”
He was lying, but again Alec left the question for the moment. “And you're certain she never mentioned Owen Morgan to you.”
“I didn't know she was walking out with him until after the inquest.”
“She wouldn't want to spoil a good thing with the young master, no doubt. After all, you'd promised to marry her.”
“How the deuce do you know that?”
“We have our sources.” The noncommittal phrase covered rumour,
hearsay, innuendo, gossip. Alec hadn't known for sure until Parslow confirmed it.
“It wasn't till much later I … I said that. Not before, to persuade her.”
“Not until she told you she was pregnant.”
Parslow groaned. “Yes, she told me. She said I'd ruined her and I had to marry her or her father would kick up an almighty stink and make her sue me. So I agreed.”
“With the intention of carrying out your promise?”
“No, of course not, not if I could help it,” he said wildly. “I
couldn't
marry her, but I didn't know what else to do!”
He had been in just the sort of situation to make a weak man crack and hit out, Alec thought. He was on the edge now. Would he confess to murder?
Alec fixed Parslow with his coldest stare. “You didn't know what to do, but there was one obvious and decisive way to rid yourself of the threat.”
“Rid …? Murder her?” The young man was distraught, his voice emerging in a croak. “God, no, I didn't! I swear I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind.”
“What did you do, then? Sit back and wait to see what happened next?” Alec asked witheringly.
“I told my sister.”
The answer was so unexpected, Alec was momentarily struck dumb.
Yet Daisy's report had hinted that Roberta Parslow was protective of her younger brother. Daisy had seen through the handsome façade to the weakness within. How could he have doubted her? How could he have supposed for a moment that she admired this milksop?
No, Sebastian Parslow brought out
her
protective instincts too. Alec was all too well acquainted with Daisy's protective instincts. He could only hope that in this case her sense of outrage was stronger.
He sighed. “You told your sister. Everything?”
“Y-yes. I think so. I was … in a bit of a state, but she said I wasn't
to worry. You do believe me, don't you, that I didn't kill Grace?”
“My beliefs are irrelevant, sir,” Alec said, not quite truthfully. “It's the evidence that matters. What were you doing on the evening of December 13th?”
“I was packing,” Parslow said eagerly. “Or rather, I was telling my man, Thomkins, what to pack. You see, the mater and I popped off to Antibes the next day, so I remember it well.”
“You left the packing until the evening before your departure?”
“We'd been going to leave on the following Monday, but the mater changed her mind at the last minute. She didn't tell me until dinner time.”
“How long did the packing take? What time did you finish?”
“I-I couldn't say for sure.”
“Never mind.” For the first time, Alec wrote briefly in his notebook. “Thomkins will know, or one of the other servants will remember when he reappeared in their midst. Who else did you see after dinner?”
“Bobbie came in, just for a moment, to give me a tie-pin she'd bought me for Christmas. That was quite early. Then later on, after the packing was done, I went along to the mater's room … to say good-night.”
“What time was that, do you remember?”
“Half past eleven? Thereabouts. I'd already climbed into my pyjamas.” He was being evasive about something, Alec was sure.
“Lady Valeria was in her room?”
“Oh yes.”
“Dressed for bed?”
Parslow shrugged. “I don't recall.”
“Your parents have separate rooms?”
“Since I was a child.”
“You didn't go to wish your father good-night?”
“He'd have been asleep long before that. The pater gets up at crack of dawn to see his jolly old cows milked.”
“Ah. Did you see anyone else?”
“Not that I recall.” Again he was evasive, not meeting Alec's eyes.
“Not even a servant? You didn't ring for a nightcap?”
“No, I was tired and ready to sleep without one. I didn't see
anyone,
let alone
her.”
“So the next morning you went off to the Riviera, safe from Grace's demands. You simply put the episode behind you.”
“That's right, and when we came back I heard she had cleared out to London, to the bright lights.”
“Let me get this straight. You informed your sister of the mess you were in. She advised you not to worry, so you left the country, trusting her to cope with the situation during your absence.”
“I would have. She's a dashed good sort, Bobbie, and not one to stand any nonsense. But while we were talking about it, my mother came in and … . Well, I told you I was in a bit of a state. The mater blamed Bobbie for upsetting me. I couldn't let her think it was Bobbie's fault, so I told her everything, too.”
“And no doubt she too told you not to worry.”
“She said she'd deal with Grace.” Parslow's pale face grew livid. “My God, you don't think
she …
?”
“I don't know,” said Alec grimly, “but you may be sure I shall find out.”
D
aisy was dismayed, if not surprised, to hear Bobbie knew all about her brother's affair with Grace. However, at present she was more concerned with Sebastian. From her corner seat she couldn't see his face, but he sounded alarmingly distraught.
She was relieved to hear Alec say, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Parslow. That will be all for now, though we shall have to take a formal statement and I may have more questions for you later.”
Swiftly she crossed the room. “You look as if you could do with a bracer, Sebastian. Shall I ring for Moody?” She put a hand on his shoulder as he started to stand up.
Subsiding, he shook his head and managed a travesty of a smile. “No, thanks. I'm all right. It's just all been rather a shock. To tell the truth I'd forgotten you were there. I'm afraid I must have shocked you, too.”
“Not at all,” she said kindly. “I'm no wishy-washy Victorian damozel, thank heaven.”
Alec's eyes laughed at her. “I shall need a word with you, Miss Dalrymple,” he said, “about the discovery of the body.”
“Of course. You stay here, Sebastian, and don't put the game away. I'll beat you honestly yet. Shall we go to the library, Chief Inspector?”
“Ben's in the library—Ben Goodman, my father's secretary—writing some letters for my mother.”
“That will do very well,” Alec said. “Since the rest of your family is out, I might as well speak to him right away.”
“To Ben?” Sebastian lost what little colour he had regained. “You don't need to tell him all I've told you, do you?”
Alec raised his fearsome eyebrows. “I don't imagine so. My business is collecting information, not distributing it. Miss Dalrymple?” He opened the door and held it for her, closing it firmly behind them as they went out into the Long Hall. They walked slowly towards the library.
“I knew it,” said Daisy, “though I didn't expect him to cave in so quickly and admit it.”
“You quite shocked him by not being shocked. You don't care for ‘The Blessed Damozel,' I take it.”
“Of all the ghastly sentimental tripe we had to learn at school, that took the biscuit.” She hoped Michael wasn't drooping around Heaven weeping for her to join him. No, he wasn't that sort. He'd have found some way to make himself useful and he'd be wishing her a long and happy life.
“I had quite a shock myself,” Alec said. “I wish you'd warned me about Parslow's looks!”
“You did rather gape when you came in.” Daisy giggled. “But I don't suppose he noticed. He's not at all vain.”
“He had other things on his mind when he heard a policeman announced. You didn't warn me he was such a jellyfish, either.”
“Oh, not quite that bad, though he's wetter than I thought. But I did tell you he lets Lady Valeria boss him about.”
“So, I gather, does half the county.”
“And that Bobbie tries to protect him. Ben, too.”
“Can he possibly believe Goodman doesn't know Grace was his mistress?”
Daisy frowned. “I don't see how he can. Ben was so particular about being the one to break the news to him of Grace's death. I
expect he meant he didn't want Ben to know all that beastly stuff about her trying to force him to marry her and running to Bobbie for help and his mother being involved. They're friends, but after all Ben is his father's employee.”
“True. Could Miss Parslow or Lady Valeria have killed Grace?”
“Physically, yes. As far as character is concerned—” Daisy grimaced. “Well, not normally, but for Sebastian's sake … I don't know, Alec. They might. Here's the library,” she said, with relief.
“Is there anything you haven't told me about Goodman?”
“Did I tell you he limps from a war wound? He was gassed, too. Oh, and before the War he was a Greek scholar, a don at Oxford. Perhaps I ought to warn you,” she added teasingly, “he's decidedly plain, at least until he smiles, but by no means a walkover like Sebastian.”
Alec smiled. “Thanks for the warning. Just a minute, before we go in. Do you want to keep it a secret that we've met before?”
“No, that would be frightfully bad form. Oh dear, we didn't tell Sebastian, did we? I'll have to explain to him later.”
“Leave it to me,” Alec said firmly, and reached for the door handle.
“Wait. Once they know, it's going to be harder than ever to stay on here. I've been putting off inspecting Sir Reginald's dairy but I can't use that as an excuse for ever.”
“I'd much rather you were out of it.”
Outraged, Daisy glared at him. “How can you say that when I called you in in the first place and gave you practically all the information you possess?”
“Alternatively stated, you embroiled me in this mess; nonetheless I feel obliged to consider your safety.”
“Do you really think I'm not safe?” she asked uncertainly.
Alec capitulated with a sigh. “No, now that I'm here and know everything you do, you're probably perfectly safe—as long as you keep your promise not to interfere. I'll advise them no one in the house, including you, is to leave the area. I don't suppose even Lady
Valeria would expect an unaccompanied young woman to stay at the inn.”
Daisy bristled. “I could perfectly well stay at … . Dash it, you beast, I don't
want
to stay at the inn. Between you and Phillip, I'd be completely out of it. I'm staying here until I'm thrown out.” She opened the library door and marched in.
The library was a modest one, low-ceilinged like the rest of the house and with only one wall entirely covered by bookshelves. Apparently none of Sir Reginald's ancestors had been intellectually inclined.
Ben sat at a leather-topped writing-table, surrounded by neat heaps of papers. He looked up as they entered.
“Miss Dalrymple,” he said, rising. He wouldn't call her Daisy before a stranger. “Can I help you?”
“Not me. This is Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of Scotland Yard. He wants to ask us both some questions about finding Grace. I don't believe Owen killed her,” she added resolutely, “so I phoned him. I met him when he was in charge of another case.”
Nodding, Ben capped his fountain-pen. “I find it hard to believe Owen did it,” he admitted. “Do pull up chairs and sit down.”
Alec placed a Windsor chair for Daisy and brought up a second. He stood for a moment with his hand on its back.
“You want my place, Chief Inspector?” Ben asked perceptively, with a faint smile.
“No,” Alec said, grinning. “It's just that it feels unnatural to be on this side of the desk. There's no need to switch.” He sat down.
He took Daisy and Ben through the events of Tuesday morning, in much more detail than Inspector Dunnett or Sergeant Shaw had wanted. All the same, Daisy didn't think he learned anything new that mattered. Reaching the point where Dunnett had dismissed Ben from the Winter Garden, Alec said, “I suppose I'll have to go and inspect the place some time,” and he glanced with distaste at the windows. Rain streamed down the diamond panes. “Thank you for taking the photographs, by the way.”
“Did you learn anything from them?” Ben asked.
“Not really,” Alec said frankly.
“I doubt seeing the place will teach you anything more. Lady Valeria had the trench filled in and the bed replanted the moment Inspector Dimwit left the premises. I beg your pardon, Chief Inspector, her slip of the tongue, not mine. I don't mean to imply any lack of respect for the police—in general.”
“I'm sure you don't,” Alec said dryly.
Daisy debated telling them Sergeant Shaw's nickname for his superior but decided it might get the friendly sergeant into trouble. Besides, Alec's last few questions had been directed at Ben and for the moment Ben had all his attention. Any moment he'd move on to more interesting questions. If Daisy drew his notice he'd probably ask her to leave. If she managed to remain silent and invisible he might let her stay rather than disturb his rapport with Ben.
She was sure they liked each other, but Alec wouldn't let liking compromise his investigation.
“I may have to have the flowerbed dug up again,” Alec went on, “or even the entire garden, but it can wait. Any buried clues aren't going anywhere. Now, to return to the night we must assume Grace Moss was killed, the 13th December last, can you tell me what you were doing that evening, Mr. Goodman? A matter of routine.”
“As it happens, I remember that evening very well. Lady Valeria had unexpectedly moved up her and Mr. Parslow's departure for Antibes, and after dinner she had reams of instructions for work she wanted done in her absence.”
“You're Sir Reginald's secretary?”
“I was hired as Sir Reginald's secretary. I take care of the paper-work for the dairy. He asks very little else of me. Lady Valeria, on the other hand, sits on a dozen committees or more, all of which require extensive correspondence, minutes, agendas, et cetera. I also handle the household accounts; that is, paying tradesmen and servants and so on.”
“I see. Just clarifying. So you spent the entire evening with Lady Valeria?”
Daisy was disappointed. That is, she was glad Ben had an alibi, not that he needed one, but sorry Lady Valeria was equally cleared. She made a good villainess.
Then Ben said, “Not all evening, no. At about ten, maybe a bit earlier, she left me to complete some odds and ends for her to sign in the morning. At eleven I decided to stop for the night and go to bed, though it meant getting up early to finish before she came down.”
“You were alone—in here?—from ten till eleven?”
“I was.”
Alec made a note. “Did you see anyone else that evening?”
“Everyone was at dinner, all the family, from eight to eight forty-five, say. Then no one but Lady Valeria until about a quarter to midnight.”
“You were still up?”
“I took a long, hot bath.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “My gammy leg was playing me up rather, aching like the blazes.”
“The War? Where did you catch it?”
“On the Somme. Was there anywhere else?”
“I certainly spent a lot of time flying over it. I was a spotter.”
“Well, it wasn't all fun on the ground—in it, rather—but you couldn't have paid me enough to get me up in one of those canvas and piano-wire crates.”
“It had its interesting moments,” Alec acknowledged. “But back to business, I'm afraid. Whom did you see at quarter to twelve?”
“Young Parslow came to my room.” Ben spoke coolly, but with a hint of wariness, Daisy thought. “He had begged Lady Valeria, not by any means for the first time, to take me to the South of France with them. I find English winters trying, you see, and he's a kind boy. He came to tell me his mother still wouldn't hear of it.”
He didn't like to reveal himself as an object of charity—attempted charity—Daisy decided. And Sebastian had been sensitive enough to know it and to keep the business to himself, even though it meant
lying to the police. She'd have to make sure Alec understood.
“Was Parslow with you long?”
“A few minutes. I wish I could say we'd spent the night … playing cards together. I don't know what time you're interested in, Chief Inspector?”
“We're not sure ourselves as yet, though we hope to narrow it down. In eight weeks memories fade and evidence vanishes.” Alec ran his hand through the crisp, dark hair that had first attracted Daisy to him. “How would you describe Parslow's state of mind when he came to your room?”
The wariness was more pronounced. “Lady Valeria's intransigeance had upset him a bit.”
“He was agitated?”
“I wouldn't go so far. Mildly disturbed. Perhaps ‘ruffled' is the word I want. I suggested he have a whisky to settle his nerves before he tried to sleep.”
“Do you know if he took your advice?”
“No idea. My position in the household is not such that I make a habit of ringing for servants to come to my bedroom. He wouldn't have done so until he returned to his own room. By then I had calmed him down.”
“Apart from his distress at his inability to persuade his mother to invite you to go along, he was happy to be leaving in the morning?”
Ben hesitated. “Certainly. In general, his life is rather ‘cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd.' He seldom goes up to town. The annual visit to the Riviera is, to a certain degree, an escape.”
“Do you know of any other reason he was particularly glad to get away from Occles Hall?”

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