The Winter Garden Mystery (20 page)

Read The Winter Garden Mystery Online

Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: The Winter Garden Mystery
2.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
No sign of the blacksmith, however. Alec walked on.
By the time he reached the Hall, an icy wind had sprung up and begun to disperse the clouds. He was glad to be admitted to the comparative warmth of the house.
“Miss Dalrymple requests a word with you, sir,” said Moody
grudgingly, “before you see anyone else. Miss is in the Red Saloon, if you'll please to come this way.”
Before Moody opened the door, Alec heard the rattle of typewriter keys under vigorous attack, punctuated by the ping of the carriage return warning. Daisy sat at a Regency writing-table, a silhouette against the window, bashing away at her machine. She paused and peered across the gloomy room.
“Alec? Give me half a jiffy to finish the paragraph.”
The butler had vanished on silent feet. Alec dug in his pocket for a box of matches and lit a couple of gas-lights. The painting above the mantelpiece sprang to life, a gruesome scene with guns blazing and the bodies of British soldiers and half-clad natives bleeding all over the place. Alec turned his back on it.
“Isn't it ghastly?” Rolling the paper out of the typewriter, Daisy gave him a rather strained smile.
“Frightful, but frightfully heroic, I expect.”
“Probably.” She came around the desk. “If we sit here and turn our chairs just a little, we needn't look at it.”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” He took out pipe and tobacco pouch as she shook her head. “What's wrong, Daisy? It's not Victorian gore that's upsetting you.”
“Oh no. It's just that I have something to tell you and it's rather difficult. Would you turn off your searchlight gaze for a bit?” she begged.
“Sorry. Copper's bad habit.” He busied himself with filling his pipe and trying to persuade it to light. “It's Goodman, isn't it?” he asked between puffs.
“How did you guess!”
“Because you've taken him under your wing, as you did Lady Wentwater, and because I know he's hiding something.”
“It's nothing to do with the murder, Alec, honestly. He's … You know about men who don't like women?”
“Great Scott, so that's it! Goodman and Parslow? Of course! No wonder the poor lad's been in such a rotten funk.”
“They love each other. You don't have to arrest them, do you?”
“People are arrested for actions, not inclinations, and I've no evidence of misbehaviour. You do realize this gives them both excellent motives to get rid of Grace? Goodman must have been jealous, and Parslow wouldn't dare risk being forced to marry. Parslow
was
the father? Trying to prove he is what he is not?”
“Yes,” said Daisy mournfully, “and I know it looks bad for both of them, but I really think the only thing they were hiding was … that.”
“Neither has an alibi for ten to eleven,” Alec pointed out, running through their statements in his mind. “Unless … yes, that would explain quite a lot … unless they were together. But I can't accept either's testimony about the other, and if they were together they may have been committing murder together. I must see them both—together.”
“Let me stay, Alec, if they don't object. I'll take shorthand notes for you.”
He pondered a moment. “All right. Highly irregular, but they have already confided in you, and this isn't something I'd want Piper to hear unnecessarily. Anyway, he's meeting Tom at Crewe.”
“Sergeant Tring's coming?” She beamed. “I'm glad. I like him.”
As he rang the bell by the fireplace, he wondered at her ability to find pleasure in little things even in the midst of upheaval. Joan had been the same, cheered by a daffodil in the middle of a Zeppelin raid.
Moody shuffled in and was sent to fetch the two men. Daisy went to the desk to get her notebook and pencils.
“Why aren't you in hysterics?” Alec enquired, following her and moving her typewriter aside. “I'd have thought most women of your class wouldn't know such unnatural tendencies existed. I'm sure the middle classes don't; my mother, for instance.” He sat down behind the desk.
“Well, public schools, and having a brother—one can't help hearing things. And I live in Bohemia, remember.”
“Still, I'm amazed at your calmness when you've just discovered a friend to be that way inclined.”
“It was a bit of a shock, actually. But after all, they're still the same people they were before. I don't believe they can help it, so you can't really say it's unnatural, can you? It's like blaming someone for a squint, or for going prematurely bald.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “All the same, I'm glad you're not going bald yet.”
“Yet!” he said in mock outrage, and they were laughing when Parslow and Goodman came in.
Both men looked disconcerted. Goodman limped forward, saying sardonically, “I take it you're not about to haul us off to prison, Chief Ins … .” His words were swallowed up in a raw, painful cough which doubled him up.
Parslow hurried to him and took his arm. “It's the cold wind,” he explained anxiously. “Draughts everywhere. Come and sit by the fire, Ben.”
“Yes, do,” said Alec, regretfully abandoning his pipe, which had just caught and emitted a curl of smoke undoubtedly injurious to gas-corroded lungs. The reminder of Goodman's war service shattered the shards of contempt he had carefully hidden from Daisy. Also he was surprised and impressed by the young Adonis' care for his crippled companion. The relationship was not at all as one-sided as he had imagined.
Daisy had hurried to help Parslow settle Goodman in a chair by the fire. With dismay, Alec noted the determined light in her eye. She whispered something in Parslow's ear. He looked in turn startled, enlightened, entranced, and then her determination was reflected in his eyes. Alec nearly groaned aloud. What on earth was she up to now?
He ought to send her away before whatever it was went any further. Instead, subjected to a blue, appealing gaze, he found himself saying, “You don't mind if Miss Dalrymple stays to take notes?”
“Not at all,” said Parslow firmly. He took a leather-covered flask from his pocket, unscrewed the top, and held it to Goodman's pale lips. A few sips brought a tinge of colour to the wan cheeks, but Goodman leaned his head back on the high back of the chair and
made no attempt to speak. Pulling up a straight chair, Parslow sat down beside him, one hand laid comfortingly on his arm.
Alec took a seat opposite them as Daisy retreated to the desk. “Right,” he said, “we'll take what Miss Dalrymple has told me as read and go on from there. Do you wish to amend your statement in any particulars, Mr. Parslow?”
“Yes. Ben and I were together most of the time between ten and eleven o'clock on December 13th. I went to the library and … . It was the first time we'd really talked about … things. About what we mean to each other,” he amended, raising his chin.
“Why didn't you tell me each of you could give the other an alibi?”
“My fault, Chief Inspector.” Goodman's fragile voice was rueful. “I thought it more important to conceal our … desire for each other's company than to provide alibis, since neither of us killed Grace. My encounter with Inspector Dunnett didn't prepare me to expect intelligence, let alone perspicacity, in a police officer.”
Alec nodded impassively in response to the compliment.
“I muffed it,” said Parslow. “I couldn't remember whether we'd agreed not to mention my going to Ben's room later to tell him what the mater said. That must have made you suspicious.”
He seemed unworried, even confident, no longer a frightened, easily upset boy. It looked to Alec as if his terrors had all been connected with the fear of exposure of his relationship with Goodman, nothing to do with Grace's death. The exposure had come, and was not half so terrible as he had expected. His present lack of fear reinforced Alec's admittedly unfounded belief in the mutual alibi.
The self-confidence was another matter. That had come since Daisy's whisper. What the devil had she said?
“As far as I can see,” he said with a sigh, “you're both out of it. However, I must ask you not to leave Occles Hall without informing me.”
“We shan't go.” Parslow grimaced. “One runaway in the family is more than enough. By Jove, I wish I knew where Bobbie went, and
why. It can't be anything to do with Grace, Chief Inspector. I'm sure it can't!”
“Does your sister know about you and Mr. Goodman, sir?”
“No, not a thing. Bobbie's a thoroughly good sport, but she's too straightforward to see anything that's not shoved right under her nose. Like my father, only he's still more so; he manages not to see things even when they
are
shoved under his nose. But Bobbie didn't guess about Grace until I told her.”
“And Lady Valeria?”
“I think she has suspected,” Parslow said slowly, “even before I was sure myself. It would explain why she has hemmed me in since I left school, wouldn't it? Protecting me from myself. And Grace … I've been thinking about what you said, about her bringing my nightcap and the early morning tea. Do you think my mother put her up to it, to try to change me?”
“To try to prove to herself exactly what I imagine you were trying to prove to yourself,” Alec suggested gently. “Grace told Morgan her ladyship encouraged her to seduce you—as did her father.”
“Moss? Just to create trouble for us?” That was too much for Parslow's new-found equanimity. “Oh Lord!” he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. It was Goodman's turn to offer comfort. After a moment, the younger man recovered enough to say, “Poor Grace didn't stand a chance, did she? I liked her, you know, even though I didn't
want
her.”
Alec nodded. “I dare say your mother's doubts explain why she refused to take Mr. Goodman with you to the South of France. She wasn't just being difficult. I'm only surprised she didn't dismiss him.”
Goodman said dryly, “To do so would have amounted to acknowledging to herself her son's nature.”
“Yes, of course. Did anyone else know or suspect?”
“Thomkins, my valet, knew about Grace, not about Ben.”
Ernie Piper hadn't picked up on that, Alec thought. What else had he missed? Tom Tring would have to have a go at the servants.
The answers to the rest of his questions tended to confirm their
innocence of Grace's murder. Lastly, he asked Goodman when Lady Valeria had told him to dismiss Grace if she returned.
Goodman thought. “It was the next morning,” he said slowly, “when Grace was not there to serve breakfast before her ladyship left for France.”
Before she could possibly have heard the rumour of Grace running off with a commercial—another suggestive point against her ladyship. Otherwise there was nothing new, nothing to incriminate Lady Valeria or her daughter, equally nothing to exonerate. Those two, with George Brown, remained Alec's chief suspects.
“Thank you,” he said at last. “I'm not about to haul you off to prison, and I see no reason at present to reveal your secret to anyone—even my sergeant—other than Lady Valeria. I assume you're resigned to confirming her suspicions?”
“It's inevitable now, and I'll be glad to have you break the news,” Parslow said candidly.
“However, I must warn you that if you are required to give evidence at a trial, I may not be able to keep it out of my report.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher,” said Goodman, wearily levering himself out of his chair with Parslow's assistance. “You have been most understanding. I know you'll do your best for us.”
After a moment's hesitation, he held out his hand, and Alec shook it without, he hoped, noticeable hesitation on his part. It wasn't a contagious malady the man suffered from, after all.
Supporting Goodman, Parslow had no free hand to shake, but he too thanked Alec. And, as they turned towards the door, he winked at Daisy, who grinned back.
What the exchange portended Alec was determined to discover, but just now he urgently wanted to see to Lady Valeria. At last he had a lever which might dislodge her from her refusal to speak to him. He rang the bell.
“Lady Valeria?” asked Daisy.
“Yes; or at least I hope so.”
“She
won't let me stay in the room. What a shame! I'd like to see
her face when you let the cat out of the bag.” She pondered a moment. “No, that's not fair. It'll be beastly for her.”
“I'm surprised Parslow didn't go to pieces when I said I'd have to tell her. Won't she hit the roof?”
“Probably, but he's used to it. That's the trouble with blowing people sky-high for every little thing. When something big comes along, you have no ammunition in reserve.”
“True, but at the least she'll surely sack Goodman.”

Other books

Rabid by Bouchard, J.W.
The Ghost-Eater and Other Stories by Diane Awerbuck, Louis Greenberg
Wizard's Funeral by Kim Hunter
I Grew My Boobs in China by Savannah Grace
Airman's Odyssey by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Zombie Fallout 9 by Mark Tufo