Murder on a Mystery Tour Read online

‘It was over his dead body, wasn’t it? Don’t worry—’ Dix winked again—‘I’ll never tell. We always thought he had it coming to him.’ He patted Colonel Heather’s shoulder again and left.

  ‘Bonkers!’ Colonel Heather stared after him incredulously. ‘The man’s stark staring bonkers!’

  Midge returned to the drawing-room to make sure that all the guests were still safely assembled there. She signalled to Reggie that it was clear for Hermione and Grace to slip away to their own rooms, then stood guard in the doorway until they had had time to get away. Not that anyone appeared anxious to leave, the would-be sleuths were all too occupied with the new murders.

  Lettie was at bay in a corner, Bertha Stout leading the pack that had converged on her. There were so many questions being shot at her that she couldn’t even sort them out. She stood there, back pressed against the wall, shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t know.’ There was genuine desperation in her voice. ‘Honestly, I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘You were serving drinks all evening.’ Bertha was relentless. ‘Surely you must remember who ordered what.’

  ‘Why should she? She couldn’t remember for five minutes, even then. She kept mixing up the orders all night.’ Asey Wentworth slanted his eyes at her craftily. ‘Were you really that dumb all of a sudden, Lettie? Or were you setting up an alibi?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re picking on me,’ Lettie said. ‘Everyone knows Miss Holloway had a weak heart. This weekend has been a tremendous strain on her. She must have had a heart attack and keeled over. It was natural causes.’

  ‘And how about Lady Hermione?’ Bertha sneered. ‘I suppose she had a weak heart, too?’

  ‘I—I d-don’t know a-about that—’ Lettie stammered, managing to look inexpressibly guilty. ‘Lady Hermione d-did not confide in me.’

  ‘I’ll bet she didn’t! She hated you, didn’t she? And you hated her!’

  ‘No!’ Lettie spotted a break in their ranks and charged through it. ‘It’s no business of yours. Leave me alone!’

  Midge stepped aside, nodding that the coast was clear, and Lettie ran through the lobby and up the main staircase. Several keen sleuths pursued her, but Bertha Stout bowed to her own weight and that of gravity and turned her attention elsewhere.

  The Honourable Petronella, badgered and beleaguered by her own set of questioners, had dragged Algie away from his proposed conquest and grappled him firmly to her side. They now faced the music together.

  ‘Who is Lady Hermione’s heir—or heiress?” Haila Bond asked suspiciously.

  ‘How should I know? It wouldn’t be me. I didn’t know her all that well. She was just doing Daddy a favour by seeing me through the Season.’

  ‘Oh yes, your Daddy. A friend of hers. A very old friend, I believe. How much does he stand to inherit?’

  ‘Probably nothing.’ Petronella tightened her grip on Algie’s arm as he tried to slide away. ‘They weren’t that close—not for a long time. Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘Where is he? He helped carry the body off—and he hasn’t come back.’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you do. I’ve been right here all the time.’

  ‘Why hasn’t he come back?’ A couple on the fringe of the group moved away. ‘Let’s go find him.’

  ‘The party’s breaking up—’ Ned, momentarily devalued as a top suspect, came over to stand beside Midge uneasily. ‘Some of them are going off by themselves. Do you think it’s safe?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’ The actors were now more suspicious of their audience, Midge realized, than the audience of the actors. And with far better reason. Someone in the audience was playing for keeps.

  Perhaps it was not so surprising that Ned was having second thoughts and had moved away from Lauren-Brigid. Or had Amaryllis driven him away? She had taken his place beside Lauren-Brigid, bringing Bramwell with her. He was obviously unhappy about it, but he was there. It was equally obvious that his mother had no intention of letting him get away again.

  Small groups around the room discussed theories amongst themselves, looking from one suspect to another, trying to decide which to approach and what leading questions to ask them.

  Dix stood alone, still nodding in apparent self-congratulation at what he considered his discovery of Colonel Heather’s secret life.

  Evelina T. Carterslee sat in a corner in earnest discussion with Roberta Rinehart.

  ‘Bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?’ Ned dabbed at his forehead with an initialled handkerchief.

  ‘I could do with a breath of air,’ Midge admitted. They slipped away unobtrusively, almost tiptoeing through the lobby to the front door.

  The air was clear and arctic. They looked out at a glittering white world, sculptured by blue-black shadows, dotted with skeletal trees.

  Midge strained her ears for the comforting sound of snow ploughs in the distance, but they were suspended in a silent world.

  ‘Brr—’ Ned stepped back. ‘That’s enough, I think. We don’t want to catch pneumonia.’

  ‘No,’ Midge agreed, closing the door reluctantly. ‘We have problems enough.’

  They paused in the doorway of the drawing-room and looked around. Bramwell Barbour now appeared to be in a state of advanced distress, still pinioned firmly by his mother to Lauren-Brigid’s side.

  ‘Mmm,’ Ned said. ‘Looks as though we ought to mount a rescue mission, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Midge agreed unwillingly. Lauren or Brigid, whichever she might be, seemed calm and complacent at the moment, happy in her own little dream world with Bramwell Barbour dancing attendance—however reluctant—on her. It might disturb her precarious balance if strangers intruded on them.

  Before they could move, Algie broke away from Petronella and her questioners and advanced on the Barbour group with a determined look on his face.

  ‘Oh, good,’ Midge said. ‘Algie’s going over. We won’t need to.’

  ‘All the more reason.’ Ned moved forward, his own face grimly determined. ‘I hate to sound bitchy, but I’m afraid it was type-casting when they sent Old Algie down here, to play the bounder. He’s fastening on that poor girl like a leech.’

  Admiring Ned’s selfless disinterest, Midge followed him out of sheer curiosity. Bramwell greeted their approach with relief. Amaryllis glared at them.

  ‘There now, Brigid, here comes your beau,’ Lauren said, with a flirtatious toss of her head towards Ned.

  ‘Why not?’ she promptly answered herself. ‘You’ve got your’s here—’ Another flirtatious toss of the head, this time towards Algie.

  ‘Girls, girls—’ Amaryllis said indulgently. ‘Don’t tease poor Bramwell. You’ll break his heart.’

  They—she—giggled, bridling.

  For the first time, Midge saw Bramwell give his mother a look of intense dislike—almost hatred.

  ‘About time he had some competition, isn’t it, Brigid?’

  ‘Sure is, Lauren. He’s had things his own way far too long.’

  ‘Girls, you’re being very naughty.’ Amaryllis regarded the giggling woman complacently. The thought that she might acquire two daughters-in-law rolled into one obviously didn’t disturb her a bit. There would also be two fortunes rolled into one. ‘Tell poor Bramwell you didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Maybe we did mean it!’ Another toss of the head. ‘Maybe we’re getting tired of the way Bramwell takes us for granted.’

  Bramwell clearly did not wish to take them—or her—at all. He had lost colour and begun backing away. Algie leaped forward to take his place by her side. She smiled coyly at Algie as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  ‘Oh, you Englishmen—’ She darted a sly sideways glance at Bramwell. ‘You’re so sophisticated.’

  Ned had been moving in to take up a position on her other side, now he halted suddenly. Midge followed his gaze and discovered that Algie had unwittingly claimed the attention of a large segment of the audience.

  ‘Look at that,
’ Alice Dain said indignantly. ‘The minute poor Petronella is in trouble, he runs off and leaves her and goes chasing another woman.’

  ‘That’s men for you every time,’ Bertha Stout snorted.

  ‘Are you going to let him get away with that?’ Alice demanded of Petronella. ‘He’s your boyfriend.’

  ‘He was,’ someone snickered.

  Unnoticed, except perhaps by Amaryllis, Bramwell slipped still farther into the background and disappeared in the direction of the lobby.

  Petronella had gone an unattractive shade of red, almost as though she were actually in the process of being jilted. All eyes were on her, waiting for her reaction to Alice’s challenge.

  ‘Algie—’ Her voice rose in an uneven pitch. Algie!’

  Algie was bending closer to Lauren-Brigid, patting the hand that could write large cheques, alert to her slightest word. Petronella’s call went unheeded.

  Ned might be right about him, Midge decided. Although he was neglecting the script, he was still in character. The fortune-hunting cad was simply on the trail of a larger fortune.

  ‘Don’t trouble your pretty little head about that rat, Cousin Pet.’ Ned, either more aware of the exigencies of the situation, or bowing to the realization that he had momentarily lost place to Algie with the Chandler twin, crossed to Petronella’s side. ‘You’re well rid of him. Isn’t she—?’ he appealed to the audience.

  ‘She sure is!’

  ‘Forget him, honey, that kind’s no good to anybody.’

  ‘Come back to the States with us and take your rightful place as head of Van Dine Industries.’

  ‘Don’t let it get you down—there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’

  Advice showered on the Hon. Pet from all sides. She appeared oblivious of them all, her attention focused on the defecting Algie. And Lauren-Brigid.

  ‘Boy! If looks could kill! I wouldn’t take any bets on the other one being around much longer.’

  ‘That’s a rotten thing to say!’ Reminded of unpleasant reality, public opinion swung to censure the offending speaker. ‘You’re not suggesting Petronella could have had anything to do with that?’

  ‘Why not? Somebody did. You’ve been suspecting her of killing Sir Cedric, Lady Hermione and Miss Holloway, so why not Brigid Chandler, too?’

  ‘Because—because—’ Because that was real and the others were make-believe, but the complaint stuck in Alice’s craw. Everyone knew what she meant.

  ‘Shh!’ After a quick guilty glance towards Lauren. ‘She’s listening.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen—’ Reggie had returned and was making an announcement from the bar. ‘We’re sorry that your holiday has been disrupted by this shocking series of events. Until the highways are cleared and the police get through to us, we’ll try to do our best to make it up to you. As a start, all drinks are on the house for the rest of the evening.’

  The distraction worked. Despite the jeers and catcalls, there was a rush to the bar.

  ‘Do you think we ought to? Those drinks aren’t safe.’

  ‘I just hope we aren’t heading for Death At The Bar.’

  ‘Talk about living dangerously!’

  Midge went beyond the bar, pulled back the drape concealing the French window, and gazed out over the terrace, heaped with drifted snow. The stone urns on the corners of the stone railing overflowed with glittering crystals. Momentarily forgetting everything but the beauty of the scene, Midge began to plan an expedition with her camera in the morning. A shot of the snow-encrusted terrace from the garden below ought to make a perfect Christmas card to send to guests who had stayed at the Manor throughout the year.

  Then she remembered what morning was likely to bring in reality. She closed her eyes against the knowledge.

  ‘Where every prospect pleases—’ Dix had come up behind her—‘And only man is vile …’

  ‘Yes.’ Midge let the drape fall back into place and turned away. ‘I was just thinking something of the sort myself.’

  18

  The guests lingered late over their drinks. And lingered … and lingered …

  Having once made his escape, Bramwell never returned. Shortly thereafter, Evelina had slipped away. Later still, the actors had retired, with the exception of Algie, who was still paying court to Lauren-Brigid.

  ‘Midge, do you think we ought to do something?’ Having served yet another brace of drinks to the lady, plus one for the gentleman, Reggie had returned to her considerably shaken.

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s getting serious. I couldn’t help overhearing Algie murmuring those famous three little words to her. Followed by a couple of more sinister ones: “Special Licence” He can’t do that, can he? I mean, the woman’s crackers.’

  ‘Not half as crackers as Algie is,’ Midge said. ‘How does he think he could put up with that day after day?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think he’s planning on a long-term venture,’ Reggie said. ‘She’s from California; don’t they have a Community Property Law there? He’ll stay with her for a couple of years, then get a divorce and walk off with half her money.’

  ‘Leaving her financially just where she was before her sister died.’

  ‘You don’t think she killed her own twin?’ Reggie was shocked, but ready to believe anything. ‘Just for money?’

  ‘And for exclusive rights to Bramwell,’ Midge said. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I thought they’d parcelled him out between them quite amicably.’ Reggie shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t blame him if he’d been the one to murder her. In self-defence.’

  ‘Much good that would do him while the other one was still alive. His mother is going to serve him up on toast to whichever one wants him.’

  ‘Aha! You noticed that, did you?’ Dix was there behind her.

  ‘Oh!’ Midge jumped. ‘You startled me.’

  ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d seen me.’

  ‘No, I was watching Amaryllis.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He followed her gaze. ‘On her way to break up the little tête-à-tête. How touching. Looking after her son’s interests—whether he wants her to or not. A woman who bears watching, indeed.’

  Curled up in her armchair, obviously exhausted but unwilling to leave while so many of her tour were still awake and alert, Roberta Rinehart watched also.

  The lights were low, the gramophone had been allowed to wind down, conversation was muted and relaxed. Outside, the wind had risen and the occasional patter of snowflakes against the window-panes was caused by the wind redistributing the drifted snow. When Midge had checked a short while ago, it had seemed a softer, milder wind, holding promise of spring and plant life stirring in the chill earth beneath the blanket of snow.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘What the—!’

  Amaryllis had abruptly switched the floor lamp behind the armchair to full power. Algie had been sitting on the arm of the chair, murmuring to Lauren. They both blinked in the glare of harsh light, the mood of intimacy broken.

  ‘It’s late,’ Amaryllis cooed. ‘And dear Lauren should take a sleeping pill and go to bed. She’s had a very fraught day.’

  ‘What about Brigid?’ Lauren protested. ‘I’m not going to go to bed and leave her staying up having all the fun!’

  ‘Brigid, too,’ Amaryllis said smoothly, although those around winced. ‘Come along, girls—Both of you—’ Amaryllis took her by both hands and tugged her gently out of the chair.

  ‘She shouldn’t take any sleeping pills,’ Midge worried. ‘She’s had too much to drink.’

  ‘She’ll probably go to sleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.’ Reggie had gained a professional barman’s ability to judge capacities over the past couple of tours. ‘Amaryllis will be lucky if she gets her that far before she passes out.’

  ‘Can Algie come too?’ Leaning heavily against Amaryllis, Lauren allowed herself to be half-carried towards the door. Algie stepped forward, as though to help, b
ut Amaryllis gave him such a vicious glare that he stepped back.

  ‘Algie wants another drink first,’ Amaryllis lied soothingly. ‘But I’ll tell you what. I’m sure Bramwell will want to come in and say good night to you before you fall asleep. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know—’ Lauren shrugged, throwing them both off-course. ‘Algie’s kinda sweet and he’s got the cutest English accent. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself and let Brigid have Bramwell.’

  ‘Oh, now, you don’t want to be too hasty—’ Amaryllis had gone pale. Her burden was rapidly becoming almost a dead weight, she staggered slightly.

  ‘Let me help you.’ Reggie went over to them as they hesitated at the foot of the staircase.

  ‘I should think you would! I don’t know why you don’t have an elevator in this place.’ Amaryllis dared not criticize her daughter-in-law-elect, so she expended her fury on Reggie. ‘It’s ridiculous to set yourself up as a hotel and not have the commonest amenities. I’ve a good mind to complain to the English Tourist Board about you!’

  Reggie’s lips tightened, but he took his place at Lauren’s other side and let most of her weight shift over to him. Amaryllis’s voice faded, still complaining, as they mounted the stairs.

  Algie snapped off the lamp spotlighting the now empty chair and stood irresolutely for a moment before turning and leaving the room. Someone sighed faintly, as though being released from a spell.

  ‘Whee-ew …’ The atmosphere lightened immediately. ‘Thank heavens they’re gone.’

  ‘That’s a rotten thing to say after all that poor girl has gone through.’

  ‘Believe me, I have every sympathy—but you can’t deny she’s sure a skeleton at the feast.’

  ‘I figure it this way,’ Stan said seriously. ‘It could have been worse. It could have been someone we liked.’

  There was an uneasy rustle of agreement. Perhaps, Midge thought, it was because the Chandler twins were so disliked that the situation had remained under control. They were no loss to anyone. Their absence was marked by relief rather than mourning. Bramwell might even find it a cause for celebration. Especially if the other twin were also to be removed. So long as one of them was still alive, his mother would give him no peace. Especially now that Algie had tossed his hat into the ring.