Murder on a Mystery Tour Page 8

  ‘Or maybe he was saying it was something he et. That’s the way some of them pronounce ate over here. Maybe it was the mushroom soup catching up with him. I suspected the soup from the first!’

  ‘How about the ice-cream? Easy enough to slip a bit of cyanide into the Amaretto. The flavour would mask the taste until it was too late—’

  ‘Cyanide is too fast-acting for that. He’d never have made it to the drawing-room if it had been cyanide.’

  ‘Yes, and the gentlemen lingered over port, don’t forget. There was a good time-span between both soup and ice-cream before Sir Cedric collapsed. It must have been in his coffee or brandy.’

  ‘I still say—’ Dixon Carr glared at Midge—‘it’s too bad that table was cleared. We might have learned something.’

  ‘How?’ Bertha asked practically. ‘All you could have done was sniff at the cups and glasses. We already know there was something extra in Sir Cedric’s coffee. A few sniffs wouldn’t have necessarily told you what. None of us are that expert, you know.’

  ‘Here’s the only expert sniffer in the place.’ Midge bent and picked up Ackroyd, who had just strolled into the bar, having completed his circuit of the drawing-room. ‘You could show them a thing or two, couldn’t you, Ackroyd?’

  ‘Could he?’ Dix quivered with sudden suspicion. ‘Are you trying to tell us that cat is an expert witness?’

  ‘Why not?’ Midge laughed. ‘Just look at the way he’s shadowing you suspects.’

  ‘Maybe he’s heard your nickname is Codfish,’ Haila said to Asey Wentworth. ‘He’s going to try a little nibble.’

  ‘I know what he’s after.’ Midge set Ackroyd down on the floor and found a saucer for him. ‘He’s been haunting the bar ever since we started experimenting with exotic cocktails. It didn’t take him long to discover there’s always a jug of cream back here now. Did it, you little rotter?’ She poured cream into the saucer while Ackroyd twined round her ankles.

  ‘Just a minute, Midge.’ Dix caught her arm as she began to lower the saucer to the floor. ‘Let me see that.’ He took the saucer and sniffed at the cream while Midge stared at him incredulously.

  ‘Hmmm …’ He dipped a forefinger into the cream, sniffed again and gingerly touched it to the tip of his tongue. ‘It seems to be all right.’ He released her arm. ‘You can give it to him now.’

  ‘What on earth—?’ Midge looked at Dix blankly.

  ‘Just making sure.’ He smiled at her sternly. ‘It wouldn’t be the first death of an expert witness—and right under the noses of other people. I don’t mind losing Sir Cedric, but I’d hate to be party to the murder of Roger Ackroyd.’

  10

  ‘… drifts are six feet deep in some parts of the country. Especially hard hit are Wiltshire, Gloucestershire and the West Country. Snow ploughs are being hampered by vehicles left abandoned on the highways …’

  Midge groaned and opened the other eye.

  ‘And it’s still snowing,’ Reggie reported from the window. ‘That tears it. There’s not a hope of getting them in to town this morning and we can scrub the Scavenger Hunt this afternoon. We’ll have to find other ways to entertain them.’

  ‘Snowbound—that’s all we need!’ Midge joined him at the window, struggling into her robe. ‘What time did you get to bed last night, anyway?’

  ‘This morning,’ he corrected. ‘It was already morning when you gave up. I don’t know. Sometime around three, I think. Some of them were still sitting around the fire, still deducing. I threw another log on the fire and left them to it. They’re certainly going to get their money’s worth out of every minute.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll sleep late,’ Midge said hopefully.

  ‘Not them, they’re too afraid they might miss something. I found a couple of them prowling the kitchen corridor when I went through and had to warn them off. We’re going to need a lock for the door to the private wing if we mean to go on with this lark. Too many of them think out-of-bounds just means we’re trying to put something over on them.’

  Oh dear.’ Midge stared, hypnotized, at the relentlessly falling flakes. ‘I hope they don’t do anything to upset Cook.’

  Cook was furious. She slapped bacon rashers into the grill pan and slammed the pan under the grill. She took her blunt knife and cracked eggs as though they were tourists’ heads. If any of them had seen her, she’d have gone straight to Number One on the list of suspects.

  Ackroyd was prudently seated in the farthest corner, out of the way, tail curled tightly around his feet. He watched warily as Cook stormed about the kitchen.

  ‘I won’t have it!’ Cook raged at Midge as soon as she entered. ‘They came in here last night and helped themselves! It’s bad enough turning the place into a hotel—but with everybody pretending they’re at a private house-party, no one knows where they’re at. I won’t have them raiding the kitchen for midnight snacks. There’s got to be a limit!’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Midge soothed. ‘But are you sure? I can’t imagine anyone would do such a thing.’

  ‘Can’t you? Then you just come and see.’ Cook unlocked the larder door and threw it open. ‘Look at that!’ Midge stepped inside and regarded the trays of chicken fillets. Cook had laid out each tray with geometric precision. It was perfectly clear that three fillets were missing from the top tray. Their outlines remained, limned in jellied juices.

  ‘Now don’t try to tell me Ackroyd did it,’ Cook said. ‘Even though he does look guilty enough.’

  Ackroyd paused in the doorway, indeed looking guilty. His ears flattened slightly as Cook spoke his name. He looked from Cook to Midge with narrowed eyes and seemed to sense that this was not a propitious moment to suggest a handout. He backed out of the doorway hastily.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ Midge said. ‘Some of them were running around till all hours this morning. I suppose they got hungry. I’ll speak to them and make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘It better not!’

  ‘Anyway, you have enough left to go around, haven’t you? There seem to be plenty—’

  ‘Of course I have. That’s not the point!’

  ‘No, no, of course not. I was just worried about lunch. We’ll have them all here, you know. They won’t be able to get into town or go out on a scavenger hunt in this weather.’

  ‘They won’t want cold chicken and salad, either. I was thinking I might do a lemon cream sauce and baked potatoes, perhaps with baby carrots and peas.’

  ‘Splendid!’ Midge applauded. ‘I knew you’d—’

  A sharp bell pealed through the kitchen.

  ‘Her again!’ Cook glanced at the number that had dropped into view. ‘It was a sorry day for all of us when she discovered that bell rope.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Midge said quickly. ‘I suppose she wants breakfast served in her suite.’ And anything that kept Amaryllis out of the way of the other guests was to be encouraged. She wasn’t exactly the life of the party.

  ‘They’re drifting in for breakfast.’ Reggie came into the kitchen, squinting at his order pad. ‘Four pots of coffee, three of tea. Where are the hot rolls?’

  ‘Ready to come out of the oven.’ Cook snapped to attention.

  Midge went to answer the bell. She passed Lettie on the servants’ staircase.

  ‘I’ve just shoved the clues under the doors,’ Lettie reported. ‘I gave the licence to Bertha Stout and the cryptic one to Dixon Carr. They seem to be shaping up as leaders of opposing factions.’

  ‘Good work. Shh—’ Midge motioned her to silence. They listened to the muffled footsteps descending the carpeted family staircase on the other side of the wall.

  ‘They’re stirring early,’ Lettie muttered. ‘I nearly got caught—and I couldn’t stand another grilling, at this hour of the morning.’

  ‘Wait until Bertha finds her clue,’ Midge said heartlessly. ‘She’ll turn you inside out.’

  ‘Don’t I know it! Sometimes I—’ Lettie broke off, listening. ‘Who’s that?’

/>   Another set of footsteps—this time descending the inner staircase from somewhere above them, ringing out on the uncarpeted stairs. They waited in silence, looking upwards. The footsteps rang nearer, a pair of trousered legs came into view.

  Oh, Bram!’ Lettie exhaled a long, shuddering breath. ‘You frightened us!’

  ‘Did I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize there was anyone here. I’m sorry, but—’ he looked haunted—‘I had to get away.’

  ‘Get away?’ Lettie was abruptly alert. ‘Away from what?’

  Oh, nothing. Nothing, really. It’s just, Mother—’ He broke off, glancing upwards guiltily.

  ‘What about your mother?’ Lettie’s voice was hard.

  She means well.’ Bramwell was defensive. ‘She just doesn’t understand. She—she’s invited those women—those creatures—to breakfast. With us—in our suite. This morning—now.’ His face was blank with the shock of betrayal.

  You mean she’s matchmaking,’ Lettie said harshly.

  ‘You mustn’t blame her.’ He seemed to be arguing with himself as much as with Lettie. ‘They’re very rich, you know. Millions. And millions more to come as elderly relatives die off. They’re the last of a long, dying line—’

  A family run to seed. The thought sprang into Midge’s mind. There was something decadent about the identical women that turned one’s thoughts to empty echoing mansions, fluttering cobwebs trailing from peeling gilt splendour, bats whirling through space—Oh yes, bats, indeed.

  ‘Which one does she favour?’ Lettie seemed to control herself with great effort.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think she cares. They both have money. Either one would do.’ Bramwell shuddered. ‘It doesn’t matter—to her.’

  ‘That’s monstrous!’ Midge exclaimed.

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t blame her too much. You don’t understand—it was so hard after my father died and before I began earning. We really struggled. Even now, with things going so well, she’s always afraid. She wants to see me secure against the ups and downs, the books that might not do so well, the statements when the royalties are down. She only wants security for me—for us.’

  ‘For which—’ Lettie was quivering with rage—‘she’d sell you, body and soul, to those harpies!’

  ‘Please—’ Bramwell winced. ‘I told you you wouldn’t understand. She means so well—’

  ‘Smuggle him into the kitchen,’ Midge instructed Lettie, ‘and give him breakfast. Then he can join Cedric in the private wing. He can help Cedric paste up the poison pen letters for tonight. We’ll cover for him and say he’s working on his new book and can’t be disturbed.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Bramwell said gratefully.

  ‘Just come along.’ Lettie took his hand. ‘And tiptoe. We don’t want the guests to discover this passage until we’re ready for them.’

  Midge continued on her way upstairs to take Amaryllis’s orders for breakfast. She was going to enjoy this.

  ‘Orange juice for four,’ Amaryllis ordered. ‘Scrambled eggs and back. Toast and marmalade. Coffee.’

  ‘Just think,’ Lauren Chandler said to her twin. ‘We’ve spent the night under the same roof with Bramwell Barbour. And—’

  ‘And now we’re going to have breakfast with him,’ Brigid finished.

  ‘And it won’t be long until—’ They looked at each other. Something predatory stirred behind their vacant glittering eyes. They both giggled.

  ‘Now, girls,’ Amaryllis said indulgently. ‘Not too noisy, you’ll wake him up. We want this to be a surprise, don’t we?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ They stifled their giggles, glancing anxiously towards the closed bedroom door. ‘But where is he? Does he always sleep this late?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Amaryllis said. ‘There’s plenty of time. All the time in the world.’

  ‘There sure is.’ Brigid glanced towards the window and the falling snow. ‘Did you hear the weather forecast? We may all be snowed in here together for days—weeks, even.’

  Midge abruptly stopped enjoying the situation. She hadn’t really considered that. If this snow continued, there was little likelihood that the tour would be able to depart on schedule tomorrow afternoon. They could be stuck here for several more days.

  The snow ploughs would clear the arterial routes first, then the main highways. It could be a couple of days before they reached the lesser roads—if they bothered about them at all.

  ‘I’ll see to your breakfast,’ Midge told Amaryllis—and fled.

  This time she used the main staircase, nodding absently in response to the greetings of guests descending to the dining-room for breakfast. She glanced into the dining-room as she passed and saw Reggie industriously serving breakfast. The guests had gravitated to the same tables they had been assigned last night, so the actors had obligingly switched tables in order that a different group might question them—if anyone felt up to it so early in the morning.

  In the kitchen, Cedric and Bramwell sat at a table in the corner, sharing their eggs and bacon with Ackroyd, who was perched on the third chair at their table, graciously accepting all offerings as no more than his rightful due.

  ‘You’ll be dying of thirst all day, if you eat any more bacon.’ Midge pulled back the chair and tipped Ackroyd out of it. She took his place and accepted the coffee Cedric automatically poured for her.

  ‘What did she want?’ Cook asked ominously.

  ‘Breakfast, as we thought. For four. Coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice and toast.’

  ‘Make that for three,’ Bramwell said. ‘I’m not going to be there.’

  ‘We’re not supposed to know that,’ Midge pointed out. ‘We’ll have to play it straight and bring up breakfast for four.’ Let Amaryllis find out for herself that the bird had flown. In fact … ‘Reggie can do it.’

  ‘Reggie can do what?’ He came through from the dining-room, looking harassed.

  ‘I’m afraid Mother wants breakfast in her rooms,’ Bramwell apologized. ‘And you haven’t seen me.’

  ‘Wheels within wheels—as usual.’ Reggie consulted the scribblings on his order pad, trying to sort them out. ‘I think that says poached eggs—’ He shrugged at Cook. ‘I don’t know why I’m worrying. They’ve found their clues and they’re so excited they won’t know if they’re eating eggs or aubergines. They just want to get hold of Lettie and begin firing questions at her. Where is she?’

  ‘She’s probably preparing for her big entrance,’ Midge said.

  ‘Thank God they can’t get at me.’ Cedric shuddered. ‘Lettie can remember all those ins-and-outs. Comes of having a trained mind. They’d trip me up every time.’

  ‘That’s why we murdered you first,’ Reggie said cheerfully. ‘Eliminate the weakest link before it breaks—first rule of the game. You can’t say we haven’t learned fast.’

  ‘Hermione actually enjoys all this,’ Cedric grumbled. ‘You can’t tell me she doesn’t. She’s having the time of her life in there right now, starting up hares and shooting down red herrings. I never knew she had it in her.’

  ‘She’s doing a wonderful job,’ Midge said warmly. ‘I don’t know how we’d have managed without her.’

  ‘Don’t know how you’re going to manage anyway, with this weather.’ Cedric looked over his shoulder. The snow was still falling. ‘Hasn’t half mucked up the schedule, what?’

  ‘We’ll just have to bring events forward.’ Midge had been considering the problem. ‘Since they can’t have a scavenger hunt, we’ll just have to murder Hermione after lunch instead of after dinner. Then Lettie can be killed—after she finishes serving dinner.’

  ‘Make it after she finishes clearing away the dishes,’ Reggie suggested. ‘We’re going to be short-handed enough. The help from the village won’t be able to struggle through in this storm. In fact, it might be better if we kept Lettie alive. How about another victim? Do you think Miss Holloway might oblige?’

  ‘She’d love it, I’m sure, but that would send the plotline
up the creek. How would we explain her murder?’

  ‘Bramwell ought to be able to think of something,’ Reggie said. ‘If we can’t explain an extra body with two of the best brains in the business on the premises, when can we? You’ll help, won’t you, Bram?’

  ‘Of course.’ Bram frowned thoughtfully. ‘No problem at all. Everyone already suspects Miss Holloway is part of the show. She can simply drop a few hints that she knows too much and—there you are. The perfect reason for murdering her—for murdering anybody. Absolutely classic.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Midge applauded. ‘I’ll have a word with Grace and we’ll tip off the actors. That should take up the slack in the schedule.’

  ‘What about the anonymous letters, then?’ Cedric grumbled. ‘Will that change the wording of them? I’ve collected just enough newsprint to do them the way we’ve planned. It’s going to be tricky if we need to add extra words.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Midge hadn’t thought of that. ‘Why don’t you and Bramwell start pasting and let him decide? We might be able to get away with the original wording.’

  A bell pealed sharply and demandingly, setting the dropped number card clattering in its little box. Bramwell and Cedric jumped, but the others knew only too well what it was.

  ‘Taking too long to suit her,’ Cook said bitterly, then abruptly remembered that Bramwell was present. She gave the number a dark look and moved off to fill the plates set out on the tray.

  ‘I’ll take it up, shall I?’ Lettie appeared from the private wing, her make-up refreshed, looking ready for battle.

  ‘Reggie will do that,’ Midge said quickly. ‘You and I will take care of the dining-room.’

  11

  ‘Lettie!’ All eyes turned to stare at her. ‘Here’s Lettie now. What does she have to say about it?’

  ‘Good morning.’ Smiling placidly, Lettie advanced to the nearest table, the one filled with the undemanding guests who were just along for the ride. It was a nice try, but she didn’t get away with it.

  ‘Lettie!’ Bertha Stout called her over to her table. ‘Lettie—’ She waved a piece of paper at her—‘do you know anything about this? It was pushed under my door this morning.’