05 - Mistletoe and Murder (11 page)

“Where is William Henry?” She
asked.

“Said he was going to fetch
another decanter of Scotch and never came back.” Elijah sighed, looking glumly
at the incomplete card game, “I say, do you play Bridge?”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Long enough that we could
order sandwiches and have them made.” Oliver motioned to the tray Humphry had
just placed on a side table, “Want one?”

Tommy was naturally more alert
to his sister’s behaviour and he sensed something was wrong.

“What is it Clara?” He asked.

“We need to find him, at
once.” Clara said, no longer able to contain her urgency, “He is not in the drawing
room, please Humphry could you check the other rooms?”

“Certainly.” Humphry gave a
polite bow and left.

“Clara, what has happened?”
Tommy insisted.

“I’ll tell you once I know for
certain if William Henry is missing. Otherwise it doesn’t matter.”

The three men looked at each
other, baffled. Oliver helped himself to a sandwich, there seemed no reason to waste
good food until it was clear something was wrong.

After ten minutes Humphry
returned.

“Mr William Henry Sampford is
not in any of the rooms on this floor.” He announced in such a grandiose tone
that Clara wanted to slap him.

“All right, Oliver, Elijah, we
need to check the second floor.”

The two men followed her
upstairs. The séance was still going on behind the library door.

“Check your rooms.” Clara
instructed.

“Whatever for Clara?” Oliver
asked.

“Just in case, I have to be
certain.” Clara left the two men to look in their rooms while she checked hers.
It was empty, so was the dressing room. That left Miss Sampford’s and Mr
Andrews’ rooms. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the furore she
was about to cause.

“I need to borrow Miss
Sampford and Mr Andrews for a moment.” She said as she opened the door.

Andrews glared at her.

“You are disturbing the
atmosphere!”

Clara held her temper.

“It is important. If you don’t
wish to come yourself might I borrow your room key?”

“What is it Clara?” Miss
Sampford asked anxiously.

Clara decided to adapt the
truth.

“We may have an intruder, I
just want you to check your rooms…”

“I have valuable equipment in
mine!” Andrews leapt to his feet, almost sending the planchette flying. Miss
Sampford was more sangfroid as she rose.

They went into the corridor
and searched their rooms. Andrews was back in a moment to confirm everything
was fine in his. Miss Sampford’s room was also undisturbed. By now Elijah and
Oliver were back.

“You best explain this Clara.”
Oliver said anxiously.

“I am concerned that William
Henry appears to be missing.” Clara said gingerly.

“But, we heard him upstairs?”
Miss Sampford said.

“That wasn’t him.” Clara said,
avoiding mention of the empty room, “We need to find him.”

“He only left the room for a
decanter of Scotch.” Elijah glanced at everyone as though they could explain
things to him.

“Oliver, would you perhaps
accompany me upstairs?” Clara was inching to the staircase, but her hope to
quietly sneak away with Oliver to investigate was thwarted by Andrews and
Elijah following.

She could not shake them off
as she headed upstairs, and they were still following as she returned to
William Henry’s room. Nervously, almost expecting a body to have suddenly
appeared in the deserted room, she opened the door. There was nothing. Oliver
flicked the light switch.

“Bulb’s gone.” He declared.

“I heard someone pacing and
talking in this room and then something that sounded like a pistol shot. The
light went out and I hurried in expecting to find someone lying dead.” Clara
explained.

“Sounds like you heard a
ghost.” Andrews declared rather joyfully.

“Even if I was inclined to
agree with you – which I am not – that does not explain the disappearance of
William Henry.” Clara said stoutly, “This is
his
room. I swear I heard
his voice and now he is gone.”

Elijah stepped into the room
and glanced around.

“So where is he?” He asked
rather pointlessly.

“We need to search the house
from top to bottom.” Clara commanded, “Perhaps he slipped outdoors without
telling anyone, then he will reappear and we will all feel jolly silly. But
then again…”

“Don’t you think you are
over-reacting?” Andrews was leaning in the doorway with a patronizing smile on
his face.

“I do hope so Mr Andrews. Now,
if you please, you have several people handy, if you might institute a search
as unobtrusively as possible. I don’t wish to raise undue alarm.”

Andrews gave a shrug.

“It will be very amusing when
William Henry strolls in the front door and you have to admit to being spooked
by a ghost.” He grinned.

For once Clara hoped he was
right.

They gathered the guests and
Humphry to arrange the search. Tommy was delegated to conduct the ground floor
search, Captain Adams the first floor, Oliver the second, Clara the attic, and
Humphry the basement and garden.  The only people not involved in the search
were Amelia, Miss Sampford and Bridget Harper. Amelia had gone into a fit of hysterics
and was now lying prone in the drawing room murmuring that her husband was
murdered; Miss Sampford, who was rather shaken, had been commanded by Clara to
watch over her; and Bridget Harper, who seemed too dazed out of her mind to be
any help to anyone, had been left with them. Everyone else was assigned a
floor. Clara had Hilda Sampford, Jane and Annie in her party. It had been
unanimously agreed that the servants’ private bedrooms should only be searched
by women. Clara hardly imagined William Henry would be up there, but then there
was just no telling. She had hardly imagined he would disappear.

They scattered and for the fifteen
minutes there was the sound of footsteps all over the house and doors swinging
open and closed. On the attic floor Clara insisted they turn on all the lights
and search the rooms from nearest to farthest, that way preventing any escape,
if there was to be one. Surely William Henry would want to be found? Aside from
the bedroom jointly shared by Jane and Flo, and the bedrooms of Mrs James and
Mr Humphry, the attic was unoccupied and the spare rooms were used for storage.
Clara searched among broken chairs, forgotten cutlery and a wardrobe full of
out-of-date ball gowns, but there was no sign of a person. Jane and Annie
reported that the bedrooms were empty and every hiding place searched, while
Hilda Sampford confirmed she had checked that all the windows were locked as
well as the small hatch to the roof. No one had left the attic, not unless they
were clever enough to bolt doors from the inside behind them. Clara was about
to disband her search party and admit she may have been mistaken when there was
a shout from below.

Clara hurried down to the
third floor. Oliver was standing in the corridor with Simon Jones beside him,
looking grim. Clara went towards him and he put a hand up to stop her.

“You said you heard a shot?”
He asked, “Clara, it’s not nice.”

Clara shook her head.

“It never is.”

She moved past Oliver and
peered around the door to the bedroom next to the one belonging to William
Henry and Amelia. Lying prone on the floor was Mr Sampford. There was not much
left of his face, except bone and blood. Clara felt sick to her stomach and had
to turn away.

“Shot in the face.” Oliver
said, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

There was more pounding on the
stairs and Mr Andrews appeared with Captain Adams. Simon Jones turned to his approaching
friends and gurgled,

“Shot.” Before sinking into a
dead faint.

Captain Adams ignored the
prone ghost hunter and pushed towards the door, he stared into the room with
typical military stoicism.

“The pistol is still there.”
He indicated to a small bureau at the back of the room, under which could just
be seen the handle of a pistol, “Done at close range. I would suggest he put
the gun in his mouth and blew out his brains.”

“Whatever for?” Clara tried to
swallow down her horror, “Was there any hint he was suicidal?”

Everyone looked blankly at
her.

“The door was locked. We had
to get the master key from Humphry.” Oliver said.

Captain Adams entered the room
and felt in the dead man’s pockets.

“Here is the original key.” He
held up a brass key to show them.

“So he locked himself in an
empty room and shot himself.” Clara said, feeling so sick she hardly knew how
she was managing to remain standing, “We have to call the police.”

“Agreed. And someone has to
break the news to Mrs Sampford.” Captain Adams stood with a groan, “Sad state
of affairs.”

“I’ll tell her.” Clara sighed,
“I suspect we may need to call a doctor too for the poor woman.”

“And someone better move him.”
Oliver nodded to the unconscious Simon Jones.

The captain tutted loudly.

“What a disgrace.”

Between him, Andrews and
Oliver they managed to hump Simon Jones down the stairs and into Andrews’
bedroom. Clara headed to the ground floor where she asked that Humphry call the
police and then she informed Tommy of the discovery upstairs.

“Nasty business.” Tommy said.

“It still doesn’t make sense
though. Why was the light on in William Henry’s room and why did it then go
out? I can understand that perhaps I mistook which room the footsteps were
coming from. But why was he pacing around in the dark?”

“A man about to kill himself
is hardly thinking rationally. Perhaps he kept the light off just so no one
would disturb him.”

“And the light in his bedroom?
Why did it go out?”

Tommy shook his head.

“I can’t answer that one
without looking at the room and as I can’t climb the stairs you are on your own
for this one.”

Clara left her brother in the
hall awaiting the police, while she went to break the news to Amelia Sampford.
She was in the drawing room lying on a sofa with Miss Sampford nearby. Bridget
Harper was also present, staring rather distantly into the fire. Clara coughed
politely as she entered the room and Miss Sampford sprang up.

“You have found him?” She
asked.

“Oh lord!” Amelia groaned.

“We have found William Henry,
yes. I’m afraid he is dead.”

Amelia gave a shriek and
buried her head in her hands. Miss Sampford stared at her for a moment, then
seemed to conclude the woman was a lost cause and returned her attention to
Clara.

“What has happened Clara?”

“We found William Henry in the
room next to his. The door was locked and it appears he shot himself with a
pistol.”

“Oh no! Oh no!” Amelia cried,
rocking back and forth on the sofa.

“This is very unexpected.”
Miss Sampford found herself having to reach for a chair and sit down, her legs
had gone quite weak, “I… I can’t imagine William doing such a thing. Amelia, do
stop making that awful noise!”

Amelia had been keening softly
to herself. Now she gave a shuddering sob and turned towards the back of the
sofa and buried her head in the upholstery.

“The police have been called.
I don’t imagine they will spend much time over the matter.” Clara found herself
staring at Bridget Harper, who had not made a move since she had entered the
room; the woman was either completely oblivious to their conversation, or
utterly devoid of empathy.

“There was no hint…” Miss
Sampford rubbed at her elbows, looking suddenly frail, “Amelia, had he said
anything to you?”

Amelia snuffled into the sofa
cushion.

“Amelia, dear, you really
can’t go to pieces like this.” Miss Sampford said rather sternly, “It will do
no good. William is dead and that is that.”

“You horrid witch!” Amelia
suddenly sat bolt upright and yelled at Miss Sampford, “You don’t care at all,
do you?”

“He was my brother’s son.”
Miss Sampford said stoutly, “Of course I care about him! Perhaps more than he
deserved. Don’t call me a witch Amelia when I know full well how you spoke of
me behind my back. You wished me dead.”

“Nonsense!”

“You were overheard discussing
my death, natural or not, with your husband!”

Clara grimaced to herself.
Jane had clearly not been capable of refraining from repeating the conversation
she had overheard to her mistress.

“I have never wished you
dead!” Amelia had flushed bright red, it was difficult to say if this was from
fury or embarrassment at being caught out, “Even if I did never understand why
my husband must keep you in luxury while we struggled to pay our bills.”

“You forget, the money that
paid your bills was no more your husband’s than it was mine, it was my father’s
money, the majority earned during his lifetime. I can’t help that neither my
brother nor your husband had a head for investments and finance. Don’t try and
lay claim to money that was never yours Amelia!”

Amelia snorted, her face
screwed up into mean petulance.

“Why should I suffer for an
old spinster?”

“And so we see your real
feelings!” Miss Sampford was triumphant, “I hope you live long enough for
people to grow weary and tired of you Amelia Sampford! Then perhaps you will
appreciate how it is to feel you are too old to be of value to anyone and will
regret your callousness!”

“It’s hardly callous to want
to keep a roof over my head!”

“At the expense of a roof over
mine!”

“Ladies, enough.” Clara
stepped in, “This is not helping anyone. Amelia, before the police arrive and
start treading on everyone’s toes, might I please speak with you?”

“Whatever for? You are on her
side!” Amelia pointed a sharp little finger at Miss Sampford.

“Right now I am on no one’s
side. I just want to try and understand what happened to your husband.”

“How do you mean?” Amelia’s
voice caught in her throat.

“I just want to piece together
the parts of this jigsaw. A man leaves a card game for a decanter of Scotch and
winds up dead in a locked room. Yes, perhaps it is suicide, but until I have
all the information on the matter I can’t say for certain. Please may we talk,
for your husband’s sake?”

“If he didn’t shoot himself,
does that mean he was murdered?” Amelia asked stiffly.

“We can’t rule out an
accident.” Clara answered, noncommittally.

“You all forget one thing.”
Bridget Harper’s soft voice cut into the conversation and made them all turn
sharply towards the fireplace where the medium sat apparently in a dream, “The
ghost, the Berkeley Square ghost. Spirits are not to be taken lightly.”

“Ghosts don’t kill people.”
Amelia sneered.

Bridget’s eyes connected with
hers. Suddenly the medium seemed alive with energy and unbridled fury.

“Dismiss them at your peril
Mrs Sampford. As your husband did.”

“William Henry had no time for
ghosts!” Amelia declared.

“Precisely. Precisely. And
some spirits take such disrespect very unkindly.” Bridget’s gaze fell back on
the fire and she seemed to have lost all interest in them.

Amelia pulled a face which
demonstrated without words the dislike and disregard she had for the woman.

“Will you speak to me now, Mrs
Sampford?” Clara asked.

“Very well, it’s about time
someone listened to my side of the story.” Amelia gave a scornful look at Miss
Sampford and stood, “We shall speak in private.”

“Agreed. Miss Sampford, might
I beg the use of your snug?”

~~*~~

Clara moved the forgotten tray
of sandwiches to one side as she entered the room. Just the sight of them
turned her already knotted stomach. She motioned Amelia to a chair. Mrs
Sampford glanced at the many photographs dotted about the room. She pointed at
one.

“My wedding day.”

Clara picked up the picture
and recognised a much younger William Henry and a smiling Amelia.

“I had such hopes. So many of
them came to nothing.” Amelia sat in a chair, all her bravado and spite
suddenly gone, “Why would she keep a picture of us when she hates us so much?”

“I think you underestimate
Miss Sampford.” Clara settled herself in another chair, “I don’t think she ever
hated her nephew.”

“You think we are wicked
people?”

Clara said nothing.

“It’s not wickedness, we are
all just trying to survive.” Amelia continued, “The estate eats money faster
than it comes in. William takes so to heart his responsibilities to the family
property. Talk of selling it would kill him.”

Amelia suddenly realised what
she had said and almost choked.

“Maybe it did kill him.” She
said, almost in a whisper.

“How bad are things, really?”
Clara asked.

“Bad enough. The house is
falling apart, we’ve sold off the best heirlooms just to pay bills. People say
turn away the servants, well that’s all very well, but some have been with the
family years and are too old to find positions elsewhere. To turn them away
would be to make them destitute. Now that would be wickedness. As it is I have
dismissed all the maids and William maintains the grounds with help from a
single gardener. We eat frugally, never invite guests and try our best to keep
the house standing.” Amelia gave a sobbing sigh, “It is such a constant battle.
In the hall is the remains of a medieval roof, it is in desperate need of
restoration. The local historic society keeps pestering us to do something
about it before it rots away. Do you know how much that costs? William spends
his days trying to work out how he can afford to do all the things that must be
done. There is a Tudor stained glass window in the chapel, in desperate need of
re-leading before it falls to pieces, and a Regency orangery made of cast iron in
the style of a pagoda, said to be one of a kind and rusting to dust as we
speak. It all needs saving, but there is just nothing left to save it with.”

“Many would suggest selling
part of the estate.” Clara said tentatively.

“They are heartless people!” Amelia
snapped, “I don’t expect you to understand. The Sampford’s have owned that
estate since it was bestowed on them by Charles II for their support during the
Restoration, that equates to the better part of 300 years! You don’t just
discard such history, it’s… it’s horrible. William Henry could not bear the
idea of being the last Sampford. You have to appreciate that as much as he
loved living at Sampford Hall, he also regarded himself as a custodian of it
for future generations. Not that we…”

Amelia pulled a face and
flopped back in her chair.

“No one understands.” She
declared.

“I am trying Mrs Sampford. If
your husband considered himself a custodian, who did he envisage leaving the
hall to next?”