An Invisible Murder (6 page)

‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Bishop probed delicately, but it was Lady Vee who answered. No doubt, because she knew that her husband wouldn’t have had a clue.

‘No, I don’t think so, Inspector. She kept herself very much to herself. Not that she was unattractive, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘But if she had a sweetheart, she was very discreet about it.’

‘I see,’ the inspector said gloomily. In many cases where young women were killed, it was usually a man friend who was responsible. Jealous, or drunk, normally.

‘Could anyone else have gained access to the castle, my lord? This afternoon, I mean?’ Myers put in a question of his own.

Lord Avonsleigh scratched his head, and shrugged. ‘I imagine so, Inspector. There’s the gardening staff, and some of the local women who come in from the village to help Janice with the heavy work. We have tourists in, during the summer, so there’s always lots of entrances and exits left
open. But it’s not a visitors’ day today,’ he added, making the policemen fairly wilt in relief. ‘The doors are never locked during the day though, but even so, I rather doubt that anyone could have just wandered in, stabbed our governess and wandered out again, do you? Not without being seen by
somebody
.’

Bishop secretly agreed with him. Still, you couldn’t rule anything out.

Just then there was a discreet tap on the door and Meecham walked in, followed by a tall woman with an extremely curvaceous figure who looked around with wary, but quite lovely, blue eyes.

Miss Jenny Starling herself.

Bishop felt his heart sink.

‘Thank you, Meecham,’ his lordship said, sensing his butler’s heartfelt desire to flee.

He fled.

‘Ah, Miss Starling.’ Lady Vee beamed. ‘Inspector Bishop here has just been telling us of your exploits.’

‘Oh?’ Jenny said warily. She knew that something was wrong. The kitchen had been deserted all afternoon. And there had been a strange atmosphere. As a consequence, her shoulders were quite tense. Now the police were here. What on earth was going on? And what had the police been telling Lady Vee, exactly? Nothing good, that was for sure, she thought, pursing her lips grimly.

‘I’m afraid we’ve lost our governess, Miss Starling,’ his lordship said, trying to break it to her gently.

Jenny blinked. Lost? Lost her where?

‘Someone’s killed her,’ her ladyship added flatly, seeing the cook’s rather puzzled look and knowing full well that gentleness was not required. Their new cook was obviously the kind of woman who could cope with almost anything.

Except, perhaps, a tart that refused to brown.

‘Oh,’ Jenny said flatly.

Ava Simmons, dead? All that waste! She’d been so young. Jenny bit back the sensation of anger and dismay that swamped her, and forced herself to look levelly at her employer.

‘Exactly,’ her ladyship continued crisply. ‘And since you seem to be rather good at this sort of thing, I want you to accompany the inspector here wherever he goes, and lend a hand.’

Jenny gaped, then glanced across at the equally
gobsmacked
inspector. The inspector glared back. It would have been impossible to say which one of them looked the more dismayed.

‘Oh,’ Jenny said again. Even more flatly.

‘It will help enormously to have a friendly face sitting in on all the questioning, don’t you think, Inspector?’ Lady Avonsleigh issued the challenge, obviously not expecting a fight.

‘I expect so, my lady,’ Bishop answered glumly, his lack of enthusiasm plain to one and all.

‘That’s settled then,’ she said happily, steamrollering over him in classic style.

‘Is there anything else we can do for you, Inspector?’ Lord Avonsleigh asked, obviously not without sympathy for the policeman, and Bishop, relieved, put down his untouched cup of tea and rose.

‘Not at the moment, sir, thank you. Perhaps I can speak to Meecham now?’

‘Of course, of course. I dare say he’s in the kitchen. Miss Starling will show you the way.’

Jenny obliged, very much aware of two pairs of hostile eyes boring into her broad back with every step she took. Not
that she was worried about that, unduly, she had other things on her mind.

Ava Simmons dead. Killed. Murdered.

But who? And why?

In the kitchen, only Meecham and Elsie sat around the table. The butler half rose, then nervously sat back down again as the policemen came into the room. He looked pale, and the hands holding his tea cup shook.

Not a strong character, this, Bishop thought. A rather timid soul. But good at his job, he’d bet.

‘Mr Meecham,’ Bishop greeted him kindly. ‘I’d like you to tell me exactly what you saw this afternoon.’ He got the ball rolling immediately, nodding to Myers who was already poised, notebook handy. Both policemen sat opposite the butler, presenting a formidable show of force.

Meecham swallowed. Hard. ‘Well, sir. I took the food out to the party on the terrace about, oh five past three, no later. And I returned just before half past to retrieve it.’

‘Bit quick, weren’t you?’ Bishop asked, and Meecham flushed.

‘They are hearty eaters, and the colonel has, well, a thing about food.’

‘A thing?’ Bishop repeated, surprised.

‘Yes, sir.’ But Meecham would not be drawn. He was, after all, still a butler. And discretion was his middle name.

‘I see. Then what?’

‘On our way out I noticed the dagger, sir. It was covered in blood: it was dripping down the wall.’ The butler
shuddered
and took a hasty sip of hot tea, and Jenny found herself wishing she had a mug of her own.

Vividly now, she recalled the beautiful dagger to mind. And the fact that someone had used such a beautiful object
to commit such an ugly act made her feel outraged. To be stabbed to death was awful.

Jenny, aware that she was in slight shock, briskly set about making herself a cup of strong, very sweet tea, at the same time keeping her ears firmly open as the police
questioning
continued. She knew from bitter experience that there would be many more hours of it to come yet, and she needed to keep her wits about her.

‘You didn’t notice it dripping in blood when you went to retrieve the tray, though?’ Bishop asked sharply, pointing out the inconsistency with a sharply suspicious tone.

Meecham paled further. ‘Er…no, sir, I didn’t. I don’t suppose I looked.’

‘But you
did
on the way out,’ Bishop pressed suspiciously. ‘When the others were with you?’

Meecham nodded miserably. ‘Yes, sir. I did. I don’t know what made me look up at it. Probably because I knew the colonel was behind me, and I remembered how he admired it so.’

‘Hmm,’ Bishop made no comment. In truth, he was not
all
that suspicious of Meecham. (God forbid, the butler did it: he’d never live it down back at the police station.) But he would have to go and see this dagger before the forensic boys took samples.

He was very curious to see it for himself
in situ
. ‘What next?’

‘His lordship asked me to check on the staff, sir. To see if anyone was missing. I knew that Janice was out, sir, as it was her afternoon off. And I could hear Lady Roberta in the music-room. She was playing the piano, so I went there first. I expected Miss Simmons to be there too, but it was Mr Powell-Brooks, the art tutor, who was taking her for the piano lesson.’

‘Was that unusual?’

‘No, sir. Mr Powell-Brooks is quite an accomplished pianist. He sometimes took a lesson, if Miss Simmons was ill, or a little late in turning up.’

Jenny frowned, and glanced across her cup. Surely Ava Simmons was not the kind to be late? And since she’d only been here a month, she’d still be anxious about her time keeping. Why wouldn’t Meecham or Powell-Brooks have realized the same thing? Or perhaps they had.

‘I see. Then where did you go?’

‘Here, sir.’

‘That’s right, Inspector, I remember.’ Jenny spoke to him directly for the first time. ‘Mr. Meecham opened the door and glanced in. I remember that he looked rather pale and distracted. I can’t say what time that was, exactly, though.’

‘And you were here alone?’ Bishop asked her harshly, and with an abruptness that was most definitely rude.

‘With Elsie,’ Jenny corrected him gently, getting in her alibi first, before he had a chance to ask her for it.

Bishop glanced at the kitchen maid, who raised her chin and stared at him like a dog that was getting ready to bite.

‘I see,’ Bishop said, backing off. Very wisely, Jenny thought. ‘And then?’ He turned back to Meecham.

‘I knew my daughter was in her ladyship’s bedroom, sir, getting her bath ready.’

So soon in the afternoon, Jenny thought in some surprise, then gave a mental shrug. Since she wasn’t familiar with Lady Vee’s ablutions, she supposed it could be a fair
statement
. And if Meecham wanted to leave his daughter out of it as much as possible, it was probably only natural.

‘So only the governess was unaccounted for,’ Bishop said. ‘What made you go straight to the conservatory?’ he asked quickly.

Meecham jumped. ‘I didn’t, sir. I went to her room first, but no one answered my knocking. I searched several rooms before noticing that the conservatory door was standing open. Since the gardener was most insistent it should always be kept shut, I naturally went to see, and there she was.’

‘How was she lying?’

‘On her back, sir.’

‘What was she wearing?’

Meecham blinked. ‘Er, I don’t think I noticed, sir.’

Bishop nodded. Probably hadn’t, poor beggar. Shouldn’t wonder if he didn’t pass out for a few moments. He looked the type. ‘I see. Thank you, Meecham. If you could just show me where the dagger is hanging, that will be all for the moment.’

In spite of Lady Vee’s obvious wishes that she dog the inspector’s footsteps, and thus keep her informed, the cook made no move to rise and follow them.

Bishop noticed and audibly sighed with relief, and quickly followed the trembling butler out of the kitchen before she could change her mind.

‘So she’s dead then.’

The flat, abrupt voice belonged to Elsie, and Jenny glanced at her. ‘Seems so,’ she agreed quietly. The kitchen maid nodded and reached for her cup. Her gnarled hands, Jenny noticed without surprise, were shaking.

Looking up quickly, the cook saw an expression, so fleeting it was almost impossible to pinpoint, flash across the maid’s morose face. But her next words were prosaic enough.

‘There’ll be hell to pay, I expect,’ Elsie said glumly.

Jenny sighed, remembering the policeman’s hostile but resigned expression when Lady Avonsleigh had all but demanded that the cook be kept informed.

‘I daresay there will be,’ she agreed.

She felt suddenly tired. Ava Simmons was dead. And someone in this castle, this afternoon, had killed her. And her ladyship wanted her to find out who did it. Was it just because Lady Vee didn’t have confidence in the police? Or, more likely, did she just want a friendly eye and ear in the police camp?

Or, Jenny thought with a sickening lurch in her stomach, was she worried about what the police might discover?

B
ishop stared at the dagger, fascinated in spite of himself. The dagger handle was relatively clean, and gleamed in small pinpoints of jewel-like light – deep red, emerald green and gold. In contrast, the blade was covered in drying blood. On the white wall, the trickles of blood that had run from it were turning into rusty stains that chilled his own blood and sent shivers up his spine. No doubt about it, he mused – it was a macabre sight.

‘Better get the forensic lads over here when they’ve finished,’ Bishop said, speaking his thoughts out loud. Not that he expected them to find any fingerprints on the handle. ‘Right, Meecham. The conservatory,’ Bishop dragged his eyes away from the Munjib dagger, and glanced at the butler, who was going slightly green around the gills.

Meecham left with alacrity, only to slow down and come to a dead stop just a few yards from the conservatory. Taking his dismissal for granted, he then left quickly. If either policeman had been paying more attention, they might have wondered if there was more to his actions than mere squeamishness.

Almost blindly, Meecham moved quickly down the corridor. He had to reach Gayle. He had to ask her to run to the gatehouse, quick. It might not be too late.

‘The doc’s here,’ Bishop muttered, watching the police
surgeon as he bent over the body, inspecting methodically but touching very little. ‘Must have arrived not long after we did.’ For several moments the two policemen watched the team at work – the forensic people examining in minute detail the flagged stone floor of the conservatory, the doctor in attendance on the corpse.

Even in death, Ava Simmons had managed to retain her dignity. Her skirt had risen slightly, but still covered her knees decorously. Her lips were closed, not gaping open, as was the case of so many corpses Bishop had seen over the years. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep. Even her hair was mostly still neatly in place. Only her blouse marred the picture of gentility. Over the region of her heart was a bright red patch that had leaked onto the floor. It looked so out of place on the otherwise meticulous governess that Bishop had to look away.

The doctor looked up, saw them, and rose slowly. ‘Inspector Bishop. You bagged this one then?’ he asked jovially.

Bishop nodded sourly. ‘Myers, take one of the lab boys to that little dagger, would you?’ He himself was not sure he could find the way back, but he knew Myers had all the instincts of a homing pigeon.

‘What can you tell me?’ Bishop asked when the others had left, already knowing that it would not be much. MEs were notoriously tight-mouthed when it came to putting their reputations on the line.

‘The body’s still slightly warm to the touch,’ the doctor said, and glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly five now, so I would say she’s been dead not more than four hours, not less than one. Given that this room is so warm anyway. But don’t quote me.’

Bishop nodded. ‘We’ve got it narrowed down to between
three o’clock and three-thirty.’

The doctor nodded. It fitted. ‘Death due to a single stab wound to the heart, as far as I can tell,’ he continued, the usual caution now creeping into his voice. ‘Death would have been practically instantaneous, I would have thought. But don’t—’

‘I know, I know. Don’t quote you.’ Bishop sighed and looked around at the shelves of plants still neatly standing side by side, and the undisturbed stack of pots on the floor not far from the body. ‘She didn’t put up much of a struggle,’ he noted sadly.

The doctor shrugged. ‘She probably wasn’t given the chance. The wound was caused by a long, very thin and sharp-pointed blade. Slightly rounded, I would have said. Unusual.’

Bishop nodded. ‘There’s a dagger, covered in blood, coming our way. It fits the description.’

The doctor sighed, looking down at her. ‘A woman in the prime of her life, Inspector. She looks a nice sort.’

Bishop nodded. Ava Simmons
did
look a nice sort. Not the kind that usually ended up murdered.

‘Bit of a feather in your cap, this case, isn’t it?’ the doctor asked, and Bishop snorted. He was saved from answering by the return of Myers, the dagger enclosed in an evidence bag, which he handed over to the doctor. Nobody expected that the blood would not match that of the victim. Or the blade, that of the knife wound.

‘Well, I suppose we’d better get on with it,’ Bishop said. ‘I want another word with our delightful Miss Starling.’

At the mention of the name, the doctor looked up in surprise, then grinned at the morose expression on the inspector’s face. Even the pathologists had begun to hear of the growing fame of Jenny Starling. The last of the great
amateur detectives, no less.

Wisely though, he said nothing, but Myers winked at him behind his inspector’s back as the two men left.

Jenny looked up in surprise as Meecham all but rushed into the kitchen and came to sudden halt. He looked around in surprise. ‘Is Gayle not here?’ he asked, slightly out of breath.

Jenny shook her head, her eyes curious. ‘Obviously not,’ she said softly. ‘Is something wrong, Mr Meecham?’

Meecham flushed, suddenly aware that he was acting strangely. ‘Er, no. I thought that she was in her ladyship’s rooms but she’s not. Nor is she in her own room. I was, er—’ He broke off as the door opened and his daughter walked in. ‘There you are. Gayle, we have to, er….’ He glanced back over his shoulder and moved further away.

Jenny headed for the oven, her ears pricked. In spite of that, she caught only the odd word or two. ‘Gatehouse’, she was sure was one of them. And ‘must intercept’ another. Even whispering, Meecham sounded distraught.

Over the cover of a saucepan lid, the cook looked across at father and daughter, and saw Gayle lay a calming hand on her father’s arm. Very briefly she shook her head, and although Jenny never heard her, could lip-read the two words clearly. ‘Too late.’

Meecham’s shoulders drooped and he trudged wearily back to the centre of the kitchen, slumping down at the table.

Elsie, moving in that unerringly silent manner of hers, quickly placed a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him. Jenny was not the only one in that kitchen with sharp eyes and ears, apparently. A moment later, the door opened again, and this time the two policemen walked in. Bishop glanced at her, then saw Gayle, and paused.

‘Ah, Miss Meecham,’ Bishop gave her his best ‘kindly
uncle’ smile and indicated a chair. Gayle gave him a single, blank-eyed look, and sat down. Myers moved opposite, pulling out his notebook. Jenny didn’t miss the flash of fear in Gayle’s dark eyes. Nevertheless, she folded steady hands in her lap, and waited patiently. There was something both stoic and tense about her.

Bishop leaned back in his own chair, making it squeak. ‘As you can imagine, Miss Meecham, we have to ask everybody in the castle where they were this afternoon and what they might have seen or heard. Also, of course, any other thing they may need to tell us. Nobody likes to speak ill of the dead, I know, but often the only clue to someone’s murder lies in the personality of the murder victim herself. You understand?’ Bishop asked, surprising Jenny considerably.

She hadn’t thought that Bishop had so much finesse, let alone understanding. Subconsciously, she began to relax. Ava Simmons was in good hands.

‘Yes, Inspector. I shall do whatever I can to help, of course,’ Gayle said coolly. If Bishop had hoped to win her over, it was very apparent that he hadn’t succeeded.

‘Can you tell me where you were from three o’clock to half past three this afternoon, Gayle?’ Bishop asked briskly, cutting out the soft flannel now, since it was obviously wasted on her.

‘I was in her ladyship’s bedroom. I was getting her bath ready.’

‘For half an hour?’ Bishop asked, his scepticism rife.

‘The towels have to be heated, Inspector. Her ladyship’s change of clothes pressed. The soap, talc, bath salts and shampoo, all have to be retrieved, opened, and co-ordinated. Her ladyship’s rollers have to be heated…. really, Inspector, must I go into the
intimate
details of Lady Vee’s toilette?’

Good for you, Jenny thought with a quickly suppressed
grin, seeing a dull red flush creep over Bishop’s thick, bullish neck. He hastily backtracked, hideously embarrassed.

It was a perfect blind, and the cook knew it. Perhaps Gayle really
had
been doing all that she said she had. But if she hadn’t, she’d certainly made sure Bishop wouldn’t keep harping on about it.

Jenny’s eyes narrowed on Gayle’s calm face. She really was a very competent girl. Very able. A very good liar, perhaps.

‘And you were alone?’ Bishop pressed, recovering his equilibrium somewhat.

‘No. Father was in the next room. His lordship’s dressing-room.’

‘Oh?’ Bishop turned to Meecham.

‘Yes, Inspector. After delivering the tea tray, I knew I would not be needed for a while. I had Lord Avonsleigh’s smoking jacket to sponge – he likes a cigar before dinner.’

‘You were concerned about his smoking jacket at three o’clock in the afternoon?’ Bishop asked, his voice dripping with open disbelief now.

‘I said it needed to be sponged, Inspector. As you know, velvet takes a long time to dry,’ Meecham responded, trying not to underline the inspector’s ignorance too much. It didn’t do to alienate the police.

Bishop sighed deeply, obviously feeling out of place in this world of lords and ladies, smoking jackets and butlers. Jenny almost felt sorry for him.

‘I see. But either one of you could have left the room any time without the other seeing?’

‘We talked all the time,’ Gayle said quietly. ‘If one of us had failed to answer, well, we would only have to take a few steps to reach the next room. Father left just before three-thirty to take back the tea tray. I continued with the bath, until it was obvious that the guests were staying longer than predicted. I
then left, and met my father in the hall a short while later. He told me about Miss Simmons.’

‘I see,’ Bishop said flatly. So father and daughter were alibiing each other. It was not totally unexpected, but it left him no further forward. It could all have been as they said. Maybe.

Bishop turned reluctantly to the cook. ‘And you, Miss Starling? Where were you?’

‘I was here the whole time, Inspector, as I said before. First, preparing the tea tray, then, afterwards, the evening meal. Which reminds me….’ She got up to check that Elsie had peeled the potatoes.

‘And you never left the kitchen once?’ Bishop asked sharply. He could almost wish that
she
had done it. That would remove a thorn from many a policeman’s side.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Jenny said shortly, accurately reading his thoughts. Damned cheek!

Bishop turned to the ferocious-looking kitchen maid with conspicuous courage. ‘And you are Miss Bingham?’ Bishop pulled her name from the depths of his rather good memory.

‘I was here too,’ Elsie said quickly, her voice gruff and challenging. ‘All afternoon.’

Hearing this blatant lie, Jenny paused in the act of filling the vast saucepans with water. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes colliding with that of the inspector. Jenny sighed. ‘That’s not quite true, Elsie,’ she pointed out, as casually as she could manage. ‘I did ask you to go down to the cellar for some flour and swedes. Remember?’

Elsie scowled, but nodded. ‘Oh. Ah, so you did,’ she owned. She didn’t look particularly put out or particularly defensive. She sounded as if she’d just forgotten the incident.

‘What time was this?’ Bishop asked quickly, and the two women exchanged a long, measured look.

‘About quarter past three, I think,’ Jenny admitted reluctantly.

‘How long did it take you, Elsie?’ Bishop asked, and saw the old girl’s head swing back sharply in his direction. Her eyes were as hard as a hawk’s.

‘A few minutes, I expect,’ Elsie said. ‘The cellars are right dark, and them steps are dead steep. I took me time. I’ll show you if you like.’

Bishop nodded to Myers. The instructions were unspoken, but plain to everyone in the room.
See where the cellar is in relation to the conservatory. Time your movements. See if the old girl could have done the killing, retrieved the foodstuffs and come back all within a few minutes.

Jenny watched them go, her eyes troubled. She glanced back to Bishop, and with the potatoes ready to go, returned to her seat. Things were moving too fast. She needed to slow them down and to start thinking.

‘Would it have taken long, do you think, Inspector?’ she asked the first of many questions that would need to be answered. ‘The actual killing, I mean?’

Bishop shook his head. ‘No. It was a single blow. She wasn’t expecting it. She didn’t struggle. It could have taken less than a minute.’ Now that he had accepted the
inevitability
of Miss Starling’s involvement, he was finding it surprisingly easy to talk to her. Like several police officers before him, he was beginning to suspect a sharp intelligence at work under that rather startling exterior. She might look like a surprisingly lovely, statuesque cook, Bishop thought, but she’d got a mind like a steel trap.

Jenny nodded. ‘I see,’ she said heavily. Poor Ava. She couldn’t have known much about it. There was at least that blessing.

Just then, the door was flung open and Roberta bounded
into the room. She looked like a wild thing, her hair flying and her eyes red from weeping. She headed straight for Jenny, homing in for comfort.

‘It isn’t true, is it?’ Roberta gasped, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffling loudly. All traces of the cocky teenager were gone, and she was, temporarily at least, still little more than a child, suddenly confronted with one of the harsher facts of life. Unfair, sudden, and ugly death.

‘I’m afraid it is, Lady Roberta,’ Jenny said gently.

‘I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. I
didn’t like her!
’ Roberta wailed, making perfect sense to the cook, but startling Bishop into sitting forward and taking a sudden, intense notice.

‘I know,’ Jenny said soothingly. ‘When someone dies that you don’t much like, it seems worse somehow. You feel guilty that you didn’t like them better. You wished you’d made friends.’