Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery (37 page)

Forty-five minutes later Florence was surprised when Grumidge returned from his summons to the study to say Inspector LeCrane wished to see Mrs McDonald next. She had expected to be the second member of the staff to be interrogated. Mrs McDonald also looked puzzled.

‘Well, that's out of order, Mrs Norris.' She attempted a chuckle. ‘Hope it's not because I'm a major suspect.'

Florence answered encouragingly. ‘I don't think you have the least cause for worry. It'll be routine questioning.'

Grumidge concurred. ‘I imagine it'll be much as it was for me, Mrs McDonald, nothing more alarming than inquiring whether I'd seen or heard anything yesterday, or before; and anything that might have suggested Lady Stodmarsh's life was in danger.'

When they left, Florence went into the housekeeper's room. A letter from her cousin Hattie Fly had been placed on her desk. She was tempted to open it to draw comfort from Hattie's voice on paper, but it was as much as she could do to sit down. She was gripped by intense fatigue, which numbed both body and mind. Up to this point she had been so fully occupied in calming down the staff, having the most difficulty with the hysterical Annie, and attending to her duties, that there hadn't been room for thought beyond absorbing the inevitability of Regina Stodmarsh's murder. Now, when she should have been endeavouring to sort through events, she was capable of nothing but staring blankly into space. The minutes ticked by until she heard Mrs McDonald return. There was no mistaking her weighty tread, and Florence rejoined her in the kitchen.

‘How did it go?'

‘Well, I'm not in handcuffs, am I?' came the breezy reply. ‘And I'll hand it to the inspector that he set me at ease right off. It was like Mr Grumidge said, Mrs Norris; he wanted to know if I had anything to tell him about yesterday. Of course what leaped to mind was Mr Ned being so upset when he came down in the morning and found his dog had disappeared, and then Jeanie's tumble on the stairs after going to fetch down Lady Stodmarsh's breakfast tray.'

Florence's thoughts quickened. ‘How did he respond?'

Mrs McDonald was putting the kettle on to boil. ‘He wanted to know if the dog had taken off before. I told him: Never! Then he got into what'd been the thinking on how it had happened and I said that somebody must have left the house during the night and accidentally let him out.'

‘Did you tell the inspector that Rouser had been shut in the study?'

‘I did when he asked me where he would've been, and it seemed that whoever it was who had gone outside must have opened that door for some reason or other. How about a cup of tea, Mrs Norris?'

‘That would be nice,' said Florence, though sure she wouldn't be able to take a swallow.

‘Do us both good.'

‘Was that the end of the inspector's questions?'

‘No.' Mrs McDonald reached for cups and saucers. ‘He went back to Jeanie's fall and how she said it happened. So I told how she said she was pushed, but that was as maybe seeing as she isn't always truthful. He then wanted to know if there were any repercussions besides her sprained ankle. And I said how it meant she couldn't take out the hermit's midday meal. He asked who did so and I explained how Annie got all worked up that it would have to be her and how nice Miss Jones was about going instead.'

‘I see. Was that all?'

‘It was, other than the inspector thanking me very nicely for being cooperative. As though I'd've dared be anything else. I have to say he struck me as a man that won't let the grass grow under his feet, like the London police seem to've done – the man that knifed that old lady still being at large.'

‘I don't know anything about that.'

Mrs McDonald placed a cup of tea on the table in front of Florence. ‘It's been in all the newspapers.'

‘I'm ashamed to say I rarely look at one.'

‘Worst of it is that it's different from Lady Stodmarsh; she seems to have been a kind old girl. She'd taken in this young artist fellow, given him a roof over his head while he was getting ready for a showing, or whatever it's called for his painting,' Mrs McDonald blew into her cup, ‘and that's how he rewarded her – knifing her to death in her sitting room.'

The kitchen tilted under Florence's feet. ‘Did the papers give his name?'

‘Well, let me think … I've got it – Arthur somebody.'

‘Did they give a middle name?'

Mrs McDonald considered before coming up with a reply. ‘James, if I remember right.'

Florence felt as though her insides were being hollowed out.

‘Why so interested, Mrs Norris? You don't think that it could be him that got in last night looking for something to steal to help in his getaway? The mistress's bedroom would be the place to look for something valuable and easy to carry. And if Lady Stodmarsh awoke … well, goes without saying. Maybe I'm giving way to wishful thinking; it would be such a relief to have everyone at Mullings cleared of suspicion.'

‘Yes. Very convenient.'

Grumidge came in to say Inspector LeCrane would see Mrs Norris now. Florence was never sure afterwards how she made it to the study. So much had slid devastatingly into place: George's collapse on the green, in all likelihood on opening the paper – she remembered that, unlike her, reading both morning and evening editions was part of his daily routine; his refusal to see her, seemingly so contrary to his generous nature; and Mrs McDonald saying yesterday that according to rumour a plain-clothed policeman, or someone resembling such, had shown up at the Dog and Whistle a couple of days earlier.

‘Good day, Mrs Norris. Please sit down,' said Inspector LeCrane.

She did so without thought or feeling, unable to respond verbally.

‘I need only keep you for a very short while. What questions I have mainly relate to this.' He pushed the handkerchief sachet forward on the desk. ‘I hope you do not object to it being removed from a drawer in your bedroom.'

Florence stared at him, some semblance of normal feeling returning.

‘You recall what it contains?'

‘Yes. Notations I made in the aftermath of the first Lady Stodmarsh's death, along with a letter I received from a friend.'

‘George Bird, publican of the Dog and Whistle?'

‘Yes.'

‘No handkerchiefs?'

‘I put those in a new sachet my sister sent me the following Christmas.'

‘Anything else in this one?'

‘An anonymous note.'

‘Saying?'

‘
Which one of them did it?
'

‘Just checking your recall, Mrs Norris. Did you show it to anyone?'

‘No,' said Florence quietly.

‘Not even your friend, George Bird?'

‘I didn't want to burden him with my suspicions. I feared having to keep them back from him would put constraints on our friendship and stopped seeing him.'

‘No contact of any sort with him since?

‘None.'

‘You didn't take the note to Constable Trump?'

‘If you've read what I wrote about that …'

‘I have.'

‘Then you'll see it was a difficult decision to make. In the end I decided it wouldn't be taken seriously – the implication was clear to me, but there was no reference to murder and no threat was made. As you'll have read, I felt sure it was written, not out of any knowledge, but from spite by a nanny who had been dismissed for drinking. Also, I had no concrete evidence to back up my suspicions.'

‘And you were loath to place innocent persons under suspicion?'

‘Yes.'

‘Your being devoted to the family, especially to young Ned Stodmarsh?'

‘I know him – have done so since he was a small boy.'

Inspector LeCrane leaned back in his chair. ‘How do you now regard your decision to remain silent?'

‘I've yet to delve into my feelings.'

‘Then let me offer you some reassurance, Mrs Norris. I think you were right in believing the murderer would decide it was too risky to strike again and would not have done so had a scapegoat not appeared at an opportune moment.' Inspector LeCrane nodded towards the door. ‘That will be all for now.'

‘Thank you.' Florence had just risen, her legs steadier than they had been when she'd sat down, when a constable entered, followed by Ned with Rouser at his heels.

‘Positive news to report, sir,' said the taller of the policemen. ‘We discovered the body of the so-called ornamental hermit in a ravine close to the woodland path. He'd been covered by dead leaves. It was the dog that alerted us to the spot. We also found these near the hut.' He held up a string of pearls. ‘Constable Phipps remains at the scene, awaiting further instructions.'

Inspector LeCrane looked to Ned, his expression as laconic as it had been during his questioning of Florence. ‘I thank you for your cooperation and suggest you conduct Mrs Norris to a place where she can recover from this further shock.'

Ned put an arm round her in the hall. ‘My God, Florie! This gets beastlier by the hour. Why the desire or need to kill that pathetic creature who may have done nothing to hurt anyone, beyond scaring them a little?'

‘That has to be thought through. I'm all right, Ned. I'd like to go and sit at my desk and hope answers work their way into place. How are you after so grim an experience?'

‘I was prepared. We'd been told what we were looking for. I'll come with you.'

‘No. You have to pass on this news.'

‘I refuse not to see you to your desk.'

When he left her, Florie closed her eyes and decided it might help to empty her mind of horror momentarily. She reached for Hattie's letter and read it through, picking up speed as she went along. She then refolded it, returned it to the envelope and drew in a deep breath. After doing so she sought out Grumidge and asked if he'd request Miss Jones to do her the kindness of coming to the housekeeper's room for a talk.

‘Certainly, Mrs Norris.'

Florence turned her chair to face the door, drew another chair forward and angled it towards hers, then picked up the envelope again. Several minutes later she rose as the white-faced girl entered. She must have guessed what was coming. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned back against it, eyes riveted on what Florence was holding.

‘From Miss Fly?'

‘Yes, my dear.' Florence guided her to the chair. ‘Don't look so frightened. Hattie writes very fondly of you and I value her opinion over most others. I think you and I should put our heads together.'

‘I don't see how that can help.'

‘I have faith it will. May I call you Toffee?'

‘If you like.' The girl sat utterly listless.

‘I'd like to begin at my end. A few years ago I was friendly with George Bird; that ended when … something happened that caused me to regretfully cut off contact with him. I'll tell you about that later. During our times together he spoke often and with deep affection of his godson Jim. At our last meeting he mentioned that Jim had a young lady, from the sound of her a lovely girl, but his parents didn't approve of her any more than they had of his attempting to earn a living as a painter. Their reasons for disliking the girl unseen included her having a name they thought silly and affected. George couldn't remember what it was, only that it was something such as “Fudge”. Hattie writes of her lodger, who went off unexpectedly with the possibility of not returning for an uncertain length of time, as “Toffee”. It seemed just too close to be a coincidence. And there's the surname being the same.'

‘I was sure she'd write – you're such an important part of her life, but I hoped I'd be gone before a letter came.' The response was bleak.

‘George also mentioned that Jim's young lady had a platinum streak in her brown hair.'

‘I had to bleach the rest, not because I thought you'd know about it, but because I was afraid the police had me under watch and might have me followed. It wasn't hard for them to find out about Jim and me. Even though things have been over between us for some time, as he said it was unfair to keep me waiting perhaps for years until we could afford to marry, it had to occur to them he might try to get in touch with me, to borrow money to help in his escape. I tried my very best to throw them off my trail in coming here.'

‘I didn't know about the murder of the old lady until half an hour ago when Mrs McDonald mentioned it. I don't read the papers,' Florence told her. ‘Did you come to this area principally to see George, to find out if he'd heard from Jim, or might even be hiding him?'

Toffee nodded. ‘Neither proved the case. That lovely man is distraught but fighting against giving the game away. There is also the fact that I really am – was – Regina Stodmarsh's granddaughter. And my first name is Sylvia. My father named me after my mother, but wished he hadn't. He found it too painful, so he called me Toffee for the colour of my eyes. I discovered Regina had remarried and what her new surname was from the pure chance of going to lodge with dear Miss Fly. She never told me anything revealing about life at Mullings, apart from a few bare facts, and that was one of them. As I told you, I wanted my mother's pearls – they belonged to me by right – so I could give them to Jim if I were blessed enough to find him. And yesterday … I did.'

Florence stared at her in amazement. ‘When … where?'

‘In the ornamental hermit's hut, when I took out the tray of food because that girl Annie was too afraid to do so. It took several good looks for me to realize it was Jim. He was disguised by a false beard and hair, both of them long and gray. But I'd know his eyes anywhere … I love him more than words can express and the only comfort left to me is that he told me he still felt the same about me. I hadn't argued when he broke things off between us, because I was afraid his explanation about our not being able to marry for ages was an excuse – that really he'd grown tired of me. I've never exactly bubbled over with confidence.'