Mrs. Malory and the Festival Murder Read online

  I looked at Eleanor, whose dress featured immense splashes of scarlet poppies on a black ground and made her look enormous, dashing about heartily shaking people’s hands and generally being a good hostess. She looked flushed and excited, anxious that everything should go well. She had Robin at her side. Typically, after the unpleasant interlude with Adrian, she had taken him under her wing and made him her Man Friday (lots of little jokes about this) and certainly he seemed to be looking much more cheerful and sure of himself, following her about as she greeted newcomers and chatted with old friends. Perhaps that was the solution for both of them, I thought – a mother figure for him and a child substitute for her. I looked around for Rosemary to tell her about my inspiration but she was at the other end of the row. Committee members sat in the front two rows, except for Adrian who always liked to sit at the back (‘So that I can get out quickly if I’m needed for anything’).

  I twisted round to look at the body of the Hall and spotted Jilly and Roger, who waved when they saw me, and Sally, sitting on her own. She was all done up very unsuitably in low-cut pale blue chiffon (I blessed Estelle’s good taste that had saved me from a similar lapse) and looked very sulky. As I watched, Oliver came in. He seemed rather agitated about something, perhaps Sally’s mood, since he was easy-going and hated any sort of unpleasantness and Sally was, as I knew from experience, perfectly capable of making a scene if she was in a bad mood, something that Oliver found deeply embarrassing.

  Enid, in fierce electric blue with a lot of pearls, came in and sat with Geraldine and Evelyn, and they were joined by Father Freddy, a magnificent cassocked figure, who nearly extinguished Geraldine as he flung off his long clerical cloak with a theatrical gesture.

  The main lights had been switched off, leaving only two great lamps for the performers at one end of the Hall, when Will slipped into the seat on the end of the row beside me.

  ‘Got stuck behind a horse box,’ he whispered as the players and singers came in. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  The murmurings died away as one of the musicians struck the first light, metallic notes of the lute and the clear voices filled the Hall.

  ‘Hold fast now in thy youth,

  Regard thy vowed Truth,

  Lest when thou waxeth old

  Friends fail and Love grows cold.’

  Each note seemed to fall separately on the air and I was caught up, as I always am, enchanted by that incomparable blending of words and music.

  ‘It is the face of death that smiles,

  Pleasing though it kills the whiles,

  Where death and love in pretty wiles

  Each other mutually beguiles.’

  Formal verse that hides deep feeling always moves me and I was aware that Will, sitting beside me was tense and strained.

  ‘My thoughts hold mortal strife.

  I do detest my life,

  And with lamenting cries

  Peace to my soul to bring

  Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize:

  –But he, grim grinning King,

  Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,

  Late having deck’d with beauty’s rose his tomb,

  Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.’

  I wondered if ever, alone in the middle of the night, in the weeks after Lucy’s death, Will had ever been tempted to follow her. She had been some years younger than him and in the natural course of events he might have expected to die before her. I glanced at his face, scarcely visible in the dim light and was astonished to see that he was silently weeping.

  ‘All our pride is but a jest;

  None are worst and none are best.

  Grief and joy and hope and fear

  Play their pageants everywhere;

  Vain opinion all doth sway,

  And the world is but a play.’

  The lights were switched on and I came back reluctantly into the world again. Will muttered something about having a word with Eleanor and hurried away and I slowly rose to my feet and moved towards the far door, easing my way through the crowds of people all making for the refreshments. A great feature of the Festival opening concert was the elaborate cold buffet, subsidized by Eleanor and mostly cooked by Jessie, though other excellent women did contribute flans and gateaux, quiches and the inevitable Coronation Chicken. The money raised went to swell the Festival funds and was one of its main sources of income. The food was laid out in the old kitchen, an immense, high-ceilinged room with an antique range at one end and a stone-flagged floor. Sir Ernest, who cared greatly for his creature comforts, had, however, caused a kitchen, handsomely fitted with every modern device, to be built in the small morning room next to the dining room, thereby ensuring a contented cook and warm food.

  Although it was a lovely summer evening, the passage leading to the kitchen was cold and I shivered slightly in my blouse, glad of the long sleeves. In recognition of the importance of the food, the interval was an hour in length so I thought I’d wait a little until the crowd had subsided and walked back into the main body of the house and thence into the garden. It was delightful to be out in the evening air. The scent from the masses of pinks which filled the beds at the side of the house was warm and spicy. Other people were strolling along the paths of the formal garden which led down to the lake, but I didn’t follow them. I knew from bitter experience that the mosquitoes were especially active down by the water. Instead I thought I would go and look at the new herb garden that Eleanor had told me she was making in the kitchen courtyard. This was a charming brick-paved area leading out from the kitchen passage and surrounded by old stone outbuildings. Eleanor had created a splendid effect with two seventeenth-century decorated lead cistern filled with flowers and beautifully laid out beds of herbs. I was just bending down to smell a particularly handsome rosemary when Jessie suddenly appeared from one of the buildings. There was obviously something very wrong because she was so agitated that for a moment she didn’t see me at all. She had pulled the door behind her and stood leaning back against it; she seemed to be trembling. As I went towards her and she became aware that she wasn’t alone, she gave a startled cry. ‘Jessie – what on earth is the matter?’ I asked. ‘You look dreadful. What’s happened?’

  She gave a little shuddering sigh, as if of relief, when she recognized me, and straightening up said, almost in her normal voice, ‘Oh, Mrs Malory, thank goodness it is you. I was afraid it might be Miss Eleanor and she mustn’t go in there and see – it would upset her so.’ Her voice trembled and she broke off, looking at me as if waiting to be told what to do next.

  ‘Jessie, please, what has happened? Is it an accident? Is someone hurt?’

  ‘It’s Mr Adrian,’ she said, ‘in there, in the old dairy.’

  She stood aside and I opened the door. Although it was still light outside it was dark in the old dairy, and I groped for the switch. The room was flooded with a cold harsh light from the single bulb with its white china shade hanging from the ceiling. The air struck cold since the window was small and let in very little sun, the floor was of stone and the great marble slabs that had once held the bowls of milk and cream seemed to intensify the chill. The place was now used as a store and the shelves, which went all round the room, were piled with plates and great vegetable dishes and tureens, relics of grand dinner parties of the past. I moved a few steps forward and then I saw, beyond some furniture under dust sheets, someone sitting on a chair at the far end of the room. Jessie was still standing in the doorway so I called out, ‘Adrian? Is that you? Are you all right?’

  I went towards the seated figure and then stopped in horror. It was Adrian, but he was dead: someone had hit him repeatedly on the back of the head, there were terrible gashes, and blood – such a lot of blood.

  Chapter Four

  I had instinctively closed my eyes, to blot out, I suppose, what I could not bear to look at. The smell of blood has always made me feel sick and as I stood behind the chair where Adrian’s body lay slumped I could
smell the blood, oozing from those dreadful wounds, matting and darkening the light brown hair, I felt a rising wave of nausea. I turned abruptly away and faced Jessie, saying in a voice I tried to make steady, ‘He’s obviously dead – there’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘Miss Eleanor,’ she said urgently. ‘She mustn’t see this...’

  ‘No,’ I replied soothingly, ‘there’s no need. I’ll find Roger – Inspector Eliot – he is a policeman and a friend of mine. He’ll know what needs to be done.’

  Jessie glanced once more at the dead man, an almost casual glance, one more of curiosity than of horror. I wished I had her stoicism. As I closed the door behind us, a thought struck me.

  ‘We ought not to leave it like this. Can we lock it? Is there a key?’

  Jessie opened the door again and took a heavy iron key that was on the inside of the door and turned it in the lock. Then she put the key in my hand, as if with it she was also giving me the responsibility for doing whatever had to be done.

  As we went towards the house she suddenly said, ‘I never got those plates.’

  ‘What plates?’ I asked stupidly.

  ‘When we were dishing out the food, it was. Miss Eleanor said, “Jessie, we’re running out of plates.” So I said I’d go and get some from the old dairy. That’s what I came out for. They’ll be needing them by now – people won’t be able to have their supper and Miss Eleanor will be wondering where on earth I’ve got to.’

  She made as if to go towards the kitchen but I caught hold of her arm.

  ‘No, Jessie, you must come with me. You found the – you found Mr Palgrave and Inspector Eliot will want you to go back with him to the dairy. He’ll want to talk to you.’

  She seemed reluctant but I pushed her before me into the house and fortunately came across Roger almost at once. He was talking to Rosemary and Jilly as they queued for their refreshments. I found that I was clutching at his arm.

  ‘Roger, I’ve got to speak to you!’

  He turned and saw my face. ‘What is It, Sheila? Is something the matter? Have you had a message from Jack? Is it Delia?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that. But something terrible has happened and you must come at once.’

  I almost dragged him away and led him out towards the kitchen courtyard, explaining in disjointed phrases what had happened, Jessie reluctantly following on behind.

  When we got to the old dairy I gave him the key.

  ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘That was sensible.’

  The words of praise somehow made me feel better and I was able to ask, ‘Do you need us to come in?’

  He looked at me and said sympathetically, ‘No, that won’t be necessary. You stay here, out in the air. You look as if you’re going to pass out.’

  Jessie made as if to go in with him, saying, ‘While I’m here, then, I might as well get those plates Miss Eleanor wanted.’

  Roger gently barred the way.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, we mustn’t touch anything for the moment, and I’d be grateful, Jessie – it is Jessie? – if you would very kindly stay with Mrs Malory. I don’t think she feels very well.’

  Jessie looked at me as if for the first time since our horrible discovery.

  ‘You poor soul,’ she said compassionately. ‘You’ve taken it really bad. Here, sit down for a bit.’

  She led me over to an old stone mounting-block that stood in the corner of the yard and I sat down gratefully. My knees seemed to give way under me. I wondered in a detached sort of way how I would ever get up again. The lead cisterns in the courtyard were planted with stocks and their rich scent hung on the evening air, and I knew that I would never be able to enjoy that scent again because of this moment. After a while Roger came out again, locked the door behind him and said to Jessie, ‘I need a telephone. I must get on to the station at Taunton. Will you show me where it is? And we must stop anyone leaving.’

  ‘What about the rest of the concert?’ I asked helplessly. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘I’d better speak to your friend Eleanor, I suppose. I don’t imagine anyone will feel much like going on in the circumstances.’

  ‘I must tell Miss Eleanor about the plates,’ Jessie seemed oblivious of anything but those wretched plates, I thought, but perhaps that was her way of pushing the real horror out of her mind.

  Roger helped me to my feet and we went back into the house.

  We found Eleanor still supervising the buffet and Roger drew her to one side.

  ‘Something terrible has happened,’ he said quietly. I noticed almost academically that he used the same words I had, but I suppose there are not many phrases for breaking that sort of news.

  ‘Adrian Palgrave has been murdered, in the old dairy. Jessie, here, found him and told Mrs Malory...

  I was staring at the poppies on Eleanor’s skirt; they seemed to hypnotize me. Blood-red on black, like the red blood running down on to Adrian’s black dinner jacket, red and black, they swam in front of my eyes. As if from a distance I heard Eleanor’s voice say, ‘Sheila, are you all right!’

  The room seemed unbearably hot and I tried to pull at the high neck of my blouse to loosen it. Someone took my arm and half-led, half-carried me into another room and laid me on a sofa. I lay still for a while, trying to breathe deeply and slowly, and gradually I recovered myself and saw that Eleanor was kneeling beside me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Being such a nuisance. I’m so sorry.’

  She was rubbing my hand between hers.

  ‘You’re cold as ice,’ she said. And it was true, I found I was shivering.

  ‘Just a sec’ She went away and returned with a travelling rug that she put over me.

  ‘You poor old thing,’ she said, ‘it’s shock. You’ve had a rotten time. I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world.’

  I was grateful for her concern and compassion. Eleanor was a good person to be with at such a time, she was an old friend and I felt comfortable with her.

  ‘You really ought to have some hot, sweet tea. Shall I get Jessie to make some?’ Her large, round face was tense with anxiety.

  ‘No, I don’t think I could manage that–’

  ‘Well, brandy then.’

  She went over to a sideboard and poured some into a glass.

  ‘This should buck you up. Drink it slowly.’

  I sat up cautiously and sipped the brandy.

  ‘What about Jessie?’ I asked. ‘It must have been an even greater shock for her. She found poor Adrian.’

  ‘She’s better being busy, I think,’ Eleanor said. ‘I tried to make her go and lie down but she said she’d rather see to the coffee for everyone. We thought that was the best thing to keep them all quiet for a bit.’

  I made as if to get up.

  ‘What’s happening? Have the police arrived? Has everyone got to stay?’

  Eleanor pushed me gently back on to the sofa.

  ‘You stay where you are. Everything’s under control. I must say your Roger’s jolly efficient, he had things organized in two ticks.’

  I had been obsessed with my own feelings and malaise but now I finished the brandy and felt more stable the full realization of what had happened suddenly swept over me.

  ‘Oh, Eleanor! Adrian! He’s dead. Murdered!’

  The word hung in the air for a moment while we looked at each other.

  ‘I know,’ Eleanor said, ‘it’s terrible.’

  That word again. But what I felt as I looked at Adrian’s body had not been terror, more like revulsion and a kind of pity, a more intense version of the feeling I have for the poor mangled corpse of rabbit, fox, or badger at the side of the road.

  ‘Will you have some more brandy?’ Eleanor took the glass from my hand.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m all right now.’

  ‘No, look, you stay here for a bit. I must go and see to things – the musicians – I must get a car to take them to their hotel. But you’re not to move. Stay quietly. I won’t let anyone come in and bother yo
u and I’ll send Rosemary to sit with you.’

  I protested that I didn’t need anyone, but she was gone.

  I could hear people milling about and voices outside the room and then I saw blue flashing lights outside the window and the sound of several cars on the gravel, so I knew that the police had arrived.

  After a while Rosemary came in. ‘How are you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Roger said you’d passed out. Not surprising after what happened.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assured her. ‘But Eleanor made me promise to sit quietly for a bit. What’s happening?’

  ‘Roger’s been marvellous,’ Rosemary said with pride, ‘I’ve never seen him in action before. Very polite but very firm. Sally Stevens thought she might draw attention to herself by having hysterics and he quelled her with a look!’