Mrs. Malory and the Festival Murder Read online

  I giggled faintly.

  ‘What a missed opportunity for Oliver. From his expression this evening I’m sure he’d have really enjoyed slapping her face!’

  ‘You’re feeling better,’ Rosemary said, smiling. ‘Back to your old bitchy self.’

  I got up slightly unsteadily from the sofa and said, ‘What’s going on? Are the police keeping everyone here? Are they questioning them?’

  ‘They’ve taken everyone’s name and address, but most of the audience can go home. Roger says he wants to talk to the members of the committee before they leave, though.’

  ‘Enid,’ I said suddenly. ‘Poor soul. How is she?’

  ‘Still pretty stunned, I think. I don’t think she’s really taken it in yet. Will’s looking after her.’

  Will always gravitated to the weak, the helpless and those in trouble. I moved towards the door.

  ‘I must go and see if there’s anything I can do to help. Poor Eleanor – such a lot to see to. She really has turned up trumps, as she would say, this evening!’

  ‘Yes, she’s very practical, a sort of Girl-Guide efficiency,’ Rosemary said. ‘And she’s got a kind heart.’

  ‘Well, thank God for it tonight,’ I replied.

  ‘Don’t you think you ought to rest for a bit longer?’ Rosemary said doubtfully. ‘You still look rather pale.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I’d rather be doing something, like Jessie.’

  I explained about Jessie’s obsession with the plates.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Rosemary said. ‘It must have been really horrific, switching on the light and finding him there like that!’

  ‘I know. At least I knew there was something wrong before I went in there. And yet, you know, it’s odd; she didn’t seem upset. I mean, really upset.’

  ‘Perhaps it hasn’t really sunk in. There’s such a thing as delayed shock.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Her first reaction seemed to be that Eleanor shouldn’t see – it...’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s devoted to Eleanor, more like a nanny, although she’s so much younger.’

  We went back into the Great Hall, where a couple of policemen were taking the names and addresses of the few remaining people who were leaving. Presently only the members of the committee were left, huddled together in a small group as if for mutual protection.

  I looked at them one by one, curious to see how each had reacted to this dreadful happening.

  Enid was at the centre of the group, with Geraldine and Evelyn on either side of her, each of them just a little excited to be even obliquely of importance. Will was leaning over Enid’s chair talking earnestly to her and she, who had never really cared for Will, was looking up at him with a strange mixture of disapprobation and gratitude.

  A little apart from the group, Father Freddy was standing apparently lost in thought, his long cloak wrapped around him as if for comfort, though it was quite warm in the Hall. Just for once he looked his age, an old man distressed and somehow helpless. I didn’t imagine that Enid, like Adrian a positively affirmed atheist, would have accepted any comfort that he might have been able to offer.

  The Stevens were sitting together at the end of a row of chairs, where I had been sitting by Sir Ernest’s portrait, not speaking to each other but staring stonily ahead. They had the appearance of two people who were still in the middle of a quarrel and frustrated that they couldn’t pursue it in public. She had a short fur jacket over her chiffon dress; every so often she pulled it together and gave a theatrical shudder which left Oliver unmoved. I wondered why they were still there, since neither of them was a committee member. They didn’t look as if they had remained behind by choice.

  I was glad to see that Eleanor was sitting down at last. Robin had just brought her a cup of coffee and she looked up at him gratefully, laying her hand lightly on his arm, and he smiled briefly. He was looking very white and strained and was obviously under some sort of pressure. I wondered what it might be – I couldn’t believe that it was grief for Adrian.

  Jessie came into the hall with a tray of coffee and biscuits, both of which I accepted gratefully. To my surprise I now found that I was very hungry.

  ‘How are you, Jessie?’ I asked.

  ‘Quite all right, thank you, Mrs Malory. What about yourself? Shouldn’t you still be resting? I’m sure Miss Eleanor thinks you should be.’

  ‘No, honestly, Jessie. I’m fine. Rather ashamed of making such a fuss when you, who had the much greater shock, are so composed,’ She smiled her warm Welsh smile.

  ‘Oh, well, Mrs Malory, like Sir Ernest used to say, the Lord gives us strength to cope with the trials he sends us!’

  I was amused to find that Jessie, too, had taken to quoting Sir Ernest’s trite remarks. Still, if it gave her comfort at a time like this...

  ‘Well,’ I said, taking another biscuit, ‘I think you’ve been marvellous,’ She smiled and moved on with her tray and I nerved myself to go over to speak to Enid.

  Will glanced up as I approached and looked at me critically but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Enid, my dear,’ I said, ‘I’m so very sorry. I simply don’t know what to say...’

  ‘It’s been the most terrible shock to me,’ she began in her high, affected voice. ‘I have always been particularly sensitive to violence in any shape or form and so has Adrian.’

  Speaking his name made her suddenly break down and she started to cry, with great gasping sobs. Will knelt and cradled her in his arms, rocking her to and fro like a child.

  I stood feeling inadequate and useless. Geraldine took me to one side and said confidentially, ‘Enid’s coming back to stay with me for a few days. Evelyn can’t have her because of her old father, but we didn’t think she should be on her own.’

  ‘That’s marvellous of you,’ I said. ‘She really will need her friends just now.’

  ‘That’s what we thought,’ Geraldine said, and there was a smugness in her voice that made me want to shake her even while I admired her kindness and generosity. Enid would not be a particularly easy guest. Rosemary and Jilly came back into the room and crossed towards me.

  ‘They’ve taken our statements,’ Rosemary said.

  ‘Did Roger take them himself?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘Oh! no.’ Jilly smiled at me. ‘That wouldn’t have been proper! It was Sergeant Collins, such a nice man. Anyway, Roger says he’ll come and see you tomorrow and talk about the details of what you saw and so on...’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘It’s all so unreal, somehow,’ Rosemary burst out, ‘someone we’ve known for ages getting murdered and Roger investigating and asking the questions, like a telly play!’

  Just for a moment she looked really upset. To distract her I asked, ‘What are Oliver and Sally doing here?’

  She glanced over to where they were still morosely sitting. ‘Goodness, doesn’t Sally look sour!’ She turned back and continued, ‘Oh, Adrian and Oliver had done a programme together and Roger wants Oliver to let him have the names and addresses of some of the other people Adrian was working with.’

  ‘I see.’

  I was conscious of a great weariness and said, ‘If it’s all right, then, I think I’ll go. I feel a bit done in.’

  Jilly took my arm.

  ‘We’re going to drive you back. Michael can bring you out tomorrow to collect your car. We’ll go now. Roger will probably be here all night.’ She glanced resignedly at where he was in earnest conversation with Sergeant Collins. ‘He’ll get a lift back in one of the police cars.’

  ‘Bless you,’ I replied, ‘I shall be glad of a lift. And you’ll want to get back to Delia.’

  I listened gratefully to Jilly’s chat about the baby as we drove back towards Taviscombe in the deepening dusk, the headlights of oncoming cars flashing painfully into my aching eyes.

  Chapter Five

  I’d finished my breakfast the next morning and was just doing the washing up when the telephone rang. It was Roger, to say that he would be calling
to see me at about ten o’clock. I’d managed to put the events of the previous evening more or less out of my mind and suddenly the horribleness of the whole thing swept over me again. Sensing my mood, Foss began to weave around my legs wailing loudly. I picked him up and held him close, comforted by the warm, furry body. He purred for a while and then impatiently wriggled free and headed for the kitchen, where he sat expectantly gazing at the fridge door. I scooped some cat food out of an opened tin (I didn’t feel I could bear to cut up his usual raw liver) and put the dish down in front of him. He sniffed at it briefly, looked at me with scorn and incredulity and began, deliberately, to make scraping motions with his paw, before turning and walking indignantly away.

  I put the coffee on and laid out the crockery on a tray. I found some chocolate digestive biscuits, which I knew Roger liked, and put them on a plate, laying each one carefully in a pattern round the edge, meticulously moving them into place with the tip of my finger. Time enough to think when Roger came.

  When he did come he was brisk and matter of fact, doing his job, all in the day’s work. Which it was, of course.

  ‘How are you? You look a bit better this morning!’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. Rather ashamed of having made such a fuss.’

  ‘Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a ghastly thing – most people react as you did. I must say, it’s something I find very difficult to cope with myself. However often it happens, it always gets to you.’

  ‘Poor Roger. You look dreadfully tired. I don’t suppose you got much sleep?’

  ‘Not much. A policeman’s lot, as we know, is not an ’appy one.’

  He finished his second biscuit and said, ‘Now then. Let’s get something down on paper.’

  Quietly he took me through what had happened, so that I found myself able to look at the events objectively and clearly, unclouded by emotion, even finding Adrian’s body.

  ‘Yes, well, that seems quite straightforward. Thanks, Sheila. Now you’re quite sure you didn’t see him in the Hall before the concert began?’

  ‘As I told you, he always sat at the back of the Hall, not with the rest of the committee members, and although I did turn round a couple of times to see who’d arrived, I didn’t see Adrian.’

  ‘Certainly no one remembers seeing him there. I haven’t had the pathologist’s report yet, but it looks as if he hadn’t been dead all that long when you found him – though, of course, that dairy place was very cold. It was practically like having the body refrigerated! The last people who seem to have seen him were your friend Eleanor and that rather nervy young man’ – he consulted his notes – ‘Robin Turner. I gather that Adrian Palgrave arrived about four o’clock and he and Eleanor had to sort out the seating arrangements. Apparently there was a problem, not enough chairs or not the right sort, or something. Then he said he was going to check the car park and went out into the grounds, and that was the last they saw of him. Does that sound right to you? I would have thought he would have delegated that sort of minor task.’

  ‘No, that was Adrian. Even if someone else had done something perfectly well, he would always go and check it in a particularly officious way.’

  ‘Sounds a tiresome man. Did he have many enemies?’

  ‘I never know what you mean by enemies. Most people disliked him, some quite vehemently, but I can’t see anyone feeling strongly enough to murder him.’

  ‘Feelings are funny things. It can sometimes take quite a little thing to send a moderate feeling of dislike right over the top. Alternatively, it may be that Adrian Palgrave knew something really discreditable about someone, or had some piece of information that placed someone else in danger. That would be a motive. Otherwise we come down to the really basic ones, love or money. Tell me, were he and Enid a happily married couple?’

  ‘Well, I can’t say that that’s the first description that would come to mind. It was more complex than that. She adored him and was immensely proud of being his wife. She loved being Mrs Palgrave, especially when he became quite famous.’

  ‘And what about him?’

  ‘Well, you’ve seen her; Rosemary and I rather meanly call her the Hobbit. He certainly didn’t marry her for her looks, and she’s quite a bit older than he is. But she’s a basically tiresome woman, very full of herself and rather ponderous. The sort of person who finishes every single sentence, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I know just what you mean.’

  ‘But she does have a lot of money – her father left her quite a bit of property in Manchester, I think it was – and we all assumed that was what he saw in her.’

  ‘Do you think he had other female interests?’

  ‘Rumour says so, though there have been no positive sightings, as it were. Everyone in Taviscombe being so beady-eyed, we imagine it must all go on in London.’

  ‘Do you think she knew?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m pretty sure she must. You can see her, sometimes, looking at him when he’s talking to another woman on the far side of the room, watchful, I think you might say, and aware. But I think she accepts it as the price she has to pay to go on being Mrs Palgrave.’

  ‘But,’ Roger persisted, ‘would she go on accepting it? I mean, would there be something that even she couldn’t bear?’

  I tried to think.

  ‘If he was actually going to leave her, I suppose, or humiliate her in some really public way. She’s got a terrific ego. If her pride were really hurt, she might-’ I broke off and regarded Roger sternly. ‘You’re not going to say that you think Enid might have killed Adrian! That’s ridiculous.’

  He smiled at my vehemence.

  ‘Murder very often is a domestic matter, you know. We have to look at the obvious first.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully, ‘I suppose so. But I can’t really see it being a possibility. Incidentally, if Adrian came early, what about Enid?’

  ‘She came with those friends of hers,’ he replied, ‘Geraldine and Evelyn, in Evelyn’s car. But then she went off to look for Adrian. She says she couldn’t find him. But, you see, there were all these people milling about before the concert. They started arriving at least an hour before the thing was due to start.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, ‘part of the enjoyment is wandering round the grounds before the concert. It’s really more of a social event than a musical one. And it was a glorious evening. The concert started at seven o’clock’ rather early, but we always like to allow at least an hour’s interval for the food. The first half of the concert lasted half an hour, so I suppose Jessie and I found him about seven thirty-fiveish. If no one saw him in the Hall, where on earth was he between, say, four thirty and then?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to question everyone yet, of course, so I suppose something may turn up. A member of the audience may remember something.’

  ‘Yes, of course. He was quite a well-known figure, after all. People would have noticed him if he’d been around the house or garden. Would you like another cup of coffee?’

  ‘Thank you. I think I’ll have it black this time, it might help me to concentrate!’

  I poured the coffee and he accepted the cup gratefully and took another biscuit.

  ‘Haven’t had time for any breakfast,’ he explained.

  ‘Oh Roger, that’s so bad for you, you’ll get an ulcer! Let me get you a sandwich or something.’

  ‘No, honestly, the biscuits are fine. Now then. Back to our basic motives. We’ve considered love, what about money?’

  ‘Well, as I said, most of the money there was Enid’s. Adrian didn’t have a staff job at the BBC, he was a freelance.’

  ‘I see. And being a poet, even a well-known one, isn’t exactly lucrative.’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘but being a biographer can be. Did you know that he’s been appointed Laurence Meredith’s literary executor? He’s writing the official biography and editing the letters. I should think he’s got a pretty substantial publisher’s advance. They’re bound to be bestsellers. Meredith
was a tremendous gossip and knew practically everyone on the pre-war literary scene – really rich material there.’

  ‘I wonder who will do it now?’ Roger said meditatively. ‘Goodness, how stupid of me, I’m still talking in the present tense! I just can’t take in the fact that Adrian’s dead, even though–’

  I broke off and Roger said hastily, ‘Who do you think his publishers will appoint to do them now?’

  ‘I don’t really know. There’s Pritchard, of course ... Roger, did you find a weapon?’

  He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘No. Well, I’m still not sure. There were several objects in the dairy that could have been used to kill him, of course – an old fiat-iron, a heavy metal doorstop, a copper skillet. Several things, as I say. They’re all being tested for bloodstains and ... and so forth.’

  I shuddered.

  ‘Do you think he was actually killed sitting in that chair?’

  ‘Again, I need forensic evidence to be sure, but it looks like it.’

  ‘So he must have known his killer. Well, if you think about it, Adrian must have felt very much at ease with whoever it was to let him stand behind his chair like that.’

  ‘Or her.’

  ‘You think it could have been a woman?’

  ‘It didn’t need all that amount of strength to crack him over the head with a fairly heavy object.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Well. Thanks for the coffee and all your help. If I may I’d like to have another word when I’ve interviewed everyone. You know all these people – you know the undercurrents and are aware of the things they don’t say! And, most important, you have a writer’s curiosity and observation.’

  ‘What you mean to say is that I’m dreadfully inquisitive,’ I laughed. ‘You’re perfectly right about that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing, but it would certainly make my job easier if you were to keep your eye on people, see if they react in character. That sort of evaluation is something you’re very good at; I’ve always liked that in your books of criticism. I’ve often thought you ought to write a novel.’