Death at Dovecote Hatch, page 23
‘’Course I will.’ Elsie eyed the house. ‘Looks kind of wicked, doesn’t it? I’ve always thought so.’
‘This is the first time I’ve seen it. I suppose if Doris and Alf Thatcher can bear it we should do our level best,’ Florence leavened this with a smile, ‘even if we do catch a glimpse of a headless specter headed our way.’
Elsie wasn’t sure what this was, only that it would be something, with or without its head, you wouldn’t want to chat with over the fence while hanging out the washing. ‘Least we’re going in together.’ This could have been voiced by a participant in the Charge of the Light Brigade holding aloft the Union Jack. Florence’s heart warmed; it was good to feel that Elsie Trout had put past resentment of her aside.
Alf must have been on the watch. He had the hideously carved door open before they reached it and, still hollow-eyed, stood aside for them to enter. ‘Oh, good!’ he said, closing it behind them. ‘I knew you’d come through with the right person, Florence, and you couldn’t have done better. Thanks, Mrs Trout. Doris will be relieved to have your support.’
‘A pleasure, I’m sure, Mr Thatcher.’
‘I wish you’d call me Alf, and the same with Doris – it’s so much friendlier sounding. And that’s what we need – the feeling of some goodwill coming our way.’ The little dog had crept out of the shadows to crouch at his heels. ‘Besides, we’ve grown so fond of your Rupert. We asked him yesterday if he’d like to call us Auntie Doris and Uncle Alf and he said he would; hope you and your husband don’t mind.’
‘Not a bit, I think it’s nice. And you call me Elsie … Alf.’
‘Did he say anything about the two Tenneson sisters,’ he couldn’t prevent the grimace, ‘coming round our house yesterday when he was looking after Rex here?’ He looked down at the dog cleaved to his leg.
‘Not a dickybird. Whatever his failings – and I’m not saying they’re worse than any normal boy his age – he’s fiercely loyal to them he’s fond of. But Mrs Norris here put me in the picture some about that. How’ve they’ve been treating you this morning?’
‘Matilda, miserable toad, hasn’t come down from her room. Told her sister to inform us she’d remain there till we leave, even if it means the death of her. And in that case she’ll haunt us forever if we dare attend her funeral. Well, that didn’t work out for her.’
‘She has to be barmy to think it would,’ scoffed Mrs Trout.
Alf managed a grin. ‘’Stead of bringing us to tears of remorse and out the door with our tails between our legs, it gave me and Doris our first reason to smile since getting here. The other one, Lettice, is a completely different kettle of fish, falling all over herself trying to seem friendly. If she’d only shut her gob for two minutes she’d be bearable. She’s still at it in there.’ He nodded towards the closed drawing-room door. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to go back in and find Doris and Birdie plugging their ears.’
‘I’m so glad he’s here,’ said Florence.
‘It gave Doris her second smile of the day seeing him come in with me, it did. When we met up outside the Dog he said he’d had a think about Major Wainwright, and that we should go and see what had brought him round yesterday wanting to talk to Doris and me, only Rupert had to tell him we was out.’
‘Yes, Alf,’ agreed Florence, ‘there mustn’t be a delay waiting for the major to stop by the pub for a drink to have a word with him. Will Doris go with you?’
‘No, just him and me. She said she’d rather stay behind, perhaps go for a little walk with you and catch her wind.’
‘Good idea. Would you mind if Mrs Trout and I don’t go at once with you into the drawing room? We’d like to take a little time seeing what information we can get out of the housekeeper.’
‘’Course. Pathetic-looking woman. I’ll bet Matilda has laid into her something terrible for letting us into the house.’
Left to themselves in the hall, Florence and Elsie Trout were exchanging glances when they heard footsteps scurrying down the staircase and a moment later beheld a gray-haired figure emerge from its shadows. If this was Miss Bone the housekeeper, she was not about to greet them as would routinely suit her position in the household.
‘Oh, the poor dear,’ Elsie exclaimed as agitated cries reached them. ‘It sounds like what Alf just said about her having to take a bibful from Matilda Tenneson could’ve hit the nail on the head.’
Her identity seemed confirmed by the words scattered their way. ‘I can’t take it a moment longer – I won’t. I’ve always known she was capable of the worst wickedness, but now …’ Whether she was talking to herself or to the two people standing near the foot of the stairs was unclear. Her eyes were unfocused; the rest of her trembling like a sapling about to be uprooted.
Florence reached out a hand to steady her, before introducing herself and Mrs Trout. ‘We’re friends of Doris and Alf Thatcher. Is there anything we can do to help you, Miss Bone? It is Miss Bone, isn’t it?’ She might as well have said they were the March Hare and the Mad Hatter. Nothing was going to penetrate the blank stare of the poor dear, as Elsie had rightly referred to her. She was still rambling on.
‘Miss Lettice can say all she wants, it was that solicitor bringing the news of that new will that’s put Miss Matilda in this mood. She’s never been right in the head either, only not lunatic violent with it, just stupid and wouldn’t know the truth if she met it. Because she’s all about making life up as she goes, never stopping to hear a word anyone else says.’
‘It must have been hard on you, dear, all these years,’ soothed Elsie.
This brought a flicker of life behind the eyes. ‘It wasn’t the solicitor that started this; it was that woman showing up at the door quite early last Monday morning. Looked at me, she did, and said, “You don’t remember me, do you, Miss Bone?” And then she gave a sad sort of laugh and said she wasn’t surprised. She was wearing a headscarf and there was this great bruise down one side of her face and other changes, but it came to me who she was – Elizabetta. Can’t forget a name like that. I was about to tell her not to be a fool, that Mr Kenneth Tenneson was dead so couldn’t protect her this time if things turned nasty, but it was too late. Miss Lettice had come out of the drawing room and heard. She took Elizabetta right into the lion’s den, and even with the door shut I could hear Miss Matilda raging, and later, after Elizabetta had gone, I went into the room and found a ripped-up photo on the hearth.’ Florence was eagerly waiting for more when Miss Bone stopped her monotone flow. ‘Who did you two ladies say you are?’
Before Florence or Elsie could reply, she broke into racking sobs and a voice spoke from the staircase. ‘I’m here, Miss Bone. I’ll take you to your room and help you pack. You won’t spend a moment longer than necessary in this house.’ A dark-haired young woman descended and put an arm round the shaking shoulders. ‘You’ll feel better after you’ve cried it out. I’ve no idea how you’ve stuck it out this long, and with Uncle Kenneth gone there’s no reason for you to stay.’
‘There’s you, Miss Mercy. I haven’t been able to bear the thought of leaving you having to deal with her – both of them, on your own.’
‘Now you must. You’ll go to your sister in Devon, just as we’ve talked about. And one day I’ll find a way for us to be together again, if that’s what you’d like.’
‘You know I would.’
Mercy Tenneson looked over the bent gray head. ‘Hello, Mrs Trout, and you,’ meeting Florence’s eyes, ‘must be Mrs Norris. Mr Thatcher said when he returned from his delivery round with Mr Bird that you would be here soon, bringing someone with you as a companion for his wife. I’ll see you and Mrs Trout later, I’m sure.’ She turned away with Miss Bone and they went down the hall to turn left at its far end, presumably making for the back stairs which would take them up to the housekeeper’s bedroom. Or perhaps the layout of this house was different from Mullings – her sleeping quarters might be off the kitchen. Florence reminded herself it didn’t do to make more assumptions than necessary. She still thought the likeliest place for Kenneth Tenneson to have kept his overcoat was on the floor above.
‘What now, Mrs Norris?’ asked Elsie, clearly ready for action.
Florence smiled at her. ‘We got useful information on the situation here from Miss Bone, which we might not have done had she not been terribly upset, and I’m glad for her sake that Mercy Tenneson came down when she did. But it means we’ll have to hunt for that coat on our own, hampered by not knowing which room is occupied by Matilda, making it risky to look for the one where Kenneth Tenneson slept. I’m hoping we’ll be lucky with a hallway cupboard; but if not we’ll have to risk bearding the lioness. Are you up for that, Mrs Trout?’
‘What can she do worse than throw something at us?’
‘Come after us with her stick, although I can’t see her doing that when she has vowed to stay holed up until the siege is over.’
‘That sounds right.’
The stairs creaked even though the two women crept up them as cautiously as possible. The first thing they noticed upon reaching the top was an open door facing them just a short way down to their right. On tiptoeing closer they saw that the interior was furnished as a music room with a piano and sheet music stands occupying much of the space, leaving only enough over for two small armchairs. On hearing from Inspector LeCrane that Lettice had spent part of the afternoon on the day Kenneth died with Mr Sprague, preparing for her solo in church on the coming Sunday, Florence had pictured the room where they had done so as being on the ground floor. And, of course, there might be another suited to the purpose there. It was, however, another reminder that it was easy to make unwarranted assumptions, some of which might not be insignificant.
Elsie pointed out the door in the side wall to their left. ‘Shall we inch it open and take a peek, Mrs Norris? I can’t think it leads to Matilda Tenneson’s room, or this one’s hall door wouldn’t have been left open.’
‘That’s a point.’
Elsie went to it and at a nod from Florence turned the handle. They stood together looking through the gap into a fussily furnished bedroom, with a number of wraps and hats scattered around it. ‘I’d think it’s Miss Lettice’s, wouldn’t you?’ Elsie said after closing the door.
‘Or Mercy’s,’ replied Florence, mindful of her resolution, ‘although it does seem better suited to the image I’ve formed of Lettice, which I would think is very close to yours, Mrs Trout.’
Elsie again looked gratified. Going back into the hallway, they caught a glimpse of a toad-like figure in a dark dressing gown scurrying out of a doorway halfway down and vanishing through another at the far end. ‘Well, now we know where she is, Mrs Norris, at least for the moment, because that could be the bathroom she’s gone into.’
‘Let’s take a look at the room she just left. If it’s a bathroom we’re in luck.’
This proved to be the case. But they were about to be even more fortunate. In turning from it Florence spotted a pair of hinged doors, each with its own handle, close to the top of the staircase. Opening them revealed the sought-after cupboard with a shelf for hats, gloves and scarves above a coat rail. There were several women’s coats and a man’s black one hanging from the rail. Her heartbeat quickening, Florence looked at both sleeves and found one cuff button missing – the threads visible. Her eyes met Elsie’s before taking the one she had out of her coat pocket and holding it next to the one on the other sleeve. They were a match.
‘Do you want me to give this back to you, Mrs Trout, so you can hand it over to your husband and explain its importance?’
‘I don’t know; maybe you should hold onto it and I’ll speak to Rupert when he gets home from school, see what he has to say – if he has any ideas about how it got into his collecting tin.’
‘Do you mind if I tell George of this discovery and he passes it on to Inspector LeCrane? I don’t want to create difficulties between you and your husband.’
‘I don’t think it would, Mrs Norris; he’ll know this has to go up the ladder and will be pleased at contributing his bit. Conscientious, that’s Len. Not out for the glory, he isn’t. I’m afraid it’s been more me wanting him to make a bit of a splash, get himself noticed by the higher ups.’
‘And why not? But can it be he gets all the satisfaction he needs keeping Dovecote Hatch sorted out on a daily basis? I think for most people knowing Constable Trout is always there keeping an eye on things gives a foundation to their lives that’s very much needed should something rare and ugly crop up.’
‘I don’t know why I didn’t see it that way.’
‘You’re a devoted wife.’ Florence smiled at her. ‘And you’ve also been an enormous help over this matter. No harm in digging in on your own account, is there?’
‘I’ve never thought that way before. For me it’s always been about Len and Rupert. Or so I told myself,’ responded Elsie. ‘What’s next, Mrs Norris? I could go and have a word with whoever it is comes in to help Miss Bone with the house. See what I can get from her.’
‘Good idea.’ They had descended the stairs and Elsie was about to head for the kitchen when Mercy Tenneson came towards them from the far end of the hall and gave her directions. When they were alone the young woman scrutinized Florence.
‘Has Lord Stodmarsh said anything to you about talking with me when we met out walking the other day, Mrs Norris?’
‘I haven’t seen him. When I arrived back at Mullings last evening after a week’s visit to London he’d just left to go over to Farn Deane to assist with a sick horse. He didn’t return until the middle of the night and hadn’t come down when I left this morning.’ Florence didn’t think it advisable to mention her conversation with Mrs Tressler. Reading Miss Tenneson’s mood as prickly, she merely smiled encouragingly.
‘He’s unusual in that, I suppose, his being so personally involved in what goes on at the home farm, I mean.’ This was said casually, but the gray eyes were alert.
‘He has a great affection for Tom and Gracie Norris who run Farn Deane, and it’s a mutual regard. He is also a very caring person, Miss Tenneson.’
This brought a shrug. ‘Of course, you would sing his praises seeing as you’ve been with him since he was little and he clearly dotes on you. And compared to someone like Gideon Blake he would strike people as decent.’
‘Has that young man been an annoyance to you?’
‘Oh, I can deal with him,’ came the airy response. ‘It’s Aunt Lettice who makes it annoying, talking about what a marvelous thing it would be for me if he should go down on bended knee and beg for my hand in marriage. She is so utterly feather-brained. In a way, I prefer Aunt Matilda’s view on the matter.’ Miss Tenneson’s lip curled. ‘She screamed at me last week – it would have been the day that woman came, the one Miss Bone talked about – that she hoped young Blake would drag me off by my hair and have his way with me, because coming from the mother I did I was a slut and deserved to be treated like one. That if he killed me in the process she’d rejoice. She even suggested a fitting place for what she described as a rendezvous.’
‘My dear,’ said Florence, ‘you need to get away from here. Don’t wait. I know you have a friend in Mrs Weedy. Go to her.’
‘I don’t know, I have to think. But you can tell Lord Stodmarsh, when you see him, that I’m not mad … imagining things that aren’t so. And sometimes it’s better to face up to the inevitable than trying fruitlessly to escape it. That’s why I planned to go out for a walk last night after stopping doing so recently, but then things got too difficult here for me to leave the house. Now I have to go and get some money so poor Boney can go to her sister without that worry. I’ll take her to the train, and then perhaps I’ll go for that walk.’ Mercy turned at the foot of the stairs. ‘I don’t know why I felt the need to be rude to you. You seem every bit as nice as Lord Stodmarsh said you were.’ With that she disappeared upstairs, leaving Florence greatly concerned about her taking that walk unprotected, but of course it didn’t have to be that way.
A moment later the drawing-room door opened, George came out and Florence crossed to meet him. ‘How are things going in there?’
‘Lettice Tenneson was just reminiscing about her days in the nursery and how enchanting everyone had thought her with her ringlets, and how hard it had been on Matilda being the plain one. Alf has Rex on his knee and Doris is bearing up exactly as you’d expect.’
‘Tell me about your talk with Inspector LeCrane.’
‘I gave him all the new information and he said to thank you profusely,’ smiling, George tapped her cheek, ‘for getting the name – Elizabetta Taylor – and I told him something I’d remembered that’d been rubbing at the back of my mind, that was at odds with … but that can wait. I can see you’ve more to tell me and we could be interrupted at any moment.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to tell me now?’
‘It may not be of much, if any, importance. And I can tell your news is. Out with it, my dear.’
Florence ran through the events of her morning, starting with Elsie Trout, moving on to Mrs Weedy and culminating with what had occurred since her arrival at Bogmire. ‘Let us say the killer pulled that button off Kenneth Tenneson’s coat cuff during a struggle on the stairs and left the house with it – how did it get into Rupert Trout’s collecting tin? Was it picked up by someone else after being tossed on the ground and dropped in as a joke? Is it sound to make the leap that Mr Tenneson was attacked by an outsider who afterwards went on his or her own way? Or if it was someone from the inside, such as Matilda or Lettice, might they not have felt the need to get away from the house to clear their heads? So much that’s unanswerable on its own, George.’
‘Perhaps young Rupert will come through with something.’
