Murder at Mistletoe Manor, page 28
‘Penelope didn’t drive,’ he says. ‘It seemed odd, she was so competent, she lived in LA – everyone there drives. Something had happened, years ago. Violet told me that, and so did Branson. Until today, I didn’t know it had taken place at Christmas. I thought it was something that happened to her. In fact, it was something she did that happened to someone else.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ Matilda’s face is almost translucent, and as she reaches for her teacup, her hand is shaking.
‘It’s the anniversary of your daughter’s death, isn’t it?’ Nick asks her. ‘Christmas Eve.’
He turns to Emily, who is regarding him, wide-eyed, Gaia on her lap. ‘Could you take Gaia to the porch?’ he asks her. ‘Put a coat on. Now the snow’s melting, she might like to go out …’
‘I don’t want to. Daddy, I want to stay.’
David looks at her. ‘No, darling, Uncle Nick’s right. Go on. Don’t go far.’
Grumbling – ‘I’m never allowed to hear anything’ – she stomps off, Gaia trotting behind her.
Nick takes a deep breath. ‘“I know what you did.” You could say that to any one of us, and it would strike home. We’ve all got things we’re not proud of, things in our past that keep us awake at night. But in Penelope’s case, she knew exactly what it meant. She killed somebody on Christmas Eve, leaving a child motherless, and she fled the scene.’
‘What?’
Branson is staring at him. ‘This is … What the hell, Nick? What are you talking about?’
‘She never told you,’ Nick says. ‘I assume she was too ashamed. But here’s the truth. Penelope killed Catherine Foley, six years ago, in a blizzard on Christmas Eve. It was a hit and run – she didn’t stop to see what she’d done. She only found out later.’
Violet’s face is a mask of horror. Matilda is squeezing her hands together so tightly, the knuckles gleam like unearthed bones.
‘Are you saying Penelope killed my Catherine?’ Her voice trembles.
‘Oh, come on.’ Nick is surprised by the rage in his own voice. ‘You know she did.’
‘Catherine was David’s wife, too,’ says Matilda. ‘Perhaps he was the killer, seeking revenge. Don’t you think a doctor is a more likely murderer than an old lady?’
Lorraine has been watching, rigid with shock. ‘Your daughter was David’s wife? You’ve known each other all along?’
‘Emily’s your granddaughter.’ Branson gets there first. He stares wildly at the older woman, breathing hard, attempting to make sense of it.
‘Come on, Matilda,’ says Nick. Her gaze locks on to his, blue as the empty winter sky. ‘It’s time to tell the truth. You owe us that.’
‘I owe you nothing.’
She tries to stand, but Alan places a firm hand on her shoulder and pushes her back into the chair. ‘I confided in you,’ he says flatly. ‘I told you things nobody but me and Lorraine know. If I’d had the slightest idea …’
Violet emits a strangled sob. ‘You all blamed me,’ she says. ‘I thought I was going to prison. I thought my life was over.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Nick means it. She’s done bad things – but she’s not a killer.
Branson stands. He’s big; he towers over Matilda.
‘So who was it?’ he says slowly. ‘Was it you? Or David?’
‘I’m eighty years old! Do you honestly think I could stab a woman like Penelope? Or strangle a fit young man?’ She quails in her chair. ‘I’m as horrified as you are!’
Their faces turn to David. He is clutching the arm of the sofa with one hand, the other is over his face. His shoulders are shaking.
‘Oh, you’re pathetic!’ Matilda snaps. ‘Look at yourself. You were never good enough for Catherine.’
‘Tell them!’ David’s voice is a wail of despair. ‘Tell them the truth! Nick knows, he’s going to tell the police – it’s all over, Matilda.’
41
There is a thick silence. The sirens have stopped now, but in the distance, at the bottom of the drive, there are voices, shouts, the sound of a diesel engine throbbing into life.
Matilda takes a long breath, and smooths down the skirt of her dress. She looks at them all in turn before she speaks.
‘Catherine was killed six years ago today,’ she begins. ‘Every year since, I’ve come here, to Mistletoe Manor. I don’t celebrate in my heart, but I honour her memory. She loved Christmas. When she was a little girl it was her favourite time of year. JoJo adored her summer birthday but not my little Catherine – she wanted jingle bells and presents and snow. She was a little dancing elf, with her dark curls and her big eyes …’
Violet sighs loudly.
‘I’ll tell the truth in my own way,’ Matilda says coldly. ‘Earlier this year, I met an old friend of Penelope’s at a party in Harrogate. People like me to attend their functions because I’m rich. After his City career, my late husband owned various properties across Yorkshire. When he died, they came to me, with a great deal of money.’
She pauses. The group is rapt, listening.
‘This friend told me something I hadn’t known. And that was when I decided that something must be done.’
‘Stop speaking in riddles,’ snaps Branson. ‘Did you kill my wife?’
‘No,’ says Matilda. ‘I assure you I did not.’
David looks up, his face a mask of anguish. ‘You as good as did.’
‘Let me speak.’ Matilda is calm as the throbbing engine of an approaching snowplough carries on the still air. ‘The police told us that it was Peter who killed Catherine. Penelope’s son. He was only seventeen, a new driver; he hadn’t been drinking. When they tracked the car down, he confessed to everything. He told the police that he’d skidded on a patch of ice in the blizzard, that he hadn’t seen what happened to the other car, the snow was coming down too hard. He said he’d panicked and sped home and his mother told him to go to the police. They were just on their way to the station to report it. Exemplary behaviour.’
Matilda nods in mock admiration as the others exchange puzzled glances.
‘So he went to jail?’ Branson asks. It’s clear this is news to him.
‘No, he didn’t, would you believe? He was initially charged with causing death by dangerous driving, then it was commuted to leaving the scene of an accident, because the weather was deemed to be a mitigating factor, along with his age. His parents paid for the very best lawyers, naturally, and in the end, he was given a twelve-month suspended sentence and a large fine, which they also paid. He was disqualified from driving for five years. So, he’ll soon be behind the wheel again.’
She offers the group a tight, brittle smile. ‘All’s well that ends well. Of course, I was distraught, as was David, but I tried to live with my grief. Then I went to that party, in September this year. The woman I met there, Susan, had no idea of my connection to Penelope’s family. It was a party for the law firm my husband had always used, and Susan was one of the partners’ second wives. I sat next to her at dinner and the talk turned to miscarriages of justice. She’d had a few glasses of champagne, and I remember exactly what she said. “A woman was killed in a car crash on Christmas Eve a few years ago,” she told me, “and the teenage driver was arrested and charged. It was my old schoolfriend’s son.” My whole body turned cold. Was she going to claim that he was innocent – that my darling daughter’s death was just an unfortunate accident? But she carried on. She said, “I went to see my old friend soon after it happened, and she broke down. She told me the truth, that it was she who had been driving, but she was over the limit. That she didn’t see the junction, not just because of the snow but because she was drunk. She was driving home from some Christmas party, and she’d been laying into the mulled wine” – that’s what she said, laying into,’ Matilda repeats. ‘Knowing she’d be getting into her car, after dark, in a snowstorm.’
Matilda pauses. Nobody speaks.
‘The woman told me her friend had run Catherine’s little car off the road and panicked. And rather than coming clean, and risking prison’ – Matilda draws a deep breath – ‘she persuaded her son to take the blame, knowing he was at home, sober, promising he’d get the best lawyers and he wouldn’t go to prison. I asked, “What was her name?” But of course, I already knew.
‘I asked Susan how she lived with that knowledge, as the wife of a lawyer and as a human being with, one presumes, a moral compass. She said it tortured her, she wished she’d never found out … but Penelope and her husband broke up, under the strain of the lie. He wasn’t supportive of throwing their teenage son to the wolves, oddly enough – and very soon afterwards, she met someone else and fled to America, to “start again”.’
Matilda’s eyes flash. ‘How lovely for her, starting all over again in a Malibu mansion with a brand-new, adoring husband. Catherine didn’t get that chance. She was driving here to Mistletoe Manor, to surprise me. We always stayed here at Christmas, though I wasn’t expecting her until Christmas morning. But her life was snatched from her in seconds, her baby left without a mother, her mother left without a daughter. And her husband …’
David’s face is buried in his hands.
‘So when you found out the truth, you set up the Facebook group?’ Nick asks.
Matilda nods. ‘Yes. I may be old, but I’m not incapable. I knew Penelope grew up in the area, and I hoped she’d take advantage of the so-called prize. I was lucky other people joined to make it appear legitimate – there’s a lot of old folk who enjoy pointless nostalgia. “Eee, we used to play on bombsites … Go-karts made from orange crates … Folks was poor but honest …”’ she mocks. ‘Once she’d joined, it was easy. I was going to offer to pay for the flights too, but Branson’s terribly rich, aren’t you? Dear Penny didn’t even ask.’ She glances up at him. His face is purple with anger.
‘But why didn’t she recognise you?’ Violet asks. ‘Why didn’t she know you were Catherine’s mother?’
‘I’d never met her. I didn’t go to court for the sentencing. I was … well, for a year or so, I was inconsolable. I could barely get out of bed, and JoJo was useless.’
‘That’s not fair,’ begins David fiercely. ‘She has a family, miles away. She couldn’t drop everything to be with you night and day.’
‘Couldn’t she? As for you.’ She turns to David, icy contempt radiating from her. ‘Taking my granddaughter thousands of miles away. Allowing me no contact. She was all I had left.’
‘You know why I took her away.’ David’s voice shakes. ‘You wanted custody. You claimed I wasn’t fit to care for her.’
‘Well, you weren’t! Working all hours, drinking …’
‘I wasn’t drinking!’ David explodes. ‘A few glasses of wine every night! I was never in any way a danger to her! Not like you were, obsessing over your dead daughter, trying to dress my child up in Catherine’s old baby clothes! It was wrong—’
‘I was grieving!’ Matilda snaps. ‘And then before the year was out, off you went, never coming back, always too busy to let me visit … I didn’t even know your address!’
‘Because I didn’t trust you! And I was right not to. You’d have tried to kidnap her.’
‘Why did you come back this Christmas?’ Nick asks David. The noise of the snowplough cuts through the air as it grinds slowly towards the porch.
‘I thought Emily should see where her mum’s family is from. I wanted her to meet JoJo’s boys, get to know her cousins. And I thought enough time had passed that Matilda might be more mentally stable, able to build a relationship with Emily. But I didn’t want Emily to know she was her grandmother in case I was wrong and she hadn’t changed. I came back on the basis that Matilda wouldn’t tell her just yet.’
‘And I kept my side of the bargain,’ says Matilda.
‘Yes. I just didn’t understand the bargain I was making,’ says David bitterly.
Violet fixes Matilda with a steady gaze. ‘So what exactly did you do next?’
‘I hadn’t allowed for the snow,’ Matilda says thoughtfully. ‘That was a surprise. But it was lucky, in the end, that there were more suspects than I’d anticipated. Nick, Lorraine and Alan, Destiny … all these extra people turning up.’
‘How did you kill her? At your age?’ Branson asks.
‘I’m getting to that,’ says Matilda implacably. ‘David played his part very well, not a hint of recognition towards me.’
‘That was easy,’ mutters David. ‘I didn’t want to look at you at all.’
‘Emily’s Secret Santa game,’ says Nick. ‘How could you know she’d suggest that?’
‘Oh, I didn’t.’ Matilda smiles. ‘I was simply going to wrap it and ensure the star was found somewhere that day. But her suggestion added an extra layer of festive theatricality, don’t you think?’
The others exchange glances. Lorraine’s expression is one of frozen disbelief; Alan looks queasy with horror; Branson is shaking his head, unable to speak.
‘Oh, you’re all so horrified,’ Matilda says scornfully. ‘But think harder. Have you ever lost someone due to the actions of someone else? Didn’t you want to harm the person who took the one you love? Wipe them from the earth? Look at you, Branson. I can see the hatred radiating from you. Well, that’s how I feel. But you only lost your wife of a few years. I lost the precious daughter I’d loved for over forty years, I lost my granddaughter as a result, and I lost the love of my other daughter and grandchildren because the rage and grief sent me mad.’
She gazes imperiously around the group. ‘I wonder if any of you can look into your heart of hearts, and tell me you wouldn’t feel the same.’
‘I wouldn’t kill someone …’ begins Lorraine.
‘No,’ agrees Matilda. ‘You’d just stand back and let her kill herself.’
‘What about Donal?’ Nick asks in the ensuing silence, broken only by the noise of the encroaching snowplough. ‘Why did he have to die? He was only young. He’d done nothing wrong.’
‘Because he suspected.’ Matilda shrugged. ‘Collateral damage, I’m afraid. He was asking questions, poking about. He found the wrapping paper scrap – I’d taken the paper from Lorraine’s luggage. It was so shiny, I thought it would be perfect. I wrapped up the star and was going to burn the rest in the drawing room when I placed it on the table. But then I saw Destiny leaving her room, and I couldn’t risk being seen,’ she says calmly. It’s as though she’s explaining a small professional error to an exacting boss. ‘I opened the nearest door and I hid it in there, thinking I’d go back for it. I knew Donal must have found it, because he had the keys. He knew I’d lost my daughter at Christmas. He was a bright boy; he’d soon have added it all up.’
‘Why didn’t you kill me?’ Nick asks steadily. ‘I was “poking about” too.’
Matilda shrugs and pulls a face that’s almost flirtatious. ‘I rather liked you. And you were getting nowhere. Besides, Donal knew something you didn’t.’
‘Do enlighten us,’ says Violet. She’s curled into a tight ball, rage emanating from her.
‘He knew that I’m the owner,’ says Matilda. ‘Mistletoe Manor is mine. How it didn’t occur to any of you … there were enough clues.’
The puzzle pieces finally click into place, and Nick wants to slap himself. Someone else had keys. Someone else knew the layout of the manor. Someone had access to the phone lines, which, he now realises, were not down due to the storm, but because they’d been cut. And someone turned off the Wi-Fi.
‘But hold on.’ Lorraine sits upright. ‘The mistletoe berry poisoning … You were so ill!’
Nick’s heart sinks. He’s been so stupid. What was it his old editor used to say? ‘Don’t listen to what they’re telling you, Nick. Listen to what they’re not telling you.’
42
Matilda twinkles, as though she’s played a delightfully naughty practical joke on them all. ‘It’s not hard to fake a few symptoms. When you’re my age, people automatically assume you’re at death’s door. I used to do a bit of am-dram, you know. The Harrogate Troubadours. I quite enjoyed acting “being poisoned”.’
‘You put the berries in the fridge,’ says Nick. ‘You let us believe it was Colt, and watched us drive him away from his home and his job.’
Matilda shrugs. ‘Needs must. I couldn’t have you suspecting me, or our quiet little doctor.’
There’s a noise in the hall. Emily has come back in from outside.
‘Em, poppet,’ calls David, a slight shake in his voice, ‘can you take Gaia into the library? I’ll be there soon.’
‘But …’
‘Now!’
Her footsteps hurry away, accompanied by Gaia’s clicking claws. Jingle strolls into the drawing room and makes for Nick’s lap. He wonders if he’s ever felt so pleased to see anything. He strokes the cat as questions crowd his mind.
‘Why Destiny?’ he asks eventually. ‘She had nothing to do with Mistletoe Manor, or you, or Catherine. Why did she have to die?’
A sob shakes David’s shoulders, and Violet blinks away tears.
‘Because of David,’ says Matilda. ‘He was beginning to get close to her and I couldn’t risk it. He really is the weak link in all of this. My dear late husband used to say, “As soon as you delegate, you’re putting your trust in someone less committed than you are.” He was so right.’ She sighs. ‘I could see that David was under immense mental strain, that it was only a matter of time before he crumbled and confessed the truth to somebody. Deborah – I refuse to call her that ridiculous, made-up name – was the obvious choice. She was an ex-doctor, very attractive – she looked like a rather low-rent version of my beautiful Catherine. I could see he was drawn to her. Weren’t you?’ she suddenly snaps at David.
‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘Because as well as being beautiful, she was good. You wouldn’t understand that.’
‘Why the fire?’ Alan is pale with shock. ‘Why so brutal?’
‘It had to be something I could manage myself.’ Matilda shrugs. ‘The Yule log was my own tradition – every year, we’d light it at six o’clock on Christmas Eve to honour Catherine’s memory. This year, I thought it would be fitting to use it to start the fire. It was terribly heavy, but I managed it. The adrenalin, I suppose.’
