The Sword in the Stone-Dead, page 12
part #1 of Great Vicari Mystery Series
“You were absent for a while earlier.”
“I was?” Bannister thought about this. “Popped upstairs to get my music and my specs,” he said. “Missed all the fun with Leo being shot at.”
“Did you see anyone else while you were upstairs?” Vickery asked.
“Saw that awful boy being dragged off to bed by his nurse. Looked like she’d tried to drown him in the tub, or vice versa, they were both soaked. Passed Margot on the stairs.”
“Going up or coming down?”
“She was coming down as I went up.”
“Did you see Teddy Kimball?”
“No, sorry. I thought he’d stayed in the dining room, lingering over the cigars and brandy, if you get my drift? You’re sure I can’t tempt you?” Bannister nodded towards the piano.
“I never sang. And it is some time since I played accompaniment.”
“That’s a shame. Does you good to keep your hand in. What time is it?”
Vickery consulted his pocket watch. “Twenty-five minutes after eleven.”
“Time for one more song,” Bannister said. He placed his fingers on the keys. “Any request?
“A little Coward?” Vickery said, with a wink.
Bannister laughed a throaty laugh and began to play, singing “I met him at a party...”
Bannister was only part-way through the last chorus of Mad About the Boy when Fulbright’s voice reverberated through the open doorway: he was evidently standing in the entrance hall given the way the sound echoed.
“Never mind that mawkish mooning, come out here if you want to be properly entertained!”
There was some grumbling and people began to shuffle out, more from a sense of duty than a desire to be ‘entertained’ by Leo Fulbright. But once out in the entrance hall, they looked about in confusion: there was no sign of their host.
“That’s right, gather round, gather round!” The voice boomed again. They all looked up, to where Ted Kimball stood on the first landing of the great staircase, owning it as his stage. He had a glass in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other, and his voice was a perfect imitation of Fulbright’s.
Chapter 12
“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Kimball boomed, “made glorious summer by this quart of scotch.”
“How much has he had?” Bannister asked, clearly impressed.
Kimball turned and looked up the stairs to where a figure stood half in shadows, the red of her dress more subdued there.
“Eleanor, come down and watch, please?”
She shook her head and stepped back, singing softly the verse of Anything Goes.
“Was she crying?” Bannister asked, looking up at the retreating figure.
“She’s fine,” Kimball said, “just tired. Now then, we present this evening’s entertainment,” he said, slipping back into Fulbright’s voice. “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Limerick. Our scene, a castle on Eire’s shore...”
And then, using Fulbright’s voice to perform in best mock Shakespearean tones, he began a recital of the tragedy, rewritten in the poetic meter of the limerick.
A ghost called me here from my bed,
I’m your father Hamlet, so he said,
I was killed by your uncle,
That ugly carbuncle,
Used poison to kill me stone-dead.
My father had come from the grave
His poor soul he asked me to save
His method was simple
I should lance that fat pimple
My uncle, the murderous knave.
But things are not simple, I said,
My mother is now in his bed,
That cold-hearted bitch,
That selfish old witch,
Is fucking your brother instead.
Margot had been watching this with a bemused smile, but at some point it must have occurred to her that watching her ex-lover imitating the husband she had betrayed with him was perhaps just a little too much to endure. Shaking her head, she turned and went back into the drawing room. She opened the French doors and stepped out.
“Not staying to watch the show?” Vickery asked. He was standing on the terrace, looking out towards the lake.
“I sent Leo down to the summer house to get my wrap,” she said. She drew the wrap more tightly around her shoulders. “I should go and tell him I found it.”
Vickery stepped back into the shadows as Margot hurried away, so that she might not see him when she glanced back, as he knew she would. She went for some way along the path towards the summer house and the lake, then—believing she was unobserved—she cut across the lawn back towards the orchard. From there, Vickery had no doubt that she would make her way back round to the front of the keep.
* * *
Back inside the keep, Kimball was nearing the end of his recital.
The last act of a play, so they say,
Needs rhyming couplets and swordplay,
This is Shakespeare, my dear
So we have nothing to fear,
There’ll be blood and his cast he will slay.
The stage will be running with blood,
The red stuff will flow like a flood,
The weak-hearted will faint
Seeing all this wet paint,
But will know it is for their own good.
And there we must leave our sad tale,
The plan of poor Hamlet did fail.
Revenge he did seek,
But his delivery was weak,
And his blood ended up in a pail.
Applause accompanied Kimball’s bow, which he silenced with open palms. His eyes flicked towards the dial of his wristwatch.
“‘Lo, what sound is that?” Kimball-Fulbright asked aloud.
Behind him, the mechanism of the grandfather clock clicked loudly, and it began to sound the hour.
“Upstaged by a bloody clock!” Kimball counted the strokes silently, pantomiming impatience. Then his voice boomed out in Fulbright’s best Falstaffian tones. “We have heard the chimes at midnight!” He paused to draw breath, and seemed about to speak again, but was prevented from doing so.
A scream, loud and penetrating, filled with anguish and fear, that was enough to still the heart and chill the blood. And then the sound of something substantial cast bodily into water.
“Eleanor?” Kimball said, shocked back into his sober self. He glanced towards the back of the house.
“The lake?” Bannister asked, looking around as if to determine the source of the terrible sound.
“No, it came from the front,” Linette said.
“The pond then,” Bannister said.
Everyone crowded out into the courtyard. The darkness was impenetrable.
“Someone fetch a lantern!” Sir Geoffrey called.
Malloy appeared, carrying two lit oil lamps. He passed one to Garvin. They led the way across the courtyard and under the gatehouse.
“Eleanor?” Kimball shouted. They all held their breath to listen, but there was no sound but for a gentle breeze.
“Eleanor!” Kimball called again, louder. But to the same effect.
Malloy and Garvin approached the edge of the pond, lamps held out before them. Vickery appeared at Malloy’s side.
“You heard the scream?” Malloy asked.
“I came at once. Cast the light to your left.”
There was something pale and round beneath the surface of the water. The light passed across it, then returned and remained steady. The pale shape revealed itself to be a human face.
This should have been a pre-Raphaelite Ophelia, but there were no vivid sunny colours here, but rather the sense of something discarded in a dark muddy puddle. Around her, the slimy black leaves of decaying water lilies waved on their stems like malignant serpents ready to envelop her and drag her body into the depths. Her face was luminously pale in the thick greenish water, pale blue eyes open and staring, but unseeing. Everyone gazed down at her, their own eyes burning as they longed for her to blink. Her hair drifted around her head like weeds, swayed gently by the movement of the water. And amidst the pale fronds played a pinkish mist of her life’s blood.
“What’s going on here?” Fulbright asked, coming up behind the group and unable to see what they were staring down at. He forced his way through, and finally comprehending what he was seeing, he fell to his knees in the mud.
“Eleanor?” His voice was a whisper.
Passing his lamp to Vickery, Malloy pulled off his shoes and waded into the water. He bent and lifted the water-logged corpse. For a moment he stood in the lamplight, holding the dripping victim like something from a Victorian melodrama. Then he dragged his legs through the murk, bringing her ashore, and at the same time raising a terrible stench of rotting vegetation. Without looking at anyone, Malloy carried her back towards the keep like a tragic hero returning with his drowned lover.
The others followed Malloy, but Fulbright remained on his knees staring into the inky water of the pond. Vickery stood with the lamp, waiting for him to stir, not wanting to disturb him. He was about to go inside and leave Fulbright to his thoughts, when he saw the other man lean forward and pick something out of the dirt.
“Leo?” Vickery said softly.
Fulbright, startled, thrust his hand guiltily into his pocket and struggled to his feet.
“She’s really dead?” Fulbright asked.
Vickery nodded.
“But why?” Fulbright asked quietly.
Vickery regarded him a moment in silence, then said: “Let’s go inside out of the cold.”
Chapter 13
“We can’t just leave her on the floor. Can’t we take her upstairs and put her into bed?” Bannister asked.
“She’s soaking wet,” Margot said.
“It doesn’t matter where she is. She’s not going to know the difference,” Fulbright said, coming in behind them.
Margot cast a silencing glance in his direction, and for once he had the sense to take heed.
“We should cover her with a sheet, at least,” Margot said.
Sir Geoffrey rang for the butler, and a sheet was sent for.
“Malloy, a word if you wouldn’t mind,” Vickery said.
“Mr. Vickery?”
Vickery led Malloy off to one side.
“I want you to go out and make sure all of the cars are still inoperative: we don’t want anyone trying to make an escape. Move the missing engine parts to a new hiding place, just in case. And you’ll need to put my car back in running order if you are to—”
“Someone has to go and fetch the police,” Fulbright said, looming over them. “There’s no telephone here to call them.”
“Mr. Malloy is going to take my car and return with the local doctor, and the police,” Vickery said.
“Then he can take the Rolls,” Fulbright said.
“Mr. Vickery’s car is faster,” Malloy said, with just a hint of pleasure.
“You trust him?” Fulbright asked, ignoring Malloy.
“With my car? Of course.”
“I meant, are you sure he’s not the murderer?” Fulbright said. “He could flee in your car.”
Vickery favoured Fulbright with a withering look. “Malloy is only the driver, what possible motive could he have for murdering Miss Trenton?”
“I will be back as swift as I can, sir,” Malloy said, taking the keys from Vickery and ignoring Fulbright.
“I don’t like that boy’s attitude,” Fulbright said as Malloy left.
“Is that why you hit him?” Vickery asked. He turned without waiting for a response. He addressed the rest of the assemblage: “Why don’t we all go into the drawing room? We can have some coffee sent up. I think it may be some time before any of us get any sleep.”
“Who put you in charge, Vickery?” Fulbright demanded to know.
“You are right, of course. Excuse my presumption,” Vickery said. He turned his back on Fulbright and approached Sir Geoffrey. “We are guests in your house, Sir Geoffrey. Until the police arrive, it is only right that you should take charge.”
“Er, yes, thank you Vickery.” Sir Geoffrey’s face was white and his eyes large and staring. “Ah, here’s Crawley with the sheet. That’s better. Much more respectful. Let’s all go into the drawing room and wait, shall we? Crawley, bring some coffee up, would you?”
They all trooped through into the drawing room, Fulbright muttering under his breath. They sat or found places to stand around the room, unconsciously arranging themselves into a circle facing Sir Geoffrey. He dropped into his armchair. Vickery stood protectively behind and to one side of Sir Geoffrey’s chair. He had positioned himself so that he could see through the open door into the entrance hall.
“Where’s Artie?” Bannister asked.
“Haven’t seen him since dinner,” Kimball said.
“Has he gone to bed?” Bannister asked.
“We will ask Crawley to go up and check,” Vickery said.
“Artie doesn’t know about—” Linette glanced towards the open door leading into the entrance hall. “We should make sure that he doesn’t just stumble across the body. That would be an awful way to find out.”
“I will keep an eye out for him coming in,” Vickery said. He glanced through the door into the entrance hall.
“What about Timothy?” Sir Geoffrey asked, standing up suddenly.
“Nanny is with him, sir,” Crawley said, entering with a tray of coffee. “She will break the news to him gently when he wakes.”
“I should probably do that,” Sir Geoffrey said. He didn’t sound convinced. “She was his sister...”
“Children are usually better handled with a woman’s understanding,” Crawley said, “if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“No, you’re probably right, Crawley.” Sir Geoffrey sat down, relieved.
“Crawley, would you go up and look into Mr. Delancey’s room, please?” Vickery asked. “No one has seen him for some time.”
Crawley looked towards Sir Geoffrey, who nodded his assent. Crawley gave a tiny bow and exited.
“What do we do now?” Linette asked.
“We wait,” Margot said. “Malloy will return with the police soon.”
An awkward silence followed. The guests glanced at each other, but looked away without making eye contact. The coffee went mostly untouched. Seconds ticked by, ponderously marked by the mantel clock. There was a brief stir as Crawley returned and bent to whisper something to Sir Geoffrey: he nodded and waved the butler over to Vickery, where the same pantomime was repeated.
“Thank you, Crawley,” Vickery said.
The butler gave a grudging bow and exited.
“Artie Delancey is not in his room, his bed has not been slept in,” Vickery said. “None of the staff have seen him since the dining table was cleared.”
“You don’t think he’s lying dead somewhere too, do you?” Bannister asked.
“No, I’m sure he just stepped out for some air and will return shortly,” Vickery said. “When the police arrive, we can have a proper search for him.”
“What’s keeping them?” Kimball asked.
“There’s only a bobby in the village,” Sir Geoffrey said. “Can’t have a murder investigated by a bobby. They will have to telephone the station over in Crowmans Heath to get an Inspector, and he’ll be at least an hour getting here. Assuming he’s not been called off somewhere else.”
“And in the meantime we have to sit here with a murderer in our midst!” Linette said.
“Linette!” Margot admonished.
“The girl’s right,” Fulbright said. “Unless that fool Malloy is the killer, in which case we’ll be waiting more than a couple of hours for the police to arrive.”
“Perhaps Artie is the murderer,” Linette suggested.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Bannister said. “Artie would never hurt anyone one. Would he?”
“In which case, it must be one of us in this room,” Linette said.
“Why are we all assuming that the murder has to be one of us?” Fulbright asked. “We’re not on a desert island: someone else could have come here and killed her. Perhaps it was some passing vagrant.”
“I’m sure we would all like that to be true,” Margot said, “but it seems unlikely doesn’t it? Especially since she was stabbed with that bloody sword.”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” Fulbright said. “We should wait until the doctor has—”
“You saw her,” Margot insisted, “she was stabbed by something that went in the front and out her back. It was a sword. You don’t need to wait for the doctor to tell us. Go and look at your blasted stone: I bet the sword isn’t in it.”
Linette and Garvin exchanged looks, then got up and hurried out together, hand in hand. They returned after only a few moments.
“Mummy’s right: Excalibur is missing,” Linette said.
“That doesn’t prove it was used to kill Eleanor,” Fulbright said stubbornly.
“Oh, come on Leo, how many other swords do we have here?” Margot said.
“Several, actually, Margot,” Sir Geoffrey said, “scattered about the place. As well as several pikes and axes, and a Japanese katana, and a number of antique firearms.”
“Murderer’s paradise,” Fulbright muttered.
Another period of silence followed, and again people cast suspicious sideways glances at one another.
“If Artie had been here, he could have given us a song,” Bannister said. “P’raps not appropriate under the circumstances, though.”
“Should we have asked Malloy to bring the vicar as well?” Linette asked.
“What for?” Fulbright asked. “All they are ever interested in is money for the church roof. Those places must all be Gerry-built.”
“Not much of a church-goer, Fulbright?” Sir Geoffrey asked. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“The churches are already full of hypocrites,” Kimball said, “they don’t need another one.”
