The Sword in the Stone-Dead, page 6
part #1 of Great Vicari Mystery Series
“At your age, there’s always that danger. How do you think she’ll look on film? She seems so pale. Like a ghost.”
“But there’s not much call for colour on film, is there?”
“She’ll be like an alabaster statue,” Artie said.
“Pale and stiff?”
“And silent.”
“She was a bit quiet, wasn’t she? Not trained for the theatre like us. It’s all in the diction, you know. You’ve got to be able to pronunciate.”
“To what?”
“Pronunciate.”
“It gets harder after a few drinks,” Artie said.
“I wish it would.”
“Naughty. I’m practically her understudy,” Artie said. “If Eleanor isn’t up to it, I shall be queen in her stead. It’s a lovely frock—they’ve had it made so I can do the riding.”
“You as the rider?” Bannister said. “There’s always a first time for everything.”
“Don’t you start. At least I can still get my leg over a stallion. When was the last time you were in the saddle?”
“I can still manage it, I’ll have you know. Though these days it’s more of a canter than a gallop. I spent Saturday night with a peer.”
“A pair, you trollop.”
“Not a pair, a peer, rhymes with queer.”
“Full of airs and graces, I suppose: they all expect you to kneel before them.”
“I don’t mind kneeling, as long as he takes his turn.”
“I bet when you suggested that he nearly choked.”
They spent a good few minutes giggling like school children.
“We ought to go back inside,” Artie said.
“Why, have we run out of champagne?”
“No, but I told them I’d give them a song.”
“Why, what harm have they ever done you?” Bannister said.
“I sang to a group of stevedores the other night, and let me tell you, there were tears on their cheeks when I’d done.”
“I know, they really shouldn’t mock the afflicted.”
“They didn’t laugh—”
“I keep telling you, you need fresh material.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Artie insisted.
“That’s easy to say now—they weren’t to know.”
“I’ll give you a slap in a minute. If I had a voice like yours I’d be on a clifftop warning sailors about fog.”
“You’d be on the clifftop luring them in.”
“Like a siren.” Artie tossed imaginary hair.
“Like a factory whistle.”
“Where were we?”
“About halfway down the third bottle.”
“Third? Fifth more like,” Artie said.
“Ah, then that explains the swollen bladder. Excuse me while I go and ‘make water.’”
“There’s a bucket under that tree you can use,” Artie said.
“Are you taking the piss?”
“No, there’s a maid fetches that!” They said in unison.
“Better?” Artie asked, as Bannister adjusted his robe and sat back down on the bench under the apple tree.
“Greatly relieved,” Bannister said.
“Sounded like it. What were we talking about?” Artie said.
“I was about to say, what’s the story with you and Teddy Kimball?”
“No story. Not even an anecdote,” Artie said. He folded his arms.
“Fibber.”
“He came to me for some advice, that’s all I’m prepared to say.”
“Advice on what, underarm shaving?”
“You may mock.”
“Thank you, I was.”
“There’s a reason why you’re old and alone, you know.”
“I’ve just never found anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with,” Bannister insisted.
“You want to hurry up, or you’ll only have time left for a brief fling.”
“Is that what you and Teddy had, then? A brief fling, and then he flung you aside?”
“It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know. Two men can just be friends,” Artie said.
“He said ‘no’ then?”
“No, he didn’t. Well, actually, yes he did. Several times. But you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Artie said.
“And then he came to you for advice?”
“He was looking for a clinic. Though why he thought I would know...”
“It’s the way you scratch yourself down there, I’ve told you it’s not ladylike.”
“Not that kind of clinic. He wanted some help with his drinking.”
“Could he not manage it by himself?” Bannister asked.
“You know very well what I mean. Some of these younger ones have quite a fondness for the strong stuff.”
“You’re not exactly a toe-teetaller yourself, love.” One of Bannister’s eyelids seemed to stop working then, and he had to wink a few times before he could get them both blinking in unison again.
“But they’re not like us.”
“No, we’re lucky if we get tipsy, they can afford enough to do themselves real damage.”
“Now, remember, I’m telling you this in confidence.”
“Mum’s the word, old friend, mum’s the word. If I remember this tomorrow, I shan’t—shan’t breathe a word of it.”
“Well, before he booked himself into the clinic, dear old Teddy decided he wanted to go out on one final spree...”
* * *
“Promise that you won’t tell him you saw me, please,” Veronica Fulbright said.
“I’m sure it won’t matter to—” Eleanor said.
“Please, I need you to promise.”
“All right, I promise.” Eleanor was bemused by Veronica’s apparent concern.
“It’s always best to do what he says,” Veronica said, “he can make life very difficult if you try and oppose him.”
“What do you mean?”
“My brother prefers that everything be done his way, according to his timetable. You must have realised that?”
“He can be rather—”
“Controlling,” Veronica said. “Some people like that. Not everyone wants to make their own decisions.”
“I can assure you that I shall not be marching to your brother’s drum,” Eleanor said.
Veronica gave her a look that was somewhere between disbelief and pity.
“Just because someone knows his own mind, that doesn’t automatically make him a tyrant,” Eleanor said.
“When you have opposed him, have you found him ready to give ground—to compromise even?” Veronica asked.
“I haven’t—”
“To begin with you won’t be aware that he is controlling you. You do things to avoid upsetting him, and you think these are your own choices. Anything to avoid the raised voice or even the disappointed look. Tell me that isn’t how it is with you,” Veronica said.
Eleanor found that she could not.
“You are already under his spell,” Veronica said, “watching him all the time, for any hint of displeasure. Hoping for some sign of approval; to hear that you’ve done the ‘right thing.’ Always trying to guess what he will want, before he has to say it. Always wanting to be the ‘good girl.’ He doesn’t have to stand over you with a horse-whip. A real tyrant never needs to raise his hand or his voice.”
“Leo is not like that,” Eleanor said. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I? You’ve seen how he is with me; with his own daughter, even. Why do you think she had to sneak around behind his back? Leo has forbidden her to see Ollie Garvin, and so the two of them had to enter into an engagement without him knowing.”
“But he is her father—”
“He isn’t yours. And yet he has put an end to your relationship with Ted Kimball.”
“That was my decision,” Eleanor said.
“Was it? Really? You weren’t persuaded by Leo’s views in the matter?”
“I listened to his opinion.”
“And when that wasn’t enough, you believed the evidence he put in front of you.”
“Leo didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Didn’t tell you that Ted Kimball was a violent alcoholic, and then present you with proof of the fact? Didn’t tell you that Kimball was jealous of your relationship with him, and then provoke Kimball into demonstrating it? Didn’t make you think that a relationship with Ted Kimball would jeopardise your future happiness and your career as an actress? My brother made you choose between him and Ted Kimball. Don’t pretend to yourself that he didn’t.”
“You make it sound pre-meditated,” Eleanor said.
“Because it is.”
“Leo isn’t that cold-blooded.”
“Isn’t he? Ask him why he had a photographer following Ted Kimball. Ask him why he can’t bear to have the people under his ‘care’ find happiness in a relationship with someone else. Ask him.”
“You are trying to turn me against him.”
“What would I gain from that?” Eleanor asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps you don’t want to have to share your brother with anyone else.”
“Take him! With my blessing.”
“You just want to blame your own unhappiness on him, rather than take responsibility yourself,” Eleanor said, backing away.
“If you want to think I’m insane, go ahead, that’s what Leo wants you to think. If you do not recognise a hint of truth in anything I have said to you, then you can safely turn your back and walk away. Trust that Leo has your best interests at heart. That is what he will tell you. It may be painful, but he is doing it for your own good.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Eleanor said.
“Believe what your instincts tell you to be true.”
“I don’t know!”
“Don’t trust what I tell you. Or Leo. Find out for yourself. While you still can. Eventually Leo will have you doubting even yourself. And then he has won and you are his.”
“You’re frightening me.”
“Good. That means there’s still time—for you to see him as he really is.”
“I will speak to him. I will make it clear to him that I intend to make my own choices.”
“Escape from him. It is too dangerous to defy him.”
“I will listen to what he has to say, but the final decision will be mine. He will see that I shall not be his puppet.”
“You are already lost.”
* * *
“She’s not—” Fulbright said.
“Not what? She looks like she’s wandered onto the wrong stage with the wrong script,” Margot said.
“When you see what we’ve shot so far you’ll see that she’s...”
“I wasn’t talking about the movie, you ox. Hadn’t you better go and rescue her? She looks like the ghost of the blind flower girl.”
“We’ll talk later,” Fulbright said. “When you’re in a better mood.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Margot said, and lifted another two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
“More pain-killer?” Vickery asked, nodding towards the two glasses of champagne Margot McCrae carried: she seemed to have abandoned her cane. He accepted one of the glasses from her.
“You are smiling,” Margot admonished, “don’t let the others see. They will think I’ve amused you.”
“You have, Margot dear. I’d quite forgotten what it was like to be among ‘theatricals.’”
“You being not in the least bit theatrical yourself?” She sipped her champagne. “Damn it, you’re smiling again.”
“I will try not to.”
“I have seen you flitting amongst our guests tonight, quite the investigative butterfly. What have you discovered?”
“That not everyone is telling the truth, and those that are, are not telling me all of it.”
“Really? How terribly theatrical of them. Give me a ‘frinstance.”
“For instance, there is the matter of Linette’s engagement ring. Apparently it used to belong to her maternal grandmother.”
Margot was completely unabashed. “Did I not tell you that? How awfully remiss of me.”
“Are there other things you aren’t telling me?”
“Heaps of things,” Margot said. “What sort of game would it be if everyone came right out and told you everything all at once?”
“Is murder a game, do you think?” Vickery asked.
“We haven’t got to the murder. Yet.”
“Do you think we will?”
“We have the setting and all of the necessary characters in place: it would be a frightful waste if we didn’t have a murder now, don’t you think?”
“I would prefer it if no one died,” Vickery said.
“That’s because you’re the outsider. You are not mixed up in all the intrigue. It is your role to remain objective, so that you can discover which among us is Leo’s murderer.”
“Have we established that Leo is to be our victim?”
“He must be. Everyone here despises the man.”
“But does anyone dislike him enough to take that irrevocable step, and bring his life to an end?” Vickery asked.
“We shall have to wait and see what transpires in Act II, shan’t we?”
“Indeed.”
“I saw you speaking with Leo’s latest conquest earlier: what did you make of her?” Margot asked.
“Have you ever spoken to her?”
“Yes, I have—must have exchanged, oh, almost a dozen words between us. What did she say to you?”
“She seems under no illusion about where Leo’s heart truly lies,” Vickery said. “And she asked me if I thought it was wrong of her to use Leo’s interest to further her own career.”
Margot laughed hollowly. “Did she really? She’s a shameless gold-digger, then?”
“I think she’s rather under the impression that hanging on to Leo’s arm will punish Teddy Kimball for being ‘an absolute fool.’”
“That used to be me.”
“It did?”
“Having Leo and Teddy falling over themselves to gain my attention.”
“Perhaps it still is. I’m sure Leo has never forgiven Teddy for stealing you away from him, however briefly.”
“The old horned hat? They’re just like schoolboys, they never grow out of it,” Margot said.
“Do you think Miss Trenton and Mr. Kimball would be good for each other?” Vickery asked. “Should we intervene and save their relationship?”
“I am not certain that Teddy would be good for anyone in his present condition. Or in any condition, if I am being honest. Perhaps I’m being unkind: my own expectations may have been too high.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
“Who, Teddy? Heavens no. I never really did. And it was all so long ago. Before the accident. Eleanor Trenton is welcome to him.”
Vicary was silent then, watching her closely.
“Don’t try that with me, Benjamin. You and I have known each other far too long for that to work.”
“Someday I may catch you unawares, and you will reveal your true feelings to me,” Vickery said.
“Come visit me on my deathbed, perhaps then I shall have nothing I care to hide.”
“You will outlive me, and everyone else here, I suspect.”
“God, I hope not. ‘Well preserved’ is fine for a pickle, but not for a woman.”
“Perhaps if you employed a little less vinegar, then?”
“It’s not vinegar, it’s vitriol, you should know that: it’s far more effective.”
“It would seem that tonight’s curtain is descending. People are starting to wander off to their beds,” Vickery observed.
“Are they? Don’t they know it’s only two o’clock?”
“Some folks are traditionalists: they prefer to retire before the cock crows.”
“Lightweights, all of them. Will you escort me up? We’re in the same cell block of this dank dungeon.”
“You are not sharing your husband’s chamber?” Vickery asked mischievously.
Margot gave him a look that would have turned a lesser man to stone, and offered him her arm.
“Will you be staying alert all night to observe who enters who’s room?” Margot asked as they ascended the main staircase.
“I don’t consider that necessary,” Vickery said. “All that is required is to prevent any armed person from entering your husband’s room.”
“Then you will be sharing Leo’s room tonight?” A smile twitched at her lips.
“I believe the driver, Malloy, has already been dragooned into serving at that post.”
“The poor man, you really should rescue him,” Margot said.
“I am sure our Mr. Malloy can look out for himself.”
“And you don’t consider him a suspect?”
“Why would I?”
“You haven’t spoken to him, have you? Leo treats him abominably.”
“Doesn’t Leo treat everyone abominably?” Vickery asked.
“Everyone. Except you.” They were standing outside Margot’s door now.
“There is time for that yet, I fear. Goodnight, Margot.”
“Do you think I should lock my door tonight?”
“That all depends, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does. Goodnight Benjamin.”
Chapter 5
A heavy morning mist obscured the landscape behind the keep, ghostly trees rising out of the whiteness. Vickery’s attention was caught by the sound of a shotgun firing, and then a pigeon fell close to his feet. He picked it up: it was still warm, and missing its head. He carried it as he walked in the direction of the shooting.
“Morning, Mr. Vickery,” Veronica Fulbright said. She was again dressed in men’s tweeds, and held a shotgun pointed at the ground. “Thought I’d get in a little practice before breakfast.” Vickery handed her the pigeon, which she placed with several others on the ground. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m not allowed a retriever: Leo isn’t a dog person.”
“But you are allowed a gun?” Vickery asked.
“Ah—technically, no. I borrowed it from Sir Whatsit’s cabinet. You won’t tell, will you?”
“I saw and heard nothing,” Vickery said. “If you break it open, I shall walk back with it for you.”
