The Sword in the Stone-Dead, page 9
part #1 of Great Vicari Mystery Series
“I haven’t said—”
“Don’t deny that you’re considering it. You just haven’t decided which option is in your best interests yet.”
“What makes you think—?”
“You invited your darling Margot down here this weekend because you want to sweet-talk her into giving you the money to finish Arthur and Guinevere. You lied to my uncle about having raised the whole budget for it.”
“I underestimated what it would cost, I admit that,” Fulbright said.
“And do you admit that Margot said she’d only give you the money if she can be your co-star?”
Fulbright breathed out loudly before replying. “She has said that. But I will talk her round, you needn’t worry about that. I have years of experience dealing with Margot. I will make her—”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I can control Margot,” Fulbright insisted, angry that she would interrupt him.
Eleanor laughed out loud at this. “You can’t even control your teenage daughter,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Linette obeys my—”
“Your daughter runs around behind your back doing exactly as she pleases . She has no more respect for you than Margot does.”
“That’s not true!”
“Really? Then I suppose you gave permission for her to become engaged to Oliver Garvin?” Eleanor asked. She smiled when she saw his expression. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it?”
“I knew about their relationship. I forbade her—”
“In her own interests, of course. And yet, your attempt to control her has amounted to—what?”
“I shall speak to her about this,” Fulbright said. “There has been some mistake.”
“Yes, Leo, I think there has.” Her smile was cold. “And until you have your own house in order, kindly keep your nose out of mine.”
* * *
“And what did you learn from your little encounter with Geoffrey Atterbury?” Fulbright asked. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily.
“That you should never underestimate a toff,” Vickery said.
“You didn’t know that already? Rich bastards get rich—and stay rich—by being bastards. That’s what my father always used to say.”
“I thought your father was a clergyman?”
“Lay preacher—though he never said that from the pulpit.”
“I might have attended church just to see that,” Vickery said.
“Yes, well, don’t go thinking that gives you and my father a great deal in common. He was working class, and old-fashioned in his thinking on a lot of things, if you take my meaning.”
“Your father wasn’t fond of cousin Raymond?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Are you any closer to unmasking our poison penman?” Fulbright asked.
“I shall have a much better idea, once I have discovered why certain people are not telling me the truth.”
“Who do you think is lying to you?” Fulbright asked.
“Practically everyone.”
Chapter 8
“I know what you said to Leo,” Eleanor said, “about wanting to replace me as Guinevere.”
“And are you willing to step aside in order to save Leo’s motion picture?” Margot asked. “Will you make that sacrifice for him?”
She stared into Eleanor’s eyes, but the younger actress refused to look away.
“No,” Eleanor said finally, still meeting Margot’s gaze. Defiant.
“You’ve got backbone after all.”
“I want this,” Eleanor said. “I know I’ll never be able to build my reputation the way you have. The long way. I haven’t earned my dues. But this may be the one chance I have. If I don’t play Guinevere, chances are that no one will ever hear of Eleanor Trenton. Can’t you let me have this?”
“Are you trying to appeal to my better nature?” Margot asked. “I told Leo that I wouldn’t give him the money for Arthur and Guinevere because I wanted your role in it. But that isn’t true. It’s not your part I want. I want to be you. I want to be ten years younger. Men grow older, and they get to play King Lear. What do we get? I’ve just been offered Lady Bracknell: don’t you dare laugh. If I take it, I may as well just tell them it is fine to offer all the leading roles to younger women. You may not believe me, but I need Guinevere. Almost as much as you do.”
“I am not seeking to replace you,” Eleanor said.
“As if you could,” Margot sniffed. She paced across the room and looked out of the window. “Do you know, the only happy women I know are the ones that gave up their own ambitions and settled down to raise a family. Perhaps I should have done that.”
“That is ridiculous, you couldn’t have walked away from the theatre if you’d wanted to,” Eleanor said.
“I know. But sometimes I wonder—about the other life I might have had.”
“If things are so terrible for women, shouldn’t we be helping each other, rather than squabbling over scraps?”
“How do you propose we might do that?” Margot asked.
“Perhaps it is time that we become the writers and directors,” Eleanor said, “and create parts for women that are really worth fighting over?”
“That shift will not happen in my lifetime,” Margot said.
“Is that a reason not to fight for change?”
“You’re talking about fighting a war. You’ll have to win this battle first. I won’t let you take this, not without a fight,” Margot said.
“What are you really afraid of? Not me. I’m not here to take away anything you’ve achieved. And I’m not trying to steal Leo away from you...”
“I can keep Leo, but you’re not prepared to give up Guinevere, is that it?” Margot stared at Eleanor. “Are you really prepared to fight for it?”
“I will do whatever it takes.”
Margot smiled coldly. “You haven’t got what it takes.”
“And what is that?”
“You have got to be ruthless. You have to go out there and make that role yours. You have got to channel every ounce of your energy and anger into that performance, until everyone is looking at you on that screen, not Leo Fulbright. You have got to turn things up so high that people hold their breath, and then pitch it so low they lean forward in their seats to catch every word you whisper. They have got to believe Lancelot will betray his King for you, and you have to make every man want to feel your lips on his. When you weep, you’ve got to make every woman feel that her own heart has been broken. That is what it will take. And it will need more than an albino mouse to do it.”
“What happened to you? What made you into this heartless—?”
“I became an actress. It’s the price you pay.”
“Perhaps you will blackmail Leo into giving you my part, that’s your choice,” Eleanor said. “But you will always know that you had to cheat to get it. You weren’t Leo’s first choice: I was. And you can whine and complain and blame the fact that life is so unfair because women age. But the truth is, if you’d had what it takes to make this role yours, he’d have given it to you in the first place.”
“You dare—”
“If you want this role, you are going to have to fight for it,” Eleanor said.
“I am going to take it from you.”
“Over my dead body!”
“If you insist.”
“I am going to go out there, and I’m going to show Leo Fulbright that I am his queen,” Eleanor said. “I’m going to play Guinevere and make him forget he ever heard of Margot McCrae. I’m going to make him believe that he was right not to cast his poor little invalid wife in his first motion picture. Your reign is over, old woman—mine begins now!”
Margot applauded silently, mocking.
“Bravo, little mouse queen, bravo. Such a shame that you couldn’t bring that passion to the sound stage.”
The door opened, and Leo Fulbright leaned in.
“Is everything all right, ladies?” he asked.
“Everything is wonderful, Leo dear, Miss Trenton was just leaving to practice her lines.”
Eleanor glared at her, then swept out past Fulbright.
“I heard you arguing,” Fulbright said.
“We were comparing notes on you, dear. We were each convinced that we despised you more.”
“I told her you wanted Guinevere, or you wouldn’t provide the funding,” Fulbright said. “She said over her dead body. Or yours.”
“A fight to the death?” Margot smiled.
“Margot, please—”
“You made a mistake, Leo, thinking she could ever be a match for me.”
“I didn’t send her to try and argue with you, that was her choice.”
“Then she has bigger balls than you,” Margot said. “Unfortunately, that isn’t saying very much.”
Chapter 9
“Daddy, no, please!”
“Where is he?” Fulbright demanded. “Never mind, I’ll find him myself.” He stomped out into the entrance hall.
“Help! Somebody, please!” Linette cried.
“What’s wrong?” Vickery asked, entering through the French doors.
“Daddy’s gone after Ollie. He has a rifle!”
“Actually, it’s a seventeenth-century smooth bore flintlock musket,” Sir Geoffrey said, entering the dining room. “Just passed him in the hall.”
“Does any of that really matter? He can still shoot someone with it,” Linette said.
“It’s all right, your father doesn’t have the balls for it,” Sir Geoffrey said.
“What?”
“The lead shot—for the musket,” Sir Geoffrey explained. “Still in there.” He nodded towards the library. “He’d have to load it with a measure of gunpowder and a lead ball before he could fire. Even if he’d taken one of the paper cartridges, a trained musketeer can only load four shots a minute, and the musket is only accurate up to about a hundred yards, so the odds are all in your young man’s favour.”
“Then he can’t kill Ollie with it?”
“Well, if he swung the musket hard enough,” Sir Geoffrey said.
“Come on,” Linette insisted, “we’ve got to stop him!”
“Garvin!” Fulbright bellowed, somewhere on the first floor.
Oliver Garvin appeared in the entrance hall just as the others came out of the dining room.
“Ollie, you’ve got to hide. Quickly!” Linette said. “Daddy knows we’re engaged.”
“How did he find out?”
“Aunt Veronica told Eleanor, and Eleanor told daddy.”
“How did Veronica find out?”
“I don’t know! That’s not the important thing right now—he’s got a gun!”
“Blimey! I’m guessing now isn’t the time for a little man-to man-chat with him, then?” Garvin said.
“Not unless you brought bandages,” Vickery said.
“Where can I hide?”
“Take the car, go down to the village, to the inn, stay there until I can get away and meet you,” Linette said.
“Are you two going to elope?” Sir Geoffrey said. “How daring!”
“I just saw a man with an axe—he was looking for Garvin,” Molloy said, coming in from the courtyard.
“That was my father,” Linette said.
“And it was a musket, not an axe,” Sir Geoffrey insisted.
“No, it was that other actor chappie, Kimball. And he definitely had an axe.”
“He must have found out about the photographs,” Garvin said.
“What photographs?” Sir Geoffrey asked. Everyone ignored him.
“How did he find out?” Linette asked.
“I don’t know! Maybe Aunt Veronica told the dog, and the dog told Kimball. Does it matter? Two people are trying to kill me!”
“You should hide,” Molloy suggested.
“I’ve been saying that for half-an-hour!” Linette said.
“Run. We’ll stall Fulbright,” Vickery said.
“But what about Kimball?” Garvin asked.
“I’d suggest giving him a wide berth,” Malloy said, “and if he throws the axe—”
“Yes?”
“Duck!” Everyone seemed to shout at once, as a shadow loomed in the doorway behind Garvin.
The stock of the musket slammed into the side of Garvin’s head. His eyes crossed and then rolled to show all white. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground.
“Got the little blighter!” Fulbright was triumphant.
Linette screamed.
Sir Geoffrey grabbed the musket. “I say, there was no call for that. I hope you haven’t done any serious damage, this is a seventeenth-century antique!”
“Someone call a doctor,” Linette pleaded, kneeling beside Garvin and cradling his head.
“It’s not a doctor he’ll need, it’s a bloody undertaker,” Fulbright said. “Get him up so I can knock him down again.”
“Daddy, stop it, please!”
“I say, steady on,” Sir Geoffrey cautioned, taking a step back.
“What’s that—what’s that ringing noise?” Garvin’s eyes flickered open, but he seemed to have trouble focussing. “Is it me, or is it foggy in here?”
“It’s you, dear. Please lie still. Daddy hit you with a musket.”
“I’ve been shot?”
“No, darling, he hit you round the head with it.”
“Is that why my ear is ringing?”
“I should think so. How do you feel?”
“A bit queasy. It might be those kidneys I had for breakfast.”
“He may have a concussion,” Malloy said.
“Is that bad?” Linette asked.
“Probably best not to let him fall asleep,” Vickery said.
“I couldn’t sleep with all this damn ringing, anyway,” Garvin said.
“Somebody get some ice, in a tea towel or something,” Malloy said, “it’ll help the swelling.”
“It’s swelling just fine without the ice,” Garvin said. “Do you think I’ll have a cauliflower ear?”
“Get him up. I want a word with him,” Fulbright said.
“Not now, daddy, he’s hurt.”
“Let’s carry him through to the library, lie him on a sofa,” Vickery said.
“Sir Geoffrey’s gone for the ice,” Malloy said.
“Do you think he even knows where the kitchen is?” Linette asked.
“No, but he knows where the bell-pull is to summon someone from the kitchen,” Malloy said.
Malloy and Vickery carried Oliver Garvin into the library and laid him on one of the chesterfields, propping him up with cushions.
“Ice is on its way,” Sir Geoffrey said, “and I’ve ordered tea. Bit early, I know, but hot sweet tea usually helps when you’ve had a bump on the head. That’s what nanny always used to give us. Or was it a mustard poultice?”
“Haven’t felt like this since I cracked heads with Spotty Cartwright in the fourth year,” Garvin said.
“Is he delirious?” Linette asked.
“He’s a gibbering idiot!” Fulbright said. “The sooner we toss him out, the better.”
“He’s my fiancé,” Linette said defensively.
“The only way you’re marrying him, is over my dead body.”
“I am sure that can be arranged,” Linette said coldly.
“I should put you across my knee!” Fulbright threatened.
“And Ollie should have you arrested for criminal assault,” Linette said.
“I only hit him once.”
“In front of witnesses,” Linette said.
Fulbright looked around, as if seeing the others for the first time. “These aren’t witnesses, they’re my—guests.”
“Ah, here’s the tea,” Sir Geoffrey said, pleased by the distraction. “And the ice for Mr. Whatshisname. Just put it down, Crawley.”
The butler set the tray down on the table, gave the slightest of bows, and exited.
“Fulbright, why don’t you be mother?” Sir Geoffrey suggested. Fulbright glared at him. “No? I’ll pour then, shall I?”
As the others were adding milk and sugar to their teacups, Fulbright cornered Linette and began a whispered conversation.
“What do you think your mother’s going to say about this?” He demanded to know.
“I imagine she will say that you are a Neanderthal who can’t control his ugly temper.”
“Not this—you and him—eloping!”
“We haven’t eloped, we’re still here. For the moment. And as for the engagement, I can tell you exactly what she said about that—”
“I said, congratulations, my dear, I’m delighted for you. I should like you to have grand mama’s ring.”
Margot McCrae swept into the room. She looked down at Oliver Garvin, placed the back of her hand against his forehead, then examined his swollen ear.
“No fever, no blood: you’ll live,” she said. “But I wouldn’t go heading any footballs for a while.”
“No, mother,” Garvin said.
“Keep him awake,” Margot said.
“How?” Sir Geoffrey asked.
“Talk to him. But avoid theatrical anecdotes, they can tranquilise a hippo. Leo, you and I need to have words, outside.”
“But I’m not done here.”
“You most definitely are,” Margot told him. She led the way out of the library.
“As soon as he is on his feet,” Fulbright said quietly, “I want him out of my house!”
“Er, actually, it’s my house,” Sir Geoffrey said, “not meaning to be pernickety, but you know what they say about an Englishman’s home... Home, castle, you see what I mean. Ha, ha.”
Sir Geoffrey was rescued from the full force of Fulbright’s glare.
“Leo!” Margot called from outside the door. “Don’t make me count to three!”
Fulbright exited, tail between his legs.
“What now?” Malloy asked.
“More tea anyone?” Sir Geoffrey asked brightly.
As he spoke, Malloy saw Ted Kimball walk past the window, a large axe resting on his shoulder: he looked to be whistling. Malloy signalled to Vickery and the two of them stepped out into the hallway.
