The actors stood up well to the brisk round of renewed questioning, but Eric was completely out of his depth. Although game, he had picked up a few Australian expressions which were leading even the most trusting questioners to suspect that he had not spent his entire exile in Ceylon. This was all to the good, of course, as it opened new fields of speculation.
In a burst of inspiration, Evelina invited everyone to a pre-luncheon sherry party in her rooms. Not to be outdone, Amaryllis promptly announced that Bramwell would be serving more realistic drinks in his quarters.
The parties started early and overflowed into the corridor. Traffic was brisk from one party to the other, some people lodged permanently in the hallway, moving only to fetch a fresh drink. A general air of hilarity began to prevail.
Unfortunately, this meant that the rooms weren’t getting done. Since Hermione and Grace were officially dead, they could not make an appearance until they had taken their bows at the solution. Lettie had been co-opted by Evelina to help serve the sherry. Across the hallway, Amaryllis had pressed Lauren-Brigid into service. Perhaps that was another reason Evelina’s party was more popular than Bramwell’s.
Even Bramwell seemed to prefer it to his own. Amaryllis had to cross over periodically to retrieve him.
‘Bramwell, you’re neglecting your guests. And—’ with a sly glance towards Lettie—‘your poor little fiancée.’
‘She’s not my fiancée.’ Bramwell, too, glanced towards Lettie and raised his voice. ‘I never asked her to marry me. I don’t even like her.’
‘Bramwell!’ His mother used a tone of shocked reproof. ‘After all those poor girls have been through—’
‘I didn’t like them at the best of times,’ Bramwell said stubbornly. ‘Now one of them is dead and the other one is certifiable. I should think—’ he gambled recklessly— ‘you’d want your grandchildren to have a better background than that.’
‘You can leave that to me,’ Amaryllis said crisply. ‘When I look at you—and remember your father—I am convinced of the triumph of environment over heredity!’
The luncheon gong sounded from the dining-room below. Was it a coincidence that Lettie had disappeared?
The Honourable Petronella led the way down the staircase, Algie on one side of her, Edwin Lupin on the other. She favoured them with equal smiles, equal dollops of conversation. It was remarked, however, that once in the dining-room she abandoned them both and went to sit between Eric and Colonel Heather.
Algie promptly looked round for Lauren-Brigid, found her, and rushed to elbow aside an unresisting Bramwell in order to claim the seat next to her.
Amaryllis, already seated on the other side, glowered with impotent fury at her son as he cheerfully left the field to his rival and moved to a vacant seat at Evelina’s table.
There were worse problems to worry about, however.
‘Look—’ Roberta Rinehart drew Midge aside. ‘I’m scared. I mean, when you start unrolling the solution later on and the “victims” come out to take their bows—what’s it going to do to Lauren? It will hit her all over again about her twin. I wouldn’t like to be responsible for what might happen.’
‘Neither would I,’ Midge said. ‘But there’s another reason we’ll have to keep an eye on Lauren. Dix got a real anonymous letter—one we didn’t write ourselves. It said not all cats have nine lives. It may mean that Brigid was killed in mistake for Lauren—both twins were catty enough. It might just be that someone is playing games with us. Or it might be a genuine threat.’
‘Oh God!’ Roberta bit her lip. ‘It could even be the murderer playing games with us—in the best tradition. That’s the trouble, they’re all steeped in the Golden Age. Any one of them might have done it. I wish we’d never started these tours!’
Midge had been wishing that herself earlier. Now, hearing Roberta say it, she felt a strange pang. It had been such fun—up until this group. She hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping they’d go on with it. If Roberta were to pull out—
‘We’ll ask Amaryllis to look after Lauren,’ Midge said. ‘She can get her out of the way and keep her out of the way while Reggie delivers the solution.’
‘Yes, but—’
But that didn’t solve the problem of what to do with her for the rest of the night—and tomorrow. Cedric, Hermione and Grace could hardly be expected to hide themselves away until the tour left. It was difficult enough as it was.
‘We’ll worry about that later,’ Midge said. ‘I’ve got to help with the serving now.’ She sidestepped Roberta and retreated to the kitchen.
Cook was in a state of nerves, rehearsing her impending big scene. Her apron was streaked with lipstick marks and, as Midge watched, she tossed it towards her head again. It swung upwards, flapped over the top of her head, then slid downwards. There was a fresh crimson streak on it as it fell into place over her ample stomach.
‘It’s no use,’ Cook wailed. ‘I’ll never be able to make that thing stay over my face. Can’t we let someone else do it?’
‘Sorry, love,’ Lettie said. ‘You’re the only one they haven’t seen. The surprise witness—it’s got to be you. Perhaps,’ she added critically, ‘we could sew a coin in the corners to weight it, the way they do with drapes.’
‘Suppose I hit myself with it and get a black eye?’
‘A black eye won’t show up until later—’ Lettie was not conscious of heartlessness, she was too involved in the mechanics of the problem. ‘It wouldn’t matter.’
‘Not to you—’
‘How about your lines?’ Lettie interrupted briskly. ‘Have you got them pat?’
‘I think so. When Master Reggie calls me in—’
‘Reggie, Reggie,’ Reggie said. ‘Better still, just Reg. I’m supposed to be one of the hired help, too. You’ll give the game away—’
‘I can’t remember everything,’ Cook wailed.
‘You’re doing fine,’ Lettie said swiftly. ‘Just keep calm. We’ll get you a fresh apron, stitch a tenpenny piece in each corner, then all you’ll have to do is—’
‘How about serving lunch first?’ Midge reminded them. ‘The guests are all out there waiting.’
‘Coffee will be served in the lounge,’ Midge announced at the end of lunch. To reach the lounge, unlike the drawing-room, they would have to pass through the lobby. She wondered who would be the first to spot the new addition to the notice board.
No one even looked. Most of them drifted through the lobby still carrying on the conversations they had started at their tables. A few were silent and preoccupied— to the point of moroseness. Nearly everyone looked to the windows to check on whether the snow had started again. The lowering grey sky obviously filled them with apprehension.
Midge held a hurried consultation with Roberta and Reggie; they agreed that it would be well to speed up events again—before people had too much time to brood. Roberta then went off to have a quiet word with Amaryllis.
Midge then went into the lounge and made an announcement.
‘My husband, who, as you know, is an ex-Scotland Yard man, thinks he now knows who murdered Sir Cedric, Lady Hermione and Miss Holloway—and why. However, he would be glad to have any help you can give him to verify his conclusions so that he can make an arrest.’
‘Can he make an arrest if he isn’t with Scotland Yard any longer?’ a sceptic wanted to know.
‘We all have the power to make a Citizen’s Arrest,’ Midge said with dignity.
‘She’s right.’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘Could we? We’re not citizens of this country.’
‘Please—’ Midge clapped her hands, calling them back to order. ‘Reggie will join us soon. Meanwhile, you’ll find a stack of Deduction Sheets on the table beneath the notice board. If you would kindly answer the questions, stating your candidate for the killer—and the motives—and give them to me, I’ll take them to Reggie so that he can study them and see if any of you have found any clues he may have overlooked.’
There was a concerted rush for the lobby to collect Deduction Sheets. Once everyone was milling around out there, it did not take them long to discover the fresh clue.
‘Hey—look! Where did that come from?’
‘What is it?’
‘A ring. A gold wedding ring on a thin gold chain. And see, the chain’s broken. It must have fallen off someone.’
‘Who? And who found it? Who put it up there?’
‘Where did they find it?’
‘Take it down. Let’s have a closer look.’ Bertha Stout reached up and detached the chain and ring from the drawing-pin.
‘Careful—fingerprints,’ someone warned.
‘Nonsense!’ Colonel Heather snorted. ‘Little thing like that wouldn’t take any prints. And how could you bring them out?’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’ They looked at him with renewed suspicion.
‘You don’t happen to recognize the ring, do you, Colonel … Heather?’ Dix asked meaningly.
‘Never saw it before in my life.’
‘There are initials inside!’ Bertha had been examining the ring, now she held it up and squinted into it. ‘Can’t quite make them out—’
‘Let me see!’ Haila Bond snatched at the ring. Bertha tried to hold on, but was left with the thin chain dangling from her fingers, while Haila held the ring, twisting it so that light fell on the initials.
‘It looks like … AC and CS …’ she reported. ‘And there’s a date … 1914.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Who are they?’
‘CS—Cedric Strangeways!’ Bertha had it. ‘But who’s AC?”
‘Sir Cedric was married? Then what was he doing getting a marriage licence with Lettie?’
‘Did Lettie find out? Did she kill him in a fury?’
‘Maybe AC found out about Lettie.’
‘I know Sir Cedric was absent-minded—but could he really forget he had a wife?’
‘Maybe he thought he could get away with bigamy.’
‘How do we know AC is still alive?’
‘Maybe she isn’t any longer. Maybe Grace Holloway wasn’t her real name and—’
They were well away. Midge relaxed again. More so, when she heard Amaryllis speak softly to Lauren, as instructed:
‘There’s about an inch or so missing from that chain. Why don’t we go and look for it? We’ll solve the case ourselves and surprise everyone.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Enthusiastically, Lauren followed Amaryllis up the staircase, not realizing that she was to be kept safely out of the way for the next hour.
‘All right.’ Midge nodded to Lettie, who stood poised near the kitchen door. ‘Wheel Cook on.’
Lettie nodded back and disappeared.
‘A piece of this chain is missing.’ Bertha came to the same conclusion as Amaryllis, but unaided. ‘About an inch and a half, including part of the clasp.’ She looked around suspiciously. ‘Maybe we’ll find it clutched in the hand of the next corpse.’
‘Oh, Bertha—that’s awful!’ Alice Dain shuddered.
‘Good thinking,’ Asey said. ‘Is anybody missing?’
‘Practically everybody.’ Bertha found gloomy satisfaction in this. ‘Don’t you see? They’ve disappeared because it’s time for us to decide whodunit.’
‘But, if you think there’s another body to be found—’
‘It might not be another murder—it might be a suicide. The easy way out. Remember, this is 1935—and the death penalty is still in force. They swing for murder!’
‘Oh, Bertha—that’s even more awful! I don’t—’ Alice broke off as the rattle of china caught her attention. She turned. ‘Why—who’s that?’
They all turned as Cook moved past them, head down, wheeling the trolley into the lounge.
‘Yeah—’ Asey started after her. ‘Where did she come from? We haven’t seen her before. Hey—you! You—wait a minute—’ He grabbed Cook’s arm, bringing her to a reluctant halt. ‘Who are you?’
‘I—? I’m Cook, sir. Lettie is terribly busy, so I’ve brought in the coffee things for her.’
‘What do you mean—Cook?’ Bertha advanced on her, quivering with suspicion. ‘Do you mean you are the cook, or do you mean your name is Cook?’
‘B—both.’ Cook stood her ground with some difficulty, she had not been prepared to meet such intensity. ‘Cook by name and Cook by nature, I always say.’
‘And I suppose you’ve always worked at the Manor?’
‘Oh yes, ma’am. Ever since I was a child and started out as the ’tweenie.’
‘C for Cook,’ Bertha said reflectively. ‘I think we’re getting there. And what’s your first name?’
‘Everyone always calls me Cook.’
I’ve no doubt they do, but you must have a first name. What is it?’
‘It’s—’ Cook looked to Midge, who nodded encouragingly. ‘It’s Agatha.’
‘Agatha!’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Cook flared. ‘It’s a perfectly good name.’
‘An excellent name,’ Bertha said triumphantly. ‘And it makes you AC—who married Sir Cedric Strangeways in 1914!’
‘How did you—?’ Cook clutched at her neck, her fingers searching for something they failed to find.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Haila held the gold ring up before her.
‘Where did you get that?’ Cook grabbed for it, but Haila was faster. ‘Give me that—it’s mine!’
‘Just as I thought!’ Bertha said. ‘The Son of the House and the—what were you by then? The housemaid? Parlour maid? Apprentice cook? Anyway, it was a secret wartime marriage—and there was only one reason for that in those days. You were carrying his child, weren’t you?’
‘No—’ Cook said. ‘No—’
‘Yes,’ Bertha insisted. ‘You were a young girl, he had got you in trouble—and he was an honourable man. He was also on his way to the Front. He knew he might never come back. He gave you the protection of his name. He legitimized his child.’
‘No,’ Cook cried. ‘No—it wasn’t his!’ She got the apron over her head at the first throw and stumbled back to the kitchen before anyone could stop her.
‘I’m sorry—’ Midge moved forward to intercept as they tried to chase after Cook. ‘That’s enough for now. Cook is too upset. She never thought her guilty secret would be revealed. You must give her time to recover herself—or we won’t have any dinner tonight.’
Grumbling, they let themselves be shepherded into the lounge. They were annotating their papers frantically, deep in a new wave of speculation.
‘Whatever else, we sure can’t accuse Sir Cedric of being a snob. First he married his cook, then he tried to marry his parlourmaid.’
‘Maybe Cook killed him—because she was jealous.’
‘Were they divorced? We never got a chance to ask.’
‘Maybe Lettie was Cook’s daughter and Cook killed him to stop him from committing incest.’
‘Naw—she said the kid wasn’t his.’
‘Did he know it, I wonder?’
‘If he didn’t, all the more reason. He wouldn’t try to marry Lettie if he thought she was his daughter.’
‘Anyway, my anonymous letter as good as said Lettie was Miss Holloway’s illegitimate daughter. So there’d be no problem in that case.’
‘There’s an awful lot of illegitimacy around here,’ Alice complained.
‘Yeah,’ Stan agreed. ‘Who was fathering all these little bastards?’
‘I’ll ask you to let me have your Deduction Sheets in five minutes,’ Midge warned. ‘Reggie is waiting.’
‘Listen, everyone.’ Roberta clapped her hands for attention. ‘We mustn’t forget that the time has also come for you to choose between the Honourable Petronella and Edward Lupin. Which one is to take their place at the head of Van Dine Industries?’
‘Oh no—not another problem! How are we going to choose?’
‘A secret ballot is the only way,’ Roberta said. ‘Bramwell will give out and then collect the voting slips. If you’ll write down the name of your choice, I will then count the votes and announce your decision.’
‘One damn thing after another,’ Stan grumbled. ‘How are we supposed to vote when one of them might be the murderer?’
‘You’re supposed to have figured that out first,’ Bertha said. ‘Haven’t you? I have.’
‘So have I,’ Haila said.
‘Oh, it’s so difficult,’ Alice complained.
‘You have all the clues,’ Roberta said.
‘I’d hate to bet on that,’ Asey hooted.
‘You have all the clues,’ Roberta repeated firmly. ‘Now, sit down and vote.’
