Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Page 16

  “Who was driving her?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you that.”

  “Thank you, Ben,” I said, ready to move away. He reached out and touched my arm lightly. “You won’t give her away, will you? I was quite unsettled when I heard that the master had put her into one of those homes, and I knew she wouldn’t like it.”

  “No, I won’t give her away, but I feel I should write to Sir Hubert and let him know. It is his mother, after all.”

  As we parted company and were swept apart by the crowd I found myself rethinking this. She was being well cared for by her nurse. She was in her own home, and if she wandered around at night, then what was the harm in that? Maybe I should mind my own business until Sir Hubert came home.

  I bought a few obligatory items at the various booths: a pot of rhubarb jam and a crocheted bookmark at the Women’s Institute, a sweet little enamel brooch at the white elephant stall run by the church Mothers’ Union. Then I tried my hand at the bran tub run by the Scouts, winning a hair ribbon and comb, which I promptly donated to a small girl standing nearby. This elicited jealousy among her friends, so I distributed a few sixpences for them to try their luck too.

  I felt I’d done my duty and turned to leave. As I did so I heard someone calling my name and saw Lady Mountjoy. She lived at Farlows, that very grand estate only a mile from Eynsleigh, where I had attended the infamous house party with the Prince of Wales and a certain American woman (and almost been killed, but that’s another matter I won’t go into here).

  “Georgiana! Good heavens,” she said. She had two huge Irish setters on a leash and had to restrain them as they tried to jump up at me. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “I’ve come to live at Eynsleigh,” I said. “Sir Hubert invited me.”

  “He’s not back, is he?”

  “No. He’s still in South America. But I’m getting married and he wants us to make Eynsleigh our home.”

  “How splendid. And lovely to have you as a neighbor. Of course, we saw your announcement in the Times. You’re engaged to Darcy O’Mara, aren’t you? We’ve always adored the dear boy. So dashing. In fact we rather hoped he might do for Imogen . . . apart from the Catholic thing, you understand.” She broke off, realizing she might not have been tactful. “You must come to dinner soon. And bring your intended.”

  “He’s off in foreign parts somewhere at the moment,” I said. “But we’d love to come when he returns.”

  “Splendid. Let us know what date might work.” The dogs were now pulling her in the direction of a stall that was selling grilled sausages. “Heel, you brutes. Heel!” she yelled. At the last moment she turned back to me. “Oh, and I should warn you to take extra care, Georgie. There have been burglaries in the neighborhood. We were burgled ourselves. The good silver taken. And it wasn’t some sort of amateur job either. There were no signs of forced entry. We’ve no idea how they got in, unless they propped a ladder to an upstairs window. But then how did they get a ladder of that length onto the estate when the gates are closed? My husband has kept an eye on the antique shops in the Lanes in Brighton hoping to spot some of our items, but so far nothing has shown up. Such a pity. Some have been in the family since the seventeen hundreds.”

  “I’ll warn the servants to make sure they lock up at night,” I said, “but frankly there isn’t much worth stealing. I suspect Sir Hubert locks all the valuables in a strong room while he’s away.”

  “Probably does. Such a sensible man, apart from this absurd desire to keep scaling impossible mountains. I don’t know where he gets it from. His father was such a boring man. Never left home if he didn’t have to.” The dogs gave a final jerk and broke free. “I must run,” she squealed. “We’ll make a date. I promise.” And she took off across the green yelling, “Come back here at once, you stupid brutes,” while the two dogs paid no notice.

  I drove back to Eynsleigh to find that Claudette, Mummy’s maid, had arrived with trunks of various sizes, which were now being carried upstairs by McShea and Joanie. Mummy herself was nowhere to be seen, but I located her in the morning room.

  “Did you know that Claudette has come with your things?”

  “Yes, darling. Of course I did.”

  “Don’t you want to supervise?”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. Claudette knows where to put things,” she said. Then her eyes lit up. “You marvelous girl. You’ve brought the Times.”

  “And I’ve arranged for it to be delivered starting Monday morning,” I said.

  “Lovely. You’re such a good daughter. Now, if I can just have some more of that delightful coffee and some of Queenie’s shortbread I think I might last until luncheon.” For a small person, in mourning, she had an impressive appetite.

  Coffee was brought by McShea, who seemed as fascinated with my mother as he was with Queenie. He couldn’t stop staring at her; then he blurted out, “I’ve seen your picture in all the papers.”

  “Of course you have, dear boy,” she said, giving him that smile that turned his face bright red. “I expect I have a photograph somewhere that I could sign for you if you’d like.”

  He left, stammering his gratitude.

  “How do you do it?” I asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Have this hold over men? They see you and instantly they are reduced to jabbering idiots. Even Plunkett blushed.”

  “It’s a gift, I suppose,” she said, idly turning the page of her newspaper. “You have to have been born with it and you, unfortunately, inherited too much from your father’s side of the family, where the word ‘sex’ was never mentioned.”

  I heard only part of this because I was staring at the page of the newspaper that was now facing toward me. A small paragraph at the bottom of the page and a photograph of someone I thought I recognized.

  “Just a minute, Mummy,” I said. I knelt on the floor at her feet so that I could study the page she was holding up. “Keep it still. There’s something I want to read.”

  The small headline read:

  CITY FINANCIER GOES MISSING

  I read on.

  Arthur Broadbent, financial adviser for the City firm Harrison and Weekes, was reported missing by his wife, Annabel, when he failed to return home two days ago, on June 28th. He told his wife he was going to visit clients in Surrey and Sussex that day. Mr. Broadbent is an employee of a firm that recently made headlines in a scandal that rocked the financial world. They were part of a broad investigation into the manipulation of foreign currencies and the provision of tax havens for their richest clients. Although it must be pointed out that Mr. Broadbent’s name was never mentioned in connection with the scandal.

  “What is it?” Mummy asked, turning the page toward her.

  “That man,” I said, pointing at the photograph. “I’m pretty sure he was the one who came to the house a couple of days ago.”

  Chapter 21

  SUNDAY, JUNE 30, AND MONDAY, JULY 1

  EYNSLEIGH

  Oh dear. Now I don’t know what to think. A man disappears after coming to visit. I wouldn’t be suspicious except that so many strange things have been happening here.

  Mummy picked up the newspaper and held it closer. I suspected she needed glasses but was too vain to wear them. “Such an ordinary-looking little chap,” she said. “Are you sure it’s the same one?”

  I got up and perched on the arm of the sofa beside her. “Pretty sure,” I said. “Of course I only saw him from above, looking down from your window, and his face was rather red and sweaty.”

  “What did he want anyway?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t really know. Plunkett never came to me to tell me there was a visitor and I rebuked him for it afterward. And when I asked him who the visitor had been he said the man had wanted to see Lady Anstruther and Plunkett had had to tell him that she was in no state to receive visitors. The man left in a huff, annoyed that he had come all this way on a hot day, and even refused a cup of tea.”

  “Perfectly reasonable explanation,” Mummy said. She stared at the photograph again. In the newsprint it was grainy and I wondered if I might have made a mistake. Then I remembered that Plunkett had said that the visitor had come about appraising some antique jewelry. So either it was a different man or Plunkett was lying. I found it easy to believe the latter.

  “It’s always the inoffensive ones, isn’t it?” Mummy said, rousing me from these thoughts.

  “Who do what?”

  “Well, it’s obvious he’s done a bunk with the cash, wouldn’t you say? Lots of rich clients, entrusting money to his care. Too, too tempting. He’s probably in Bermuda or heading for South America by now.”

  “Oh golly, I hope so,” I said. Wild thoughts were still racing around my head. He came to the house but I never saw him leave. Of course, I wasn’t exactly watching the driveway and he could have left without my seeing him, but . . . I wouldn’t allow that train of thought to continue.

  “Do you think we should telephone the police and let them know that he came here?” I asked.

  “Darling, one never gets involved with the police unless absolutely necessary,” she said. “If the man came and went, then there is really nothing to tell them. As I said, he’s probably far away by now and the firm has probably noticed a large amount of cash or jewelry missing.”

  “Yes,” I said. But at the back of my mind was a horrid thought. I kept picturing Lady Anstruther throwing that heavy cut-glass ashtray that just missed my head. Plunkett had said she didn’t like men. What if the man had been taken to see Lady Anstruther? And what if she had thrown something at him and accidentally killed him? I wrenched my thoughts to more manageable topics. “Mummy, we should have a talk with Fernando and Queenie so that they can plan meals you’d like. Then tomorrow we might have to go into Haywards Heath and stock up on your sort of food.”

  “Anyone would think I was a racehorse with a delicate constitution,” she said. “You know me, plain and simple food. Just a morsel here and there. That’s all.”

  “But we should have a talk with the cooks,” I said. I rang the bell for Plunkett. I wasn’t sure whether to mention the man who was now missing. I didn’t think it was the right moment and it would be wise to wait until we found out more. Mummy was right; inoffensive-looking people disappeared every day: they ran off with a mistress or with the cash. No doubt we’d read in a future newspaper article that Mr. Broadbent was caught boarding a steamer at Tilbury Docks.

  “You rang, my lady? Your Grace?” Plunkett asked.

  “Yes, we would like a word with Fernando and Queenie.”

  “I will send them up immediately.” He gave Mummy a little bow. So he was impressed by having a former duchess in the house when he hadn’t been the least impressed by having the daughter of a duke. It was more likely he was impressed with having a celebrity in the house. And a beautiful woman!

  Fernando and Queenie appeared. Fernando was glaring. “This girl! I no can work with her. She is impossible! She ruin my dish.”

  “What happened, Queenie?”

  “How was I to know them veggies on the counter were for the dish he was making? I thought they was the old scraps and peelings nobody wanted anymore.”

  “They were julienned. Ready to be sautéed. I slice tiny strips, very thin. And this, this imbecile, she throws away. I cook the beef, I look around . . . where are my vegetables? All gone. And then . . . then she throws away my oil.”

  Queenie shrugged as if she thought he was being rather silly. “It was just a pot of green-looking nasty-smelling stuff.”

  “I have the olive oil when I cook the garlic and onion. She throw away. Where I find more olive oil in a place like this, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, Fernando,” I said, trying not to grin. “Queenie, please do not interfere with Fernando’s cooking.”

  “Well, the kitchen is a right mess. Never cleaned up properly and I can’t find things,” she said. “That girl Molly is useless. Doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Perhaps Fernando hasn’t taught her. It’s up to you to show her what you want done. Is that clear?” She nodded, grudgingly. Fernando glared.

  “Now, about our meals.” I listed some things my mother might want to eat. I made sure the menus included most things that I had spotted growing in the kitchen garden. “And tomorrow we are going into Haywards Heath to arrange for the grocer there to deliver food that Her Grace likes.”

  I dismissed them then. The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough and we actually had roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for Sunday dinner. I tried to brush the worry about the missing Mr. Broadbent from my mind when I went to bed. He was not my concern.

  On Monday morning Mummy protested about going into Haywards Heath, in case she was recognized, and insisted on wearing the hat with the veil, which I thought made her rather more noticeable. There weren’t many people in a small country town who wore Chanel and a veiled hat to go shopping. In spite of her claim that she only wanted simple things, the list was quite long and beyond the scope of a country store. She came out pouting. “I’ll have to send to Fortnum’s for the caviar and the quail and my favorite marmalade. . . .”

  “Mummy,” I said, not knowing quite how to broach the subject. “I have to point out that the household allowance Sir Hubert left is not very big. It certainly doesn’t run to caviar. I’m not sure how you are situated financially, but you may have to cut back a bit and eat more simply.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. I’m not about to starve. I still have a bank account that Max set up for me and I don’t think he’d be mean enough to close it. At least not yet. So let’s eat, drink and drown our sorrows, shall we? And spend his money for as long as we can.”

  She then suggested we go into the bank and she’d withdraw enough money to boost the household accounts. It turned out to be the Westminster Bank. While she was at the counter I asked to speak to the bank manager. He was a jolly, portly sort of person with a gold watch chain slung across his waistcoat in the old-fashioned manner.

  “Sit down, young lady. Sit down. Now, what can we do for you?” he asked.

  I told him I had moved into Eynsleigh and I was finding the amount that Sir Hubert had arranged for the monthly household expenses to be not quite enough. Was there any possibility that he could release more funds?

  He frowned at me then. “I thought the amount was quite ample,” he said. “Unless you are planning large house parties every weekend.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “I plan to live quite simply.”

  “Well then. You should be able to manage on forty pounds a month.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that the amount? I thought that’s what we set up for Sir Hubert.” He went to a filing cabinet and pulled out a folder. “Yes, that’s right. Forty pounds to be made available on the first of the month.”

  I came out red-cheeked and furious. So Plunkett had made a false set of books to show me and was clearly pocketing the rest of the money. He must have thought me horribly naïve, which I suppose I was. I had no idea how much it took to run a large household. And now that I had proof that Plunkett was corrupt I began to wonder whether the man who disappeared had not come to see Lady Anstruther at all, but Plunkett himself. Perhaps they were both involved in some nefarious scheme. What made no sense to me was that he had come with such good references from a noble family. Had he swindled them in any way, I wondered? I hoped I’d receive a reply to my letter to the current earl soon.

  I was determined to face up to Plunkett the moment we arrived home. This took longer than I expected because Mummy had apparently run out of her favorite French soap and we had to hunt through every chemist shop in Haywards Heath before she had to admit that local chemists did not stock soap that cost two shillings a bar. Then she had to select her favorite magazines in the newsagents—to take her mind off the tragedy, she said.

  It was time for luncheon when he returned and Mummy declared herself to be starving, so we went straight through to the dining room. Mummy paused and looked around her. “This room is also impossibly dreary, isn’t it? Really, Hubert has let the place go. I suppose that’s what happens when a fellow lives alone with no woman to brighten up the place. We must go and see the gardeners after luncheon, Georgie. Let them know I require fresh flowers in the rooms every day.”

  Good luck with that, I thought but didn’t say. But then knowing my mother, they’d both be growing orchids for her and fighting to present the best bouquets.

  We had a simple but delicious luncheon of a gammon steak with parsley sauce and tiny new potatoes and peas from the garden. This was followed by a berry charlotte. Hooray for Queenie. When Mummy declared she’d have her coffee in the morning room, I decided it was time to tackle Plunkett.

  “I need to speak with you,” I said. “Come through into the library.”

  He followed. “My lady?” he asked. His face was placid and showed no distress.

  “The household account book you showed me, Plunkett. It was completely false. Don’t deny it. I have spoken with the bank manager.”

  “I don’t deny it, my lady,” he said. “You’re right. It was false and I apologize.”

  I was taken aback by this. “So what do you have to say for yourself, stealing from your employer?”

  “Oh no, my lady. It wasn’t like that at all.” He seemed quite perturbed. “It was old Lady Anstruther, you see. When you arrived I thought we might be able to keep it from you that she was living here so I cooked the books, so to speak. But she’s quite an expense with a full-time nurse and the sort of food she likes. That’s where the rest of the money goes.”

  “Then it is to stop going immediately,” I said. “Is that clear? She is not penniless if she is calling someone to appraise her jewelry. And what about the money that was being paid to the home for her care? That can go to pay for her nurse, and she can eat what we eat. Otherwise she goes back to the home again.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I leave it to you to sort out, Plunkett, but in future I want to see the real household accounts. Otherwise I shall be forced to write to Sir Hubert.”