The Last Mrs. Summers Read online

  I rang the bell—something that had felt strange and uncomfortable to me all my life—and Mrs. Mannering appeared almost immediately. “My lady?” she asked.

  “I presume that the inspector has arrived,” I said. “We heard voices. May I suggest that we have something to eat while we can, in case the inspector wants to talk to us at length later?”

  “Certainly, my lady. I’ll have James bring your supper immediately. Would you perhaps prefer to eat in here, by the fire? I can bring you trays.”

  “That would be very nice, thank you,” I said.

  She gave me a smile—the first attempt at a smile I had seen from her, and a little nod of a bow before she went out. Almost immediately a footman and maid appeared, each carrying trays. On the tray was a bowl of thick vegetable soup, a plate of ham, pork pie, a wedge of cheese, a small dish of pickled cabbage and several slices of bread. Mrs. Mannering followed, carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses. She poured us a glass each without waiting to ask and placed them on the low table in front of the sofa. Then she left.

  Belinda toyed with the soup while I’m afraid I tucked in with gusto. “It’s very good,” I said. “And the pork pie is delicious. And this pickled cabbage.”

  “I just can’t swallow,” she replied. “I’m so scared, Georgie.”

  “I’m sure it will be all right.” I reached across to pat her hand. “Do try at least a few sips of soup. You need to keep your strength up.”

  She brought a spoon to her mouth. After two or three attempts she put down the bowl.

  “At least have the wine and cheese,” I said.

  “If I drink the wine, they’ll think I have an alcohol problem and that I was intoxicated last night.”

  “Of course they won’t. And you drank exactly the same amount as the rest of us. I’ll tell them that.”

  “Except for Tony,” Belinda said. “He drank more, didn’t he? He had several brandies after dinner.”

  “He did,” I agreed.

  I toyed with this thought as I ate in silence. Tony was definitely tipsy by the end of the evening. Had that fact made it easier for someone to kill him? Had he, in fact, passed out on Belinda’s bed? Not that this would make it any better for Belinda—just explain how easily she could have stabbed him to death. I suddenly experienced what she was feeling, that I could not swallow another morsel. One of the maids appeared with another tray, this one with dishes of blancmange and stewed apple. Both of us managed those quite nicely. We had moved on to coffee when Mrs. Mannering appeared again.

  “The inspector would now like to speak to both of you young ladies. He suggested speaking to you in the library but I pointed out that the fire is not normally lit in the library during the evening and it might feel rather cold for all of you. So he said he will come in here instead.”

  “What is he like, Mrs. Mannering?” Belinda asked. “Is he terrifying?”

  “He seemed a most mild-mannered man, Miss Warburton-Stoke. Quiet in his speech. Thoughtful. Observant. No, I do not think you will find him a bullying type of policeman. His name is Detective Inspector Watt, by the way.”

  “What?” Belinda asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Mannering gave a little nod and left us.

  “What did she say his name was?” Belinda turned to me. I was grinning.

  “Yes,” I said. Then I had to chuckle. “That’s his name. Inspector Watt.” I suppose it was the tension but I couldn’t stop giggling. “And do you know what? If your grandmother had married him, she would have been a Watt-Knott.”

  Even Belinda managed a smile at this. “It’s not funny, Georgie,” she said, fighting to look serious. “How can you laugh when the situation is so dire?”

  “I thought we both needed cheering up,” I said. “And it’s good to see you smile.”

  “Watt-Knott. You’re awful, you know that?” We were both still giggling like schoolgirls when the door opened and the inspector came in. “I’m glad to see you ladies are in good humor,” he said. “I am Detective Inspector Watt.” (I pressed my lips together so that I didn’t allow a chuckle to escape.) “Which one of you is Miss Warburton-Stoke?”

  “I am,” Belinda said.

  “And your name, miss?” He turned to me. He was a thin man probably in his forties, wearing a brown suit that matched his sandy mustache and thinning sandy hair. The sort of man one might never notice in a crowd, but I observed his eyes, as they fastened on me, were narrow and shrewd.

  “I am Mrs. O’Mara,” I said, omitting that I was still to be addressed as “lady.”

  “A friend of Mrs. Summers?”

  “No, I’d never met either Mr. or Mrs. Summers before Wednesday. I am a friend of Miss Warburton-Stoke. We came down here to look at a property she had just inherited.”

  “I see. I shall want you to give my man your full name and address, if you don’t mind. But I have some questions for this other young lady, in whose room I understand that the body was found.”

  “That is correct,” Belinda said stiffly.

  “Now, in your own words, if you don’t mind, perhaps you’d like to tell me how this unfortunate scene came about.” He pulled up a spindle-backed chair and sat directly opposite Belinda.

  “There is almost nothing I can tell you,” Belinda said. “I went to have a bath, about ten thirty or thereabouts. I came back to my room and didn’t bother to turn on the light as I was already dressed for bed. My foot kicked something. I couldn’t think what I could have left on the floor. I bent to pick it up. It was sticky. I turned on the light and saw that it was a knife, covered in blood. Then I looked up and saw Tony Summers, lying on my bed as you have just found him. I believe I might have screamed.”

  “You are telling me that the gentleman was already dead when you came into your room?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “I heard her scream, Inspector,” I said. “I was just dozing off in the room next door, but her scream woke me. I came running and saw her standing there, holding the knife and looking petrified.”

  “So, Miss”—he consulted his notes to remind himself—“Warburton-Stoke. I’d like you to think carefully before you answer this. Do you have any idea at all why Mr. Summers would be lying on your bed, naked?”

  “Absolutely no idea at all, Inspector. I certainly did not invite him into my room.”

  “How well did you know the man?”

  “Hardly at all,” Belinda said. “I used to spend my summers with my grandmother in this part of the world. Tony Summers and his wife were also children who spent their summers here. We all used to play together. I was completely surprised when I bumped into Rose Summers coming out of the post office and she recognized me and I found out that she and Tony were married and now living at Trewoma.”

  “So that was the first you’d seen of them since childhood?”

  Belinda hesitated. Then she said “I had bumped into Tony once at a club in London several years ago. But certainly not kept up the acquaintanceship with either of them.”

  I nodded. Good answer, Belinda. She had told the truth, or at least part of it.

  “So what are you doing staying at this house, then, if these people were relative strangers now?”

  “In the course of our conversation outside the post office I mentioned that we were in search of a hotel room as the little cottage I had inherited was not in a fit state to stay in. Rose immediately suggested we come to stay at Trewoma. I was hesitant to accept, because I really didn’t know them anymore, but she kept insisting, didn’t she, Georgie?”

  “She did. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and went on about how seldom they had guests and essentially how lonely it was. It would have been rude not to accept.”

  DI Watt nodded slowly. “So it was Mrs. Summers and not Mr. who invited you?”

  “Yes, it was,” Belinda r
eplied.

  “And what did Mr. Summers think about it?”

  “He seemed rather pleased to have guests and was proud of the way he had built up the home farm. He showed us his herd of Jersey cows.”

  “He didn’t, at any time, show . . . uh . . . special interest in you, Miss Warburton-Stoke?”

  Again Belinda paused. Then she said, “Since his wife was present at all times I find that a strange question. We went around the farm together with Rose Summers. We ate dinner together. We played cards together and then I went to have my bath. Lady Georgie can verify this.”

  “Lady who?” He looked confused.

  “My friend, Lady Georgiana.”

  He spun back toward me. “I thought you said you were Mrs. O’Mara?”

  “I am, Inspector. I recently married the Honorable Darcy O’Mara, but I still retain my title as daughter of a duke.”

  “I see.” This clearly had thrown him. He glared at me as if concealing this all-important fact was a criminal offense.

  Then he sighed, turned back to face Belinda and said, “So you want me to believe that you go to stay with a man you haven’t seen since childhood, he shows no interest in you at all and yet he winds up naked on your bed with a large knife wound in his chest?”

  Belinda eyed him coldly. “As strange as that sounds it’s the truth, Detective Inspector.”

  He leaned toward her confidentially and lowered his voice. “You know you wouldn’t be the first young woman who has defended her honor. A man comes to your room, perhaps having drunk too much, late at night, you fight him off, grab the first weapon that comes to hand. . . .”

  “How many men do you think walk the whole length of a hallway stark naked, Inspector?” Belinda demanded. “And where do you think I might have had a large dagger lying around handily?” Her face was now bright red. “And if he had come into my room in such circumstances I would have screamed for help, not stabbed him. And Lady Georgiana would have heard me and come to my aid.”

  He swiveled back to face me. “So let me ask you, Lady Georgiana, now Mrs. O’Mara. Did this man maybe show any interest in you? I understand that wife swapping is an accepted sport in some circles.”

  It was my turn to eye him coldly. “It might be among some of my class, but I assure you that I intend to stay absolutely faithful to my husband. Furthermore Tony Summers treated me only with the politeness that one gives to a guest. And he’d hardly have invited me into my friend’s room for a little hanky-panky while she was in the bath, would he?”

  “I wouldn’t know. The ways of your class are quite unfathomable to me. And I would have expected you to close ranks,” he said with a sniff. “So let me ask you this: if neither of you killed him, then who did?”

  “We have no idea, Detective Inspector,” Belinda said. “The only person I can think of who might have both motive and means would be my uncle, Sir Francis Knott. I did mention this fact to Inspector Purdy.”

  “Ah yes, the wicked uncle.” Inspector Watt managed a smile. “And your reason for this was?”

  “My uncle is in difficult financial straits, Inspector. He was furious with Tony Summers because he had raised the mooring fees and my uncle lives on a boat. Also he is angry with me because I inherited my grandmother’s estate, not him. So why not kill two birds with one stone? He came to the house yesterday afternoon, on the pretext of wanting to see Tony, but left without seeing him. Actually saying he would see himself out. So it would not be hard to hide and wait in a place like this.” She paused, then added, “Whoever did this deed wished to pin it on me, didn’t they? Or else why not lurk somewhere in the estate and stab Tony as he went about his work? Why not hide the body in a remote part of the estate? Why not fling him into the river?”

  “So you believe your uncle capable of killing, do you?”

  “Absolutely. He always used to boast about how he killed Germans during the Great War. I think he was quite handy with a knife.”

  The inspector remained silent for a while, examining Belinda. Then he said slowly, “The only thing against that is that there was one set of fingerprints on the knife, Miss Warburton-Stoke. And those fingerprints were yours.”

  There was a long silence after this. Outside the wind had picked up and a branch was tapping against a window somewhere. The logs shifted in the fireplace. The tension became unbearable. I felt that I had to say something.

  “Of course her fingerprints were on the knife,” I said. “She told you that she kicked it and then picked it up. She was holding it when I found her.”

  “Holding it when you found her. Right.” He gave a little smirk of satisfaction. “Might the scream you heard not have been hers at all, but the poor man breathing his last as she plunged the dagger into him?”

  “That is so silly,” Belinda said. “Do you think that I had a large ceremonial dagger handy in my room? Lying by my bed for self-defense just in case anyone wandered in?”

  “There must have been other fingerprints on the knife,” I interjected.

  “No others. Just this lady’s.”

  I frowned. “No other fingerprints on a dagger that is at least a hundred years old? Isn’t that a little suspicious?”

  “Not necessarily,” the inspector said. “The housekeeper tells me that the servants were instructed to dust and polish all the artifacts every week.”

  “But surely one of them would have left a stray fingerprint as they hung it back on the wall?” I suggested.

  “Unless they were instructed to hold the artifact with a cloth. I am sure some of these old things are priceless and have to be handled with care.”

  “There is another explanation that you don’t seem to want to address,” I said. “That the person who stabbed Tony Summers wiped the weapon clean of his or her own fingerprints, made sure there was plenty of blood on it and left it on the floor for Belinda to pick up.”

  “That would be a possibility,” he said, giving me a long stare with those shrewd little eyes. “So that would indicate someone who wanted to incriminate Miss Warburton-Stoke.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “That is exactly what she suggested earlier.”

  His gaze moved back to Belinda.

  “As I explained before, my uncle, Sir Francis Knott, is seething that I was left my grandmother’s estate. If I were to die I expect it would come to him.”

  There was another long pause. The log on the fire shifted again, sending up sparks.

  “The local police have checked on your uncle. Unfortunately for you he has a perfect alibi,” he said. “It has been verified that his boat was at its mooring across the river in Padstow all yesterday evening and that he was playing dominoes in the pub with a group of men until closing time.”

  “Oh. I see.” Belinda looked crestfallen. “How annoying.”

  “You wanted your uncle to be arrested for a crime?”

  “No, but I wanted you to find someone else who had a good motive so you didn’t think it was me.”

  “Which brings me to my next question: can you think of anyone else who might dislike you enough to pin a crime on you?”

  My mind skipped unbidden to that time in the dell and what Rose had told us about Tony. If I said something, it gave Rose a good motive for murder. I decided to remain silent at this moment.

  “I really can’t,” Belinda said. “As I told you before, I have had no real contact with the occupants of this house since I was fourteen and in those days we all got along well, having great adventures messing about on the river.”

  “And it appears that you are the only guests in the house. The only outsiders in the immediate environment. We will naturally be checking on the backgrounds of all the servants,” the inspector said. “And any other suspicious people seen in the neighborhood, although this hardly looks like a crime committed by a member of the lower classes. The person would be taking a huge risk to
steal the dagger from the wall in the first place and then be seen in the corridor of a guest’s bedroom.”

  “One small point,” I said, making him swivel back to me rapidly. “Miss Warburton-Stoke’s window was open when I saw the room. She told me she had closed the window because it was raining hard that night.”

  “So you are suggesting . . .”

  “That someone could have come in from the outside, and climbed up to her window.”

  “An outsider, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “And how would this outsider know which room was her bedroom? And more to the point, that he’d arrive at the right moment to find Mr. Summers naked in that room?” He gave a satisfied little smile as if he’d just scored a point in a courtroom. “To me the whole crux of the matter comes down to this: Mr. Summers was killed on this lady’s bed. He was naked.”

  “Was his robe found among the bedclothes?” I asked.

  “Not that I’ve been told,” he said, glancing down at the notebook he held in his hands and then jotting down a couple of words.

  “And you don’t find that odd?” I went on. “How many people walk down a long hallway with no clothes on after a bath?”

  He gave another small smirk. “From what I hear about you aristocrats, there are all kinds of funny goings-on. And it was his own house, after all. I’ve been known to come out of my bathroom with just a towel around me.”

  “Yes, but not walk the length of a very long hallway when he knows there are female guests in residence. It would be horribly cold, for one thing. And certainly shocking for me if I’d opened the door and bumped into him.”

  “Perhaps he had something else around him—a towel, a sheet?” DI Watt said.

  “Was a towel found among the bedclothes?”

  “Not that I know of.” Another glance down at the notebook.

  “Detective Inspector,” I began, a little hesitantly this time, “is it at all possible that he was killed elsewhere and his body brought and dumped on Belinda’s bed?”

  He was frowning now—well, scowling, actually. “In my experience I’d say no. People do not go on bleeding for long after they die. There’s no heart to pump the blood around, you see. And there is a good-sized bloodstain on the sheet where he is lying. Also surely someone in the house would have reported seeing blood spatters in another room or along the hall.”