The Twelve Clues of Christmas Page 4

  She beamed at me, making me realize she wasn’t as old as I had first thought. “Well, don’t just stand there. Take off your coat. Come on through and have a sherry, then I’ll give you a quick tour of the house. Brought a maid with you, I expect?”

  “Yes, I brought my maid.” I realized it was going to be hard to get a word in edgewise.

  “Jolly good. If I can round up Martha, she can show the girl where you’re sleeping and take up your things.”

  She rang a bell furiously. “Damned girl is probably entertaining the policemen in the kitchen. Got too much of an eye for the other sex, that one. Going to come a cropper, you mark my words.”

  While she was talking she had led me through to a comfortable-looking drawing room with armchairs and sofas set around a blazing fire in a hearth almost the size of our one at home. Lead-paned bay windows looked out across an expanse of lawn. The walls were wood paneled and the ceiling had great beams running across it. What’s more, it was delightfully warm. Lady Hawse-Gorzley motioned me to sit in one of the armchairs then went over to a table in the corner and picked up a decanter. “Sherry all right for you? Or would you prefer something stronger? A brandy maybe, after your travels?”

  “No, sherry would be lovely, thank you.”

  “Always have one myself before dinner. I suppose the sun has to be over the yardarm, wouldn’t you say? What time is it, by the way? Damned grandfather clock has given up the ghost again. It’s been in the family since 1743, so I suppose one can allow it the odd temper tantrum, but dashed awkward time for it.”

  “It’s about five thirty,” I said, consulting my wristwatch.

  “Is it, by George? A little early for sherry, but in the circumstances, I suppose we can bend the rules, what?” She poured two generous glasses and handed me one. “God, how the time has flown today. I don’t know how we’re going to get everything ready for the guests in time. Those damned police tramping around all day.” She perched on the arm of a nearby chair and knocked back her sherry in one gulp. “Like another?” she asked, and looked surprised that I hadn’t yet started mine. “Come on. Drink up. Do you good.”

  I knew that good breeding did not allow one to ask too many questions, but I was dying of curiosity. “Lady Hawse-Gorzley, you mentioned that the police had been here all day. What exactly have they been doing?”

  “Tramping all over the place and upsetting my servants, that’s what. Damned impertinence. All because our stupid neighbor had to go and kill himself in our orchard. Of all the inconsiderate things to do, especially when he knew I had people coming. Still, that was par for the course with him. Didn’t care a hoot about anybody but himself.”

  I tried to digest this while she knocked back a second sherry. “Your neighbor killed himself? Committed suicide, you mean?”

  “I hardly think so. If you wanted to kill yourself you probably wouldn’t bother to climb a tree first, would you? Not unless you wanted to fall and break your neck, and our fruit trees aren’t that big. No, the police think it was an accident. Carrying a loaded rook rifle with him, somehow slipped or knocked the gun and it went off in his face.”

  “Had he come onto your property to shoot rooks then, do you think?”

  “Wouldn’t have thought so. The big elm by the church is where the rooks go to roost for the night. He could have stood in the churchyard, fired with his eyes closed and not been able to miss at dusk. No, my husband agrees with me—it was probably designed to be another of his practical jokes. Going to rig up the rifle so that it went off when someone walked past, or maybe aiming it to shoot at one of our windows—that’s what the inspector suggested.”

  “He was aiming to kill one of you?”

  “No, just give us a nasty scare. That was young Freddie’s stock in trade. M’husband reckons that he wanted to pay us back because Oswald found him shooting grouse on the moor the other day. I mean to say—everyone knows the grouse shooting season ends on the tenth of December. And there he was, bold as brass on the eighteenth. Gave him a damned good talking-to. Obviously he didn’t like that and decided to get back at us.”

  She took another swig of sherry. “Inherited the property behind ours from his father a few years ago. Still hadn’t married and amused himself by being absolutely bloody to his neighbors. In his thirties but still acted like a ten-year-old boy.” She paused and sighed. “Still, I wouldn’t have wished an end like that for the poor chap. He might have turned out all right if he’d married and had to settle down.”

  She broke off at the sound of footsteps outside and several blue uniforms passed the window.

  “Ah, they are finally off home,” she said. “I told them they were wasting their time looking for clues on my property. Quite clear the fellow shot himself while trying to rig up some kind of trap. Had the wire with him. Fool. Well, let’s hope that’s the end of it. The last thing I want is to have my guests greeted by policemen all over the place. I was worried they’d all cancel when they read about the breakout last week.”

  “Breakout?”

  She looked up in surprise. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear about it! I thought it was in all the newspapers. There have certainly been enough pressmen hanging around here.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. It takes a long time for news to reach us in the wilds of Scotland.”

  She leaned closer. “Three convicts escaped from Dartmoor Prison, only a few days ago. Supposed to be model prisoners and they were part of a gang working in the quarry. It was all very well planned. They lingered behind on some pretext, hit the guard over the head with a rock and made off over the moor. They were shackled, of course, but apparently one of them made his living as an escape artist. Two of them were entertainers of some sort, but they were all nasty pieces of work. History of violent crimes.”

  “And they haven’t caught them yet?” I glanced up nervously at the window. It was now completely black outside with no lights showing anywhere.

  “Not seen hide nor hair of them. We’ve had men with dogs up on the moor, police checkpoints along all the roads, and not a sign of them. We think they must have had a vehicle waiting on the nearest road and were whisked away before anyone could sound the alarm. Which means they are well away from here, thank God.” She stood up. “I tell you, it’s been a hell of a business. Quite upset m’husband. He’s a quiet man, is Sir Oswald, doesn’t say much. But I could tell it upset him, especially as he was the one who found the blighter slumped in our apple tree today.”

  As if on cue I heard the sound of boots in the hall and a big, florid man came in. He had a face like a British bulldog, all jowls and sad eyes. And he was wearing an old tweed jacket that made him look more like a tramp than a lord of the manor. “Well, they’re finally off, then,” he said. “What a bloody business. What did the blighter think he was doing? If he hadn’t shot himself I’d have wrung his bloody neck.”

  “Language, Oswald. We have a visitor.”

  He broke off as he saw me sitting there. “Oh, hello. Who’s this?”

  “Georgiana Rannoch, y’know, sister to the duke.”

  “Are you, by George? What on earth are you doing here?”

  “She’s graciously agreed to join our little house party,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, giving me a warning frown that I failed to understand.

  “So you’ve been invited to join this bun fight, have you? Idiotic idea, if you ask me. No good can come of it.”

  “I’m sure Lady Georgiana will enjoy herself like everyone else and we’ll all have a splendid time,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley replied with great vehemence, all the time glaring at her husband.

  He stuck his hand into his pocket and produced his pipe. “Can’t think why. Dull as ditch water down here,” he said, going over to the mantelpiece to find a match. “I’d have thought you’d be hobnobbing with your royal kin at Sandringham.”

  “I wasn’t invited,” I said. “And anyway I’m sure it will be loads of fun here.”

  “Well, we’ve got our share of excitement,
as it turns out. You heard the ghastly news, I suppose.”

  “I told her about the escaped convicts and about the man managing to kill himself in our apple tree.”

  “It was a pear tree, as it happens,” Sir Oswald said, “but it makes no difference. The local bobbies were full of bright ideas. Suggested he might have come into our orchard to poach pheasants. Utter rubbish, I told them. You don’t shoot pheasants from trees. They are ground birds. Idiots, the lot of them. And you don’t shoot pheasants with a rook rifle either. No, it’s quite obvious to me that he was rigging up some kind of stupid trap. He had the wire with him. Then his weight broke a branch, he slipped and the gun went off in his face. Nasty way to go, but the blighter had it coming.”

  He looked down at himself. “God, I look a sight, don’t I? Been out with the damned police all day. Dinner at the normal hour then?”

  “If the servants have managed to cook it and set the table while being cross-questioned by police all day,” Lady H-G said.

  “I’d better go and change.“

  Lady Hawse-Gorzley got to her feet. “And I should give Georgiana a tour of the house and show her where she will be sleeping so that she has time to freshen up and change for dinner. Come along, my dear. This way.”

  She led me on a whirlwind tour—lovely old dining room with a polished table running the length of it, library, morning room, music room and at the back even a ballroom with the air about it of being long out of use. Lady Hawse-Gorzley chatted incessantly like one who hasn’t had company for a long time, which made me wonder why she had suddenly decided to have a large house party this Christmas.

  “So how many guests are you expecting?” I asked when she paused momentarily for breath. “You said a large party.”

  “Let me see.” She stared out across the expanse of the ballroom as if trying to picture people in it. “Colonel and Mrs. Rathbone. Charming couple, just back from India, you know. Looking forward to a good old-fashioned English Christmas again. Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Upthorpe from Yorkshire, with their daughter, Ethel. He owns some kind of large factory up there. Trade, I know, but delightful people nonetheless.”

  She paused to take a breath. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Wexler from America with their daughter. Most looking forward to some lively transatlantic conversation, I can tell you. And then there is someone I’m sure you already know. The dowager countess Albury and her companion. Do you know her? No? I’m surprised. She’s someone who has moved in the highest levels of society, but maybe not in your time.”

  While she talked she ran her finger over a couple of marble statues, looking for dust, adjusted sprigs of holly in vases and then led me out of the ballroom again, talking over her shoulder. “And then a couple of local friends—Captain and Mrs. Sechrest. He’s a navy man. You’ll like them. And Johnnie Protheroe. You can’t have a party without Johnnie. Life and soul of any gathering. Most amusing. Let me see—that makes thirteen, doesn’t it?” She stopped her forward progress and turned back to me with a fleeting worried look. “Oh, dear. I’m glad I’m not superstitious or that would be unlucky, wouldn’t it? But then, I haven’t counted you and you can count as a guest, can’t you? So that would make fourteen. And the rest are family, brought in to boost the numbers.”

  I wondered why she wanted to boost the numbers, since it was already going to be expensive to feed that many guests. Was there a requisite amount of guests needed at a house party? But she had already gone on ahead, out of the ballroom, down the hall and back to the stairs, while hurling out a commentary as she passed. “M’husband’s study and the land office on your right. And servants’ quarters through that door. Kitchen, laundry, all that kind of thing. Haven’t seen a servant in hours. Hope the police haven’t arrested them or scared them all off.”

  Then she set off up the stairs at a lively clip.

  “Where did your things go? I wonder. Did someone take them up for you?”

  “I expect my maid was shown where to put them.”

  She turned back. “I’m so glad you brought a maid with you. Of course you would. Of course. Well, she’ll be jolly useful. She can help the female guests with their attire. I don’t suppose they’ll all think of bringing maids with them. Of course they won’t. I don’t have a personal maid any longer. Had to let her go. It’s not as if I need help getting dressed and Martha handles the washing and cleaning admirably. So here we are.”

  We had gone along a main corridor, lined with family portraits, hunting scenes, with old china vases adorning the deep windowsills. I saw that this must have been the original manor house and that wings had been added on either side to make an E shape. The walls were also oak paneled with all kinds of nooks and crannies. At the moment I observed this, Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, as if reading my mind, “Perfect place to play sardines, don’t you think? I’m hoping for some splendid game nights.”

  She turned in to one of the side wings now and paused outside a door. “I’ve put you in here. Not quite as big as the main bedrooms but should be all right. We’re camping in this hallway ourselves for the duration. Given over our bedroom to guests, y’know.”

  Then she flung open the door. I was expecting to see a spartan room like the ones we had at school. Instead it was a pretty room, little and old-fashioned with roses on the eiderdown, a matching dressing table skirt and curtains, a white wardrobe, a white chest of drawers and a fireplace waiting to be lit.

  “It’s charming,” I said.

  “Used to be my older daughter’s,” she said. “She’s married now. Lives on the Continent. Can’t drag her back to England for love or money. Will it do, do you think?”

  “Absolutely. It’s lovely,” I said. “Much nicer than my room at home.”

  “Is it, by George?” She looked pleased. “Oh, and I see your maid has unpacked your stuff. Dashed efficient girl, is she? French?”

  “No, she’s English,” I said, not wanting to reveal Queenie’s normal lack of efficiency or that I’d probably find she’d hung up my stockings and shoved my ball dress into a drawer.

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you to dress for dinner,” she said. “We’re not usually that formal when it’s just family, but over Christmas we’ll be going the whole hog. Living up to the spirit of the thing, y’know. You’ll hear the first gong at quarter to eight for sherry.”

  And with that she left me. It was only when I looked in the mirror that I realized I was still wearing my hat. I grinned to myself as I sat down. This was a good place. The house had obviously seen better times, that was clear. So had the Hawse-Gorzleys. Which made me wonder why they had chosen to embark upon such a lavish house party this year and who these guests were, coming from Yorkshire and India and even America to be part of it.

  Chapter 6

  GORZLEY HALL, TIDDLETON-UNDER-LOVEY, DEVON

  DECEMBER 21

  Good dinner last night. I think I may have fallen on my feet here!

  I awoke to find Queenie standing over me, with a tea tray in her hands.

  “Morning, my lady,” she said. “I’ve brought your tea.”

  I sat up, examining her closely to see if she had been bewitched overnight or whether someone else was actually impersonating her.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Queenie?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Never felt better,” she said. “I like it here, miss. Them servants don’t look down their noses at me. In fact, I’m the only lady’s maid what is in residence at the moment so the cook asked me if I’d prefer to have my meals brought to my room or I’d like to eat with the rest of them. How about that, eh?”

  “And what did you say?” I took a sip of deliciously strong hot tea.

  “I said I wasn’t too proud to sit down with the rest of them. And she said good, ’cause they were going to be run off their feet with this house party.”

  “Lady Hawse-Gorzley has asked that you assist the other ladies who will be coming,” I said. “You can do that, can’t you? I do hope you won’t let me down and
do anything too dreadful.”

  “Oh, no, miss. I’ll be real careful, I promise. I won’t set anyone on fire or nothing. I’ll stay away from candles.” (This because she had set her former employer on fire with a wayward candle.)

  “I am glad to hear that, Queenie. I’ll be wearing my Rannoch tartan skirt and my green jumper today.”

  “Bob’s yer uncle, miss. It’s going to be a lovely day.”

  I got out of bed and went over to the window, to find that my room faced the orchard where the body had been found. What a strange thing to have happened. I stared down at the bare trees, wondering which one he had been climbing and what exactly he’d intended to do. They weren’t very big trees. Had he really been intending to aim the rifle at one of these windows—at this one, maybe? I shivered and turned away. Well, I wasn’t going to let the accidental death of a man I didn’t know spoil my Christmas.

  I came downstairs to find the front hall taken up by the most enormous Christmas tree, which four men were attempting to raise into place while being bossed around by Lady Hawse-Gorzley.

  “Morning. Slept well?” she barked up at me. “Splendid. Breakfast in the dining room. Can’t stop now or they’ll smash the chandelier.”

  I went through into the dining room to find places set at one end of the long table and a good smell coming from a number of silver tureens on the sideboard. I was just filling my plate with kidneys and bacon and wondering if it would be greedy to add some kedgeree to the mix when a girl came into the room. She was wearing riding breeches and a hacking jacket and her face was glowing as if she’d just come from the cold air.

  “Hello,” she said, looking at me curiously. “Who are you?”