Mingled With Venom

Chapter 14

Family Matters

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‘Do you attach any importance to this flotsam?’asked Laura.

‘And jetsam, of course,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘As it could have been thrown into the sea anywhere between Nare Head and Dodman Point, I think its value as evidence is negligible.’

‘Yet Maria Porthcawl was angry with Fiona Bute for objecting to her telling the police about it. Why was that, do you suppose?’

‘I think both believe that the murder was committed by one of the family and I would not be surprised if they think they know which one. In fact, I think they all, including Miss Aysgarth, have their suspicions, and these are not fastened upon the girl who is now in custody. Whether they have all hit upon the same person I cannot say. Their diverse characters and interests render it unlikely.’

‘So that’s not much help, although I think they ought to speak out and say what they suspect.’

‘How did you enjoy your afternoon?’ asked Dame Beatrice, ignoring this comment.

‘Hugely, but I’ve nothing to show for it.’

‘No wild monkshood?’

‘Devil an inflorescence, so where do we go from here?’

‘It came out, during the course of conversation, that not only is Miss Aysgarth meeting her young man tomorrow, but she is meeting him in London and proposes to remain in the metropolis to continue her study of voice production. A word with Miss Bute, who walked with me over to the car, elicited the address of the hostel at which Miss Aysgarth is staying until a suitable flat can be found for her. I left a message with Miss Bute to the effect that George would be prepared to drive Miss Aysgarth to London if she would care to present herself at nine o’clock at the public house where he is staying. I did not add that I should be making one of the party. It is a very long way from here to London and, as I intend to make a straight run through, there should be plenty of time on the journey for me to find out from Miss Aysgarth all that I want to know.’

‘And that, roughly speaking?’

‘Is her own and the family history, so far as she knows both. What we lack in this case is background knowledge. I am hoping that Miss Aysgarth can supply it.’

‘Can?—or will?’

Dame Beatrice, grinning like an alligator, replied that Time would show. She rose at eight on the following morning, breakfasted while Laura was swimming in the cove, and rang up the public house for George to bring round the car. Antonia was already waiting to be picked up when it got back to the public house and they set off for Exeter as the clock in the bar moved round to nine.

‘Luxury!’ said Antonia, settling herself against the upholstery. ‘Even the Headlands car is not as good as this one, although I don’t often use ours. I go on horseback when I pay visits. I was beginning to think I’d have to sit in front with your driver if I’d had to travel alone. It’s beneath my dignity as an up and coming prima donna to sit with the hired help, as the Americans call it—a much pleasanter term than “servant”, don’t you think—but I can’t bear not talking to somebody when I’m travelling. Have you really got to go to London, or do you want to pump me?’

‘Your perspicacity is only exceeded by your musical talent.’

‘What do you know about my musical talent?’

‘You have just made allusion to it and in the highest terms.’

‘Well, yes, I intend to get to the top. So you want some information, do you? Well, if it’s about the abuela’s death, I don’t have any. I may have my ideas, but there’s no proof.’

‘Is it one of your ideas that the police have arrested the right person?’

‘That fool? Don’t make me laugh. Mags Denham couldn’t have thought out how to kill the abuela if she’d worked at it for ten years. She followed me into that kitchenmaid’s job, you know, and I had to show her the ropes (under Mrs Plack’s eye, of course) before I was dusted off and admitted to the drawing-room, so I know what a moron Mags is. We never got on, not at school and not while I was overseeing her work. Then, of course, she blotted her copybook by giving me lip and had to go.’

‘You informed upon her?’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to stand for cheek from the likes of her. Why should I?’

‘Did you feel remorse when she lost her employment?’

‘I was as sick as mud. I only wanted her to get a good telling-off. I never dreamed of her getting the sack. We working girls don’t go doing that sort of thing to each other.’

Dame Beatrice regarded this as too general a statement to be wholly admissible, but she did not challenge it and for some time nothing more was said as the car went on to Exeter, where the party had lunch.

‘Does he sit down with us?’ whispered Antonia, as George, who had carried a small suitcase into the hotel, appeared in the bar wearing a neat suit and a quiet tie.

‘You will probably find his table-manners superior to our own,’ Dame Beatrice murmured in response, as George came towards them. In the car once more and moving nicely along the A30, Antonia, fortified by the lunchtime drinks from which George had abstained, became loquacious.

‘I suppose you might call mine a success story,’ she said complacently.

‘No doubt,’ Dame Beatrice agreed. ‘Did you find any of Mrs Leyden’s relatives critical when she took you out of the kitchen?’

‘Well, Fiona didn’t take to the idea. Never has. Always finding me little jobs to do to keep me in my place. You know the sort of thing. Trips up and downstairs for little, unnecessary things and errands that Mattie or Redruth Lunn could have done. Anything to remind me of my origins and, of course, I had to muck in. The abuela favoured me quite a bit, but she doted on Fiona and would never side with me against her, although she didn’t like the friendship between her and Maria. Thought they were putting their heads together and trying to steal her power.’

‘I suppose,’ said Dame Beatrice, breaking in, ‘it was her money which was the basis of her power.’

‘Nothing else but. She’d have been a nicer old lady without it, not so autocratic and demanding, if you know what I mean.’

‘I do indeed. I suppose, when the Will is proved, somebody else will be in a position to be authoritative and demanding.’

‘Well, not as much as you might think. We all know what’s in the Will, of course, and I expect they’re all looking forward to the day when the lawyer tells them everything’s O.K. and they can have their money.’

‘So the fortune has been shared out.’

‘Oh, yes, but not equally. On the face of it you would think that Maria is sitting the prettiest. She is to get the house and land and forty per cent of the cash. Against that, she’s buying me a flat so that I can get out of that stinking hostel (really, of course, to get me out of the house so that she and Fiona can have it to themselves now it’s not going to be possible for Fiona to marry Rupert) and there’s also my keep money and my tuition fees.’

‘Oh? And was no provision made for Miss Bute, if Mrs Leyden was so fond of her?’

‘Fiona played her cards wrong and walked out on Mrs Leyden on account they had a tiff. All the same, the abuela relented. Fiona is to get twenty thousand, but she’ll give some of it to Rupert, I expect, to pay him back for keeping her when she walked herself out of the house and went to stay at Seawards.’

‘Why was there any idea that they would marry, then, she and Mr Bosse-Leyden?’

‘Oh, of course, you’re a stranger in these parts, aren’t you? Well, it’s an open secret so no harm in telling you. Diana and Rupert don’t get on. Rupert’s sweet on Fiona and Diana is sweet on Garnet Porthcawl, over at Seawards, but there can’t be a divorce now because, if there is, Quentin and Millament, (Rupert’s kids), lose what’s left to them when they grow up.’

‘So the parents—’

‘Are prepared to make a go of it.’

‘Admirable.’

‘I think it’s bloody silly. I wouldn’t sacrifice my happiness for a couple of brats. Let them stand on their own feet when they grow up. I’ve got to stand on mine and I’ve had far fewer advantages. They’re getting a good education and, although I don’t suppose Rupert is more than just comfortably off, he makes a reasonable living. Those educational books he writes sell in their thousands, I’ll bet, and I believe Diana makes a bit of pin-money with her dogs. I think they’re fools not to grab a bit of what they want while they can get it.’

‘That is a point of view, certainly. I wonder what Mr Porthcawl thinks about it.’

‘Well, actually, although he wants Diana, I don’t suppose he wants the kids landed on him as well, and I gathered, before all this business about the terms of the Will came up, that Diana would have had to take them because Fiona certainly would not let herself be saddled with them.’

‘I see. Were the terms of the Will known to the family before Mrs Leyden died?’

‘No. I once managed to see a draft which I thought was the real thing, but it turned out not to be.’

‘Did it differ very much from the present Will?’

‘Oh, well, yes. For one thing, it cut me in for five thousand pounds of my own instead of making me dependent on Maria.’

‘Are you disappointed?’

‘Yes and no. It would have been nice to have the money, but I might have squandered it. Now at least I know I will be able to finish my training, and that’s what I really want.’

‘Did the others know what was in the draft you saw?’

‘I dropped a hint or two, but, of course, there was also the second dinner party, when she dropped her own hints, and pretty broad ones. We thought she was going to tell us something at the first one, and I believe she did intend to do that.’

‘What prevented it?’

‘Her sudden fancy for the boy whom Blue and Parsifal adopted. It was the first time she had met him and he made a big hit with her. I think that’s when she decided to wait a bit before disclosing what was in her Will. It turns out that she’s left him twenty thousand, to be given him when he comes of age. Bluebell is going to do pretty well too—twenty per cent, the same as her brother. It seems that nothing is to go direct to Parsifal—not that he’ll mind—but Garnet is really sitting prettiest of the lot, because there are no strings, such as me and the upkeep of that barracks of a house, tied to his share, which will come to eighty thousand pounds, no less.’

‘But nobody knew beforehand what the provisions of the Will were, in spite of Mrs Leyden’s broad hints?’

‘I’m sure nobody really knew. Fiona must have done a bit of speculating, because she had left some crossed-out scribblings, but all of them with big query marks. I’m pretty sure she’d forgotten about them when she took herself off to stay at Seawards, and I fancy that Maria, as well as me, had seen them because when next I went into the little room Fiona used as a study, the scribble was gone.’

‘I see. Do you think Mr Bosse-Leyden had any expectation that he would benefit personally from the Will?’

‘I doubt it. She hated the sight of him because he was a fly-by-night. She thought poor Rupert blotted the family copybook.’

‘That was his father, surely?’

‘Yes, but Rupert was the living proof of his father’s goings-on, I suppose. No, poor old Rupert wouldn’t have had any hopes. I expect he’s surprised that his kids are on the list of winners.’

‘I see.’

‘On Fiona’s scribbled list Rupert was to get a considerable packet, but I expect that was a bit of wishful thinking on her part, because she was quite expecting that he would divorce Diana and marry her, so I suppose she hoped there would be a nice lump in the kitty that he would share with her when the divorce was fixed and they could marry.’

‘So Miss Bute’s calculations and the draft you saw of the Will which must have been altered before Mrs Leyden died, did not tally?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice. I’ll tell you one thing, though. In a way, the abuela’s death was her own fault. If only she’d done what we all expected her to do—come clean about the Will and let us know what to expect—there wouldn’t have been any murder.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Simply because it would have been too obvious who’d done it. It would have been the principal beneficiary, of course.’

‘I think that is a most doubtful inference for us to make.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Most murders are committed for money, aren’t they? Isn’t it the root of all evil?—or do you think horseradish is that?’

‘Love of money is the root of all evil, Miss Aysgarth.’

‘Would you have any objection,’ asked Dame Beatrice, calling at Headlands three days later, ‘to my having another short talk with your cook?’

‘In your official capacity, do you mean?’ asked Maria. ‘I know what that is, of course, from your card.’

‘In fairness to the accused girl, the Home Office may call for a psychiatric opinion.’

‘Oh, Margaret Denham isn’t out of her mind.’

‘All murderers are out of their minds, although not necessarily in the legal sense, and it is in the legal sense that I am interested.’

‘Oh, of course. If your findings are positive, I suppose a second opinion would be called for?’

‘By “positive” I take it that you mean if I find that the girl is unfit to plead. I visited her in prison yesterday and I feel that you are right and that a defence of insanity is unlikely to be put forward.’

‘Oh, well, one wants to be fair to the girl, of course. Will you see Mrs Plack in here?’

‘She will feel more relaxed in her own surroundings, I think.’

‘Very well.’ Maria rang the bell. ‘Ask Mrs Plack to postpone what she is doing, and then come back and escort Dame Beatrice to the kitchen.’

‘Very good, madam.’ The parlourmaid returned very shortly and Dame Beatrice was soon confronting Mrs Plack, who appeared to be flustered.

‘Honoured, I’m sure, my lady,’ she said. ‘Would your ladyship take a seat? Sonia, you go over and take them bits out to the dogs and don’t come back till you see me come to the side door. Now, my lady, what can I do for you?’

‘Perhaps you will sit down, too, Mrs. Plack. I promise not to keep you long. I have come to ask you one or two more questions about this unfortunate girl Margaret Denham.’

‘As good a kitchenmaid as ever I had. Miles above that stuck-up Miss as the old mistress took up and spoilt and, of course, though Sonia’s a good girl, she hasn’t had the experience yet, though I must say she’s a willing learner and quite quick at picking up my ways.’

‘You were quite satisfied with Margaret’s work, then?’

‘Well, there’s always room for improvement in all of us, my lady, and where Margaret made her mistake was in bandying words.’

‘Perhaps she had provocation.’

‘My lady, she wasn’t the only one. You should have seen the airs and graces that jumped-up young madam tried to put on with me! But, of course, I kept my dignity, knowing my place and her being took up with by the missus. Margaret, as had been to school with her and not being an orphan as had to accept charity, she flared up and spoke out of turn.’

‘Was she a quick-tempered girl as a general rule?’

‘Not by no means. Sweet-natured and biddable I would have called her. And as to thinking she poisoned the missus, well, that you’ll never get me to believe.’

‘I have visited Margaret in prison and I was favourably impressed by her. Was this diatribe against Miss Aysgarth her only outburst of the kind?’

‘So far as I’m aware, and I’m aware of most things as goes on in my kitchen.’

‘I am sure you are, and rightly so.’

‘And if anybody says as Margaret changed over my jar for one that was full of nasty poison, well, that her didn’t, and I’ll take my oath on it.’

‘Did you make only enough to fill one jar?’

‘That’s right, a biggish jar as you could get a good-sized spoon into. Missus liked it made fresh each week, but that depended on whether I could get the horseradish. Sometimes you can’t, though I had a regular order, like I told you before. If it didn’t turn up any Friday, well, I always sent Lunn off to pick up a jar from the shop, and I used to spoon out a dollop from it and then mix in some cream. I had to buy from the shop sometimes, like I say, but when I’d jiggered it up a bit the old missus never seemed to spot the difference. That’s the beauty of something as comes a bit sharp on the tongue.’

‘So anybody could have got hold of the kind of jar you used. Did you always make your horseradish sauce on Fridays?’

‘That’s right. You has to have routine in a kitchen, else you’d be up the pole in no time.’

‘I can well believe it. Would this particular routine of the Sunday joint of beef have been generally known?’

‘That the mistress always had it? Oh, yes, anybody could have known. They all use the same butcher round here—Drago of Porthcullis it is. I don’t say everybody did know as we had beef most Sundays, but they could have knowed. That’s my meaning.’

‘And the horseradish roots?’

‘Come from Chown in the village when he got any. Anybody could have knowed that, too.’

‘And your recipe, was that a well-kept secret?’

‘Not so far as the ingreeds went, but what I always say, your ladyship, is as the secret lays in the hand which doos the mixing. Same with cakes and Christmas puddens. It’s the mixing which does it.’

‘I expect you are right. I always think the making of a pot of tea is open to similar comment. Two persons using identical blends, an equal quantity of boiling water, a warmed teapot and allowing exactly the same length of time for infusion, will produce results widely dissimilar, often to the extent that one is drinkable, the other not.’

‘Well, that would be the way of it with my horseradish sauce, your ladyship.’

‘I have enjoyed our little chat, Mrs Plack,’ said Dame Beatrice, observing that the cook was about to become loquacious, ‘and I am grateful for your co-operation.’ She wondered whether to suggest that ‘Dame Beatrice’ was, in the present instance, a preferable nominative of address to ‘Your ladyship’, but felt that this correction would damage Mrs Plack’s amour propre without serving any useful purpose, so she took graceful leave of the cook, went back to the mistress of the house to thank her and then returned to her car and so to The Smugglers’ Inn.

‘Any luck?’ enquired Laura.

‘I forgot to tell you that while I was in London I checked Miss Aysgarth’s alibi. The cook at Headlands, although she is not aware of the fact, confirmed it.’

‘How come?’

‘Only one pot of horseradish sauce was made at a time, so a person who has an alibi for the Friday to the Sunday morning of the murder cannot be a suspect, since the switching of the jars would have had to be done between those times and, in Miss Aysgarth’s case, those times are accounted for by a number of unbiased London witnesses.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s a help to get even one person removed from the list. It still leaves far too many on it, though, wouldn’t you say? I mean, if you take this music student out, you’re still left with Mrs Porthcawl, Miss Bute, the Lunns and the cook and the present kitchenmaid, apart from the families at Seawards and Campions. We’ve got to find a way of narrowing it down, it seems to me. You know, heretical though this may sound, I reckon the police may have got the right pig by the ear, after all.’

‘Stranger things have happened than that the police should have acted with acumen,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘but we have to remember the cross-currents in this affair. Neither Campions nor Seawards seem to have visited Headlands without a definite invitation, but our researches have established that there was a liaison between Miss Bute and Mr Bosse-Leyden, and another between Mr Garnet Porthcawl and Mrs Bosse-Leyden. As for Miss Aysgarth, I have no doubt that she was in the habit of visiting both houses. She had a horse at her disposal whenever she was at home. Gossip and an exchange of news and views are inevitable under such circumstances and little would go on at any of the three houses of which the inhabitants of the other two had no knowledge.’

‘Including that Margaret Denham had been sacked for insolence?’

‘Including that, yes.’