The Twelve Clues of Christmas

“There was nobody standing near the candelabra?” I asked.

“Well, her husband was hovering nearby, I suppose,” Johnnie said.

I really didn’t want to consider the next thought—that Captain Sechrest has just found out about his wife’s affair with Johnnie Protheroe and was taking his revenge. I had seen what an emotional and quick-tempered man he could be. Maybe he did it in a sudden rush of jealousy and then instantly regretted it. But at last I was looking at a crime for which there was a clear motive. I glanced around the room, wondering if I should voice this opinion or keep quiet. I saw Darcy coming back in, having helped to carry Mrs. Sechrest to the motor.

“I was just saying that I thought the police would want to take a look before we let the guests go home,” I said. “What do you think?”

It was clear this hadn’t occurred to him either. He glanced up with a shocked expression. “You’re not trying to suggest that this is the next attempt at murder, are you?” He shook his head. “No, that’s going too far, Georgie. We can see how it happened. The wind blew over the candelabra. Mrs. Sechrest was unlucky enough to be standing in the wrong place. Accidents with fire happen all the time, don’t they?”

“Yes, but . . .” I locked eyes with him, trying to convey that I suspected more than I wanted to voice out loud. He picked up the cue.

“Well, I suppose there was an open window, which meant anybody could have sneaked in from the outside. Is your telephone working?”

“It wasn’t the last time we tried, but I believe the police station in the village has its line up and running again.”

“We were about to leave anyway, Lady Hawse-Gorzley.” Mr. Barclay had come over to join us. “Might we be of assistance and relay your message to the police station?”

“Most kind, Mr. Barclay. And I’m so sorry that a merry evening has had to end in such tragedy.”

“We are sorry too,” Miss Prendergast said, helping one of the Misses Ffrench-Finch across the room. “But it was a splendid evening and we are so grateful that you allowed us to be part of it. I did so enjoy watching the dancing, and the lovely buffet.”

“Yes, indeed,” the two Misses Ffrench-Finch twittered.

And so they departed. Other guests hovered around, not sure what to do next.

“Should we also be toddling along, Lady H-G?” the huntsman who had danced with me asked. “I’m sure nobody feels much like dancing after witnessing such a shocking thing.”

“I’d be grateful if you stayed a little longer, Mr. Crawley. The police are being summoned and they may want to get statements from witnesses.”

“Police?” Crawley spat out the word. “What the deuce have police to do with this? It was an accident, madam. I actually saw the damned thing fall. Nobody near it, I can attest to that.”

“Then perhaps if you’d be good enough to stay, and any others who saw the actual accident, we can allow everyone else to go home.”

“And I to my bed,” the dowager countess said. “That woman was asking for trouble with all that trailing fabric near live flames.” And she stomped off, clearing a way through the crowd with her stick.

“I think we should go to bed too,” Colonel Rathbone said. “This has quite upset my wife and she’s not a well woman.”

My mother sidled over to me. “Noel wants to stay in case anything exciting happens, but I feel it’s too, too ghoulish. I can’t get that image out of my mind—that poor woman going up in flames. I said to Noel, ‘That could have been me.’ I’m sure this fabric is just as flammable as hers.” She put her hand up to my cheek and patted it. “We’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose. Noel is frightfully keen to watch the ridiculous Lovey Chase thing. I expect it’s all those young men in shorts and singlets that excites him.” She cast a wicked smile in Mr. Coward’s direction as she went to join him.

One by one the guests departed until the ballroom had that abandoned feel of the day after a party. I took Darcy aside and murmured my suspicion to him. He frowned, considering this. “Frankly, if he’d wanted to do away with her, a simple cigarette to her skirt would have done the trick, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe he wasn’t taking any chances. All those candles at once meant that her costume would catch fire in many places. And there was a chance she’d be knocked out as well, therefore not able to do anything.”

“You’re a grizzly little thing, aren’t you?” He slipped his arms around me, gazing down at me fondly. “And I was so looking forward to my last waltz with you—a chance to dance cheek to cheek.”

“There will be other chances, I hope,” I said. “Right now I wish we could escape from here. Until now it was people we didn’t know. Now it’s finally come here. I can’t stop wondering who will be next.”

One of the footmen was about to close the French doors. “I don’t think you should touch anything until the police arrive,” I called to him. He looked startled, but stepped away. I went over to stand beside the candelabra. “Was this exactly where it stood before?” I asked.

The footman looked around the room at where the other candelabras had been placed. “Pretty much, my lady. Maybe a few inches to the left.”

I went to move it and couldn’t. It was too heavy for me. And as I held the shaft in my hand I looked down and saw something moving in the strong wind that was now blowing icy cold air into the room. I dropped to my knees. “Look at this,” I whispered to Darcy. It was a small piece of black thread caught on one of the curly legs of the candelabra.

Chapter 31

VERY LATE NOW, DECEMBER 28

Inspector Newcombe arrived about a half hour later. He looked bleary-eyed and grumpy, as if he had been roused from his bed. He took statements from those who had seen the candelabra topple. Nobody recalled seeing anyone standing nearby. I suddenly thought of the person in the gorilla suit I had noticed at the beginning of the evening. I hadn’t seen him since supper. I mentioned him and no one had any idea who he was.

“Any other time I would have guessed it was old Freddie, if he hadn’t . . . you know,” Mr. Crawley, my hunting friend, said. “Just the sort of thing he’d do. Probably would have swung from the chandeliers too.”

Nobody had seen the gorilla leave. He hadn’t appeared at supper. Certainly he hadn’t been seen standing anywhere near the candelabra, so the inspector dismissed him as unimportant. A constable was dusting around the French door for fingerprints. I waited until the inspector went over to examine the candelabra, then brought his attention to the piece of thread that had been caught on one of its legs.

“You’re suggesting that this was attached to the candelabra and at the right moment someone tugged it over?” he asked.

I nodded.

“It’s a thin sort of cotton to shift a great thing like that.”

“I suspect it’s something like button thread, which is quite strong,” I said, fingering it. “But the candelabra is clearly top-heavy and the least little jerk might have achieved the desired effect.”

He stared at the open door, the candelabra and the spots of melted wax still on the floor.

“So you want me to believe that someone rigged up a way to topple the candelabra in the hopes that Mrs. Sechrest might come and stand in the right spot sometime during the evening? That seems like a long shot to me, especially when it might be rather hard to stand anywhere alone in a crowded ballroom.”

I sighed. “I agree, unless she wasn’t particularly the intended target. If someone just wanted to cause mischief and chose a target at random, that would be different.” Or if her husband wanted to get rid of her, he’d simply push the candelabra over onto her, I thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to say those words. Instead I said, “We have to assume this was today’s intended death, don’t we?”

“Ah. Do we?” He rubbed his chin, which was in clear need of shaving. “I had a word with the lord lieutenant of the county and he decided we shouldn’t call in Scotland Yard on this matter. It was his feeling that we can’t prove we’re looking at a single murder here. We’ve no motive, no clues, no weapons.”

“What about Wild Sal? Presumably you arrested her because she was seen near the spot where the master of hounds vanished and her footprints were seen where the van went off the road.”

“Ah,” he said again. “I’ve had to release her. The lord lieutenant felt that we had no real evidence against her. Purely circumstantial, he said.”

“What about the wound to the horse’s leg? We know that was deliberate.”

“Not necessarily. Could have been trying to jump a wire sheep fence and hit the top strand.” He tried to give me a kindly look. “Look, we could speculate that some of the deaths were intentional—that telephone switchboard incident is definitely fishy, if you ask me. So maybe the telephone switchboard girl had overheard something she shouldn’t and needed to be silenced. Blackmailing someone, perhaps. I could go along with that. Maybe the old lady had been bullying her sisters or someone else in the house and they turned on the gas tap. That would make sense too. But there was no possible connection between them, was there? The lord lieutenant said he felt that we were just looking at a run of unlucky accidents, and that such things happen from time to time.”

“So you won’t investigate this as a potential crime?”

He rubbed his chin again. “When I thought that the convicts might be responsible, I did try to find forensic evidence of a crime at the scenes. Didn’t come up with anything, though. But there would be no reason for a convict to risk going into the middle of a busy town, where he might be spotted, to cross-wire a switchboard, and no reason for him to be anywhere near the farm where the woman was kicked by a cow.”

“So maybe that one could really have been an accident,” I conceded.

“We’ve no witnesses to any of the incidents, unless you count tonight. I’ve tried to take fingerprints but the room with the telephone switchboard was badly burned. There were no strange prints in the old lady’s bedroom. And the rest of the deaths happened outdoors. So until I find someone lying with a bloody great knife stuck in his back I’m afraid I’m going to have to drop the idea of a mass murderer at work. I never quite believed it, anyway. Didn’t make sense, did it?”

“I suppose not,” I said, fighting back my anger. “So how long are you going to let these deaths continue? Until January? February? Summer? The local population will be seriously depleted by then, won’t it?”

He winced as if I had struck him and immediately I felt bad. He was just doing his job, following orders from much higher up, and I wasn’t actually angry with him. I simply was frustrated that none of us had managed to do anything to stop people from dying.

“I think we should all go to bed,” he said. “We’re all tired and there’s nothing more we can do here tonight.” He summoned the constable who had been dusting for fingerprints, and the two of them left. Darcy came to my side as I made my way up the stairs.

“Cheer up, old thing,” he said and put his arm around my shoulder. “I know it’s upsetting to see something like that, but there’s nothing more we can do.”

“We just have to wait for someone to die tomorrow, is that what you are saying?”

“I’m saying that there is a perfectly good police force in the village and we need to leave it to them. Oh, and we watch our backs too, just in case.”

“It’s lucky we’re not from around here, isn’t it?” I said.

He looked down at me. “Well, I suppose you can say I have local ties. My mother was born in Devon. Lady Hawse-Gorzley’s my aunt.”

“Yes, but you are not known to the killer, are you? If it is one person, he must have a reason for choosing these particular people. It must be some kind of vendetta.”

“Do you believe he was here tonight? In the ballroom?”

I stared ahead as we reached the top of the staircase and the long corridors stretched away from us into darkness. “There was that man in the gorilla suit. Nobody knew who he was and we didn’t see him toward the end of the evening.”

Darcy frowned. “If he’s as clever as he appears to be, then I think you should not interfere. I don’t want some ‘accident’ happening to you.”

I rested my head on his shoulder as we walked down the hall. We reached my bedroom. “Good night.” I turned to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Is that it?” he asked. His hands grasped my shoulders and he pulled me toward him, his lips coming to meet mine in a demanding kiss. I felt myself responding to him, my body melting against his as his arms slid around me, crushing me to him. When we broke apart breathlessly, I remembered where we were.

“I don’t suppose we should be doing this in the corridor,” I whispered. “Someone might come.”

He looked down at me. “Then let’s continue somewhere more private.” He opened the door to my room. “Oh, good, your maid has conveniently gone to bed.” His eyes were dark with desire as he gazed down at me and went to usher me inside my room. I hesitated, suddenly unsure. What was wrong with me? I asked myself. This was Darcy, the man of my dreams. Wasn’t this exactly what I wanted? And hadn’t I begged him to stay a few nights ago? Then without warning I burst into tears—as much of a shock to me as it was to him.

“That’s what she did and look what happened to her,” I blurted out.

He closed the door hastily behind us, then his arms came around me. “Wait a minute. Who did what?”

“Mrs. Sechrest. I saw her creeping down the hall to someone else’s bedroom, and now she’s probably dead.”

“You think the killer is striking down sinners?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I was still blubbering.

He was trying not to smile as he stroked my black gypsy hair back from my face. “You are adorable sometimes,” he said. “I’m sure that tonight’s horrible tragedy upset you. It upset all of us. But you’re not in the same boat as Mrs. Sechrest, are you? She is married to someone else. And you and I care about each other, don’t we?”

“I know,” I said and sank down onto my bed, my face in my hands. “It’s just that . . . it’s all been too horrible. So many horrible things happening. I don’t feel safe.”

He stood looking down at me tenderly and then he said, “It’s all right. I probably need a good night’s sleep if I’m to compete in that ridiculous race in the morning.” He bent to kiss me gently on the forehead. “Sleep well. And Georgie—I don’t think I’ve actually said this before, but I’m saying it now. I love you.”

I looked up at him. “I love you too,” I said. He was about to walk away when I grabbed his hand. “Don’t go,” I whispered and pulled him down to the bed beside me.

He sat looking at me for a moment, then he removed my gypsy wig and ran his fingers lightly through my own hair. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you, my little gypsy lass.” Then he started to undo the buttons on my lacy white blouse. Improbably, I found myself wondering if Queenie had fallen asleep or, heaven forbid, she was attempting to undress one of the other ladies. I didn’t hear any screams, so I had to conclude it was the former. Darcy slid the blouse from my shoulders then drew a finger gently down my front, tracing lightly the curve of my breast. I felt a strong surge of desire that wiped all thoughts of Queenie or anyone else from my mind. I wanted him. I wanted him badly.

His hands had just moved around to the catch of my brassiere when the door opened suddenly, sending a stream of light into the room and making us both look up, blinking.

“I came to undress you, my lady,” Queenie said stiffly, “but I see that the gentleman is already helping you.”

Darcy got to his feet. “Lady Georgiana was distressed by tonight’s tragedy,” he said. “She needed comforting.”

“Comforting, is that what you call it, sir?” She looked at me. “Should I go away again, then?”

Darcy looked down at me and smiled. “No, it’s all right, Queenie. You can take care of your mistress. She’s had a long day.”

He blew me a kiss and he was gone.

“Sorry about that, miss,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt nothing.”

“Mr. O’Mara only escorted me to my room because I was upset,” I said primly.

“Go on,” she said, giving me a nudge. “You were going to have a bit of the old ‘how’s-yer-father,’ weren’t you?”

“Queenie,” I said severely. “That is not how a lady’s maid talks to her employer. You may go. I’ll finish undressing myself.”

“I didn’t mean no harm, miss,” she said.

“I’m tired,” I said. “Just go.”

She closed the door and I sat in the darkness, not moving. All the unsettling events of the day flashed through my mind, followed by one overwhelming fact: Darcy loved me. A smile came over my face until I let the worry surface from the depths of my consciousness. He loved me. I loved him. But we couldn’t ever marry.

Chapter 32

GORZLEY HALL

DECEMBER 29

Day of the Lovey Chase but beastly weather. I hope nothing will go wrong. I wish Darcy wasn’t taking part in it.

I was awakened by Queenie with a tea tray.

“Morning, my lady,” she said. “Bloody awful day. Fog so thick it reminds me of back home in London. I don’t half wish we was there now.”

I looked out the window, where only the first trees in the orchard were visible and Lovey Tor didn’t exist.

“Oh, crikey,” I said. “I wonder if they’ll be able to run the Lovey Chase in this weather.”

Queenie put down the tray on the bedside table. “I’m sorry I barged in on you last night,” she said. “I should have scarpered off and left you to it. He’s a bit of all right, ain’t he? The cat’s whisker, I’d say.” And she gave me a wink.

“Queenie, I doubt that any other lady’s maid in the world would speak to her mistress the way you do.”

“Like what, miss?” she asked. “I was only having a nice little chat with you. Friendly, like.”

I was about to say that we were not friends, she was my servant. But I couldn’t do it. I got out of bed and sighed. I had to accept that she would never learn, that she would never be employable elsewhere and that I was stuck with her.

“It’s going to be freezing watching that race,” I said. “You’d better put out my warmest jumper and my tartan trousers. This is one of the occasions when I wish I owned a fur coat.”

“You could always borrow mine, miss,” she said.

I tried to keep a straight face. Queenie’s ancient fur coat was mangy and spiky and made her look like an aged hedgehog. “Awfully good of you, Queenie, but I think not,” I said.

I was in the midst of getting dressed when a bell rang in the hallway outside my door. “One hour to the start of the chase,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley’s powerful voice called. “Everyone needs a hearty breakfast today so get a move on.”

I finished dressing and went downstairs; I met Darcy going into the breakfast room.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, a challenging smile in his eyes.

“I did, thank you.” I noticed he was dressed in thick corduroy trousers and a big fisherman’s jersey. “You’re not going to run the race in those clothes, are you?”

“I have my racing gear on underneath,” he said. “And I will not reveal it until I really have to. Frankly, I’d like to back out, but it would be rather letting the side down.”

We helped ourselves to a generous breakfast and joined others at the table. The mood was remarkably cheerful considering what had happened the previous night. Johnnie Protheroe came to sit beside me. “You’ve heard the news, have you? Captain Sechrest called in on his way from the hospital this morning. Sandy has some nasty burns but they are not life threatening. She’s going to be all right.“

“That is good news,” I said, and I saw the relief in his face. He really cares about her, I thought. He cares about her and she’s married to someone else. What a complicated world this is. And then I realized something else. If this was yesterday’s planned murder, then the killer had finally made his mistake. His victim was going to live and she might have some idea why she was a target.

Breakfast finished, we wrapped ourselves up in scarves and hats and walked down the drive. Mist swirled about us and the bare bones of trees loomed like giant skeletons. However, there was already a festive atmosphere in the village, with bunting strung between buildings and signs to a car park behind the shop. On the far side of the village green some booths had been set up. We went through a gap in the hedge and were charged fourpence admission by a young Boy Scout. Folding seats had been set beside what looked, through the mist, like a real racetrack, only the fences were, as Junior had described, two feet high at the most. Quite a few people had arrived from elsewhere and the stalls selling hot cider, roasted chestnuts and baked potatoes were doing a good trade. So were the bookies. I could see on a blackboard that Monty appeared to be the current favorite. Darcy was at ten to one. I joined the line for one of the bookies and placed my bet on him.

“Isn’t this kind of gambling illegal?” Mrs. Wexler asked.

“It’s for charity,” the vicar said hastily. “The restoration of the church, you know. And you’ll see that the police are well represented in the crowd.”

I left the seats for the older people and stood behind one of the booths, which offered some shelter from the bitter cold. Mist swirled in, swallowing up the tents and then revealing them again. All around me people were laughing, but I couldn’t join in their festive mood. All I could think of was that this mist was a perfect opportunity for a killer, and that Darcy would be among those running out there.

“Yoo-hoo, Georgie!” I turned at the sound of my name and spotted two gorgeous mink coats coming toward me. Mr. Coward and my mother, both looking equally glamorous, came to join me. “Hello, my darling.” My mother kissed me about three inches from my cheek. “So what happened after we left last night? Any news on the poor woman?”

“Nothing much happened. The police decided to call it an accident and the good news is that she’s going to be okay.”

“Strange sort of accident,” Mummy said. “Someone must have bumped into that candle thingie, either accidentally or on purpose. It couldn’t have been blown over. Surely it was too solid.”

“I agree,” I said. I looked around. “Is Granddad here?”

“Mrs. Huggins wouldn’t let him out of the house. She said it would be too bad for his chest. She’s taken to bossing him around lately, I notice.”

“She has her eye on him,” I said.

“Well, why not? Poor old dear. He needs some companionship in his old age,” she said.

“You’d welcome Mrs. Huggins as a stepmother?”

A spasm crossed that perfect face. “Well, if you put it that way, it might be a tad embarrassing. But she does cook well and I find it a comfort to know she’s looking after him.”

“He could do with more money.” I decided to be frank.

“Darling, do you think I haven’t tried? He claims it’s all German money and he won’t touch it. Always was stubborn, you know.”

The sound of a drum interrupted this conversation and the Boys’ Brigade band marched in, playing “The British Grenadiers.” An announcer with a megaphone got up onto a makeshift dais.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the two hundred and thirty-third running of the Lovey Chase,” he boomed. “Presenting this year’s contestants: From Widecombe, Tony Haslett. From Little Devering, Roland Purbury. From right here in Tiddleton, Monty Hawse-Gorzley. Visiting us from Shropshire, give a hand for a very good sport, Mr. Archibald Wetherby. . . .”

The flaps of a big tent were drawn back and out came the most extraordinary apparitions. They were wearing white woolen long johns and long-sleeved woolen undershirts. On their heads were ancient plumed helmets like those worn by the dragoon guards and around their waists were small saddles, with stirrups hanging down to their knees. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more ridiculous. There were shouts, jeers, taunts as the young men came out, one by one.

“From Bovey Tracey, Mr. Jonathan Protheroe. And from Ireland, the Honorable Darcy O’Mara.” Darcy caught my eye for a brief second and gave me an embarrassed grin.

“Runners to the starting gate, please,” the announcer shouted. Everyone cheered now. “Five times around the track,” he continued. “No cheating and cutting corners or running around the jumps in the fog. Anyone not playing fairly will be disqualified.”

The runners lined up along a ribbon laid on the ground. Their breath rose into the frigid air and they looked like a row of warhorses, ready for battle. One of the boys from the band stepped forward with his bugle and sounded the call. The starter waved his flag and they were off. It was soon clear that the saddles and flying stirrups were a bally nuisance. These danced and flew around, hitting other racers and getting in the way as they tried to jump. There was a collision at the first jump as Badger and a hefty lad tried to jump it at the same time. More cheers and jeers. And then they were swallowed up into the mist.

I found I was holding my breath, peering into the mist at the ghostly shapes of the runners. I heaved a sigh of relief as they reappeared a minute later with Monty and Darcy at the front of the pack, together with a slim youth. Badger and Johnnie Protheroe came lumbering up toward the rear of the pack.

Behind me two men were chatting. “You have your money on young Monty, then? I’m not so sure myself. Don’t know if he has the stamina.”

“Who else is there?” the other male voice said. “If poor old Freddie Partridge had been alive, I’d have backed him. Always a good sport, old Freddie. Who’d have thought he’d shoot himself, what?”

I was holding my breath again, not because I was thinking of the racers this time, but because something incredible had just dawned on me. Something so obvious and simple that I wanted to shout out loud. Freddie Partridge. I believe I had heard his last name before, but it had never really registered. I peered to my right, through the mist, trying to make out the shapes of the first trees in the orchard. And in my head I heard Sir Oswald saying clearly, “It was a pear tree.”

“Oh, golly,” I said out loud. Freddie had been the first of the deaths and he was the Partridge in a pear tree.

Chapter 33

DECEMBER 29

The Lovey Chase.

I wasn’t even conscious of the race continuing. I vaguely heard cheers as the racers thundered past us, stirrups jangling. But suddenly it all made sense. It all fitted perfectly: Ted Grover had been to visit his lady love, the publican’s wife. They were the two turtledoves. And the Misses Ffrench-Finch of course were the three French hens. And Gladys Tripp—she was a calling bird, wasn’t she? My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure it must be echoing around that field. And the five gold rings? Mr. Klein, the jeweler—the only one the murderer had not tried to kill, for some reason. Mr. Skaggs the butcher had been bringing us the geese—which were not a-laying, but a-lying, which might be significant. And the master of hounds had disappeared into the mere where the swans were a-swimming. . . .

And golly, it was true. My instincts were right. The previous night’s affair was no accident. Mrs. Sechrest was one of the nine ladies dancing, which meant . . . my eyes were suddenly riveted to the track again . . . that these were the ten lords a-leaping.

The first runners emerged from the mist, their breath now ragged and gasping as they came toward us. Monty, Darcy and the thin lad were running neck and neck. One by one the others straggled behind them, fighting for breath. One of them stopped to throw up, then staggered on.

“Last lap,” someone shouted and the crowd cheered them on.

I wanted to leap out and shout for them to stop, but by the time I had plucked up my courage, they had vanished into the mist again. The crowd fell silent. You could feel the anticipation. Then out of the mist came two figures—Monty and Darcy, still running neck and neck. As they reached the finish line Darcy seemed to slack off or Monty put on a surge and he crossed the tape first.

I made my way through the crowd to Darcy. “Well done, old thing,” I said.

He leaned on me, gasping for breath. “I wouldn’t want to do that again. These stupid saddles are heavy and the stirrups kept flying up and hitting me.”

“But you came second. That was wonderful.”

He looked up with a grin. “Well, I thought it was wiser that Monty should win. It is his home territory, after all. Only right that the locals should be able to cheer their landowners.”

I stared at him and had to smile. “Darcy, you’re a snob at heart after all, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am going to be Lord Kilhenny someday. I have to get used to the idea.”

I kissed his freezing cheek. “I’m very proud of you anyway.”

There were renewed cheers as the other runners staggered in, one by one. I found that I was breathing easier. The race was over and nothing had happened. Then somebody said, “Where’s old Johnnie?”

“Johnnie Protheroe?” another of the runners said. “He was with me last time I looked. Didn’t he come in yet?”

The feeling of doom returned. Several people started back along the course.

“Knowing Johnnie, he probably decided he’d had enough and he’s nipped across to the pub,” someone chuckled.

We passed one jump, then a second and a third. Then someone said, “My God—what’s that?”

One of the ridiculous helmets was lying to one side of the track. And there was Johnnie lying half concealed under the hedge that bordered the field. Hands dragged him out. Someone said, “He’s fainted. Get some brandy.”

Then someone else said, “He hasn’t fainted. He’s dead.”

“Someone run and get Dr. Wainwright. He’s over by the tent.”

A couple of younger lads ran off. I stood staring down at Johnnie’s dead face. He looked so normal, so peaceful, that I expected him to open his eyes at any moment and say, “Fooled you all, didn’t I?”

But he didn’t. The doctor arrived, puffing and panting, his black bag in his hand. He dropped to his knees beside Johnnie and started to examine him. After a while he looked up at the considerable crowd that had now gathered around them. “Heart,” he said. “Clearly a heart attack. The fellow was on heart medication, you know. I warned him that he should be taking it easier but he still acted as if he were twenty-one. Someone better call for the ambulance.”

He rose to his feet again. I went over to him. “Doctor, in light of all these strange deaths around here, don’t you think the police should be called in?”

He gave me a cold stare. “I’ve been practicing medicine for thirty years. Do you think I don’t recognize a heart attack when I see one?”

“But just in case?”

“An autopsy will be done, of course,” he said. “But I’d like to wager with one of these bookies here that I am right. The chap had a dicky heart. He overextended himself. Simple as that, young lady.”

The St. John ambulance boys were in attendance in case of accidents and they now arrived with a stretcher. As I watched the body being carried away, the increasingly familiar feeling of dread overwhelmed me. I now knew what the deaths meant and why they were happening to fit in with the Twelve Days of Christmas, but I was not one bit the wiser about why these people were chosen or who had planned this awful farce. Darcy had removed the saddle and helmet and was now dressed in his jersey and corduroys.

“Poor old Johnnie,” he said. “A bit of a cad, but I rather liked him.”

“In spite of everything, so did I,” I said. “And I’ve been trying to make the doctor see that his death was not a heart attack. At least they’re going to conduct an autopsy.”

“You think this was today’s planned murder, then?” he asked. “You are not going to budge from your belief that these are planned killings, are you?”

“Because I now have proof that they are,” I said. “Come over here.” I took his arm and led him away from the crowd. Then I told him exactly what I had figured out. He stared at me in growing wonder. “A partridge in a pear tree. Of course. Why didn’t we see that?”

“Because everyone referred to him as ‘old Freddie.’ I believe I did hear his last name once, but that was before I saw his death as any more than a freak accident, so it didn’t sink in.”

“Well, you cracked it now, haven’t you? Brilliant,” he said.

I looked past him to the happy revelers, the journalists taking pictures of the winner and copious amounts of either beer or cider being drunk. “But we are no nearer to solving it, are we? We know that some twisted mind is enjoying a little joke at the expense of people’s lives, but we have no way of knowing who or why. They are still such a strange assortment of victims and the killer has been clever enough not to leave evidence.”

“He has left evidence,” Darcy said. “Two people are still alive. Mr. Klein was apparently not harmed, and Mrs. Sechrest is going to recover. We have to contact the police right away and have them talk to the survivors. Maybe they will know why someone might have wanted them dead.”

“He didn’t want Mr. Klein dead,” I said. “He only took valuable jewelry from him.”

“Either he thought that would be an appropriate punishment for Klein or he had planned a murder that for some reason didn’t happen.”

“Let’s go see Mr. Klein right away, shall we?” I took his hand.

“We have to tell all this to the police first,” Darcy said.

“Since when were you so law-abiding?” I demanded. “You are the one who taught me how to crash wedding parties and who does all kinds of suspect things around the world.”

“Those are different. This is dealing with people’s lives, Georgie. And also it’s my aunt’s family. I have to do the right thing when I’m staying with her.”

“Very noble,” I said. “Well, all right. Let’s borrow Monty’s motor again and go find the hopelessly thick inspector. We can get away now, while they are all celebrating.”

I glanced across at Monty, now drinking something from a large cup while the crowd cheered. We moved silently toward the gap in the hedge, slipped through, then hurried across the village green, up the driveway and around to the garages. A few minutes later we were driving toward Newton Abbott at a snail’s pace, with Darcy peering forward through the mist. Luckily nobody else was foolhardy enough to attempt driving in this weather.

“So let’s think,” Darcy said, raising his voice over the considerable noise of the engine. “What does all this tell us about the murderer? Why did he wait until Christmas?”

“So that he could kill twelve people in twelve days?”

“But why? It’s clearly his little joke, isn’t it?”

“He’s punishing each of them for a reason. Maybe Freddie played one of his pranks on him. Ted Grover was committing adultery. Miss Ffrench-Finch—well, I’m sure old ladies can be annoying. Gladys Tripp listened in on private conversations and gossiped afterward. We don’t know anything about Mr. Klein or the butcher or the master of hounds or the farmer’s wife, but Sandra Sechrest and Johnnie Protheroe were carrying on together.”

“So someone who sees himself as the hand of God, striking down those who have sinned?” Darcy asked. “Obviously someone with a clever brain to carry out these things and make them look like accidents.”

“But not all that well educated,” I said. “Remember he mixed up ‘lay’ and ‘lie.’ His six geese were not a-laying, they were a-lying.”

“Poetic license, my sweet. He couldn’t make everything fit the poem exactly, could he?”

The cold wind stung my face as the Alvis flew along the lane. I shivered, partly with cold and partly with apprehension. “We have no proof that these were all intended victims.”

“Oh, I think we have to assume that they all were, because we know that some of them were. Freddie Partridge, for example. His death was not only planned, but planned elaborately to happen so that the twelve days would finish on New Year’s Eve.”

“Not the correct twelve days of Christmas, by the way,” I interrupted. “They are supposed to start on Christmas Day and finish on Twelfth Night.”

“Then the killer must have had a reason for starting when he did. Maybe when he knew everybody would be assembled for the house party.” He paused. “I wonder how they managed to get Freddie Partridge into the pear tree. And look at the trouble the killer went to to finish off poor Gladys Tripp. That took skill. The man is good with his hands as well as his brain. And brazen enough to risk going into a telephone exchange in the middle of a busy town. A formidable opponent.”

“And who, one has to presume, was at the ball last night, waiting for the right moment when Mr. Sechrest stood beside the candelabra.”

“My aunt will have the guest list. We can hand that to the police.”

“I don’t suppose it would have been too hard to sneak in unnoticed. There was that gorilla. Nobody knew who was in that costume.”

“We have to assume it was the same gorilla suit we saw hanging up in the attic. Maybe someone in the family knows who borrowed it. Maybe someone did leave a clue inside—a strand of hair or the smell of a particular talcum powder, for example.”

“That’s a long shot,” I said. “I think our best bet is motive. Why did he want to kill these people?”

“Not just for fun—unless he chose Freddie Partridge for his name and the method of killing was more important than the victim. But that would indicate a true madman and I don’t know how one begins to trap such a person.”

We had been climbing a long, winding slope and came suddenly to a steep bend at the crest. “Didn’t see that coming,” Darcy said as he swung the motorcar around it, faster than he intended.

“I believe this is where Mr. Skaggs went over the edge, coming from the other direction.” I looked down that steep, rocky slope until it vanished into mist and I shivered. Someone was out there who could kill at will, leaving no trace, and was waiting to strike again the next day. According to the song he had two more victims planned . . . and the last two had been members of our house party.

I was very relieved as the first houses of the town appeared through the mist and we drove into the main street. Ghostly shapes darted in and out of shops, swathed in scarves against the bitter cold. We stopped outside the police station and went in.

“I’m afraid Inspector Newcombe isn’t here,” said the constable on duty. “No, I couldn’t tell you where he’s gone, but I believe it was some kind of meeting he had to go to. And I couldn’t say when he’d be back.”

I asked for writing paper and wrote a note for him, telling him that we’d come up with something very important concerning a case and needed to speak with him as soon as possible. As I sealed the envelope I experienced a sudden flash of satisfaction that I had been proved right after all. Now Inspector Newcombe would have to admit that the deaths were not accidents and they were linked and one person was doing the killing. Not bad for an amateur. Now if only I could come up with a motive. . . .

I handed the envelope to the constable with strict instructions that it be given to Inspector Newcombe immediately and we came out into the eerie stillness of the street.

“Do you fancy a cup of coffee and a bun before we go back?” Darcy asked. “There’s a little tea shop across the street.”

“I think we should go to visit Mr. Klein first, don’t you?” I said. “He might hold the key to this whole thing.”

“I’m not sure if we shouldn’t leave that—” Darcy began but I cut him off.

“Look, if Inspector Newcombe isn’t available to do it, then I don’t think any more time should be wasted. Someone’s life could be at stake.” I was already striding down the street toward the jeweler’s shop. Darcy caught up with me. “We’re not interfering, we’re helping,” I said. “And if Mr. Klein doesn’t want to talk to us, at least we can send him to talk to the police.”

“Since when did you become so forceful?” Darcy said. “I remember you as a meek little thing when we first met.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been meek,” I said. “Remember, I do come from a great-grandmother who was rather forceful herself. Maybe I was just reticent when we first met—I didn’t quite trust you.”

Darcy laughed. “Good judgment. My one aim was to get you into bed, and I can’t believe I haven’t succeeded yet. I must be developing a conscience.”

“I do want to, Darcy,” I said. “It’s just that the moment never seems to be right.”

He grinned at me. “We’ll make a moment even if I have to whisk you off to Brighton to do so.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” I joked.

“How about Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara?”

Ah. There was the rub. I tried to say, “I can’t marry you,” but I couldn’t. Instead I joked, “I suspect I’ll have a good long wait, then, until you’re ready to settle down.”

“Who knows,” Darcy said, giving me a questioning look. “Stranger things have happened.”

We reached the jeweler’s, but it was closed. “I don’t believe it’s opened since the robbery,” I said, peering through the window into the dark interior.

“There’s a front door to one side,” Darcy said. “Maybe he lives over the shop. Try knocking.”

We knocked. We even rang the doorbell, but nobody came.

“Not at home,” Darcy said.

I stared up at the window with the curtains drawn across it. “Who would go out on a day like this?” I asked.

Darcy and I looked at each other. “You don’t suppose . . . ?” we said in unison.

Chapter 34

IN THE TOWN OF NEWTON ABBOTT, DEVONSHIRE

DECEMBER 29

Darcy gave one last volley of knocks on the front door. As we were walking away a window opened above the next-door haberdashery shop. An elderly woman’s face looked out.

“You’re wanting Mr. Klein, are you? He’s not there, my dearies,” she said. “Leastways, I haven’t seen him since I got back from my daughter’s yesterday. I knocked to give him a piece of my daughter’s Christmas cake, but nobody answered so I think he must have gone away.”

“Any idea where he might have gone?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He has two daughters, I remember, but I couldn’t tell you where they live. He’s a very private man. Keeps himself to himself and it’s hard to get a word out of him.”

Darcy and I exchanged a look as we walked away. “We’d better go back to the police,” I said. “He could be lying there dead on the floor and nobody would know.”

The constable at the police station listened politely but clearly wasn’t taking us seriously. “Lots of folks go away over Christmas,” he said. “I don’t think you should worry yourself unduly, miss.”

“But we have reason to believe that the robbery of his store was linked to all these strange deaths. You know—Gladys Tripp, Mr. Skaggs.”

“And how might that be, miss?”

“It’s too complicated to explain now,” I said. “I’m sure Inspector Newcombe would act immediately if I told him what I now know.”

“We can’t just go breaking in someone’s door on the off chance that something might not be right,” he said.

“Not even if a person may well be lying dead inside, murdered?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m all alone here at the moment. Can’t leave the station unattended, can I? Besides, I can’t do nothing without my sergeant’s permission.”

“And where is he?”

“It’s his day off, miss. Can’t bother him on his day off.”

I had a growing desire to slap him but I fought to stay calm. “So if a major crime happened now, if someone ran down the street shooting people, you’d just watch because you’re all alone in the police station?”

I felt Darcy dig me in the side. The constable considered my question, not recognizing it as sarcasm. “Well, miss, if a man ran down our street shooting at people, I reckon I’d be bound to try and stop him, wouldn’t I? But if the gentleman you’re talking about is already dead, then an hour or so more won’t matter much to him, will it?”

In the face of such reason I had to back down.

“So you have no way of contacting Inspector Newcombe at all? You couldn’t find out where his meeting is being held?”

The constable considered this. “I suppose I could put through a telephone call to the main police station in Exeter and they might know how to find him, but he wouldn’t half be mad at me if I brought him back here for nothing.”

“I can promise you it’s not for nothing,” I said. “We now have proof that all those deaths were murders, you see.”

“You don’t say!” He stared at me, wide-eyed.

“And another man has died this morning and more people will go on dying unless the murderer is stopped.”

“Well, I never. Who’d have thought it around here?” he said. “I don’t recall there ever being a murder in these parts. Just like London, isn’t it?”

“So will you try to contact the inspector for us, please?” I asked.

“I’ll do my best, miss,” he said.

“We shouldn’t wait around any longer,” Darcy said. “They’ll worry where we’ve got to. And I’ve borrowed Monty’s motorcar without permission. The inspector will come out to us as soon as he gets your note.”

“I should add something about Mr. Klein,” I said and on the back of the envelope I wrote, Mr. Klein doesn’t answer his door. Suspect he may be dead inside his flat. Constable refused to break down door to find out.

Then reluctantly we had to drive back to Tiddleton-under-Lovey. The field where the chase had taken place now had an abandoned feel to it, with bits of bunting flapping in the wind and the ghostly shapes of booths looming over the fence. Johnnie’s roguish face swam into my mind and I remembered the others teasing him about entering the race because of his age. He had felt himself immortal then. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to blot out the pain.

We put the motor back in the old stables beside the house and went in to find everyone in a mellow mood after the exertions of the race and the large amount of alcohol consumed. Cherie and Ethel had now attached themselves to Monty and Badger and were sitting beside them on a sofa. The adults were drinking coffee and looking bored. Lady Hawse-Gorzley waylaid me in the passageway.

“Oh, there you are. I suspect you slipped away with my nephew, you naughty girl.” She wagged a finger, but she was smiling.

“We tried to find Inspector Newcombe,” I said. “We discovered something he ought to know.”

She brushed back her hair from her face in a distracted gesture. “These deaths—I’m really beginning to believe in the Lovey Curse. I can’t explain them any other way. And Wild Sal was out there at the Chase today, dancing around as bold as you please. It would not surprise me one bit if she were a witch.” She paused, then managed an embarrassed smile. “Oh, I know one is supposed to be modern and pooh-pooh anything supernatural, but in this part of the world we take the supernatural seriously.”

“I don’t think she’s responsible for these deaths,” I said.

“Then how can they be explained?” she snapped. “Seeing poor Johnnie today . . . I’ve known him all my life. We used to play together when we were children. Am I really to believe that he suffered a heart attack?”

“I think we’ll find out that he was murdered,” I said. “I think we’ll find that these were all well-planned murders.”

She glared at me fiercely. “Then who will be next?” she said. “Shouldn’t I send my guests away now rather than expose them to this kind of danger?”

“I think your guests are safe. It seems to be only local people—people about whom the killer knows an awful lot.”

She shuddered. “Horrible. Horrible. I worry about Oswald. He often goes off alone, tramping all over the estate. He takes the dogs with him, but they can’t protect him, can they?”

I put a tentative hand on her arm. “We may be near to solving this,” I said. “I suggest we keep everyone close to the house for the rest of their time here.”

“What about the Worsting of the Hag?” she said. “They’ll want to take part in that, won’t they? It’s the big event.”

“What exactly happens?”

“On New Year’s Eve every year, everyone goes from house to house around the village, banging on pots and pans and drums, making noise to drive out evil spirits. It’s supposed to be the reenactment of the time when they chased the witch around the village before they caught her on Lovey Tor. Always great fun.”

“But dangerous,” I said. “How can you protect people out in the dark?”

She shrugged. “We’ll have to enlist the help of the police, won’t we? We can’t stop the festival. It’s been going for two hundred–plus years.”

She peered into the sitting room. “Oh, God. What are we going to do with them? Look at them—just sitting there, waiting to be entertained. I do wish I hadn’t undertaken this stupid farce.” She looked at me for understanding. “You’ve probably heard by now that they’re all paying guests.”

I nodded.

“We needed the money, you see. Things have not been going well and this seemed like such a good opportunity.” She sighed. “But I wish to God we had never done it. I even began to wonder whether these deaths were some kind of punishment for not accepting our lot.”

“I’m sure they’re not,” I said. “Look, why don’t I go and set up another skittles tournament for them? And maybe we could ask Mr. Barclay to give them an organ concert in the church. He plays very well.”

“What a splendid idea. Thank you, Georgiana. You’ve been a big help to me.”

I didn’t think I’d been that much of a help at all and I suddenly felt awkward about accepting money from her. After all, I was having a far better Christmas than I would have had at Castle Rannoch. Actually, I’d have paid her to be away from Fig!

* * *

AFTER LUNCH I took Mrs. Upthorpe, Ethel and Mrs. Wexler for a walk with me to see Mr. Barclay. I didn’t feel like going anywhere alone anymore and they all seemed at loose ends. All the way down the drive they chatted about fashions and dressmakers and ladies’ magazines until I felt quite left out. Sometimes it’s hard to be penniless.

Mr. Barclay’s eyes darted nervously when he saw us standing on his doorstep.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. A peeress of the realm in my humble cottage,” he said, but he didn’t look very pleased. He invited us into a neat, old-fashioned front parlor that looked as if it hadn’t been touched since his grandmother’s day, and offered us tea. It seemed rude to refuse and we sat uncomfortably while he kept apologizing for not having anything suitable to offer us to accompany the tea. If only he’d known we were coming, he said, he’d have baked something. When he heard the reason for our visit he perked up no end.

“Oh, how kind of you,” he said. “What an honor. I shall be thrilled, positively thrilled. Now you’ve given me a challenging task—what piece of music to play. What a delicious dilemma, isn’t it?”

We set the time of the concert for three o’clock the next day (“Not after dark, if you please; the church lighting is so poor and my hands won’t work when they get too cold”) and were glad to take our leave.

“Poor little man, I feel rather sorry for him, don’t you?” Mrs. Upthorpe said when we could finally take our leave. “Such a lonely life. Probably has nobody in the village to talk to.”

We arrived back to a second, and more satisfying, tea. The day seemed to drag on and on, with no news from the inspector. We played charades again before dinner, but this time it felt as if nobody’s heart was really in it and nobody had the urge to dress up, after the previous night’s horror. We had just gone up to change for dinner when there was a tap on my bedroom door. I opened it to find one of the maids.

“If you please, my lady, that police inspector has come to see you,” she said. “I’ve put him in the master’s study.”

I hurriedly finished dressing and went down the stairs. Inspector Newcombe had been pacing the room and spun around as I entered.

“I came because my constable impressed upon me that you had something terribly important to tell me. A matter of life and death, I believe was how he put it.”

I nodded. “But first what of Mr. Klein? Did anyone go and see what had happened to him?”

“We did,” he said, eyeing me coldly. “And it turned out he’s been staying with his daughter in Torquay. We felt like a lot of right charlies, I can tell you.”

“So he’s all right, then?”

“Perfectly.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

“Do you mind telling me what made you think he wasn’t all right?”

“Because he should have died on the twenty-fourth,” I said. “He was the gold rings.”

And I explained what I had figured out. He listened, at first with a smirk on his face, but then a frown formed on his forehead and his expression grew grimmer and grimmer as I went along.

“It’s positively bizarre,” he said at last, “but I have to admit it certainly fits. And if you’re right, then the man who died today did not have a heart attack.”

“Maybe he did,” I said. “If the killer knew he had a weak heart and was on medicine, he could easily have tampered with the dose. He has been staying here so you’ll probably find his medicines up in his bedroom. I suggest you take them with you for testing.”

The inspector looked at me suspiciously. “Where do you get these ideas, a well-bred young lady like you?”

“I’ve had some experience with murders,” I said.

“Do you go around actually seeking them out for fun?” He shook his head. “I’ve heard of you bright young things stealing policemen’s helmets, but this takes the cake.”

“Certainly not. I hate them, but I’ve been involved in a few. I’d much rather not.”

He perched on the edge of Sir Oswald’s desk. “All right, then, my lady. If you’ve figured out how these deaths are linked, perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me who might be playing this little game with us.”

“I wish I could. Somebody local who knows everybody’s habits. Somebody with considerable skills and a twisted mind. Somebody with a grudge against a lot of people.”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “And how are we to find out who that might be?”

“He has made two mistakes,” I said. “Mrs. Sechrest and Mr. Klein. He has let them live. They may have some idea of who might want them dead.”

“Right,” he said. “I don’t think Mrs. Sechrest will be up to talking much yet, but I could go to see Mr. Klein tomorrow.” He looked at me almost coyly. “Do you think the retired gentleman from Scotland Yard might want to accompany me?”

“He might very well want to,” I said. “And I’d like to come along as well, if I may.”

“Well, given that you’re the only one who has made any headway with this puzzle, I can hardly say no, can I?” He stood up again.

“And my friend Darcy O’Mara. I know he’d want to come along too.”

“This isn’t a blooming bright young things’ charabanc outing,” he snapped, then seemed to remember to whom he was speaking and checked himself. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that. But if you want my advice, my lady, the fewer people who know about this, the better. If the murderer is lurking around here, word will get back to him somehow or other and it may put more people in danger. I agreed to taking you, because you’ve figured it out, but no more. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention our excursion to anybody.”

I took a deep breath. “All right, I suppose.”

“I’d best be getting along, then. Another long day and the missus isn’t pleased. Says we’ve had no Christmas at all this year. But that’s the nature of the job, isn’t it? I told her she knew what she was getting when she married me. For better or worse, eh?”

I escorted him up to Johnnie Protheroe’s bedroom, where he took several medicine bottles. Then I accompanied him to the front door.

“Remember now.” He wagged a finger at me. “Nobody else is to know at this stage. All right?”

I closed the door and went to join the others for sherry. I could hardly contain my excitement. Finally we were getting somewhere, and I was being allowed to join in. I was no longer the annoying amateur. It was quite satisfying. It was only as I entered the salon and saw Darcy’s back, as he talked with Monty and Badger, that I felt the full implication of leaving him out of the next day’s little jaunt. I reasoned that he hadn’t really shown much interest and was all for leaving the investigation to the police. But I still didn’t like the thought of going off without telling him. How was I going to explain this away?

He seemed to sense my presence and came over to me. “What did the inspector say? Was he impressed with your detective abilities?” he asked, drawing me aside so that we couldn’t be overheard above the buzz of conversation.

“He was.” I managed a bright smile. “And he’s found that Mr. Klein is staying with his daughter. He’s going to see him tomorrow.”

“Splendid,” Darcy said. “Now I hope you’re satisfied. I said it was a good idea to leave this to the police.”

I attempted a bright smile, but I felt too sick and worried at dinner to eat much of the delicious leg of lamb and golden syrup pudding.

Chapter 35

DECEMBER 30

Lovely day so far. Going to see Mr. Klein and excited at the chance of this horrid riddle finally being solved. I just hope he can set us on the right track before someone is killed today.

In contrast to the previous day’s damp and gloomy fog, the weather was sparkling and clear. Remnants of snow still clung to the top of Lovey Tor and the sky looked as if it were made of blue glass, with the bare bones of trees etched upon it. I dressed, grabbed a hurried breakfast and then set off down the drive, having told Lady Hawse-Gorzley that I wished to visit my grandfather.

I was nearing the front gates when someone stepped out in front of me, barring my way. It was Wild Sal and she was staring at me with those strange bright green eyes.

“You’re still here, are you?” she said. “You’ll leave right now if you know what’s good for you.”

“Why is that?” I stared back defiantly.

“You’re not wanted in these parts. Outsiders like you only cause trouble. You’re the one who set the police on me, aren’t you? You got me locked up in that little cell.”

“I only told the police that I’d seen you up near where the master of hounds disappeared, that’s all,” I said. “I was asked if I’d seen anybody and I could hardly lie. Besides, you saved me from falling into the bog. I told them that too.”

She looked at me strangely. “He went into the bog, and good riddance too,” she said. “Hunting poor defenseless foxes.”

“Did you string the wire that tripped up his horse?”

“Me? Why would I want to harm a horse? I love all creatures, except humans, that is.”

“But you saw him fall off his horse?”

“No, but I saw someone putting him in the bog.”

“Who was it?”

“Couldn’t tell you that. Big bloke, all wrapped up, wearing some kind of hood. And I reckon the other one was already dead, ’cos he just lay there and let the bog suck him up.”

“Why didn’t you get help?”

“Too late by then. Once the bog gets you, you goes down fast, and like I said, I reckon he was already dead.”

“Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”

“I did, but they weren’t interested. I couldn’t describe the bloke, see, couldn’t tell if he was young or old or anything. Just that he were a big, strapping chap.”

“And you saw that van go off the road, too?”

“No, I heard the noise and I got there too late. It was already smashed to bits down in the stream.”

“So you didn’t see the same man there?”

“Didn’t see nobody,” she said.

I phrased my next question carefully in my head. “Sal, do you know anyone in these parts, anyone at all, who would do terrible things like this?” I gave her an appealing look. “He has to be stopped before he kills more people.”

“I don’t have much dealings with people. Keep myself to myself, that’s what I do,” she said. “They don’t trust me and I don’t trust them. But there’s plenty of folk don’t deserve to live.”

“But you might be in danger too. You might be next.”

“Not me,” she said. “No one around here would ever dare touch me. They’re afraid of the Lovey Curse.”

“I’m going with the inspector today,” I said. “With any luck we’ll know who is doing this by tonight.”

I saw her look at me strangely and I found myself wondering if she was the killer after all. Hadn’t she just said that there were plenty of people who didn’t deserve to live? But how had she managed to cover so much ground? How could she possibly have known about the butcher driving on the road from Newton Abbott, or got to a farm on the other side of Bovey Tracey? And how would she be strong enough to drag a body into the bog?

As I went to take my leave, another thought struck me. “Sal, on the night that the old lady at the big house died, you went to the kitchen for food, didn’t you? You didn’t see anyone else, did you?”

“When I was leaving, I did see Willum,” she said. “He was going round the side of the house to their back garden.”

I paused, digesting this. “Did you speak to him? Did he say what he was doing?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t speak to him. I just went my way and left him to it. Willum often does jobs for people.”

“I must go. I’m supposed to be meeting people,” I said.

“Remember what Sal just told you,” she said. “You watch yourself, miss. And you had any sense, you’d go home now, before it’s too late. Sal sees danger in your future.”

I was still strangely shaken by the time I arrived at the cottage and found the inspector and my grandfather standing together beside the big black police motor. Granddad and I got into the backseat while the inspector rode in the front, next to his driver.

“It should be a nice ride to Torquay today,” the inspector said. “Better than driving in that awful fog yesterday.”

“I hope your meeting went well,” I said.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Of course not.” I flushed. “Your constable said you’d had to go for a meeting.”

“Of a sort,” he said. “The prisoner they recaptured in Birmingham has just been returned to Dartmoor Prison. I went to talk to him.”

“And did you learn anything?”

“Not a dicky bird. He still maintains that they split up as soon as they reached the road, and he thought the other two were both heading for London. As for how he made it to Birmingham and where he got his civilian clothes, he’s just not talking.”

“You won’t get convicts to squeal on each other, unless there is something in it for them,” Granddad said.

“I just met Wild Sal,” I said. And I told them about her seeing the body dragged into the bog and the fact that she’d seen Willum in the Ffrench-Finches’ back garden.

“Willum? The simple-headed one?” The inspector stroked his chin. I noticed he’d shaved that morning. “I can’t see him having the wit to pull off crimes like these. He’s like a big kiddie. No, I think we’ll find we’re dealing with a real smart aleck, the sort of man who thinks he’s the cat’s whisker and that society hasn’t appreciated his talents. You know, the quiet bank clerk who feels that he’s been overlooked. Probably doesn’t have friends. Probably spent months or years planning this.”

“Rather like the man you described to us, then,” I said. “You said one of the escaped convicts was a bank clerk, had brains and was ruthless.”

“Yes, I did.” Inspector Newcombe considered this. “But he’d have no reason to stick around these parts. And what’s more, I’m sure he doesn’t have any local connections either. No, my betting is that he’s safely back in London.” He turned to look out the window as we swung around a hairpin bend on the hill. “But there are plenty more like him. The Great War turned some of them cuckoo, didn’t it? Came home from the trenches and were never the same.”

We reached the crest of the hill and had a lovely view ahead of green fields and copses, farms nestling in hollows and in the far distance a sparkling line of sea. The road dropped from the moors until we were driving through the tamed landscape of the coast. Torquay looked positively Mediterranean in the sparkling sunshine. There were palm trees along the front and couples strolling, taking me back to my time in Nice. But the couples here were bundled in great coats and scarves, betraying that the weather here was not exactly balmy. We left the expensive hotels and souvenir shops until we reached a more humble backstreet with semidetached houses and children playing on the pavement outside.

My heart was racing as we walked up the front path and the inspector rapped on the door.

“Mrs. Goldblum? Detective Inspector Newcombe, Devonshire Constabulary. I telephoned you last night,” he said. “Your father is still here, I hope?”

“Yes, he’s here, but I don’t want him upset.” The thin and rather gaunt-looking middle-aged woman frowned at us. “That robbery has quite unnerved him. He fled from persecution in Russia as a young man, you know. He remembers the Cossacks burning his village and killing his parents. He said he has felt safe in England until now.”

“I quite understand,” Inspector Newcombe said. “Let us hope that we will soon apprehend the person who did this and he can feel safe again.” He saw her looking at us. “This gentleman is a former detective from Scotland Yard, who I hope can help solve this quickly.”

“And I’m his granddaughter,” I said quickly, before anyone could give my full name and title.

“I don’t know why it might take all these people to solve a simple robbery.” She was now glaring at us suspiciously.

“It might turn out to be not so simple,” the inspector said. “It may be tied to other crimes in this area. So if we could please speak with your father?”

She stood aside to let us into a narrow front hall. “He’s in the back parlor. It’s easier to heat. I’ll make us some tea.”

We went through to a small room crammed full of furniture. Mr. Klein was sitting in an armchair beside a roaring fire. He got to his feet, looking at us nervously.

The inspector held out his hand. “Mr. Klein. Detective Inspector Newcombe. We met the other day in connection with your robbery. And these are two acquaintances who have been helping me.”

“Good of you to come, Inspector,” Mr. Klein said. “Please, take a seat, all of you. I recognize the young lady from my shop the other day. Any news on the robbery yet?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid, but we may be closer to solving it.”

We sat, I perched on an upright chair away from the fire, leaving the two men to sit close to Mr. Klein.

“I’d be so happy if you could find out who broke into my shop,” he said. “I haven’t slept a wink since, you know. If someone had smashed a window and grabbed a few items, it would have been one thing. But letting himself into the store with no sign of a break-in and then opening my safe—well, that’s something else entirely, isn’t it? I won’t feel safe again until he’s found and arrested.”

“That’s exactly what we hope to do, Mr. Klein. And we have reason to suspect this wasn’t just a simple robbery. It may be linked to a chain of crimes, some of them murders. So in many ways you’re lucky to be alive. And I suggest you stay with your daughter until we tell you it’s safe to go home.”

“Goodness me.” Mr. Klein put a hand to his heart. “You have your suspicions then, do you, Inspector?”

“We’re hoping you can help us, Mr. Klein. We suspect there must be some kind of vendetta motive behind this, so I’m asking you to think. Has there been anyone with whom you’ve crossed swords, anyone who has written you a nasty letter? Anyone who might want to punish you in any way?”

“Because I’m Jewish, you mean?”

“Not at all. None of the other victims was a Jew.”

“Well, that’s a relief, anyway. I always told myself that was one thing I could count on in England. And as to your question—no, I can’t think of any enemies. I keep myself to myself. Don’t make trouble. Don’t get involved in town politics. Never had a nasty letter that I can remember.”

I moved toward the edge of the sofa. “Mr. Klein, do any of the following names mean anything to you?” And I began to recite them. He shook his head after each of the first few.

“Gladys Tripp. Now, that name rings a bell. Where have I heard it recently?”

“She was the telephone switchboard operator who was killed last week.”

“In a fire at the exchange, wasn’t it? That’s right. I remembered her name from before.”

“Before what?” Inspector Newcombe asked.

Mr. Klein frowned. “Maybe I’ve run into her around town? Go on. What were the other names?”

“The next person was the master of the local hunt. Major Wesley-Parker.”

Mr. Klein looked up suddenly. “Dapper little man with a mustache like that dreadful Hitler fellow? Thinks a lot of himself?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Oh, I remember him all right,” he said. “I served on a jury with him several years ago. He was an officious person. Took charge from square one. Bossed us all around. Wanted everything his way.”

“A jury?” Inspector Newcombe exchanged an excited look with us.

“That’s right. Come to think of it, that telephone lady must have been on it too. At least, there was some woman who chattered nonstop, inane stuff. I believe her last name was Tripp.”

“Think carefully, Mr. Klein,” Inspector Newcombe said slowly. “Who else can you remember on that jury?”

“Let me see. A refined older lady who locked horns with your hunting chap. There were a couple of people who never said a word—a large countrywoman, I remember, who looked distinctly out of place and uncomfortable. Did her knitting all the time. Click of knitting needles was most annoying. Then there were a couple of younger men who wouldn’t take anything seriously. That Major Whatsit did get annoyed with them. ‘You’re a disgrace to the county set,’ he said.” And Mr. Klein chuckled.

“Freddie Partridge. Johnnie Protheroe?” I asked.

“I really can’t remember names, if I even knew them. You don’t ever want to get too friendly with fellow jurors. It’s such an unreal situation that you just want to do the job and get out of there. At least, that was the way I felt. And most of them ignored me. I’m the sort that people overlook.”

The inspector cleared his throat. “Mr. Klein, what was the nature of the case? And the name of the defendant?”

“Now, that I do remember,” he said. “It was quite interesting, actually. He’d been a well-known music hall artiste. Had fallen on hard times since the demise of the music hall and taken to swindling old ladies out of their life savings. The prosecution wanted us to believe that he’d killed more than one of them. His last landlady had died from a fall down the stairs, but there was no real proof that he’d actually pushed her.”

“And his name, Mr. Klein? Do you remember his name?”

“His name was Robbins.”

Chapter 36

The inspector got to his feet, slamming his fist into his open hand. “I knew it. I knew my instinct was right all along.”

“You know him, then?” Mr. Klein asked.

“Oh, yes, I know him. He’s one of the convicts who recently escaped from Dartmoor. We’ve been looking for him.”

“My life, already,” Mr. Klein said. “You’re telling me that the man who broke into my shop and took those rings was that same Robbins?”

“Almost certainly so.”

“Then I’m lucky I wasn’t murdered in my bed.”

“You are very lucky, I agree. In fact, you’re the only one he hasn’t attempted to murder, most of them in ingenious ways.”

“Oh, he was a slick one, all right, from what we heard of the way he got around these old ladies. Knew how to charm people. Smarmy, that’s what I called him, but some of the ladies believed him. I don’t quite approve of having ladies sit on juries, if you don’t mind my saying so. Not enough experience of the outside world and too easily swayed by a charming smile.”

“What did he look like, Mr. Klein?” I asked.

“We know what he looked like. We have his mug shots,” the inspector said.

“I wanted Mr. Klein’s impression of him,” I said.

“Well-built chap, good solid jaw. Quite a big man and, as I said, charming smile. Charming manner altogether. If you’d believed him, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”

“I take it you haven’t seen him recently?” the inspector asked. “He didn’t come into your shop, for example?”

“Oh, no. I’d have remembered him, I’m sure,” Mr. Klein said. “A person like that you don’t forget so easily.”

We took our leave then.

“Well, that’s a turnup for the books, isn’t it?” the inspector said. “If we’re to believe him, that Robbins fellow is still hiding out in these parts and bumping off the members of the jury, one by one.”

“He still has two to go,” I said. “We need to find out who the other members were before it’s too late.”

“That trial would have been at the Crown court in Exeter,” the inspector said. “The local magistrate’s court wouldn’t have touched a case like that.”

He turned to his driver and we swung onto the main Exeter road.

“What I want to know,” my grandfather said as we negotiated the narrow streets near the center of town, “is how he obtained all this local knowledge if he was locked away in Dartmoor Prison. Someone from around here must have found out about the details of the people he killed.”

“The same one who is hiding him, presumably,” I said.

“Doing a bloody good job of it too,” the inspector said. “We went door to door in all those local villages when the convicts escaped, but nobody claimed to have seen hide nor hair of them.”

The car came to a halt outside the court buildings and we followed the inspector inside. We were passed from one department to the next until we found where archives of court cases were stored. And then we waited, sitting on a hard wooden bench in a drafty foyer. At last a young man came back with a sheet of paper. “This is the one you wanted,” he said. “Robert Francis Robbins. Convicted November 22, 1928.”

We read it eagerly. “Who is Agnes Brewer?” Granddad asked.

“The farmer’s wife. Already dead.”

“That just leaves Stewart McGill and—oh.” I stopped, mouth open.

“Peter Barclay,” Granddad said. “Isn’t he the quiet little chap who plays the organ?”

“That’s him.” I looked at the inspector. “Do you have any way of telephoning the police station in Tiddleton and having some kind of guard put on Mr. Barclay?”

“I’ll do it from the station here,” the inspector said. “And we need to find out where this Mr. McGill lives. We have an address for him and it’s in Exeter.”

We drove with a growing feeling of dread to Mr. McGill’s address. It was in a rather shabby backstreet of terraced houses right on the pavement with no front gardens. We knocked on the front door and a young woman opened it. She looked unkempt, with a baby on her hip.

“Mr. McGill?” the inspector asked.

She stared at him defiantly. “No. You’ve got the wrong number. The name’s Perkins.”

“How long have you lived here, Mrs. Perkins?”

“Just over a year. What’s it to you?”

“I’m a police officer,” Inspector Newcombe said coldly and noted the reaction in her eyes. “You don’t happen to know where to find the people who lived here before you, do you?”

“No idea.” The baby started to wail. “Look, this isn’t a good time. He wants his bottle and the bigger ones want their dinner.”

“We’re looking for a Mr. McGill who used to live here,” the inspector said. “It’s vitally important we contact him. A matter of life and death.”

She shrugged, still not interested. “You can ask the old bat at number 14,” she said. “She’s always snooping out through her window, minding other people’s business. She might know.”

We went across the street. I saw a lace curtain twitch before the inspector knocked on the door. Soon after, the door was opened an inch or two and a sharp-nosed face looked out.

The inspector repeated his question and the door was opened wider to reveal an old woman in a flowery pinny and carpet slippers.

“You’re not going to find him, are you?” the old woman said triumphantly. “He’s gone. Hopped it.”

“Gone where?”

“Out to his daughter in Australia. His wife died and he packed up and went. Three or four years ago now.”

“Now, that presents an interesting problem for Mr. Robbins, doesn’t it?” the inspector said as we returned to the motor. “I wonder if he’s planning to go out to Australia to seek out the last jury member.”

“Hardly on the twelfth day,” I said. “He wouldn’t even have time to leave England by then.”

“Then what’s he going to do on the twelfth day?” my grandfather said. “I rather think he’s the type who’d want a big finale.”

None of us had an answer to that one.

We left the city of Exeter behind and rolling countryside stretched ahead of us, with the snowcapped tors as a backdrop. “So the big question is, who has been hiding him?”

“It might be worth checking with Wild Sal again,” I said. “She sort of threatened me this morning. Nobody goes near the place she lives up on the moors, do they?”

“My lads were there to apprehend her,” the inspector said. “Hardly more than a sheep byre—stone walls, dirt floor and not enough room to swing a cat. Nowhere to hide him there.”

“But if they’d seen you coming, there are plenty of places to hide up on the moor until you’d gone, aren’t there?” I suggested.

“What exactly do you know about this Robbins?” Granddad asked. “Used to have a music hall turn, didn’t he?”

“He did. In fact, he was quite popular at one time. I gather it was a sort of magic act with his wife, sleight-of-hand stuff, but the difference was that it was a type of comedy act too and they played various characters. His most famous one was apparently an old colonel, trying to impress a coquettish young girl, played by his wife.”

“You know, I think I saw him once,” Granddad said excitedly. “At the Hammersmith Empire. The old colonel and the young girl. That rings a bell. They were quite good. Clever and funny too. What were they called?” He sucked through his teeth, thinking.

“I believe it was Robbie and someone.”

“‘Robbie and Trixie, Tricks and Chuckles,’ that was it,” Granddad said. “I did see them. The old colonel and the young girl. He was trying to impress her, producing flowers out of her hat, money out of her ear. So did you say that his wife killed herself?”

“Right after he was convicted,” the inspector said. “Left a note. Said she couldn’t handle the shame of it or go on living without him. So she drowned herself near Beachy Head. Walked out into the sea, and you know what the currents are like around that headland. The body was never found.”

I stared out the window, trying to control my racing thoughts. The old colonel. Was he actually staying at Gorzley Hall at this moment? Colonel Rathbone had claimed to be a colonel with the Bengal Lancers, but he didn’t look comfortable in the saddle. And he hadn’t known his commanding officer’s nickname. But Mrs. Rathbone? She didn’t look as if she’d ever been an entertainer. But was it possible the old colonel’s wife hadn’t died after all? I wondered whether to voice my suspicion to the inspector, then decided that I should talk it over with Darcy first. He knew people in London who could check on such things. I’d tell him instead.

As we drove down the hill and into the village we saw the constable talking to someone outside the police station. The inspector wound down his window. “Did you get my message, Jackson?” he asked.

“I did, sir.” The constable came over to us. “I went round to Mr. Barclay’s house, but he wasn’t there. I’ve been keeping an eye open for him, but I haven’t seen him all day.”

“I want him found, Jackson. The man may be in danger. Now go and ask around the village if anyone has seen him, understand? I’ll just drive this young lady to her front door and then we’ll come back to help you.”

“It’s all right. I can walk from here,” I said.

“No, my lady. Given what we know now, I don’t want you walking anywhere alone. In fact, when I get back to the village I’m going to question everyone again. Someone must have spotted Robbins. Someone must know something and I mean to find out who is hiding him.”

It was his insistence on driving me to the hall that made me realize the danger we all might be in. If Mr. Robbins had been plotting and planning his vengeance during his years in prison, he wouldn’t take kindly to anyone who was trying to get in his way. And he had proved clearly that he was literally able to kill with no trace and under all our noses.

* * *

AS I ENTERED the hall I was met by Darcy, striding out from the drawing room with a look of thunder on his face.

“Where the devil have you been?” he demanded.

I stepped back, recoiling from this unexpected wrath. “I went out with my grandfather and Inspector Newcombe. We went to find Mr. Klein and you’d be amazed what else we discovered—”

“And you didn’t think of telling me?” His eyes were still blazing.

“I wanted you to come too, but the inspector refused. And he made me promise not to mention it to anyone else. I felt terrible. I did tell Lady Hawse-Gorzley.”

“Yes, that you’d gone to see your mother,” he snapped. “Can you imagine how worried I was when I went down to the cottage and you and your grandfather were not there and your mother had no idea where you had gone?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. I did try to include you.”

His expression softened a little. “I’m not angry because I couldn’t come,” he said. “I always felt that police business should be left to the police, as you know very well. It’s just that I was worried about you. I thought you might have been kidnapped or bumped off because you were interfering. You can’t imagine what went through my mind.”

I touched his shoulder tentatively. “Darcy, I said I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I’d been asked not to.”

“You could have at least let me know you were safely with the police.”

I was beginning to feel defensive. “You have plenty of secrets from me, don’t you? I don’t even know what you do when you go off on your little jaunts. Don’t you think I worry about you?”

He smiled. “You do have a point there. But I know how to take care of myself.”

“So do I,” I said.

He slipped his arms around my waist. “Well, you’re home and you’re safe. So let’s forget about it. Are you allowed to tell me what happened?”

“You’ll never believe this.” I led him down a long hallway until we were far from other people and told him everything.

“The man must be completely mad,” he said at last. “Killing off jurors one by one, in such an elaborate fashion. What for? What can it accomplish?”

“He’s a showman, Darcy. He wants to go out with a bang. Maybe he has no desire to live now that his wife is dead, and no desire to go back to that horrible prison.”

“Signing his own death warrant, you mean?”

I nodded. “And there’s something I want you to do,” I said, and I voiced my suspicions about the colonel.

He stood there, frowning. “Yes, I think I know someone who can find that out for me in a hurry,” he said. “Do you really think it’s possible that he’s been here among us, all this time? It doesn’t seem possible. How has he managed to go in and out to kill people at odd times?”

“It’s a big enough house. I’m sure it’s possible to slip out without being seen.”

“Extraordinary. I’ll send a telegram right away. And in the meantime stay well clear of him, understand? I don’t want him to get any hint that you know.”

I nodded. As we came back to the front foyer Lady Hawse-Gorzley was coming down the stairs. “All ready for the concert, then?” she asked brightly. “Is your dear mother coming too?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. I’d completely forgotten about the concert and remembered now that Mr. Barclay would be playing for us.

“Dress warmly,” she called after me. “It’s always freezing cold in that church. I don’t know how the poor man manages to play the organ with frozen fingers.”

I put on a scarf and hat and joined those assembling on the driveway. Colonel Rathbone announced that he and his wife would not be joining us, as she wasn’t feeling too well. The dowager countess said that she’d heard organ concerts at St. Stephen’s in Vienna and St. Nicholas Cathedral in Leipzig and really didn’t need another one. Monty and Cherie also expressed little interest but Monty was told by his mother that he was expected to attend. Cherie walked beside him, sulking and loudly proclaiming that churches were boring.

We turned onto the path beside the village green and were nearing the gate leading to the church when we heard the most bloodcurdling scream coming from inside. We ran up the path. The church door was open and screams continued to come from inside. As we went in we were met by Miss Prendergast running toward us, her face a mask of terror.

“It’s him,” she gasped. “And he’s . . . and I thought . . . and I touched him, and . . .”

She held out her hands and they were covered in blood.

Chapter 37

She had stopped screaming but a strange noise continued—a sort of moaning sigh that echoed around the church. We looked past to where her gaze was focused. Mr. Barclay was lying across the keys of the organ and blood was trickling down one side of his face. The noise appeared to be coming from the organ itself and I realized that it was the dying breath of air coming from the organ pipes.

“My God,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley exclaimed. “It looks as if part of the roof has fallen on him.” On the floor beside him was a large chunk of masonry that seemed to have come from the top of the vaulted ceiling.

Someone was dispatched to the police station. Lady Hawse-Gorzley rapidly escorted her guests away from the scene. “Monty, take them back to the house and give them a brandy,” she said. “I’ll have to stay until the police get here.”

I couldn’t take my eyes from the dead man. We had known he was in danger. We had put a police guard on him and nevertheless the killer had struck at will again. It was almost as if he were a supernatural being who could move among us invisible and undetected. I was shaken from my troubling thoughts by Miss Prendergast’s gasping sobs.

Lady Hawse-Gorzley patted her on the back. “Nasty shock, I know. You’ll be all right,” she said briskly. “What you need is a stiff drink.” She saw me. “Georgie dear, why don’t you take Miss Prendergast to your mother’s cottage? She shouldn’t be left alone and the police will want to talk to her when they get here.”

“All right,” I said. I took the woman’s arm. “Come along, Miss Prendergast.”

She allowed herself to be led out of the church, along the path to my mother’s cottage. I explained briefly what had happened and brought her inside. My mother had been sitting by the fire with a cup of tea. I thought she wouldn’t want a strange older woman in her cottage but she instantly switched into full Florence Nightingale mode.

“You poor dear thing. What an awful shock,” she said. “Come and sit down. Daddy, get her a glass of brandy.”

“Oh, no spirits, thank you,” she said as the glass was placed in her hands. “I rarely touch alcohol.”

“Go on, down the hatch,” Granddad said. “It’ll do you good.”

“If you insist.” She gave him a wary glance before sipping it.

“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, love,” Mrs. Huggins said. “Your face is as white as a sheet.”

“So would yours be if you’d just found someone lying dead in the church,” Mummy said. She still had that caring smile on her face and I realized that she was playing the part because she wanted all the ghoulish details. She was finding these murders thrilling. For her it was a big game.

Miss Prendergast shuddered. “I still can’t believe it was real,” she said. “I saw him lying there and I thought he’d fallen asleep and I went to wake him and my hands were all sticky.” She held them up, showing the dried blood on them. “So awful. I warned the vicar about the state of that church. The masonry is crumbling in several places. It was only a matter of time before it fell on someone. But poor Mr. Barclay.” She looked from one face to the next, imploring us to understand what she was feeling. “I must say we didn’t get along very well. He did like his own way, you know, but I would not have wished that on anyone. And he did play the organ very well, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” I said.

“I feel so guilty. All those unchristian thoughts about him. Especially about the holly around the crib. And now he’s gone.”

“Here’s your tea, my ducks,” Mrs. Huggins said. “And a slice of my good plum cake. That’s what you need right now.”

“You are too kind,” Miss Prendergast said. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I moved to this place thinking it was a little haven of peace after looking after my dear mama for so long. And now so many tragedies at once. It almost seems as if the place is cursed, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure it will all stop soon,” I said. “The police have found out who is behind these deaths and they are hot on his trail.”

“Behind the deaths? You mean they were not accidents?”

“Absolutely not. Horrible murders, every one.”

Miss Prendergast clutched her hand to her breast. “Murders? In Tiddleton? It’s not possible. I can’t live here any longer. I shall never feel safe again.”

“Don’t you fret, ducks. The police will get him,” Granddad said. “It’s only a matter of time. And then everything will be right as rain again.”

“But I will have so many dreadful memories, won’t I? Miss Effie, Mrs. Sechrest, Mr. Protheroe, and now Mr. Barclay. I shall never sleep again.”

I noticed that Noel Coward had come in to join us. He also enjoyed good drama.

“So where did you come from, my dear?”

“Bournemouth. Mummy had a nice house there. We lived very happily together until she died.”

“Bournemouth? I know it well. Where exactly did you live? Did you go to the theater much? I once performed there.”

Miss Prendergast tried to get to her feet. “Look, I know you’re all being awfully kind, but I’m too upset to chitchat right now.”

“Of course. We understand,” Mummy said.

“I think I should go home. The police will want to talk to me, I expect.”

“I’ll walk you home,” I said.

There was a great amount of activity going on outside the church. An ambulance. Two police motorcars. Several policemen, one with a dog. Miss Prendergast shuddered. “It’s like a nightmare, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “You go inside and lock your door, just in case.”

As we reached her gate, a man in uniform was just coming out. I thought it was another policeman until I saw it was only the postman.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Prendergast,” he said. “I was trying to deliver another parcel for you. Didn’t just want to leave it on the step. Another late Christmas present, I expect.”

“Yes, I expect it is. Thank you.” She took the package from him.

I watched with interest. I thought she said she had no one in the world. Then I saw that the package came from a firm in London. Maybe she’d been ordering little gifts for herself.

“Thank you again,” she said to me, then she almost ran up her front path and I heard the bolt being shot on her front door.

* * *

ALL OF LADY Hawse-Gorzley’s guests were assembled at tea, but I noticed that nobody felt much like eating.

“I’ll never get these awful images out of my mind, as long as I live,” Mrs. Upthorpe said. “First poor Mrs. Sechrest and now that organist. I think we should go home now, Arthur, and not wait for the New Year.”

“Oh, but we have to stay for the last event, Mummy,” Ethel said, her eye on Badger. “Only one more day.”

“How do I know that we’ll be safe? I can’t believe that they were accidents.”

“They weren’t,” I said and felt all those eyes upon me. “We now know that it was one of those escaped convicts behind all these deaths. They were all clever murders. But don’t worry. The police will soon have him.” I sounded more optimistic than I felt. If he had evaded us all so far, what chance did the police have now that there were no more people left to kill? If he had fulfilled his mission and killed off his jurors, surely he’d be out of this area right away.

“I’m so sorry this had to spoil your lovely holiday here,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “After we went to so much trouble to make everything perfect for you.”

There were murmurs of understanding from those around her. Mrs. Wexler even patted her knee, which brought an astonished look from Lady H-G. I took a scone and went to sit beside Darcy. “Am I forgiven for worrying you?”

“Now do you see why I was worried?” he said. “That man couldn’t have been killed long before we arrived in the church. The blood was still running. That meant that the murderer was probably still somewhere close by, watching us. He may even have been in the church somewhere.”

“I don’t know why nobody has seen him,” I said.

“If he adopted various characters as part of his stage act, then he is probably a master of disguise. We may have walked right past him and not recognized him.” His gaze went across the room to the colonel, now sitting eating calmly beside his wife. She did not look so serene. She looked decidedly pale, in fact. Had she realized what he was doing, perhaps?

“When do you think you’ll get an answer to your telegram?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t take too long to check War Office records,” Darcy said.

Tea concluded. Nobody felt much like doing anything, but I noticed that they all chose to sit together in the drawing room, rather than go off alone. I couldn’t blame them. I shared their fear.

Darkness fell and reluctantly we went up to dress for dinner. Queenie was waiting in my room, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and excitement. “They say someone got killed again, miss,” she said. “Had his head bashed in with a great lump of rock. Blimey, what a place, eh? Give me the old East End any day. Do you reckon we’re safe here, in this house?”

“I hope so, Queenie. I think the murderer is only targeting specific people and he doesn’t know us, so I have to assume we’re safe. Just don’t go wandering around outside.”

“You bet yer boots I won’t, miss,” she said. “I ain’t that stupid.”

At that moment there was a thunderous knock at the front door. I urged Queenie to hurry with the fastenings on my dress, then I went out to peer over the gallery to the hallway below.

“Telegram for a Mr. O’Mara,” I heard the boy’s voice announce.

I went to find Darcy and we stood in the front hall together while he opened the telegram. It said, COLONEL RATHBONE RETIRED BENGAL LANCERS TEN YEARS AGO.

“We should call the police,” I said.

Darcy shook his head. “We’ll confront him before dinner. At least hear what the man has to say for himself.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous? He might be a cold-blooded murderer.”

“I hardly think he’d be able to do anything surrounded by so many people. And Monty, Badger, myself, we’re all pretty strong.”

“What if he has a gun?”

“In his dinner jacket pocket? Besides, he hasn’t shot anybody yet.”

“Well, all right,” I said, “only be careful.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” He smiled at me.

One by one the dinner guests assembled for sherry. They stood together in little groups, talking in low voices. Hardly the loud, laughing group of a few days ago. It was clear that everyone wanted to go home.

“The memsahib was all for leaving tonight,” I heard the colonel say. “But I told her I’d never run away from a charging tiger in Bengal. Why should we run away now?”

“Quite right,” the countess said. “My sentiments exactly. I will not allow one horrible little convict to spoil my holiday. Who knows if I will ever have another Christmas like this one?”

Darcy and I moved into the group. “So when did you last face a charging tiger, Colonel?” Darcy asked.

“When? Let me see. Not that long ago.”

“Was it at the London Zoo?” Darcy asked.

“What the devil are you talking about?” The colonel’s face flushed red.

“Because you are an imposter, sir,” Darcy said. “I just received a telegram from the War Office. Colonel Rathbone left the Bengal Lancers ten years ago.”

I expected him to bluster, but he deflated like a balloon. “Quite right,” he said. “No sense in pretending any longer. I did it for the memsahib, you see.” He turned to look at his wife, who was sitting with Mrs. Upthorpe on the sofa. Her face was a mask of granite. “She hasn’t been at all well. In fact, those doctor wallahs don’t give her long to live.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You really were in the Bengal Lancers?”

“I had to retire ten years ago,” he said. “Caught some damned tropical disease. We had to come back to England and live on a pitiful army pension. Quite a shock for both of us, I can tell you. Lost my savings in the crash of ’29 so we’re reduced to living in a shabby little rented house in Fulham. No luxuries. Just about enough to eat. But when the doctor gave us the bad news, I decided that my wife deserved one last splendid Christmas—the kind she always talked about, the kind she had as a child. So I sold a lot of my Indian mementos and we splurged on this. I don’t regret it either. She’s had a splendid time.”

He looked across at her again and they exchanged a lovely smile.

Chapter 38

DECEMBER 31, NEW YEAR’S EVE

The Worsting of the Hag tonight. Will anyone be killed? If so, who? I can’t believe he’ll do nothing on the twelfth day. I wish I were going home. . . . No, I don’t.

My stomach was in a tight knot the moment I awoke to the sight of Queenie’s large bulk looming over me. In fact, I had woken with a jolt, conscious of warm breath on my face. In my half dream it was the Labrador of my childhood, Tilly, who used to sit by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. I opened my eyes to see a large face close to mine. I gasped and tried to sit up. Then I saw it was only Queenie.

“What on earth were you doing that for?” I asked. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry, miss. You were lying there so still, I wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “The sight of you a few inches away from me might well have given me heart failure.”

After that first scare I couldn’t shake off the tension. Something was going to happen today, I was sure of it. But I couldn’t think what, and to whom. As I sat writing my morning entry in my diary, I wished I could go home right then. Then of course I knew that was rubbish. I didn’t want to go back to Fig and her family, and it was no longer my home. I didn’t have a home any longer. After this I really had nowhere to go. Frightening thought. And also I’d soon be leaving Darcy. I knew that before I left I must pluck up the courage to tell him I couldn’t marry him. And that was the one thing I didn’t want to do.

The whole household still seemed to be suffering from the shock of finding Mr. Barclay yesterday. People sat separately at breakfast, not talking. I knew I was supposed to be the social organizer, but frankly I couldn’t think of anything to cheer them up. Mrs. Upthorpe looked positively sick. Only the countess ate a hearty breakfast and seemed in good spirits.

“Such gloomy faces,” she said. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Time for celebration.”

“But it doesn’t seem right, with that poor man not in his grave yet,” Mrs. Upthorpe said.

“It wasn’t as if we knew the man, after all,” the countess said. “These things happen. I lost my husband. A big shock. Not at all pleasant, but I got on with it. I don’t hold with all this moping. Death is a fact of life. It’s going to come to all of us sooner or later.”

“We’re just hoping it’s not sooner,” Mr. Wexler said. “I don’t want my family in any danger.”

“Of course they’re not in danger,” the countess said. “Who’d want to kill you?”

I managed a poached egg on toast and was just finishing when Darcy came in. “I have to send another telegram,” he said. “Fancy a walk to the village after breakfast?”

“All right.” I got up. “Are you not breakfasting?”

“I ate hours ago. I’ve been out for a ride with Monty. Lovely morning. Frost on the grass.” He stared out the window as we walked from the room. “God, I miss my horses, don’t you?”

“I’ve been at home, so I’ve been able to ride,” I said.

“Lucky you.”

“Not much lucky about being at Castle Rannoch, I can assure you.” I grinned.

“And you’ll go back there after this?”

“I’ve nowhere else to go,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. They don’t want me there. I’m not allowed to use the London house. I may find myself as lady-in-waiting to one of the royal great-aunts.”

“I know people,” Darcy said. “I should be able to find something better than that for you.”

I managed a hopeful smile. “Really?”

“It’s a bugger, isn’t it?” he said. “This having no money.”

“Not a word I’m usually allowed to use,” I said. “But it is an absolute bugger.”

“We’ll work it out somehow. Even if I have to get a job in a bank or behind a sock counter in a gentlemen’s outfitter’s.”

This made me laugh. “You’d probably plot to rob the bank.”

“Nonsense. I’ve sworn to the straight and narrow these days.” Then he stopped and looked ahead. “Isn’t that your mother?”

A figure in a long mink coat was coming up the drive toward us. And a short, stocky figure beside her. “And my grandfather,” I said. “It’s a little early for a social call.”

Mummy spotted me at the same time and waved. “Yoo-hoo, darling! We were just coming to see you.”

They waited until we joined them. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Miss Prendergast,” Mummy said. “We’re worried that something has happened to her.”

“Oh, no.” Darcy and I exchanged a glance.

“Well, I felt sorry for the old biddy,” Granddad said. “She had that awful shock yesterday. So I got your mum to come with me to see how she was doing this morning and nobody answers the door. We wondered—well, if anything might be wrong. Have you heard from the inspector this morning?”

“I haven’t seen anybody,” I said. “You didn’t happen to see her when you were out riding, did you?” I asked Darcy.

He shook his head. “We went up on the moors. Nowhere near the village.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Poor Miss Prendergast. She is a bit of a busybody, isn’t she? I hope she didn’t see something that put her in danger.” And immediately it crossed my mind that she had been the first person into the church. If the killer had been in the process of making his getaway, had she caught a glimpse of him? Had he thought she’d seen him? In which case she had sealed her fate.

“We’d better go and take a look,” Darcy said. We walked back down the drive together at a quick pace.

“Strange woman, isn’t she?” Mummy said, taking quick and dainty little steps on her high platform shoes to keep up with us. “I wouldn’t have thought she was the type prone to hysterics. Always acted like one of those capable and no-nonsense females.”

“Well, she had just found a body,” Darcy pointed out.

“And you say she was a lifelong spinster?” Mummy went on. “I’d swear that woman was no virgin.”

We looked at her with interest. “Why do you say that?”

“The way she sat, darling. I noticed her particularly at that ball. She sat with her legs crossed, leaning back in her seat. Spinsters always sit bolt upright with their knees together.”

We had to laugh, but she went on. “They do. You know it’s that upbringing thing—their mothers drummed into them that the best form of birth control is to put a sixpence between your knees and keep it there.”

We were still laughing as she continued. “And there was something else I noticed yesterday. I don’t think she’s as old as we think. Did you see her hands? She didn’t have old hands. Look at your Granddad’s”—and she lifted one of his hands for my inspection—“wrinkles and age spots. Not at all nice. But hers were smooth and elegant.”

“Perhaps she just took care of them.”

“You can’t prevent age spots, no matter how much care you take.”

I tried to digest what this meant and then something struck me, like an explosion in my head. “Cornucopia,” I said, making them stop and look at me. “One of the words when we played charades. For the first syllable we had someone hobble like an old woman with corns. That was just after the two Misses Ffrench-Finch had crossed the room with Miss Prendergast. And later I had recalled that the first two walked exactly as we had depicted in the game, but Miss Prendergast strode out.”

“So if she’s really younger than she wants us to think,” Darcy said carefully, “what do you think that means?”

“That she’s not who she claims to be,” Mummy said. “What’s the betting she’s hiding out here?”

That stopped us all in our tracks at the bottom of the driveway.

“A package came for her yesterday,” I said. “From a firm in London. Angels. Any idea who they are?”

“I know that name. I’ve used them a thousand times. They’re well-known theatrical costumers,” Mummy said.

“Is it possible that she’s been hiding Robbins all this time, right under our noses?” Darcy said.

“Then who is she? We were told that his wife killed herself right after he was arrested. She couldn’t stand the shame,” I said.

“Killed herself by walking out into the ocean and the body was never found,” Darcy reminded me. “That’s an old trick for anyone who wants to disappear. So Mrs. Robbins is dead and Miss Prendergast, elderly spinster, comes to live in a Devon village, near where Robbins is in prison and where she can plan everything they are going to do when he breaks out.”

“Oh, crikey,” I said. “She was the first person on the scene when Miss Ffrench-Finch was found dead in her bed. It was Miss Prendergast who turned off the gas and opened the window.”

“So that there would be a legitimate reason for her prints to be on everything,” Granddad said.

“And yesterday in church,” Darcy went on, waving his arms excitedly now, “no wonder she had blood on her hands. She had just killed Barclay herself.”

Granddad wagged a finger at us. “You need to let Inspector Newcombe know about this right away. This is not something you should tackle yourself. They are nasty customers and may well be armed. I’ll go into the police station and you three behave as if nothing has happened.”

“Darcy and I will go and get a newspaper at the shop,” I said. “I can ask there if anybody has seen her this morning. Willum’s usually out and about.”

Darcy took my hand and we sauntered across the village green, two lovers out for an early morning stroll. In the shop we bought our paper and inquired about Willum.

“Willum? He’s come down with a nasty cold, my dearie,” Willum’s mother said. “I’m keeping him in bed today with a mustard plaster on his chest. Always had a weak chest, you know, so I can’t be too careful. Mind you, he’s so disappointed he’ll miss the celebrations tonight. He does so enjoy all that noise.”

“Please give him our best,” I said.

“I will, and I told him he can watch the fireworks on the green from his window, so he’s happy about that. Easy enough to make him happy, that’s one good thing.” And she smiled as she handed Darcy his change.

“Has Miss Prendergast been in for her paper this morning, by the way?” I asked casually. “She wasn’t home when my mother called on her a little while ago and we wondered if she was all right after that shock yesterday.”

“Wasn’t that just terrible?” Willum’s mother folded her arms across her ample bosom. “A shock for all of us here. Mr. Barclay’s been part of this village for twenty years now. There’s some that weren’t too fond of him, but he was always polite enough to me. Who would have thought that part of the church would fall down like that and kill him?”

“It didn’t,” Darcy said. “Somebody killed him deliberately, and tried to make it look like an accident.”

“Well, I never,” she said. “What is the world coming to? Not even safe in our own village now, are we? I’m glad my Willum is inside where I can keep an eye on him.”

“Don’t worry, it will all be over soon,” I said. “Now that the police know who they are looking for, they’ll soon catch them.”

“I hope so. I do hope so,” she said, shaking her head.

* * *

WE THEN HURRIED back to the hall to alert the Hawse-Gorzleys while we waited for news from the inspector. Lady Hawse-Gorzley stood staring out the window.

“You mean one of those convicts has been committing all these murders with the help of his wife, who was disguised as Miss Prendergast?” she said. “God, I need a sherry. How about you?”

“It’s a little early,” I said, “but given the circumstances . . .” I accepted the glass she held out to me. The liquid felt warm and comforting as it slipped down. “So until these people are caught, I think we should make sure that all your guests stay safely in the house,” I said.

She turned to me then. “You don’t think anyone here is in danger, do you?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “If he has been killing only the jurors from his trial, they are all dead now, except for one man, who went to Australia.”

“That’s a relief,” she said. “But I suppose he could get desperate if cornered and who knows what he’d do. The man must be stark raving mad.”

“No, I think he’s cool and calculating,” I said. “He’s been plotting this all the time he was in prison, I suspect. Or he and his wife have been planning it between them. I don’t know how involved she was and whether she was a willing party to all this. I remember that she tried to express regret to me several times, saying how sorry she was that someone had to die. Of course that could have been an act and she could be the cold, brutal one for all we know.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley sighed. “Such a farce,” she said. “And for what? The jurors were only doing their duty. I know I’ve had many unpleasant tasks as a magistrate.” She turned to the window again. “My husband is out on the estate somewhere. Someone should find him and bring him inside.”

“Darcy already went to do so,” I said.

“Such a kind boy,” she said. “Well, not really a boy any longer, is he? It’s hard for me to think of him as grown-up. I remember him fondly as a child—such a little rogue.”

“Still is,” I said.

“I notice you two are fond of each other. Any plans to marry, do you think?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t marry him.”

“Why ever not?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m part of the line of succession. I can’t marry a Catholic by law, and I don’t think he’d be prepared to give up his religion.”

She looked amused. “My dear girl. It’s not as if you’re going to be queen one day, is it? Just renounce your claim to the throne, say you’re not interested, and they can step over you.”

“I can do that?”

“Why not? Even kings have abdicated before now. One might do so again.”

Suddenly, in spite of everything we’d been through, the world was a brighter, more wonderful place.

“I never wanted to be queen anyway,” I said.

We looked up as one of the maids came in. She curtsied. “My lady, the policeman is here to see you again.”

Before Lady Hawse-Gorzley could say, “Please show him in,” Inspector Newcombe strode into the room.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this, Lady Hawse-Gorzley,” he said. “But I just wanted to come up and tell you that they’ve flown the coop. We had to break in the cottage door and they’ve gone. Taken any incriminating evidence too, although there are signs that Robbins was living upstairs.”

“Nobody saw them leave the village?” I asked.

“They must have had a vehicle hidden nearby and crept away sometime during the night. I can’t get over that Prendergast woman. Had us all fooled, didn’t she? If she was that good an actress, why didn’t she make money legitimately on the stage?”

“She wasn’t that good,” I said. “My mother saw through her.”

“Well, we’re talking of a superior actress there, aren’t we?” he said with a smile. “But I’m hoping they won’t get far. We’re sending out alerts for them all over the country and at all the ports. We’ll catch ’em eventually, you’ll see. And then they’ll both hang. And good riddance too.”

“So he’s not going to finish the twelve days,” I said. “I’m surprised.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley had been standing there silently. Now she said, “Did you say the man’s name was Robbins? Not Robert Robbins, by any chance?”

“That’s right. One of the three convicts who escaped.”

“What an unpleasant man he was,” she said.

“You knew him?” the inspector asked.

“Oh, yes. I presided as magistrate when he was first arrested,” she said. “He came up before me on extortion charges, but I could see there was more to it than mere extortion. I was convinced he’d killed at least one landlady, so I handed him over to the Crown court.”

My heart was thumping loudly. “Oh, no.” It came out as a whisper. “Then you’re intended to be the twelfth victim. You’re the one he’s been waiting for.”

Chapter 39

STILL NEW YEAR’S EVE

Nobody dead yet.

It was the inspector who spoke first. “Right. That settles it. You’re staying in the house and we’re putting a police guard on you until Robbins is caught.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley shook her head. “Oh, no, Inspector. Don’t you see—this is our only chance to catch him. I’m afraid I must carry on as planned tonight. I must offer myself as bait.”

“You can’t do that,” I said.

“Why not? If tonight passes without my presence, he’ll just slip away and probably be on the next boat out of England. I want him caught, Inspector. I want to make sure that this time he doesn’t escape the noose on a technicality. I want him hanged. And her too. She was part and party to all this.”

“You’ve got guts, my lady, I’ll say that much for you.” The inspector nodded grimly.

“I’m one of the old school,” she said. “We were brought up to do our duty.”

“It might just work,” he said. “We’ll provide you with a police guard, of course. You’ll be protected all the time.”

“They should be disguised as our guests,” I said. “If Robbins and his wife can use disguises, then so can we. They mustn’t get any hint that we are waiting for them.”

The inspector nodded approvingly at my suggestion. “So what exactly happens at this little beanfeast tonight?” he asked.

“We all assemble on the village green, then we go from house to house banging on pots and pans and making a lot of noise. It’s to drive out evil spirits for the coming year. Wonderfully primitive.” And she smiled. “And then we reassemble outside the pub for hot toddy and baked potatoes and sausages and there are fireworks on the village green.”

The inspector was frowning. “That sounds like the most challenging kind of situation possible to try to protect somebody. If Robbins doesn’t want to get close and reveal himself, there’s plenty of chance for a shot in the dark. I’m beginning to think it’s too risky to contemplate.”

“Nonsense,” she said, tossing her head like an impatient mare. “We have no choice, Detective Inspector. If you let him slip through your fingers tonight, he’ll be gone.”

The inspector stroked his chin. “I’m not sure I can round up enough men. We’ll need a good number, and backups sitting in vehicles nearby in case he makes a break for it.”

“But they mustn’t be obvious,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “They must be laughing and having a good time with the rest of us, not appearing to look around.”

“Not an easy task,” he said.

“Darcy and I will keep watch,” I said. “We’ll pretend to be having our own private tryst and not necessarily keep up with the rest of you.”

The inspector looked at me sharply. “I don’t want you exposing yourself to any danger either. By this time he might well be feeling desperate, especially if he senses that we’re on to him. And he might be armed.”

“Darcy will look after me,” I said. “He’s been in worse situations than this.”

“Has he?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked interested. “We always wondered what he did with himself. What does he do, exactly?”

“He won’t tell me,” I replied with a smile.

The sound of voices could be heard in the hallway outside. Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked around. “My husband,” she said in a hiss to us. “He is not to know anything about this. I absolutely forbid it.”

At that second Sir Oswald strode into the room. “So that damned twittery woman was really an actress all along, was she? Well, I never. Had us all fooled. And harboring an escaped convict too. Hope they catch the pair of them. Coming here and eating my food!” He stomped across the room, scattering mud from his boots. “I know what I’d like to do with them—feed ’em to my pigs. That’s what I’d do.”

“Now, don’t upset yourself, Oswald,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “And we have the inspector here.”

“What?” He stared at Inspector Newcombe as if he’d just seen him for the first time. “How do you do,” he said brusquely. “Damned funny business.”

I took my cue and led Darcy away down the hall to tell him what had been proposed. He wasn’t at all happy about it. “I don’t know if I want you exposed out there. If either of them suspects you had something to do with their being discovered, he might take a potshot at you too. Or she might. Who knows whether she’s the mastermind behind this.”

“But if Lady Hawse-Gorzley is willing to risk her own life, I can hardly not do my part, can I?” I said. “After all, Geordie Lachan Rannoch followed Bonnie Prince Charlie into battle. I can’t let the side down.”

“What happened to Geordie Lachan Rannoch?” he asked with an expression of amused tenderness.

“He was hacked to pieces, unfortunately, but that’s not the point.”

“The point is that the Rannochs should have learned a little sense since then.”

“You’ll be there to keep an eye on me.”

“I’m tempted to make you wear a saucepan lid inside your coat, in case someone shoots at you.”

“Well, everyone is going to be carrying pots and pans, so I don’t see why not.” And we both laughed, a trifle nervously.

But the day seemed to stretch on endlessly. The other guests felt it too, although they were not apprised of what might happen that evening. We dined well. Lady Hawse-Gorzley served leg of pork, with the most wonderful crackling, sage and onion stuffing, baked onions, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, and apple pie to follow. We lingered over coffee and liqueurs and afterward let off the last few indoor fireworks. Then around eleven we put on coats, hats, scarves and gloves and we all trooped down the driveway, each of us armed with a saucepan or lid and a wooden spoon to beat on it. Others were already assembling on the village green. The first thing I noticed was how hard it was to recognize anybody under all that outerwear. They might all be policemen or one of them might be Robbins. He was a big chap. That’s all I knew. And I took heart in the fact that those assembled seemed to know each other.

More and more people came to join us and I spotted Inspector Newcombe, wearing a red balaclava and matching red scarf. Then the publican came out of the Hag and Hounds.

“People of Tiddleton-under-Lovey, the time has come,” he announced. “I charge you all to rid this place of ghosts and ghouls, of witches and warlocks, of all manner of enchanted folk who would do us harm.” He gave a mighty beat on a big gong. In reply came a barrage of sound from the crowd. Saucepan lids were crashed together. Spoons beat on pots and a great cry rose from the crowd. It was an eerie sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A sound that belonged to another age and time. If I’d been an evil spirit, I’d have vanished then and there. I hoped Robbins would take the hint if he was anywhere around. I searched the crowd but saw nothing unusual.

Then the crowd launched into a chant of sorts. I couldn’t make out the words and decided that it must be in an old, long-forgotten tongue—Old Cornish, maybe. We were close to the Cornish border. In its way it was as unsettling as the cry had been. We set off, chanting, dancing, banging our noisemakers, first through one house and then another. Darcy and I deliberately hung back and watched Lady Hawse-Gorzley and Inspector Newcombe go ahead of us. We moved across to the cottages on the other side of the green. My mother and grandfather were standing at the door, smiling as everyone trooped inside and then out again. I noticed that Miss Prendergast’s cottage was avoided. Perhaps everybody sensed that true evil still lurked in there.

Through the vicarage and then on to the cottages on the other side of the village. Nothing strange happened and I began to believe Robbins had really fled. Then up the driveway to Gorzley Hall. In through the front door, around the foyer and out again, while the servants stood on the stairs, laughing and clapping along. We waited by the front door as the first revelers came out again and began their long trek back down the drive.

I noticed Willum’s startling red hat as he lumbered down the side of the column, nodding and dancing in his clumsy way, like a giant in a child’s fairy tale. Then suddenly it hit me. I ran and grabbed the inspector.

“That’s not Willum, it’s Robbins,” I shouted. “Willum’s in bed with a cold.”

The inspector didn’t waste a second. “That’s him, men. Get him.”

At those words the fake Willum drew out a gun and fired directly at Lady Hawse-Gorzley. She stumbled and fell as he took off into the darkness. The noise of the crowd turned to howls as they pursued him.

“Go and get help from the hall,” I shouted amid the chaos. I dropped to my knees beside Lady Hawse-Gorzley. “And summon a doctor.”

Darcy took off back to the hall.

Lady Hawse-Gorzley grabbed my hand. “I’m all right. Help me up.” She attempted to stand but couldn’t quite manage it. “The impudence. Thank God I’m wearing my old sheepskin coat. The hide’s thick enough to stop any bullet.”

I opened the top buttons on the coat and saw that the white fleece around the shoulder was black with blood. “You’re bleeding badly. Just lie still until help comes from the hall.”

“Funny,” she said, “I don’t feel a thing.” And then she fainted.

Chapter 40

AROUND LOVEY TOR

NEW YEAR’S EVE

I looked up nervously as feet ran across the gravel toward us. But they had come to help Lady Hawse-Gorzley. Then she was being picked up and carried back up the drive. I followed behind, feeling sick and scared. In spite of everything, we hadn’t managed to protect her. Surely she wasn’t going to die, was she? I’d grown rather fond of her during these twelve days at her house. I just hoped they’d caught Robbins by now and that he would hang.

Suddenly I felt alone and exposed in the darkness and quickened my pace to catch up. I gasped and spun around as someone grabbed my arm. Wild Sal was standing beside me. “Come on, miss, quick,” she said. “That woman—the bad one. She’s getting away. She’s heading for the moor.”

She took my sleeve and started to lead me across the lawn and through the trees. I looked around for Darcy or someone else I recognized. “Tell them that the Prendergast woman is heading for the moor,” I shouted to the last stragglers who were milling around on the driveway. “Find Inspector Newcombe.”

“Come on. We’ll lose her,” Sal hissed impatiently, staring ahead as if she could see somebody I couldn’t in the darkness. She grabbed my arm. Our footsteps crunched through frosty dry bracken as we came out onto the wild upland. What a lot of noise we make, I thought and instinctively glanced down at our feet.

“You’re wearing shoes,” I said. And even as I said the words out loud I realized the truth. She wasn’t Sal at all. She was dressed in flowing robes like Sal. Her hair hung around her face and over her shoulders like Sal. But the face beneath was quite different. Before I could say anything I felt something hard shoved into my side.

“You have to stop being so trusting,” the woman said in her own voice, far coarser and more common than Wild Sal’s. “You’re all so bloody stupid around here. Now get moving.”

The thing in my side didn’t feel sharp. Not a knife, then. A gun.

“What do you want with me?” I tried to make my voice sound calm and in control. “You could have gotten away by now and nobody would have noticed.”

She gave a little cackle in her throat. “You’re my ticket to freedom, duckie. We always planned to take a hostage and you were too good to turn down. Keep moving.”

And she prodded me forward. We stumbled upward in complete darkness, falling over rocks until we came to some kind of path, then we moved along more rapidly. Suddenly the woman froze.

“Hold on,” she said, listening, and sure enough we heard feet crunching up through the bracken toward us. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” she whispered. “I’ve killed enough people recently that one more won’t be no trouble at all.”

I heard her cock the gun. It’s Darcy, I thought. He’s come to save me and he’s going to be shot. I made up my mind. I was going to shout out a warning and run as soon as he got close enough. Then a voice whispered, “Trix, is that you?”

“Over here,” she called back and Mr. Robbins himself came toward us. “Lost them easy enough,” he said. He had now shed his Willum disguise and was dressed head to toe in black, including a black balaclava so that he blended into the darkness of the night with only his face hovering, disembodied, which somehow made the whole thing more alarming. I was shivering now, and not just with cold. He came closer and noticed me.

“Who’s this?”

“We got ourselves a good hostage, Rob. She’s the one I told you about—relative of the king.”

He came up to me, took my chin in his hand and grinned at me.

“Well done, Trix. She should be good for a safe passage to South America.” He gave my head a nasty tweak as he released me. “Come on, then, let’s get moving. The motor’s this way, down behind that pub.”

I looked around me and saw no lights. The valley now lay hidden in mist. It was creeping upward toward us, moving like a live thing.

“Mist is coming in,” he said. “All the better for us. They’ll never find us now. Safe to use this, I think.”

He turned on a small torch, shining it on the ground around us. We started to move to our right. Far below us we heard a deep baying.

“They’ve got dogs, Rob,” Trixie said nervously.

“Don’t matter. They’ll never catch up with us in this.”

We plunged forward into mist. I felt its icy dampness on my face and all sound seemed to be deadened, apart from the heavy tread of Robbins’s boots. I was trying to stop the rising panic I felt. If I ran off into the mist, would they shoot me before I could get away? If we were ambushed when we reached their motorcar, they’d shoot me without a moment’s hesitation.

“Where’s that bloody lake?” he muttered. “We don’t want to go anywhere near that. I almost copped it when I had to drop that toffy-nosed hunting bloke into the bog.”

“We should be well to the right of it if we stay on this path,” she said. “It will drop down behind the pub soon.”

Far below us a dog howled again, an eerie sound that seemed to echo all around us. I remembered that the hound of the Baskervilles hunted on this very moor. Right now I’d have welcomed the sight of him.

We plunged on in silence. Then Robbins said, “We should be right above that pub by now. The path should be starting to go down.”

But it didn’t.

Then Trixie spoke. “I don’t think this is a proper path. It’s just an animal track.”

“Then where is the damned path?” he snapped back.

“How should I know?”

“You’re the one who has had five years to scout out the place. Hurry up, I’m freezing.”

“You’re freezing? I’m freezing in this stupid getup.”

Then through the darkness I thought I heard a flapping sound. The others heard it too.

“One of them bloody swans,” Trixie said. “If the lake’s over there then we must have swung too far to our left. No wonder we didn’t find the right path. Come on. This way.”

She took the torch from him and struck out to her right. Robbins gave me a rough shove and forced me ahead of him.

We forged ahead in silence, stumbling now that we no longer had the least semblance of a path to follow. Mist swirled, cleared, then closed in again. It was a world of unreality and I lost all track of time. It felt as if I had been stumbling forward for eternity.

Suddenly the mist parted again and he cried out, “You stupid cow. You’re leading us astray. Look, that must be the tor over there. We’re going down the wrong side.” And with that he strode out ahead of us. Trixie jammed the gun into my side again. “Get going. Keep up with him.”

We half ran, half stumbled as he vanished into the mist. Suddenly we heard him swear.

“Watch your step,” he called back. “I’m into a bloody bog.” We heard him swear again under his breath. Then he shouted, with panic in his voice, “Trix, I can’t move my feet. Give me a hand.”

“Where are you?” she called. “I can’t see you.”

“Over here.” The voice echoed and bounced from unseen peaks.

She swung the torch around, but the light couldn’t penetrate the mist.

“For God’s sake, woman, get a move on. I’m bloody well sinking.” His voice sounded desperate now.

“I can’t see you.” Her voice was full of fear. “Keep talking.”

“I’m sinking, damn it. Come and get me out of this infernal thing.”

She started running, first left, then right, like a frightened animal. “Robbie, where are you?”

“Here. I’m here.”

She must have remembered me because she turned to grab my arm and drag me with her. Suddenly we stumbled upon a frightening scene. Only a few yards away from us Robbie Robbins was now up to his waist in the bog. He was thrashing and struggling but he had nothing around him but liquid mud. Trixie screamed, dropped the torch and ran forward. “Oh, my God. Oh, no. Robbie.” She plunged toward him and grabbed his hands, trying with all her strength to pull him clear. The torch fell propped against a clump of grass, throwing an eerie light on the scene.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You’re not strong enough to pull me out. I’m done for. Save yourself now, Trix. Go on, run for it. Take her with you.”

“I’m not leaving you, you bloody fool. Try harder. Move. Kick.”

“I can’t move a bleeding thing,” he said. “My legs are held fast. Run for it, Trix. If they catch you, you’ll swing.”

I could see she was hesitating. The spectacle was horrendous to watch—the bog silently sucking him down. She let go of his hand and then she shrieked. “It’s got me, too. I can’t move my feet.”

Although it looked as if she was standing on grass, she was in bog above her ankles.

She turned back to me. “Help me,” she called.

I stood there in a moment of absolute indecision. I was free. I could run away now and leave them. It was what they deserved, after all. They hadn’t thought twice when they turned the gas tap on a poor old woman or smashed Mr. Barclay’s head in with a piece of masonry. The Lovey Curse was taking its revenge. I started to walk away, but I couldn’t. However despicably they had behaved, I could not leave anyone to die. I told myself I could run for help, but I knew it would be too late. I took a deep breath and stepped gingerly onto the tufted grass that edged the bog.

He was now almost up to his neck, his eyes bulging in terror. She was in past her knees. I felt my own feet beginning to sink as I chose the tufts of grass to stand on. “Here, give me your hand.”

I reached out to her and felt her bony hand grasp mine. It was like being held by a skeleton. “Try to get one leg free,” I urged.

She grunted and groaned. “I can’t move them an inch,” she said. “Pull harder.”

I took both her hands and pulled. It seemed that her struggles were only making her sink more quickly.

“I’m going, Trix. Damn it. What a bloody stupid way to end it,” Robbins called. She let go of me to turn back to him. “No, Robbie. No!” she screamed, trying to grasp at his face, his hair. We watched in silent fascination as the mud rose over his mouth. We heard him cough and splutter. Then it was past his eyes and then there was a horrible sucking sound and the bog claimed him completely.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to die like that. You have to get me out quickly.”

I grasped her hands again, but she was now up to her thighs. Suddenly she realized that it was impossible. She was caught.

“Well, if I’m going, then you are too,” she said and she gave a mighty jerk, catching me off guard and sending me sprawling forward into stinking mire. I tried to scramble to my feet but she still had my hands in a grip of iron and I felt the pull of the bog gripping my legs. I wriggled and strained, trying to break her grip on me. I heard her laughing.

“I guess you won’t be marrying a prince anytime soon,” she said.

Darcy, I thought. Why did I send him off to the house for help? Why hadn’t he sensed I’d be in danger? Why wasn’t he here when I needed him? And now I’d never know what it was like to make love to a man, to be married, to have a child. . . . I felt hot tears stinging on my frozen cheeks. If only I can hang on somehow until she’s sucked under, I thought. That will surely break her grip. But I pictured a dead hand locked onto mine forever as I was sucked down with her. Not a pretty image. I wriggled and squirmed closer to her so that our arms were no longer outstretched. I felt instantly that the mud was more deadly here and knew I only had a few seconds to act. Without warning pulled myself up toward her with all my might and sank my teeth into her hand. She yelled and instinctively let go. I floundered, scrabbled, slithered out of reach.

“You little devil,” she snarled. “But it don’t matter. You’re going down too, and serves you right.”

I tried to maneuver myself around, so that I was facing away from her, but my legs from the knees downward were held fast. It was utterly frustrating to have nothing firm to hold on to. I made for a clump of grass and grabbed at it, only to have it break off in my hand. At that moment the torch gave out, leaving us in total darkness. Then a voice near me whispered, “Don’t struggle. Lie flat. Spread yourself out on the surface.” I looked around, trying to see where the voice had come from, but I could see nobody through the blackness; indeed, it seemed as if the voice had come from inside my head. I obeyed it, recoiling from the cold touch of the mud on my chin. Now that my weight was not on my feet, I felt I could move my legs again. Then the voice came again. “Swim. Slowly. Gently. Big strokes. Breaststroke, like a frog.”

It was not easy to do anything gently, but I managed to maneuver myself around, away from Trixie. I could hear her wailing and cursing. “Oh, God. I don’t want to die. Somebody save me. Somebody!”

Then what looked like a rope of shimmering silver came flying out across the bog to me. It landed within reach and the voice said softly, “Hold on.” I reached for it, held and felt myself moved forward. Within a yard or two I was scraping against tufts of grass, firmer ground. I got to my knees and dragged myself forward with the last of my strength.

Unseen hands helped me up and I stood there, gasping, feeling the heavy caking of mud drying on me in the cold wind.

“You’re all right now,” the voice said and I could make out Wild Sal—the real Wild Sal—standing beside me.

“You saved my life. How can I ever thank you?” I said.

“You tried to save her,” Sal said. “When she deserved to die. Well, now she’s getting what she deserves. Now she knows what it feels like.”

We both peered out into the darkness where Trixie Robbins was thrashing and screaming. “Help me! Get me out!”

“Is there no way we could help her?” I asked.

“Only if we had planks, which we don’t,” she said.

“Is your rope not long enough to reach her?”

“I don’t have no rope,” she said.

“But you threw it to me.”

“Just the piece of cord I tie around my middle,” she said. “It ain’t but a yard or more.”

An image of the shining silver rope flashed across my mind. Surely it had been longer than that, and almost moved with a life of its own?

“We can’t reach her,” she said. “She’d go to the gallows anyway. This is Nature taking her revenge.”

Trixie’s last moments seemed to go on forever: the cursing, the spluttering, the pleading and the last horrible choking sounds. They will probably be in my head forever. She had only just vanished into the bog when we heard the baying of hounds and the tramp of feet and the first policemen appeared.

“You’re too late,” I said, feeling stupid tears running down my cheeks. “They’ve both gone into the bog. I would have gone too, but Wild Sal saved me.”

I turned to her, but she was no longer there.

Chapter 41

MIDNIGHT ON NEW YEAR’S EVE AND THE FIRST MOMENTS OF A NEW YEAR

It seemed to take an eternity to walk back down to the village. I stumbled along in a nightmare of what I had just lived through. A young policeman held my arm and helped me along, saying encouraging things, but I couldn’t shake those images from my mind. I thought about Wild Sal and how she had vanished when the police arrived. Had she really been there at all? Was she really a witch after all? I remembered the voice that had seemed almost to be inside my head. How could she have whispered to me over such a distance? But one thing was sure—somebody or something had saved my life. I was still here. The bog had not taken me.

An explosion rocked the night, then another. I recoiled in horror, wondering if this was a last act of vengeance set up by the Robbinses—blowing up the village that had sheltered them. But then a rocket burst into brilliant color over my head. It was only the fireworks at the end of the evening. More flashes and crashes could be heard as we came down the last of the slope.

“I’ve got the young lady with me,” my policeman shouted. “She’s all right.”

People started running toward us, one running more quickly than the rest. Darcy swept me into his arms and held me so tightly that I thought he’d crush every bone in my body. “Thank God,” he muttered, his lips on my face and hair. “I was worried out of my mind.”

“How is your aunt?” I asked. “Is she going to be all right?”

“Only a flesh wound, luckily. The nerve of the fellow, shooting her in front of us all.” Then he released me a little, looking down at me. “And what were you thinking, going off with that woman on your own?

“I thought she was Wild Sal,” I said. “She told me Miss Prendergast was getting away and we had to stop her. It was stupid of me, and it was a trap anyway. She was really Robbins’s wife and they wanted me as a hostage.”

“Where are they now?” he demanded.

“Dead. Both of them drowned in the bog. It was horrible, Darcy. I was nearly sucked down with them. I would have died if Wild Sal hadn’t appeared and rescued me.”

“I’ve a good mind to take you over to a convent in Ireland and lock you up there until we can be married,” he said, half laughing. “That is, if you want to marry me someday.” He paused. “I didn’t get the feeling you were too keen on the idea last time we spoke about it.”

“Because I thought I couldn’t marry you and I didn’t know how to tell you,” I said.

“You can’t marry me? Why? And don’t tell me you’re engaged to Prince Siegfried again.”

I had to laugh. “I’m part of the line of succession,” I said. “English law prevents a claimant to the throne from marrying a Catholic.”

“Then I’ll give up my religion if that’s what it takes,” he said.

“You don’t have to, Darcy, and I wouldn’t want you to. But it’s all right. Your aunt said I could just renounce my place in the line. I hadn’t realized I could do that.”

“You’d give up the throne of England for me?” he asked, his eyes challenging mine in the darkness.

“Darcy, I’m only thirty-fifth in line,” I said. “Unless there is a particularly big epidemic I don’t think there’s any danger of my becoming queen. And besides, the answer to that question is yes. I would give up the throne of England to marry you. Only you haven’t asked me properly yet.”

“You’re right.” He went down on one knee, oblivious to the people milling around us. “Lady Georgiana of Glen Garry and Rannoch, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

And I, who prided myself on never crying, cried for the second time in one evening.

“I can’t think of anything I want more,” I said.

Around us the crowd broke into applause, and as if on cue, the church bells began to ring.

Darcy took me into his arms. “Happy New Year,” he said and he kissed me.

Chapter 42

NEW YEAR’S DAY, JANUARY 1, 1934

Everyone is going home today. I wonder where I will go?

Queenie didn’t come in with her tray until after ten o’clock the next morning.

“That Mr. Darcy told me to let you sleep,” she said. “My, but he’s a bossy one, ain’t he? And they are saying you’re going to marry him. You really going to let him boss you around all your life?”

“Yes, I am, I suppose,” I said.

Downstairs there was an end-of-term feel, with guests exchanging addresses, promising to write and to come for a visit. The Upthorpes had been invited to America. Cherie and Monty were going to write to each other daily. Badger was going to stay with the Upthorpes. Even the dowager countess had melted a little and invited Colonel and Mrs. Rathbone to come to tea when they were all back in London.

“I don’t get much company these days,” she said. “I’d welcome a chat to share memories with old India hands.”

So all was well, except for poor Johnnie Protheroe and Mrs. Sechrest. I felt terribly sad about Johnnie. He was the sort of man one couldn’t help liking, in spite of his wicked ways. And I wondered if the fire would leave Mrs. Sechrest permanently disfigured. She had certainly lost a man she really cared about and life would never be the same for her.

Bunty came up to me after breakfast. “Just been for a brilliant ride with your intended,” she said. “You’re a lucky stick, you know. I’d always hoped . . . but I suppose cousins really shouldn’t marry, although they do it in royal circles all the time, don’t they?”

“That accounts for all the insanity.” I smiled. “Luckily my mother brought in an infusion of good common blood so my children should be all right.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you’re going to be my cousin. I asked Mummy if you could stay on here, after everyone else has gone. It’s dashed lonely and boring here. And Mummy said you’d be more than welcome, anytime.”

“That’s very kind of her. Actually, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave here. I’d like to stay, but I don’t want to be dependent on other people all the time. I want to make my own way in the world. Darcy and I won’t have the money to marry for ages and I want to do my part. Now I’ve been a social hostess once, maybe I’ll find a similar job somewhere. Without the bodies, that is.”

She nodded. “It was rather awful, wasn’t it? Poor Mummy, with her plans for the perfect English country Christmas. Who would ever have thought everything could go so horribly wrong?”

“Actually, everyone seems to have had a good time, in spite of everything,” I said. “I know I did. And the best thing is that those awful Robbins people didn’t succeed with their twelfth victim.”

“You’re right. And Mummy’s talking about getting up to say good-bye to everyone this morning. Daddy is trying to persuade her to stay in bed, but you know what she’s like when she puts her mind to something.”

“I suspect stubborn determination runs in the family,” I said, noticing Darcy coming across the foyer with a piece of paper in his hand and a frown on his face.

“I’ve just had a telegram,” he said, waving it at me. “I’m afraid I’m wanted back in London straight away. I may be going back to South America.”

“Is it going to be dangerous?” I asked, looking at him with concern.

He smiled. “I know how to take care of myself better than you do.”

“All the same,” I said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“So do I, but I don’t have much choice.”

We stood looking at each other, our gaze not faltering, and so many unspoken things passing between us.

Bunty coughed. “Well, I’d better go and leave you lovebirds to the mushy stuff,” she said.

“How long will you be gone?” I asked, trying to sound bright and cheerful.

“I don’t know. Not too long, I hope.”

“I wish . . .” I began.

He stroked my cheek. “I know. I wish too. But we have something to look forward to now, don’t we? By hook or by crook I’m going to make enough money to set you up as Mrs. Darcy O’Mara in the style to which you’re accustomed.”

“Oh, please, no. Not another Castle Rannoch.” We both laughed and he slipped his arms around me. “I don’t want to make this official until I’ve spoken with my father,” he said, “so let’s keep it to ourselves, shall we?”

I nodded, trying hard to master a brave smile. He leaned toward me and his lips brushed mine. Then he stroked my cheek. “I’d better go and pack. Monty’s driving me to Exeter to catch the express.”

I watched him walk away, longing to call after him, to run after him, to beg him to take me with him. But I forced myself to behave as a lady should.

One by one the guests departed. Lady Hawse-Gorzley made an effort to come down and see them off. The doctor had told her to stay in bed, but she insisted on doing the right thing, as she put it. Stubbornness definitely did run in the family. When the car headed down the driveway for the last time she turned to me and took my arm to walk back up the steps and into the house. “I shouldn’t say this, but thank God they’ve gone,” she whispered. “It was a bit of an ordeal, wasn’t it?”

“But fun too,” I said. “I had a lovely Christmas in spite of everything. I think you did splendidly and gave them a perfect old English Christmas just like they wanted.”

She patted my hand. “Thank you, dear. Most kind of you. I did try hard. And between ourselves, I don’t think we actually made much of a profit, but we did eat and drink very well, didn’t we?” She closed the door behind us. “You know, when these deaths started happening, I kept asking myself whether I was being punished in some way for trying to make money out of a sacred holiday. And when I was shot, I really did ask myself if it was the Lovey Curse.”

I chuckled. “Don’t be silly. If anybody was the victim of the Lovey Curse it was the awful man who shot you. At least he and his wife got their just deserts, didn’t they?”

She nodded. “It’s hard to imagine someone could be so warped as to cleverly plot the deaths of twelve innocent people.”

“But speaking of the Lovey Curse,” I said, “I’d like to do something for Wild Sal—send her some clothes or food or something. She saved my life, you know.”

“She wouldn’t accept it, my dear. We have tried in the past and she rejects all help. She’ll probably go on living wild like that until she’s ninety.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll see her again, but do thank her for me when you see her,” I said. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see what my mother is doing. It would be just like her to up stakes and vanish without saying good-bye.”

“Of course, my dear. Off you go, then. Just a simple supper tonight. Thank God.”

I was just walking down the drive when I met Inspector Newcombe’s car coming toward me. The car stopped and he got out.

“Just the person I was coming to see,” he said. “You’re not off yet, are you?”

“I was just going to visit my mother and grandfather,” I said. “I’m not sure when they are leaving.”

“I’ve come to get an official statement about last night from you,” he said, “but I can interview Lady Hawse-Gorzley first. How are you feeling today after your ordeal?”

“Never felt better, thank you.”

“Whoever thinks that the aristocracy are useless and frail should take a look at you,” he said and chuckled. Then he looked at me, stroking his chin. “You had a lucky escape last night. Not many can say they’ve walked away from that bog. And it takes care of the pair of them nicely, doesn’t it? Saves us the trouble of hanging them.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak. The images were still too raw in my mind.

“All the same,” he went on cheerfully, “I’d have liked the chance to question them. To know exactly how he managed to pull off all those murders without being caught. It took talent and skill, I’ll give them that.”

“They used disguises, I’m sure,” I said. “I expect they moved around disguised as Willum and Wild Sal, knowing that nobody would have paid them any attention.”

“Too crafty for their own good,” he said. “Oh, well. Now we’ll never know, will we? I’ll stop off at your mother’s cottage after I’ve talked with Lady H-G, then, shall I? I’d like to say good-bye to your grandfather. A proper old-fashioned gent, isn’t he? I wish there were more like him on the force these days.”

I went on to the cottage and found that my mother was packing up to leave too.

“I’ve had a telegram from Max,” she said. “He is coming to London to meet me. He had a gloomy Christmas and missed me dreadfully. And frankly I’ve had enough of country living. I mean, it’s fun to play at cottages and simple English food for a while, isn’t it? But then one longs for a good nightclub and caviar and the things that make life worth living.”

“Will you be going back to Germany right away?” I asked.

“Actually, I’m going to persuade Max to rent a house in London for a while.”

“So that you can finish working on the play with Mr. Coward?”

She glanced up the stairs and I recognized that expression. “I don’t think this play is going to work out somehow,” she said, sotto voce. “Noel really does want to hog all the best lines, darling, and I’ve only just found out that he sees my character as a mature woman. I ask you—me, a mature woman? Well, really!”

And she made a dramatic exit. My grandfather and I exchanged grins.

“So you’ll be heading back to Scotland, will you?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m going to try to find another job. I wish I could come and stay with you, but . . .”

“Of course you can’t, my love,” he said. “We live in different worlds, you and me. But you’re always welcome to come and visit.”

“At least you’ve got Mrs. Huggins.”

He made a funny face and stepped nearer. “Between you and me and the gatepost, she’s beginning to get on my nerves. Fusses over me like an old hen. I don’t mind it when she’s next door, but not under the same roof.”

“Well, I suppose it’s good-bye, then.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “It’s been a sad day. All these good-byes.”

Granddad stroked my hair as if I were a small child. “I expect you’ll keep turning up like a bad penny,” he said fondly.

Mummy appeared at the top of the stairs again. “Georgie, I’ve just had a brilliant idea. Noel suggested I write my autobiography. Won’t that raise some eyebrows!”

“Are you sure you should?” I started to laugh. “Won’t there be an awful lot of husbands who have to do some explaining to their wives?”

“Darling, I’ll be discreet. I’ll only include the really juicy ones. But listen to my brilliant idea. Why don’t you come to London with me and you can be my secretary. Can you use a typewriting machine?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“No matter. I’ll buy you one and you can learn and I’ll scribble down my thoughts and you’ll tidy them up for me. How about it?”

“Sounds like fun,” I said.

I was fully aware as I said the words that working with my mother was not going to be easy. But living in a house in London, with proper heat and decent food, was definitely preferable to the only other alternative—time spent in a bleak Scottish castle with Fig. What’s more, I’d learn to use a typewriting machine and develop a real skill, more useful than where to seat a bishop at a dinner table. And I’d be in London, on the spot, the moment Darcy reappeared in the country. All in all, the future hadn’t looked brighter in a long while.

The next morning Sir Oswald, Lady Hawse-Gorzley and Bunty came out to see me off. The latter two hugged me fondly and begged me to come back soon. What an incredible stroke of luck that I’d seen that advertisement and dared to answer it, I thought as I waved through the rear window. The car took me and Queenie to the station and we caught the train going back to London. The Devon countryside flashed past the train window, with the snow-clad tors of Dartmoor in the background, until they merged into the Somerset lowlands and green fields, and Tiddleton-under-Lovey was just a memory.

The old-fashioned Christmas has almost disappeared, but if you’d like to re-create some of the things in this book, here are some recipes for games, food and fun.

* * *

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Christmas Recipes

Mince pies and sausage rolls are traditional Christmas snacks to be eaten warm when guests arrive, after caroling, while opening presents . . . anytime there isn’t a formal meal.

Mince Pies

In the old days people used to make their own mincemeat, which included real meat. Today it comes in a jar (Crosse & Blackwell mincemeat with rum or brandy is the best).

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Make a shortcrust pastry dough (see recipe below). Roll out and cut into circles to fit into muffin pans. Fill half full with mincemeat. Cut smaller circles for tops and cover pies. Crimp edges shut. Brush with beaten egg, sprinkle with sugar. Bake for about 10 minutes or until golden. Cool and eat.

Shortcrust Pastry

In the old days, pastry was always made with lard. Today it’s more likely to be made with chilled butter or shortening.

4 oz butter

8 oz all-purpose flour

Ice water

Cut the butter into small cubes and rub into the flour with a fork until the mixture resembles coarse bread crumbs (you may also do this in a food processor). Gradually stir in ice water until the mixture binds together. Roll out on floured board.

Sausage Rolls

English sausage meat is not identical to US meat, as rusk filler is used (i.e. the sausage meat has some kind of starch added to bind the meat and retain the fat). The closest I can find is Jimmy Dean Premium Pork Sage Sausage.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Make shortcrust pastry as before. (You can also substitute sheets of puff pastry from the grocer’s freezer, but shortcrust is more authentic.) Roll out thinly. Make thin rolls of sausage meat. Wrap with pastry dough. Cut into segments about 2 inches long. Bake 15-20 minutes.

Bread Sauce

Goose used to be the traditional Christmas fowl, but today it is usually turkey. The stuffing for either bird is made either with sage or chestnuts, and is accompanied by a bread sauce.

12 cloves

1 large onion, peeled

1 ¹⁄₄ cups whole milk

³⁄₄ cup chicken stock

¹⁄₄ cup light cream

¹⁄₄ tsp nutmeg

1 bay leaf

5 peppercorns

Salt and pepper

2 cups fresh bread crumbs

¹⁄₄ cup (one half stick) butter

Stick cloves into the onion. Add milk, stock, cream and the other spices. Bring to boil. Remove and let rest for 1 hour. Strain the liquid through a sieve. Add bread crumbs. Cook, uncovered, until thick. Before serving, melt butter, stir sauce into it.

Christmas Pudding

(or Plum Pudding)

This is the highlight of any Christmas dinner. You can buy ready-made Christmas puddings, but some people feel it is a point of honor to make their own. It really has to be made several weeks before Christmas and left to mature. For this reason, the last Sunday in November used to be called Pudding Sunday.

PREP TIME: 45 MINUTES

COOK TIME: 8 HOURS

MARINATING TIME: 12 HOURS

TOTAL TIME: 20 HOURS, 45 MINUTES

SERVES 8–10

Butter to grease bowl

1 lb dried mixed fruit (such as golden raisins, black raisins and currants)

1 oz mixed candied citrus peel, finely chopped

1 small cooking apple, peeled, cored and finely chopped

Juice of ¹⁄₂ large orange and ¹⁄₂ lemon

4 Tbsp brandy, plus a little extra for soaking the finished pudding

2 oz self-raising flour, sifted

1 level tsp ground mixed spice or pumpkin pie spice mix

1¹⁄₂ tsp ground cinnamon

4 oz shredded suet, beef or vegetarian meat substitute

4 oz soft, dark brown sugar

Grated orange and lemon zest

4 oz fresh white bread crumbs

1 oz whole shelled almonds, roughly chopped

2 large fresh eggs

Lightly butter a 2¹⁄₂ pint pudding bowl. Place the dried fruits, candied citrus peel, apple, orange and lemon juice into a large mixing bowl. Add the brandy and stir well. Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and leave at room temperature to marinate for a couple of hours, preferably overnight.

Stir together the flour, mixed spice, and cinnamon in a very large mixing bowl. Add the meat, sugar, lemon and orange zest, bread crumbs and nuts, and stir until all the ingredients are well mixed. Finally add the marinated dried fruits and stir again.

Beat the eggs lightly in a small bowl then quickly stir into the dry ingredients. The mixture should have a fairly soft consistency. Now it’s time to gather the family for the Christmas Pudding tradition of taking turns stirring, making a wish and adding a few coins.

Spoon the mixture into the greased pudding bowl, gently pressing it down with the back of a spoon. Cover with a double layer of greaseproof paper or baking parchment, then a layer of aluminum foil, and tie securely with string.

Place the pudding in a steamer set over a saucepan of simmering water and steam the pudding for 7 hours. Make sure you check the water level frequently so it never boils dry. The pudding should be a deep brown color when cooked. The pudding is not a light cake but is instead a dark, sticky, dense sponge.

Remove the pudding from the steamer and cool completely. Remove the paper, prick the pudding with a skewer and pour in a little extra brandy. Cover with fresh greaseproof paper and re-tie with string. Store in a cool dry place until Christmas Day.

On Christmas Day, reheat the pudding by steaming again for about an hour. Serve with brandy or rum sauce, brandy butter or custard.

Note: The pudding cannot be eaten immediately. It really does need to be stored and rested, then reheated on Christmas Day. Eating the pudding immediately after cooking will cause it to collapse and the flavors will not have had time to mature.

Brandy Butter

¹⁄₂ cup butter

1 cup sugar

4 Tbsp light cream

4 Tbsp brandy

With an electric mixer, whisk butter until light and fluffy. Whisk in sugar. Whisk in cream. Whisk in brandy. Cover and chill. Delicious on top of Christmas pudding or mince pies.

Wassail Bowl

(or Smoking Bishop)

There are many hot punches associated with Christmas. The Smoking Bishop is mentioned in Charles Dickens’s

A Christmas Carol

. The recipes all involve spices and some include citrus. The simplest include beer or sherry; the more expensive include spirits.

The Bishop involves citrus brandy and fortified wines, but does not favor the addition of eggs. Citrus was considered an expensive ingredient. Wine and brandy would also be more accessible for the resident of a large hall.

One unpeeled orange

12–18 whole cloves

Brown sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

Pinch powdered cloves

Pinch mace

¹⁄₂ tsp allspice

¹⁄₂ tsp ground ginger

1 strip lemon peel

1 cup water

1 quart port wine

1 quarter cup brandy, heated

Nutmeg

Stud orange with whole cloves (you may also include a whole lemon baked and studded in the same manner). Place in dish and pack thickly with brown sugar. Roast in 350 degree oven until sugar caramelizes and forms a crust on the orange. Cut orange in quarters and place it in a punch bowl. Simmer remaining spices and lemon peel in the water until water is reduced by half. Heat the port wine until hot, but not boiling. Combine spiced syrup, wine and heated brandy in punch bowl with the orange, and sprinkle with nutmeg to taste.

Note: Some recipes delete the brandy and nutmeg. To make this an Archbishop, substitute claret or table wine for the port.

Round Games Around The Table

THE MINISTER’S CAT

A clapping rhythm is established. The chant begins, “The minister’s cat is a . . . cat.”

The first person chooses an adjective beginning with A. The next B.

The minister’s cat is an active cat.

The minister’s cat is a beautiful cat.

The minister’s cat is a cheerful cat.

It continues until someone cannot come up with a word in time. That person is then out and the game continues until one person remains. If the whole alphabet has gone through and there are still players in contention, then of course it starts over . . . or they agree to move on to another game, as below.

I WENT TO MARKET

A similar game. The first player says, “I went to market and I bought a . . .”

The first begins with A, the second with B.

I went to market and I bought an apple.

I went to market and I bought an apple and a balloon

I went to market and I bought an apple, a balloon and a cat.

When a player can’t remember the list, he or she is out.

Party Games

BLIND MAN’S BLUFF

One player is blindfolded and spun around. The others mill around the room. The blindfolded one tries to catch someone. When he does, he has to identify who it is. If he is successful, the person he caught now becomes the blindfolded one.

GRAB THE STICK

Players sit in a circle. They are each given a name of an animal or a place. The person in the middle balances a walking stick upright on the floor. He calls out a name. That person has to leap up and grab the stick before it falls. If he doesn’t succeed he becomes the new person in the middle.

GENERAL POST

This a similar game to Grab the Stick. Everyone picks a place name from a hat. The person in the middle calls out two place names. Those two have to change places before the one in the middle can claim either seat. If he is successful, the one caught out takes his place in the middle.

SARDINES

One person goes off to hide. The rest of the players split up and try to find him. The first person to find him hides with him. The next person to find the two hidden ones joins them, and the next, all crammed in together. The last person to find them all is the new hider.

STATUES

Couples dance. When the music stops, the couples have to freeze in place. A judge goes around the room. Any couple who moves, even a twitch, is out. The dancing resumes until only one couple is left standing.

Christmas Traditions and Definitions

THE YULE LOG

On Christmas Eve’ a large log is dragged into the fireplace. It is lighted and kept burning throughout the holiday to bring good luck for the coming year.

CRACKERS

Not the edible kind. These are now available in America in many stores. They are made of paper and have a small explosive, similar to a cap for a cap gun, in the middle. They are pulled by two people. When they are pulled apart they split with a bang and the insides spill out. Each one usually contains a paper hat, a riddle and a small toy, puzzle or gift.

INDOOR FIREWORKS

Sparklers are the only remnant of indoor fireworks still available these days. Other indoor fireworks were pieces of paper that were lit on the hearth. Some curled as they burned and turned into snakes, others traced a pattern of a face or animals as they burned. Others made noise.

CHRISTMAS PUDDING

The traditional plum pudding (see recipe on page 303) is cooked with silver charms inside. Each charm has a meaning. A ring means a wedding within a year. A boot means travel. A button means a bachelor for life. The pudding is served with a sprig of holly at the top, then doused with brandy so that it can be carried in a flaming Wassail Bowl.

WASSAIL BOWL

Various punches are associated with Christmas. They usually include some kind of mulled wine, spirits and spices. The Wassail Bowl was served to groups of carolers who came to the front door.

CHRISTMAS CAROLING

It was traditional to go caroling to neighbors’ houses. Children who sang carols at the door were given a penny or other small amount of money.

BOXING DAY

The day after Christmas is still celebrated in Britain and Commonwealth countries. It is traditionally the day when servants were allowed to go home to celebrate with their own families and were given a “Christmas box”—maybe some food from the household, some other kind of gift or money. More recently tradesmen, garbage men, mail carriers, etc., would show up at the door on the day after Christmas to wish the homeowner “the compliments of the season” and would expect a tip.

Until recently no stores or businesses were open on Boxing Day. Alas, this has gone away with most of the other lovely Christmas customs.