The Missing Diamond Murder Read online

Mellie conceded the point immediately. Now that the auburn wig had arrived, she had decided that it did not suit her and having abandoned the idea of Ophelia, was going as Cinderella instead. There was nothing in the fairy story to suggest that Cinderella’s ball gown had been crushed and creased on arrival.

  SEVENTEEN

  Friday morning dawned bright and sunny, which presented the perfect opportunity for Fran to seek out the head gardener, Mr Marshall, who while clearly devoted to the Edgertons and their garden, and extremely keen to assist in whatever way he could, was able to add little or nothing to the sum of Fran’s knowledge, though she did ascertain that the grass which grew alongside the cliff path was never cut and that none of the outside staff had been deployed anywhere near that part of the estate on the afternoon of old Mr Edgerton’s death.

  ‘We wouldn’t have wanted to be a-trimming of that grass, madam, because long grass would be less likely to tempt anyone to go too near that old cliff edge, d’ye see?’ He paused for a moment or two before adding: ‘Now as for anyone a-seeing of anything unusual, there was just one thing, madam, only I don’t rightly know if it would be anything of interest to ee?’

  ‘Oh, I am interested in anything at all out of the ordinary,’ Fran assured him.

  ‘’Twas young Max and Joe as mentioned it and they’ll be across to the sheds for their ten o’clocks any time now, if ee’d care to wait for un.’

  Fran duly accompanied Mr Marshall through a door in the garden wall, which led directly into a low-roofed brick outbuilding, full of every kind of gardening implement, at the end of which was a pot-bellied stove where a rusty kettle was simmering. Right on cue two youths appeared, one wheeling a barrow, the other with a spade sloped across his shoulder like a musket.

  ‘Now then,’ said Mr Marshal. ‘Look sharp. You’ll recollect as what Her Ladyship said on Monday? Well, this ’ere is Mrs Black and you’ve to answer her questions.’

  The two youths exchanged looks which conveyed a mixture of amusement and apprehension.

  ‘Please, do get your tea first,’ Fran said. ‘I don’t wish to intrude on your break.’

  ‘There ain’t no intrusion about it, madam. You just go ahead and do the asking and they’ll do the answering. They can ’ave their tea after.’

  Fran turned to the young men and said, ‘Mr Marshall tells me that you saw something a bit unusual the day that old Mr Edgerton had his accident.’

  The lads exchanged looks, as if deciding who was to speak.

  ‘Well, madam,’ the one with the fairer hair of the two began, ‘Joe was walking down the path alongside what we call the dogwood patch. It’s a bit o’the garden what runs above the back lane and he noticed a car pulled into the side of the road. It’s a funny place for a motor car to be and he remarked on it to me when he got back down to the rose garden.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Fran and caught the swift warning look which unmistakably passed between the boys before the lad answered.

  ‘Oh, nothing in particular. I don’t rightly remember his exact words, like. Just that he’d seen a car.’

  Fran turned to the boy called Joe. ‘Were you able to see whether there was anyone sitting in the car?’

  ‘No, madam. You’re right above the lane on that particular path, so you can only see the roof of it. Dark blue or black, it was. There mightn’t have been anyone in the car at all.’

  ‘Folk do sometimes park in the lanes hereabouts and go for a walk,’ Mr Marshall put in. ‘Some on ’em try to cut through the grounds, thinking as they can get down to the sea. I’ve seen a few folk off meself.’

  ‘But not on the day of Mr Edgerton’s death?’

  ‘No, madam. No strangers was actually seen on the property that particular day. We was all asked about it at the time.’

  Fran got no further with the outside staff. Her final interviewee within the household was Imogen. Thinking that the girl might be intimidated by a summons to the library, Fran had arranged to see her up in the schoolroom. She knocked at the appointed time and found Miss Billington and her charge sitting at a table, with a French grammar book open in front of them.

  Miss Billington welcomed Fran in French and bid Imogen do the same.

  ‘Bonjour, Madame Black,’ the child piped up mechanically. ‘I say, you won’t want to talk to me in French the whole time, will you? Billie and I haven’t got much further than days of the week.’

  ‘Imogen, tu sais que ce n’est pas vrai.’

  ‘Your accent is frightfully authentic,’ said Fran. ‘Where did you learn?’

  ‘In France,’ the governess replied, almost as if she thought it a foolish question. ‘Imogen, I am going to leave Mrs Black to talk with you a while. Please remember your manners and answer her sensibly, won’t you.’

  ‘Of co-ou-rse,’ sang Imogen. ‘I’m not a silly billy. Will you come and sit on the window seat, Mrs Black? It’s much nicer to talk there than it will be sitting at the big desk.’

  As Miss Billington left the room, Fran followed the girl across the room and sat with her on the blue-and-white-checked cushion, which had been made to fit the seat.

  ‘Now Imogen, do you remember your grandfather?’

  ‘Of course I do. He was nice.’

  ‘Good. Do you remember how he used to get about?’

  The girl considered a moment. ‘First he used to walk with a stick and then he used to have to be pushed around in a chair.’

  ‘And do you remember when he died?’

  ‘Yes. His chair fell over the edge of the cliff.’ The child sounded grave.

  ‘Can you remember the day it happened?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘That was the day you were playing games on the beach, wasn’t it? With some other children.’

  ‘There were lots of days on the beach. I can swim you know. I’m a good swimmer. I’m faster than Frank Baddeley and he’s a boy.’

  ‘That’s very good. Frank Baddeley was there on the day I’m talking about.’ Fran seized on the opportunity to get the conversation back on track. ‘You and Frank and Rhona and your cousin Cecilia were playing a game on the sand, but you got cross and ran away.’

  ‘Frank said I was out.’ Imogen sounded indignant. ‘I wasn’t out, I’d touched the stone before he stumped me.’

  ‘So you had a bit of a quarrel and then you ran away from the beach. Where did you go?’

  ‘I went up the path which leads back to the garden. It was too hot to run very far, and I sat down on the grass beside the gunnera pond, but then I heard Billie shouting for me, so I got up again and headed for the woods. I knew she wouldn’t come up there after me.’

  ‘Which woods, Imogen?’

  ‘The woods which run around the back of the house. I thought I might go into the kitchen and get Cook to give me some lemonade. I climbed up the bank, but when I reached the path which leads back to the terrace, I realized there was someone coming along it, so I hid behind the rhododendrons until they were past. I’m excellent at hiding.’

  Trying hard to keep the excitement out of her voice, Fran asked, ‘Did you see who was coming along the path?’

  ‘No. I was hiding in the bushes. You don’t try to see who it is, when you’re hiding, because if you can see them, that probably means they can see you. Cousin Eddie taught me that ages ago, when he still used to play with us.’

  ‘It wasn’t your grandfather, was it? In his wheelchair?’

  ‘I told you, I couldn’t see. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Grandfather, because his wheelchair makes a different noise. This was someone walking. I could hear their feet on the path, just quietly, one, two, one, two, like a person’s feet go when they’re walking quite fast.’

  ‘How many pairs of feet could you hear?’

  ‘Just one. I’m pretty sure it was just one person. I thought it was probably Billie, still looking for me.’

  ‘Which way was the person going? Towards the cliffs or towards the house?’

  ‘Towards the house.’<
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  ‘And what did you do next? When the person had gone past? Did you follow them along the path to the house?’

  ‘No. I didn’t want Billie to find me, because I knew I’d been naughty and I thought she’d give me a scolding, or maybe send me to bed, so I decided to go back a different way. It’s a longer way round, but in the end it leads back to the house, so I went the opposite way to the way the feet had gone and then cut up the little path which leads to the grotto. I wasn’t going to go inside the grotto, only when I got there, I decided that I would. We sometimes used to go in there and make a wish and I thought about wishing that Billie would forget all about me running off.’

  Imogen, who had been fidgeting during this last little speech, now got up and abruptly began to dance about the room, waving her arms in a manner which threatened first the vase of narcissi on the table and then the print of And When Did You Last See Your Father? which hung on the wall nearby.

  ‘Look at me,’ she said. ‘I’m a fairy. I’m the grotto fairy who grants the wishes. Make a wish, Mrs Black.’

  ‘I wish you would sit down, Imogen.’

  ‘Oh no! That isn’t a proper wish.’ The child stopped flapping around the room and began to twirl round and round on the central rug. ‘Look at me, I’m a spinning top.’

  ‘Please sit down, Imogen.’ Fran spoke a tad more firmly.

  ‘I’m going to whirl and whirl until I fall down.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Fran briskly. ‘That is the sort of thing a baby would do. Not a big girl like you. Now stop that, please. Come and sit down and talk to me sensibly. Otherwise I shall have to go and fetch Miss Billington to carry on with your French lessons.’

  The dervish on the rug slowed and, staggering a little, made its way reluctantly back to the window seat.

  ‘That’s mean,’ the child grumbled.

  ‘Well, maybe so,’ said Fran. ‘But don’t you realize that it’s rude to start bouncing around the room when someone is trying to talk to you? Now then, you were just telling me that you’d got to the grotto and were going to make a wish.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t because I decided I was on a treasure hunt instead.’

  ‘When?’ Fran was confused. ‘Do you mean that you just decided now, this minute? Or do you mean that you decided you were on a treasure hunt that day.’

  ‘I was on a treasure hunt that day. And I found the pirate’s treasure and took it away and kept it all to myself, because everyone else was being horrid to me. Especially Frank Baddeley and Miss Billie.’ Imogen’s tone had become petulant, but now she began to chant, ‘Silly Billie, Billie silly,’ and to Fran’s irritation she jumped up and began to cavort around the room again.

  Her concentration span is so short, Fran thought. I’ll never get any more sense out of her. She decided on one more try. ‘Imogen, please!’ she exclaimed and, catching hold of the girl’s hand as she passed, Fran managed to arrest the latest circuit in mid-skip so that Imogen paused reluctantly before her. ‘Just one more question, but it’s very important. When you had finished treasure hunting did you go back to the house, and did you see anyone on your way there?’

  ‘That’s two questions.’

  It abruptly ran through Fran’s mind that Imogen was not as slow as all that. ‘Very well – it’s two questions.’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘Which answer goes with which question?’

  ‘That’s another question. You’re a bigger cheat than Frank Baddeley.’

  ‘Please, Imogen. It might be very important?’

  ‘Yes, I went back to the house and no, I didn’t see anyone on the way.’ The girl pulled her hand out of Fran’s and began to weave dreamily around the furniture, waving her arms, like someone casting spells.

  Feeling more than slightly exasperated, Fran went off to let Miss Billington know that she was finished with her charge. After finding the governess, Fran slipped back into the garden and, after about ten minutes’ exploration, she was rewarded with a glimpse of young Joe wheeling what appeared to be a barrow-load of horse manure.

  ‘Hello there,’ Fran said brightly, affecting surprise.

  Joe’s expression suggested that he wasn’t fooled. ‘Hello, madam.’ He lowered the handles of the barrow, coming to a halt on the path in front of her.

  Fran decided not to beat about the bush. ‘I don’t think your friend was being completely frank with me when he claimed that he couldn’t remember what you said to him about spotting that car in the lane.’

  Joe turned a little redder under his permanent sunburn. ‘No, madam.’

  ‘Didn’t Her Ladyship explain that she wanted you to answer any questions as honestly as possible?’

  ‘Yes, madam.’ Joe’s head drooped. ‘But you see, madam, Mr Marshall … ee’s always said you don’t say nothing what’s disrespectful to the family, or disrespectful in front of a lady.’

  ‘Well, of course, Mr Marshall is absolutely right in normal circumstances. But what you said that day could turn out to be very important.’

  ‘I don’t reckon as it can be, begging your pardon, madam. Not something I’ve said.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? You tell me what it was that you said to your friend after you’d seen the car in the lane and I’ll decide whether it’s important or not. In the meantime, Mr Marshall doesn’t need to know anything about it at all.’

  ‘All I said was “It be a right old day for courtin’ at Sunnyside”.’

  ‘Is that because you’d seen a couple in the car? Perhaps kissing … or something of that sort?’

  ‘Oh no, madam. It was as I told you. I couldn’t see anything of the car, ’cept its roof. I’d seen it parked there once before, you see, in the same place, where the lane is just wide enough for summat else to pass. So I didn’t reckon as it was someone what was lost and just parked up, looking at a map like.’

  ‘So you just guessed that it was a courting couple?’

  Something of the disappointment in her tone encouraged him to say more. ‘Well, yes, I s’pose I did. You see there’d been another time, the summer before – a different car that one was – a little open-topped thing – when Mr Marshall had actually caught the couple in the woods. And I was just having a joke with Max, see, on account of what we’d seen earlier on.’

  ‘Do you mean when Mr Marshall caught the couple in the woods?’

  ‘No, madam. I meant what we’d seen earlier on that particular afternoon.’

  ‘And what had you seen, earlier on?’

  Joe looked supremely uncomfortable. ‘It was Mr Charles, madam. He was round the back o’ the ’ouse, having a word with one of the maids, like.’

  ‘Having a word?’

  Joe remained silent. The crimson flush beneath his sunburn had spread right to his ears.

  ‘Could you hear what was being said?’

  ‘No, madam.’

  ‘But something about this … er … meeting, made you think about a courting couple.’

  ‘Ee kissed her, madam.’ Joe’s voice had sunk to a mumble. ‘An’ after ee kissed ’er, ee smacked her on the you-know-where, just as she turned to go back inside.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I dunno, madam. We was past the side of the ’ouse by then, so I didn’t see no more.’

  ‘I see. Thank you for telling me this, Joe.’

  ‘’Twon’t get back to Mr Marshall, will it?’

  ‘No. I promise it won’t get back to Mr Marshall. Can you tell me which of the maids it was that you saw with Mr Charles?’

  ‘’Twere that Connie, madam. The one as was dismissed.’

  Back at the house, Fran returned to her base in the library, where she rang for Jamieson.

  ‘Good morning, madam, how may I be of assistance?’

  ‘I believe you told me that there was a maid called Connie working here, when old Mr Edgerton was alive?’

  ‘That is correct, madam.’

  ‘I believe she was dismissed.’


  ‘Indeed she was, madam.’

  ‘Can you tell me why?’

  Jamieson, his expression remaining impassive as ever, did not hesitate. ‘She had developed a bad attitude, madam. One day she disobeyed my orders and then she cheeked Mrs Remington.’

  ‘I see. May I ask what this act of disobedience entailed?’

  ‘The between maid was unwell, so I instructed Connie to undertake some of her duties. Connie refused, saying that it was not her job and that she would spoil her hands if she undertook heavy work. There is no room for that kind of attitude here, madam. We must all pull together, in order to ensure the smooth running of the household.’

  ‘And the problem with Mrs Remington?’

  ‘Arose out of the same conversation, madam. Mrs Remington told the girl not to give herself airs above her station and the girl, Connie, insulted Mrs Remington and called her an old maid. “Mrs” is a courtesy title, of course, denoting her status as cook.’

  ‘Oh, dear me!’ said Fran, wanting to laugh, but feeling that some expression of shock was called for. ‘So Connie was told to leave. Do you know where she went?’

  ‘She is a local girl, madam. She returned to her home in Avemouth.’

  ‘I suppose she would have found it difficult to obtain another position. I assume you didn’t provide her with a good reference?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Jamieson’s tone contained unmistakable asperity. ‘However, I understand that she has been employed as a waitress at the Copper Kettle Tea Rooms. There is no future in the role of course, unlike domestic service, where a good girl may rise to become a ladies’ maid, or even the housekeeper of a superior establishment, assuming of course that she does not marry.’

  ‘Well, perhaps Connie will have a better chance of marriage now,’ suggested Fran. ‘She will meet a great many more eligible young men, I dare say, living in Avemouth.’

  Jamieson said nothing and, sensing his disapproval, Fran swiftly moved on. ‘There was absolutely no question of any dishonesty on the young woman’s part? No question of pilfering?’

  ‘There was nothing at all of that nature.’

  ‘I see. Thank you for your help, Jamieson.’