Lady Hawse-Gorzley sniffed contemptuously. “That’s what comes of sleeping with the windows shut. Nasty, unhealthy habit. Good fresh air never hurt anyone.”
“Well, that’s the strange thing, ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “Miss Effie usually slept with her window open, and the door open too. Miss Florrie is prone to nightmares, so Miss Effie kept her door open in case her sister cried out in her sleep.”
“But they were both closed last night?” I asked.
She nodded. “They were indeed. I suppose it was snowing and she didn’t want the snow to come in. And maybe the wind blew the door shut.”
“Then maybe it was a gust of wind that blew out the fire,” I suggested.
“Yes, that would be it,” Miss Prendergast agreed. “Temperamental things, gas fires. I won’t have them in the house.”
Granddad was prowling the room, not touching anything, but checking. “This lady—she hadn’t given any signs of being depressed or worried lately, then?”
The housekeeper, who had been lurking close to the doorway, gave a little cry. “Suicide, is that what you’re suggesting, sir? Never. Not Miss Effie. She was the one who kept this place going. Had us all on our toes and took good care of her sisters. No, she’d never have left them in the lurch.”
“Did you have any visitors at all yesterday evening?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley asked.
The housekeeper shook her head firmly. “Oh, no, ma’am. The ladies never entertain in the evenings anymore. It’s an early dinner, then bed for all three of them. They might manage a little game of cards after dinner, but not for long.”
“I must have been one of the last visitors, then,” Miss Prendergast said. “I was here for tea and Mr. Barclay stopped by so of course he was asked to join us. Most awkward, since Mr. Barclay and I have not seen eye to eye on the decorations. Miss Effie was most tactful about it. Smoothed things over wonderfully. It was a knack of hers. Oh, and when we were leaving Willum arrived, didn’t he, Mrs. Bates?”
“That’s right. The ladies had asked him to come over and bring down the decorations from the attic for them. He brought them all down and then helped us bring in the Christmas tree. It’s all there in the drawing room. They never decorate it until Christmas Eve. It’s their tradition.”
“So after Willum nobody came?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley persisted.
“No, ma’am. I believe we locked the doors when Willum went.” She stopped talking at the sound of a car drawing up outside. “Oh, Lord,” she groaned. “It’s that policeman. He was here the other day. Nasty bullying way with him. Made our girls quite upset, scaring them with talk of convicts hiding out in the sheds.”
There was thumping on the front door. One of the maids must have answered it because we heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Quite a little party we have here, I see,” Inspector Newcombe said, coming into the room. “I was at the police station in the next village when the call was put to the doctor, so Gladys on the switchboard saw fit to try to locate me. Bright girl, that one. She said the old lady gassed herself?”
“Not deliberately, sir. Miss Effie would never do that,” the housekeeper said. “Something went horribly wrong somewhere. The windows were shut; the door was shut. That wasn’t right.”
“Are you sure you’re not reading too much into this?” He went across to the body and leaned down over it. “A lady of her age—it could just as easily have been heart failure.”
“But the smell, sir. There was this gas odor something terrible,” Mrs. Bates said.
“It only takes a little gas to leave a bad smell,” he said. “Maybe there was a small gas leak.”
“The gas was turned on,” Miss Prendergast said firmly. “I had to turn it off myself before I could even get into the room to open the windows. Somebody had turned it on, by accident or intention we don’t know.”
“This is all I need,” Inspector Newcombe said. “At this rate my family is not going to see me at all over Christmas, and as for buying presents . . .” He rubbed angrily at his mustache. “Now the rest of you go on home, please. I don’t want you touching everything.”
“Nobody has touched anything except for my turning off the gas and opening the windows, which I’ve already told you.” Miss Prendergast gave him a withering look. “But we will leave you to it. I’d question those housemaids if I were you. I wouldn’t be surprised if one was slipshod in her duty—thought she had lit the gas properly but didn’t wait to see.”
“Well, that’s a rum do,” Granddad said as we came down the stairs. “Three deaths in three days. Talk about coming to the country for peace and quiet!”
Chapter 10
THE HOME OF THE MISSES FFRENCH-FINCH
DECEMBER 22
There were policemen standing outside the house, or I think I might have persuaded Granddad to join me in a little snooping around outside. Unfortunately the snow now covered any footprints that might have shown that someone climbed in through that open window. I wasn’t sure who or why. Perhaps one of those convicts came in to grab supplies and Miss Effie saw him and he stifled her and then made it look as if the gas was to blame. I wished the police would hurry up and catch them or that they were already far, far away. I didn’t think I’d linger close to Dartmoor Prison if I ever got out.
“I’m not sure what to do now,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said as we left Granddad and Miss Prendergast and made our way back to Gorzley Hall. “Tomorrow night when the guests arrive we are supposed to go sing carols around the village. But wouldn’t be seemly, would it, with poor Miss Effie lying there and her sisters grieving.”
“Probably not,” I said. “Take the guests to find the Yule log instead.”
She brightened up. “Excellent idea. I’m so glad you’re here, my dear. You’re sensible. So is my daughter. No hysterics, no nonsense. I hope you both make good matches. Do you have a young chap in mind?”
“Not really,” I replied, blushing.
“I rather feel Hortense has her eye on her cousin. Not sure of the legality of that. Also not sure if it’s him or the title she wants more.” She managed a weary smile. “And I would appreciate it, my dear Lady Georgiana, if you did not mention our unfortunate events to the guests when they arrive. They might find the news . . . unnerving.”
I nodded, thinking that I found the news of three dead bodies in three days a trifle unnerving myself. Not that they could be in any way connected—such different kinds of deaths and all explainable as accidents. Myself, I was inclined to believe in the Lovey Curse.
As soon as I took off my coat I went back upstairs. “Queenie,” I called. “Where is my gray dress?”
Queenie opened my wardrobe and shut it again hastily. “Remember you said that dress was a bit long? You said it wasn’t quite fashionable?”
“Yes.” A feeling of dread was creeping over me.
“Well, it’s not too long anymore,” she said and produced from the wardrobe a dress that was now about a foot shorter than when I last saw it.
“My dress. What did you do to it? You didn’t cut it off, did you?” I could hear my voice rising dangerously.
“Oh, no, miss. I wouldn’t do a thing like that. It was just that . . . well, I saw this thread hanging down and I yanked on it and the whole thing started to unravel. Lucky I stopped or it would have turned into a jumper.”
“Queenie,” I wailed. “Is there no piece of clothing of mine that you haven’t tried to ruin? That gray dress is the only smart winter item I own, apart from my suit, and I can’t wear a suit in the house. Now I’ll have to look like a schoolgirl in my tartan kilt all week.”
“I could try knitting it back up for you,” she suggested hopefully.
“Of course you can’t knit it back up. I honestly don’t know why I keep you. You know I can’t afford to buy new clothes.”
She was now turning those big cow eyes on me, brimming with tears. “I’m awful sorry, miss. I didn’t mean no harm.”
“You never do, Queenie. But the dress is ruined all the same.”
“It might not be too very short,” she suggested. “You did say hemlines are up this year.”
“Yes, but not up to midthigh!” I held the dress up against me. “Well, there’s nothing to be done. I’ll just have to wear what I wore yesterday. And please do not touch my dinner dresses. Don’t try to clean them or iron them.
