“I presume you’ve been through your case files to see if you’ve any antisocial or violent blokes in the area?” Granddad asked.
“I’ve done that. We’ve our share of lads who are soft in the head, like that poor chap you’ve got in the village here, but nobody who’s shown any inclination to kill people.”
“It could be someone who has come down from London for the Christmas holidays, I suppose,” Mummy said.
“I don’t think that’s likely, madam,” the inspector said. “You see, whoever it was knew an awful lot about these people. He knew where the hunt was likely to go. He knew that Ted Grover took a shortcut home over that bridge when he’d been to see his lady love. He even knew that Mr. Skaggs would be making an early morning delivery in his van and would be coming around that dangerous bend.”
“If indeed those people were his targets,” Mr. Coward said, waving his cigarette holder at the inspector. “What if he just wanted the thrill of killing and it really didn’t matter who fell off the bridge or whose van went off the road?”
“Don’t say that, sir,” the inspector groaned, “because if that is true, then we’ve no way of ever catching him.”
“You will,” Granddad said. “I’ve dealt with a lot of criminals in my life, some of them remarkably clever men, but they always slip up in the end. Get too cocky, see. Like leaving the evidence on that horse’s leg. Until that moment you could say that every one of those deaths was an accident. Now you know that at least one wasn’t.” He looked up. “I take it you haven’t found the bloke who fell off that horse?”
“We haven’t.” The inspector shook his head sadly, “And not for want of trying. My boys have scoured those hills, and we’ve had the dogs out, and not a trace of him. We have to assume that he went down in that bog, poor bloke.”
An absurd idea was passing through my mind. What if someone had wanted to disappear, to make it look as if he came off his horse in the mist and wandered into the bog? It sounded so far-fetched that I didn’t like to say it, but I thought I’d ask a little more about the master of hounds when I got back to the hall.
Mrs. Huggins appeared with a tea tray loaded with generous slices of Christmas cake.
“I should be getting back,” I said reluctantly and made for the door again. “See you tomorrow at the fancy dress ball.”
“You won’t recognize us, we’ll be in such brilliant disguises,” Noel Coward said. “And watch your step as you walk up that long driveway. So far the killer hasn’t attacked anyone from the hall, but it might be only a matter of time.”
“Noel, don’t say things like that.” My mother slapped his wrist. “Walk with her if you’re worried about her.”
“What, and have to walk back alone in the growing darkness? Not for a million pounds, my dear. It’s not for nothing that my last name is ‘coward.’”
“I could accompany you, my lady.” The inspector made signs of putting down his teacup. “But I don’t think there’s any need to worry. You’re not from around here, are you? The killer or killers only seem interested in people from these parts.”
“That’s encouraging, isn’t it?” I gave them a bright smile and departed.
I made it back to the hall without incident, although I have to confess, I did turn sharply every time there was a rustle in the bushes. When I reached Gorzley Hall I found that the wanderers had returned. The members of the sightseeing party were full of enthusiasm for what they had seen and were relating their experiences to the boys who had been training and to the bridge players.
“And we saw Buckfast Abbey. And we actually heard the monks chanting,” Mrs. Upthorpe said. “It was like stepping back into the Middle Ages.”
“And all those cute little villages and humpbacked bridges,” Mrs. Wexler agreed.
“And we saw the Dartmoor jail,” Mr. Wexler reminded her. “My, but that’s a grim-looking place. I’d want to escape if I were sent there.”
“Don’t forget the ponies,” Mrs. Wexler reminded him. “We actually saw the famous Dartmoor ponies.”
“You saw ponies?” Junior Wexler showed interest for the first time. “Like wild ponies, you mean?”
“We sure did. Running up the mountainside in the snow.” Mrs. Wexler paused to ruffle her son’s hair. “But how did your training go, son?”
“Swell. I thought the fences would be big, but they are only this high.” He held his hands about eighteen inches apart. “Anybody could jump over them.”
“Tea is ready when you’ve all had a chance to change,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, and as they went up the stairs to do so, she sidled over to me. “Any news from the outside world? One feels so cut off without a telephone still.”
“They’ve arrested Wild Sal,” I said.
“Wild Sal. Good God. So she
“Not so fast,” I said. “Since her arrest, there has been another death.”
“Where?” She looked up sharply.
“On the other side of Bovey Tracey, I think the inspector said. And it might have nothing to do with the other deaths. A farmer’s wife kicked in the head by a cow as she was milking.”
“Well, that has happened before, hasn’t it?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley dismissed this. “Such unpredictable creatures, cows. I expect they’ll find that this one really was an accident and that Wild Sal is responsible for at least some of the others.”
She gave me a nod of satisfaction, then bustled off again. Everyone fell upon tea with enthusiasm, then we didn’t do much before dinner apart from tackling a large jigsaw puzzle of a Dutch skating scene. Ethel and her mother were wearing gorgeous new dresses for dinner—Schiaparelli, if I was not mistaken—and I noticed Badger’s eyes light up when she came into the room. Perhaps the investment in this house party would pay off for the Upthorpes and they would get their daughter married into the upper classes. I put the subject of marriage firmly from my mind. It was too worrying to consider.
After the previous night’s simple curry dinner, this was a lavish affair, befitting a grand house party. Smoked salmon followed by a rich oxtail soup and then pheasant for the main course.
“What kind of bird is this?” Mr. Wexler asked, prodding it with his fork.
“I was so disappointed that I couldn’t provide you with goose for Christmas Day that I decided to make up for it with pheasant,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “Truly the most delicious of the game birds, I always think.”
Nobody argued with that—the meat swimming in a dark brown gravy with mushrooms and tiny onions around it and thin crisps of potato to accompany it. We ate in near silence. The pheasant was followed by an apple crumble and clotted cream, then a local strong cheddar and biscuits. We passed a quiet evening playing records on the gramophone and one or two of us made an attempt at dancing.
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to dance tomorrow at the ball,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.
I went to bed and fell asleep straight away. I woke to see the moon shining on me and realized that I needed to face the long walk to the lavatory at the end of the corridor. As I came out of my room I stopped, staring down the hallway ahead of me. A figure in white appeared to be floating slowly down the dark hall. I wondered if this was a Gorzley ghost that nobody had seen fit to mention. Having grown up at Castle Rannoch, I wasn’t particularly scared of ghosts. We had plenty of them in the family, including my grandfather’s ghost playing the bagpipes on the ramparts—an apparition I hadn’t personally experienced. I crept silently behind the figure until I could see it was a woman with long dark hair spilling over the shoulders of a white nightgown.
Then suddenly she stopped outside a door, put her hand on the handle and eased it open before going in. By now my eyes were accustomed to the darkness of the hallway and I saw who it was. It was Sandra Sechrest. I told myself that she had also been on a nocturnal walk to heed the call of nature, and felt like a fool, until I realized that the room she had slipped into so silently was not her own but Johnnie Protheroe’s.
Chapter 27
DECEMBER 28
I’ve started counting the days until I can go home, which is silly because I’m with Granddad and Darcy and frankly I haven’t a home to go to.
