When I awoke the next morning I looked out at a landscape blotted out by mist and the first thought that came to me was, I wonder who is going to be killed today?
The fact that this came to me so readily was shocking. How could I have possibly come to accept that one person would die every day in this little part of Devon? And anger flooded through me. Right there, as I stared out through the window at the ghostly bare branches of the orchard hovering in the mist, I made a decision. This could not be allowed to continue. Someone had to do something about it, and since the inspector was clearly incapable, it was up to me to use the expertise at my disposal and catch the murderer. I had my grandfather, with all his years of experience at Scotland Yard, and I had Darcy, who worked, I was sure, as some sort of spy. And I had assisted in a small way in some important cases. It was about time we did a little detective work ourselves.
I was already dressed by the time Queenie appeared with a tea tray—more of the tea in the saucer than the cup, I have to say. Her good intentions to be a perfect maid were rapidly slipping back into her normal behavior.
“Blimey, you’re already up,” she said. “I needn’t have bothered to come up all them stairs with the tea if I’d known.”
“You came up the stairs because one of your duties is to bring your mistress her morning tea, whether she wants it or not,” I pointed out.
She gave me a look as she put it down, none too gently, on the table. “Nasty old day,” she said, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go home. Do you know what they’re saying in the servants’ hall? They’re saying that there’s a Lovey Curse and one person will get struck down every day until New Year. I tell you, it ain’t half giving me the willies.”
“I don’t think you have to worry, Queenie. It’s only local people who are cursed,” I said.
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then, ain’t it?” A beam spread across her round red face. I wished I could be as easily satisfied as she was.
I came into the breakfast room to find Darcy sitting alone at one end of the table while the Rathbones and Upthorpes were busy working their way through enormous piles of kedgeree at the other. I slid into a seat beside him and he looked up, smiling. “Good morning,” he said.
“Do you think you could possibly borrow Monty’s motorcar today?”
“You want to escape for a tryst?” he asked, his eyes teasing me.
I lowered my voice even though the distance between us and the other diners was considerable. “No, I want to help solve this ridiculous business before any more people are killed.”
He looked surprised and a trifle amused. “You are suddenly turning into the Sherlock Holmes of Rannoch, are you?”
“Darcy, be serious, please. The local detective inspector is a nice enough man but he’s quite out of his depth. You know a thing or two about questioning people and judging who might be lying, and my grandfather—well, he’s dealt with all kinds of gruesome cases during his years on the force. So I thought we might at least take a look for ourselves at the sites where these things happened.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be my aunt’s right-hand woman? Are you allowed to vanish for a day when you should be running skittles tournaments and things?”
I regarded him frostily. “You sound as if you don’t want to come with me. Fine, if you don’t want a chance for us to spend time together . . .” I began to stand up. He grabbed my arm to hold me back.
“Don’t be silly. You know very well that I’d love any chance to spend time with you. It’s just that I’m not sure we should interfere in local police business. We don’t know the people or the territory. I can’t see how we can be of any use whatsoever.”
“Darcy, you haven’t spoken with Inspector Newcombe. I have. He admits that he is flummoxed. He’s been popping in on my grandfather asking for advice every two seconds. Of course he wants help, and if my grandfather had somebody to motor him around he might be able to solve this.”
“Very well,” he said, looking around as if trying to make up his mind. “I suppose I could ask Monty, but I’m none too sure about the lay of the land around here.”
“There are such things as maps,” I said. “I’ll ask Sir Oswald for one.”
“So what are we going to do about this fancy dress ball if we’re gone all day? Aren’t we supposed to be creating costumes?”
“I happen to know there is a whole row of costumes hanging in the attic,” I said. “I suggest you and I slip up there before the others and grab something.”
“Slip up to the attic and grab something. That sounds interesting.”
“Darcy!” I glared at him.
“My, but you’re testy today,” he said.
“Because I’m feeling really angry and frustrated that people are being killed and nobody is doing anything to stop it,” I said. “We have to help, Darcy. How many people will have to die otherwise before Scotland Yard sends someone down to take charge?”
“I suppose the point is that from what we can tell, we have no evidence that any of the deaths was a murder.”
“My grandfather says there is no such thing as coincidence. Do you really believe that so many accidents could happen in one small part of Dartmoor, with a death every day?”
“I agree it does sound far-fetched. Unless you believe in the Lovey Curse.”
“Do you?”
“Of course not.” He gave a half-embarrassed laugh. “But I’m dashed if I can see how these deaths have anything to do with each other. I mean to say, if you were going to kill a chap, would you wait until he was up a tree? And the man who pushed that garage owner off a bridge was most likely the wronged husband, not an outsider. And if someone turned on the gas to kill the old woman, it was probably one of her sisters, tired of being bossed around.”
“But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a clever killer with a motive we haven’t yet fathomed?”
He put an arm around my shoulder. “Georgie, think about it—do you really believe we can do anything that the local police can’t?”
I chewed on my lip, something I tend to do when I’m not sure of myself. “I just thought that if three of us put our heads together and looked at the sites in order, then something would occur to us.”
Darcy stared past me, out the window, then he pushed away his plate. “All right then. I’ll go find Monty.”
“We have to choose costumes first,” I said. “Come on. Let’s see if we can sneak up to the attic without being noticed.”
Darcy gave a reluctant sigh, then took my hand. We crept up several flights of stairs, each one less grand than the one before, until we reached a set of steep wooden steps to an attic. The place was illuminated only by the light coming in from some dormer windows, and items covered in dust sheets looked ominous in the darkness. Having grown up in a really spooky castle, I’m not normally afraid of such things, but the way they stirred in the draft we let in was unnerving and I was glad I had Darcy with me.
“Here they are,” I said and threw the dust sheet off a rack of costumes.
“Let me see, what do I want to be?” Darcy examined them one by one. “Not a gorilla. Too hot. Caveman? I might fancy that. Then I could drag you across the room by your hair.”
“Which, in case you haven’t noticed, is not long enough to do that,” I said. “Besides, there is no cavewoman outfit.”
“You could be a second Wild Sal,” Darcy said. “Look at this airy-fairy outfit. I’m sure you could waft around if you wanted to.”
I held it up. “I don’t think I’m the wafting type,” I said.
Darcy was staring at the floor. “Someone else wanted to get first dibs on costumes, I see. Look at the footprints. Someone has been up here before us.” He pointed at the row of neat footprints in the dust.
“Probably just Lady Hawse-Gorzley or one of the maids sent up to make sure the costumes were brushed and clean.” I put back the Wild Sal outfit.
“Pity there’s no Charles the Second,” Darcy said, “because you could borrow some oranges from downstairs and be Nell Gwynne in this dress.” He held it out to me. “Rather a daring bodice, don’t you think? But then, Nell never did mind displaying her oranges.”
