as the room was becoming rather warm, and I suppose there must have been a sudden gust of wind because I heard a shout and a scream. I looked around just in time to see one of the candelabras toppling over. Sandra Sechrest was standing beside it. She tried to get out of the way but it fell onto her trailing skirt and we watched in horror as those yards of filmy tulle went up in flames.
Chapter 30
STILL DECEMBER 28
A horrible ending to the day.
Sandra Sechrest screamed as the flames engulfed her. There was a horrid crackling sound and a smell of acrid smoke as the long shimmering wig burst into flame. Futilely she tried to run. For a long moment nobody else moved. Then several men sprang into action. Johnnie Protheroe reached her first. He flung her to the floor, locked her in an embrace and rolled over with her.
“Get away from my wife, you swine,” Captain Sechrest bellowed.
“I’m saving her life, you damned idiot,” Johnnie shouted back as he staggered to his feet and stamped on the last of the flaming fabric. His face was streaked with soot and his gorgeous knight’s outfit was now also scorched and blackened.
The two men stood there glaring at each other while Sir Oswald, Darcy and a couple of others were down on their knees around Mrs. Sechrest. She was moaning and sobbing hysterically and she looked horrible—a blackened, frizzled mess of charred fabric and hair. Someone covered her with a tablecloth.
“Is the telephone working again?” Bunty asked. “We should call for an ambulance.”
“We can’t afford to wait for an ambulance,” Sir Oswald said. “I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”
“I’ll come with you, Dad,” Monty said.
“And I want to be with my wife,” Captain Sechrest said, pushing in front of Monty.
“Lift her carefully. She’s in a lot of pain,” Sir Oswald said. “I’ll go and get the motor.”
We watched in silence as the somber procession left the room in eerie silence. Mrs. Sechrest no longer moaned.
“Awful. Absolutely shocking. I can’t believe it.” Voices murmured around me.
“How can that have happened?” someone asked.
“That open French window. Must have blown over the candelabra.”
Miss Prendergast had made her way over to the spot and was down on her knees. “That melting wax is ruining your lovely parquet floor, Lady Hawse-Gorzley,” she said as she attempted to pick up the still burning candles. “We should do something about it quickly.”
“Be careful, Miss Prendergast, or you’ll burn yourself,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “The servants will take care of it.” And indeed a footman and a maid were hurrying toward the smoldering wreck.
A couple of guests helped them to right the candelabra. I watched them struggling with it. What sort of wind could have blown over a heavy object like that and yet not have blown out the candles? And then, of course, the next logical thought: Was it possible that the killer had struck again, just before midnight? I looked around the room, trying to picture where Mrs. Sechrest had been standing when it happened. Close to that open French door, obviously—which meant that the killer could have crept in from the outside, giving the candelabra a push at the right moment, and then vanished again. Either that or he was still in the room. I looked from person to person, trying to see if anyone was showing undue interest or even emotion. But all the faces appeared stunned and shocked. What’s more, most of them were disguised beyond recognition. A perfect setting if you wanted to kill somebody.
Johnnie Protheroe had been one of those carrying Mrs. Sechrest to the motorcar. He came back, white faced.
“God, I need a drink,” he said. “Something stronger than punch.”
“I’ll get you a brandy,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. She summoned the nearby footman. “A brandy for Mr. Protheroe, and hurry.” He sprinted off.
“I can’t believe how quickly her outfit went up in flames,” Johnnie said.
“That kind of fabric is horribly flammable,” said Lady Hawse-Gorzley. “I suppose we were stupid to open the French doors but people were complaining they were too hot. In fact, I believe she was the one who was complaining.” She paused. “No, it was her husband who came over and said his wife was too hot, could we open the doors.”
The band leader approached from across the floor. “Do you want us to resume playing, my lady?” he asked reverently.
She looked at Johnnie. “I really don’t think anyone will feel like dancing after this, do you?”
“No, I’d send them home if I were you.”
I felt I had to say something. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Shouldn’t someone go for the police before you let people leave?”
“The police?” Johnnie looked alarmed.
I felt self-conscious with everyone’s eyes on me, and flushed scarlet. “I mean, after all these strange deaths, we should consider the possibility that these accidents are not accidents at all.”
“You mean someone deliberately pushed that candelabra onto Sandra Sechrest?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley glared at me in disbelief. “That’s not possible. These are my invited guests. I know them all.”
Johnnie shook his head. “I don’t think it was possible. I was watching her and she was standing alone. Actually, I was plucking up courage to go over and ask her to dance, in spite of that bear of a husband of hers. But there was nobody within three or four feet of her.”
“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,
