Death on Swift Wings (Gertrude Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 16

  ‘He might be back later this morning,’ said Mrs Grainger, glowering balefully down at Juliet from her vantage point several steps up. ‘Then again, he mightn’t be back till this afternoon, or perhaps not even till this evening.’

  Juliet held up her hand, sensing this pointless banality might go on indefinitely. ‘I get the idea, thank you. You clearly don’t know when the Brigadier is coming back. Do you know where he’s gone?’

  Mrs Grainger shrugged, arms still belligerently folded tight against her chest. ‘Couldn’t say for certain. He might have gone to the village, or he might be wandering in them there woods.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the copse.

  Juliet stared hard at Mrs Grainger. ‘Forgive me, but have I done something to offend you?’

  ‘Must’ve done if you need my forgiveness,’ Mrs Grainger muttered insolently.

  Juliet’s breath caught in her throat as she stifled a chuckle of indignation. ‘You’re being very rude, I must say.’

  ‘Say what you like; see if I care,’ snapped Mrs Grainger, and with that she slammed the door in Juliet’s face.

  ‘Well – I ask you!’ Juliet gasped, quite taken aback at such unprovoked rudeness. She had no idea what she had done to precipitate such a greeting. ‘It goes without saying that the Brigadier will hear of this,’ she murmured as she descended the stone steps.

  As she set off down the driveway she wondered whether Herbert had suffered a tongue-lashing by that housekeeper. Had she driven him away? It would go some way to explain his disappearance.

  But he would surely have come to see me!

  Juliet wondered whether the housekeeper was discourteous to everyone who called on the Brigadier. No matter what the problem was, there was no call for rudeness to visitors of one’s employer. It’d get you sacked pretty quickly!

  Juliet knew, having met the Brigadier briefly a few months ago, that he wouldn’t have walked very far with his bad leg. She wondered where he could have gone. Possibly to the village – though she doubted he’d manage that distance. As she walked down the driveway, she glanced all around. Through the dense trees to her right she could barely discern the outline of the Elizabethan manor house where the Earl and Countess of Castleford lived. Perhaps he had gone to see his neighbours.

  When Juliet had walked past the entrance to Castleford Manor on her way to the Brigadier’s house, she had noted that the wrought iron gates were closed. It was doubtful that the Brigadier would have opened them and then closed them again, so perhaps the rude housekeeper was correct: he had gone through the copse.

  Juliet decided to take the same route. She detoured off the Brigadier’s driveway and crossed the lawn towards the trees. Glancing behind her, she thought she saw a face peering out at her from the window to the right of the door, but it vanished as soon as she saw it. She half expected the housekeeper to burst forth from the house to reprimand her for walking on the grass, and was a little disappointed when no-one appeared.

  She squinted into the distance beyond the house. A man, clearly the gardener judging from the fork he was wielding, waved at her. Juliet waved back, trying to remember what the man’s name was. Herbert had told her a few times that he got along well enough with the Brigadier’s gardener, but not the man’s wife. The wife, so Juliet recalled, was the housekeeper, and now she’d come face to face with the fearsome woman she could understand the things Herbert had said about her.

  Herbert was so easy to get along with that Juliet couldn’t believe anyone disliked him. He had told her the feelings of dislike displayed towards him by the housekeeper – what was her name? – was mutual. It was more difficult to believe that no-one disliked the housekeeper, and yet the woman must clearly be good at her job, otherwise the Brigadier would surely have dismissed her before now.

  The gardener seemed to be trying to attract her attention from across the grounds. Juliet remained where she stood, in two minds about whether to go over to him. If he had something he wanted to say, then he could come to her.

  She wasn’t at all surprised to see him firmly entrench the fork into the ground before heading in her direction.

  ‘Hello,’ she said as he came within earshot. ‘Did you wish to speak with me?’

  The man smiled warmly. ‘Hello, my dear. My name is Jack Grainger. You’re Juliet, if I’m not mistaken.’

  Juliet smiled. Of course: Grainger – that was the man’s name. ‘I am. How did you know?’

  Grainger laughed. ‘Herbert speaks about you often enough. He really loves you, you know.’

  The relief Juliet felt at Grainger’s words was palpable. She should never have doubted Herbert. ‘That’s very good to hear. I’d hate to think I was marrying someone who doesn’t love me.’

  ‘Well I’m glad you’ve stopped by, my dear. Are you here to confirm Herbert’s off sick? What’s wrong with the young whippersnapper?’

  Juliet’s frown reached her face before Grainger had finished speaking. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘He never showed up for work this morning. I assumed he’d overdone the beer yesterday. He said on Tuesday that he was meeting you and your mother for lunch.’

  ‘Well he was supposed to meet us, but he didn’t show up for lunch. I presumed that he’d been put to work either here or at Castleford Manor and wasn’t able to get the time off.’

  ‘I can’t comment on his whereabouts yesterday. Mr Parkes – he’s Lord Castleford’s head gardener – well, he hasn’t said nothing about Herbert not turning up for work, so perhaps you ought to go and speak to him?’

  Juliet nodded. ‘Yes, I might just do that.’ Her concern for Herbert’s wellbeing had grown substantially now she knew he hadn’t turned up for work today. Where on earth could he be? Could he possibly have run off with some strumpet from the village?

  Herbert was a handsome lad, and Juliet was certain he had no shortage of female admirers, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Icy tendrils of doubt ensnared her heart. Hadn’t Grainger just informed her that Herbert genuinely adored her? Surely Grainger knew Herbert well enough to know what he was talking about. Had Herbert hoodwinked the Brigadier’s gardener into believing false feelings towards her when he was actually carrying on with some other little tart with whom he had now run off?

  ‘I know what you’re thinking my dear, and you’ve really no need to be worried. Herbert only has eyes for you. He talks about you constantly. Clear drives Mrs Grainger up the pole the way he keeps going on about how he’s going to marry you next Easter.’

  Juliet’s eyes lit up. ‘He said we’re to be wed next Easter?’

  Grainger nodded sheepishly, clearly realising he’d said something he was supposed to keep under wraps. ‘That’s about the sum of it, miss. You never heard that from me though.’

  ‘So, is Mrs Grainger the miserable old biddy who answered the door to me?’

  The old man chuckled. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say about my wife,’ he said, and then winked at Juliet, ‘but an apt description of her, none-the-less. If she realised who you were, that’d explain why she was abrupt with you. Really ain’t no love lost between Mrs Grainger and Herbert Carter. He dislikes her almost as much as she hates him.’

  ‘Hate’s rather a strong word, Mr Grainger,’ said Juliet, shocked that anyone could harbour such feelings towards Herbert.

  Grainger nodded. ‘You’re not wrong there, my dear, but Mrs Grainger can’t stand the fellow. She don’t trust him, neither. She warned me not to hire him, but I said as he was hard working I should at least give him a chance. He’s proved her wrong so far, but when she finds out he’s let me down, she’ll be crowing from the rooftops!’

  ‘Why on earth doesn’t she trust Herbert? What has he done that makes him untrustworthy?’

  Grainger shook his head. ‘Nowt as far as I know. Mrs Grainger don’t tell me nothing about what goes on in her head. She’s a strange one, make no mistake.’

  Juliet was confused. ‘But she’s your wife. How can you say such things about
her?’

  ‘Just because we’re married, don’t make her any less strange. And before you ask, yes I love the woman, faults and all. She’d probably say I’ve got as many faults as I can list about her.’

  ‘So, getting back to Herbert then, Mr Grainger. You said he didn’t show up for work this morning, and you don’t know if he turned up for work at Castleford Manor yesterday?’

  Grainger shrugged. ‘Like I said, you’d best ask Mr Parkes up at the Manor, miss, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up of getting much information out of him. He’s a surly fellow, is Mr Parkes. He’ll likely tell you anything you want to know only if he thinks he’ll gain something from it.’

  Juliet smirked, finding it rather amusing that someone employed by the likes of the Earl and Countess of Castleford should be of such mercenary nature. ‘Herbert doesn’t really speak of anyone he works with. I get the feeling he keeps pretty much to himself and just gets on with his work.’

  ‘Yep, that about sums up young Herbert. I’ve tried a few times to get him to come for a drink down the pub of an evening, but he’s always declined, said he had other things to do.’

  ‘Now that’s odd, because a couple of evenings he’s been late coming to visit, and said he’d been at the pub with some of the lads from work.’

  Grainger shook his head. ‘If he did it was never with me, and I don’t think I’d count as a lad either.’

  Juliet chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose you do. Do you have any other gardening assistants, Mr Grainger?’

  ‘No, just Herbert. There is Thomas Sugden, the handyman, who comes as and when the Brigadier needs something fixing. I guess he’s about the only other person here that Herbert might have any dealings with, though I doubt it. No one here likes Sugden, and I think it’d be fair to include Herbert on that list.’

  ‘So you still think Mr Parkes is the person I should speak to?’

  ‘Yes. He’s right surly is Parkes, but as much as I might dislike the man Herbert likes him well enough.’

  ‘Then that’s who I shall speak to.’

  Grainger pointed across to the copse. ‘If I was you I’d go through the trees, miss. It’s quicker and easier than taking the proper route. It’s the way the Brigadier goes when he’s visiting Lord and Lady Castleford, so I know it’s safe enough.’

  Juliet smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Grainger.’ She turned to walk away, but paused. ‘Mr Grainger, where do you think Herbert is?’

  Grainger sighed deeply, a look of uncertainty on his face. ‘I don’t know, miss. I wish I did, because if he’d run away with someone else, at least I’d be able to put your mind at rest. I wish I knew more, but I really don’t.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘Much as it pains me to say it, I really hope Mr Parkes can help.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lady Castleford left the drawing room in search of Jackson, and was somewhat perturbed to find the butler in the hallway, dusting the frames of the paintings that hung there. ‘Mr Jackson, what are you doing?’ she said.

  Jackson glanced over his shoulder, pretending not to have heard Lady Castleford leave the drawing room. ‘Your Ladyship, you startled me.’ He ceased his activity and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Under the circumstances I felt that I should keep myself busy and out of everyone’s way.’

  ‘But cleaning isn’t one of your duties, Mr Jackson. You should supervise one of the maids. Anyway, I know you’ve been eavesdropping on our conversations, so would you please come into the drawing room. The Chief Inspector has a few things he’d like to ask you.’

  Jackson bowed slightly, clearly a little apprehensive about being questioned by the Chief Inspector. ‘As you wish, Your Ladyship.’

  ‘Not as I wish,’ snapped Lady Castleford, turning on her heel and walking back into the drawing room, ‘as I command!’

  When Jackson finally came into the room, closing the door at the Chief Inspector’s instruction, he found all eyes fixed upon him from the settees. ‘Lady Castleford said you wish to speak with me, Chief Inspector.’

  Lennox regarded the butler solemnly, scrutinizing the older man’s face carefully, searching for a hint of guilt or remorse, but Jackson’s face remained inscrutable. Lennox cleared his throat. ‘Yes, Mr Jackson, I do.’ He took his notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages, pretending to read from his notes. He settled on the first empty page and tapped his pen to the pad, fixing the butler with a penetrating stare. ‘As I am sure you are by now aware, Lord Castleford has been involved in a fatal car crash.’

  Jackson nodded. ‘Yes, a most tragic accident.’

  The Chief Inspector’s gaze did not falter. ‘Tragic it most certainly is; an accident is much less likely.’

  The shock on the butler’s face could not be faked. ‘Not an accident? Are you saying His Lordship was murdered?’

  ‘It is my belief that Lord Castleford’s death was deliberate, yes. Would you kindly tell me of your whereabouts yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘I was here at Castleford Manor, naturally, Chief Inspector. I have many duties of my own to perform and others to oversee, unless it’s my day off. I simply don’t have the time to disappear and kill people.’ Jackson turned to Lady Castleford, his demeanour and voice both imploring. ‘Your Ladyship, I have worked for both His Lordship and his father before him for most of my adult life, and they have both been very good to me over the years. Can you really believe I would want to kill your husband?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mr Jackson, but I have on more than one occasion found you loitering in certain parts of the house, and yesterday I discovered you had secreted yourself in the library reading the newspaper. Hardly the actions of someone who hasn’t any spare time. You didn’t tell me what you were doing in the library.’

  Jackson sighed deeply. ‘You may consider my actions of yesterday to be those of a slacker, Your Ladyship, and you are quite right that I have been listening at doorways a lot. I have had a suspicion for a while now that something is amiss here at Castleford Manor.’

  The butler’s statement was of interest to the Chief Inspector. ‘Amiss in what way?’

  Jackson faltered. ‘I have no wish to get anyone into trouble.’

  ‘Trust me, Mr Jackson, what you say will be used only to make further inquiries,’ said Lennox compassionately. ‘My interest is in the truth, not tittle tattle. If it leads to the capture of Lord Castleford’s killer, then it’s best that you tell me what you know. If what you say turns out to lead nowhere, then it will go no further and no harm has been done.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure you will have heard by now about the deaths of several of His Lordship’s pigeons.’

  Lennox nodded.

  ‘I am convinced that the pigeon-killer is someone in this house.’

  ‘Might I ask what draws you to that conclusion?’

  ‘Lord Castleford doesn’t release his pigeons very often, and although they are trained to go somewhere in Europe and return, they are never nowadays used for carrying messages – not since the end of the war. When there have been deaths, the majority of the pigeons have been in their dovecote with barely a handful flying free. Has it not struck you as odd, Your Ladyship, that only a few pigeons are out when the killings occur?’

  Lady Castleford shrugged. ‘I can’t say that I’d noticed, since I have no interest in the wretched creatures, and I doubt Arthur would have mentioned such a thing to me anyway, even if he’d noticed himself.’

  ‘Well I thought right from the very first death that it must be an inside job. Someone was releasing a few birds at a time on different days, and on some of those days in recent weeks several of those birds were killed.’

  ‘And you thought it was someone in the household staff here at Castleford Manor?’ said Lennox with a frown.

  Jackson nodded. ‘Yes, Chief Inspector. Either the household staff, or the gardening staff. The birds always seen to be shot on their way out of the grounds, not on their return, so someone would have to know when they were being released. So
meone here was releasing them, and then someone else was killing them.’

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ said the Brigadier from by the fireplace. ‘When I saw that fellow shooting at the birds yesterday with my Enfield there were only a handful of them in the sky.’

  ‘And they were flying away from the Manor?’ said Lennox, making a sweeping gesture.

  The Brigadier nodded. ‘Yes. They were flying up over the copse, towards the south-east.’

  ‘So we have to ask ourselves whether or not the person releasing them was also the one killing them, perhaps as some warped sporting revenge against Lord Castleford.’ Lennox glanced across at Jackson. ‘Do you have any views on this, Mr Jackson?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. I’ve been trying to keep tabs on all the staff, listening in on their conversations in the hope of overhearing something incriminating.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘I found Millicent, the parlour maid, listening at the drawing room door yesterday, but I haven’t noticed anything especially suspicious.’

  ‘Yesterday I saw Wilkins wandering around in a dishevelled state, and with muddy shoes,’ said Lady Castleford. ‘I was going to speak to you about that, Mr Jackson. Slipping standards will not be tolerated by Lord–’ She faltered, and burst into tears as she found herself referring to her husband without thinking.

  Gertrude hastened over to comfort her, motioning to Lennox that he should perhaps conclude the interviewing for the time being.

  ‘There was something else,’ said the Brigadier suddenly. ‘After the bird was shot yesterday, I distinctly saw the fellow stoop down, and I thought he was picking the poor thing up. When I called out and he ran off, I made my way over to where he’d been and the bird was still on the ground.’

  ‘So why did he bend down?’ said Jackson.

  ‘That’s precisely my point. I doubt he’d have left the bird if that was what he was after. So, did he pick something else up off the ground, or did he take something from the bird?’

  Gertrude emitted a little squeal which made everyone look in her direction. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled sheepishly, ‘I thought I saw a spider. I can’t stand the things.’