Dorothy Cannell - The Importance of Being Ernestine

“Well take one last look, sonny boy, because I’m about to dye it back to black. Me days as an aspiring Girl Friday is over.”

“Did you say perspiring?”

“None of your cheek, or I’ll give you a thick ear.” Mrs. M. glowered at my incorrigible relative. “I’m in the mood to give anyone hell as comes within a mile of me. And that’s the softer side speaking.”

“You’ve spoken to Mr. Jugg on the phone, and he’s not pleased we took over the Krumley case?” I eased her down onto a chair and told Freddy to get the kettle going for tea, a task he set about meekly while his ears flapped a mile a minute.

“He’s back. Walked into the office while I was tending to his bloody plants.”

“The plastic ones?”

“They take just as much care as the real ones. You still have to talk to them if you want them to grow.”

“Of course.” I produced a cup and saucer.

“You’re right about him not being grateful for all our efforts to bring peace and harmony back to Moultty Towers. Worked himself into a real state, he did, saying his Auntie would never forgive him for not handling the case himself. A man of his age having an Auntie. It put me right off it did. Me ardor cooled faster than that kettle’s doing now Mr. Freddy’s gone and took it off the cooker.”

“I won’t be able to hear you if it starts to whistle.”

“That’s the idea,” Mrs. Malloy informed him with her nose in the air. “You’re all the same, you men. Sweetness and light while it suits you and then…”

“It’s off home to Mother.” Freddy finished for her and a moment later he had pranced out the garden door without a backward glance.

“What’s up with him?” Mrs. M. bestirred herself to a mild curiosity.

“Just what he said. He’s gone home to his mother. You reminded him he’d left her down at the cottage where she could be having a relapse at this minute and if he doesn’t gallop down the lawn she’ll have emptied at least three rooms waiting for the vans to pull up outside. But back to Mr. Jugg. He’s turned out to be another nasty nephew, has he?”

“And not just the ordinary sort. He’s got the worst kind of aunt.”

“What kind is that?”

“The Mrs. Snow kind.”

“As in the snake-in-the-grass housekeeper Mrs. Snow?”

“The very same. It was her that advised Lady Krumley to go to him with her problem. Only now you and me are the ones with the problem Mrs. H. because he says he wouldn’t dream of taking a fee from his aunt’s former employer, not five pounds let alone five thousand. And he’ll sue us for horrible damages if we go over his head. Well, let me tell you, I let him have it. I told him it wasn’t the sort of case he’d have been any good at, seeing as it was one where the butler done it and nothing at all to do with the mean streets. Not that I’m now beginning to think he’s ever been down one. Oh, was I ever taken in. But never again. I’m back here where I belong with Mrs. H. ruling the roost at Merlin’s Court.”

“That’s just the way I like it,” I told her.

“And I wouldn’t be surprised if Ernestine’s life has turned up trumps. I was talking to the Merryweathers on the phone before Milk, such a stupid name, walked into the office. And it seems they had a telephone call from her bright and early this morning. Quite over the moon about it, they were.”

“Isn’t that nice.”

“Could be they didn’t have it quite right, but they said Ernestine was leaving for France as soon as she knows what’s going to happen with her father. It seems Sir Alfonse knows of some sort of mission he thinks he can interest her in. Another way of inviting her to look at his etchings if you asks me. And it was clear the Merryweathers are thinking along them same lines and are hoping like mad she’ll turn over a new leaf and renounce all her good ways. I wonder if Lady Krumley will still leave her that money like she talked about?”

“I hope so. But I don’t suppose it matters. She and Sir Alfonse did seem instantly besotted. Perhaps they’ll bring French cuisine back to The Waysiders. That might make it more appealing to Aunt Lulu if she could be persuaded to go for another stay. She’s a woman who will put up with a great deal for escargot.”

Mrs. Malloy had gone to stare out the window while waiting for the kettle to boil. “Was you joking Mrs. H.?” she asked without turning around.

“About what?”

“Them vans you was saying Freddy’s mother would have sent for?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s a whacking great van pulling up the drive?”

“Oh, no!” I sighed in anguish. “It’ll be the stuff from Ben’s study being returned from The Waysiders. I made the mistake of bringing up the subject with Ernestine just before you and I left Moultty Towers, and she must have got right onto it. Quick! We’ve got to get out there.” I propelled Mrs. Malloy toward the door. “They’ve started to unload.”

We were standing on the path when I heard the front door open and Ben’s voice calling to me from the hall. “Look,” I told Mrs. Malloy, “I’ll double your wages, I’ll even take on another detective case if you twist my arm, but get out to those men. See there are two of them, big burly types with fire in their eyes and their very own teeth from what I can see from here. Say anything, do anything to get them to load that stuff back into the van. If Ben should get a glimpse of what he loved and lost, even the computer may not be enough to hold him.”

“You’re asking me to sacrifice meself.” Mrs. M. was smiling as if her life was once more filled with promise.

“That’s right. And take all the time you like. Remember if you come inside I’ll make you scrub floors until your back breaks.” I kissed her cheek and raced back into the house to close the kitchen door behind me as I went into the hall.

“Hello, Ben darling,” I said as I went into his arms. “Did Mrs. Beetle like the book?”

“She was thrilled speechless.”

“And that makes you deserving of a reward,” I whispered against his lips.

“More new furniture?”

“Something better. Mrs. Malloy frightened me last night. She said you might become so keen on computers that you’d decide to buy another one to take to bed with you, and I’m going to show you why you don’t need to do that.”

“But isn’t she here? I thought I heard you talking to her when I came in?” If he hadn’t smiled at me in just that way while raising an enchantingly quizzical eyebrow I might have found the strength to tell him the truth. After all, hadn’t I vowed never to be anything less than up front and straightforward with him ever again? But on the other hand, why should Ernestine be the only woman in the world to be blown away by a look… a glance from the right man?

“What? Mrs. Malloy here… in the house?” I took his hand and led him toward the stairs. “Trust me, darling, that woman has better fish to fry on a lovely day like this.”

“It’s cold and getting ready to rain.”

“I know.” I turned back into his arms for a delicious moment before sprinting ahead of him three steps at a time. “What’s my prize if I race you under the covers?”

“I’ll let you play with my computer.”

“Perfect,” I said. What more could any wife ask of life? Except hope that other women everywhere were just as happy.

This is Dorothy Cannell’s twelfth mystery. Her others include Bridesmaids Revisited , The Trouble with Harriet , The Spring Cleaning Murders , The Thin Woman , Down the Garden Path , and the Agatha Award nominee The Widows’ Club . Born in England, she now lives in Peoria, Illinois.