Rhys Bowen - The Twelve Clues of Christmas

“When do you think you’ll get an answer to your telegram?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t take too long to check War Office records,” Darcy said.

Tea concluded. Nobody felt much like doing anything, but I noticed that they all chose to sit together in the drawing room, rather than go off alone. I couldn’t blame them. I shared their fear.

Darkness fell and reluctantly we went up to dress for dinner. Queenie was waiting in my room, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and excitement. “They say someone got killed again, miss,” she said. “Had his head bashed in with a great lump of rock. Blimey, what a place, eh? Give me the old East End any day. Do you reckon we’re safe here, in this house?”

“I hope so, Queenie. I think the murderer is only targeting specific people and he doesn’t know us, so I have to assume we’re safe. Just don’t go wandering around outside.”

“You bet yer boots I won’t, miss,” she said. “I ain’t that stupid.”

At that moment there was a thunderous knock at the front door. I urged Queenie to hurry with the fastenings on my dress, then I went out to peer over the gallery to the hallway below.

“Telegram for a Mr. O’Mara,” I heard the boy’s voice announce.

I went to find Darcy and we stood in the front hall together while he opened the telegram. It said, COLONEL RATHBONE RETIRED BENGAL LANCERS TEN YEARS AGO.

“We should call the police,” I said.

Darcy shook his head. “We’ll confront him before dinner. At least hear what the man has to say for himself.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous? He might be a cold-blooded murderer.”

“I hardly think he’d be able to do anything surrounded by so many people. And Monty, Badger, myself, we’re all pretty strong.”

“What if he has a gun?”

“In his dinner jacket pocket? Besides, he hasn’t shot anybody yet.”

“Well, all right,” I said, “only be careful.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” He smiled at me.

One by one the dinner guests assembled for sherry. They stood together in little groups, talking in low voices. Hardly the loud, laughing group of a few days ago. It was clear that everyone wanted to go home.

“The memsahib was all for leaving tonight,” I heard the colonel say. “But I told her I’d never run away from a charging tiger in Bengal. Why should we run away now?”

“Quite right,” the countess said. “My sentiments exactly. I will not allow one horrible little convict to spoil my holiday. Who knows if I will ever have another Christmas like this one?”

Darcy and I moved into the group. “So when did you last face a charging tiger, Colonel?” Darcy asked.

“When? Let me see. Not that long ago.”

“Was it at the London Zoo?” Darcy asked.

“What the devil are you talking about?” The colonel’s face flushed red.

“Because you are an imposter, sir,” Darcy said. “I just received a telegram from the War Office. Colonel Rathbone left the Bengal Lancers ten years ago.”

I expected him to bluster, but he deflated like a balloon. “Quite right,” he said. “No sense in pretending any longer. I did it for the memsahib, you see.” He turned to look at his wife, who was sitting with Mrs. Upthorpe on the sofa. Her face was a mask of granite. “She hasn’t been at all well. In fact, those doctor wallahs don’t give her long to live.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You really were in the Bengal Lancers?”

“I had to retire ten years ago,” he said. “Caught some damned tropical disease. We had to come back to England and live on a pitiful army pension. Quite a shock for both of us, I can tell you. Lost my savings in the crash of ’29 so we’re reduced to living in a shabby little rented house in Fulham. No luxuries. Just about enough to eat. But when the doctor gave us the bad news, I decided that my wife deserved one last splendid Christmas—the kind she always talked about, the kind she had as a child. So I sold a lot of my Indian mementos and we splurged on this. I don’t regret it either. She’s had a splendid time.”

He looked across at her again and they exchanged a lovely smile.

Chapter 38

DECEMBER 31, NEW YEAR’S EVE

The Worsting of the Hag tonight. Will anyone be killed? If so, who? I can’t believe he’ll do nothing on the twelfth day. I wish I were going home. . . . No, I don’t.

My stomach was in a tight knot the moment I awoke to the sight of Queenie’s large bulk looming over me. In fact, I had woken with a jolt, conscious of warm breath on my face. In my half dream it was the Labrador of my childhood, Tilly, who used to sit by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. I opened my eyes to see a large face close to mine. I gasped and tried to sit up. Then I saw it was only Queenie.

“What on earth were you doing that for?” I asked. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry, miss. You were lying there so still, I wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “The sight of you a few inches away from me might well have given me heart failure.”

After that first scare I couldn’t shake off the tension. Something was going to happen today, I was sure of it. But I couldn’t think what, and to whom. As I sat writing my morning entry in my diary, I wished I could go home right then. Then of course I knew that was rubbish. I didn’t want to go back to Fig and her family, and it was no longer my home. I didn’t have a home any longer. After this I really had nowhere to go. Frightening thought. And also I’d soon be leaving Darcy. I knew that before I left I must pluck up the courage to tell him I couldn’t marry him. And that was the one thing I didn’t want to do.

The whole household still seemed to be suffering from the shock of finding Mr. Barclay yesterday. People sat separately at breakfast, not talking. I knew I was supposed to be the social organizer, but frankly I couldn’t think of anything to cheer them up. Mrs. Upthorpe looked positively sick. Only the countess ate a hearty breakfast and seemed in good spirits.

“Such gloomy faces,” she said. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Time for celebration.”

“But it doesn’t seem right, with that poor man not in his grave yet,” Mrs. Upthorpe said.

“It wasn’t as if we knew the man, after all,” the countess said. “These things happen. I lost my husband. A big shock. Not at all pleasant, but I got on with it. I don’t hold with all this moping. Death is a fact of life. It’s going to come to all of us sooner or later.”

“We’re just hoping it’s not sooner,” Mr. Wexler said. “I don’t want my family in any danger.”

“Of course they’re not in danger,” the countess said. “Who’d want to kill you?”

I managed a poached egg on toast and was just finishing when Darcy came in. “I have to send another telegram,” he said. “Fancy a walk to the village after breakfast?”

“All right.” I got up. “Are you not breakfasting?”

“I ate hours ago. I’ve been out for a ride with Monty. Lovely morning. Frost on the grass.” He stared out the window as we walked from the room. “God, I miss my horses, don’t you?”

“I’ve been at home, so I’ve been able to ride,” I said.

“Lucky you.”

“Not much lucky about being at Castle Rannoch, I can assure you.” I grinned.

“And you’ll go back there after this?”

“I’ve nowhere else to go,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. They don’t want me there. I’m not allowed to use the London house. I may find myself as lady-in-waiting to one of the royal great-aunts.”