05 - Mistletoe and Murder (19 page)

He produced a brass key from
his pocket.

“We deliver milk and bread and
cheese here every day for the workmen.” Sam helpfully explained, “Sometimes we
get here when they aren’t around so Mr Mollinson gave our boss a key. Joe looks
after it. We have to give it back when Mr Mollinson says, though.”

Clara smiled at them.

“I am jolly glad you two
spotted me.”

“I ain’t.” Joe rubbed at his
ear.

Joe led the way round the back
and let Clara in. The two lads waited outside, insisting they were only allowed
as far as the kitchen and no further. Clara fetched the key from the front door
and then went to the third floor and removed a bedroom door key. She returned
to Joe and Sam.

“Thanks lads, will you come
have some of the finest Christmas cake around?”

Sam looked at Joe, clearly the
leader in this little partnership. Joe shrugged.

“Suppose.”

Clara took them into the
kitchen at No.50 and asked Annie to cut two big slices of cake for her
wonderful helpers.

“You look pleased with
yourself, Clara.” Annie said, as she fetched some of her Christmas cake for the
boys.

“I think I am finally getting
to the bottom of this ghost business.” Clara grinned.

Humphry appeared at the door
of the kitchen, having come to fetch tea for Miss Sampford and stared at the
two boys. A modicum of surprise almost slipped through his façade of
disinterest.

“That’s the lady who was
climbing about outside.” Sam pointed at Clara, Christmas cake falling from his
mouth, “We weren’t lying!”

Humphry stared at Clara, one
eyebrow lifted in a questioning manner.

“It is quite true Humphry I
have been climbing the masonry.” Clara said, “It’s all to help keep Miss
Sampford safe, however.”

“Jolly good madam.” Humphry
picked up the tray of tea and left without another word.

“He could have apologised.”
Sam said, but the pang of righteous annoyance lasted mere moments before he
returned to his cake.

Annie shook her head at Clara.

“Corrupting the young now, are
we?”

“Are you implying I am a bad
influence?” Clara looked hurt.

“I’m not implying.” Annie said
with crossed arms, “I’m telling you.”

Clara decided it was time she had
a long talk with Miss Sampford. As much as she liked the woman, she couldn’t
shake the feeling there was something – or rather someone – in her past that
she was refusing to talk about. There was a reason for this whole ghost
performance and with William Henry out of the picture Clara was growing
increasingly unconvinced about money being the motive. William Henry’s death on
its own was puzzling, was it by accident or design? Murder or suicide? She
could not yet rule out either.

She found Miss Sampford in her
snug, carefully collecting up her Christmas cards and making a note of all those
who had sent her one for the following year’s Christmas card list.

“Dear Clara, do people still
make Christmas card lists? Elijah says I am an old fuss-pot over it. He can’t
fathom why I still send cards to people I have not seen in years. Take this
one,” Miss Sampford held up a card featuring a strangely summery scene of the
Nativity, “this comes from an old friend now residing in South Africa. She and
her husband breed cattle of some native type. She went out there in 1872.
Heavens, I don’t suppose we would even recognise each other now, but we always
send Christmas cards every year.”

Miss Sampford sighed.

“It is somewhat of a strain
these days. Waiting to see who sends one a card and who cannot because they
have passed on into the dreamy yonder. I am missing two this year and I dare
say I shall have a letter in the January post responding to the cards I sent
them, explaining they are no longer with us.”

She placed the cards on a side
table, it was still a bulging pile despite Miss Sampford’s claims that her
circle of friends was diminishing rapidly.

“I dare say there are perhaps
one or two cards waiting on the doormat at home.” Clara said, fingering one
topmost card featuring a plump robin surrounded by snow, “I’m a terrible
correspondent.”

“You must have friends,
Clara?” Miss Sampford said in surprise.

“Oh yes, but only a handful
really. I just seem too busy all the time for socialising. I suppose I could
have kept in touch with all the girls at school, but somehow, once I was away
from them, I just couldn’t be bothered.” Clara frowned, “I think perhaps I am a
little too blunt for most people and not everyone wants to be associated with a
female private detective.”

“I think you are wonderfully
refreshing.” Miss Sampford said with the first smile Clara had seen on her face
that day, “You call a spade a spade. My, you would have made a grand
suffragette!”

“I fear I am too lazy when it
comes to politics.” Clara responded.

“My dear, I think you are
anything but lazy. Now, why have you come searching for me? You have been
bustling about these last two days with a clear plan in mind, now I fear you
want to talk to me about something important?”

Clara gave an apologetic look
and sat down.

“I now know for certain your
ghost is as flesh and blood as you or I.” She said.

Miss Sampford went pale.

“Oddly, I dreaded that more
than you discovering we had a dangerous spectre in the house. How did you make
your discovery?”

“I won’t trouble you with the
mundane details, but I have learned how the ghost is entering and leaving the
building, also I had the opportunity to chase her last night.”

“Her?”

“Yes.”

Miss Sampford fell silent. Her
eyes wandered to the teetering pile of cards.

“Did she kill William Henry?”

“Maybe.”

Miss Sampford made a strange
gulping noise and looked half-choked by her emotions.

“And Mr Jones?”

Clara hesitated, but there was
really no point, the woman had already guessed what she had tried to hide.

“I can’t say for certain
because there were no witnesses, but it is probable he was pushed down the
stairs once he realised the ghost was very much a living person.” Clara said.

“Mr Andrews will be
disappointed.” Miss Sampford made an attempt to lighten the mood with humour,
but it failed to work, “What now Clara?”

“Miss Sampford, I must know,
why is this person after you? I’m not convinced this is about money or your
nephew. It feels like something else, something more personal.”

“I really don’t know Clara.”
Miss Sampford answered, raising her hands gently in apology.

“Think back, is there anyone you
have upset, not necessarily on purpose but by the misfortune of circumstances?”

“Really Clara, I am not the
sort to bear grudges or make enemies. I admit my suffrage days were different
and I ruffled a few feathers. But almost always male feathers, so how this
woman would fit in I can’t imagine. Besides, that was such an age ago.”

“Have you ever dismissed a
servant, perhaps?”

“Mrs James hires the maids and
deals with them as she sees fit. I’ve never had complaint.”

“There must be someone.”

“Clara, I am just not the sort
of person who has problems like you describe. I have no idea of anyone who
might have a complaint against me.”

Clara was growing frustrated
because she was convinced she was being lied to.

“Even the most innocuous of
people has an enemy. They may not be of their own creating even. People take up
grudges for the oddest of reasons.” She stated, prodding the issue.

“There is simply no one.” Miss
Sampford insisted, “Except those I have already mentioned. I cannot help you
further Clara.”

“All right.” Clara conceded
defeat for the time being, “Then let’s turn our minds to how we are going to
nab this ‘ghost’.”

“Nab?” Miss Sampford raised
her eyebrows.

“Catch. Bring to justice.”
Clara explained, “Without knowing her motive or even a possible identity, it is
impossible for me to try hunting her down in the streets. So we must set a trap
and hope to snare her in it.”

“Oh dear, I have a nasty
feeling you are going to tell me I am the bait.” Miss Sampford winced.

“I’m afraid so. The ghost has
clearly become bolder since the arrival of your guests. Among them is the
ghost’s accomplice who is feeding her information. What we need is to feed her
the right information that forces her to act recklessly, thus we are the ones
who have the advantage.”

“You have a plan?”

“The ghost is running out of
time to finish her work. I suspect it was always intended that she would strike
once your house was full of guests and her accomplice was in place. Before then
it was too dangerous, but after the house was full there would be so many
suspects that the police would have their hands full dealing with them all.
Hopefully, following the initial confusion, the accomplice would emerge
unscathed and the incident would be labelled as yet another of life’s
mysteries.” Clara wished there was an easier way to explain all this, “Any
practical policeman would dismiss tales of ghosts for what they were and so the
real culprit would disappear in the confusion.”

“How horrible.” Miss Sampford
said quietly, “So what am I to do?”

“I want you to announce to
your guests that you have decided to bring an end to the Christmas festivities.
Make whatever apologies and excuses you feel necessary. Explain that you want
everyone to go home tomorrow. The ghost will thus be forced to act before her accomplice
disappears.”

Miss Sampford looked aghast.

“I can’t possibly turn away my
guests like that!”

“It is necessary to lure out
the ghost.”

Miss Sampford was displeased.

“It is simply not done. To
tell my brother to leave? To inform Elijah and Amelia to pack up and go? To
chase off those silly ghost hunters… well, that I don’t mind, but I have never
ended Christmas early and I can’t imagine starting now.”

“You can explain the truth to
them as soon as the ghost is caught.” Clara tried to mollify her.

“It simply won’t do!”

“Please Miss Sampford.” Clara
begged, “It really is necessary.”

Miss Sampford looked at Clara
very sternly, then her expression softened.

“I shall agree to a
compromise.”

“Which is?”

“You, Clara, shall spread the
rumour that this episode has so unsettled my nerves that I am considering
sending my guests away so I might have some peace to recover. I shall say
nothing but, if your ghost is as desperate as you fear, even just the threat of
my sending everyone away will be enough to rout them.”

Clara thought that her
original plan had a better chance of success, but she was prepared to
compromise since there seemed little chance of persuading Miss Sampford to make
the announcement herself.

“Very well. I shall begin to
spread my rumours.”

“Thank you Clara.” Miss
Sampford said, but there was a tension in her demeanour, as though despite her
denials Clara had shaken some thought, some suspicion, loose within her, “I
shall get back to my Christmas cards.”

Clara knew when she was being
dismissed and left the snug to put her plan into action. Almost at once she
bumped into Elijah who was coming down the stairs.

“Miss Fitzgerald.” He held out
a note to her, “Those names we discussed.”

“Thank you.” Clara took the
piece of paper without looking at it, “I’ve just been speaking with your aunt,
the events of the last few days have shaken her considerably.”

“No doubt.” Elijah concurred.

“She is wondering whether to
send all her guests home, yourself included, so she can attempt to recover in
peace.”

Elijah looked genuinely
startled.

“By Jove, I didn’t realise
things were so bad. But would she really want to be left alone with that
thing
on the loose?”

“Your aunt is of the opinion
the ghost is nothing more than a figment of her imagination.” Clara lied
smoothly, “And this has led two men to their deaths, or so she imagines in her
mind. Without frightening her with the full details of what we witnessed last
night I cannot convince her otherwise, and I don’t think it would be sensible
to upset her so.”

“Quite.” Elijah pulled a
pained face, “We’ve got to do something Clara!”

“I quite agree, but right now
I am not sure what. Don’t think I will leave your aunt in danger, however.”

“Nor will I!” Elijah declared
stoutly, “I saw that bloody vicious knife last night. The thought of it going
into my aunt makes me shiver. I’ll protect her even if I am the only person in
the house left to do so.”

Clara patted his shoulder.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to
that.”

Slipping the note in her
pocket she went in search of Amelia Sampford; better to deal with the scary one
first. Amelia was not so hard to find as she spent most of her time in her
room. Out of all the guests in the house Clara imagined she would be the only
one glad to leave. She had not ruled her out as a suspect, however. Perhaps she
was in on a plot with William Henry?

Clara knocked on Amelia’s
door.

“Who is it?”

“Miss Fitzgerald, might we
speak?”

“Go away!”

Clara had expected as much.

“We perhaps got off on the
wrong foot. I am terribly sorry for your loss and would like to make amends for
our problematic introduction.” She suggested diplomatically.

“We are hardly destined to be
bosom friends.” Amelia snapped sarcastically.

“Indeed.” Clara admitted, “I
just thought you might appreciate someone to talk to, someone who is separate
from your family.”

“No!” Amelia snapped.

There was a strange noise in
the room. A fluttering sound, followed by a thump as if something had been
thrown.

“Damn thing, get out! Get
out!” Amelia started to shriek and now there was the sound of someone tearing
about the room.

“Amelia? What is it?” Clara
had visions of a banshee-like woman chasing Amelia around the room with a
knife, “Are you in trouble? Please open the door!”

“Get it away! Away!”

Clara could wait no longer,
she still had the bedroom key from No.49. She put it in the lock and turned it.
The door, as she had suspected, unlocked and she was able to enter the room.
Her brief satisfaction that she had proved another element of the ghost story –
how the wraith had managed to open locked doors – quickly evaporated as she
raced in to help Amelia.

To her surprise the room was
deserted, aside from the frightened cowering woman sitting in a corner and
batting at something invisible.

“Get it away!” She kept crying
out.

Clara approached her cautiously.

“What is it Amelia?” Clara
asked, watching as the woman struck out again and again with her hands.

“Birds, fluttering birds, they
keep coming. I open the window to let them out but they won’t go!”

Clara crouched down carefully
before Amelia.

“How long have you seen the
birds Amelia?”

“Always.” Amelia sniffed, her
flailing hand movements slowing down, “Always. But William made them go away.”

“How did he make them go
away?” Clara didn’t dare get too close and startle the woman who was clearly
mad.

“I don’t know. Some blue
stuff, in a bottle. He said it made me free of the birds.”

Clara stood and looked about
the room. She realised she was looking for some sort of medicine that William
Henry had kept sole charge of. With him gone, Amelia had reverted to whatever
strange chaos her mind naturally resided in. But the bottle had to be near.
Clara went to a trunk and opened it, looking for something that looked like a
medicine chest. When that failed she went to William Henry’s shaving kit which
was in a large upright box and included several bottles of cologne and tooth
powders. Among them all was a small blue bottle with a carefully printed label.
Clara picked it up and read the name of a doctor on the label, before looking
at the list of ingredients. These included cocaine, morphia, ether and alcohol,
along with some smaller quantities of drugs she was unfamiliar with. A warning
label stated that the patient should take no more than two drops mixed in a
glass of water. Clara had worked long enough in the hospital during the war to
know the addictive effects of such a concoction and also its potential hazards,
but equally this was a medicine prescribed by a family doctor and all the
ingredients were common enough in treatments. If Amelia had been on this medicine
some time then it was difficult to say what complications sudden withdrawal
might cause. Clara preferred not to risk killing the woman by doing nothing.
She took the bottle to Amelia.