05 - Mistletoe and Murder (6 page)

“By Jove, how exciting!”
Elijah said, his round face beaming with enthusiasm, “How on earth will I sleep
tonight knowing there is a trap set for the ghost?”

“I am sure you will manage
it.” His aunt said gently, “Why don’t you take Mr Fitzgerald for a drink and a
cigar? I wish to speak with Clara privately.”

“Quite! Quite! I forget my
manners when I get excited.” Elijah jumped from the table and grabbed the
handles of Tommy’s wheelchair, “I fancy a whisky, perhaps that will help me
sleep. Do ghosts still come if you remain awake for them? Oh gosh, what a silly
question!”

With this barrage of talk (and
a wistful look at Clara) Tommy was swept away. Miss Sampford rose and Clara
followed.

“Let’s go to the snug.” Miss
Sampford said, “I always feel safe there.”

“This used to be a study, but I
had it converted to a private sitting room and call it my ‘snug’.” Miss
Sampford showed Clara into a panelled room with a glowing fire and large,
comfortable-looking, leather armchairs. The room smelt warm and faintly of
lavender. More photographs of Miss Sampford and her family hung on the walls,
giving a homely feel. Miss Sampford directed Clara to one armchair and then
took the other for herself. Giving a small sigh she sank into it.

“Entertaining grows rather
tiresome when you are old.” She smiled at her guest, “I am so dull these days,
but there is nothing that gives me more pleasure than a quiet dinner followed
by reading in my snug until I fall asleep.”

“That sounds most
pleasurable.” Clara replied, “I suspect most people entertain for appearance’s
sake rather than out of sheer enjoyment. So many of them seem decidedly
stressed when you appear for dinner, as if they would much rather not have
guests at all.”

Miss Sampford laughed.

“The world is a strange place!
We spend so much time doing things we don’t really want to because we feel we
should. Only once one gets so old that nobody cares about you anymore, can you
at last do as you please. But, of course, by then you are too old.”

“I feel you underestimate the
number of people who care about you, Miss Sampford.”

Miss Sampford gave a derisive
huff.

“Most of the people who truly
cared are dead, I am sad to say. See all those photographs on the wall?” Miss
Sampford pointed to the framed pictures, “So many dear friends and loved ones
no longer living, I look up and see a wall of the dearly departed.”

“Then, may I suggest you have
some new photographs taken of the living people who are with you today. Elijah
for instance?”

“You make it very hard for an
old woman to feel sorry for herself.” The old lady said without anger.

“My father always used to say
if we are unhappy with our lives then it is up to us to change them. And if we
are not prepared to do that, then self-pity is really a waste of time.”  Clara
sighed, “Not that I don’t indulge in self-pity from time to time. It can be
strangely enjoyable.”

“You would have made a good
suffragette Clara.” Miss Sampford grinned, “Those were grand days for women who
think like you and I. Days when you felt you had a purpose.”

“And now women have the vote,
or at least some do.”

“And my purpose has gone. Oh,
but you will now tell me I must find a new purpose!”

“Absolutely!” Clara chuckled,
“How dull if we only ever have one purpose in life? In any case, I thought you
were writing your memoirs?”

“Oh yes, but do you suppose
anyone will want to read them?”

“I cannot say for certain, but
I think it very foolish to allow such important memories to slip away and be
forgotten.”

“Then when my book is done you
shall have the first copy, signed, naturally.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

Miss Sampford stood up and
rang the bell for the servants. Jane appeared momentarily and Miss Sampford
ordered a pot of tea, before she returned to her seat.

“Elijah prefers coffee after
dinner, but I find it makes me wakeful.” She complained lightly.

“Tea is much preferable.”
Clara assured her, “Now, while we are away from that awful Mr Andrews, why
don’t we discuss your other concerns? The ones of a corporeal nature?”

“That Mr Andrews is ghastly,
of course he might be good at his job.” Miss Sampford settled herself in her
chair, “But my other concerns, yes, those I must explain. What an awful
business.”

“You mentioned in your letter that
you wondered if someone was trying to make it impossible for you to live here?”

“Yes, a gentleman by the name
of Edward Mollinson. He is a builder, or so I understand, and has bought
several properties both in the square and in the streets around for, I believe
they call it, redevelopment. He actually owns number 49, next door. I hear he
plans to turn it into a hotel, but the property is not large enough for his
schemes, so he has been badgering me for months to buy number 50. If he has his
way he will merge 49 and 50 into one enormous monstrosity, though I dare say
the shopkeepers will be happy.”

“And you refuse to sell.”
Clara stated.

“I didn’t buy this house to
move out in my last years. I am content here, I have it arranged as I want. I
don’t have any desire to go house-hunting at my time of life.”

“How has Mr Mollinson reacted
to this?”

“Mostly he just voices his
annoyance. He is one of those smarmy businessmen who think they can persuade
anyone to do anything if they just offer enough charm and money. I can’t say he
has been aggressive in any manner, though I doubt he likes me much.”

“And when did he last visit?”

Miss Sampford considered the
question, scrolling through the last few weeks in her mind. While she did so
the tea arrived. Clara offered to pour out two cups while Miss Sampford thought
about her answer.

“I believe his last call was
either late September or early October.” The old woman said at last, “It was
his standard visit asking if I had changed my mind or if there was anything he
could do to encourage me to sell.”

“Had he paid any other calls
during the time of the haunting, or perhaps just before?”

“I think he called in July, he
roughly comes every two months. His visits coincide with his inspection of the
work being carried out next door. As you may imagine, with my hesitation to
sell, this has been slow. Now you mention it, I do believe he paid a call just
before the noises began. It was one of the rare occasions he let his temper
fray. His men had been gutting number 49 and he wanted to move on with the
project. He was quite surly when he demanded to know why I could not be more
reasonable. I asked him why his desires were so much more important than my own.”

“That is interesting. What
about on his later visits? Did he ever discuss the ghost?”

“Actually…” Miss Sampford’s
face lit up as if she had just recalled something, “You have reminded me why I
began to suspect him in the first place. The October visit, his last one, he
was in a rather cocky mood, much more jolly than normal and, when we were sat
drinking tea, he once again began rambling on about his projects, he suddenly
asked how the ghost of Berkeley Square suited me. I was a little stunned and I
asked him whatever could he mean? He replied that he had heard I had a ghost
who rattled doorknobs and stomped about. He knew I had lost several maids and
wondered aloud how I was managing as an older lady in a house with such
confusion. He then suggested a move to a modern property would be much more
soothing. I stoutly denied everything, but it did make me wonder. I had quite
forgotten that conversation until now. I must admit I have had quite a number
of visitors wanting to know of the ghost. So many I started to lose track of
who I had and hadn’t spoken to on the subject.”

“May I ask, if the man’s
offers are so disagreeable, why you keep entertaining him?” Clara asked
carefully.

“Unfortunately the answer to
that is not greatly to my credit.” Miss Sampford actually looked abashed, “I
rather enjoy taunting him. He reminds me so much of those sweet-tongued
politicians of the ‘teens, who assured us again and again votes for women were
being discussed and then quietly let it drop. I suppose it was very unkind, but
a little touch of mischief entered my soul and I couldn’t resist.”

“No matter, Miss Sampford. He
had it coming for pestering you. But what about your other suspicions?”

“Ah.” Miss Sampford stared
into her tea for a moment, then she stood and went to the wall of photographs.
She plucked down one and handed it to Clara. It showed a stout Victorian
gentleman, the sort with big whiskers and a permanent place in the local hunt. 
He held a pipe in one hand and stared intimidatingly at the camera, “That is my
father Colonel Sampford, fourth baron of Wimfrey. To explain my other concerns
I need to first elaborate on my relationship with my parents.

“I was an only daughter out of
five sons, all my brothers lived into adulthood. The eldest, Henry, took over
the estate and became the fifth baron. Upon his death, his son William Henry
acquired the title and moved into the house with his wife Amelia. You shall
meet them tomorrow when they arrive for Christmas.”

“They are your nephew and
niece-in-law.” Clara placed the photograph on a side table.

“Yes. My other brothers went
into various occupations suitable for the sons of a baron; the army, the
Church, the law. That left me. Father had left me in no doubt that he expected
I should marry when the time was right, probably to one of our cousins. He was
very despondent when no marriage proposals came my way, naturally I never
informed him of the ones I turned down.” Miss Sampford winked mischievously, “Father’s
attitude was that all his children should be independent of him and the estate,
except Henry. As a woman I did not have the option of earning my living in a
way deemed respectable to my father, my only choice was therefore marriage. But
as the years ticked by with no proposal, so father became more and more
concerned. Finally he summoned me one day and asked if I ever intended to find
a husband. When I replied I did not there was a dreadful row and father kicked
me out of the house, just like that! Thankfully, my brother John lived nearby
and I went to him. He approached father on my behalf. Henry was also there, and
there was a heated discussion over my future. Father and Henry felt I was being
deliberately obstinate, John defended me and demanded to know what father
planned should he die while I was still unmarried. He couldn’t leave me with
nothing, he insisted, I was his flesh and blood after all.

“I can only imagine the
challenge of that discussion. Father could be pig-headed and Henry was little
better. The estate was eating money faster than it came in from various family
investments and father’s biggest concern was that I would be a drain on the
estate resources once he was gone and possibly force Henry to sell the estate,
which had been in the family for three centuries.”

“That is an awful way to
think.” Clara said, deeply saddened by the story.

“Can you see why I was so adamant
women should be equal to men? So often our feelings and desires are ignored
because of financial considerations, which would not be necessary if we had the
same powers to earn a living as men do. Of course, father’s behaviour upset me
deeply and our relationship was never quite the same again. John, however, was
extremely persuasive. Before the end of the day he had not only persuaded
father to let me back home, should I wish, but he had him agree to a provision
in his will that would allow me a yearly income until my death, if I did not
marry. Should I marry the provision was lost. Henry was furious as he felt it
gave me every incentive not to find a husband, but as I was already 39 and so
far unmarried, John argued that it was unlikely I would now find a husband.
Does that not sound awful? Even my favourite brother could not fathom myself
being attractive to a man once my youth was gone.”

Miss Sampford gave a long
sigh.

“I don’t have a picture of
John. He died in 1885 and the only photos were in my brother Henry’s
possession. My father died in 1881 and since then I have been living on my
annual allowance. He had also left a small pension for my mother. When she died
in 1908 she left what money she had to me and it was enough, with the savings I
had carefully accrued, to buy this property. Henry found it most irritating
that I continued to live on in fine health, draining his resources. He had to
sell off a portion of the estate lands for a housing development. Needless to
say that put me even further out of favour. When he died in 1915 he was still
bemoaning the fact I was alive and unmarried. Apparently, so I am told, he
mumbled about it on his death bed.”

“I can’t imagine how that must
have felt.” Clara shook her head, “I suspect you are going to tell me that
William Henry shares his late father’s views?”

“Indeed, and with the awful
burden of death duties after his father’s death, he has found himself having to
tighten his belt considerably. My continual existence annoys him greatly,
though he always plays the doting nephew when he visits. I imagine he hopes I
have saved a great deal of my allowance and will leave it to him in my will.
Between you and me, aside from small pensions for Humphry and Mrs James, the
only person who gets anything from my will is Elijah. The bulk is going to the
Battersea Dogs’ Home.”

“I completely approve. The
dogs will be much more grateful.”

“Quite! And, as far as I know,
they don’t wish me dead!” Miss Sampford’s humour had grown morbid, “This last
year I have heard William Henry is truly struggling to keep the estate
financially viable. He had invested quite heavily in factories producing war
goods, which provided him with a considerable fortune during those terrible
years, but he failed to see the writing on the wall and pull out early enough.
When the war ended and the factories went bust, so did he. I hear he spent most
of his war fortune writing off debts. I don’t know if he will be able to keep
the estate. My allowance is tied up in several investments specifically set up by
father on John’s advice. Not only is it safe from the misfortunes of the
estate, but William Henry can’t touch the capital until I am dead and in my
grave. Can you see why he might be motivated to encourage my demise?”

“If you were to be scared to
death, by a ghost say, no one could deem it murder.” Clara understood.

“Precisely. In any case, old
lady’s die all the time from their hearts failing, who is to say if it had a
little help from a spectre?”