Authors: G. M. Malliet
“You, Cilla, used the train to create an alibi, because despite the eccentricities of the local train schedule, the stationmaster at least always notes the time of departure and arrival. I imagine you even created some sort of commotion, an official complaint about the service, so you’d be remembered.
“So, Lady Baynard was ‘alive.’ Her distinctive hairstyle and the netted hat and traveling garb made her easy to impersonate. People see what they expect to see. It was your good luck to run into me, but it didn’t really matter. You only needed someone reputable and you would have latched on to anyone vaguely fitting that description.
“Leticia had a reputation as a bit of a recluse because she avoided the villagers. However, she entertained lavishly when it was someone she deemed important, Doris told me. Meaning: Someone from London. But she’d feuded with the villagers in the past and as far as they were concerned she kept to herself; no one could have sworn to her exact recent appearance.
“You, Cilla, even talked with me on the train about the hothouse since you knew that was where the body already was, and where it would be found later, once you’d safely returned and gotten out of costume.”
The others, one by one, had inched their faces around to look at her, taking in her general size and appearance. Those who knew Leticia best seemed slowly to be admitting the possibility of what Max was saying: “It is possible for a younger woman to imitate an older one. Impossible for an older woman to imitate a much younger one, especially the walk, the spring in the step. It is easy for a younger woman to imitate an older one who walks with difficulty. I should know—I felt and looked one hundred years old using that crutch.
“But covering all the bases, you used Awena for your dress rehearsal. An habitué of the sound stage and the theater, you wanted a dress rehearsal, didn’t you, Cilla? A dry run. If it didn’t work, the impersonation could all be passed off as a joke.
“Again, anyone would do for your purposes. But it was Awena who met you on your dry run on the train. You actually invited her to the house—that could have been a step too far, but it came off beautifully, reinforcing the idea in Awena’s mind that she had met Lady Baynard of Chedrow Castle. When I compared notes with Awena, our descriptions of the person we met matched. Of course, neither of us had met the real Leticia.
“So Cilla arranged for Awena to visit Leticia on a day Leticia was gone, or perhaps bedridden with one of her ailments, ostensibly so Awena could share her renowned knowledge of plants, particularly medicinal. Why wouldn’t Awena believe Lady Baynard had it in mind to plant a special garden of such plants and wanted to take Awena’s advice? But your idea was in part to reinforce that the imposter—you, Cilla—were the real Lady Baynard so later descriptions from people like me, from those outside the family, would match more closely. It was a risky ploy, even an unnecessary gilding of the lily, but you were using Awena as a practice witness. Randolph, who is clearly the more cautious of the two of you, may also have been angry with you, Cilla, over this ploy which he saw as unnecessary and risky. And this was a part of the argument Alec later overheard.
“But once you set this in motion, Randolph had to play along to ensure that you weren’t caught out. Randolph escorted Awena to the garden where he introduced her to the fake Leticia. Again, this was to establish what ‘Leticia’ looked like for future use. Cilla dressed as Leticia wore gardening gloves and a veil to blur her face.
“As to alibis: What mattered were alibis for the time of Oscar’s murder. Now, Cilla would make sure she was in the clear for that. I’m sure she showed herself
as
herself in Staincross Minster, then slipped back into her Leticia disguise. This explains in part why she was traveling with such a large bag—she had to carry around a change of clothing. But Randolph had no alibi for the time of Oscar’s death. That was the risk he had to take—no one else had an alibi for that time, either. So long as he left no incriminating evidence to link him to the crime, the authorities could not legally single him out.
“But you two also gave yourselves some leeway with the time of death. It would be warm and humid in the hothouse, affecting the coroner’s estimates. You probably hid her body under a tarp, just in case of anyone’s walking by and peering in the window. This had the bonus effect of helping keep her body warm, making her death appear to be more recent, and fudging the time of death for investigators.”
“I’m not hearing anything that sounds like proof,” said Randolph.
“Ah,” said Max. “I’m so glad you asked. Now we arrive. When I was with the fake Leticia, she had a little mishap with her belongings, and the contents of her shopping spilled everywhere. One apple inadvertently ended up in my pocket. Earlier I sent the police to fetch it from the vicarage, and mercifully it was still there and undisturbed. That is to say, the fingerprints on it were undisturbed: It’s a good thing for us you were wearing gloves after you first handled it, Cilla.”
They all looked at each other, mystified. But two of them, Max noted, had turned a whiter shade of pale.
“You see,” said Max, “the imposter did not have time actually to shop, not with all the changes of costume she had to deal with in the ladies’ room at the station, and so she carried shopping with her
from the castle and onto the train.
“Let’s trace the sequence of events. The impersonator has gone by taxi to Nether Monkslip, and from there by train to Staincross Minster and back again. Since ostensibly she was shopping, she carried from Staincross Minster an old-fashioned string bag full of a mixture of things from the chemist’s and other shops. But she has brought those items with her—stuffed into her pockets as she left the castle, or into that large bag. But the fake Leticia did
not
visit the shop she claimed to me to have visited. She simply did not have time. Not if Cilla had to make a point of showing herself around as Cilla, to establish an alibi.”
“You could not possibly know who bought what where,” said Cilla, starting to rise. “I’m not going to sit and listen to more of this.”
Sergeant Essex stood. “Actually, you know, I think you are.”
“Your downfall was an apple,” said Max. “And this is why and how: The apple I picked up on the train had a sticker label on it—one of those bar codes. Those numbered codes reveal a date and place of origin of the apple. You can even look it up on the Internet. You, Cilla, had taken fruit from the bowls that Doris set out at the castle—either from breakfast, or from the bowl kept in here.” He indicated the glass bowl by the armchair. “The date on this particular label on this particular apple showed it was an apple that had gone on sale a week ago.”
“You have got to be kidding me…” said Cilla, but her expression was increasingly wary. For the first time, she stole a glance at Randolph.
“The store mentioned by the fake Leticia on the train was Fast Freddie’s Market. Now, as it happens, Fast Freddie’s had sold out of its apples the day before, and on the morning of the murder had received all new stock. Cilla, where you put your foot in it was by claiming to have gone to Fast Freddie’s Market, which was nearest the station. That apple came
not
from Fast Freddie’s but from somewhere else. And we can prove it.”
Doris piped up: “I would never shop at Fast Freddie’s. They sell rotten fruit coated in pesticides.” She clearly took umbrage at the very idea. “I only shop for produce at Manfree’s. They sell fine,
fresh
produce. Organic. Local grown.”
“The apple that fell out of your bag,” said Max, “the apple I picked up on the train, was sold by Manfree’s.”
CHAPTER 34
Cliff-hanger
A dead silence seeped into the room. Someone coughed, a gentle cough that reverberated against the vaulted ceiling, echoing back into the quiet room.
It was Lester who finally spoke. “What’s all this got to do with Lamorna’s being killed, then?”
“What do
you
think?” said Amanda. “Lamorna never could mind her own business. And she didn’t have the sense to stay out of something as dangerous as this situation was.” She turned to Max. “Am I right?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Max. “Lamorna’s snooping about had everything to do with her need to control things and people. If she could keep tabs on what was going on, she felt more secure in her little universe. This is true of all of us, but Lamorna was such an outsider, she felt spying and prying were the only way to gain the control she craved.
“Lamorna was killed only in part because she saw Cilla and Randolph going to meet up at the Old Kitchen. She also saw Cilla (in her Leticia disguise) returning from the train journey she shared with me, and going into Cilla’s room. Then she overheard quarreling. It was just odd, she thought at first—she was not alarmed. She said something to me about it at dinner. Only later did she connect Cilla with two unusual occurrences, and decide to try a spot of blackmail.
“Here’s the part I missed, which was what Lamorna actually saw and heard the day of the two deaths. What she saw was Cilla returning from the train
dressed as Leticia
. Once I knew I was dealing with an imposter, it could only be an imposter—Cilla—going into her own room. And, fearing Lamorna would either recognize her dressed in costume, or would wonder at seeing Leticia entering Cilla’s room, Cilla—thinking fast, knowing she’d been spotted—simply closed the door into her room and started a fake quarrel ‘with herself,’ so Lamorna would think Leticia was still alive. Remember that Cilla is a gifted mimic.
“Lamorna told me what she’d seen and heard—rather, what she
thought
she’d seen and heard. And once again I was half listening, not understanding the import, or that what she saw and heard
was
important, until after Lamorna was killed. Then there was a skirmish among the ladies at the table and I forgot all about it. I imagine Lamorna did, too. Then later than night, Lamorna was killed.”
Max said, “There was one further thing, an odd thing: It was as I was standing at the top of the cliff with DCI Cotton this morning that I thought how easy it would have been for someone to dispose of Lamorna that way. And the question then occurred to me: Why was Lamorna not pushed over into the water—which could have been done pretty much at the killer’s convenience? The easiest thing in the world would be to lure her out there, and just give her a nicely timed shove. Could it be she was killed in a place where she’d be
guaranteed
to be found so there would be no question about money from her grandmother going to her? Otherwise, why not just push her into the sea to drown? A much easier, much surer method. Quieter, also. But her body
had
to be found. The killers wanted no delays or legal entanglements, which would happen if she simply disappeared.”
Max sighed. “It’s a sad tale all around. The night she died, she’d been spying on Cilla and Randolph, and had followed them to the Old Kitchen tower with its upstairs bedroom. That’s where they met to conduct their affair, and to discuss what to do next. It was private, unlike the castle, which was too full of ways to be seen and overheard, as Alec and Amanda know well. Lamorna followed at least one of them there—Cilla or Randolph—and one of them followed her back. Probably Randolph.
“The note Lamorna was clutching—‘D’ was signed on the note. Cilla can be short for Drucilla, as well as Priscilla. Or Cecilia. But Drucilla is what it happens to stand for in this case. ‘Meet me at the OK at midnight. [Signed] D.’ Old Kitchen. It explains how Lamorna knew where to look for you. She found that note, or possibly she even went through the things in your room and found it.
“I think Lamorna then tried some blackmail, not for herself but for some cause she was fond of. It was the way her mind worked. We may yet find proof of that hidden among her effects. She may have written down what she thought, what she saw.”
Randolph’s mind was clearly racing. “This is absurd!” His expression of contempt exaggerated the aristocratic cragginess of his features.
Max decided to press him. “You’ve had both good and bad luck. It would normally have been Father Arthnot who dealt with comforting the bereaved here at the castle. My presence here reinforced the success of your plan, of the impersonation. In all sincerity, I kept telling the police I saw Leticia alive.”
Randolph had shut down for the moment into a mulish silence. He studied the expensive old carpet with a sudden intensity, as if he’d never seen it before.
“You were counting on ‘luck’ quite a lot—two aging people, both with weakening constitutions. Statistically speaking, Oscar the male should have gone first. But luck was not on your side then, was it?”
“How could I have known my mother would die?” demanded Randolph. “I couldn’t possibly. This is preposterous.”
“I asked myself that very question. Whoever did this had to have acted very quickly indeed. It couldn’t have been done without some planning and preparation. Some very cold-blooded calculation, in fact. For you, everything rode on Leticia’s outliving her brother. You or Cilla found Leticia dead in the hothouse—anyone else would have raised the alarm, not kept her death a secret.
“Randolph, those solicitous daily visits that Simon commented on—your deep concern, your spending as much time as possible in her company—all that was nothing more than to make sure she was still living, wasn’t it? The buzzer installed by her bed—at your insistence. Why not a buzzer by Oscar’s bed, too, I wondered?
Because when he died didn’t matter
—Leticia’s inheriting from him was all that mattered.
“Then one morning, your worst fear came to pass. She died first—
before
Lord Footrustle. But, thanks to Cilla, you had prepared for the unlikely eventuality that your mother would die first.
“And you, Cilla, like some modern-day Lady Macbeth, sent Randolph out to kill Lord Footrustle while you donned your disguise to establish ‘proof’ that Leticia had outlived her brother.”
“I did not,” said Cilla. Her voice was brittle, its normally smooth cadences crackled with heat. She compressed her lips until they all but disappeared. Suddenly, unwittingly she burst out, “It was his—”