Debutantes (15 page)

‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ said Justin in aggrieved tones to Violet as they climbed the steep hill ahead of Daisy. ‘After all, you were the one who invited me to go on this hunt. Pretty rude to go off without your guest, wasn’t it?’

Violet turned to face him, her colour high. She never could bear criticism.

‘Well,’ she said with a shrug, ‘come to that, why were you such a coward? Why couldn’t you jump that little hedge instead of going all the way around? I hate not being in the front of the hunt. I wouldn’t have mentioned it,’ she added loftily, ‘if you hadn’t been so rude. Well, go on then, why didn’t you stay with me?’

‘Didn’t want to get myself killed.’ Justin’s voice was cold.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Violet impatiently. ‘Who gets killed jumping a little hedge?’

My Uncle Clifford did,’ said Justin. ‘I saw him break his neck – not a very nice sight. I was about five years old at the time – on my first pony – he was seventeen – it made quite an impression on me – rather put me off all this hunting stuff, I’m afraid.’

And with that he almost elbowed Violet out of the way and strode at a fast pace up the hill. Violet raced after him, but when Daisy got there they were apart – Violet greeting their guests, a little red in the face, and Justin sitting alone, gazing with a set expression into the flames of the lovely fire that Morgan had lit in the old stove. He did not even approach the table when Rose shrieked with delight at the sight of the magic name of F & M on the label of a large, handsome wicker basket.

‘Fortnum and Mason hamper! Oh I say, old boy, that’s very generous of you,’ said the Earl as Sir Guy came staggering in.

‘Pour me a glass of brandy and no one speak to me until I have swallowed it,’ said Sir Guy, limping over to a chair and sitting down stiffly. ‘Daisy, I shall accompany you and your camera this afternoon. Nothing would ever persuade me to get up on that brute again.’

‘Take you back to the house in the dog cart, sir, if his lordship is agreeable to that,’ said Morgan. ‘You could have a bit of a rest.’ He grinned at the stableman. ‘Tom here will lead back the two horses, won’t you, Tom?’

‘A nice sleep on my bed until all you lively people come back . . . well that sounds just right,’ said Sir Guy, beginning to revive a little after finishing his brandy. He leaned forward with interest as Rose untied the red silken ribbon and pushed back the wicker lid. ‘They told me that it is a hunting hamper, but I made them add a Fuller’s walnut special. C’mon, m’dear, find something for a dying man. And who knows,’ he added, ‘I might just last until I am murdered in the dark tonight.’

Surveying with satisfaction the astonished glances from the neighbouring hunting squires and their offspring, Sir Guy seized the knife from the hamper, sliced off a neat segment from the large iced walnut cake and offered it to Daisy.

Rose nudged her and inclined her head towards Justin, who was still gazing broodily at the fire. ‘
Childhood Trauma Causes Lovers’ Tiff
,’ she intoned.

Daisy grinned but then the smile faded as she glanced at Violet. Her sister’s eyes were wet with tears as she looked under her eyelashes at Justin. Slowly she got up, walked across and knelt on the floor beside him, pretending to hold her hands out to the flames. He sat stiffly, but Daisy saw the expression on his face change and soften. After a minute, Violet put her hand on his arm. He didn’t look at her, but he lifted his own hand and covered hers. They sat very close, almost as though they were on an island of their own in the midst of a sea of laughing, joking people.

‘Yes, yes, of course I’ll play,’ said the Earl impatiently. ‘I was the one who invented the game. Guy will too, won’t you, old man? Many’s the game we played when we were young. We start in the library after dinner,’ he explained to Justin, the only one present who, he thought, did not know about the famous Murder in the Dark games at Beech Grove Manor. ‘There’s one victim, and the rest of us are murderers. The victim declares himself and then has five minutes to hide before the hunt is after him. The detective does not stir from the library until the murder is announced by Bateman. He’ll sound the dinner gong, so when you hear that everyone comes back to the library and the detective has to guess who committed the dastardly crime.’

‘And Bateman will sound the gong after one hour if the victim manages to escape the murderers.’

‘Sounds fun,’ said Justin amiably. ‘So we all go off and hide in dark places. How is the victim chosen?’

‘We draw lots,’ said the Earl.

‘And when you’re murdered you must count to ten and then scream,’ Rose told him.

‘And the victim, whoever it is, has to be dumb after that one scream,’ put in Daisy. ‘You’re not allowed to say who murdered you, even if you know.’

‘And you can hide anywhere?’

‘Anywhere in the house,’ said the Earl. It was understood by all those who had played the game before that the servants’ quarters were not intruded upon. Daisy was counting on that.

‘Come on, then – hand out the cards, Daisy. Let’s know our fate.’ The Earl was eager to get on with the game.

‘You do it, Justin; I’m still stiff after hunting first and then dancing.’ Daisy had given the pack of cards to Justin earlier and wasn’t too sure what he had done with them. He had laughed off her concern that the right card might not go to the chosen victim, Sir Guy, and on hearing how much the Earl fancied himself as a Sherlock Holmes, had promised to make sure that her father would be detective.

‘Easy to tell that you haven’t been to school,’ he had said. ‘That was one of the first things I learned when I went to Harrow. I can guarantee to give any card I choose to anyone.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen, you will each get a card,’ intoned the Earl. ‘If you get an ordinary card, then you are a potential murderer, the Joker goes to the victim and the ace of spades is the detective. These are the only picture cards. Have you counted them out, Daisy?’

‘Yes,’ said Daisy. She hoped everything would go well. Justin was making a great pantomime out of shuffling and reshuffling the cards, then cutting the pack and asking Rose to cut it again. At last he advanced upon the guests, all seated around the table in the library.

‘The victim has to declare themselves immediately; the detective keeps quiet. Once everyone has their card, Bateman turns out the lights.’ The Earl was impatient to get on with the game. Daisy tensed. Justin was overplaying his part and her father was getting irritated with his continual shuffling of the cards. He pressed the bell and Bateman appeared almost instantly, just as if he were standing in the back hallway awaiting the summons.

‘Just going to play Murder in the Dark, Bateman. Have you been told all about it?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Bateman respectfully. ‘The usual candles are placed on landings of the stairways so that no one stumbles. Otherwise the house will be in complete darkness. I have warned the kitchen staff.’

‘So here goes,’ said Justin. ‘One last cut and shuffle for luck and now you take the top card, please.’ He went around the circle. Each person took a card, glanced at it and held it concealed. Justin himself took the last card and then looked around.

‘Poker faces,’ he said. ‘Someone must have received the Joker. Come on, now, admit it.’

‘I did,’ said Sir Guy dramatically after a couple of moments. ‘Well, there you are. I had a presentiment today, when I was being hurtled through the woods by that brute, that this would be the day when I would see my last sundown.’

‘Except that you were asleep for sundown – what a shame,’ said Rose sweetly.

‘Well, that’s a bit of luck for you,’ said the Earl heartily. ‘Being chosen as victim, I mean. It’s ever so jolly lying there in the dark and waiting for someone to come and murder you.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Sir Guy resignedly.

‘Get the scarf, Rose. You have to tie this white silk scarf around your neck, Guy, so that you can be identified as the victim.’

‘The sacrificial lamb,’ said Rose with satisfaction.

The scarf, a present to the Earl by an elderly cousin about ten years ago, had never been worn by him on the grounds that it was too flashy, but it was ideal for the game. Even the slightest glimmer of light made it shine out like a beacon.

‘Knot it so that it can’t fall off. Let me do it.’ The Earl tied the scarf in a noose-like fashion around his friend’s neck.

‘Well, there we are then. Right, Bateman, the fuse box, if you please. Off you go, Guy.’

‘Sprint as though you are the fox and the hounds are after you,’ Baz could not help advising, adding with his amiable smile, ‘Sorry, sir; just a joke, sir.’

‘Tarantara!’ Edwin blew an imaginary hunting horn and Sir Guy, his white scarf gleaming, cast one look of exaggerated indignation over his shoulder as he strode out of the room at a stately pace.

‘All ready for the filming?’ whispered Justin in Daisy’s ear and she nodded. The camera was upstairs. It had been put carefully into position, ready for action. She hoped that no one had heard him. She wanted expressions to be natural.

‘Three more minutes to go,’ said her father, watch in hand.

And then it was two more minutes. Daisy began to feel a tingle of excitement. This was what the hounds felt on drag-hunting mornings.

‘One more minute,’ said the Earl. He began to count aloud. This was also part of the tradition and somehow it heightened the tension as those measured digits came forward one after the other.

‘Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!’ And just as the last number was called the gong in the hall began to sound. Bateman was enjoying himself.

And then there was the sound of the door to the servants’ passageway being opened and shut softly. Presumably Bateman had retired to the kitchen. The whole company turned to face each other.

‘Look for one last time on the face of a murderer,’ intoned Baz.

‘Prepare to meet thy doom, Sir Guy Beresford,’ said Rose dramatically.

‘And there she goes,’ shouted Baz as the room was suddenly plunged from brightly lit solidity to darkness. It was odd how darkness disorientated people, thought Daisy as she groped her way to the door. It didn’t do that to animals, just people. Once, when the Earl was the victim, she and Poppy, for a joke, had fetched her father’s favourite hunting dog from the stables. He found his master instantly and their father was furious and said he would never allow them to play again. He did, of course – his bark was always worse than his bite – but she and Poppy kept out of his way for a while and were extremely well-behaved until he forgot about it.

Daisy wished that she had a dog with her now. Everything seemed fluid: furniture was in odd places as she groped her way to the door.

As usually happened everyone made instantly for the doorway to the staircase, stumbling over each other. Once that was opened a faint gleam of light came down from the large window in the landing above. No chance of a hiding place in the gallery – that had only two upright chairs and hundreds of paintings and photographs. The bedrooms were the usual places to hide and for the murderous throng to seek the victim – though Daisy had overheard Great-Aunt Lizzie, who was away for the weekend visiting a friend, telling the chambermaid to lock her bedroom door so that the hunting party would not go stumbling around, knocking over her bottles of scent and things like that.

Soon just she and Justin were left standing by the library door. ‘You managed that very well,’ she whispered, smiling in the darkness.

‘Pity your father always fancies the part of the detective,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve given it to him, but I rather fancied doing that myself. Perhaps I’ll reveal myself as a detective sent down from Scotland Yard to keep an eye on old Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Follow me,’ she whispered back. ‘I know a place where you can keep an eye on all the comings and goings and then you can slip down to the basement once they’ve all had a bit of a hunt around.’ She hoped that she could get a few shots of him with Violet later on, but since the quarrel earlier in the day they were avoiding each other.

Daisy’s eyes were now getting accustomed to the dark. Quickly she led Justin through the door to the servants’ passageway and then up the servants’ stairs. She herself had planned the placing of the candles, and the small light in the old-fashioned bedroom lamp gleamed from a windowsill at the top of the uncarpeted stairs.