“But why,” Flora wanted to stay trapped in the web of the story but found herself inexorably tugged back into the present, “why did Sir Henry decide to leave Gossinger to my grandfather?”
“Because he knows Hutchins was a descendant of that silversmith’s family.”
Vivian rubbed his forehead. “Uncle Henry believes that Sir Rowland committed a great sin by going against a dying man’s wishes and that in reparation, however belated, he should return the silver collection, along with Gossinger, which would have gone out of the family without it, to the rightful owner.”
“My grandfather being the closest living descendant?”
“Yes. It’s exactly the same thing as the tea strainer. Wherever it has been hiding all these years it must, if family honor is to be preserved, go back where it belongs. You do see what this all means, don’t you, Flora?”
“Of course I do! I’m not completely stupid!” She picked up Nolly who had been sitting patiently, trying not to look as though he minded being left out of this momentous conversation. “You’ve just provided me with the motive for my grandfather’s murder. Now are you going to tell me who murdered him?”
“You don’t think ... ?” Vivian blanched.
“That you—?” Flora’s eyes stung. “How can you suggest I would think such a thing?”
“Because Gossinger would have come to me.”
“But you don’t like it!”
“That’s true, but I might have equally disliked the idea of someone outside the family inheriting it. Let’s be realistic: I could have sold it and lived rather nicely on the proceeds.”
“We’re wasting time,” Flora said impatiently. “Do you think the killer was Miss Doffit?” The thought of the old lady now sitting placid as a cat by the fire being a cold-blooded murderess sent a chill through Flora. “Is that why you didn’t want her to stay here?”
“No, I don’t think she killed your grandfather. Although I don’t like what I am thinking about her, because I’ve always been awfully fond of Cousin Sophie ...”
“Then if it isn’t her, and it obviously wasn’t Sir Henry, then there’s only one person left. And that’s Lady Gossinger!”
“Aunt Mabel was beside herself when Uncle Henry broke the news about his will. He knew she would be, which is why he did it in front of Cousin Sophie and me. I suppose some might say that was cowardly of him, but his determination to follow his conscience makes him a hero in my eyes. And there’s more, Flora. Now that your grandfather is gone, Uncle Henry is
talking about leaving Gossinger to you instead. He may in fact already have done so.”
Flora pressed her fingers to her lips in an attempt to steady her breathing before she could speak. “Please, don’t you dare ask me if I realize what that means! All right, I’ll say it for you. You’re afraid that Lady Gossinger may make away with me next. That’s why you’ve been staying here. I never did believe you ran your car out of petrol the other night. Everything’s becoming clear, even to dim-witted me. I see now why you were so sure Boris Smith had seen or heard something that frightened him so much that he hasn’t been himself since.”
“I’m hoping to find out what that is,” Vivian doubled his hands into fists, “because the problem is that I don’t see how we can prove any of this without some evidence. It’s all pure speculation, and to tell you the truth much of the time I believe I’m mad as a hatter. That
I’m
the one turning your grandfather’s death into a murder story.”
“You could have told the police about the will and let them reach their own conclusions. Didn’t my grandfather deserve that much?” Flora spoke stiffly.
“And what if they couldn’t come up with anything concrete? Aunt Mabel could have sat back and bided her time until, lo and behold, you met with an accident. I’ll admit that there’s a part of me that still can’t believe she’s a murderer. I always found her rather endearing, despite her faults. But no consideration of that sort would have stopped me from speaking out if I had thought it would settle matters up front.”
“Do you think Sir Henry suspects her?” Flora put Nolly down. He was becoming unbearably heavy.
“No, I’m sure he doesn’t. The man’s completely guileless.”
“So that takes us back to Miss Doffit.”
“I think Cousin Sophie may have decided to throw
in her hand with Aunt Mabel as a means of ensuring she can never be tossed out from Gossinger on her ear. And that at the least she is here to find out if you have any suspicions. At worst ... I’d really rather not think about that. But as I must, it seems to me that if Aunt Mabel is visibly at Gossinger, she might not be suspected if something untoward happened to you.”
“Somehow I can’t see Miss Doffit pushing me under a train.”
“No, but she could be here to make arrangements with someone willing to do the job for the right price.”
“Oh, this is beginning to sound ridiculous.”
“I know,” said Vivian.
“At least I now understand why you took me somewhat seriously when I told you Nolly sensed someone was following us. You aren’t ... you aren’t thinking that Snuffy—and Reggie, too—could be mixed up in this?”
“The idea naturally occurred to me, but there reaches a point where it’s impossible to know where paranoia starts or leaves off. I thought that if we could take it one step at a time—"
“But that’s just what you didn’t do! There was no ‘we’ about it. It was
my
grandfather that was murdered, not yours! And it’s
my
life that you are now saying may be at risk!” Flora’s eyes blazed with tears. “You had no business treating me like a child. If I act like one sometimes, that’s up to me. No,” she held up her hand, “don’t touch me. The girl who said she trusted you isn’t here anymore. Actually it’s even worse than I let on! I allowed myself to fall in love with you! Can you believe that? Because
I
can’t!”
“Flora, you must know—
“I want you to leave, Vivian. I want you to pack up your Cousin Sophie and her suitcase and be out of here in three minutes, or I’ll set Nolly on you both! And I’m not going to hate myself for this in the morning.”
When Flora woke up the next morning, her head throbbed and her eyes felt as though they had been rubbed in sand. For a moment she feared she had a hangover. She’d had one once when she was seventeen and went out dancing with some of her friends from school and returned home at what the current housekeeper had called a godforsaken hour. All Grandpa had said when he’d seen her was that he was glad she had taken a taxi home.
This was the same sick, muzzy feeling. The memories of last night floated mercifully out of reach. Until she sat up, upsetting the equilibrium so that they came back with such force that now her head really did feel as though it were about to explode. She had to stagger into the bathroom to get a glass of water, which she drank sitting on the edge of the bath.
Thank goodness for Nolly, thought Flora as the little dog came up and started nuzzling her feet. For his sake, I have to put myself on automatic, get myself dressed, and take him for a walk before breakfast. And it was surprising, she discovered, just how much can be accomplished using one-tenth of your brain. While out with Nolly she stopped at the grocer’s shop four doors down, and chatted to the owners—a husband and wife who told her they originated from Middlesex. In addition to selling her the essentials for a few days, they lent her a kettle and saucepan. Nice people. On being handed a biscuit, Nolly certainly thought so.
She fed Nolly and boiled herself an egg, then put away the groceries and washed up the pieces of crockery and cutlery which had been sent up along with the furniture from Gossinger. And it was at that moment, with her hands sunk in soapy water, that a thought extricated itself from the fog inside her head.
“I don’t believe it, Nolly!” Flora shook the water off her hands. “Maybe you’ll say I’m a coward and don’t want to face the truth, but I don’t think it’s that. I just do not believe that Lady Gossinger is enough of a monster to have murdered Grandpa! Yes, I can see her taking revenge on Sir Henry by giving away the tea strainer. That’s in character. But the rest—no, and if you want to know why I’m so sure, Nolly, it’s because Grandpa
liked
her. Oh, he never became as fond of her as he was of Sir Henry; that wasn’t to be expected. But he would often get upset with me for not seeing her good points. And if he were here right now he’d tell me that it was entirely understandable for her Ladyship—or any wife, for that matter—to be beside herself on hearing that her home was being left to an outsider. If Sir Henry ...”
Flora reached across the draining board and snapped off a stalk of celery to nibble. “If Sir Henry,” she repeated, “had told Grandpa what he planned, I know Grandpa would have been appalled at the idea that he might one day own Gossinger. It would have turned his world upside down and somehow diminished his life of service to the Family. You think I’m silly,” Flora scooped up Nolly and laid her cheek against his, flattening his ears, “but I have to go by what Grandpa is telling me, even though you can’t see him. Because Grandpa was the most sensible man in the world. And he’s telling me that Lady Gossinger should not be blamed for what happened to him. Which leaves me
where,
Nolly?”
The little dog indicated that, much as he sympathized with her problems, he wanted to play with his red ball. So Flora put Nolly down and made herself start on the drying up. She put away the saucepan the grocer couple had lent her and stuffed the disgusting old one in one of the carrier bags, which she put under the sink to make do as a rubbish bin for the time being. And while doing all this, she was trying very hard not to think about Vivian. But it was impossible. Because one glance into the shop told her it was empty as it had never been before. He was wrong, she told herself; but the words lacked the conviction of last night.
So she tried again.
All that time we were together, when I thought I knew exactly what was going on inside his head, I really didn’t have a clue.
And then from the back of her brain another little voice piped up:
Is this what your anger with him is all about? Wounded vanity? Because it should be clearer to you now, you silly goose, why Vivian didn’t know what to do for the best. If you can’t believe Lady Gossinger murdered Grandpa, then think how it must have been for Vivian, harboring those awful suspicions! And at the same time wondering if he hadn’t let his imagination run riot so that he was seeing bogeymen everywhere.
Flora didn’t get any further in trying to decide what to do about Vivian because at that moment the shop door jangled. She had forgotten to lock it on coming
back in from her walk with Nolly, and she now saw Mrs. Much crossing the threshold.
“I don’t suppose you expected to see me,” Mrs. Much said, “but here I am, come to see how you’re getting along.”
“It’s nice to see you,” said Flora, coming toward her, “but how did you know where to find me?”
“That wasn’t hard, dear.” Mrs. Much held her handbag in both hands as she sized up the room. “I rang up Gossinger last night to ask if I’d left a book behind that was given to me by my past employer Mrs. Frome. And the new housekeeper put me on to Sir Henry, so naturally I asked about you and he gave me the address. Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Flora. These walls will need stripping and painting.” She moved in for a closer inspection. “Three coats if you ask me. And I’d be careful, if you choose white, to pick just the right shade. Nothing with a hint of gray, or the shadows from the window will make this wall in particular look dingy. Mrs. Frome, the lady I just mentioned, always preferred an off-white with a hint of blush. Oh, she was a gem to work for, God rest her soul.”
“How about a cup of tea?” suggested Flora, to cut short praise of the late Mrs. Frome.
“No, thanks, dear, I just had one.”
“Then why don’t we go upstairs and you can tell me how you like your new job.”
This is good,
thought Flora.
Perhaps by the time Mrs. Much goes, all those bits and pieces floating around in my mind will have assembled into some sort of sensible shape.
“You’ve got things looking just the way you had them at Gossinger,” Mrs. Much commented when they entered the flat and she had seated herself in the fireside chair. “Didn’t you want to start all fresh, maybe buy yourself a nice Danish-modern suite?”
“No, I like being among old friends,” Flora replied.
“There’s certainly a lot of that at Buckingham Palace.” Mrs. Much looked strongly disapproving. “All the furniture is as old as the hills and I’ve yet to see a fitted carpet. You wonder why one of Her Majesty’s chums hasn’t put a bug in her ear about talking to a decorator with some nice modern ideas.”
Flora sat down across from her. “You don’t sound too happy.”
“Well, it’s a job, isn’t it?”
“Aren’t things going smoothly?”
“Sometimes I suppose I expect too much by way of appreciation.” Mrs. Much took out a hanky from her handbag and blew her nose. “You try to do your best and it’s taken the wrong way. You’ll remember the fuss that was made at Gossinger about me washing those filthy tapestries.”
“Yes, I do.”
“It was much the same as what happened the other day. You know how particular I am when it comes to toilets, Flora. Well, believe it or not, you should have heard the carrying on when it was found out that I’d put one of them sanitizing jobbies in one of the tanks. You know, the ones that make the water a nice royal blue. Oh, you’d have thought I’d committed murder, the way my supervisor carried on. It was only by saying ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir,’ to myself that I was able to keep my mouth shut and hang on to my job. If it wasn’t that it doesn’t do to keep jumping ship, I’d be looking for a new place tomorrow.”
“Oh, I am sorry!”
“Well enough about old me; I’m here to see how you’re coping with your grandfather’s death. It’ll take you a while to get over it, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t want you down in the dumps too long. So, how was things when you left Gossinger? What’s going on with Mr. Tipp? I gave him my new address and was hoping he’d keep in touch, but so far not a dickeybird.”