Mistletoe Mystery (15 page)

Ignoring him, Philly locked the attic door and put the key
in her pocket. She could not help noticing that he watched her the whole time.
She made a promise to herself to hide the key somewhere else as soon as she had
the chance. Meanwhile an idea was forming. Something that would prevent anyone
from prowling around the house for at least half of Saturday night going into
Sunday morning.

“How is the drama going?” she asked Matt, as they walked
down the stairs.

“Fine. Meg and Puck in their respective roles have had the
big argument over Dominique’s disappearance. So the guests have decided I’m not
in the CIA, but that there is some sort of criminal activity going on at
Bedlington Hall involving the teachers. They think Dominique was silenced when
she unearthed their criminal scheme. Pity, I really did want to be in the CIA.”

“I hope Mrs. Cunningham is not offended.”

“No, she thinks it’s highly amusing.”

“It does make me wonder though…”

“What?” Matt paused on the lower staircase, waiting for
Philly to catch up with him.

“Maybe there was something criminal going on. Why else would
a man and woman in the grounds at night pay Harry off?”

“If he was telling the truth. A petty thief, and a fourteen
year old one, is not the most reliable of witnesses.”

“Exactly,” said Philly. “This makes it more likely that his
story is true.”

“There’s logic in that, Jim, but not as we know it,” Matt
said in his best Star Trek voice.

Philly would have responded, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennett started
coming up the stairs. “Are you both alright?” Philly asked.

“Oh yes, love,” said Mrs. Bennett. “We’re just going to have
a nap before dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t. We want you to be comfortable.”

“We didn’t get much sleep last night, with all the
excitement,” said Mr. Bennett.

“Oh, I am sorry,” said Philly. “I didn’t mean to disturb
everyone.”

“Oh don’t worry,” said Mrs. Bennett. “It was a bit exciting
really. If you hadn’t had that rule about only doing the drama bits downstairs,
I’d have thought it was part of the act. You ought to bear it in mind for your
next one. Besides, it wasn’t you, dear. Someone near to us broke a glass. Then
there was some bumping around. We know you didn’t mean to disturb anyone, but
some people have no consideration at night, do they?”

“No, they don’t, but I am sorry,” said Philly. “I’ll tell
you what, I’ll give you a bit of a refund. How does fifty pounds sound?”

“Oh, no that’s…” Mrs. Bennett started to say, before her
husband interrupted.

“That’ll be grand, lass, thank you,” he said. “It’ll make up
for the draught as well.”

“The draught?”

“Yes, coming from the room next to ours. There’s an
adjoining door, you see, and I suppose it’s because there’s no heating on in
there.”

Philly remembered then that Rooms One and Two were indeed
connected, having once been a gentleman’s bedroom and dressing room. The door
was always kept locked, and she had considered blocking off the door, but
changed her mind in case they ever decided to open up the house to family groups.
“Actually the heating system works in all the rooms on that floor,” said
Philly. “But maybe the radiator needs bleeding or something. I’ll check it
before bedtime so you don’t have another night’s unrest. But I have to see the
wine now, so if you could just put up with it a little while longer…”

“You’re a good girl,” said Mrs. Bennett, tapping Philly on
the arm. “We’ll put a blanket against the gap for now, shall we?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. And if you’re cold there are more
blankets in the closet opposite your room. I think there are some hot water
bottles in there too, so do make use of them.”

“Philly,” said Matt, when the Bennetts had gone upstairs.
“You can’t keep giving money away like that, sweetheart.”

“But if they’re unhappy with the house, Matt, I have to put
things right.”

“They didn’t say they were unhappy. They just told you what
happened. I’m sure they had no thoughts of getting a refund until you mentioned
it.” He reached up and stroked her cheek. “I just don’t want to see you conned,
that’s all, darling.”

“Don’t you?” said Philly, feeling as if she might cry at any
minute.  If he did not want to see her conned, what was he doing there?
His interest in the attic was every bit as strong as the other intruders.
Philly felt unsafe in her own home, and as much as she wanted to trust that
Matt would care for her and keep her safe, she truly believed that the only
person she could trust was herself.

“Philly,” said Meg, rounding the corner of the stairs,
looking harassed. “The wine cellar key, sweetheart…”

Dinner was a suitably festive affair, with everyone getting
into the Christmas spirit. The food was plentiful, and tasted wonderful.
Afterwards they all sang carols in the ballroom, where it turned out that Matt
played the piano very well. If he was a conman, he was a very talented one.
However, when he started to play a medley of nineteen fifties jazz, it did
increase Philly’s fears that he was just a little bit too good to be true.

Philly and Meg had arranged small presents for everyone.
Nothing fancy, just pamper sets for the ladies and shaving foam and aftershave
for the men. Not having expected presents at all, the guests were delighted,
especially when Puck dressed up as Santa to hand them out. Soon a queue of
women were lining up to sit on his knee and whisper their Christmas wishes to
him. Judging by the embarrassed expression on his face and the way his eyes
widened from time to time, some were a little on the risqué side.

“I think they all want Santa in their stocking,” Meg
whispered to Philly, causing both to fall into a fit of giggles.

“For goodness sake, go and rescue him, Meg,” Philly
chuckled. “The poor boy looks terrified.”

“Nah, I’ll let him suffer a bit more,” said Meg, winking.
“It’s good for his soul.”

“I wish we’d known,” said Mrs. Cunningham, kissing Philly
and Meg on the cheek. “We’d have brought you something. Andrew and I will be
sure to treat you when it’s really Christmas.”

“Oh no, there’s no need for that,” said Philly. “Really. It
just seemed strange to have a Christmas party and not give out presents. And
I’ve had a great idea for later on tonight.”

“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Cunningham.

Philly had meant to keep it a complete secret, but as she
considered Mrs. Cunningham a friend, she was eager to tell her. “A midnight feast!
We’ve got so much food left over, and once we’ve had everyone dancing for a
while, they’re sure to be hungry again.”

“How wonderful! You must let me help.”

“That would be great, thank you. We’re going to hold it in one
of the spare bedrooms upstairs. That way if anyone is tired, their own room
will be a sanctuary. But don’t tell the others yet,” Philly urged. “I want it
to be a surprise. In fact, I’ve pushed a note under everyone’s door, which they
should get when they go up to bed. It says
Midnight feast, Room One.”

had already decided to do the midnight feast, in an attempt
to put off prowlers and intruders, but had not worked out where. The Bennetts
complaint had reminded her that Room One was not only empty but also directly
opposite the junction of the staircase. She had not put guests in it, due to
its proximity to both staircases. It made it rather noisy late in the evening
as everyone was making their way up to bed.

 During the feast, she could leave the door open and
keep an eye on the stairs, for at least part of the night. That was if anyone
was foolish enough to try the attic again. She half-hoped, half-dreaded they
would.

As Philly thought of her plans, the piano fell silent, and
Matt went to the music system, flicking a switch. The ballroom was filled with
the sound of nineteen-sixties rock ‘n’ roll; the music having been chosen
especially to depict the era in which the Monique drama took place. As most of
the guests were of that age, they smiled delightedly and were soon jigging
around the room.

“Oh, do you remember this, Frank?” asked Mrs. Bennett,
grabbing her husband’s hand.

“How could I? I’m too young,” he replied, grinning.
Nevertheless, he danced happily with his wife, whilst their friend, Mr. Graham,
took a turn with another lady. She had come to the weekend alone too, and it
seemed they were getting on very well.

“An autumn love affair,” said Mrs. Cunningham, smiling. “How
wonderful.” Reverend Cunningham came over and took his wife’s hand and they showed
that they also knew a few moves on the dance floor.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time, except Stan
Scattergood, who sat in the corner alone. He had not gelled well with the rest
of the guests, seeming to set himself apart from them. Even though Philly did
not like him very much either, as the hostess she felt she ought to make a
little more effort with him. He was hard work though, so she made a mental note
not to beat herself up too much if she failed to bring him out of himself.

“Would you like to dance, Mr. Scattergood?” she asked.

“I would not.”

“Okay, well is there anything I can get you? A drink? Some
more food?”

“I’m perfectly happy here, alone.” Scattergood emphasised
the last word, making it clear he saw Philly’s presence as an intrusion.

Not one to give up so easily, Philly sat down opposite him.
“I’m sorry you’re not happy, Mr. Scattergood. I don’t mean to be rude, but it
makes me wonder why you came. This is obviously not your sort of weekend.”

“No, you’re right, it isn’t. All these idiots playing at
being sleuths. Most people don’t see what’s right under their nose.”

Philly followed the direction of his eyes to the dance
floor, wondering who he was talking about. “So why did you come?”

“A whimsy I suppose. Wanting to relive an old life. Now I
realise you can’t go back. Not really.”

“An old life? You’ve been here before?”

“Ay, a long time ago. You’re like her, you know. Same pretty
blue eyes.”

“Sorry? Like who?”

“Robyn Sanderson.”

“You knew my godmother? Why didn’t you say?”

“Because you didn’t need to know. It’s not as if me and you
are anything to do with each other.”

She had to give Mr. Scattergood his due. He was honest,
albeit brutally so. “Well, no, but I’m always happy to meet her friends. I
didn’t know any of them, you see. It was like … Oh I don’t know. Like Aunt
Robyn had a separate life to the one she occasionally shared with me. I was at
boarding school most of the time. When I was with her, it really was just us.
Tell me about her, please. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Scattergood visibly relaxed. “Like I said, you’re a lot
like her. She always wanted to include people. Be everyone’s friend. Bit silly,
sometimes, but there you are. That’s why it was so hard for her.”

“What was hard for her?”

“She changed after you came along. Settled down a bit. She
said she didn’t want to live the old life. That included seeing her old
friends. Bit tough on us.” Mr. Scattergood took a drink from his wine glass. He
had not really answered Philly’s question.

“Yes, I realise it must have been hard for her, suddenly
struck with a child to care for. I’m sorry if you resented my appearance on the
scene. Did … I know this is a rude question, but did you love her?”

“We all did. It was impossible not to. Look, I’m not blaming
you, alright. She did what she had to do, and she never regretted it. I just
wish she’d let us in a bit. We might even have been able to help her. Not that
she wanted our type of help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Let it go now. It’s in the past. Don’t pay too much
attention to a miserable old goat like me, Philomela.”

“You really did know my godmother, didn’t you? No one else
here knows my full name.”

“It means nightingale, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So can you sing, Miss Nightingale?”

“Actually I can.”

“Do you know that old French song? I can never remember the
French version. Edith Piaf sang it. Something about no regrets.”

“
Non, je ne regrette rien
? Yes, Aunt Robyn taught it
to me.”

“Ah, that’s the one. It was her theme tune, that song. Robyn
always said she would regret nothing, and I don’t think she ever did. You asked
what would make me happy. It’ll make me happy to hear you sing that.”

“Okay,” said Philly. “Erm … perhaps tomorrow, because
everyone is dancing now.”

“You’re not getting out of it that easily,” said a voice
behind her. She had not realised Matt was listening. “I know the tune. It’s one
of my mom’s favourites. Your wish is our command, Mr. Scattergood.”

Before Philly could argue, Matt had switched off the music.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, tapping on a glass to get their attention. “It
seems we have a songstress in our midst. Please put your hands together for
Miss Philomela Sanderson.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Philly said through gritted teeth
as she followed Matt to the piano. She hated her full name and tried never to
use it.

“Hey,” he said, as he sat down. “If Mr. Scattergood ends the
evening with a smile on his face, you’ll be thanking me.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean for telling everyone my proper
name.”

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good, then we’ll start.” Matt began to play the opening
bars of the song.

Despite her misgivings, as soon as Philomela heard it, she
wanted to sing. Music had always had that effect on her. She did not sing to the
standard heard in the West End (as many a director had told her during
auditions for shows), but she did have a pretty enough singing voice. Luckily
the song was one of those where, even if people did not think they knew it, as
soon as they heard the tune, they recognised it. She sang it once in French,
then in English, much to the delight of the guests.