“For once, I agree with Iris,” Shawn said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to declare this a crime scene.”
Mum laughed. “I would think it highly unlikely we’d catch the culprit now, don’t you, milord?”
“It’s not like we’ve discovered the remains of Richard the Third,” Rupert agreed.
“But taken into consideration the scold’s bridle … she was probably tortured before she was murdered.”
“That’s awful,” I whispered. “But who was she? Why go to all that trouble?”
“She was a spy,” Mum said again. “Caught in the act and dispatched by whoever owned that dagger.”
“And to think I’ve been above her all these years,” whispered Eric. “You know, it’s strange, because sometimes I used to feel I was being watched.”
Mum rolled her eyes.
“Do you have some stakes, Eric?” Shawn asked.
“She’s hardly a vampire,” Mum muttered.
Eric nodded.
“Go and get half a dozen, there’s a good man.”
So Eric did.
“What do you think will happen to her?” I asked.
Rupert shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“It doesn’t seem right that she should have suffered so much only to end up in an unmarked grave,” I said.
“If you ask me,” Mum said slowly, “I think there was a bit of jiggery-pokery going on.”
“I beg your pardon!” Rupert was stunned. “Jiggery-pokery! What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m just saying that the Honeychurch clan are notorious for hushing up scandals.” Mum reddened. “I don’t know why I said that. It just came out.”
“And I’m glad it did, Iris.” Shawn chimed in. “Because I agree with you again. That’s twice in one day.”
“What kind of jiggery-pokery?” exclaimed a voice heavy with adenoids. We turned to greet Rupert’s long-suffering wife, Lady Lavinia Honeychurch, plodding toward us.
Mum and I looked at each other and gasped. “Whatever happened to you?”
Lavinia looked awful. Her pale aquiline face was marred by an enormous black eye. Her lip was puffy and swollen.
“Lav, darling!” Rupert exclaimed. “You really should be resting!”
“I’m perfectly alright,” she said with a slight lisp that exposed a missing front tooth. Upon spotting the skull in the watery grave, she added, “And obviously much better off than whoever is laying down there!”
Dressed in her usual attire of jodhpurs and short-sleeved polo shirt and with her blond hair crushed beneath a heavy slumber net, Lavinia looked even more disheveled than usual.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Came off and then got kicked in the face,” she said cheerfully.
“Which horse?” I said.
“Jupiter got stung by a horsefly.” Lavinia winced. “Got three cracked ribs—ouch.” She bent over in pain.
“Ribs seems to be the nom du jour,” said Mum.
“The vet strapped me up,” Lavinia went on.
“The vet?” said Mum.
“Much better than old Bodger our G.P. He’s ab-so-lute-ly hopeless—ouch!” She winced again. “Golly.”
“Lav, darling,” said Rupert again. “Please go and lie down. You must rest.”
It made a change for Rupert to show his concern for her. Usually he seemed so indifferent.
“I’ve got some Vicodin left,” Mum said. “I’ll give you a few. They’re really good.”
“Mum! You mustn’t,” I said.
“She can’t take drugs,” Rupert said. “She’s allergic.”
“They must have expired anyway,” I said. “It was ages ago when you broke your hand, Mum.”
“Rubbish. Expiry dates are just one way those drug companies make you buy more drugs.”
It was then that Lavinia noticed the dagger in Rupert’s hands. “Goodness. Is that one of yours … or one of ours?”
I thought it amusing that after centuries the Royalist Honeychurches and the Roundhead Carews still seemed to be on opposite sides.
“His lordship found it in the grave,” said Mum.
“You must get Daddy to take a look, Rupert—he’s an expert at this sort of thing—or my brother.”
“I’ll certainly confer with Aubrey,” said Rupert. “But I’m definitely not involving Piers.”
“And who is Aubrey?” Mum asked politely.
“Daddy is a whiz at military history and armor and swords. He’s got an even larger collection of weapons than Rupert—”
“Not by that much,” said Rupert.
“The Roundheads were much better equipped than the Cavaliers—”
“Royalists,” said Rupert. “We prefer to call them Royalists—”
“And much better soldiers,” Lavinia went on. “That’s why we won.”
“Only because we had to pay outrageous, crippling fines to Oliver-bloody-Cromwell,” snarled Rupert. “And your wretched family.”
“I thought the Hall was saved by your steward?” Mum put in.
“It was,” Rupert said. “But … I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s move on now. Iris? How are the costumes coming along?”
“I’m finished with yours and Master Harry’s,” said Mum. “I’ve nearly finished the dowager countess’s and Lady Lavinia’s.” My mother’s handiwork with the needle was well known to everyone at the Hall. In fact, I had a steamer trunk full of beautiful costumes she had made in her teenage years for the traveling fair and boxing emporium.
“Good,” said Rupert. “You can deliver them all this afternoon.”
“T-t-oday?” Mum stammered. “Yes. Yes of course.”
“Come at three-thirty.”
“I’ll be taking the dagger, milord, if you don’t mind,” said Shawn. Rupert handed it over somewhat reluctantly, whereupon Shawn promptly dropped it into one of his ever-ready Ziploc bags.
“And Lav, go and lie down and rest.” And with that, Rupert walked off.
“You should do what his lordship advises, milady,” said Mum.
“I know.” Lavinia stood there but made no attempt to move. She glanced over at Shawn, who was deep in discussion with Eric a few yards away. “I’m frightfully parched, Iris. Aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“But you must be,” Lavinia insisted. “Standing out here in the hot sun. You look fit to drop.”
“I’ve got the costumes to finish—”
“But you must be parched,” she said again.
“Really I’m not. Or … should I be? Oh. I see.” Mum took the hint. “Would you care to come inside for a cup of tea or coffee, milady?”
“Oh. How kind! That would be lovely,” said Lavinia. “Thank you. I expect you’re too busy to join us, Katherine. And besides, your mother and I will be discussing my costume.”
I was amused by Lavinia’s blatant attempt to get my mother alone. “As it happens, I do have time for a quick cup,” I couldn’t help but say.
“But aren’t you taking Edith to the railway station?”
“Not quite yet.”
“I think her ladyship wants to talk to me about her costume alone,” said Mum.
“Do call me Lavinia, Iris.”
And of course, this personal request to drop her title meant that something was afoot. “I know when I’m not wanted,” I joked.
“Oh, but you are—” Lavinia seemed embarrassed. “It’s just … well…”
“Private,” Mum declared.
“But perhaps…” Lavinia hesitated. “I’d quite like Katherine’s opinion.”
I shot my mother a triumphant look.
We trooped back to the Carriage House and into the kitchen. Lavinia sat down at the table. I headed over to the counter and put the kettle on whilst Mum brought down three of her coveted coronation mugs. Her knowledge of anything remotely to do with the Royal family bordered on the obsessive.
“I think Queen Alexandra for you this morning, Lavinia,” said Mum, brandishing a porcelain mug bearing the image of a rather severe Alexandra of Denmark. “She was married to King Edward the Seventh and he was a notorious womanizer, too.”
“Mum!” I said, appalled.
Lavinia crumpled and started to sniffle. “It’s true. Your mother is right. I think Rupert is having another affair.”
Rupert’s indiscretions were legendary, but, though I don’t mean to sound unkind, Lavinia had to have known what she was letting herself in for. Their initial engagement was called off when he eloped with one of the staff during a New Year’s Eve dinner—between courses, no less—and subsequently married her. It was only following his first wife’s fatal accident that Rupert agreed to marry Lavinia to avoid being disinherited by his mother, the dowager countess—although whether he was or wasn’t remains a mystery.
“Now, what makes you think his lordship is doing such a thing?” Mum asked.
“He’s been frightfully kind to me recently. And this morning—you heard him—he told me I should rest three times.” Lavinia attempted to blow her nose but cried out in pain.
“Have you found telltale signs like lipstick on his collar?” said Mum. “Or a lingering scent of perfume?”
“I don’t need telltale signs,” said Lavinia miserably. “I told you. He’s just been too nice. When Jupiter kicked me in the face, Rupert even made me a cold compress. Well, he put a flannel under the cold tap, but he was gentle.” She began to sniffle again. “Usually he would have said, ‘Jolly bad luck, Lav.’ What if he leaves me? I think I’d die.”
“Now you’re being silly,” said Mum firmly. “And besides, there’s no danger of him ever leaving you. He relies one hundred percent on your money.”
“Mother!” I said again. “For heaven’s sake!”
Lavinia brightened. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course he does, but—no.” Lavinia bit her lip. “Since Daddy just passed the torch to Piers, it’s Piers who is now holding the purse strings.”
“And why should this matter?” Mum asked.
Lavinia struggled to compose herself. She swallowed several times. “Piers told me that if Rupert ever strayed again he’d cut me off without a penny.”
“Maybe you’d be better off,” I said.
“Are you mad?” Lavinia exclaimed. “Apart from the fact that divorce would shame the Carew name, what about poor darling Harry? He adores his father and…” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Besides, I love Rupert. He is my life.”
“Can you guess how long this has been going on?” said Mum briskly.
“A few weeks, but recently he’s been out an awful lot at night. He says he’s shooting rabbits in the Lower Meadows, but I’ve never heard the sound of a shotgun and I’ve kept all my windows open because it’s been so hot.”
“I’ve not heard any guns at night; have you, Kat?”
“No,” I said.
“And he’s been playing a lot of music,” Lavinia went on. “A lot of Elton John.”
“Elton John?” Mum exclaimed. “Oh dear. Then it must be serious.”
“I think you should confront him,” I said.
“I couldn’t possibly!”
“You have two choices,” I said. “You ask him outright, or you let it go and accept that it’s just the way he is.”
“Even if your brother threatens to cut you off if you stay with his lordship,” Mum went on, “he’s still got too much to lose.”
“But he doesn’t,” Lavinia wailed, then yelped in pain. “The Hall will go directly to Harry. Edith never changed her Will. There’s no reason for Rupert to stay with me at all.”
I felt sorry for Lavinia but, at the same time, alarmed. Was her self-esteem so very low? True, she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed, but she was very sweet and kind and there wasn’t a mean bone in her body.
“Men always go back to their wives eventually,” Mum declared. “Kat can shed some insight into being the other woman because she has been the other woman—”
“I have not been the other woman,” I snapped. “David was already separated when we met. He told me he was getting a divorce and I believed him.”
“But how do I know that Rupert hasn’t said the same thing to her?” said Lavinia.
“Well, never mind all that,” Mum said quickly. “Do you know who it is?”
“I think … I have a feeling it’s Jessica—but she likes to be called Jess.”
“Who?” Mum and I chorused.
“Daddy’s new wife,” Lavinia said with disgust. “Didn’t you know he married again?”
“Well, we would have known if we’d been invited to the wedding—”
“Why would we have been invited, Mother?” I said. “We’ve never met Lavinia’s father.”
“Nobody was invited,” said Lavinia. “It was all very sudden. Piers is still livid.”
“I didn’t realize you lost your mother recently,” said Mum. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh God, don’t be sorry,” said Lavinia. “It was ab-so-lute-ly yonks ago. Daddy’s been a widower for over twenty years. I mean … we’d never even heard of Jess until Easter Sunday.”
“And you think that’s when the affair began?” Mum caught my eye and I could see she was thinking the same thing. Lavinia was being paranoid.
“You think his lordship and Jess knew each other before she married your father?” Mum asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” Lavinia frowned. “I believe she comes from the Midlands or somewhere ghastly. She tries to pretend she’s one of us, but she can’t hide her accent. Piers is convinced that she’s after Daddy’s money, but apparently, she’s got loads of her own.”
“That would be pretty low, even for Rupert,” said Mum. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else who might fit the bill?”
“Like who?” Lavinia thought for a moment, then brightened. “Do you think Alfred could be persuaded to … well … follow Rupert for cash?”
“Alfred? Why would Alfred want to do something like that?” said Mum just a little too heartily.
I shot Mum a warning look. Unbeknown to everyone except my mother and me, Alfred was still on parole. He’d already had a few narrow escapes with the law and we didn’t want to tempt fate.
“Alfred mentioned that he’d done some sort of security work in the past,” Lavinia went on—which I suppose was one way of calling breaking and entering.
“Mum—”
“But do you really want to know, Lavinia?” said Mum in earnest. “And once you do know, what are you planning on doing with the information? I thought you didn’t want to confront his lordship.”
“I suppose I just want to know before Piers finds out.”
“But I thought you said Piers would cut you off without a penny if he found out?” Mum looked at me with exasperation. “I do feel you should really think this through.”
“Oh.”
Poor Lavinia.
“Well, let’s just take one step at a time,” said Mum. “I’ll talk to Alfred—”
“You can’t tell him anything!” Lavinia squeaked.
“Just the bare bones. I know.”
Lavinia brightened again. “Good. That’s sorted. Can we talk about my costume now?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You must promise to make me look spectacular. I must look beautiful for Rupert.”
“Well, let’s hope your bruise has gone down by then, and you really need to get that front tooth capped,” said Mum. “But meanwhile, come upstairs with me. I have something for you.”
“Not the Vicodin?” I said. “You know it’s addictive.”
“What’s addictive?” The dowager countess, Lady Edith Honeychurch, entered the kitchen accompanied by Mr. Chips, her tan-and-white Jack Russell terrier, who proceeded to tear around the room greeting everyone with excited barks.
Edith was carrying a monogrammed overnight suitcase of pale-brown leather that I guessed was circa 1950. She was wearing a tailored suit of pale apricot with a white ruffled shirt, American tan-colored tights and light-brown lace-up shoes. Her hair carried the chemical aroma of the newly permed.
“Goodness, Edith,” Lavinia remarked. “You’ll boil to death wearing that in London.”
I gestured to the suitcase. “I would have come and picked you up at the Hall.”
“Nonsense,” said Edith. “I may be the wrong side of eighty-five, but I’m not in the grave yet. It’s as light as a feather, and since I’m going to be stuck in a stuffy conference room all weekend, I need all the exercise I can get.”
Mum cleared her throat. “Lavinia—her ladyship, I mean—mentioned that you … well … you might actually be speaking to HRH The Princess Royal.”
“Anne is the Royal Patron of the Pony Club,” said Edith, “so yes. She’s a personal friend. Why?”
Mum’s jaw dropped. “You say she’s a personal friend.”
“Did you want me to give her a message, Iris?” I detected a twinkle in Edith’s eye, although she kept a straight face.
Mum turned pink. “Can you find out if she will be the mysterious Royal who will be attending the Skirmish next weekend?”
“Anne? Here?” Edith seemed surprised. “Attending the re-enactment? What on earth gave you that idea?”
“Muriel at the post office told me that every year a member of the Royal family is the guest of honor,” said Mum. “We don’t want Emma Bunton.”
“Who is Emma Bunton?” Edith demanded.
“She’s one of the Spice Girls,” said Lavinia, adding, “You know, ‘Tell me what you want, what you really, really want.’ It was top of the charts for ages.”
“Ah yes.” Edith nodded. “I wonder if she still doesn’t know what he wants.”
“Emma is one hundred and third in line to the throne,” said Mum helpfully. “I mean, beggars can’t be choosers and if we get Emma c’est la vie, but I’d much prefer to snag Anne.”
“Quite,” said Edith, giving me a wink.
Glancing at the clock, I said, “What time is your train?”
“Eleven-o-five,” said Edith.
“We must go!” I exclaimed.
I picked up Edith’s suitcase—it weighed a ton—and staggered to my waiting car.