Friday Afternoon, September 17, 1937
Heatherwick
She took my arm and we walked side by side down the broad stairs and into the dining room. Simon and a fetching young fellow I gathered was his cousin were already there. The dining room was well-lit and spacious, though as in the rooms upstairs, the décor was somewhat out of date, slightly faded, and worn.
Simon greeted us at the door. “Are your rooms satisfactory?”
“Oh yes, very much so, quite comfortable, thank you,” I said for us.
“Good, I’m glad,” he said, though he didn’t look happy at all. “Well then, Mrs. Partridge, Mr. Barrington, I’d like you both to meet my cousin, Mr. Walter Wittenham of Munstead Wood in Long Wittenham, just north of here a ways. He’ll be joining us for lunch. He’s my mother’s brother’s son, so not a Quimby.”
“As you delight in pointing out,” Mr. Wittenham said, coming along beside him. “Although with the family curse, I guess I should be glad I’m not.”
“How do you do?” Verbina and I said, and then Verbina added, “How nice to meet one of Simon’s relatives, a Quimby or not. I’m so glad you could join us for lunch.”
“How do you do? Simon insisted on my staying, didn’t you, old boy?” Mr. Wittenham said.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Simon said. He moved to the head of the table and stood behind his chair. “Shall we be seated? Mrs. Partridge, please, to my left, Mr. Barrington on my right and, Walter, you can sit next to Mrs. Partridge.”
“Delighted,” Mr. Wittenham said. He held Verbina’s chair for her and then sat down beside her, a broad smile on his face. He was clearly younger than Simon, but not by much, and handsome, with striking features, coal-black hair, and deep brown velvety eyes. His frame was thin and wiry, and I could tell he was in shape and strong. Still, I thought, he wasn’t as attractive as Simon.
“Such a lovely room,” Verbina said, placing her napkin in her lap and glancing about.
“Thank you. The dining room’s a bit large, though. This table can seat at least eighteen comfortably.”
“It’s exactly as I remember it. Nothing has changed,” she said.
“I’m afraid the whole house hasn’t changed much since Mother died over twenty years ago. Father didn’t like change, never saw the need, and I’m afraid I’m not here enough to give it much thought.”
“I think my favorite part is the ceiling mural. It’s so colorful, so classic,” Auntie said.
Simon glanced up briefly. “Copied from some place in Italy, I think. Perhaps from a church or cathedral, I’m not really sure. My father was fond of it, but personally I think it’s a bit much.”
“Oh, no, the light from the chandelier really sets it off, in my opinion,” she said.
“Well, I’ll trust your judgment, Mrs. Partridge. Clearly you have excellent taste. What about the rest of the house?”
“I’d be delighted to give you some ideas if you wish, Simon, but really, it doesn’t need a lot.”
“No, I suppose not. But still, a freshening might be a good idea. Of course, I’ll be getting some expert opinions when Mr. Haines and his friend visit. They’ve confirmed they’re coming the first of next month.”
“William Haines?” Verbina said.
“Yes, Mrs. Partridge. He and his business partner were on the ship with us and are acquaintances of mine.”
“I’d heard they were aboard, but I wasn’t aware you knew them. How nice.”
“He’s that actor fellow, right? Isn’t he a…you know, a, uh, pansy?” Mr. Wittenham said.
“I didn’t ask him,” Simon said, staring harshly at his cousin.
“Well, that’s what I’ve heard, and I would think you’d know. Besides, can you afford to be redecorating right now, Simon?” Mr. Wittenham said.
“What’s that all supposed to mean?”
“Well, as the estate steward appointed by your father, I know a thing or two about the finances of Heatherwick, and as your cousin, about you.”
“So you’ve just mentioned. No need to discuss your ridiculous opinions on either topic in front of my guests,” Simon said. He turned to Verbina and me. “Let’s eat, shall we?” He rang a bell, and Wigglesworth soon entered from the butler’s pantry carrying a large ceramic soup tureen, followed shortly by the creamed carrots and bread and butter pudding, which I had never had before but soon discovered was delicious, made of buttered bread, raisins, eggs, cream, and nutmeg. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the smell of the food hit me.
“Is this all you’re serving, Simon?” Mr. Wittenham said, glancing down at his plate. “Are things really that bad?”
“Don’t be rude on top of insulting. It’s just a light lunch today because it’s rather late. Sorry, I know you Olympians do like to eat.”
“An Olympian?” Verbina said, intrigued.
“Simon likes to joke, but yes, Mrs. Partridge, I was a pole vaulter, track and field, in the 1928 Summer Olympics in Amsterdam. I was just a lad of nineteen.”
“How marvelous,” she said. “Do you know Lord Burghley? He medaled in ’28 and ’32, I believe. Did you medal?”
“Of course I know Lord Burghley, nice chap. And yes, he took the gold in ’28 and the silver in ’32. As for me—”
“No, Walter did not medal,” Simon said.
Mr. Wittenham shot Simon a look. “True enough, cousin, but at least I was on the Olympic team, which is more than you can say, and I still train, still keep physically fit. Track and field is my sport, though I’m good at almost anything physical.”
“Yes, you can climb trees like a monkey,” Simon said. “And you rather resemble one.”
“I could pin you in a wrestling match. And I could have been in last year’s Olympics in Berlin, except Violet didn’t want me to go, what with the Nazis and Hitler and all.”
“Violet is your wife?” Verbina said.
“That’s right, a lovely woman, but a worrier. She begged me not to go to Berlin. Unfortunately, it might have been my last chance to medal. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“That’s so impressive that you were in any Olympics, Mr. Wittenham,” Verbina said.
“I suppose so,” I said. I didn’t like Mr. Wittenham much, if for no other reason than Simon didn’t seem to care for him.
“I highly doubt Violet begged you not to go to Berlin, Walter,” Simon said. “Not from the way she behaves when I’ve seen you two together. I rather think she’d be glad to be rid of you for a spell.”
“You’re just jealous she chose me over you.”
“She didn’t. Father pawned her off on you to get her away from me. He felt she didn’t have a large enough dowry to be a Quimby, and he thought I could do better. But she was clearly in love with me, and she always resented the old man for pushing her on to you. Can’t say I blame her.”
“Now you’re being rude,” Mr. Wittenham said. “You never cared for Violet, not in that way, but you didn’t like her marrying me.”
“I’d feel sorry for any woman marrying you,” Simon said.
“Do you have children, Mr. Wittenham?” Verbina said, clearly in an effort to change the subject, and I cringed. For once, I wished she’d just shut up.
Mr. Wittenham turned to her, his fingers gripping the table edge. “Yes, we have a son, Cedric. He’s nearly four now, growing like a weed. Takes after his old man, if I do say so myself. My wife and I are expecting our second any day now.”
“How nice, congratulations.”
“Thank you. You see, we will soon have two children, whereas Simon isn’t even married yet.”
“Uh, do you get to visit Heatherwick much?” Verbina said.
Mr. Wittenham scowled at Simon, who was scowling back at him. “Not much. My home is about an hour and half drive north from here. I had business this morning in Brockenhurst and thought I’d stop by while I was in the neighborhood and go over a few things with Simon since I’d heard he was back.”
“If you’d telephoned first, I would have told you I had guests and not to come.”
“And next week there would be a different excuse, but there are things we needed to review. In the old days, when Simon’s father was alive, we were invited fairly regularly, often overnight. Now I only come when necessary to discuss family business. I’m the estate steward, as I believe I mentioned.”
“Yes, you did mention that. Twice now,” I said.
“As a matter of fact, the last time we were all here together was the night of Uncle Lionel’s death two years ago.”
“Oh really?” Verbina said.
“Yes, Mrs. Partridge. I remember that night well. So peculiar,” Mr. Wittenham said.
“Must you bring that up again? Can’t you let sleeping dogs lie?”
“No. Because it rattles my brain over and over. There are so many odd things about that evening I still can’t figure out. A random burglar coming on the grounds, which seems a strange thing to do since the house is so far from the main road…”
“They say he may have been a vagabond, staying in the garden shed, unbeknownst to anyone,” Simon said.
“Yes, I’m aware of what they said. Of what you said. Convenient, I say. And then this vagabond supposedly climbs that old tree outside Uncle’s window, enters, stabs him, steals his wallet and watch, and flees back out the window and down the tree.”
“That was the official report, yes,” Simon said, irritation in his voice.
“And your friend the inspector constable found Uncle’s empty wallet and his broken watch at the base of the tree. So strange.”
“What’s so strange about it?” Simon said.
“Well, for one thing, why was your father in bed, fully dressed including his shoes at that time of night, when we were all expecting him to return to the drawing room? After all, he’d said he was just going up to get a bromide.”
“Yes, he was having trouble with his indigestion again. I remember Wigglesworth bringing him a peppermint tea just after Mrs. Devlin served dessert. Perhaps the bromide didn’t help, and he decided to lie down for a bit. I guess we’ll never know for sure.”
“I guess we never will. Just like we’ll never know how that bloody handkerchief of yours ended up on the floor of his room,” Mr. Wittenham said, a wry smile on his face that for some reason made me want to slap him. “Funny how, even though you had motive and opportunity, and evidence was even found, the official result was that Uncle Lionel was killed by a random burglar.”
“You know, Walter, I never said anything to the authorities, but you had motive and opportunity to kill my father that night, also.”
“You must be joking,” Walter said, suddenly looking indignant.
“Not a laughing matter. It’s well known Father and I quarreled before dinner that night.”
“As you two often did.”
“Occasionally did. And Father jokingly told everyone at dinner he had cut me out of his will and was going to leave everything to you because you had produced a wife and heir, whereas I had not.”
“And still haven’t,” Walter said.
“What more motive would you need than that?” Simon said, ignoring Walter’s last comment. “Thinking you were to inherit Heatherwick and all that goes with her? Why not kill my father before he got the chance to change his mind.”
“Don’t be absurd. I knew Uncle was joking, we all did. Or maybe you’re the only one who didn’t. Maybe you killed him because you thought he was serious and you were angry.”
“I never wanted Heatherwick all that much, so I certainly wouldn’t have killed him over it.”
“But surely you were angry and embarrassed that night about your father bringing up your lack of interest in women to all of us. I recall you telling him at dinner in this very room that you had no interest in finding a princess and didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore, and he said something like, ‘maybe you just believe in fairies and would rather find one of those.’ Hmm, I wonder what he meant by that.”
“He was just trying to annoy me.”
“And he did a good job of it, I’d say. You must admit you’re over thirty now and still haven’t married. In fact, when is the last time you were even with a woman?”
“Vulgar. I think I’m through here,” Simon said, standing up abruptly and dropping his napkin on his plate.
“Likewise,” Walter said, getting to his feet as well. “On that we can agree. The food here is terrible. I’ll see myself out.”
Simon rang for service. “No, I’ll have Wigglesworth show you to the door. Can’t risk you pilfering the silver as you leave.”
“That’s fine,” Walter said. “You couldn’t afford to replace it. When your father died there was a fair amount of money in reserve, but you’ve blown through it in two years like a duck drinking water. All that travel and—”
“None of which is your concern,” Simon said, his voice rising.
Wigglesworth entered from the pantry as Simon and Walter stared daggers at each other and Verbina and I sat in stunned silence.
“Show Mr. Wittenham to the door and get his hat, Wigglesworth.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Mr. Wittenham looked at Auntie and me, and then at Simon. “Good day to you, Mrs. Partridge, Mr. Barrington. Simon, give my best to your friend Mr. Haines. I’m sure you’ll have a marvelous time together.” He strode briskly out, an angry smirk on his face, with Wigglesworth following behind.
When they had gone, Simon looked at each of us in turn. “I apologize for that. Family matters should not be shared, nor quarrels done in public. I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right, Simon. We understand, don’t we, Heath?”
“Yes, of course. I thought you handled yourself brilliantly. And I bet you could take him in a wrestling match,” I said.
Simon smiled unexpectedly. “Thanks for that. I need to speak with Wigglesworth. Please, finish your lunch. I’ll be right back.” He strode out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
“Well, that was certainly something,” Verbina said, pushing her plate away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Me too,” I said. “I can’t say I care for that Mr. Wittenham. He’s a drip and a crumb.”
“Meaning boring and uncouth,” Verbina said.
“Yes! That’s a humdinger, Auntie.”
“Meaning remarkable or outstanding. You see, I can speak your college slang, but I must continue to remind you, my dear, that you are a gentleman, and a gentleman does not talk like a sophomore in school.”
“I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right. But he is boring and uncouth, I think. I don’t like him.”
“Nor I. There’s something fishy about him. I wonder…”
“What do you wonder?” I said.
“Well, I’m no detective, but it seems to me that if Mr. Wittenham did believe Sir Lionel had changed his will in his favor, that would be a good motive indeed. Besides, he’s an Olympian. Simon said Mr. Wittenham could climb a tree like a monkey. Who better to get in a second-story open window and kill Sir Lionel?”
“A vagabond, that’s who,” I said, but I had to admit hers was an interesting theory.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But regardless, it’s none of our concern, remember that.”
Simon returned momentarily, and though I could see he was still visibly agitated, he put on his best face. “Anyone up for a game of whist?” he said.
“Oh, I do love card games, but I’m afraid I’m a bit tired. Would you mind terribly if I just went up to my room and rested for a while?” Verbina said, standing as I did the same.
“Not at all, please make yourself at home. It’s just past two thirty now. Shall I have Mrs. Devlin rouse you for tea?”
“Yes, please, thank you,” Verbina said. “I’m sure I’ll be much better after a brief nap.”
“I’ll have her call you at half past three,” Simon said as Verbina crossed to the door. I could tell her feet were killing her, but she’d never admit it in front of Simon.
“Have a good rest, Auntie,” I said.
“Thank you, dear.” She went out to the hall, closing the door behind us.
“Well, how about you, Heath? Two-handed whist?”
“I don’t know how to play, I’m sorry.”
“Oh bugger, but that’s all right. I’d say we could go for a walk in the gardens, but it’s started to rain,” he said, looking out at the rain-spattered windows. “Chess?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t know that, either.”
“Cribbage?”
My face brightened. “Yes, I know that one. I’ll warn you I’m not that good, though.”
“Excellent, then we shall play for money.”
“What?”
“Just having a laugh, Heath. I don’t get many of those, and I certainly need one after that unfortunate incident. Come on, let’s go to the study.”
“All right, lead the way,” I said. We walked into the corridor and crossed to the main hall.
“Come on, the study is just through that door to the left of the tapestry.”
“Where does the one on the right go?”
Simon paused. “To a small hall with a door on the right that leads to the library, a door on the left that also goes into the study, and one straight ahead that leads to the billiard room and a lavatory, which was carved out of the old gun room.”
“Gun room?”
“Yes, when the billiard room was added on, they also included a vestibule, an outside entrance, and a small gun room. That way the men of the house could go out to shoot game without traipsing through the great hall. Father wasn’t much for hunting, so he had the gun room converted to a toilet chamber. It’s the only lavatory on this floor, old house you know. Rather inconvenient from the dining room and drawing room, but there was no place else for it.”
“I suppose so,” I said. “Still, at least it’s indoors.”
He laughed at that, and I was glad. “Yes, not so much when the house was built.” He started moving forward again, toward the left door, and I followed behind, into the study. It was a decidedly masculine room, with dark paneling below solid green wallpaper, a beamed ceiling, and heavy gray and gold drapes that framed the three small windows. On the far wall was a massive marble fireplace with a painting of a distinguished gentleman above it.
“I hate English weather,” Simon said, staring out one of the windows at the rain. “Bloody hate it, but at least Wigglesworth has laid a fire. Light it for me, will you, while I get the cards and the cribbage board? There’s a match safe on the mantel.”
“Sure,” I said, walking over to it and doing as instructed. I was never a Boy Scout, but the fire lit on the first try, thanks most likely to Wigglesworth’s skills, not mine. I stood and held out my hands to the growing warmth.
“Ah, much better,” Simon said, coming up beside me as we both gazed at the flames taking hold of the tinder and the logs. “Sherry?”
“No, I’m fine for now, but please go ahead if you like.”
“I do like,” he said. “I’d offer you a martini, but I’d have to ask Mrs. Devlin for a pickle.”
It was my turn to laugh now. “That’s okay, I’m fine, it’s a bit early for me.”
“Suit yourself.” He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a small glass of sherry as the fire and the warmth grew.
“What’s this?” I said, pointing to an inscription carved into the granite fireplace surround.
He walked back over and looked where I directed. “Hmm? Oh, you mean Quem legari ad id tuam patres tui, Si tibi earn denuo possideres eam,” Simon said.
“Yes, what does it mean?”
“‘That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, earn it anew if thou wouldst possess it.’ It’s a quote by Goethe. My father used to recite that fairly regularly to me.”
“His way of saying you have to earn your keep?”
“Sort of, I think. He used to explain it by saying I would inherit this place, as he had, but I had to take care of it, make it mine, and earn the right to call it home. He told me his father used to say the same thing to him, and on and on, all the way back to old Sirus, I imagine, right after he had it inscribed.”
“Is that Sirus Quimby in the painting?” I said, pointing above the fireplace.
“Him? No, that old boy’s my grandfather, Lord Clarence Quimby. Always watching.”
“Oh. He’s handsome but stern looking.”
“Yes, he was rather a severe chap, I’m told. He died before I was born.”
“And passed everything on to your father, who in turn passed it to you.”
“Yes. I don’t know about my ancestors, but for me, earning my keep has been a daunting task. Sure you don’t want a sherry?”
“Thanks but no, not right now.”
“If you change your mind just say so. Shall we play?”
“Let’s.”
He brought his glass over to a small game table near one of the windows, not far from the fireplace, where he had set up the board and cards, and turned on a couple of lamps since it had grown rather dark inside. I followed him over and we sat across from each other at the table.
“Cut to see who deals?” Simon said.
“Fair enough,” I said. He won the deal, and we began the first game. We played easily, conversing about the weather, politics, and automobiles but avoiding the subject of his cousin, his father, finances, and the ill-fated lunch. Simon ended up winning both of the two games we played. “What do I owe you?”
“I was just having a laugh about playing for money, Heath. You don’t owe me anything. Want to play something else? Gin rummy, maybe? Surely you know how to play that.”
“I do, but I think I’m played out for now. Besides,” I said, glancing at the clock on the mantel below the painting, “it’s nearly four, teatime.”
“Blimey, you’re right, and I’ve forgotten to ask Mrs. Devlin to rouse your aunt.” He stood and rang the bell, which was answered shortly by Wigglesworth.
“Yes, my lord?” he said.
“Tell Mrs. Devlin to wake Mrs. Partridge for tea. We’ll have it in the hall. Better light the fire in there, too. This bloody weather…”
“Yes, sir,” he said, as he exited and closed the door behind him. Simon put his sherry glass away, and we went out into the hall over to a round table set in the bay window, surrounded by four chairs, opposite a massive fireplace. The windows in the bay looked out onto a flagstone terrace, with the lawns and gardens beyond that.
“Your groundskeeper Bigsby has his work cut out for him,” I said, staring through the rain-spattered glass. “The lawns, the gardens, the drive and all must keep him quite busy.”
“Yes, but we get a couple of young blokes from the village to do most of the heavy work. They report to Bigsby. It saves his pride, you know. Sometimes that’s all we have in life.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“I would hope people can show each other a little kindness and charity now and then, though lately it seems in short supply around here. Anyway, have a seat, won’t you?”
“Thanks,” I said, choosing a chair so I could both look out the window and at the hall. “This is such a large room.”
“The hall? Yes, I suppose it is. It connects the east and west wings of the house, and the ceiling is slightly higher than the rest of the rooms on this floor. I remember some grand Christmas parties here when I was just a small lad. There was always a large tree almost touching the ceiling, four and a half meters high, beautifully decorated. And there were lots of flowers, all kinds. There was dancing, too, with music from a small orchestra, and beautiful women in lovely gowns, handsome men in tuxedos with white tie and tails…”
I closed my eyes briefly, imagining it all. I could almost hear the music. “It must have been grand,” I said.
Simon looked thoughtful. “Yes, it was, once. But that was all a long time ago. This is the largest room in the house, but the furniture groupings help break it up. I like it because you have windows to the back here in the bay and windows to the front, on either side of the fireplace.”
“So I see. It’s spacious, yet intimate and well-lit.”
“Exactly. Yet I’m sure Mr. Haines will have some ideas on how to make it even more so.”
“I’m sure,” I said. I was envious the two of them would be here alone with Simon, and I wished I could stay on. “Have you known them a long time?”
“Not really. We’re more acquaintances than friends. We met in New York at the Saint Regis, in the bar, naturally. They seem like solid chaps, though. Ah, here’s your aunt now.”
I stood and saw Verbina coming in quickly, followed by Wigglesworth. She looked a bit harried.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, Simon, but I was fast asleep when Mrs. Devlin knocked.”
“My fault entirely, Mrs. Partridge. I forgot to ask her to wake you until it was nearly four. I do apologize.”
“He was engrossed in beating me at cribbage,” I said as Wigglesworth tended to starting a fire in the massive fireplace. “He won both games and skunked me once.”
“Oh, I do love cribbage. Perhaps we can play three-handed,” she said.
“That would be lovely,” Simon said. “We can play in here after tea. Let’s be seated, shall we?”
He rang the servant call button and then took a seat with us at the small round table in the bay window. Mrs. Devlin entered with a silver tea service and a small silver cake stand, and I watched entranced as she poured and served, never once spilling a drop. The tea was hot, and it was accompanied by all kinds of little cakes and cucumber sandwiches as delicious as those on the Queen Mary. I felt once more that I could get used to living like this.