Murderat Greydon Hall

Two short stories for you to enjoy

Florence Braysington pulled on her cloche hat, adjusted her fox fur and looked about for her umbrella. She was about to take her usual morning stroll around the grounds of Greydon Hall, despite the frightful weather.

However, her umbrella wasn’t amongst those in the large vase in the entrance porch. Nor was it hanging among the coats and mackintoshes along the wall. It wasn’t even with the trilbys on the hat stand. Florence turned to the huge oak chest that filled one corner of the porch and decided to look there.

She lifted the lid and froze.The colour drained from her face and, for a moment, she thought she might faint.

There, amongst the old shoes, cricket bats and tennis balls, was a body.

A man in a black suit and tie was lying cold and lifeless, staring at her from a pair of empty eyes. It was Tompkins – the manservant. She staggered backwards.

“Daddy!” She turned and dashed into the hall. Instead of her father, however, she collided with a dapper young man who caught her by the elbow to prevent her from falling. It was Mr Howard Brentsford.“I say, Florrie, are you all right? You don’t look well.”

Florence swallowed and shook her head. “It’s – it’s another dead body!” She gasped. Howard stared at her.

“It can’t be, Florrie,” he said.“You’re seeing things.” She took his hand and pulled him back through the doorway towards the open trunk. He stopped on the threshold and stared.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “We’ll get Weston to call the constabulary.You and I need a stiff drink.”

The Cleopatra tea rooms were heaving. It seemed everyone had taken the opportunity to meet up with friends.

“How are you feeling now, darling?” Florence’s friend, Miss Molly LumleySmyth, passed her a cup of sweet tea and patted her hand.

“I’m fine. It was just such a shock.” “I should think it was.”

“What about you, Howard? Will you be all right?” Florence turned to him, her dark eyes full of concern. I needed that whisky, but I shall be tickety-boo before long. It just brought it all back for a moment there.”

“I know what you mean.” Florence closed her eyes and shivered.

It was 18 months since she’d discovered the first body. She’d been staying with Molly’s family for a house party. She’d woken early and gone down to the drawing-room and found poor Helena Lumley-Smyth lying dead on the carpet.

The window was broken and she’d been hit over the head with a brass lamp.

Helena’s mother, Lady Constance, had never recovered, and Molly had lost her cousin and adopted sister.As for Howard, he’d been walking out with Helena and was heart-broken.“It’s awful finding one body in your lifetime, but two! You’ve been a brick, Florrie.” Howard gave her an admiring glance. She blushed and shook her head, smiling at him.

“I wouldn’t say that, but I wonder who killed him.Why would anyone want to murder Tompkins?”

Molly sighed.“Let the police worry about that,” she said, pursing her scarlet lips and patting her blonde bob.“Let’s eat this fabulous tea.”

Howard shrugged.“Well, it can’t have been a burglar this time.What sort of enemies does a manservant have?” “I’ve no idea,” Florence replied. Molly lit a cigarette, which she placed in a long black holder.“It was likely a servant,” she said dismissively. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Florence patted her hand.“Sorry, Molly. I don’t want to upset you, but it’s hard not to think about it.”

Howard nodded his agreement. Florence studied his face. He seemed to be coping well. He was dapper in his suit and brogues, with a scarf hanging loosely round his neck. He was a very handsome young man. She sighed and tried to focus on the crime that had been committed.

“There was an upset recently with one of the maids,” she remarked as the memory of an autumn afternoon returned to her. I say, what happened?”

“Well, Maud, one of our housemaids, created quite a stir when she threw a paperweight at Tompkins. He had a nasty lump on his head for weeks after.”

“Gosh! What did she do that for?” “She was sweet on him. I believe he’d taken her to the pictures once or twice, but then she saw him kissing Olive.” “Who’s Olive?”

Molly frowned.

“It doesn’t matter who Olive is.The point is that this Maud will be the one who killed Tompkins.”

“Olive works in the kitchen and certainly has a motive,” Florence added.“I think you’re right.A crime of passion. Do the police know about this?”

Florence smiled.“I don’t know, Howard, but they are questioning everyone. I’m sure they’ll find out very soon.”

“The sooner the better. Poor Lady Constance is awfully shaken up.”

Florence agreed. Lady Constance, Molly’s aunt – who had adopted her on her own parents’ deaths – had not recovered from Helena’s murder.

She was staying with Florence’s family at Greydon Hall for the winter, so was present when Tompkins was killed. Florence glanced at Molly. She hoped her friend was holding up, too. She appeared to be all right, but Molly often hid her feelings.“I think Molly’s right,” Florence said.“It’s time to leave everything to the police. Let’s enjoy this fabulous tea.” “Dearest, are you sure you’re all right?” Florence looked at her mother and smiled.“Yes, Mummy. I’ll be fine.The whole thing’s ridiculous.” Howard shook his head, a look of outrage on his handsome face.

“I nearly punched that rotten inspector.To have the nerve to suggest...”

Florence placed a hand on his arm.

“Honestly, I shall be fine.” He frowned.“Have another mimosa,” he said, filling her glass.“You must need it.” “Thank you.” They were sitting in the drawing-room having pre-dinner drinks. Florence’s father was in his study,berating the inspector.The others had gathered in the drawing-room.

It was cosy, despite the circumstances.A fire danced in the hearth, the lamps in the corner turned down low. Howard looked dashing in his dinner suit and bow tie, whilst the ladies were attired in splendid gowns.“I don’t understand it.” Lady Constance sat beside Florence’s mother, Mrs Amelia Braysington. She was a thin woman with a woebegone expression and violet gown, clutching a handkerchief.

“How could they accuse Florrie of murdering Tompkins and Helena? It was a foul burglar who harmed my girl.That’s what they told me.”

She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. Mrs Braysington frowned and patted her arm.“Pay no heed, Constance.”

Since the body had been discovered, the Constabulary had found a note in the victim’s pocket.A blackmail note, no less, which connected the two murders.

It appeared that Tompkins had discovered Helena’s killer and had decided to make himself rich by blackmailing the culprit. Since Florence

had found both bodies, the finger was now being pointed at her.

“I don’t understand it.” Howard’s forehead was creased.“Being unlucky enough to discover both bodies doesn’t make you a murderer.What motive do the police think you have?”

There was an awkward silence and Florence blushed scarlet. She wasn’t keen to divulge what the police had said, since it involved Howard himself.

The inspector had implied that she and Howard were lovers, that she’d murdered Helena to get Howard for herself, then murdered Tompkins to cover it up. She was flattered that some gossiping servants believed Howard was sweet on her, but it was all horribly embarrassing. Molly sipped her mimosa and cleared her throat.

“It’s utter tosh. Florence isn’t capable of murder. Perhaps Tompkins was in debt and made up a story to attempt blackmail,” she continued.“It wouldn’t have to be true – mud sticks.” “Perhaps you’re right.There was the broken window, after all, and this inspector doesn’t seem the most competent fellow,” Howard put in. Florence agreed.

“I’m sure it will soon be cleared up.Try not to worry.”

Mrs Braysington shook her head. “I hope so,” she replied.“I also hope your father’s not making things worse. Goodness knows what he’s saying to the inspector. He sounded horribly angry when I passed the door.”

Florence grinned ruefully. Daddy wasn’t the most tactful man at the best of times, but at least he was defending her.

“I’ve been wondering.” Howard looked thoughtful. “Didn’t the police look into that maid – Maud?”

“They did, but apparently she wasn’t here. Daddy had given her the day off to visit her sick mother.”

“Oh, bad luck.Who else would want to kill him?”

Molly lit one of her cigarettes. “Isn’t it time to go in for dinner?” she asked, frowning. Florence turned to her with concern. She looked stunning, her blonde bob freshly waved and a silver gown clinging to her slim figure, but she didn’t seem herself.This second murder had brought back a lot of unhappy memories. The sooner it was solved the better. “What about the kitchen maid, Olive?” Howard looked up. “Maybe she’d fallen out with Tompkins, too. Perhaps they’d had a tiff or he’d found another girl.”

“A brilliant suggestion.” Florence beamed at him.“You are clever, Howard. I shall question some of the servants to see what I can find out.”

“I’ll help you.” He smiled and briefly took her hand. Florence felt a flutter in her chest. Molly rolled her eyes and yawned.“It really must be time for dinner now,” she said. “This is all horribly unsettling,” Howard remarked.“I do hope you’re truly all right.The way you’re coping – well, it’s absolutely marvellous.” He reddened and Florence peeped up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Why, thank you, Howard, but I’m sure the police will discover the real culprit eventually.” “Still, to actually accuse you.” Howard shook his head. “It’s all jolly shocking.”

She smiled and linked her arm through his as they strolled down the lane.

A thin powdering of snow crunched under their feet and an unusual hush blanketed the world. Only the notes of a blackbird, hopping along the hedge beside them, disturbed the quiet. They wandered on aimlessly, enjoying the crisp air and their escape from the house.

“It was getting frightfully tense, wasn’t it?” Howard remarked.

“Yes.” Florence shook her head. “Poor Daddy’s still furious, and Mummy is terribly worried.”

“Not to mention Lady Constance moping around like a wet weekend.

“Your friend Molly is a bit out of sorts, too, isn’t she? I’ve always thought her quite a lively girl, but she’s not been saying much.”

Florence agreed. Molly definitely wasn’t herself. Tompkins’s murder had upset her a great deal. “Poor Molly, I think she misses Helena. It’s bad enough that her parents died when she was a baby, then to lose a cousin who was more like a sister . . .”

Howard shook his head and looked thoughtful. “I daresay you’re right. It’s a ghastly business.” He glanced at her. “Would you mind if we visited the graveyard while we’re out? I haven’t been in a while and we’re heading in that direction.”

“Of course.” Florence nodded. “It would be good to go.”

“Are you sure?” Howard glanced at her doubtfully. “You’re not cold?”

“Oh, no.” Florence laughed. “Molly loaned me this wonderful fur coat. It’s like being snuggled up in bed.”

They turned down a lane to their left, through an avenue of beech trees, the branches of which cast lacy patterns across the pale sky.

They opened the lychgate of the old parish church and made their way round to an area by the wall, where many of the Lumley-Smyths were buried.They found Helena’s grave, brushed snow from the lettering and stood quietly side by side. Before long, Florence felt her eyes filling and she reached into her pocket, searching for a handkerchief. Instead, she pulled out a piece of paper.There was something familiar about it, so she opened it. She swayed suddenly and felt Howard’s arm go around her.“Are you all right?” he asked gently. “Howard, look at this.” Florence passed him the piece of paper and he read it slowly, his eyes widening. “It’s another one of Tompkins’s blackmail letters.Where did that come from?” “My coat pocket!”

He looked at her blankly, then he turned pale.“Didn’t you say that Molly loaned you her coat?”

Florence nodded, afraid to acknowledge what she was thinking. “How could Molly have Tompkins’s blackmail letter? Florrie, was Tompkins blackmailing Molly?”

“I’ve no idea, but if he was, then . . .” Howard nodded, a grim expression crossing his features. He helped Florence to a bench and they sat down, nestling together in the cold. He took her hand.

“Florrie, I know Molly’s your friend, but this doesn’t look good.” Florence bit her lip.“She couldn’t have.” “We were just saying how strangely she’s been acting, and she never wants to discuss the murders.”

Florence had to admit the truth of his words, but surely it couldn’t be.

“Why?” she asked.“Why would she kill either of them?”

Howard sighed and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Florence’s cheek.

“We know Tompkins was murdered because he was blackmailing someone, and that someone had also murdered Helena. “Has it occurred to you that, on Helena’s death, Molly became the sole beneficiary of Lady Constance’s vast wealth?”

Florence gasped, turning as pale as the snow scattered on the gravestones around her. It was true – Molly would inherit everything, but Florence still couldn’t believe it of her.

Could her own dear friend really have murdered Helena Lumley-Smyth for Lady Constance’s money, and Tompkins for blackmailing her?

It seemed utterly impossible. The Black Cat club was full; every dining table was taken. Gentlemen in evening dress accompanied ladies wearing long strings of beads and feather headdresses. Florence and Howard had a table in the corner with a good view of the room.“Have some champagne,” Howard urged Florence.“We’re going to have as much fun as possible this evening.”

She couldn’t help but enjoy Howard’s company, though it was hard to have fun when one’s best friend had been arrested for double murder.A couple of days before, the inspector had interviewed Molly. She was presented with the evidence, including a witness statement from the kitchen maid, Olive, who had apparently known all about Tompkins’s scheme. She had crumpled and confessed.

“At least Helena has justice now and Lady Constance knows the truth.”

Florence nodded.This did give her some comfort.

“I can’t bear to see you looking so glum.” Howard was regarding Florence, a crease between his eyebrows.

She tried to pin a smile on her face. He had been kind enough to ask her out tonight to cheer her up, so she mustn’t let him down.

“I shall be fine,” she assured him.“It will just take a while to come to terms with all this.”

Howard nodded.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. The music had changed to a waltz and he led her to the floor.As soon as she was in his arms, she felt better.

“I wanted to tell you,” he whispered, holding her close,“that I was saying goodbye to Helena when we went to the graveyard.”

She held her breath.

“You see, I’m in love with someone else now.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and he kissed her tenderly.

She smiled a smile of genuine happiness. Perhaps she’d come to terms with everything sooner than she’d thought.

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