In the Crypt with a Candlestick Page 11

  CHAPTER 25

  ‘Well I don’t know who killed her,’ Alice replied, irritably. ‘I’m not sure that anyone did.’ She had come to Tode Hall as Fun Manager, not chief murder investigator. No matter what all the grandmothers in the world seemed to think, Emma Tode’s death was none of her business. She didn’t want to get involved. ‘The police think she tripped over. She probably did. That’s what Egbert and India think, and they should know. Mr Carfizzi actually found her. He told me the same…’

  ‘Never mind Carfizzi,’ Geraldine Tode dismissed him. ‘I wouldn’t believe a word that cretin has to say on the matter. Queer as a coot, like all the rest of them. Infatuated with Emma. Like only a left footer could be.’ She glanced at Alice, noted confusion: ‘Catholic queers are the worst of all, Alice… They’re tortured by it. Carfizzi worshipped Emma. Enough to kill her, without a doubt… Although of course, as I assume you will have worked out by now, whom he really adores is Dominic. Carfizzi loathes Dominic and yet adores him. And they both adored Emma. Emma, bless her, never gave a damn about either of them. Nor anyone else, frankly. Nor anything…’ She considered it. ‘Well, she cared about being adored, obviously. And sex. She cared about sex and being adored… But they tend to be the same, don’t they? With the female narcissist.’

  ‘Well this is all very interesting,’ Alice said wearily.

  ‘Dead right, it is,’ Geraldine Tode replied. ‘I wouldn’t still be hanging around if it weren’t, I dare say… Or maybe I would…’ She glanced at Alice, her bright little eyes revealing, in one moment, the infinite pit of her confusion. But it only lasted a moment. ‘In any case,’ she said, ‘that’s for another time… Les mystères de l’univers… [An abominable French accent.] I’ve been dead nearly fifty years, Alice dear, and these things are still no clearer to me.’

  ‘That’s incredibly disappointing,’ agreed Alice.

  ‘I think it may be Hell,’ Geraldine said, briskly. ‘On a brighter note, I get a feeling your new employer, Mrs Tode of Wandsworth, also has a touch of the narcissist about her. Do you think so? It’s probably why she and Emma set each other’s teeth on edge… More importantly, what do you make of Carfizzi? I wouldn’t trust him an inch.’

  Alice remembered his hostile behaviour in the mausoleum; also how he’d lied to Violet about Dominic Rathbone. He probably did have something to hide. Plenty to hide, even… But then again, after a certain point in life, didn’t everyone? Alice shook her head. ‘He seems like a nice enough chap,’ she said.

  ‘Nonsense!’ scoffed Lady Tode. ‘You don’t believe that!’

  Maybe she didn’t. But it wasn’t the point. ‘Well, that’s your opinion,’ Alice said. ‘But all this finger pointing – it’s not getting us anywhere, is it? Anyway, I’m sure if there had been any funny business, the police would’ve been onto it by now. And I really don’t think—’

  ‘You’re not listening. There are so many suspects in this case, it makes one’s head ache simply trying to list them. And it’s not that one minds, exactly. That is – one certainly has no intention of reporting anything to the police. God forbid.’

  ‘I don’t see how you could, anyway,’ Alice said. ‘All things considered. I don’t think the police would take you very seriously… Anyway… It’s been very interesting meeting you, Lady Tode. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go back to bed. Unlike you, I have to get up in the morning.’

  Geraldine continued just as if Alice hadn’t spoken. ‘Nevertheless it simply isn’t healthy, to hover in this sort of ignorance. If there’s been a murder, one ought to be told. You must agree, Alice. Otherwise it leaves one suspecting tout le monde…’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Which is why I need you, Alice, dear, to help me find out what actually happened. Emma didn’t “fall over” in that terrible place! She was lured in there by devious means, we know not which… And then knocked on the head and left for dead. Either by Carfizzi, who adored her, or by poor Mad Ecgbert, who adored her. Or by—’

  ‘Ecgbert didn’t kill his mother,’ snapped Alice. Geraldine Tode noted this, filed it away with a private smirk.

  ‘Of course it could have been Dominic. It might well have been Dominic… Or it could easily have been India, who loathed Emma, by the way. Those two women were at loggerheads from the moment she set foot in the house. As one might expect…’

  ‘Oh nonsense! Why would Dominic want to kill her? Why would anyone want to kill her? And as for India – it’s ridiculous. This whole conversation is ridiculous.’ Alice glanced at the broken laptop, and beside it, the discarded gentleman’s shoe. Even if those two items were still sitting there on the kitchen table tomorrow, she told herself, it didn’t mean this conversation had ever taken place.

  She’d smoked too much cannabis before bedtime. Plus – she was in a new house, and a long way from home: all these factors were bound to give her unusually vivid dreams. ‘You’d better be a dream,’ she muttered. ‘Either way, I’m very tired and I want to go back to bed.’

  Geraldine Tode considered Alice for a moment. She said: ‘Emma was murdered. There’s no doubt about it. The question is, by whom?’ She slapped her hand on the table, but on this occasion it made no sound because her hand didn’t stop at the wood. ‘That is what we have to find out!’

  There followed a moment of stillness and then, softly, Geraldine’s teacup began to shake. The sugar pot shook, and continued to shake. It shook so much the lid flew open. Alice looked at it with terror – this, more than anything tonight, was what frightened her. She heard Geraldine chuckling, glanced up and was confronted by her face, gently contorting, its lower half – the jaw and smiling mouth – twisting like rubber; and then the nose and eyes and forehead following, and continuing the twist, transforming into a small, tunnel-like whirl; the neck and shoulders and the silky pantsuit merged and joined the dance, the whole of her whirling and twirling into a slim tunnel that swivelled and curled and twisted around the kitchen. It twisted faster, until a vapour began to rise from the mass; green and smelling of methane; and all the while, Geraldine, Lady Tode, continued to chuckle.

  Alice could do nothing but stare. She said: ‘Stop laughing!’

  Which made what was left of Lady Tode – the wisping, whirling, stinking tunnel of green vapour – laugh even more, even harder. And then, without warning, the twirling stopped and the tunnel of vapour fired toward the open sugar bowl and dived inside. The lid snapped shut. The smell was gone. The room was quiet. All that was left of Geraldine Tode was her teacup, filled, as it ever was, with her ice cold tea.

  CHAPTER 26

  Alice woke to the sound of India banging loudly on the front door, shouting at her to get out of bed. She opened her eyes and glanced at the time. It was ten o’clock. Her alarm must have been blaring for the past two hours.

  She stumbled downstairs in her kaftan/dressing gown, full of apologies. India, understandably, looked quite put out.

  ‘Get it together, Alice!’ she said, standing on the doorstep in mud-spattered Lycra biking gear and wellington boots. ‘We’ve got a big meeting to introduce you to everyone starting in exactly one hour!… What happened? It’s your first day on the job! You can’t just – not turn up!’

  Alice apologised. ‘Bit of a weird night,’ she said.

  India sniffed. ‘Is that ganja I smell?’

  Alice sniffed. ‘I don’t think so…’

  ‘It is, you know.’ India grinned. ‘You naughty old thing. Don’t worry. Promise I won’t tell Egg.’ She winked at Alice, pushed back the front door and, without invitation, stepped into Alice’s hall. The smell of cannabis was faint, but distinct – if not to Alice, who carried it in her clothes, and in her nostrils, then to India, fresh from a twenty-mile bike-athon around the Yorkshire countryside. India suggested making them both some coffee while Alice dressed, and Alice – clearly on the back foot – had little option but to agree.

  The door to the kitchen was closed. As Alice opened it, she remembered how she’d
left the room last night: the abandoned teacups, the tarnished sugar dispenser. After Geraldine Tode’s disappearing act she’d scarpered, fast as she could. Now, suddenly, it was vital to Alice, though she wasn’t sure why, that India didn’t spot the sugar dispenser. If she saw it, she might want to take it away. And if India took the sugar dispenser, she would take Geraldine Tode with her too. Alice did not want that. She very much wanted to see Geraldine again. This realisation hit her with some force, and took her by surprise.

  She said to India, ‘Take off your boots will you?’ and moved quickly ahead of her to the kitchen table.

  Behind her, India laughed. ‘You’ve been living in London too long. Nobody takes their boots off around here. There’s no point.’

  ‘Why’s that then?’ Alice snatched up the sugar dispenser and stuffed it under the remains of Kveta’s clean laundry pile.

  ‘… About as pointless as taking a towel into the bathtub with you… It’s not going to keep you dry.’

  Alice searched for the teacups. They were gone.

  ‘Come on in then. I’m fussing.’

  India already had. She stood at the open kitchen door, smiling her dazzling smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d be the type to bother about that kind of thing! Where do you keep the coffee – Holy ker-rumpers, Alice!’ She had spotted the broken computer, still on the table. ‘What the hell happened there?’

  ‘Oh yes…’ Alice mumbled. The computer… the shoe… she’d forgotten them both. Her head was still fuzzy with sleep. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal to India about her previous night’s adventures. ‘Yes – I’m afraid I dropped it. I’m so sorry…’

  India said: ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘No… actually it’s not. It sort of fell off the shelf when I was looking for the… I can’t even remember… I’m so sorry. I was going to take it into Todeister – try and get it fixed.’

  But India had already scooped it up. She was holding it close to her chest. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  ‘But I dropped it,’ Alice said. ‘I can do it…’ She stepped forward to take it back again, but India clung tight.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got it. I’ll do it. In fact – I’m going to take it back to the house right now. How about you get dressed and come on over as soon as you can? We’ve got a big meeting this afternoon. Mega.’ India grinned, her good cheer already restored. ‘I’m going to show you off to everyone and we’re going brainstorm and you and I are going to dream up with some fab, fun ideas to put this house on the map? OK?… OK Alice? Are you ready for that?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Alice politely. ‘One hundred per cent.’

  CHAPTER 27

  The contrast between the silk and gilt extravagance of the family and public rooms at Tode Hall, and the meanness of the wing which housed its Estate Offices was embarrassing: a sharp reminder of what a mean old bastard the late Sir Ecgbert 11th must have been as an employer.

  The offices comprised five separate rooms: one for India, one for Egbert, one for Alice, and two larger ones that were shared by the finance man, who was mostly based in Darlington, and various secretaries and managers.

  At the end of a long and dingy corridor there was also a staff room where instant coffee and a kettle were provided, along with a desultory collection of mustard yellow 1970s sofas. In the middle of the room eight Formica-top tables with plastic seats had been arranged in a U-shape. This was the room where India’s ‘mega meeting’ was due to take place.

  * * *

  Aside from young Egbert, only four other people turned up. India, sitting at the head of the Formica island, a pretty Paperchase notebook before her, expressed a little annoyance at the low turnout. She had wanted to make a splash. However, everyone who failed to turn up appeared to have a reasonably good excuse, so there was no point in her making a scene. Also, which wasn’t mentioned, but which hung in the air, after two months on the job, India’s ‘mega meetings’ had developed a bad reputation: India, it was agreed, tended to waste everyone’s time with an unending stream of silly suggestions, only to take enormous offence when nobody (except Egbert) supported them.

  She could as easily have offered useful suggestions. The staff wouldn’t have supported them either. They were old, long ensconced and stuck in their ways; implacably hostile to young people, to Londoners, and above all, to anyone who might attempt to replace Lady Tode. Since the day she arrived India had been met by a wall of unhelpfulness – she’d never experienced anything quite like it.

  She had been born, whether she knew it or not, with more charm than most of England altogether, and she was accustomed to people falling at her feet. Her staff’s relentless surliness came as a real shock to her and, as her husband knew only too well, she was finding it difficult to cope.

  But now, here they were beneath the strip lighting, side by side in this most dismal of rooms; Egbert on one seat, looking kind and serious, and wanting to help; Alice on another, thinking about ghosts and smelling of ganja; and only four others, all female, all over fifty-five years old; all looking quite disagreeable.

  ‘Right then!’ said India, with her brave and dazzling smile. ‘Shall we get started?’

  ‘Good idea!’ Egbert replied. ‘Brilliant idea, India! Let’s get started!’

  ‘Right then!’ she said again. ‘Well there’s lots to discuss, as always. Loads of ideas, and I’d love to hear any new ones. Any suggestions at all. I’m literally all ears! So please, I’ve said it before, but I really, really do mean it: don’t be shy! I want us to work together to make this a fun place to be! A place where everyone wakes up in the morning and says to themselves, “Hooray! It’s a work day today!”’ This was meant to be a joke.

  Egbert threw back his head: ‘HA HA HA HA!’

  Alice smiled.

  India rolled her eyes, smiled at her husband. ‘Thanks, Eggie!’ she said. ‘Obviously that was a joke! I don’t really expect anyone to think “hooray it’s a work day”. That would be silly. But I would like people to enjoy their work. If possible. So – first things first! Everyone say hello to Alice! As you know, Alice has joined the team here at Tode Hall to help me, help you, help us… And she’s going to come up with loads of brill, fab, fantastic ideas to get this fantastic, amazing, beautiful house Back on the Map!’

  A long pause. One of the disagreeable women said, in a flat Yorkshire tone: ‘I wasn’t aware it’d ever gone off the map.’

  The other ones smirked.

  ‘You’re quite right!’ replied India, delighted anyone was saying anything at all. ‘That’s a great point, Mrs Danvers. Thank you for making it. Of course Tode Hall hasn’t “gone off the map”! That would be mad. Or magic. Or something. What I meant – well, I think you know what I meant really, don’t you? Just – what we want is to add some SPARKLE to the place! Get people talking about it again. Get some film people up here filming a mega blockbuster. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Spider-Man at Tode Hall! Think about it! How many of you were here when they did Prance? I bet that was fun wasn’t it? Or maybe a pop video – anything fun like that! I’m just trying to highlight the idea that, you know, historic houses don’t have to be historic! And actually – Alice, Eggie – I think that’s a really good point I’ve just made there. What do you think? Maybe that could be our slogan. Like: “Tax doesn’t have to be taxing!” Remember that? Of course you do. So – you know, we could have a sort of “slogo”, as I call it: “Historic houses don’t have to be historic!”…’ She looked around the room.

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Egbert. ‘Absolutely brilliant, India! What do you think, Alice? Would you get the T-shirt? “Historic houses don’t have to be historic”… I LOVE IT! Any thoughts, ladies?’

  A long, long pause. Above their heads, the strip lighting ticked.

  Alice said: ‘Well, I’d get the T-shirt. Why not? Sounds fun.’ She didn’t mean it, obviously. But there was nothing else to say, and somebody had to say it.

  Mrs Danvers, arms crossed
over skinny bosom, sitting back on her plastic seat, said that she didn’t agree: ‘Doesn’t make any sense though, does it? I mean – if you’re saying a house is historic, then it’s historic, isn’t it? It’s not a broad bean. It’s a historic house.’

  ‘A broad bean?’ repeated India, still smiling. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘No well you wouldn’t would you? That’s because it doesn’t make sense.’

  At which, all the disagreeable women stopped smirking and started laughing.

  India, still confused, understanding only that she was being mocked, looked from one laughing face to the next, and then to her husband, who was smiling, but in a panicky way, and then to Alice. Alice could see that India was about to cry, or lose her temper: one or other, and as Fun Manager, she felt it was clearly within her remit to try to do something to help. Also she felt sorry for India, who was obviously trying; and faintly revolted by the older women, for ganging up on her. So she smiled at India, but in a non-panicky way; she rolled her eyes at the giggling women, and said:

  ‘It’s not very helpful, really, to be banging on about broad beans. India’s talking about getting a slogan to advertise the house. It’s a good idea. Why don’t we talk about it?’

  The women ignored Alice and continued to snigger. ‘Come on, ladies,’ pleaded Egbert. ‘Let’s be sensible!’ But it seemed they couldn’t. After so many years of turning up to work in those dowdy offices and failing to see the humour in anything, ever, this one joke had set them off. They were hysterical.

  India’s eyes were smarting. The skin on her beautiful face and neck had flushed into unpretty patches. She watched the women, whom she’d tried so hard to charm – and tears spilled down her mottled cheeks, and her mouth became a cold hard line. She picked up her Paperchase notebook and stood up.

  ‘All right then,’ she said, in her soft, sweet voice, ‘be like that!’ And, to the sound of the women’s snorts, she swept out of the room.