“Well, I must say,” Mrs. Malloy confided into my ear when we were out into the hall, “you’re coming along a treat. I think Milk will be pleased when I put in my report, but don’t expect him to gush all over you, Mrs. H., because he’s not that sort of man. Keeps his emotions to himself, he does, on account of being let down hard by that blonde he had to send up the river.”
“You don’t suppose she could have been Cynthia and that some senseless clod of a prison warden set her loose on society again?” I had not taken to Mrs. Edmonds in a big way and had cut short the chitchat by telling a little white lie.
“That was a good one,” Mrs. Malloy continued to whisper, “telling them two lovebirds in there as how Lady Krumley had asked you to look for some old pieces of furniture that might still be stored in the house. Gives us a good excuse for poking around from cellar to attic.”
“And for talking to that Mrs. Hasty who lives in the cottage with the well in the garden and was here at the same time as Ernestine. Of course it’s hoping for a lot that she’ll be able to tell us anything very useful. But we won’t start with her. I think we should first take a look at that skirting board in Lady Krumley’s bedroom where the brooch was so conveniently rediscovered.”
“Right you are, Mrs. H.,” Mrs. Malloy replied with a meekness that demanded a suspicious glance. The staircase loomed to our left, a stuffed bird under a glass dome eyed us speculatively and Watkins the butler stood in an open doorway with a silver candlestick in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other.
“May I be of help?” The hall echoed with his oncoming footsteps. He was looking at my bag as if suspecting that I had somehow managed to stuff the rest of the family silver in it.
“Aren’t you a handy one to have around.” Mrs. Malloy moistened her lips and twitched a hip. “We didn’t even have to tinkle.”
“Even so you may wish to know the powder room is to your left.”
Mrs. Malloy’s response was a Shirley Temple giggle that set my teeth on edge, but produced no change of expression on Watkins’s face. “I was talking about one of them little brass bells. But I expect they do things on a bigger scale here and use a bell rope. Quite the country estate, this place with cottages at the bottom of the garden and all. I’ll bet you’re on the go from morn till night, never giving your poor tootsies a rest.”
“I was seated, madam, when I heard you talking with this other lady out in the hall.” He eyed me with a wariness made understandable given that Mrs. Malloy, and I were standing shoulder to shoulder. “I wondered if you might require directions to one or more of the rooms.”
“Exactly right,” I replied. “We would like to take a look at her ladyship’s bedroom. During our consultation with her the other day, my partner and I suggested it might be the place to begin the redecorating.”
“Her own personal space, setting the tone for all the rest, if you see what we’re getting at Mr. Watkins.” Mrs. Malloy still sounded unbearably girlish. “And after what happened to that poor gentleman, the one what came and left so abruptly, well, it does seem likely Lady Krumley would tend to find the room she used a bit gloomy were it to stay the same. So we’ll take a look at that one too, and see if we can’t cheer it up with some bright curtains and new hot water bottle cover.”
“Mr. Vincent Krumley slept in the room that is the second to the left at the top of the stairs. Her ladyship’s is two doors to the right. Would you wish me to escort you?” Watkins creaked another few steps toward us.
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” I said.
“You just go and enjoy yourself polishing that candlestick.” Mrs. Malloy beamed at him.
“I just finished polishing it, madam.”
“The light,” I murmured. “It’s not good. We’ll make a note,” I said, taking Mrs. Malloy by the arm, “about a new hall chandelier.” Upon Watkins’s retreat into the room from whence he had come I led the way upstairs for about half a mile before pausing to pant on a small landing. It was provided with a bench, where one could sit and adjust to the altitude or admire the view below.
“So I put me foot in it.” Mrs. Malloy wheezed while bending over and clutching at a wooden arm. “But how was I to know what with all that tarnish he’d left.”
“Her ladyship did say he wasn’t up to the standard of her former butler.”
“It slipped me mind.”
“It might not have done, if you hadn’t been so busy dimpling at the man.” I staggered upward, shifting the bag from one arm to the other, “But I have to give you points for finding out where Vincent slept. It’s a stretch, but you might find something in his suitcase or a drawer that could provide us with a hint as to why someone decided he needed to be got out of the way.” We had reached the top and were leaning against the banister railing. All was dark brown varnish, dimness and shadow, the only window being the stained glass one behind us at the final bend in the stairs.
“So you want me to check out Vincent’s final resting place so to speak, while you do Lady Krumley’s bedroom?” Mrs. Malloy sounded as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to take umbrage.
“You’re far more experienced, having had more than one husband, at going through men’s pockets and knowing where they hide things when they want to be sneaky, than I am.”
“Every little piece of expertise helps in this line of work.” She was clearly appeased. “Well, off we go! Me left and you right. And let’s make it snappy. We’ve a lot of ground to cover while we’re here. Have to hope there’s lightbulbs in the bedrooms, not just candles-seems her ladyship likes to keep to the old ways.”
“It’s daylight.”
“You could have fooled me, Mrs. H.!”
“There’ll be windows.”
“Ha!”
There were indeed several windows in Lady Krumley’s bedroom. Unfortunately, they were so heavily draped with curtains of undeterminable color that only narrow strips of glass were exposed. A few faint slivers of light managed to creep around the enormous four-poster bed that was itself swathed, from ceiling to floor, in some tapestry material. I felt very much like Pip groping his way toward Miss Haversham. It would not have surprised me if a family of mice had run over my feet or my searching hands had become entangled in a tattered veil of cobwebs. Fortunately one of them located the light switch instead, and the room became fairly decently illuminated. Nothing, short of hauling out all the furniture, could have made it cheerful. But it was neither cobwebby nor dusty. I forgot that I wasn’t really here to redecorate and, after setting down my bag on a table under a portrait of a woman who looked as though she had died before it was painted, wandered about the room, sizing it up. It was large and well-proportioned. And if the hideous marble was removed from the fireplace and replaced with a mellow brick or tile it would make a world of difference. I was picturing a peachy faux finish on the walls and copper wall lights on either side of the bed, which perhaps could be made to do to the point of becoming a magnificent focal point if stripped of its dreary tester and hangings. My mood was turning quite dreamy-a soft-colored whirl of Irish linens, plaids and toiles. No chintz. It would be quite out of character for Lady Krumley. I came back to the real task at hand when I stood in front of her dressing table, where she claimed to have left the emerald brooch before it disappeared. It was now crowded with framed photographs, many of Niles, and an assortment of boxes and bud vases that, knowing her ladyship, I guessed she had been given and felt obliged to keep and display. The mirror that needed resilvering cast a distorted reflection back at me. My eyes looked haunted, my nose off center. Behind me the furniture-a wardrobe and several tallboys-seemed to be crowding in on me, growing taller and wider until they became one giant barrier to the world outside this room. My heart started to hammer. I leaned forward to rest my hands on the dressing table. I thought I heard something. A shifting of position… a scratching… a rustling. Then mental clarity returned. I wondered why the bed had been positioned where it was instead of on the long wall facing the fireplace and closer to the door. A moment later my head was literally in a whirl-a terrifying, screeching, wing-beating darkness grew around me. I don’t like birds, not indoors. Not even so much as a trapped sparrow. And now they surrounded me. Bolts of feathered fury, diving at my head, slamming into windows, walls and furniture. Everything they hit made its own sound. Even though I covered my ears while cowering on the floor, there was no muffling that piercing cacophony. I thought if I could reach the bed, I might be able to get under it. But they seemed to sense what I was about. They pecked at my shoes as I crawled. They were on my back, in my hair. At this point of utmost terror I felt a hand close around my neck. I couldn’t scream. My voice had been beaten deep inside me, but I struggled upright on my knees and lashed out with my arms. I felt rather than heard whoever it was retreat. And a calm descended on me. I recognized the birds for what they were: not some gothic horror, but a weapon unleashed upon me by the human villain of Moultty Towers. As I struggled to my feet the birds thinned out. Their mind-tearing sound began to fade, and only the occasional flutter disturbed the air. The rectangle of solidified darkness that had to be the wardrobe momentarily displayed a crack of light, and I rushed toward it, pawing for the door. I had it open, and someone sprang, pushing me back so that I was again down on my knees, but only for a second. I was back up and blundering in what I hoped was the direction of the door. If I reached it I could find the light switch. I needed the clarity of electric light. I was there. My hand made contact at the instant my legs were grabbed. But before pitching forward I swung around and grabbed at a hank of hair.
“Got you!” I hung on for dear life.
“Ouch!” It was a familiar voice, and I dropped my hand like a rock.
A flutter of wings punctuated the ensuing silence. And then one of us-I wasn’t sure which-turned on the light. Mrs. Malloy and I faced each other. Her hat was gone and her eyelashes were both askew. Otherwise she appeared not too much the worse for wear.
“You’ve got feathers in your hair.” She eyed me as if this were some ghastly breach of etiquette. “But at least you’re you. Although I’m not so sure I should be pleased. We’d be a lot closer to that five thousand pounds if I’d been about to capture Vincent Krumley’s murderer like I thought.”
“You hid in the wardrobe.” I was looking around the room. There were plenty of feathers and white splotches on the furniture, but not a blackbird in sight.
“I was plotting me next move.”
“Very sensible.” I dropped down on a chair, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion.
“Just what happened here, Mrs. H.?”
“Birds.”
“I know that.” She stood over me, looking severe. “They were bloody well everywhere when I opened the door. They converged when I reached for the light switch, like they knew what I was up to and weren’t going to let me. I got down on me knees and was floundering around when I bumped into you. If you’d screamed like someone sensible I’d have known it was you, and we wouldn’t have ended up chasing each other around like two cats.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Proper shook up aren’t you, and no wonder. I only wish I had some brandy to give you. But there, there, Mrs. H., Roxie’s here for you.” She did the unthinkable for her-bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “Think they came in through the windows? It’s how they got out. I saw the last one go.”
“I didn’t realize with all that curtaining that any of them were open.” I got to my feet. “But no, I don’t think that’s how they came in. Why would they? We’re not talking about a swarm of killer bees. Someone set them loose. A whole cage full of them I would imagine. Someone who wanted us to believe that Flossie’s deathbed cruse was again at work.”
“To scare us away from Moultty Towers.” Mrs. Malloy picked up her hat and set it back on her blonde hair.
“To give us something to report to Lady Krumley. To keep her shivering in her hospital bed. The original plan may have been to enact the performance when she was in this room, wakened perhaps out of a deep nighttime sleep.”
“A good way to give her another heart attack.”
“True, but adjustments have to be made. And we provide a credible pair of witnesses.”
“So how do you think they got into the room, Mrs. H.? Through the door? It could have been opened a crack…”
“Too risky.” I had been walking in circles and now turned to face her. “I’ve got another idea. It struck me that the bed is in the wrong place. And there is something else. Sir Horace’s dressing room adjoined this one, which means there has to be another door. But where is it? What if after his death Lady Krumley could not bear looking at it and had the bed moved to conceal it? Look at all those hangings, not just at the sides but along the back. It would have been the simplest thing in the world for someone to enter Sir Horace’s room with the birdcage, open the connecting door and release the birds through the folds of fabric.”
“Hold on a tick.” Mrs. Malloy’s rump became the room’s focal point as she crawled over the bed. “Let’s see if you’ve got it right.” Her head momentarily disappeared into a flurry of tapestry, before she returned whole and triumphantly to view. “Just like you said.” She bounded onto the floor, which was quite an accomplishment given the four-inch heels. “Now I suppose you’ll want to try and figure out how whoever it was trapped them dratted birds.”
“Any ideas?” I was standing at the dressing table mirror plucking black fluff and feathers out of my hair.
“Well, it seems to me, Mrs. H., the easiest way would be if they was in the house to begin with. Where would they most likely get in is the question, and seems to me it would be through some gap or missing tile in the roof. And what’s under the roof is the attic. Put some birdseed in a couple of cages, and somehow rig the door to close once a nice group of them was inside. Wouldn’t require more than time and patience. Think we ought to take a look at them attic?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Malloy. But first I should take a look at the skirting board where Lady Krumley’s maid found the brooch. It’s why I came in here.” I was still looking in the dressing table mirror, plucking at my hair. “Did you have any luck in Vincent Krumley’s room?”
“Not really. That little dog of his-it was a Maltese terrier-was lying on the bed looking all mournful like and it made me feel a bit awkward, like I was out to rob the dead. I kept trying to explain meself and apologizing. There was a suitcase on a chair, but that didn’t offer anything up-just a pair of trousers, a couple of shirts and a cardigan. I did find his wallet in a shoe that the dog had its head on, poor mite. Didn’t snarl at me, just whimpered a bit when I reached for it. But all that was inside was a five pound note, an expired driver’s license and one of them little address cards for restaurants and the like. This one was for some place called The Waysiders. Could be a pub. Remember Vincent Krumley had a drinking problem at one time.”
“So he did.” I heard what she was saying without really listening. Upon kneeling down to check the infamous skirting board my hand had encountered something small, flat and round. And when I stood up I was holding a brooch. An emerald and diamond brooch. Had it been on the dressing table, unseen among the clutter or photographs and ornaments, to be knocked onto the floor by the swoop of birds?
At my exclamation Mrs. M. came over to take a look. And we moved together to stand directly under the ceiling light fixture, eager to more closely inspect the source of so much trouble. “It’s pretty,” I said, moving it around in my hand, “but I think that Lady Krumley was right in saying that it isn’t of great value.”
“It’d look better after a good cleaning.” Mrs. Malloy had taken the brooch from me and turned it over to inspect the back. It was engraved with initials and a date. “Look at all that dirt trapped in the setting. It’s proper caked with crud.” She held up a blackened finger. “You’d think some kiddy had taken it outside and buried it in the back garden. My cousin did that with her Mum’s engagement ring. She was playing at pirates and treasure troves, you know how they do at that age. And oh, what a spanking she got!” Her voice dwindled away to a thread, and her eyes widened under the penciled brows. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Mrs. H.?”
“That maybe Flossie Jones did steal the brooch after all?” The horror of the birds receded to a distant memory.
“And she buried it out there in the grounds, so that it wouldn’t be found if she or her room was searched.” Mrs. Malloy looked primed to jump up and down on her four-inch heels. “Then all these years later someone dug it up, either by mistake or on purpose, and set about stirring up the deathbed curse.”
“All we have to do is find out who and why.” I had just placed the brooch on the dressing table, well in the center where it couldn’t be easily knocked off, when the door opened and a dumpy woman with badly permed hair entered the room, causing Mrs. Malloy to finally jump several inches off the ground.
“You’ll be the decorators.” The woman in addition to her other dubious attributes had staring eyes and an expressionless voice. “I’m Daisy Meeks. I came over to spend the morning with Niles and Cynthia. Under the circumstances they can do with some cheering up. We heard noises from downstairs. Niles said you would be moving the furniture, seeing how it looks best. The vicar, Mr. Featherstone, was also here. He left shortly after I arrived. He’s not always as chatty as one would like, except with Maude. That’s Lady Krumley. He is very fond of her.”
“And are you fond of birds?” Mrs. Malloy asked with a slick magenta smile.
The expressionless face didn’t alter. “Oh, yes. Dear, sweet-singing things. I can’t think of anything nicer than to be surrounded by a lovely soft flutter of wings, can you?”
It was as much as I could do not to hit her. And the thought came to me that it was a great blessing that she didn’t have a twin, evil or otherwise.