Mistletoe Mystery Page 7

  “Is one of us going to be the murderer?” asked Mrs. Cunningham, her sharp eyes twinkling.

  “Who knows?” Matt winked at her. “That’s for you to work out.”

  “I wonder,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “if I may be cheeky and ask if I can play the person I really was at the time. I was the English teacher at Bedlington Hall.”

  Everyone looked towards Mrs. Cunningham with interest. Philly got the distinct feeling the vicar’s wife had just become a real suspect in their eyes. Mrs. Cunningham either did not notice or chose not to worry about it.

  Matt glanced across to Philly who nodded back. “Sure,” he said to Mrs. Cunningham. “If that’s what you prefer.”

  “Can I play the R.E. teacher who is hopelessly in love with the English teacher?” asked Reverend Cunningham to a chorus of ‘aws’. “Just joking. I’m happy to go along with whatever the card says. Either way I’ll be hopelessly in love with the English teacher.”

  “I can see why, Reverend,” said Matt.

  “Ooh, you young charmer!” Mrs. Cunningham laughed. “Careful, Drew, he’ll be stealing me from you.”

  “Then they’ll be investigating the disappearance of Mr. Cassell,” said the vicar, light-heartedly.

  “Can we get on?” said a voice from the crowd. Everyone turned to see an elderly man wearing a flat cap.

  “You’re Mr. Scattergood, right?” said Matt.

  “That’s right, Stan Scattergood and I’d really like to get my dinner.”

  “But we are just getting to know each other,” said another man. He spoke with an attractive French accent. He was in his late sixties, yet could easily pass for someone younger. He looked very suave and sophisticated, reminding Philly of Sasha Distell.

  “As you say, Monsieur,” said Matt. “We’re just getting to know each other here.”

  The Frenchman bowed. “I am Armand De Lacey.” Philly vaguely remembered the name from the list of guests.

  “Oh, that’s just what we need,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “A charming French master.”

  Monsieur De Lacey smiled at Mrs. Cunningham and bowed again. “Madame, I am the one who is charmed.”

  It seemed to Philly that Matt had a sudden rival for the female affections as all the women’s heads had turned to look at Monsieur De Lacey. Despite his age, he had no shortage of admirers. He was the sort of man who retained his sex appeal, regardless of age, like Sean Connery.

  Stan Scattergood folded his arms and harrumphed. No one was looking at him.

  “Don’t worry, mate,” said Frank Bennett. “I’m like you. I just want my dinner. I only come on these things because the wife drags me out.”

  “Ooh, you liar,” said Mrs. Bennett. “I wanted to go to Majorca for a week, but you said this was cheaper.”

  “Well…” Matt raised a hand. “I think it is about time we let you go to your rooms and unpack. Dinner will be at seven thirty, but there are tea making facilities in your rooms so you’ll just have time to get what you English call a nice cuppa. As you pass me on the stairs, I’ll hand you your roles.” Matt walked to the bottom step, and did just that as everyone filed past.

  When they had all gone he looked at Philly and said, “How did I do?”

  “You did great. Really.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, I’m not surprised at all. I knew you could charm the birds off the trees.”

  “Yet I don’t seem to be having that affect on you at the moment.”

  “Matt, it’s like I said when you arrived, I need things to slow down a bit, that’s all.”

  “I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you’ve done your best to avoid me.”

  “I haven’t avoided you. I’ve been really busy, getting everything ready.” It was half the truth, except that she had used being busy as an excuse to avoid him.

  In the weeks leading up to the weekend, Philly, Puck and Meg had spent every waking hour going through the attic, trying to find out what was in there that fascinated Matt. There had been more pictures, but they were tiny in comparison to Robespierre’s painting of the tower. They were mostly of Madonnas and the baby Jesus. The friends guessed that they were not worth much, as they were merely smaller copies of the original Old Masters.

  Puck had suggested putting them along the hallways. “Seeing as it’s Christmas,” he said. “Baby Jesus and all that.”

  Philly had been reluctant. “Until we know what Matt’s looking for, I think we should leave everything locked away up here. For all we know, we could put the very thing he wants on show. Then he could just walk out with whatever it is whilst we’re not looking. Our best chance of catching him is if he goes up to the attic.”

  They had arranged to set a trap, leaving the key where Matt could find it. Philly had even separated it from all the others, and put a label marked ‘attic’ on it. With everything else they needed to do that weekend, looking after guests and going through the pantomime of Dominique’s story, it would be a wonder if they managed to fit that particular plot in.

  “Maybe when this is over,” said Matt, cutting into her reverie, “we can spend some proper time together, getting to know each other.”

  “I’d like that,” said Philly, tears burning the back of her eyes. She realised with an aching heart that she not only meant what she said, but also regretted that it would never happen. Matt would either be arrested or go away again not having found what he wanted. She was tempted to ask him outright what he had been looking for. If he wanted it that badly, she would give it to him. Then she remembered that everything in the house belonged to her and that if she needed money to keep the Hall maintained, she could not afford to go giving away priceless jewels or paintings. “I ought to go and help Puck and Meg with dinner.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Perhaps you could just wait in the drawing room for the guests to come down, and serve them drinks. If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’m glad to be useful. They won’t be ready yet, so I’ll check everything else is in place, shall I?”

  “Yes, that would be really helpful. You have the script?”

  Matt tapped his jacket near the inside top pocket. “I do indeed.”

  Philly put her hand in her own pocket and fingered the attic key. It was not the right time to plant it just yet. Not with her and her friends busy in the kitchen. She smiled shyly at Matt and turned to go to the kitchen. He caught her arm and pulled her back.

  “I know you don’t want to rush things, but since we’ve kissed already…”

  Before she could argue, he had taken her in his arms. She was powerless to resist him. If, in that moment, he had asked for everything she owned, she would give it to him. She pulled away reluctantly. “I hardly think this is the correct behaviour between the headmaster and the games mistress,” she said, trying to sound humorous, only to find her voice trembled in her throat.

  “It’ll be our guilty secret,” said Matt. “We could say that Dominique found out about us. It gives us both a motive.”

  “You mustn’t deviate from the script… Your motive, as the headmaster, is that you used to hang around with Kim Philby and all the other Cambridge traitors and you were still in the pay of the Russians. My motive, as the games mistress, is that I’d been stealing from school funds meant for buying hockey sticks in order to feed my alcoholism. Remember?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with ad-libbing. Especially if it gives me an excuse to kiss you. I could be the traitor, you could be the thief, yet we could still be secret lovers. Or perhaps you’re blackmailing me into having a torrid fling.”

  It sounded very seductive, the way he wrapped his tongue around the word torrid. “You’ll just confuse everyone,” said Philly, trying to sound more business-like. “Stick to the script.”

  “You’re a very bossy games mistress.”

  “Yes, and if you don’t behave, I’ll make you do a hundred push ups.”

  “Only a hundred? Y
ou’re not so tough after all.”

  “Get you, Bruce Willis!” Philly laughed, her dark mood instantly disappearing. No matter who or what Matt was, she could not help feeling good when she was with him. “Now let me go and help out in the kitchen, or I’ll have your motive as sexual harassment of the innocent young games mistress.”

  “I thought you said we couldn’t change the script.”

  “I said you couldn’t change the script. I have writer’s privileges.” Philly pulled away from his arms and headed towards the kitchen.

  “Philly…” Matt’s voice sounded more serious.

  “What is it?”

  “You know I wouldn’t, don’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t what?”

  “Sexually harass you. I mean, if you gave me any sign you weren’t interested in me, I wouldn’t force my attentions on you.”

  Things had suddenly become very serious again. Not least because no matter how hard Philly had tried, she clearly had not managed to appear reserved in Matt’s company. Her longing for him must be all too apparent. “I didn’t mean to suggest that, Matt, I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”

  “As long as you know that for sure.”

  Rachel Jenson and her cameraman, Joe, arrived just before dinner. They set up the camera in the dining room. It was placed behind those who had stated they did not wish to be featured on television, so that it only filmed the back of their heads. It meant that some of the original seating arrangements had to be changed at the last minute.

  “It won’t record sound,” Rachel explained to everyone. “It will only record images, then I’ll talk over it for the television report. So feel free to talk as you normally would. None of your deep dark secrets will be revealed to the public.”

  “Rachel,” said Matt, “I saved you and Joe some characters to play. If you want to.”

  “Ooh yes please,” said Rachel.

  Joe decided he would rather just be himself. Because he had to look after all the equipment he could not really devote his time to thinking up a back story and a motive.

  “Remember that the bedrooms are out of bounds, even to filming,” said Philly. “It’s only fair on the guests.”

  “Of course,” Rachel smiled. “We’re not filming Big Brother here.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Frank Bennett, who was one of those who chose to sit with his back to the cameras. “If I have to dress up and play silly games, I’m going home. It’s bad enough having to cook when I’m on holiday.”

  “I have to, every time we take the caravan in Morecombe,” said Mrs. Bennett.

  “Now, shall we all get into character whilst we eat our soup?” suggested Matt. Philly was grateful that he prevented yet another bickering session between the Bennetts. They were a direct contrast to the calm and obviously devoted Cunninghams. “Why don’t you start, Mrs. Bennett?”

  “Ooh, I don’t really know how to.”

  “Start by telling us what role you’re playing. Maybe the rest will come later.”

  “Oh yes.” Mrs. Bennett picked up her card. “It says here that I’m the school nurse or doctor. Oh dear, I hate the sight of blood.” That caused a few raised eyebrows, especially as Mrs. Bennett had already told nearly everyone that she was addicted to rather vicious American murder mysteries. “Very well, I’m the school nurse. Just call me Matron. I came to work at the school in nineteen fifty-eight after doing a stint in Vietnam.”

  “I don’t think the Vietnam had started then,” said her husband. “And it was an American war.”

  “I’m sure she means Korea,” said Matt, kindly.

  “Yes!” Mrs. Bennett beamed at him. “It was Korea. I worked with the MASH four oh seven seven.”

  “They were also Americans,” said Mr. Bennett.

  “There was a lot of crossover,” said Matt. “The English and Americans have always come together in times of war.”

  “Exactly,” said Mrs. Bennett. She giggled. “I had my heart broken after a torrid romance with Hawkeye Pierce.”

  “Oh, I wish I’d been the school nurse now,” said Mrs. Cunningham.

  “Alan Alda was lovely, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Bennett beamed, having found a kindred spirit.

  “He certainly was. And still is.”

  “That’s all I can think of for now,” said Mrs. Bennett, apologetically.

  “You did great,” said Matt. Philly was struck by how easily he commanded the room. Everyone looked to him for guidance. “Mr. Bennett, do you want to tell us who you are?”

  Frank Bennett sighed and picked up his card. “It says here I’m the janitor. That’s what I do in real life. I clean toilets at a local school. Couldn’t I have had something more exciting?”

  “But,” said Philly, cutting in before Matt could, “the role can be as exciting as you want it to be. Maybe you’re working undercover for the police or government.”

  “Well I’m not going to tell you that at the beginning of the story, am I?” said Frank. “It’ll give it away.”

  “Quite right,” said Philly. “But you could tell us some basic details about him … you.”

  “Right, well he’s … I’m a janitor and I have a wife who ran off with Alan blooming Alda.”

  Everyone laughed, even though Frank had sounded genuinely peeved.

  Chapter Eight

  “Who wants to go next?” asked Philly. Matt really was taking over, and it unnerved her. She had to regain control, not just of the situation but of herself. Yet she had to concede that he knew how to deal with people. He had soothed Mrs. Bennett’s nerves, and whilst Frank Bennett was a tougher customer, he had still bowed to Matt’s authority in the end. Philly realised life would be much easier if Matt were not so charming and approachable. It put her off her guard, and she could not afford to do that with so much at stake. “What about you, Mrs. Cunningham? As you’re playing yourself, perhaps you could tell us a little about the school when you worked here. Give us some background.”

  “Yes, what a good idea,” said Mrs. Cunningham. Philly silently blessed her for her ability to get with the programme. She hoped that Mrs. Cunningham’s input would calm all the other nervous guests.

  “It wasn’t a big school,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “We only had about one hundred girls, aged from thirteen to eighteen. You can imagine the effect of all those hormones in one place. There were often tears, but there was a lot of laughter too.” Mrs. Cunningham fell into a reverie, her eyes shining with remembrance. “I loved working here … Not all the girls stayed till they were eighteen. Those whose parents could afford it sent their daughters to finishing schools in Switzerland. It was a pity really, as the headmistress of the time was quite progressive. She did not think all girls should grow up to be the overdressed wives of diplomats, and nor did she think they should fall into the normal female professions of nurses and secretaries. One of our girls went on to become a heart surgeon in the late nineteen sixties. Another was a famous actress. At least for a short time. She seemed to fall from grace very quickly.” Mrs. Cunningham raised her eyebrows as if to suggest matters not fit for discussion in mixed company.

  “What about the star of our show, Dominique?” asked Matt.

  Mrs. Cunningham shook her head. “As I told Philly when we first met, it was very sad about Dominique. Not just that she went missing, but before that. I tried with that girl, I really did, but it seemed that no one could reach her. I understand that we’re here for fun this weekend, and I don’t wish to spoil that for anyone, but I did hope that coming back here would jog a memory of some sort. Something to solve the puzzle.”

  “I hope you’re not offended that we’ve arranged this,” said Philly, not for the first time.

  “Oh no, dear. Life has to go on. It’s only when you get to my age that you start living more in the past. I have to admit that I’m as intrigued by Dominique’s disappearance as anyone else.”

  “It was a man, I am sure,” said Monsieur De Lacey. “It is always a man.”

  “I thought th
e saying was cherchez la femme,” said Mrs. Cunningham with a smile. “Look for the woman. Except that Dominique was barely a woman. Little more than a child. Oh dear, I’m going to spoil things, I can tell. I promise to be more cheerful.” Mrs. Cunningham surreptitiously wiped her eyes. Philly’s heart went out to her, and she felt a pang of guilt. The vicar’s wife obviously did care about what happened to Dominique, yet they were using the details for entertainment purposes. “Come, Monsieur De Lacey, tell us why you’re at the school,” Mrs. Cunningham said with a smile. “You must be a spy, with that accent.”

  “I am hardly likely to admit it, Madame,” said the monsieur with a smile. “It says on the card that I am the teacher of mathematics. This is a pity as I do not add up very well.” He shrugged in the way only a Frenchman could. It was very charming.

  “Don’t worry,” said Matt, “we won’t be testing you.”

  “That is a relief! Before I came here to teach I worked … ah!” Monsieur De Lacey raised his hand. “I shall not tell you yet. It is very secret and sinister. If I had a moustache, I would most surely twirl it.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Matt. Philly noticed he was taking over again, and yet she could not bring herself to mind. She realised that she was having the time of her life. All her nerves about the weekend seemed to disappear as she enjoyed the way the guests gradually eased into their different roles. “Reverend, would you like to tell us about your role, apart from the fact that we already know you are smitten with the English teacher?”

  “Whatever gave it away?” said the Reverend, looking at his wife with loving eyes. “Apparently I am a school governor, so I do not teach here at all. I merely come and stick my nose into things that don’t concern me from time to time, and wonder why the girls are not fed bread and water.”