Murder at Christmas - Chapter 5: The First Murder

"What ... " gasped Lucinda, leaping to her feet and running in the general direction of the library.

She was not alone. Even Madame Escuskiovna sprang up and joined the general rush in that direction.

When they entered the library, a terrible scene met their eyes.

Anja Ericksson was lying on her back, her eyes staring wide and fixedly in death, her tongue protruding, and an expression of agony on her face, the beading of her magnificent headdress spread like a halo around her like an ironic halo.

Her husband crouched over her body, a wounded grey wolf protecting his own.

He looked up, his eyes filled with horror.

"She ... she brought the Bengers. She was laughing. She said she would try the 'slimy sludge'. And then she said it tasted horrid so she would clean her mouth with the tisane. And then ... "

They could all see the tray on the side, with the mug of Bengers, the teapot. But the delicate porcelain cup now lay smashed into smithereens a yard from Anja Ericksson's body.

Wallace Emerson looked up pleading.

"She ... she's not dead, is she? For God's sake, tell me she is not dead!"

But she was.

Dr. Lawrence stared, wide-eyed for a moment before breaking through the others and running to the body. He examined the body, checking for pulse or breath, opening her eye and mouth, but finally he shook his head and rearranged her body into a somewhat more dignified position.

"I....there's nothing I can do. She's gone."

Upon seeing the sprawled body of the filmstar, Miss Mulchop gasps, putting a hand over her mouth in a gesture of horror. "Good heavens.."

Davyd grimaced at the grim sight of the dead actress. One might almost imagine that this was a scene from one of her famous films, but no make-up team was that good.

He turned away from the body, feeling quite sick, and looked over at Jane.

Jane stood frozen, eyes wide, knuckles pressed to her lips in horror. She only managed to make some soft exclamation, muffled by the presence of her hand to her scarlet mouth.

Miles looked in at the scene. The faint smile that usually played across his face vanished. Taking in the entire scene, he watched as the doctor rushed to the victim's aid. Frowning, Miles slipped into the room and picked up the fallen teapot. He gave the contents a cautious sniff to perhaps identify if a foreign substance was indeed introduced in this manner, and what the substance might be.

The teapot contained a fair amount of liquid still, and a collection of rather herbal stalks and leaves. It gave off a pungent aroma of mint and rosemary, with a faint trace of lavender.

Sensibly, Dessard stood back as the doctor examined Anja's body. "Ladies, please. Perhaps you'd best wait in the dining room. Doctor? Can you tell what happened?" Dessard asked, his eyes narrowed.

Young hostesses did not normally drop dead during dinner fetes, from his experience.

The Viscount stepped beyond the others, staring down at Anja in disbelief.

"Oh, Anja," he whispered, "you poor, beautiful dove..." Recalling what Wally had just said, his eyes drifted from Anja to the shattered cup.

Realization struck him like cold water.

He turned suddenly, thrusting a manicured finger at Anna. "You did this!" he shrieked. "That, that... poison you bade Wally to drink! You, you... poorly-dressed gypsy! You witch! How could you!"

Madame Escuskiovna had been looking decidedly green around the gills ever since entering the room; she had remained in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe for support. A habit of communing with the spirits of the dead had evidently not inured her to the grotesque spectacle of their bodies. In response to Fenwick's tirade, however, she drew herself up and regarded him with a freezing glare.

"We are all overwrought by this terrible event, young man. For that reason I shall pretend I have not heard this monstrous accusation."

Dr. Lawrence scowled. "Leave the accusations to the authorities... whom we should notify immediately, by the way." He looked around the room. His expression softened as he looked at Emerson, then he looked at the other guests.

"Someone, find a phone, or get a servant to call them," he continued in a quieter tone. "I'm not set up here to find out just what happened, but I need to record all that I can right now, for the inquiry. Which there will have to be, as I can say that she had no medical condition that would lead to... this. Let me go get my kit, and then let me have some privacy."

"Not wanting to cast a damper on the jolly old proceedings," said Oswald, who was looking decidedly green around the gills himself, "but if she has been murdered, is it an awfully good idea to leave one of us here alone with the body? Even you, Doctor? I mean, who's to say it wasn't one of us who killed her?"

Miss Mulchop decided to "take the bull by the horn", so to speak, & ring for the authorities. She also sent for and instructed Gladys perhaps to pour everyone some nice stiff drinks ... and to alert the Servants Hall and make sure no-one left.

Her attempt to phone was rather less successful. When she walked over the library phone, she saw that it had been wrenched away from the wall, and was lying on the floor on the far side of the room. This had, effectively, disconnected all the phones in the house.

Miss Mulchop seemed more annoyed than surprised about the phone. In all the excitement she'd quite forgotten about that. She threw a reproachful look at the dead filmstar, for all the good it did, & sighed resignedly. There was nothing to do for it. As the Doctor said, someone would have to be sent.

Wallace Emerson, who had been helped to a chair by Lucinda, who knelt beside him, comforting him (being rather more composed herself than anyone might have expected), looked up when informed of this.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I noticed that when I came into the room. I thought it odd. I meant to ring for Beech. Then Anja came in. Oh Anja, my lovely Anja!"

And he started to weep, great tearing sobs.

"What? Are you joking?" snapped Dr. Lawrence. Seeing that he was not joking, Dr. Lawrence rolled his eyes. "Fine. I was saying that out of concern for propriety and comfort. Stay if you like," he added brusquely. "I'll go get my kit."

As he started to leave, he saw Secord investigating the teapot. "Here, stay out of that." Then, witnessing the state of the phone, he stopped and his frown deepened. "Nothing for it then but someone will have to be sent down to the village on foot." With a shake of his head, he hurried out of the room.

Secord gave the doctor a look, but put the pot where he found it. "If this stuff was poisoned, they used something very subtle and without scent."

He turned to the remaining people in the room, "But just in case it wasn't this, I'd advise caution in eating or drinking anything in this house. It might have been something she ingested earlier, and it's only taking effect now."

He sighed and looked at the body, "As to the *possibility* of one of us being the killer, I would advance the theory that it isn't a possibility...it's a likelihood."

He looked around to see exactly who was in, or just outside the library, currently.

"Ingested earlier!" exclaimed Jane. "How confusing do you want to make this? Because really, it must have been somebody wanting to have murdered you, Wally, dear. The tisane and the-- oh! The 'sludge' were both meant... for you. Not for poor Anja."

Miles shrugs, "If I were the killer, I'd want to make this as confusing as possible. I just think that until the good doctor decides what really was the cause of death, and we confirm the source if it was poison, we'd all best be careful. I'd hate for any one else to get hurt."

"Who would have guessed," Jane said, shaking her head disbelievingly, "that Anja would have drunk the stuff... after the terrible to-do she made about it at the dinner table?"

Davyd kept a careful eye on the Doctor's composure during the exchange. And Oswald's for that matter. Then he opened his mouth to express the possibility that they'd both killed her, but thought better of it. A smart comment never went down well in a tense room. Certainly not one with a corpse in the middle of it. For a similar reason, he didn't ask if anyone was going to be stupid enough to drink whatever the servant had gone to fetch; if it had been a natural or accidental death, nobody would have torn the phone out of the wall...

"I don't suppose," he said without much hope, "that anyone would care to own up to any of this?"

Turning back to Jane, he reached out a hand to console her.

"Are you okay? Would you like to move to another room. Away from An- away from the body?"

Dessard looked at Davyd and shrugged. "Well, it wasn't me. Poor girl."

He gazed at Anja's pallid corpse, what was once a beautiful woman was now just a cold body ... colder in death than in life. And what had she said at dinner? Something about the penalty for betrayal?

"Go into the village? To fetch the constable? In this weather? Sounds like a two-man operation. I'll go, but I'll want someone with me? Davyd? Secord?"

He turned to the other two military men. Emerson was in no state, the doctor was needed here, and both Oswald and Fenwick were not useful in the tanned, rough major's estimation.

"Any volunteers?"

"I'd go with you," said Lucinda Dalrymple-Smythe unexpectedly, "only I think I should stay in case Wally needs me."

Jane gave Lucy a surprised, frank smile. "Oh, my..." she breathed.

She saw several sceptical glances bent upon her, and said impatiently, "Don't you think I haven't been tramping around these lanes and woods since I was tiny? But I'll stay. Whoever goes with you, I think you should take one of the servants as well. At least they will know the way - and know where the village constable lives. James is probably best. He's the second footman - and he was a batman to a Major during the war."

Dessard sighed. ~A pretty young chit; too bad she wants to stay.~

"Very well." He looked around for Beech. "Beech, isn't it? Can you fetch the lad James and have him take a couple of us into the village to fetch the constable? I'll just want to get my coat and a few things from my room."

Miles Secord shrugged, "Sure, I'll go along, but I do like the idea of a third party along. It makes it a little less likely that one of us will...get up to some funny business." His faint smile returned. "I'll just change into something more suitable for a walk in the winter wonderland."

Secord went to his room and changed into very sturdy and practical gear for long walks in the cold weather. It wasn't as fashionable as he would like, but he knew from his travels the best way to deal with trekking through the cold.

Dessard met Secord in the library. He was dressed in his long winter coat, with a red scarf wrapped around his neck and a fedora on his head.

Miles grinned as he met Dessard. "Sorry I look as if I were planning on traipsing through the mountains of Nepal, it's because.....well, actually, I was planning on a trip to Nepal later on my journeys. The police station? I have no idea. I'm not really familiar with the area around here."

"Ready?" The Major asked Secord and James.

"Where is the police station in town?" he inquired of Lucy before the three men set off through the snow.

"You don't need to worry about going that far," replied Lucy, who had come to the entrance hall. "There's a police house in the village. The constable there has a tiny office, and the rest is his home.

"It's the far end of the village, but you can't miss it as there's a blue sign outside."

She looked at them anxiously.

"Do be careful, won't you? Remember ... the Rolls is still blocking the drive ... and it's been snowing heavily all evening ... though it seems to have stopped now."

"Yeah," Miles nods, "I'm pretty familiar with that stuck car. I don't think England is suffering from too many wolf attacks, these days, so we should be safe enough...unless one of us is the murderer."

"Don't worry, Miss," said James, a serious young man with an old army greatcoat, a grey muffler and a borrowed chauffeur's hat, "we have torches."

Beech was pulling open the door, and they could see that the earlier blizzard had died away, and it was now a cold, clear, crisp night ... and so still that the distant bark of a fox came clearly to them from a copse half a mile away ...

The steps leading up to the door had been swept clean of snow and salted, but the drive was untouched. The snow lay about an inch deep and was just beginning to freeze, so that they stepped on to it with a crisp crunch. Walking sounded like crunching through a bowl of breakfast cereal ...

The drive was comparatively open. An iron fence divided the drive from the fields beyond for the first part of their journey. and so their route was clear enough. The full moon that sailed overhead gave light enough, especially as it was reflected back by the smooth unblemished snow.

Really, had their mission been less unpleasant, and the sense of danger not so oppressive, it could have been a beautiful moonlit walk.

Dr. Lawrence returned to the library, medical bag in hand. He smiled at everyone, the edge of temper he'd been showing before clearly gone.

"I'll inspect the body and the tea...and the Bengers. If anyone's really concerned about my ... possible complicity, then the maid or someone can stay. Mr. Emerson, I'd suggest that you go."

Lucinda, who had returned to the Library, nodded.

"Yes, Wally, do come with me. Major Dessard and Mr. Secord have gone with James for the constable. We'd all be best off in the living room until they get back. Although ... "

She looked at Oswald enquiringly.

Oswald looked uneasy. "Well, I think one of us chaps out to stay. And if any of the ladies have had medical training, then perhaps ...

Madame Escuskiovna, who seemed to have recovered some of her aplomb, shook her head regretfully. "I fear not, Mr. Skeffington-Nottle. However, if the Doctor would find it helpful to have an . . . unadulterated . . . sample of the tisane to hand, I shall be happy to fetch another packet from my room." She looked at Dr. Lawrence inquiringly.

Dr. Lawrence was engaged in a series of test on the body. Luckily, he had chosen to do the simpler ones, unlikely to embarrass or sicken onlookers, until the crowd dispersed. Realizing that he'd been addressed, he looked up from a careful examination of skin color and smiled uncertainly.

"Hmm? What...? Oh, yes, please do. It'll simplify the inquiry, certainly."

Thinking it the least she could do for her distraught employer Miss Mulchop volunteered to stay & assist the Doctor.

"I'm afraid I haven't any medical experience but I do have a strong stomach & nerve."

"The rest of us had better wait in the living room, as the Doctor suggests," Oswald said.

"Jolly good," said Reginald Staughton. "I'll stay too. I saw some pretty repellent sights during the War. I daresay I can cope with the preliminary investigation here. And the three of us can act as sureties for each other that nothing untoward will happen. That good enough for you, young Skeffington-Nottle?"

Oswald nods, and then helps shepherd the other house guests to the library.

"Very well," Madame Escuskiovna said with a nod. "I shall be only a few minutes." She headed off toward the stairs leading to the upper floors.

"Erm ... I think what I said about the doctor applies to all of us," said Oswald a little unhappily. "I think someone should go up to your room with you, Madame Escuskiovna. Miss Dalrymple-Smythe, perhaps."

Madame Escuskiovna paused. "If Mr. Emerson can spare her for a short time, of course," she said.

Lucinda glanced at him, nodded, and moved off towards the stairs.

"Look after dear Wally," she called over her shoulder to Oswald.

Then she ran to catch up with Madame Escuskiovna on the stairs.

"I'll look after you," she said comfortingly. "Daddy always says he'd back me against any burglars ... I'm sure I can deal with a horrible murderer if we meet him or her."

"I'm sure you can, my dear," Anna said indulgently. "Though I really doubt-- that is to say, it seems unlikely that a poisoner, if it really was poison, would also be lurking on the stairs attacking people at random."

She tactfully avoided mentioning that the murderer was more likely to be one of their number than a dark and mysterious figure lurking in a passage way.

Jason Welles waved the wife off with a cheerful smile, she on her way to Midnight Mass, and snuffled deep into another cup of tea. He'd been looking forward to a quiet evening with her, but something was niggling at the back of his mind, telling him he'd better be on hand in the village. So he'd kept the lamp lit by the station sign, and hadn't removed his uniform yet, nor gone into the bottle of whiskey the Boy had sent up from London. Unfortunately, the uniform now bore a dripping splash that he'd wiped ineffectually at, but that was standard for him. Settling by the fire, but unable to relax, Welles waited...........

Dessard walked towards the village silently, the cool night air turning his breath to a fine mist as he walked. The only sound was the crunching of three booted feet in the crisp new-fallen snow. The major let James get a little bit ahead, his torch lighting the way and causing the shadows of the tress and the men to lengthen ominously. He turned to Miles Secord.

"Any ideas, mate? Who would want to off Mrs. Emerson, or Ericksson, that's it, innit?" he asked casually.

Miles admired the simply beauty of the virgin blanket of snow fall. The bare trees, that would probably have looked leering and ominous only a week or so before, now sported a fairyland glazing of contrasting white upon there black limbs. The few evergreens mixed in, became fanciful castles of glittering snow and ice. His melancholy comparison of this land to war torn France now
seemed totally forgotten, perhaps because the shell shattered landscape of the Frankish countryside had most of the trees blasted away long before Secord himself had gotten there.

He suddenly realized that James had gone ahead a bit, and that he had been paying more attention to the sights than to Dessard walking beside him. Dessard, who could well be the killer himself, and looking for an opportunity to take care of himself and the servant and then make a break for it.

He smiled, well he would not be taken by surprise now. He responded to Dessard's question, "I think it's too early to say. There's only one person I'm sure of." They walked a little further, "I think perhaps we need first to learn the cause of death for certain, and if it was poison...what it was
and how it was introduced. At that point we can start picking out likely hands." He walks in silence for another moment, "Do you think there really was confusion regarding the target of the crime?"

"No idea. Won't have one until we know whether its poison, and whether it was ingested from the tea." Dessard shrugged casually. "I expect the local bob will have his hands full just keeping people up at the Manor calm, until someone from Scotland Yard is called in. Now, if it was me, I'd look and see who had a motive to kill Miss Ericksson, rather than bother about the physical evidence. The only one that seems to know about poisons is the doctor, but if he had no reason to kill her, why would he? Kicks? Doubtful." Dessard paused to take a deep breath of the cold night air, and fumbled around for a pack of Benson and Hedges. "Fancy a smoke?" He asked
Secord. "We're almost there." Ahead, the lights of the village twinkled against the blackness of the surrounding trees.

"No thanks...those things'll kill you," smiled Miles turning down the offered smoke. They wandered past the buildings at the edge of the village, and headed towards where they were told the Constable's office was. "You know, I leaped on the murder horse awfully quickly. For all we know, she could've choked, or had some sort of fatal...I don't know, canniption fit, or something."

Lighting his cigarette, Dessard noted the blue sign as James pointed the way, and knocked on the door. From inside, the men could see a hearth-light.

"Hello! Is there anyone here! There's been an accident at the Manor!" Dessard called out as he rapped on the door.

Secord nodded in agreement with Dessard's choice of words. He considered what Dessard said.

"Actually there were at least a couple of other people that might have enough knowledge of poisons to kill someone. I'll bet that spiritualist knows enough about herbs that she could put some one down."

He grinned at Dessard, "I know I know enough to have done the job."

Silently he realized that Dessard wass correct, finding a motive could be very important to discovering what had transpired at the mansion...and Secord had an idea regarding some one that might have one. He repeated Dessard's knock on the door, "Hello in there, we do have an emergency situation. Do you think you could give us a hand?"

Welles heard the plummy accent and shook his head, setting down his cup of tea and strolling to the door.

"Good e'en." he said, as he opened the door to two men, the light framing a slight and scruffy form but nonetheless garbed in the manner of a policeman. In a calm and deferential voice the copper said, "I'm Constable Welles, sahs....how may I be of assistance ?"

He smiled slightly, beady black eyes taking in the men in apparently every detail, as he stood back to let them into the small but well-kept parlour. A fat grey cat lay sprawled beside a cornucopia of waxed fruit on the cabinet, and a cheerful fire was going in the hearth. A coat-tree held a pair of lady's hats, and a shabby old long poacher's coat in beat-up waxed cotton, along with the constable's uniform hat and truncheon.

Dr.Lawrence pulled out a notebook and began writing in it, bent over the body. Not looking up, he made dismissive waves, motioning for everyone to leave, then added, "Oh, and if it's not too late, someone should see if the food from dinner can be saved."

"I'll do that, Sir," said Gladys, subdued. "Mr Beech has informed all the staff of the sad news now, I think. All those that are awake, at all events. Would you like me to make some nice hot drinks and bring them up for you all?"

"I'm rooting for the tisane," remarked Jane, watching the proceedings with a horrified fascination.

After a few moments, she shrugged and turned toward the door.

"Or the Bengers. I certainly hope it was one of the two," she laughed, "else I should come under suspicion myself...

"Now which of you gentlemen shall escort me to the living room...? I daresay I'd feel safer with two of you: one man on each arm... " She started walking away, without waiting for volunteers. It seemed she assumed there will be followers.

"Whoever the murderer is," she threw back over her shoulder with a sly tone, her voice getting fainter with the growing distance, "should you decide to do me in, have a heart for dear Cliffie and try not to soil this smashing gown..."

The Viscount was standing near Dr. Lawrence, blankly watching him work while chewing idly on his cigarette holder. He looked up towards the living room at Janey's words, and a small smile broke out. But then he looked down at Anja once more, and it faltered. Frowning, he shook his head, and headed for the living room himself.

"Oh, Ms. Smithson," Clifford said dramatically to Hermione as he neared her, (his mouth and his mind appeared to be working separately, as he looked her up and down appraisingly while speaking to her) "This is just awful! Who would do such a thing?"

Leaning closer suddenly, he cast paranoid glances about the hallway, before whispering loudly, "Don't you think it was that heavy gypsy woman? I just don't trust her at all..." he added, while drawing out his cigarette case. Opening it, he withdrew one of the blck, French cigarettes, and offered the case to Hermione...

"I'm afraid I don't smoke," said Hermione a little stiffly. She was not sure she altogether approved of this young man. She had put him as his companion down as being rather "fast".

"Oh!" barked Clifford. "That's a good idea... these things really are just silly..." he continued, fitting his cig into the long holder. "But I just can't seem to give them up," he added, before lighting the smoke.

She looked at Wallace Emerson on the sofa, his head sunk in his hands, and bit her lip. Then she glanced back at Clifford. He had, after all, just tried to be friendly.

"Do you think we could speak to Mr Emerson?" she asked nervously. "I feel ... we should try and help him. Will you come with me? Please?"

Clifford's face became one of pure worry, as he followed Hermione's glance. He nodded, and whispered back, "Oh, certainly!"

She moved slowly over towards him and crouched down so she could look up into his face.
"Mr Emerson," she began. "I am so very ... very sorry ... "

And suddenly, unexpectedly, she began to cry.

Clifford, standing behind her, watched in horror. Then his lower lip began to quiver, and his eyes filled with water. He knelt quickly next to Hermione, putting an arm around her shoulders (which might have been more comforting had the hand next to her face not held a cigarette holder and its burning captive).

"Oh, Mr. Emerson!" Cliffie wailed. "You poor man! Oh, Anja! Anja!" and finally, the Viscount broke down completely, sobbing right next to Hermione...

As Madame Escuskiovna and Lucinda reached the first floor Lucinda paused.

"Oh, listen!" she exclaimned. "The stable clock!"

She counted the chimes .... "Ten ... eleven ... twelve! It's Christmas Day!

"Only it's not going to be very Christmassy with poor Anja dead," she added sadly.

Madame Escuskiovna sighed heavily. "It is a wicked, wicked thing," she pronounced, "to send a fellow creature Beyond The Veil before their time. Often they cannot rest, cannot progress, until things are set right . . . I fear for what may yet happen in this house."

When they arrived in Madame Escuskiovna's room, the spiritualist went immediately to the carpetbag sitting on her night table and rummaged inside it. It did not take her long to find a small waxed-paper packet that looked to Lucinda exactly like the one she had given the footman earlier.

She slipped the packet into her purse; then, after a moment's thought, also drew out a larger, squarish object wrapped in red silk and tied with a ribbon. This she also put into her purse.

She looked penetratingly at Lucinda. "I have sensed that you . . . care for Mr. Emerson," she said. "Do you share my apprehension that Miss Ericsson unwittingly intercepted an attack aimed at him? If he has a hidden enemy, it is incumbent upon us to discover who it is before he can strike again. Would you not agree?"

"Oh absolutely," agreed Lucinda, her eyes wide. "Wally's a tremendous old darling. And Anja was simply a perfect duck and I loved her heaps. But Madame Escuskiovna, how do you propose we should do that?"

"I should like to do a card reading for Mr. Emerson, if he will allow it," Madame Escuskiovna said, laying one hand on the purse in which she had secreted the red silk bundle. "The cards can tell us many things that are hidden from our waking minds. Perhaps you could help me to persuade him?"

"Oh," said Lucinda. "Erm ... I don't think Wally believes in all that sort of ... in the Tarot, Madame Escuskiovna."

The spiritualist smiled indulgently. "Gentlemen especially are often skeptical," she said with a negligent wave of her hand. "Or say they are. It makes little difference to the cards."

"We can certainly try to persuade him though," Lucinda added, a lttle dubiously.

"Remember that Mr. Emerson's life may be at stake," Madame Escuskiovna reminded her. "Well, my dear, shall we go back downstairs? I must deliver this packet to Dr. Lawrence."

Lucinda nodded .... and they set out back to the living room ... pausing only to offer the tisane at the library ...

Soon after Madame Escuskiovna and Lucinda rejoined the party in the living room, suddenly, the door to the living room opened and the magnificent figure of Beech appeared.

With his most stately manner, he stalked across the room to where Wallace Emerson was sitting, Lucinda Dalrymple-Smythe beside him, holding one of his hands comfortingly.

"The police have arrived, Sir," he announced. "Shall I show them in?" Emerson made a vaguely affirmative gesture, and Beech withdrew ...

To return a minute later accompanied by Constable Welles and, following him, Major Dessard and Miles Secord.

"Ooooh," whispered Jane to the Viscount. She leaned forward, and the silken swath of her gown ran across her body like water. "How I simply adore a man in uniform!"

End of Chapter 5