The Murder of Busy Lizzie mb-46 Read online

  As the brother and sister were taking in these details, the Amazonian woman, whom they had followed with her older companion up the steep track from the landing-stage, came out of the front door of the house and saw them. She waved to them and then disappeared round the side of the building and the next they saw of her was on the winding path at the back which led either to the quarries or the plateau on which the hotel was situated.

  ‘Wonder what she’s like?’ said Margaret.

  ‘A bit above my weight, anyhow,’ said Sebastian, watching the tall woman striding onwards up the slope.

  ‘And a bit above both our ages. Do you think she lives there?’

  ‘No. They had luggage with them.’

  ‘They might be coming home from holiday. I wonder when our luggage will come up? I could bear to get out of these clothes and into something a bit more in keeping with the scenery. I wonder whether The Tutor has contacted Aunt Eliza yet?’

  ‘Perhaps we had better go back and find out. Besides, I’d like to see our rooms.’

  They returned to the hotel to find that their father was just beginning his tea, which he had had to pay for.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it hasn’t taken you long to make your tour of inspection. What do you think of it all?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. We haven’t been far,’ replied his son. ‘Has the luggage come up? I can’t walk about this sort of countryside in these sort of clothes and shoes. How many people are staying here? What are the rooms like?’

  ‘There seems to be nobody about. As for the rooms, only one of us is to be in the house, it seems. The other two are to occupy one of the chalets. I will just finish this cup of tea and then I will show you the chalet which has been allotted to us.’

  ‘If there’s nobody much staying here, why can’t we all have bedrooms in the house? A fine thing if it rains and we have to tramp across here for breakfast,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘I know. Well, come along and see how you feel about things. If we think the chalet is quite unsuitable, I shall make a complaint to Eliza.’

  ‘Have you had a talk with her?’

  ‘No,’ said Marius, frowning with annoyance, ‘I have not. I know she is a very busy person, but I would have thought she would have been on the spot to greet us. She must know when the boat gets in. I consider it most remiss of her. What is more, I shall complain about the reception I got at the desk. Most off-hand, I thought.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Sebastian, ‘did Aunt Eliza ever acknowledge your letter in which you told her we were coming?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She said she was very pleased and looked forward to our stay.’

  ‘Then perhaps she isn’t in. I shouldn’t think she can be, if you still haven’t seen her,’ said Margaret.

  ‘The receptionist could have told me that, one would think. I will enquire.’ He marched off to the desk.

  ‘It’s a bit off of Aunt Eliza, isn’t it?’ said Margaret. ‘I mean, it was at her suggestion that we came here. I know there was a family row—’

  ‘That was years ago. Besides, you gathered that the row was between her and Boobie. That’s why Boobie wouldn’t come with us, I expect, and wouldn’t even wait to see us off.’

  Marius returned to them with a happier expression on his lantern-jawed, scholarly face.

  ‘The mystery begins to resolve itself,’ he said, ‘so shall we go and take a look at the chalet?’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a mystery,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘Oh, I meant that there has been no sign of Lizzie and that we have been given only one room in the house itself. It appears that Lizzie is away from the island on business, and Miss Crimp is finalising the arrangements for accommodating a conference of naturalists. She expects forty of them and, as many are elderly, she wants to put those in the house and allocate the chalets to the younger guests. It seems reasonable enough to me.’

  ‘How long is she expected to be away?’

  ‘The staff do not know, but I have found out that the receptionist is a person of importance. It seems that she is your aunt’s partner.’

  ‘Her partner?’ said Sebastian. He caught his sister’s eye, and both began to laugh.

  ‘I see no particular occasion for mirth,’ said Marius. ‘Has the sea-air gone to your heads? The woman’s name is Crimp and she is in sole and complete charge of the establishment until your aunt returns.’

  ‘We’re laughing because, from something Cousin Marie said at the Singletons’ when she and Miss Potter were staying with us in November, father, we sort of gathered that Aunt Eliza had appointed a second-in-command, but Cousin Marie seemed to think it was a major-domo, a man,’ said Margaret, controlling her mirth. Marius frowned.

  ‘I don’t see that Marie could know anything about it,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but she and Miss Potter stayed here for a week or so last summer, father.’

  ‘I didn’t know that!’

  ‘Oh, dear! I supposed she would have told you and mother, or I would have mentioned it, but, of course, it didn’t interest me much because I had no idea at the time that we ourselves would be coming.’

  ‘No, no, of course you hadn’t, my dear. Extraordinary that Marie didn’t mention it to your mother or me, though.’

  ‘I expect she didn’t like to, knowing what mother thought about Aunt Eliza.’

  ‘That might be it, I suppose, but Marie has always been rather secretive. What did she think of the hotel?’

  ‘Not much, I believe. She said the meals were monotonous.’

  ‘Well, they should not be that, considering the price one is paying. Was Miss Crimp in partnership with Lizzie last summer, then?’

  ‘We have no idea, Father,’ said Sebastian, before his sister could answer the question.

  ‘I do not remember seeing her name on the brochure,’ said Marius, ‘but perhaps she and Lizzie have some agreement about that. A partner? I am not at all sure that I would have come had I known. I cannot think why you did not mention it, Margaret, before I made my booking.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Father. I couldn’t see that it mattered. It doesn’t really make much difference, does it?’

  ‘Of course it makes a difference! Sebastian can see that, even if a schoolgirl cannot.’

  ‘Can you, Seb?’ asked Margaret, with an air of innocence. She resented being called a schoolgirl.

  ‘Yes. Bang goes our reason for coming here,’ said Sebastian, ‘and, for once in her innocent life, Boobie hasn’t boobed. She said it was N.B.G. and that seems to be just about right.’

  ‘Well,’ said Marius, ‘that is putting it too strongly, but the partnership does, indeed, complicate matters. I shall make it my business to find out exactly how it stands. It is more than likely that Miss Crimp has exaggerated the importance of her position here. Underlings are often inclined to puff themselves up when their masters are absent. From what I know of Lizzie, I should think it most unlikely that she has parted with more than a very small share of her holdings. It would be quite out of character if she has given much away.’

  The family of three walked over to the chalet and Marius produced the keys.

  ‘Hm!’ said Sebastian. ‘Not bad. The front faces the sea and we are on the leeward side of the island. There’s a fairly firm table in the sitting-room where I can get on with my work if I feel so inclined or the weather turns wet, and the beds appear to be reasonably well sprung. I think I could settle in here quite well for a month. I suppose you’d prefer to stay up at the house, Father?’

  ‘I must leave that to Margaret,’ said Marius, ‘but I must confess that I’ve already used one of the towels in the bedroom there.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll share with Seb,’ said Margaret, ‘but I’m not having any truck with public bath-houses and the rest of it. I shall take my bath up at the house, Father, and you’ll have to get out of your bedroom while I change in it.’

  Marius thought this reasonable, and said so. They returned to the house just as the suitcases were bro
ught to the hotel by horse and cart. As the luggage was unloaded they claimed their own, and the two pieces which were left were trundled off to a destination which was indicated on the labels as Puffins. As the name which Sebastian read on one of the suitcases was Bradley, he assumed, rightly, that Puffins was the house which he and his sister had recently noted. The other suitcase was labelled Gavin, and with it on the cart and similarly labelled was a small packing-case which, to his knowledgeable eye, seemed likely to contain books. He eyed it speculatively and wondered whether a little borrowing might prove possible if the books were interesting. Even if they proved to be what, in his youthful arrogance and intellectual snobbishness, he wrote off as trash, they might come in useful on a wet day when he did not feel like getting on with his work or when he felt disposed to idle away a sunny afternoon on the cliff-top or among the heather.

  There seemed to be nobody to deal with the luggage, so he picked up his own and his sister’s suitcase, dumped them on the verandah of the chalet and went back to accompany the others to the bedroom which was now definitely assigned to Marius.

  ‘So this is your room, Father,’ said Margaret, glancing around it. ‘It’s quite a good one, but I’d rather stick to the chalet, and I’m not at all sorry Aunt Eliza is not here to greet us. We shall be thoroughly acclimatised by the time she comes back. There’s nothing like being the man on the spot. What time do you want us to come along for dinner, Father?’

  ‘There will be nothing much to do after dinner,’ said Marius, ‘so we may as well have it later rather than sooner. I think perhaps eight o’clock will be a suitable hour. I shall turn in early. It has been a fatiguing day.’

  ‘Disappointing, too, for the poor old buster,’ said Sebastian. ‘This partnership business has hit him where it hurts. He can say what he likes about underlings, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that rather poisonous little female at the desk holds pretty good cards and knows most of the answers.’

  ‘I do wish now that I’d told him about the partnership,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Well, we know why you didn’t, and I still think you were right. Having known about it since November, you couldn’t suddenly spring it on him at the end of April. If he wants to scheme for Aunt Eliza’s money, that’s his affair and it isn’t your fault. He’s been hoist with his own petard, so let’s leave it at that.’

  chapter four

  Lizzie’s Island

  ‘And in their courses make that round

  In meadows and in marshes found.

  Of them so called the Fairy Ground,

  Of which they have the keeping.’

  Michael Drayton

  « ^ »

  The landing-beach at which the boat had put in stretched northwards for upwards of a mile. Surveying it from the cliff-top on the following morning, Sebastian, who had a towel round his neck and his swim-trunks on under his flannel trousers, remarked to his sister, who was similarly clad except that she wore a bikini top under her sweater, that he was not impressed by the facilities which the greyish shore afforded.

  ‘I don’t think I want to bathe here,’ he said ‘and then there’s that awful grind up the hill to get back. My legs always feel like jelly after I’ve been swimming.’

  ‘Well, let’s walk about a bit,’ suggested Margaret. ‘Breakfast isn’t until eight. We’ve heaps of time.’ They walked to the tip of the island. From there, the mainland, which at first had been discernable through the early morning haze, was out of sight and all that faced the holiday-makers was a vast expanse of sea. They rounded a headland, glanced back at the south-east lighthouse of the island and then found themselves looking down on a tiny cove. ‘That might do,’ Margaret went on. ‘Let’s find a way down.’

  ‘It still looks rather mucky,’ objected Sebastian. ‘I hate bathing from shale and pebbles. Besides, the sea looks pretty rough and there are rocks.’

  ‘There’s somebody swimming, anyway.’

  The descent to the beach was precipitous, but there were steps cuts here and there, and at the back of the cove they found a large cave with a rocky ledge on which were the clothes presumably belonging to the swimmer. They shed their own outer lendings and picked their way painfully over sharp pebbles and precariously over bright-green slippery rocks to get into the water. It was shallow and clear, except for dark strands of seaweed, and it struck cold at that hour of the morning. Margaret crouched in the shallow sea on what appeared to be a shelf of rock and then, using her hands, lifted herself sufficiently to be able to propel her body forwards towards the dark green billows. The rocky shelf ended with some abruptness, and she found herself submerged in six feet of water. She surfaced and began to swim. Sebastian followed suit and the next moment they were hailed by the other swimmer, who came threshing towards them on a clean, crisp stroke which made their own quite adequate efforts look puerile and clumsy.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Just thought I’d better tip you off to stay pretty well inshore. Out there is the race they call Dead Man’s Day. Once you get caught in that, you’ve had it.’ She turned and threshed away. Five minutes later she was on the rocky shelf and was wading purposefully towards the cave.

  ‘That’s her,’ said Margaret, floating and allowing the waves to carry her slightly shorewards.

  ‘That’s who?’ asked Sebastian, pushing the long hair away from his eyes.

  ‘The woman we saw yesterday. Gavin. She waved to us from outside that house.’

  ‘Wonder how long she’ll take to dress? I shall soon have had enough of this. It’s damn’ cold and I want my breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, dear, yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to stop you going ashore. I’ll have to wait until she’s through, though, I suppose.’ He turned and swam along level with the coast, mindful of the warning about Dead Man’s Day. Margaret watched his somewhat laboured stroke and contrasted it with the human torpedo who had come in to speak to them, then she turned in the direction of the shore, swam as fast as she could, hoisted herself on to the ledge and staggered ungracefully over stones towards the cave.

  The woman, who seemed to be as energetic out of the water as in it, was just pulling a sweater on over a towelling shirt. Having done this, she unconcernedly dried her magnificent legs, shook back her damp hair, which appeared to have received a vigorous preliminary rubbing, and said, as she pulled on her trousers,

  ‘Hope you didn’t mind my butting in.’

  ‘Of course not. Very good of you, although my brother and I are pretty careful in strange waters.’

  ‘Good for you. Staying here long?’

  ‘A month. Your name—my brother spotted it on your luggage…’

  ‘Gavin. Laura to my friends.’

  ‘Our name is Lovelaine. I’m Margaret, my brother is Sebastian. We’re staying here with my father. The hotel belongs to my aunt.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Well, I hope I’ll see you again.’ She pulled on a pair of rope-soled shoes and added, ‘Wouldn’t your brother like to dress now? I’m just off.’

  ‘Yes, I expect he’s feeling cold,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll signal him.’ She stepped out of the cave and waved and beckoned. Sebastian thankfully waded ashore, but, when he reached his sister, he said,

  ‘Oh, dear! I thought you meant the cave would be vacant, but she’s still in there, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’ll get your towel,’ said Margaret. ‘You can begin to dry yourself out here.’

  ‘This wind is chilly. Why did you wave if she isn’t ready?’

  ‘She said she was.’ Margaret went into the cave. There was no sign of Laura. She and the wet swimsuit which she had flung down were both gone. Bewildered, the girl returned to her brother. ‘The cave’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Laura Gavin seems to have done a disappearing trick. Hurry up and get dressed. I want my breakfast.’

  ‘She can’t have disappeared,’ said Sebastian. ‘She certainly didn’t leave the cave while I was coming out of the water. I’d have seen her.’


  ‘I suppose you would. Anyway, she isn’t in there now.’

  Sebastian entered the cave, dried himself and dressed and then said, ‘I think I’ve got it. This cave must have been a smugglers’ hole. That means there’s another way up to the top of the cliffs from the back of it. I’ve heard of such things before. There must be a natural fault in the rock. Let’s find it.’

  This proved to be a simple operation. Not only was there a natural fissure in the back of the cave, but rough steps had been chopped out to make a steep ascent and a short cut to the cliff-top.’

  ‘Fun!’ said Sebastian. ‘But I don’t think I’ll bathe before breakfast another time. I got damn’ cold hanging about waiting to get into the cave.’

  ‘Well, you don’t need to bother about me. You never do. I’ll tell you what. I saw some steps up to the lighthouse while I was in the water. Let’s go that way back.’

  ‘Worse than the climb up from the cave, wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I like steps.’

  ‘And what happens when we get to the lighthouse? Ten to one we’ll have to come all the way down again.’

  ‘Oh, well, all right, then. I’ll do it by myself sometime.’ They toiled up the rest of the slope, flung their wet swim-suits down on the sitting-room floor of the chalet and found their father already at breakfast when they went over to the hotel.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Have you been swimming? I hope you didn’t take any risks. I’ve been talking to the porter. He has come back on duty today. He tells me that the currents around the island are very treacherous and can be extremely dangerous.’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ said Margaret. ‘The Gavin woman—Laura—was there, and she warned us about Dead Man’s Day.’

  ‘That was very good of her. Well, sit down and have your breakfast. The bacon and eggs come from the farm and are excellent.’

  ‘Any news of Aunt Eliza?’ asked Sebastian.

  ‘None. I could hardly ask the porter about her, and so far there is nobody in charge of reception. I think you may like to make yourselves scarce as soon as you have had your breakfast. The hotel is already in a state of near-confusion preparing for a vast influx of visitors, so that it promises little hope of any peace and quiet this morning.’