The Santa Klaus Murder Page 6

  However, it was all settled. I sat beside Harry in the Sunbeam car, with Sir Osmond, Miss Mildred Melbury and Mrs. Stickland’s two children in the back. Harry made some sarcastic remark about him wondering I condescended to sit by him, me being now one of the family. Sometimes I can’t make out what’s in Harry’s mind. Mr. George Melbury drove his Austin car and took his wife and his youngest daughter and their nurse and also Lady Evershot. The others all walked through the park. Lady Evershot said she had a headache and so she’d take the two youngest children out before the sermon and walk home with them and put them in charge of the nurse who was a free-thinker. Though I wonder that the Hon. Mrs. George Melbury liked her little girl to be put under the influence of such a woman, after what had been revealed.

  Besides the family there were two gentlemen in the party at Flaxmere; Mr. Philip Cheriton, who is very much in favour with Miss Jennifer, though I can’t say the same for Sir Osmond, and Mr. Oliver Witcombe, who is a very gentlemanly young man and extremely good-looking. Mr. Witcombe was to be Santa Klaus and dress up in the costume which had caused so much trouble. I don’t think he liked the idea very much, but it was Sir Osmond’s wish. Considering all the trouble Sir Osmond had been put to over this Santa Klaus business, and how he’d spent a long time planning it out, I didn’t think the family seemed very grateful to him. The Hon. Mrs. George Melbury had a lot to say about her children being so highly strung that they couldn’t stand a lot of excitement and little Clare’s bedtime must not on any account be upset. Lady Evershot, who has no little ones of her own, is never behindhand in giving her opinion about other people’s, and she seemed to have some idea that Santa Klaus was old-fashioned and the children would see through him. Well, I must say I like a bit of old-fashioned fun at this festive season myself.

  Mrs. Stickland fell in better than the others with her father’s ideas, but Mr. Stickland had some jokes with the children about looking for smuts on Santa Klaus’ nose, because he came down the chimney, and wanted to take the stag’s antlers that Sir Osmond shot in Scotland from the study wall and fix them on his head with the bearskin rug over him—what he called local colour. Sir Osmond was a bit put out over that. “I won’t have you playing the fool, Gordon,” he said. “This is not one of your modern pantomimes. Let the children use their imagination.”

  “Only Oliver is licensed to play the fool on this occasion,” Mr. Cheriton said. “And he enjoys it less than anyone.” Which was rather hard on Mr. Witcombe, I thought.

  The Christmas-tree was stood in the library, and Bingham had fixed it up with little coloured lights, all electric. After lunch Mr. Witcombe went off to put on the red robe and the beard, and so on, and Mr. Cheriton went to help him. Sir Osmond had us all say good-bye to Mr. Witcombe, because he wanted the children to think that he had really gone away and Santa Klaus was a new person, so to speak. So we all said we were sorry he couldn’t stay, and Lady Evershot said she hoped the journey wouldn’t be too difficult. Then little Kit called out, “Mr. Witcombe hasn’t packed! I looked just before lunch and he hasn’t had a chance since! He can’t go without his tooth-brush.”

  Mrs. Stickland quieted him by saying that we hoped Mr. Witcombe would be able to come back that night. Then Kit wanted to know what sort of car had come to fetch Mr. Witcombe and could he go and look at it, so he had to be quieted again. We were in the drawing-room, children and all. The children were all a bit restive because, except for their stockings in the morning, they hadn’t had any Christmas presents yet, Sir Osmond having put all their parcels on the tree or piled up round it. Kit was the worst, of course. He’s rather an obstreperous child. His elder sister, Enid, likes to please her grandfather, and she knew there was something up, and kept saying, “When’s our surprise coming, Grandfather?”

  At last Mr. Cheriton came back to us and said: “He’s safely off!” That was the signal and meant that Santa Klaus was all ready in the library.

  Sir Osmond said, “I think I heard a noise like reindeer.” He had been quite put out that there wasn’t any snow, because he had meant to say he heard the sound of the sleigh-runners. “All sorts of queer things happen at Christmas-time, you know, children. Anne, run into the library and see if anyone’s there waiting for us.”

  Little Anne looked rather frightened at this. She is only four. “It’ll be someone very nice,” Mrs. Stickland said.

  “Reindeer wouldn’t go into the library!” little Kit piped up. “Shall I go and look in the drive?”

  “Perhaps it was Mr. Witcombe come back for his tooth-brush!” said young Osmond.

  “Nonsense!” said Sir Osmond, a bit sharply. Of course, children can be very trying. “Run along to the library, Anne!”

  But Anne began to cry and ran to her mother. Luckily Clare, Mrs. George Melbury’s youngest, who is a much bolder child, called out, “I’ll go and see!” She ran across to the library door, which was open, and peeped in, and there was the big tree all lit up and Santa Klaus. She squeaked out: “Oh, oh, oh! It’s the Christmas-tree!” and all the other children raced across after her, and we followed.

  Everything went off all right. Santa Klaus gave out the presents, and the servants all came in to have a look, and certainly it was a lovely sight. There was a handsome gift from Sir Osmond for each of the grown-ups, and there were dozens of presents for the children, because all theirs had been saved until then. When everything had been opened and admired, the children began to play with their toys in the hall, because there was more room there. Kit began laying out some railway lines, and Enid hung around him, fussing over a big doll which Sir Osmond had given her, though it was easy to see that she very much wanted to play with Kit’s new train. Some of the grown-ups were playing with the children in the hall, or looking on, whilst others had gone into the drawing-room to listen to the wireless.

  When nearly everyone had left the library, which was all littered with wrappings and string, Sir Osmond told Bingham he could switch off the lights on the tree and then go. Bingham had been helping Kit with his train, showing him how it worked. Sir Osmond had been particular that he should stay near at hand until the lights were turned off, in case anything went wrong. Sir Osmond was rightly very careful about any electric apparatus in the house, seeing that so many fine old places had been destroyed by fire all through the electric wires.

  Sir Osmond then told me he was going to the study; he was tired and wanted a little rest before tea. Also it was his custom to begin to write his letters of thanks on Christmas Day. He did all those himself, of course, and was very systematic about them, doing so many each day.

  Now that morning Sir Osmond had received a letter which had come by hand and was marked “Personal.” He had looked at it for a long time, though I could see it had only three or four lines of typewriting and no signature, and he never told me what was in it. But he said to me to remind him if necessary—because his memory was not what it used to be—that he had an appointment between three-thirty and four-thirty that afternoon. I thought this rather funny, Christmas Day not being usual for a business appointment, and I suppose I showed it, for Sir Osmond said it was only a personal matter, but he wanted to be in the study ready. From that I took it that he was expecting some private telephone call.

  So on that afternoon of Christmas Day, when he said he was going into the study, I at once thought he had the engagement in mind, but to make sure I just said that I supposed it was not necessary to remind him of the call he was expecting, and he said that was all right. Those were the last words I ever spoke to Sir Osmond, and his last words to me, as he went into the study, were: “Thank you, Grace. It’s a pleasure to me to know there is someone I can always rely on.”

  Sir Osmond then called to Mr. Witcombe, who was still waiting in the library, as Santa Klaus, to follow him into the study, to have his instructions, I suppose, about giving out the presents in the servants’ hall. It had been arranged that he was to do this in his Santa Klaus
dress and Sir Osmond was very particular that it should be done just so, with a special remark of a jocular nature to each one of them. We all knew that Mr. Witcombe didn’t relish this part of the business, because of course the servants all knew who he was and he probably felt a bit silly.

  When Sir Osmond went into the study with Mr. Witcombe, there was only Bingham there in the library, seeing to the lights, and me, and I don’t suppose anyone else knew exactly where Sir Osmond was or when he went into the study. I began tidying up the papers and string, but Harry, who was still busy with his electrical business, came and swept everything up into a corner and told me not to bother with the mess now, when I ought to be enjoying the party. So I went and joined the others in the hall and went round to look at the children’s presents.

  Santa Klaus, that is to say Mr. Witcombe, came out of the study not long afterwards and crossed the hall and went out by the door at the back, under the left-hand branch of the staircase; soon he came back again into the hall, from the dining-room, I think—on the right-hand side—holding a lot of crackers in his arms. He went up to Kit, who was kneeling on the floor over his train, and held out a cracker for him to pull. The cracker went off with a big bang, which attracted the attention of the other children, who came running up, and Santa Klaus divided his armful amongst them and they ran around pulling them with us who were in the hall and making a tremendous noise. Santa Klaus went into the library, I suppose to pick up the presents for the servants’ hall.

  It was some time later when we saw Santa Klaus come into the hall again, through the door from the back passage. He came to the bottom of the big staircase and waved his empty sack to show that he’d given away all the presents, and called out something to the children about saying good-bye soon, until next Christmas. Then he went into the library. We weren’t quite sure what was to happen next and I think everyone was waiting to see. I knew the original idea was for him to report to Sir Osmond, who would come into the hall and gather us all together to see Santa Klaus off from the front door. He had evidently gone into the study through the library, which happened to be the nearest door to him. Now that there had been this private letter to Sir Osmond about the appointment I didn’t know whether the plan might be altered or what we were supposed to do, so I kept a look-out to be ready.

  Then I heard a rattling of the handle of the study door, like someone trying to get out and not being able to turn it. I ran up to the door and tried it, but it was locked and the key wasn’t on the outside. I called out that the key must be inside, as was to be expected, but in a moment Santa Klaus appeared from the library, shutting the door carefully behind him. He looked round quickly and came up to Mrs. Wynford, who was standing near me, as we had been talking together. We saw that he had a sort of ghastly look, though with the false eyebrows and beard and his cheeks rouged, it was difficult to see what he really looked like until he came quite close. There seemed to be two expressions; this ghastly one looking through the jolly Santa Klaus one.

  He said very quietly to Mrs. Wynford: “Get the children away somewhere. There’s been an accident. Do you know where George is?”

  She gave a sort of gasp and put her hand to her mouth and looked towards the study and at him again, and didn’t seem able to say a word.

  He just nodded and said: “Yes: Sir Osmond. I think he’s shot himself.” He held her by the arm as he said it, as if to warn her not to scream and to hold her in case she fainted. But she seemed to get control of herself.

  She said: “I must go to him—a doctor—Grace had better telephone.”

  Mr. Witcombe said quickly, before I could run to the study, where the telephone was, “Hilda! I’m afraid it’s no good; you can’t do anything. Don’t go into the study; wait for George. Miss Portisham, will you see that someone looks after the children.”

  I knew from his manner as well as from what he said that it was very serious and I felt dreadfully frightened, but I knew we mustn’t have a scene and get all the children screaming. But he looked so awful in the Santa Klaus dress and make-up and his staring eyes that I wanted to laugh, even when I felt frightened and trembling and almost crying at the same time. I managed to tell him that I thought Mr. George Melbury was in the drawing-room; I’d noticed him go in there a little earlier. Mrs. Wynford stood, looking about her, very pale, but she seemed able to look after herself. Then I caught sight of Nurse Poole and was going to ask her to see to the children, when it occurred to me that there might be some feeling if I gave orders to her. But I saw Mrs. Stickland, and thankful that it was her, who is always so quiet, and not the Hon. Mrs. George Melbury, I went and told her what Mr. Witcombe had said.

  I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but everything was awfully quiet. Even the children were quiet, for a wonder, and Mrs. Stickland and the nurses got them all away without much fuss. I was still thinking that I ought to telephone, so I went into the library, remembering that the study door was locked, and as I went in I saw Mrs. Wynford at the study door, which was closed. Mr. Witcombe, still dressed up, which seemed so dreadful, but I think he had forgotten about it, came hurrying up just as Mrs. Wynford opened the door and he followed her into the study, and I went in behind him.

  We were surprised—at least, I was—to see Lady Evershot standing in the study with her back to the window that looks out at the side of the house. She was standing a little to one side and behind the chair in which Sir Osmond usually sat at his table in the corner, when he was writing, and I could just see that Sir Osmond was in the chair, not sitting up but dropped over one arm of the chair, with his head below the table. Lady Evershot looked very white and I could see her hands were trembling.

  Mrs. Wynford ran forward, round Sir Osmond’s table, taking no notice of her sister; she stood there, looking down at her father, drawing in her breath and seeming to go all stiff, with her hands spread out.

  Mr. George Melbury came in quickly and said, “Wait, Hilda!” He went up to her and put his hand on her arm, as if to hold her back, while Mr. Witcombe said: “You can’t do anything.” She pulled herself away and took a step nearer to her father. Mr. Witcombe said again, “It’s no good, Mrs. Wynford. We ought not to touch anything.” Then he turned to me and asked me to ring up the doctor.

  I went across to the little table in the other corner, where the telephone stood, and sat down and everything seemed to swim and my hands trembled so that I could hardly dial the number, though I knew it well enough. As I was waiting for the number I heard Mrs. Wynford say in a queer, high voice, “Where are Jenny and Carol?”

  I think Mr. Witcombe took her and Lady Evershot out of the room, and Mr. George came over to me and when he heard by what I said that Doctor Tarrant was coming at once, he asked me if I knew the number of Colonel Halstock, who was a neighbour of Sir Osmond’s and the Chief Constable of the county. I gave him the number and he sat down and began to dial it. I didn’t know whether to go away, so I waited. I walked a little back from the telephone table to where I could see Sir Osmond better. He lay all sort of collapsed sideways in his chair, leaning over towards the wall, and I could see a dark hole in the side of his forehead and a trickle of blood, and a long pistol lay on the table in front of him. It made me feel quite awful. I was afraid to touch him; he looked so dead; but it seemed dreadful to leave him like that.

  Then I heard voices in the library and in came Miss Jennifer, and went straight up to Sir Osmond’s table and stood there and said in a low voice: “Oh!” Very long drawn out it was. And then she just said: “How frightful!”

  She stood there a moment or so and then she walked up to the table and picked up the pistol. Mr. George was speaking through the telephone, with his back to her, but he had noticed her come in and now I suppose he heard the noise of her picking up the pistol and he said, very sharply, “You mustn’t touch anything, Jennifer!” Then he went on speaking into the telephone.

  I didn’t like to do or say anything. Mi
ss Jennifer seemed to take no notice of her brother, but she held the pistol for a moment and then put it down again very carefully and stood there looking at the table and everything on it. Then she turned and saw me.

  “I don’t know what I ought to do!” she said, but almost as if she were speaking to herself.

  Mr. George had just finished telephoning and he got up and said, “Really Jenny, you mustn’t touch anything in the room. It’s no good staying here, you know.”

  He looked towards me, as if wanting me to do something. I was very frightened and as if rooted to the ground, especially because I thought Miss Jenny was really half off her head with the shock. She looked white as a ghost. I went up to her and persuaded her out of the study and into the library.

  There sat Mrs. Wynford, still with that frozen look, as if she didn’t know what was going on round her. Lady Evershot was standing with her back against the window, just in the same position she had stood in the study, and she was gripping the window ledge with her hands and looking as if she might faint. Then Sir David came in at the library door and looked all round the room rather wildly and saw his wife and went and stood near her, but she took no notice of him at all.

  The others came in one by one. Mrs. Stickland was very quiet, but she was crying. Mr. Stickland followed her in and they went and sat down together. Mr. Witcombe, who seemed to have been finding them all and telling them, came in holding Sir Osmond’s sister by the arm and half supporting her. She was sobbing and calling out, very loudly, it seemed:

  “Look after the others! Where is George? He ought to be looking after his poor wife and sisters. Oh dear, oh dear! How can such a thing have happened? I always said these Christmas gatherings were not wise; but of course, no one would listen. Oh dear, oh dear!” She sat down and went on crying and calling out, “Oh dear! Oh dear!” over and over again.

  Mr. George’s wife followed them in and she was talking too, rather wildly, I thought, and saying, “At such a time, too! Oh, it’s dreadful, dreadful! Do you think the children will be all right? We must do something. To-day of all days! Just when we were doing our best! It’s frightful!”