Planning for Murder

A Tubby Wiseman Mystery

Anne Morice

• Publisher: Dean Street Press
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781914150401
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

It was unlikely that many had actually prayed for the murder of Mr Waddington, and they did not light beacons on the Downs or rejoice openly when it came about, but most had probably uttered a silent word of thanks.

There is no shortage of murderous feelings among the eccentric country folk opposed to the development of a new 'model village'. But when a nosy estate agent and her friend peer into the windows of the country house at the centre of the development scheme, they spy an actual corpse. Their action sets off a series of incidents that include staged pranks and cold-blooded murder. As always, Morice provides not only a solid and satisfying plot but also marvellous, witty dialogue that illuminates both character and class. Anne Morice's final novel maintains her considerable powers as a creator of complex puzzles.

Planning for Murder was originally published in 1990. This new edition features an introduction and afterword by crime fiction historian Curtis Evans.

"A light hand, an engaging ease, and an inventive mind: all welcome qualities in the writing of crime novels.' Financial Times

'What makes her such good company is not her deductive skill but her shrewd eye and quick tongue for people and situations.' Daily Telegraph

Five

(1)

The news of the macabre practical joke had by this time spread to every household in the neighbourhood, causing great hilarity among the anti-development league and tears of relief to be shed in private by Janet Gillford.

‘Where on earth did you hear all this?’ Geoffrey asked when she told him about it at lunch. ‘There was no mention of it in any of the papers this morning. Not that I’ve had time to do more than skim them,’ he added, recollecting himself.

‘No, it was Avril who told me, when I rang her up to thank her for Sunday. She seemed to think it was a great joke. She also told me that Robert was back. He’d just stepped inside the house, but she didn’t have the fun of breaking the news to him because he’d heard it already.’

‘Really? I was given to understand that he’d been in the States for the past four or five days.’

‘So he had, but he travelled back on the same plane as Mr Waddington and some lady friend of his. Wasn’t that an extraordinary coincidence? Apparently, the police had been in touch with him by telephone and he decided to come back immediately and help them sort things out, although they assured him it wouldn’t be necessary.’

‘And that, I would say, would be exactly the kind of situation to appeal to your friend, Avril.’

‘Why would you say so?’

‘I could be wrong, but I like to think I can recognise her type of woman from a mile off.’

‘What type of woman are you talking about, Geoffrey?’

‘One who likes to assert herself and interfere in matters which are no concern of hers. Rather too bossy and aggressive for my taste, I’m afraid, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

Janet did not in the least mind his saying so and would have encouraged him to indulge in further censures and criticisms of her dear friend, if it made him happy. However, there was one small hurdle which needed to be cleared before the subject of Mr Waddington was allowed to drop and she had decided to face it head on.

‘It’s such a strange coincidence, you know, Geoffrey, but I found myself very near Uppfield yesterday. Now I think of it, I realise that it could have been swarming with policemen by that time, so perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t get any nearer.’

‘What? What are you on about, Janet? What time was this?’

‘Oh, elevenish, I suppose. Can’t have been any later because I was back here by twelve.’

‘But what on earth induced you to go there at all?’

‘Well, I had nothing special to do, you see. No shopping, of course, so I thought I might as well potter off and have a look at that house at Maresfield they’d sent us particulars of.’

‘Why didn’t you get Anthony to go with you?’

‘Because Anthony hates looking at houses and, anyway, he wasn’t even dressed by the time I was ready to leave.’

Janet, by this time, was growing rather resentful of being forced into telling so many untruths, but she ploughed gamely on: ‘Anyway, the Maresfield house was a complete dud, nothing like the photograph. It was much too small for us and with a perfectly hideous villa practically cheek by jowl. So there I was, sitting in the car and feeling rather flat and when I looked at the road map I saw that Uppfield was only four or five miles away, so, having come all that way, I thought I might as well have something to show for it and the next thing was that I had the most extraordinary stroke of luck.’

‘Indeed? What was that?’

‘I came to a village called Redlye, which we’d been through on our way to Avril’s, when I saw that Jones girl getting into her car. You remember her? Miranda, she’s called. So I went over and asked for directions to Uppfield. She said it was only a mile or two, but rather complicated if you hadn’t been there before and she very kindly offered to drive me up there herself. Wasn’t it sweet of her?’

‘Oh, very. What was she doing in Redlye?’

‘How should I know? Presumably it’s their local village, but it was none of my business and it didn’t occur to me to ask. The offer was going and, having got that far, I decided to take it.’

‘But you say you didn’t go right up to the house?’

‘No, it wasn’t necessary. The drive straightens out about half way there and you can see it spread out before you, in all its horror.’

‘How do you mean, horror?’

‘Simply that it’s the most hideous and gloomy old mausoleum you could ever imagine. Mr Jones must have had a very odd impression of us if he seriously imagined we could contemplate living in such a place. Apart from all the other disadvantages, it’s much too isolated. Two miles, at least, from the nearest shop or post office and I don’t suppose very much gets delivered up there. It wouldn’t matter for young people, I daresay, but at our time of life we have to plan ahead for our old age.’

Geoffrey’s expression indicated that he had no desire whatever to do any such thing and, to cover her faux pas, she said, ‘Anyway, you were right, as usual. It was an insane idea.’

‘I can’t think why you expected anything else, or bothered to go there, in the first place.’

‘Oh, just curiosity, I suppose. And then finding myself so near and with everything made so easy for me, I couldn’t resist it. Besides . . .’

‘Besides what?’

‘Well, you know, Geoffrey, I still can’t help wondering about this Mr Waddington. It’s not such a very common name, after all. I realise he can’t be the brother of the one you knew in Singapore, because we’re told he was the only son, but he could be a cousin or something and . . . well, despite what you said, I mean I’m sure you’ll tell me I’m wrong, but I do seem to remember he had a scar on his forehead just like the one they described.’

‘If that’s what you believe, my dear, then it must be true. Who am I to argue? And, besides, what difference does it make? Even if whoever told me about his being killed in a car crash had confused him with someone else, how would it concern us? I haven’t set eyes on the man for nearly ten years and, for all I care, he could just as well be dead. As for the here and now, there’s only one thing that matters and let us be thankful for it.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘That, in view of what’s happened there, not a living soul knows that you went to look at Uppfield Court on Monday morning.’

‘Except Miranda Jones, of course.’

‘Ah, yes, that’s a nuisance. I’d forgotten about her. Still, at least it means, if there should be any talk about it, she’ll be able to confirm that you didn’t go near the house.’

(2)

Miranda and Billy were also having lunch which, so far and much to his relief, had passed without bickering or acrimony, Miranda having scarcely uttered a word since they sat down.

He attributed this to the fact that she had spent most of the morning upstairs in the old nursery, which he had re-designed and fitted out as a practice studio, complete with barre and elaborate musical equipment. This had been one of the few jobs around the house which he had undertaken with enthusiasm and had afterwards seen as time and money well spent and a great asset in his campaign to ward off her attempts to tidy up the studio whenever she felt bored or restless. However, he occasionally remembered that he had other parental duties as well and he said, ‘You seem to be off your food and you are looking a trifle pale and wan. Perhaps you have been rather over-doing the exercises this morning?’

‘On the contrary, I have spent most of it sitting on the floor, listening to Chopin.’

‘Oh, dear. You are not ill, I hope?’

‘No, worse than that. I feel I am heading towards a Montague/Capulet situation and I need your cooperation to straighten it out.’

‘You wish me to sketch out a few designs for a balcony?’

‘Really, Pa, I do wish you wouldn’t joke about absolutely everything.’

‘No joke, I assure you. It was probably one of the most selfless offers you have ever received from me. As you are all too well aware, I have a great deal of pressing work on hand at present.’

‘Yes, I am and that is the crux of the matter. I should like it better if you could forget this pressing work of yours and switch your mind and talents to something less offensive to the neighbours.’

‘I know you would. We have been through this argument twice already and I have endeavoured to explain to you that my retiring from the fray would have no effect at all on the eventual outcome. I have no power to prevent the organisers going ahead with this scheme, so long as there’s a chance of their making a few billions out of it, and if I were to drop out they would simply find someone to replace me. By working with, instead of against them, I may at least be able to exert some influence over the way they go about it and, with a bit of luck, perhaps ensure that whatever they do is done with a modicum of taste and style. I haven’t bothered to explain all this to anyone else.’

‘Because you’re too proud and hoity-toity?’

‘No, because if they haven’t seen it for themselves, my pointing it out will do nothing to convince them. And what do I care? You, of course, are different.’

‘In what way am I different?’

‘First of all, you’re my daughter and since, in the nature of things, we are likely to be stuck with each other for a good many years, it would be preferable for us to remain on good terms. Secondly, you only come down here at irregular intervals and therefore cannot be expected to be au courant with new developments and, thirdly, unlike the vast majority of my critics, you have no incentive to safeguard your own interests against all comers.’

‘What does all that mean?’

‘Simply that practically all the most vociferous objectors to this scheme, however much they may rant and rave and write letters to The Times about the conservation of the landscape and the iniquity of despoiling our national heritage for a mess of potage, are really only concerned with the decline in value it will bring to their own properties.’

‘I’m not sure I agree with you there,’ Miranda said, refilling her glass with mineral water and slicing an apple into neat symmetrical quarters. ‘Take Martha, for instance. I can’t see her being bothered by such a thing.’

‘I did say practically all.’

‘Okay, so here’s something else you’ve left out of your calculations. You’re wrong in thinking that I have no incentive to safeguard my own interests, because that’s just what I bloody well have to do.’

‘Because there will be less for you to inherit when I die? Is that what you mean?’

‘You know damn well it isn’t. This is a different brand of self-interest. You may have heard me mention earlier that I am the innocent victim of a bitter family feud?’

‘Oh, so we’re back with the Montagus and Capulets again, are we? That’s good. I’d been meaning to ask you where they belong in our lives.’

‘Nowhere yet, but I am seriously considering the idea of marrying young Mr Montagu and Montagu senior is one of those who strongly disapprove of your current client. It would suit me better if you would have nothing further to do with him.’

‘I daresay it would, but I shall need a little more persuading before I commit myself to that extent. When did the idea of marrying this young man flit into your head?’

‘At about two o’clock yesterday afternoon when he proposed to me.’

‘I see. And how long have you known him?’

‘Oh, for at least two months.’

‘Really, Miranda, it is asking rather a lot to expect me to sacrifice my career, not to mention let myself in for damages, for the sake of such a short acquaintance. Have I met these people?’

‘I shouldn’t think so, but they seem to know all about you and when young Mr Montagu heard what my surname was he said that if he and I were to have an ongoing relationship it might be advisable to change it by deed poll.’

‘But you decided that it would be simpler to do so by marrying him.’

‘No, that came later.’

‘But you did manage to find out what his surname was?’

‘Yes, naturally. I could hardly commit myself to such a serious step without doing so. It is Rupert Crossman. That’s not too bad, do you think? Miranda Crossman sounds quite distinguished.’

‘Ah, Rupert Crossman, son of James, who owns the house the Gillfords are now living in, so I hope for their sake that you are not planning an early wedding. On the other hand, it sounds to me as though the thing is likely to fizzle out long before you get to that stage.’

‘Why does it sound to you like that?’

‘Because he seems to make a practice of this sort of thing. According to Mrs Gillford, he has only just broken off his engagement to some other female.’

‘Yes, I know. He told me all about that and he realises now that what he felt for her wasn’t love at all. She was just the Rosaline of the play, which makes it all the more poignant. Romeo had dallied with her a bit, but as soon as he clapped eyes on Juliet she meant nothing to him at all.’

‘Well, that’s all right then, and now that I know who his father is, I see no reason for him to make all this fuss about the development scheme. It’s several miles from where he lives and won’t impinge on him at all.’

‘It’s not as simple as you think. He loathes and despises Mr Waddington for all sorts of other reasons, quite apart from what he’s up to now, and the dislike covers everyone who’s in league with him or working on his side.’

‘What other reasons?’

‘Well, to give you an example, he’s supposed to have done a more or less criminal thing to Rupert’s father, who at the time Mr Waddi...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page/About the Book
• Contents
• Introduction by Curtis Evans
• One
• Two
• Three
• Four
• Five
• Six
• Seven
• Eight
• Nine
• Ten
• Eleven
• Twelve
• Thirteen
• Fourteen
• Fifteen
• Sixteen
• Seventeen
• Eighteen
• Nineteen
• Twenty
• Twenty-One
• Afterword
• About The Author
• Titles by Anne Morice
• Copyright