Just Murdered Page 4

  With a final determined heave, she managed to get one leg over the wide top of the wall. For a minute or two Peregrine stayed exactly where she was, legs either side of the wall, leaning forward so her forehead rested on the concrete capping: it was as much to catch her breath as to avoid being seen. While she was there, Peregrine took a moment to examine her red low-heeled mules: the toes were now so battered and scratched they were unsalvageable. She made a mental note to wear plimsolls next time wall-scaling was on the agenda. Then she sat up and surveyed her immediate area.

  Her suitcase would be safe where it had landed, nestled in a clump of azalea bushes, but her more immediate problem was getting down. A few likely-looking trees stretched their branches invitingly towards the wall in various places, but Peregrine realised there was a far better option. From where she sat, she could see the entire facade of the mansion housing the Adventuresses’ Club. The front door was over to her right, and there was no sign of the officious man who had refused to let her in. Peregrine’s perch also gave her a view down one side of the property: there was only a narrow gap between the building and the perimeter wall. Easy. Smiling with satisfaction, she pulled off her mules and dropped them close to the suitcase.

  Barefoot, she stood up, stretched out her arms for balance, then made her way along the remaining section of the front wall, eased past the stone ball capping the corner, and started down the side. Expecting at any minute to hear an outraged shout of discovery, Peregrine was surprised to find she was actually enjoying herself. The mansion and its windows loomed. She hurried the last few steps, past the edge of the building and out of the main lines of sight. Now she was standing directly across from the side of the first-floor balcony. The balustrade was low—only about hip height—but the gap between the wall where she stood and outer edge of the balcony was wider than it had seemed from across the garden.

  Peregrine looked down. It seemed rather a long way to the ground, and the only thing to break her fall was a concrete path. So, before she had time to change her mind, she leaped for the balcony. One foot made the top of the balustrade, but momentum kept her going, sending her sprawling. Thankfully, a wicker chaise longue, laden with cushions, had been placed to catch the morning sun and Peregrine fell onto it, sending it skating across tessellated tiles and into a small table holding a potted fern. The plant wobbled, threatening to topple. Peregrine grabbed for it, catching the ceramic pot and setting it upright again.

  ‘What was that?’ a woman’s voice called from inside the mansion. ‘Samuel, was that you?’

  ‘Not me—I’m right here,’ came the response. Peregrine recognised the voice of the man from the gate.

  There was a moment’s silence, then the sound of footsteps getting closer. Peregrine scrambled to her feet and looked around wildly. A number of large sash windows were open, but it was impossible to know which would take her to safety and which would bring her face to face with the mansion’s occupants. And she wasn’t quite ready for that.

  Peregrine raced back across the balcony, flattening herself into a shallow niche in the wall. No sooner had she done so than a woman’s head appeared from the nearest window. She turned towards the chaise longue and Peregrine saw the back of her head, chestnut hair flecked with grey.

  ‘Must have been a strong gust of wind,’ the woman said. Her head disappeared and Peregrine heard the window slam shut, followed by the snick of a lock. The sounds repeated three more times as the remaining windows were closed and secured.

  Peregrine waited a little longer then slowly peeled herself away from the wall and risked a lightning glance through the nearest window. The room was a study, tastefully furnished and lined with books, but devoid of people. She moved along the balcony, checking each window and a set of French doors but finding them all locked.

  ‘Rats.’ She bit her lip.

  The decision to scale the perimeter wall had been impulsive and—Peregrine was beginning to realise—perhaps not the best idea. If she called out now and advertised her presence, stuck on the first-floor balcony, it would hardly be an auspicious introduction to the members of the Adventuresses’ Club. If, however, Peregrine could get inside and simply stroll casually into their midst, surely a group of Adventuresses would recognise and admire her intrepid spirit, ingenuity and tenacity?

  Leaning over the edge of the balcony, a quick reconnoitre informed her that going down was out of the question, which only left up. It seemed like the sort of building that would have a widow’s walk or some sort of roof access—all Peregrine had to do was get up there and make use of it.

  It proved to be much easier than scaling the perimeter wall. Between the balcony’s balustrade, a handy drainpipe and the decorative caps on the building’s columns, Peregrine was able to clamber up and over the roof’s parapet with relative ease. She discovered the roof itself was almost as elaborate as the mansion’s facade: a series of gables and flat areas, part slate tile and part corrugated iron, with a tall tower rising an extra two storeys above a back corner of the building. A narrow walkway ran between the parapet and the nearest gable, and Peregrine began to make her way towards the tower. She was hoping one of its windows would be unlocked, but the closer she got the more disheartened she felt. The tower seemed to be unused and in a state of genteel decay, bordering on disrepair. The window she could see was filthy, with deep cracks radiating out above the lintel and bird droppings caking the sill. And when she was finally within touching distance of the grimy glass, Peregrine saw at once that she’d never be able to open it, even if it was unlocked. Decades of paint had sealed it shut. It would take a hammer, chisel and hours of work before there was any hope of getting in that way.

  With a heavy sigh of frustration, Peregrine turned and stared out across the roof. The sun came out from behind a cloud and she squinted as a flash of sunlight struck her directly in the face, reflected off one of the roof’s many surfaces.

  Frowning, she changed her position slightly and raised a hand to her brow, shielding her eyes against the glare. A small window, hinged open, was set into the side of a gable right in the middle of the vast roof.

  ‘This is getting ridiculous.’ Peregrine looked at the series of peaks and valleys separating her from the only point of entry. Then she thought of the letter tucked deep in the bag she still carried slung across her shoulder, the words urgent and inheritance. She studied the lines of the roof, mapping out the easiest path to the window, then she wiggled her toes and stepped out, picking her way between two slate-covered gables to the iron roof beyond. Now the only way forward was straight down the middle of a roof ridge. At least this part was iron, giving her bare feet far more purchase than the smooth slate. Arms out, eyes focused on the horizon and with a foot either side of the ridge, Peregrine started walking, forcing herself not to rush.

  A pigeon fluttered in front of her and landed directly at her feet, its head bobbing as it stared with first one eye then the other.

  ‘Shoo! Get out of my way!’ Peregrine tried to flap a hand at the bird but the action caused her to list sharply to one side. ‘Move!’ She stepped closer to the bird and it shuffled away, keeping the same distance between them. Peregrine kept going forward and the pigeon kept moving back until at last only a valley in the roof separated her from the open window.

  It was smaller than it had looked.

  Peregrine edged her way across and carefully lowered herself down until she was sitting just next to the window. She listened but could hear nothing from within. Cautiously she eased her torso around and peered inside.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she muttered.

  She’d assumed the window would open into a small room, tucked up among the eaves of the vast mansion. The sort of space a maid would have occupied in years past, with a sloping roof that only allowed the occupant to stand fully upright if they were in the centre of the room. She’d expected it would only be a few feet from window to floor. She hadn’t expected to be staring into a void.

  The w
indow was, in fact, set in the vaulted ceiling above a stairwell, its opening mechanism controlled by two thin ropes which dangled against the wall: one for pulling it open, the other to haul it closed. About ten feet below and slightly to Peregrine’s left, a suit of polished armour stood at the point where stairs reached the first-floor hallway. She could see its companion across the landing, guarding a similar place at the top of a matching staircase. The two flights of stairs swept down and met beneath a stunning stained-glass window, before a single grand stairway continued to the ground floor. From her vantage point, Peregrine could see the entire magnificent stairwell laid out beneath her: the richly patterned wallpaper, the polished wood of the banisters, the worn red carpet on the stair treads and, suspended in the centre of the space so that its bulk sat level with the floor of the upper hallway, a magnificent brass chandelier, its hundreds of crystal teardrops reflecting the colours of the stained glass.

  Peregrine sat back and considered her next move. She’d have to go in feet first, that much was obvious. If she could lower herself carefully, it would only be a short drop of four feet or so directly onto the carpet of the first-floor hallway. And even if she lost her balance, there was room enough that she was unlikely to tumble down the stairs.

  ‘I can do this.’ Peregrine took one last look, fixing the geography of the landing in her mind, then eased herself around on the roof so she was on her stomach, with her feet poking through the window. Slowly she slid backwards. Lower legs, hips … The window was really quite small—actually only half a window, bisected by the hinged pane—and she had to wriggle a bit. Then Peregrine’s entire lower body was through, her stomach on the lip of the window, torso and arms stretched out across the roof.

  ‘Land soft, bend knees, roll,’ Peregrine muttered. The words had been drummed into her years ago when, as a small, skinny little girl, a jackaroo on a station had taught her how to ride a horse. And how to fall off.

  Now Peregrine let the weight of her own body pull her inside, her hands trailing, ready to grab the edge of the window. She felt her shirt ride up then fall back into place as she slid across the sill, and she braced for the coming jolt.

  It came sooner than she expected, before her hands had even touched the windowsill. Part of the tote bag, which was still slung across her chest, had snagged on something. Now her fingers gripped the edge of the window frame, the bag still outside. The strap pulled up under her arms as she hung, but the bag was stuck fast. Peregrine tried to swing just a tiny bit, hoping the movement would shake things free. Her tote bag refused to yield. She looked down at her landing place, a patch of red carpet, only a few feet away. There was only one thing she could do.

  Peregrine let go of the window ledge, catching hold of the bag’s strap with both hands as she fell. It was a cheap canvas bag, and certainly not designed to do anything more than look stylish, so when Peregrine’s full weight hit the strap there was a tearing sound, and the bag fell free. However the sharp jerk altered Peregrine’s trajectory. Instead of dropping straight to the carpet, she swung to her right, straight into the suit of armour.

  Instinctively, she grabbed at it, wrapping her legs around the metal torso as though ready for a piggyback ride. The armour wobbled on its pedestal then began to tip over. For Peregrine, the next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. She was aware of the cold metal and the sensation of falling, but, most of all, she was aware that the suit of armour was toppling directly towards the polished banister of the landing and the vast stairwell beyond.

  Metal suit hit wooden banister with an almighty crash, the sound reverberating through the Adventuresses’ Club. Peregrine shrieked as she was flung out into the void. The chandelier rushed up to meet her and she snatched at it, her hands somehow finding the thick rope of cord and wires and latching on. Her legs pedalled wildly for a moment before she was able to bring them up so she was almost sitting on the topmost brass ring. There was a cracking sound from high above and the chandelier dropped a few feet, flakes of plaster drifting past her.

  Peregrine held her breath, waiting for the whole thing to give way and carry her to the ground in a shower of crystal. But it held.

  Doors slammed and feet pounded as Adventuresses came from every corner of the house. Peregrine watched as they gathered below: all staying at a safe distance, and all staring up at her with a mixture of shock and incredulity. She saw the man from the gate arrive, closely followed by a tall brown-haired woman dressed in jodhpurs, boots and a turtleneck. The crowd of women parted and the newcomer strode through their ranks, coming to a stop just beyond the range of any falling debris. Her brow furrowed as she stared up at Peregrine.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she asked.

  Peregrine stared back defiantly. ‘I’m Peregrine Fisher,’ she said, trying to look as though she was perfectly comfortable where she was.

  ‘Did you say Peregrine Fisher?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Peregrine glanced down at her tote bag, which was somehow still hanging from her shoulder. There was a ragged tear in the canvas and a piece of paper poked through the gash. She plucked it free with two fingers.

  Looking down, she saw the man who had turned her away was now standing next to the officious woman. Peregrine smiled sweetly and caught his eye. ‘Here’s the letter I received: I believe that’s the information you wanted. It really would have been easier if you’d just waited a moment and let me in the front gate.’ Peregrine opened her hand with a flourish and the letter fluttered to the ground, the eyes of a dozen women charting its progress. To Peregrine’s delight, it landed right at his feet.

  He picked up the letter, glanced at it, then passed it to the woman standing next to him with an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, Birdie, I was only following your instructions. You explicitly said no password, no admittance. She didn’t know the password.’

  ‘Never mind, Samuel,’ came the reply. ‘I still think having a password is a good idea and I can hardly blame you for—’

  ‘Ahem.’ Peregrine cleared her throat. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but if you don’t mind …’

  Birdie and Samuel stared up at her.

  ‘A ladder would be nice.’

  Once galvanised into action, Samuel and the Adventuresses moved quickly and it wasn’t long before Peregrine was in the Camelot Room, seated in a shabby velvet armchair. A bespectacled lady knelt in front of her, dabbing Peregrine’s grazes with mercurochrome, while at least a dozen more women milled about, filling the room and spilling into the hallway beyond. The women were clustered in small groups, all feigning disinterest in the newcomer who had made such a spectacular entrance. By contrast, Peregrine looked around with open curiosity, occasionally managing to catch someone’s eye as they cast a sideways glance in her direction. Each time it happened she smiled and called out a friendly hello, but every greeting was met with a stiff nod and a quickly averted gaze.

  Peregrine leaned forward. ‘Sorry, no one told me your name. And who are all these women?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m Violetta Fellini and these women are Adventuresses,’ Violetta replied. ‘Most of them are just here for my lecture on women in the American and Russian space programs.’

  ‘Oh! Sounds interesting! When is it?’

  Violetta looked up from the cut on Peregrine’s elbow, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. ‘Actually, I was in the middle of it when you … arrived.’

  Across the room, Birdie clapped her hands. ‘Ladies, I’m sorry, but under the circumstances we won’t be resuming today’s lecture. Samuel will see you out, but remember to sign our petition for women serving in the air force to be trained as pilots, not just auxiliary staff. We’ve shown the men how to run a signalling corps—now let’s show them how to fly fighter jets!’

  The room cleared quickly while Violetta packed up her first-aid box. Soon only four other women remained, sitting quietly on the other side of a large table. Peregrine heard the front door close and seconds later Birdie and Samuel were back. She watched as
Violetta joined them and the three held a whispered conference, passing her inheritance letter between them. Then Birdie stepped forward and studied her, eyes roaming over every part of Peregrine’s face until it started to become uncomfortable. Peregrine reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t had a chance to freshen up,’ she said.

  ‘So you’re Annabelle Fisher’s daughter.’ Birdie made it sound like an accusation; it was a tone Peregrine had heard a thousand times before. ‘Do you have any proof?’

  Without taking her eyes from Birdie’s, Peregrine rummaged in her bag then thrust a handful of papers at the other woman. ‘My birth certificate, plus Mum’s birth certificate and … some other stuff.’

  Peregrine watched as Birdie scanned the top document, catching the quick flicker of eyes when she reached the part marked Father Unknown. She raised her chin and waited.

  Birdie passed the papers back. ‘And where is your mother now?’

  ‘Under a lemon tree,’ Peregrine said, and for the first time in a long and difficult stretch, she felt like crying. ‘She died last year. The death certificate is in here.’ She tapped the pile of papers in her lap.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Violetta put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Thank you.’ Peregrine sniffed hard as she bundled her documents away. ‘Now would someone please tell me why I’m here?’

  Birdie, Violetta and Samuel exchanged looks.

  ‘Tea?’ Samuel asked no one in particular. ‘I think this calls for tea.’

  He disappeared and an awkward silence settled over them. Violetta pulled a chair close to Peregrine’s and sat down, but Birdie couldn’t keep still, prowling the perimeter of the room, occasionally stopping to stare up at a decorative banner trumpeting the achievements of The Adventuresses’ Club of the Antipodes. After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the rattle of crockery announced Samuel’s return. But instead of getting on with things, everyone waited while he took his time pouring tea, offering biscuits and fussing with side tables. Peregrine remembered to say please and thank you, sipped her tea politely, and inwardly seethed as she waited for a response to her question. Finally Birdie set her cup and saucer aside.