A sudden laugh, high and a little affected, drew Rose’s attention back to the Adlers’ table. She turned in her chair to catch Mabel chattering happily to the duchess, very much in the manner of one speaking to an old friend rather than to a new acquaintance. In contrast, the duchess, she noted with interest, was saying very little, allowing the younger woman to lead the conversation, while she nodded in a listless fashion, which suggested that either the subject being discussed was of little interest to her, or she was barely listening to what was being said. Like Ron, she gave the impression of wishing to be elsewhere, her cheeks white save for two spots of vivid scarlet, her fingers worrying at her rings. Every so often, she gave a surreptitious little look in Cedric’s direction, careful not to catch his eye, worried perhaps, despite Alec Dewhurst’s fine and confident introduction, that the earl meant to denounce her.
Had she seen fit to enquire, Rose would have told her that she had nothing to fear with regard to her husband. Cedric was not a mean-spirited young man. He had no wish to cause the woman offence or embarrassment; he had no intention of humiliating her. Even so, Rose fervently hoped that Alec Dewhurst would not see fit to insist on extending the introductions and introducing the duchess to the Belvederes as his sister. She did not doubt that Cedric was quite capable of carrying off the deception, though it would be awkward for all concerned. Rather, it was how Lavinia would manage the charade. Knowing the girl as she did, she doubted her capable of maintaining a straight face. More than likely, Lavinia would dissolve into a fit of the giggles.
It rather amused her to see that Miss Hyacinth, at the urgent persuasion of Miss Peony, was gingerly edging her way towards the Adlers’ table, presumably either in search of an introduction to the imposter, or to obtain a better look at the duchess.
‘What a beautiful pocket watch, Mr Dewhurst,’ exclaimed Mabel. Only a minute before Alec had withdrawn the gold watch from his pocket and made a great show of consulting it. In so doing, he had caught Mabel’s eye and smiled. She had stretched out her hand towards the object, much in the manner of an inquisitive child, determined on examining it. Her eyes had widened appreciatively as she had studied the watch, which was encrusted with diamonds that glittered in the candlelight.
Was it Rose’s imagination, or did Miss Peony make a quick move to draw her sister back? Certainly, an odd expression crossed the older woman’s face. Miss Hyacinth, however, was not to be deterred in her mission. Somewhat fascinated, Rose watched Mabel turn the pocket watch over in her hand, apparently counting the diamonds. ‘Five, six …’ began Mabel. The duchess was sufficiently vexed by this action to say by way of protest: ‘Oberon –’
She was met with a steely glare of such ferocity from Alec that she did not finish her sentence, but instead seemed to withdraw stung, back into her chair. Mabel, looking up at that moment, caught something of the exchange of looks between the two. It is possible that she was merely taken by surprise, or perhaps on reflection she thought her actions had been too forward or over familiar, that the picking up of the watch and studying it with such relish had been vulgar and gauche. Whatever the reason, something persuaded her that she should return it at once to Alec’s possession. In fact, that nothing was more important than that she do so. Clearly flustered, and hurrying in her efforts, her actions consequently were clumsy. It was hardly a surprise then when the pocket watch slipped from her fingers and rolled on to the floor.
There followed a shocked silence, and then something of a mad scramble to retrieve it, as if everyone wished to know the worst in respect of any damage. Miss Hyacinth, who was standing not far from the watch, made a grab for it. Ron Thurlow, however, proved too quick for her, for he was out of his chair and had pounced on it before she had moved a couple of steps. Every eye was on him as he turned the watch over in his hand. Not a breath could be heard as he examined the watch’s outer casing. Meanwhile, the other hotel guests calculated the likely destruction. There had been no sound of breaking glass, and the watch had fallen on to the woven rug rather than on to the marble floor.
‘No harm’s been done,’ declared Ron. However, he made no move to return the pocket watch. Instead, he continued studying it as if it held for him a particular fascination.
‘If I might have it back, there’s a good chap,’ said Alec, rising from his seat, a note of coldness in his voice.
Ron did not stir. With one quick movement, Alec snatched the watch from Ron’s grasp.
‘Did you check the movement?’ asked Father Adler rather timidly, no doubt afraid that his daughter would be held liable for any damage.’
‘It looks fine,’ replied Alec rather brusquely, giving the watch a cursory glance before stuffing it without ceremony into his pocket.
‘I say, I’m awfully sorry,’ said Mabel, her face a deep shade of crimson. ‘I can’t think what’s the matter with me, I seem to be all fingers and thumbs.’
Alec turned and bestowed on her a smile of such sweet intensity that the girl blushed afresh. ‘There’s no harm done,’ he said softly, repeating Ron’s words.
Was it Rose’s imagination, or did his fingers touch Mabel’s and linger on them for a moment? She could hardly believe that they did. For Alec Dewhurst did not strike her as a foolish young man. In certain circumstances she could imagine he might be reckless, daring even. Indeed, had he not acted rashly in eloping with the duchess? But to make so intimate a gesture towards another woman in his lover’s presence … why, surely it was an act close to madness? And yet, she had not been mistaken. Mabel’s animated face, with its dewy eyes and chin jutted up at an angle so that she might better study her suitor, was clue enough. It revealed to Rose that the girl, at least, held Alec Dewhurst in high affectionate regard.
She turned her gaze next towards the vicar and the duchess. It was quite inconceivable that the actions and displays of affection had gone unnoticed by either of them. To her fanciful mind, the duchess appeared pale and agitated, while Father Adler looked decidedly ill at ease, as if something were troubling him.
The hotel guests had all but forgotten Mr Vickers. His absence had initially been commented upon vaguely, as an observation rather than as a matter of interest. Indeed, his vacant table had generated very few glances. The general view of those seated in the dining room was that he was a most disagreeable fellow and dinner was immeasurably improved by his not being present. It was, therefore, quite likely that his late appearance in the dining room would not have been particularly noted or remarked upon had the man in question not stumbled into a chair and sent it flying. The resounding clatter of the wooden chair on the marble floor caused all eyes to be turned on him momentarily. A servant ran to right the chair as Mr Vickers staggered to his table, apparently oblivious to the reproving frowns and reproachful looks cast in his direction.
It was evident to all those present that the man was inebriated. Even his physical appearance that evening looked particularly dishevelled, as if he had rushed his toilet in his eagerness to assault the hotel bar. Bleary eyed and unkempt, he made a sorry picture, and the hotel guests soon wrinkled their noses and averted their gaze, as if the man were some unpleasant vapour. It seemed only Rose stared at him perplexed. For it occurred to her that, while his slovenly outward appearance suggested otherwise, a light had suddenly entered the unfocused eyes. He had paused in the act of sitting down and looked about him, all at once alert, as if he had caught a fleeting whiff of something more intoxicating than liquor. Certainly, she could not be mistaken that there was something furtive and surreptitious about his movements now. Instinctively, Rose glanced towards the duchess. A quick look back at Mr Vickers was enough to show her that the woman was also in his sights.
Afterwards, she wondered if the duchess felt their eyes upon her, for in that instant the woman turned and, caught somewhat unawares by Mr Vickers’ penetrating stare, she let out a startled scream.
‘That’s him!’ she cried, clutching at Alec’s sleeve. Met with a bewildered gaze from her companion, she added for clarity: ‘Tha
t’s the man. The one who was peering in at my window!’
Chapter Twelve
‘Was it by Jove!’ said Alec, advancing on Mr Vickers in a dramatic fashion. It is possible that he had thought the face at the window was no more than a figment of his companion’s vivid imagination. Now it appeared there was some substance behind the notion that they were being spied upon. He felt himself possessed by a feeling of righteous anger. It did not help matters that he had never taken to Mr Vickers, whom he had readily dismissed as insignificant.
‘Well, and what have you to say for yourself, my man?’ he demanded, towering over the scrawny figure. Mr Vickers made no attempt to answer him. Instead, he blinked very rapidly and took a great gulp of air. ‘What, has the cat got your tongue?’ Alec said unpleasantly. It was apparent that he was finding the little man’s continuing silence infuriating for he proceeded to prod Mr Vickers painfully in the chest. Mr Vickers winced and emitted a pitiful cry. ‘Answer me, you sorry specimen of a man,’ continued Alec, between breaths, his hands now about Mr Vickers’ collar, as if he had in mind to shake the truth from him. ‘Why, you pathetic little –’
‘That will do, Dewhurst,’ said Cedric, himself advancing on to the scene. ‘There are women present.’ He looked first at Mr Vickers and then glared at Alec. ‘Can’t you see the man’s frightened half to death?’
‘It serves him right if he is. It’s no more than he deserves,’ replied Alec savagely, though he loosened his grip on the man’s collar. Mr Vickers, taking advantage of this temporary reprieve, withdrew a few steps and toppled in to a table.
‘Eh, what are you playing at?’ he complained, feeling his neck tenderly. ‘Can’t a man come in here and get his dinner without being set upon?’
‘Be quiet,’ said Cedric quickly, fearing the man’s words would only seek to fan the flames and drive Alec Dewhurst to a further display of violence. ‘Is it true what her … her …’, he paused awkwardly, ‘Miss Dewhurst says?’
‘No, it ain’t,’ declared Mr Vickers, all traces of class and breeding having left his speech. ‘It’s a dirty lie, that’s what it is.’
‘The man’s a Peeping Tom,’ said Alec. ‘Why, I’ve a good mind to –’
‘Are you a pressman?’ demanded Cedric.
Was it Rose’s imagination, or did the little man look genuinely surprised at the question? Certainly, his: ‘No I ain’t, my lord,’ was uttered with considerable conviction.
‘A journalist?’ cried the duchess, putting a hand up to her mouth as if to stifle another scream. She rose from the table, hurried forward, and clutched again at the young man’s sleeve. ‘Ober … Alec, I believe he had a camera ... of course, I might have imagined it, but if he had ...’ For one awful moment, she looked as if she might crumple and faint, but at the last minute she managed to compose herself.
‘Well, ‘said Cedric, turning to Mr Vickers, ‘do you have a camera?’
The little man made no reply, but merely scowled. Some of the colour had left his flushed cheeks, and he appeared more sober now, but for the fact that he swayed a little on his feet, though whether from fear or liquor, it was hard to tell.
‘Answer him, damn you!’ cried Alec Dewhurst. He took a step forward and made as if to grab the man’s shirt. Mr Vickers instinctively took a step back and crouched behind the earl’s tall, reassuring form. An ugly smile appeared on Alec’s face and he raised his hand as if he had it in mind to strike the man. Miss Hyacinth shrieked and Mr Vickers cowered even further behind Cedric.
‘I’ve a good mind to –’ began Alec Dewhurst.
‘That’s enough, Dewhurst,’ Cedric said hastily, making sure that he was standing firmly between the two men to form an effective barrier. ‘Let me speak to Kettering and find out which is this man’s room. I’ll get him to open the door and I’ll have a look for the camera myself. ‘No,’ he said firmly, as Alec made to follow him. ‘You stay here. And you,’ he said, turning to address Mr Vickers, ‘had better come with me.’ He lowered his voice a little before adding: ‘If only for your own safety.’
Alec glared at the young earl and made to protest, but evidently thought better of it. At the back of his mind it occurred to him that he had made rather a spectacle of himself. A quick glance at Mabel informed him that the girl had been somewhat shocked by the vulgar nature of his performance, and indeed her father was making efforts to encourage his daughter to retire to their rooms. All his efforts were about to come undone, and though there was a part of him that was tempted to stand his ground and even land a punch on the little man’s wretched cheek, he forced himself to turn his back on Mr Vickers and resume his seat, his splendid mask in place and his features set in a smile, if a little strained.
With the young man’s withdrawal from the scene, Mr Vickers seemed to gain some confidence. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me, you haven’t, my lord,’ he informed Cedric, in a whiny voice, as the younger man steered him by the arm towards the door. ‘I can have a camera just the same as the next man. And I’m blowed if I’ll let you take it from me. A present it was, from my missus, and mighty riled she’ll be if I come home without it.’ He bowed his head towards the earl and, in something of a genuflecting fashion which Cedric found repulsive, said: ‘And that’s not all. There’s a thing or two I could tell you about that one, I could.’ He jerked his head towards Alec Dewhurst as he spoke, who was engaged in conversation with Miss Adler. ‘Dewhurst ain’t his name, I can tell you that.’
‘I never thought it was,’ said Cedric, somewhat brusquely, attempting to take some of the wind out of the older man’s sails.
‘No, I doubt you did,’ admitted Mr Vickers, somewhat grudgingly, before brightening and saying with a leer: ‘Still, I’ll wager you can’t guess his surname.’ He looked eagerly at Cedric, but it was evident from the young man’s expression that he had no intention of participating in such a game. ‘Well, I’ll tell you anyway,’ continued Mr Vickers, determined to say his full pennyworth. ‘Goodfellow, that’s what it is, and if a man weren’t more unlike his name, I haven’t met him.’ Not receiving the response he desired from the earl, he repeated the surname, this time speaking more loudly and with greater emphasis: ‘Goodfellow.’
‘Do shut up, there’s a good chap,’ Cedric said hurriedly, rather afraid that Mr Vickers’ voice had carried to the Adlers’ table, not to mention to the Trimble sisters, whom he knew would be staring agog.
A furtive, backward glance at Alec Dewhurst confirmed Cedric’s worst fears. The young man had evidently been in the act of sipping from his wine glass when Mr Vickers’ ‘Goodfellow’ had caught him unawares and caused him to make a sudden, involuntary movement. The sound of ringing glass could be distinctly heard. For Alec’s glass had slipped from his fingers and fallen, clattering noisily on to his plate. The young man had been quick to correct the oversight, picking up the glass and signalling to a servant to attend to the spilt wine. Neither glass nor crockery had been broken and, but for the slight trembling of Alec’s hand, it appeared to a casual observer that not very much damage had been done. But Cedric was anything but an uninterested observer. A vivid red wine stain had appeared on the white table linen which had an uncanny resemblance to a bloodstain. For a fleeting moment, Alec Dewhurst had regarded it, as if transfixed. Even the duchess had appeared intrigued by it. A frown creased her lovely forehead, marring the aristocratic beauty and causing her features, though illuminated by candlelight, to pale.
Even for Cedric, frogmarching Mr Vickers to the door, the wine stain had held a strange fascination, and, while speaking to the hotel proprietor on the matter of the camera, he was surprised to find that a vision of the spoiled tablecloth lingered in his mind. He was not to know then that the image was destined to haunt him in the days to come. Had he done so, there was no doubt he would have averted his gaze.
To Rose, impatiently awaiting her husband’s return, the evening seemed to evolve with a dogged slowness. With the somewhat unceremonious departure of Mr Vickers, the evening had fol
lowed its habitual form, culminating in the usual music and dancing. The duchess’ unexpected appearance in the dining room, while at the outset causing some interest, had soon been all but forgotten, for the woman in question had withdrawn as soon as her meal was over, citing a headache.
Even Lavinia, after initially displaying much interest in the duchess, had soon become bored with the woman, for it had become evident that the duchess would not be drawn into making an exhibition of herself, even though the majority of those present thought she would be justified given the very blatant displays of affection between Mabel Adler and Alec Dewhurst. That the duchess preferred to withdraw into herself, and all but fade into the background, rather diminished her as an object of interest to the other guests, as if she were not the same woman who had graced the society pages or been the subject of national speculation.
It was a warm night and, despite the French windows being thrown open to admit the night air, the atmosphere within the dining room, a giddy mix of artificial light, music and alcohol, was, to Rose’s mind at least, stifling. She gazed impatiently at her wristwatch, wondering when Cedric would return. A quick glance at the dance floor informed her that Lavinia was occupied in dancing with Ron Thurlow, with whom even Lavinia had felt some sympathy. Indeed, it had caused the aristocrat to put aside any considerations of class, enabling her to dance with him as an equal partner. A smile passed Rose’s lips. Knowing her friend as she did, she could never imagine such a scenario happening in England where Lavinia would be happily ensconced with people of her own class.
To Rose, with her relatively humble beginnings, the relaxed atmosphere of Skiathos with respect to society, proved refreshing. The thought occurred to her then that the duchess might find it equally so. This was not an island on which her conduct would be judged too harshly, and where she might associate freely with a man who was so obviously from a lower class than herself. With this in mind and satisfying herself that she would not be missed should she take a brief stroll out on the terrace, Rose gathered her oriental silk shawl about her shoulders and ventured outside.
Murder on Skiathos Page 11
