The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries

by Bianca Blythe

  “Can you please detail the events of this week?” Randolph asked. “Was there anything out of the ordinary? Anything that had upset the duke?”

  “The duke was given to being upset. He was passionate. Far better suited to be leading an army into battle. He might have made a good factory foreman as well, though we wouldn’t like to tell him that.”

  “Was there anything he was particularly concerned about this week?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything. The master might be dead, but he wouldn’t want me to divulge his secrets.” He tilted his head. “He was going to meet with his solicitor after Christmas.”

  “To change his will?”

  “I think he was interested in making queries as to how he could limit his son’s access to his estate after his death. He was doing the same for his wife.” The butler’s lips twitched. “He was even considering donating to charity as a means of diminishing the extent of Lord Holt’s inheritance. One wonders how many charities have received money because of people’s discomfort with their relatives.”

  “The house, though, would still have passed to the duke?”

  “Yes. He is the heir.”

  “Do you have an opinion on who may have harmed the duke?”

  “Not at all. I was, as you know, in the servants’ quarters. I am afraid I can shed no light.”

  “Hmph. Thank you all the same.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Cora half wondered if Gladys would appear in her room to dress her for dinner. But she did not. Likely she had remembered that Cora was wearing her one black dress already and had deemed it not necessary to make an appearance. Cora was quite capable of putting on her jewelry by herself and she redid her makeup.

  She made her way downstairs. Perhaps one of the people in this manor house was a murderer, but she still possessed little desire to be by herself in her room.

  Darkness had fallen over the house once again, despite the servants’ valiant attempts to light fires and candles. Long shadows loomed over every room, and even objects like vases seemed imbued with sinister qualities.

  “Hello, Cora.” Randolph gave her his normal big smile when she entered the library. Her heart managed to flutter, and she frowned.

  She should be used to his presence by now.

  She raised her chin. What was so special about broad shoulders and chiseled facial features after all?

  Heavens knew that Hollywood had been filled with men of above average appearance.

  But somehow, Randolph was different.

  But Randolph didn’t see her as a child actress, given to obediently reciting lines and learning complex choreography.

  He’d somehow managed to procure an evening suit, and he looked suave and cultured and utterly unlike the photographer figure she’d once imagined him to be.

  “The others are in the dining room,” he said.

  “You met them?”

  “All of them.”

  “And they were...”

  “Frosty. Fortunately, the blustery north wind rather prepares one for cold behavior, whether the temperature or the temperament sort.”

  “How fortuitous. And have you discovered the murderer?”

  “No. Though tonight promises to be fun. Mr. Ardingley managed to convince Lady Denisa to hold a buffet.”

  “How terribly modern.”

  “His wife was apparently hiding the fact, even from him, that she’d regained strength in her legs, and he wants to use the occasion to celebrate her improved health.”

  Cora smiled.

  Randolph scrutinized her. “You knew already.”

  “Not for long though.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Miss Clarke!” Mr. Ardingley’s voice was gleeful. “Come in here. It’s a party.”

  “Oh, Rhys,” the dowager hushed. “That might not be the correct word to use. Last night at this time my husband was busy dying.”

  “Today is a new day, and tomorrow a newer, better one still,” Mr. Ardingley said. “My wife, it seems, has experienced a miracle. She can walk.”

  “How wonderful,” Cora said.

  She didn’t mention that Mrs. Ardingley was the same woman she’d always been and walking should not influence the man’s opinion of her.

  “It’s jolly good news. She hid it for my sake,” Mr. Ardingley said. “She was worried the improvement of her health might incline my so swiftly departed father to not reserve any money for me in his will.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Ardingley beamed as if his wife had filled the Queen Mary high with red roses for him.

  “Ah, Cora!” Veronica waved at her from across the room. She wore a striking magenta gown and a sheer ebony scarf.

  Cora blinked.

  “You needn’t look so shocked, dear. You know quite well that I had no black evening gown. The scarf is black at least.”

  “It’s mostly see-through.”

  “So it is,” Veronica frowned. “Next time I will know that even if I’m not visiting anyone in the least bit ill, there is apparently a possibility that someone will be murdered during a snowstorm when all the shops are inaccessible.”

  “I’m sorry. I only thought it appeared a trifle flamboyant.”

  “Stylish, honey.”

  “Yes.”

  “Besides,” Veronica said, “my bracelet is ebony. I’m sure it must count.”

  A broche pince of pink tourmaline and rock crystal shaped in a pyramid sat on the admittedly black band.

  “It doesn’t look particularly sober,” Cora said.

  “It’s French, honey.” Veronica linked arms with Cora and led her to a long table where the others were selecting cold meats and breads to put on their plates. “Do have some food. We might do some dancing after dinner.”

  “We’re going to dance now,” Mr. Ardingley roared. “Somebody, play some piano.”

  Randolph settled down on the piano seat.

  “Did you know he could play?” Veronica asked.

  Cora shook her head.

  Possibly this could go quite poorly.

  In the next moment Randolph placed his hands on the keys. He winked at Cora, and she stepped back.

  And then Randolph played.

  He’d chosen an upbeat melody, not caring that the length of time between the notes was minute, nor that his fingers had to practically dash across the keys.

  “Well, I’m impressed.” Veronica turned to Cora. “Sorry, darling. I really must find Edmund. This calls for a dance.”

  Mr. Ardingley seemed to have come to a similar conclusion for he swept Mrs. Ardingley into his arms, and she clung to him as he moved her across the makeshift dance floor.

  “We should have had this event in the ballroom,” the dowager murmured. “My dear husband would be horrified to see them now.”

  Cora glanced at the dowager duchess.

  She should be the most distraught of all of them. The dowager duchess seemed to have gotten over her horror at her husband’s death and was already well on her way to enjoying an active widowhood. She glided about the room, ensuring that the servants were providing the best canapés and refilling their guests’ glasses.

  Had she murdered her husband? Was she celebrating?

  An uneasy feeling moved through Cora. It seemed wrong to partake in pleasures at such a point, and yet... who was she to question them? Once the police arrived and finished their inquiries, they would likely disperse.

  “More champagne?” The butler lowered a silver platter filled with gold rimmed champagne flutes.

  Cora inhaled the bubbly aroma, but she shook her head.

  “Very well,” the butler said, moving to Veronica.

  The music turned to a new song, but Mrs. Ardingley and Mr. Ardingley remained on the dance floor.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned.

  Edmund stood before her. “It is ghastly how they’re all enjoying Father’s death, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t say they
’re enjoying it,” Cora said loyally.

  “Don’t,” Edmund said. “My eyes are fully functioning. I wasn’t aware that my sister-in-law’s lips were able to spread into such an upward direction.”

  Cora giggled. “Perhaps they do seem a trifle relaxed.”

  “That’s better,” Edmund said. “Now, tell me, which of them do you think did it?”

  Cora jerked her head. “The inquest will determine if it was a murder.”

  Edmund shrugged. “You and that strange photographer man interviewed my childhood friend.”

  Cora’s cheeks flushed.

  “And I have relative faith in the ability of the servants to maintain the house well enough that the occupants are not accidently crushed by crystal objects,” Edmund continued.

  “I’m sorry again for your loss,” Cora said.

  “Don’t be. Even father would have been quite tickled about the uniqueness of his murder.”

  “He didn’t seem happy about it when it happened,” Cora said, recalling the terrified scream.

  “No,” Edmund said thoughtfully, “he didn’t.”

  Cora nibbled on the bread and cheese.

  “It feels sacrilegious to eat this in here,” Edmund said. “Father demanded five different courses at dinner.”

  Cora ate the rest of her food and approached Randolph at the piano. “You play quite well.”

  “Apparently you do the same.” He grinned. “Take a seat.”

  Cora squeezed in beside him, conscious that only inches separated them on the piano stool.

  She moved her hands over the keys.

  Music came easily to her.

  It was comforting to know the order to place her fingers.

  It was all written in black and white sheet notes before her.

  The modicum of emotion she could add was just that—a modicum.

  And in the meantime, she could let herself be carried away by the sweet melody.

  “Honey!” Veronica approached them. “You shouldn’t be working.”

  “It’s hardly work.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “You would think so. Not playing music was one of the chief benefits of getting older parts. I haven’t played anything since my last Backyard Bonanza film. You should perhaps fetch the gramophone. Otherwise you’ll be tied to the piano all night.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Veronica grinned and lowered her voice. “But that handsome detective might.”

  Cora flushed.

  “I sent Gladys ages ago to get the gramophone, and she still hasn’t appeared. Would you please fetch it? Your heels are so much less tall than mine. I wouldn’t call them shoes at all.”

  “Very well,” Cora said.

  “You don’t have to do everything she desires,” Randolph said.

  “I wouldn’t,” Cora said. “But this gives me the chance to find Gladys. She did want to tell me something important.”

  “Yes.” Randolph’s face was inscrutable. “It’s good you remembered that.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “It will be.”

  Cora nodded and hurried up the stairs. “Gladys? Gladys?”

  No servant came.

  Well, it was late.

  She’d wished the butler hadn’t chased the maid away. He had certainly had no interesting information to share with Randolph and herself.

  Perhaps she should go downstairs.

  She went to get the gramophone, and as she browsed through Veronica’s collection of records, a smile formed on her lips. Veronica only had big band music. No classical at all. She chose some records and left the room. The gramophone was somewhat unwieldy, and she wished that she hadn’t grabbed so many records.

  Still, she made her way down the stairs. At least Randolph would no longer be constrained to playing the piano.

  The man did play remarkably well. She stepped off the staircase and onto one of the sumptuous Oriental carpets when—

  The rug seemed to be pulled from beneath her.

  Cora pitched forward.

  The gramophone and records clattered to the floor.

  Cora blinked.

  The chandelier certainly was not supposed to be in her eyesight.

  Someone had made her fall.

  The chandelier arms seemed to gleam menacingly at her, and with a start, she rolled off the carpet.

  The chandelier did not plummet to the floor.

  Naturally not.

  Why would it?

  “Cora?” Randolph called out.

  “Randolph!”

  He rushed toward her. “I heard the commotion.”

  “I fell.”

  “I see that.” His lips didn’t twitch, and his expression exuded concern. Randolph offered her his hand and pulled her up easily.

  “You were supposed to be playing piano,” Cora said.

  “I didn’t like to see you wandering this big house by yourself. It can be dangerous.”

  Cora nodded. Her breath seemed caught in her throat, and something must have shown on her face, for he swept her into his arms.

  “My poor darling.”

  “What was that racket?” Mr. and Mrs. Ardingley came through the corridor, followed soon by the others.

  “I fell,” Cora said.

  It seemed silly to say someone pulled up the carpet.

  She hadn’t seen anyone, and the first person who’d appeared had been Randolph.

  “The gramophone looks ruined,” Veronica said in dismay.

  “I’m sorry,” Cora murmured.

  “Perhaps it wasn’t the most appropriate occasion after all,” Veronica conceded.

  Cora gave her a wobbly smile.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A door slammed, and Cora jerked her eyes open.

  “Forgive me, miss,” a woman said. “I did not mean to wake you.”

  Cora turned toward the voice.

  It didn’t sound like Gladys.

  “It’s just that I’m carrying all this tea,” the woman said apologetically. “Mind if I draw the curtains?”

  “Go ahead,” Cora said, her voice groggy. Tea sounded absolutely delightful.

  Shuffling sounded, and Cora realized that some papers were being moved to the side and a tray set on the table near the door. The woman drew the drapes, and light spilled into the room.

  The air remained far too frigid, and the rubber water bottle at the foot of her bed felt uncomfortable. She pulled herself farther up and tightened the blanket about her. It seemed an inadequate barrier against the cold.

  “I’ll come back and light the fire,” the new maid said. “But we thought you would like your tea now.” She hesitated. “Do you need any help dressing?”

  “I can manage,” Cora said.

  Relief inundated the woman’s face. “Oh, good. I ain’t never dressed anyone before. I would try not to pull the buttons off, but...”

  “It’s fine,” Cora said. “I’m happy to manage on my own. Where is Gladys?”

  “Oh, you miss ’er already,” the maid said, her voice mournful. “I knew you would.”

  “No,” Cora said quickly. “I-I was just curious.”

  She hated the distraught sound in the woman’s voice.

  “What’s your name?” Cora asked.

  “It’s Becky, miss. And Miss Clarke—we ’aven’t seen ’er. I’m not supposed to be ’ere. Golly, it is awfully grand.” She tilted her head toward the paneled ceiling.

  “Yes,” Cora agreed.

  “I wouldn’t be ’ere,” the servant continued. “But the ’ouse is full. Cook is busy with breakfast, and Gladys is gone.”

  “She left? In this snow?” Cora glanced through the window.

  The snow still fell, and large untouched snow drifts formed into a series of hills that Cora was sure had not existed when she arrived. The sky was a forbidding gray, and Cora’s stomach tightened.

  Gladys had wanted to speak with her yesterday. Had it been important?

  Had she known who the m
urderer was? Had she left to avoid him?

  Or her?

  Cora frowned.

  That couldn’t be it.

  After all, Gladys would have found a way to tell her or one of the head servants, if she’d known the murderer’s identity. It had sounded as if Gladys had had some sort of gossip. Had it been more serious than Gladys realized?

  “We need to find her,” Cora said, rising from the bed.

  The new maid’s eyes filled with tears. “I am that bad, am I?”

  She handed Cora a teacup and saucer.

  Milky tea spilled onto the saucer, and when she took a sip, the liquid was cold. Cora refrained from remarking on either imperfect state.

  “Nonsense,” Cora assured her. “I’m just worried about her.”

  “Nah,” the maid said. “Don’t worry. Gladys is always fine. She’s awfully clever. Even uses a typewriter.”

  “Does she?”

  The servant beamed. “Right complicated it is too knowing where all ’em keys go.”

  “Are you very good friends with her?”

  “She’s my cousin,” the maid said. “Got me this job too. Only a trial basis.” She frowned. “I don’t think the trial is going well. Cook says I’m lucky there are so many guests ’ere and that there’s a blizzard and they can’t get anyone else.”

  “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home with the job soon,” Cora said, and the maid beamed.

  “I’ll go light the fire,” Becky said, nearing the Oriental screen that sat before it, guarding the room from any wayward sparks.

  “Splendid.” Cora took a sip of tea. Earl Grey was becoming her favorite, and she appreciated the subtle hints of London.

  An anguished scream filled the air.

  Becky!

  With trembling hands, Cora quickly fumbled her teacup back in its saucer. She sprang from the bed and scurried toward the maid. “What happened?”

  Becky turned to her, her face white and distraught. “I’m afraid I found Gladys, miss.”

  “How? Where?”

  Becky pointed slowly to the fireplace.

  A pair of legs stuck out. The legs could be termed shapely, and the ankles could certainly be termed thin. The shoes were glossy, patent leather, even though ash clung to them.

  “I’ll—er—get her down,” Becky said, approaching the body.