Murder at the Masquerade Ball

by Margaret Addison

  ‘That would have been Ceddie and Commander Wrenfield,’ volunteered Lavinia helpfully.

  ‘I didn’t know it was Lord Belvedere. The masks made everything look so sinister.’ Iris paused for a moment and shivered at the recollection. ‘I screwed up my eyes to try to make out what they were crouched over. It was then that I realised it was a body and that it was wearing my costume and mask. It was rather distinctive, you know, the mask, with a little fan. And then I saw it was even wearing my wig.’ She gave a shrill little cry and began to tremble. ‘I can’t tell you how odd it felt. It really was the most peculiar feeling, as if I was looking down at myself lying there, not moving on the ground. I was dead and someone had Raymond by the throat and –’

  ‘And then I screamed,’ said Lavinia, chuckling in spite of herself. ‘I say, I must have given you the most awful shock. You gave me a dreadful fright too. I thought you were a ghost.’

  ‘Then you thought it was me …?’ Iris faltered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lavinia, her face becoming serious. ‘I’m awfully glad it wasn’t you.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ murmured Iris. ‘I suppose it must have been Miss Casters.’ She gave a shudder. ‘The poor woman. If I hadn’t –’

  ‘Are you saying that was all you saw?’ Rose said sharply, cutting through the narrative.

  ‘I think it was quite enough, don’t you? said Lavinia, indignant on her friend’s behalf.

  ‘What I mean is, you didn’t actually see your husband murder Miss Casters?’

  Iris hesitated a fleeting second before answering and then she said:

  ‘No, of course not. But I knew … I mean someone had Raymond by the collar and she was lying there, dead.’

  ‘It was Hallam.’ Lavinia said. ‘We saw Mr Franklin standing over Miss Casters’ body, you see. He was frightfully upset, poor boy, Hallam, that is, not your husband, because of course we both thought it was you.’

  ‘Do be quiet, Lavinia. Mrs Franklin, are you saying you didn’t actually witness your husband murder Miss Casters?’ said Rose slowly, repeating her question. ‘It’s terribly important that you tell me exactly what you saw, you know.’

  ‘No,’ Iris replied rather weakly, her eyes very wide.

  ‘Yet you assumed he had killed Miss Casters,’ Rose said, more in the manner of a statement than a question. ‘If you had not seen Hallam grasp your husband by the collar, would you still have supposed that he had killed Miss Casters?’

  ‘Yes … No … I don’t know. I …’ Iris faltered, suddenly appearing flustered. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her voice became querulous. ‘I don’t want to answer any more of your questions. Really, you have no right … I am not obliged to answer your questions.’

  ‘You are quite correct,’ said Rose slowly. She could not have explained exactly why, but she felt her temper rising and consequently spoke more brusquely than she had intended. ‘However,’ she said, ‘when I encountered you on the terrace you were clearly distressed. What is more, you told me quite emphatically that your husband had tried to kill you. Is it surprising, therefore, if I ask you to explain what you meant?’

  ‘I say, Rose, you’re being awfully unkind,’ interjected Lavinia, patting Iris’ arm in what she intended to be an affectionate manner.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Rose, more gently, ‘But according to your own words, Mrs Franklin, you did not witness your husband murder his secretary and yet you are quite certain that his intention was to kill you. If you don’t mind my saying, a wife does not generally think so ill of her husband unless she has cause.’

  An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the sound of Iris sobbing. Even Lavinia refrained in this instance from comment. Rose bit her lip feeling wretched. She was conscious she had spoken harshly, with little consideration for Iris’ agitated state.

  ‘Ma’am,’ cried Miss Crabbe, running forward, unable to keep silent any longer. ‘I think you ought to tell their ladyships what has been happening, so I do.’ She glanced back at Rose. ‘Something wicked it is. I don’t hold with it myself.’

  ‘Be quiet, Crabbe,’ said Iris, her voice cutting through the air like the blade of a knife.

  The servant turned to regard her mistress with barely concealed astonishment, her mouth gaping open in surprise at the severity of Iris’ scolding. She lowered her eyes, though, to those present, she appeared to be making a strange study of her mistress’ wrists, so fixed was her gaze.

  Iris let out a startled cry and, in a sudden, defiant gesture, pulled down the sleeves of her nightdress as far as they would go and thrust her arms underneath the bedclothes so that only her shoulders were visible.

  The others looked on considerably surprised by this action, while the lady’s maid looked close to tears. The woman collected herself sufficiently to make as if to speak. Iris, however, whose own eyes had never left her servant, was too quick for her.

  ‘I don’t want you to say another word, Crabbe,’ she said icily in a voice which indicated she would not be disobeyed.

  ‘But ma’am,’ pleaded Miss Crabbe.

  ‘If you say anything more,’ Iris said slowly, ‘you will have to look for another position.’ She paused to take a breath, as if she found the air in the room suddenly suffocating. ‘And you needn’t think I shall give you a character, because I shan’t.’

  It was quite evident that the lady’s maid was considerably taken aback by the strange turn of events, not least by the open anger and hostility shown towards her by her normally placid mistress. Her lip trembling, she gave one anguished look in Iris’ direction, glanced briefly at the other occupants in the room, gathered up her skirts and fled.

  ‘Good heavens, Iris, what on earth was the poor woman about to tell us?’ Lavinia enquired, shocked and intrigued in equal measure.

  Iris made no response. She lay back on the pillows looking spent, as if the recent episode had taken a great deal out of her. Certainly her attitude suggested that she had no intention of speaking any more on the subject and that if they were intent on pursuing their enquiries she would insist that they left the room.

  Lavinia, not generally known for either her subtlety or sensitivity refused to relinquish the path the conversation was following.

  ‘Iris, darling, will you not tell us what all this is about? You’d feel a great deal better if you informed us what was worrying you. Wouldn’t she, Rose? It would be like a weight lifted from your shoulders.’

  She threw an imploring look at her friend, who shook her head. For Rose knew from bitter experience that it would do no good to continue to pry into the woman’s affairs while Iris was in her present mood. It was patently evident to her that, despite Lavinia’s best entreaties, Iris intended to maintain a mulish silence on the matter under discussion.

  Rose sat back in her chair, aware that she was faced with something of a dilemma. Despite her outward appearance of only mild interest in the woman’s behaviour towards her servant, she was in fact as curious as Lavinia to discover what Iris Franklin was hiding. That it was of the utmost importance to the case, she did not doubt. She was conscious above all else that she must tread carefully. Iris had only to say she felt tired or unwell and they would be obliged to remove themselves from her presence.

  ‘Will you tell me why Miss Casters was wearing your costume?’ Rose said, speaking very gently.

  Lavinia, who had not had the benefit of hearing the lady’s maid’s comprehensive account, clapped her hands together and said almost gaily:

  ‘Oh, yes, do, Iris. It seems to me quite extraordinary. I mean to say, Miss Casters of all people!’

  It is quite possible that Lavinia intended to say a great deal more on the subject of the secretary’s suitability for such a role, but she caught Rose’s eye and refrained from doing so.

  ‘I didn’t want to go to your masquerade ball,’ said Iris in a dull voice. She passed a hand over her brow. ‘Lately I have found it very trying being in company. I feel as if everyone is looking at me and
commenting. They gossip, you know, about my husband … They don’t think I hear them, but I do. I … I prefer not to hear any of it and keep to my rooms.’ A little colour came back into her cheeks. ‘Usually my husband abides by my wishes in these matters and attends such functions alone. On this occasion, however, he was quite adamant that I should attend.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I pleaded with him but he wouldn’t listen. And I didn’t want to wear a beastly costume, to say nothing of that ghastly mask and wig. I knew I should find them absolutely stifling.’ She gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I can’t tell you how unhappy I was at the prospect.’

  ‘Well, you are making a pretty good job of it,’ said Lavinia, somewhat irked at the idea that anyone should not have wanted to attend her precious ball. ‘It does rather beg the question, however, why you invited yourself here for tea. When you telephoned I told you that Priscilla would be here and we would be discussing the ball. I wonder you didn’t make your excuses.’

  Rose had been wondering the same thing, though she would have put it a little more tactfully than her sister-in-law. As it was, Iris blinked rapidly, as if it had not occurred to her that her words might have caused offence.

  ‘I thought if I came here and listened to you talk about the ball I should feel less agitated about attending. You see, I should have known what to expect. Oh dear. I know I am putting it very badly –’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Lavinia, rather unhelpfully.

  ‘I daresay it was rather silly of me, because the more you and Miss Belling talked about the arrangements, the more uneasy about it I became until I don’t know quite what I would have done had not Mr Atherton arrived and –’

  ‘Yes, Hallam did rather come to your rescue, didn’t he?’ Lavinia said. ‘He whisked you out into the garden away from our hateful conversation and company.’

  ‘It wasn’t a bit like that,’ said Iris. ‘I wanted to be interested in the ball, really I did. But walking in the garden confirmed to me an idea I’d had was at least feasible. It had struck me, you see, that anyone attending the ball could slip out of the garden gate into the lane without being noticed. For even then it had occurred to me that I might arrange for Miss Casters to attend the ball in my place; I had even mooted the idea to her.

  ‘But why would you choose Miss Casters, of all people, to impersonate you?’ said Lavinia.

  ‘Because there really wasn’t anyone else I could ask,’ said Iris simply. ‘And you see, I knew that Miss Casters would simply leap at the chance.’

  ‘Well, really, fancy doing such a stupid thing,’ mumbled Lavinia under her breath to Rose, as the two girls made their way out of Iris’ room a little while later. ‘I don’t believe that woman has the sense she was born with, and I doubt that was very much.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘Ha! So Iris Franklin didn’t actually witness her husband kill Miss Casters,’ said Cedric to his wife.

  They were in the small drawing room and had been discussing Iris Franklin’s testimony.

  ‘I say, that’s rather a turn up for the books for old Franklin,’ the earl said. ‘I mean to say, on the surface his wife’s statement appeared rather damning. But if she didn’t actually –’

  ‘But Iris Franklin is hiding something,’ said Rose, a trifle vexed, ‘of that I am certain. And I don’t doubt for a moment that it concerns her husband.’

  ‘Talking of concealing things,’ Cedric said, producing an article from his pocket, ‘apparently pieces of jewellery were not the only items the deceased liked to pilfer. It seems Miss Casters also had rather a weakness for figurines.’

  He held up the object he had taken from his pocket, for his wife’s inspection. It was a small marble statuette, meticulously carved and painted in very fine detail.

  ‘Why, doesn’t that belong to your collection of artefacts in The Retreat?’ exclaimed Rose, taking the ornament from him and examining it closely. ‘It’s usually on the bookcase by the door.’

  ‘Yes, the very same,’ agreed her husband. ‘Apparently the police discovered it at the mortuary, tucked into the bodice of Miss Casters’ dress. Chief Inspector Innes took the trouble to show it to me. He wanted to know if I recognised it. Of course I need to return it to him so that he can put it in evidence, but I wanted you to glimpse it first. He was rather decent about my letting you see it, as it happens.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Rose meditatively, ‘if Miss Casters was an opportune thief or whether she came to the ball with the purpose of stealing a few items of value?’

  ‘Well,’ said her husband, ‘that statuette was rather conveniently placed near the door and the items of jewellery she stole were not of particularly great value.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I’m rather inclined to the view that she was an opportune thief. Of course, it is quite possible that she was working in cahoots with someone else.’ In spite of herself, a mischievous gleam came into her eye as she said: ‘I wonder if Miss Casters was operating in partnership with your Mr Franklin. Perhaps his wife kept a particularly tight hold on the purse strings.’

  ‘Well, I consider that most unlikely,’ Cedric said with a wan smile. ‘For one thing, it would mean he knew the woman accompanying him to the ball was not his wife.’

  ‘Well,’ said Rose, ‘I, for one, find it very hard to believe that he didn’t realise Miss Casters was not his wife. As far as I can recall, they spent the majority of the evening together.’ She smiled sweetly at her husband. ‘I certainly wouldn’t like to think you’d ever mistake anyone else for me, however elaborate their disguise.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ said Cedric, with a chuckle.

  Cedric arrived at Raymond Franklin’s club in time for luncheon, a fact which he considered fortuitous, reasoning as he did that it provided him with a suitable excuse to interview his acquaintance without it being too obvious what he was about.

  The club itself, though in possession of a considerable history, having been founded in the eighteenth century, was relatively modest in comparison with those frequented by the young earl. With an eclectic membership taken from the military as well as scholarly circles, it boasted a limited amount of members’ accommodation, of which Raymond Franklin was currently availing himself. The facilities themselves consisted principally of a dining room, a billiard room, a library and various card rooms.

  The arrival of a member of the aristocracy as the guest of a member was sufficiently out of the ordinary to have the staff dancing in attendance in a most solicitous fashion. To that end, Cedric soon found himself seated, with his companion, at one of the more favoured spots in the dining room at a table covered with a starched white linen cloth, beneath a rather impressive chandelier.

  He was pleased to discover that, while Raymond Franklin was evidently still recoiling from the events that had taken place at the masquerade ball, he did not appear as wretched or despondent as might quite reasonably have been expected given the rather unfavourable position in which he found himself. This Cedric put down in the most part to the man being at peace with his surroundings, an assumption that was confirmed when Raymond revealed he had been a member of the club for a good many years, and certainly before his marriage to Iris Franklin.

  Over a splendid meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, Cedric alluded little to the murder other than by asking how his companion was bearing up.

  ‘I suppose one might say as well as can be expected,’ answered Raymond, with a wan smile. ‘I’m awfully grateful to your lordship. For I believe it’s you I have to thank for not being locked up in a prison cell.’

  ‘That has more to do with Commander Wrenfield than myself,’ said Cedric, a trifle mendaciously.

  He cast a cautious eye around the room. Other than themselves, the only other diner was an old major apparently quietly napping in the corner over a steak and ale pie. Still, it was as well to be careful. To that end, he lowered his voice before adding:

  ‘Between you and me, the man’s more interested in securing the return of the
stolen papers than apprehending Miss Casters’ murderer. Though the same can’t be said for the chief inspector, of course, even if he’s willing to be led by the commander.’

  ‘So there will be a thorough investigation?’

  ‘Of course, and the killer will be brought to justice, you can be quite certain of that.’ Cedric gave a wistful smile. ‘Certainly, at least, if my wife has anything to do with it.’

  ‘Lady Belvedere?’ Raymond raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘Lady Belvedere is a detective, a private enquiry agent, if you will,’ said Cedric, ‘She has had considerable success. Scotland Yard are quite indebted to her, don’t you know.’

  ‘I see,’ said Raymond, though to Cedric’s mind the young man looked far from jubilant at this piece of news. Being immensely proud of his wife and her profession he found it hard not to take exception to this fact.

  ‘My wife will get to the truth,’ he said, a trifle coldly. ‘If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.’

  Raymond started visibly and Cedric added quickly:

  ‘I’ve rather taken it as read that you’re not guilty of Miss Casters’ murder. I like to think I’m quite a good judge of character. You have always struck me as quite a decent sort of fellow. Certainly not the type of chap to kill a woman in such a sordid, unsporting way, if one can ever call murder sporting.’