by Sonia Parin
“Hardly,” Phillipa said. She looked around at the others as if seeking consent. The scriptwriters all nodded. “Who was that woman and why did she accuse the dowager of being a murderer?”
“It was nothing but a misunderstanding,” Evie assured her. “Her name is Anna Weston. I’m afraid that is all we know about her.”
Edgar cleared his throat.
“Edgar, is there something you wish to say?” Henrietta asked.
“Well, my lady… It is not really my place…”
“Perhaps we should speak with Lord Edgar,” Henrietta suggested. “Would that make you more inclined to share what you know?”
Giving the dowager a whimsical smile, Edgar lifted his chin and said, “I do believe I have some knowledge which might throw some light on Miss Weston’s behavior.”
Everyone shifted slightly, their attention moving from the dowager to Edgar.
When he didn’t speak, Henrietta said, “Would you prefer to take center stage?”
Without further encouragement, Edgar took a couple of steps and went to stand in front of the fireplace. Lifting his chin, he declared, “Miss Anna Weston has lived in the village of Halton all her life.”
“That’s it?” Evie whispered.
“Weston Cottage, near the vicarage?” Henrietta asked.
“I believe so, yes.”
“I thought the family had moved away,” Henrietta mused.
“The head of the family passed away several years ago. I believe his widow remarried and left her daughter, Anna Weston, the cottage.”
Henrietta asked, “Are you saying she is a spinster?”
Edgar’s cheeks colored slightly. “Well, yes. She has never married so I suppose that makes her a spinster.”
Evie tilted her head in thought. How had Edgar come by all that information? He’d only been at Halton House for a short while…
Not bothering to hide her impatience, Henrietta pressed him for more details. “Does she live alone? Is she involved in the community? I can’t say that I have come across her.”
“I believe she tends to keep to herself.” Edgar clasped his hands and then wrung them together. “If memory serves, she entered the annual flower show once but did not take a ribbon.”
“Would you say the experience left her embittered?” the dowager asked.
Evie looked at Tom in time to catch his surprised expression.
He edged toward her and murmured, “The dowager is putting the detective to shame.”
They both tuned in to hear Edgar’s reply.
“Embittered? I don’t know her well enough to make such a claim. In fact, I don’t know her at all, my lady.”
“Cousin Henrietta to you, sir. Remember, you are Lord Edgar.”
Tom’s chest shook with suppressed laughter.
Evie glanced around the room and saw everyone else barely containing their amusement.
“Of course, Cousin Henrietta. Perhaps I could employ the assistance of some of the downstairs staff. They might be able to gain further information which might prove to be useful. After all, we cannot have your name tarnished for no good reason.” His eyebrows hitched up slightly. “That is to say… Assuming we have no reason to be concerned…”
It took a moment for the dowager to grasp the full meaning of his remark. When she did, Henrietta huffed and could not have sounded more offended as she spoke, “I have no idea what you are implying, Cousin Edgar.”
Tom backed away from the room. Glancing over her shoulder, Evie saw him bending over with laughter.
When he returned to the drawing room, his eyes glittered and he could barely suppress his smile.
“Regarding my earlier announcement,” the dowager said, “I should like to make it plainly clear.” She glanced around the drawing room until she was sure she had everyone’s full attention. “I am innocent of any and all wrongdoing. My actions were motivated by the need to preserve this family’s good name and good standing in our community. That does not mean I would resort to committing a grievous act of violence.”
Silence followed her declaration.
Evie could have sworn she heard her heart beating.
Suddenly, Zelma Collins surged to her feet and clapped as she exclaimed, “Brava. Bravissima.”
“Oh.” Henrietta’s cheeks colored. She pressed her hand to her throat. “I always thought that exclamation was reserved for exceptionally good operatic performances, but I’ll take what I can.” She made a deep bow.
“May we have leave to use your lines in our play, my lady?” Zelma Collins asked.
“Certainly, but I would like to have the opportunity to peruse the final work.”
“As you wish.” Zelma resumed her place and wasted no time noting down her ideas.
“If you like, I could also give you a demonstration of the steps I took to defend the family honor.” The dowager glanced at Evie. “We shall need those parasols again, Evangeline…”
“Oh… Could we perhaps postpone that until this evening?” Evie asked.
“Yes, that might be wise. Performing is thirsty work.” The dowager glanced around and caught the attention of a footman. “Could we possibly have some tea, please? Oh, and could I also trouble you for something to nibble on. Some sandwiches, perhaps. Nothing too elaborate.”
Evie tried to remember the footman’s name… “Benjamin, could you ask cook to prepare a small platter, please. At her convenience, of course. I think we could all do with some sustenance.”
Waving a piece of paper in the air, Zelma Collins rushed up to Edgar and appeared to confer with him. While she spoke, he nodded and when he spoke, she nodded. Then, Edgar brushed his finger across his chin as if in thought and, pointing to the page Zelma held, said something that made Zelma jump with excitement.
“If you want my opinion,” Tom murmured, “I think you have just been made the scapegoat.”
Evie gasped. Her eyes widened with surprise. “Why would you say that?”
Tom’s shoulder lifted into a casual shrug. “You’re the poor relation. That makes you superfluous.”
“But that is horrible.”
“It’s a harsh reality. Women of little substance tend to be overlooked by society. At least, that’s the impression I got when I read Jane Austen.”
“You’ve read Jane Austen?”
Tom folded his arms. “Why are you so surprised?”
“It simply doesn’t strike me as the type of book a man would be interested in reading.”
“And yet, every drawing room I walk into appears to have a book by Jane Austen lying about.” Tom hitched his head toward a side table.
“Oh, yes. I see your point.” If memory served, Henrietta had a copy of Pride and Prejudice on her desk. “Anyhow, I take offense.”
Tom smiled. “And so, you should.”
“Money is not everything,” Evie said.
“It is if you have to feed and clothe yourself.” He looked around. “And keep the roof from falling on you. Houses such as this one require a great deal to maintain it.”
True. She knew many people who had married for the singular purpose of acquiring a fortune. “If I am ejected from this house, I shall… I shall look for a position. I could become a lady’s companion or perhaps a tutor…”
Tom glanced at her and gave her a worried look. “I hope you realize I am referring to your character in the play.”
“Of course, and I am doing my best to step into character. After all, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my guests.”
“I see. And what does the fictional Evie Parker excel at doing?”
“Well…” Nothing came to mind. Evie cringed. What did that mean? If she were to be stripped of her wealth and title, would she land on her feet? “I’m sure I could be a lady’s companion.”
“Are you sure?” Tom asked.
“I believe you are teasing me.”
His eyes crinkled at the edges.
The footman’s arrival served as a timely distraction. When he set a tray
with a pot of tea and sandwiches down on a table, Evie acted with uncharacteristic promptness.
“As the poor relation, I am going to be uncouth and serve myself first. Who knows? This might be my last meal before I am hauled away to prison because my fictional hoity-toity relatives have chosen to throw me to the wolves.”
Settling down with a cup of tea and a sandwich to make up for the meal she’d had to abandon, she glanced around the drawing room, only then noticing Caro’s absence. “Where is Caro?”
Phillipa came to sit beside her and said, “Oh, a footman came in a while ago and told her Millicent had arrived and needed to be collected from the train station. Caro wanted to go along and make sure she would settle in properly.”
Heavens, she’d forgotten about Millicent. “Will you all excuse me, please, I have another matter to attend to.” Ignoring Tom’s raised eyebrow, she exited the drawing room and made her way up the main stairs, along the way smiling up at the 2nd Earl of Woodridge.
Since Caro had missed out on getting a new dress, Evie wanted to go through her wardrobe and select something for her to wear during rehearsals.
Her plans, however, were derailed when she encountered Caro and Millicent in the hallway.
“We were just coming down, milady,” Caro said.
Millicent grinned. “I wanted to eavesdrop on the play. It sounds ever so exciting.”
“How was your train journey, Millicent?” Evie asked.
“Oh, I enjoyed it tremendously, milady.”
“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Evie said as they made their way to her boudoir.
When Caro asked her for news about the woman who had disrupted their lunch, Evie filled her in and included details about the interview with the detective.
“This odd business with Miss Anna Weston and the detective has left me wondering what the villagers are talking about,” Evie remarked.
Millicent and Caro exchanged a look that spoke of conspiracy.
Finally, Caro said, “I told Millicent about me going to the village while you kept the dowager company.”
Millicent’s pale blue eyes brightened with a hint of excitement. “I must admit, I feel jealous. I wish I could do something as daring as that.”
As Evie pushed the door to her chamber open, a footman walked by and Evie thought she heard Millicent giggling.
Evie turned in time to see Caro elbowing Millicent and shooting her a warning look to behave.
Evie refrained from commenting. Her town maid had a reputation for admiring good looking young men from a distance and Evie didn’t see any harm in that. Although, she did tend to prattle on about them, which could become tedious.
“Milady, I hope I’m not being presumptuous,” Millicent said.
Evie encouraged her with a smile.
“Would you like me to go to the village? I could eavesdrop on people’s conversations.”
“You want to spy for me?” Evie gave a slow shake of her head. “That sounds rather underhanded.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know what people are saying? From what Caro told me, one person has already made an attempt to cast aspersions on her ladyship. In your place, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. What if the villagers decide to organize themselves and storm Halton House?”
“She does have a point, milady,” Caro said. “It might all sound far-fetched but one never knows. I doubt any of us expected that woman to stand on your lawn making false accusations.”
“True,” Evie mused. “But I’m sure Anna Weston acted impulsively.”
“She didn’t look at all pleased when the police escorted her away,” Caro offered. “What if she decides to take matters further? She might try to incite the villagers into taking action.” Caro lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “There is power in numbers.”
Millicent nodded. “In your place, I would want to be sure.”
Evie couldn’t see any reason why she couldn’t go along with the idea. Millicent worked at the London house and had only been to Halton House a couple of times. “Did you ever go to the village during your visits here?” Evie asked.
“No, milady. I’ve thought it through. No one will recognize me. If I happen to wander around and… perhaps drop in on the various stores, I could maybe find out what people are talking about without anyone linking me to Halton House.”
“What if someone asks where you’re from?” Evie knew the local villagers liked nothing better than to keep their village safe. If anyone new showed up, someone was bound to notice and make sure they meant no harm.
“Oh, that hadn’t occurred to me.” Millicent’s lips turned downward. She could not have looked more disappointed.
Evie gave her a bright smile. “You could tell them you are visiting someone in the area…” It couldn’t be anyone from Halton House because then her loyalty would be called into question.
“Mrs. Esther Higgins is away,” Caro said. “She’s quite elderly and is hard of hearing so she rarely talks with anyone. She’s visiting her granddaughter who lives in Bath. Millicent could say she is a distant relative and here to look after her house and her cat.”
“Does Mrs. Higgins have a cat?” Evie asked.
Caro nodded. “She does, indeed, and Edmonds, the chauffeur, has been dropping in every day to feed it.”
Evie hoped she didn’t live to regret her decision. “That sounds like a solid plan. There, you have your cover and my approval, Millicent. Do you think you are up to it?”
Millicent gave a vigorous nod. “Oh, yes, milady. I had no idea being in the country could be so exciting…”
Chapter Eleven
When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden.
The next morning, Evie woke up feeling refreshed and untethered by all the concerns which had plagued her the previous day.
Wishing for the rest of the day to continue on a smooth and steady course, she decided to leave everyone to their own devices and immediately after enjoying her breakfast in bed and dressing in a pretty floral print dress, she carried her little woven basket to the gardener’s shed and equipped herself with a small garden trowel.
Settling down at her own personal garden plot near one of the drawing rooms, Evie lost herself in the simple task of turning the soil. Since she had begun working on her venture too late in the season, she only had weeds to contain, but she would eventually plant… Well, she would find something to plant.
George Mills had suggested drawing a small map of her garden plot and writing down the flowers she wished to grow. It sounded easy enough.
Glancing up, Evie brushed back a stray lock of hair. She looked across the lawn and studied the garden near one of the drawing rooms. George had explained he had planted early bloomers there to ensure there would be something to look at as early as April.
He had spoken at length about which flowers performed the best in the early spring. While Evie had tried to pay attention, she had been too eager to get started, her fingers itching to sink into the soil.
“Bluebells and daffodils,” Evie murmured. Tapping her chin, she realized she would need something else growing so that when the first blooms ran through their cycle, the next ones would be ready to take over. But those flowers wouldn’t come up until next spring. She needed to find something she could plant now and enjoy in summer.
Plucking out a weed, she turned her thoughts to the night before. She had no idea how she had survived an entire evening of ad-libbing. The scriptwriters had talked at great length about murder scenes in plays inspiring the others to attempt several different versions; the most enthusiastic displays focusing on Lady Macbeth’s sleepwalking scene.
There had been several attempts to draw her into some of the scenes, but she had found it all too morbid. Especially so soon after Mrs. Sheffield’s demise.
Henrietta had insisted Edgar needed to join them for dinner because otherwise, she risked forgetting her lines. And, in her opinion, the more they practiced, the sooner the
y would solve the mystery of Mrs. Sheffield’s death.
For some reason, the dowager had remained intent on believing there had to be a mystery. In her opinion, the police had singled her out because they held some sort of vital piece of information. Something far more significant than an eyewitness’ account.
Evie had wanted to correct Henrietta and explain the police had only been confirming facts but the dowager had become convinced there had to be a mystery. However, her focus had turned to perfecting her lines and so the mystery had been temporarily forgotten. At least, until later in the evening…
Henrietta and Edgar had been delightful to watch. The dowager had simply played herself while Edgar had portrayed a perfect titled gentleman used to spending his time enjoying country pursuits.
As the poor relation, Evie had mostly remained in the shadows because, as Tom had pointed out, lesser members of the family were not entitled to shine.
It had suited Evie only too well. She had sat in a corner playing a game of Solitaire while enjoying the show. Evie had been particularly amused by the splendid performance put on by Caro. Or, rather, Lady Carolina Thwaites.
Evie had never thought she would live to see the day when someone matched Henrietta word for word. And Caro had done a fine job of it, almost outwitting the dowager. At one point, they had even sparred. Smiling, Evie remembered the parasols making another appearance.
Evie stopped her digging and looked up in time to see a flock of swallows sweeping across the park.
“There you are.”
Turning, she saw Tom approaching. He had once again favored a Savile Row suit in a light shade of gray. “You’ve missed breakfast.”
“Yes, but I just caught up with the scriptwriters. They have made progress and have decided the murder must take place in the third act. Also, as discussed last night, the victim is to die of poison.”
Poison?
During the main course the previous night, they had discussed the possibility of the fictional Mrs. Sheffield being poisoned. One of the scriptwriters had come up with that suggestion. Evie couldn’t remember if it had been Zelma or Bernie.
