by Sara Rosett
The seamstress had finished my dress, and it was spread on my bed. After I bathed, Hannah kept up a running commentary on the beautiful construction of the dress and options for accessories. As the gown swished over my shoulders, I said, “Just the pearls, I think.”
She twitched the hem into place and handed the necklace to me. “So lovely, those pearls. Now shall I brush your hair?” With my bobbed hair, there wasn’t much Hannah could do to arrange it, other than smooth it into place and add a decorative clip. I put on a little bit of lipstick and rouge, then went down for dinner, hoping Jasper had arrived.
I was at the door to the drawing room when a sharp clacking sound, shoes striking quickly against the marble, reverberated up from the entry hall. Deena came flying up the main staircase, a long royal-blue feather in her hair fluttering as she ran. She jerked to a stop, and her dangling diamond earrings swayed back and forth. She snatched my hands. “He’s not moving.” She pulled me down the stairs, her earrings slapping against her cheeks as she spoke over her shoulder. “Oh, do hurry. It’s awful.”
Chapter Six
I struggled to keep my feet under me as Deena dragged me down the stairs. “Deena! Slow down. What’s happened?”
The sequins on her dress sparkled with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “I don’t know what happened. He was just there. He looks”—she let out a shuddery breath—“I think, I mean—I don’t know—I didn’t stay to look. But he’s gray and not moving. I think he might be dead.”
My heart thumped, and I felt lightheaded. “Peter?” He was always in the conservatory at this time of day.
Deena clamped a hand on my wrist. “This way.” Her royal-blue skirt fluttered around her legs and batted against me as she towed me toward the conservatory. “I went in to have a peek, to see if anyone was around,” she said. “I thought I might be able to bring Mr. Quigley down and let him fly around for a few moments if no one was in there. I never thought—it was such a shock, seeing him there on the ground.”
The conservatory’s steamy atmosphere enveloped us, and Deena released my wrist. She took the lead, scurrying along the path through the banks of greenery, her pale blue shoes flashing against the black-and-white tiles as she ran. I dashed along in her wake, dodging under banana leaves and batting away the trailing ivy that caught at me.
Movement flickered in the corner of my eye, a flash of something light colored, a pale purple. No, it was mauve. The paleness of the color contrasted with the shades of green. I only got a glimpse of it through the dense greenery, but I could tell it was a fabric with a sheen—perhaps silk?
“Olive! Why did you stop? Over here.” Deena motioned for me to catch up with her, then ran around the last twist of the path and into the open area around the fountain.
A man in black tie was lying on his back, his head on the decorative tiles that lined the rim of the fountain’s lower pool. Another man bent over him, his back turned to us.
I let out a breath. The man stretched out on the ground wasn’t Peter. His hair was too light. It was Mr. Payne. My legs went wobbly as relief flooded through me.
I moved past Deena, who’d jerked to a stop at the edge of the path where it opened to the central area. Within a few paces, I could see the hunched figure was Peter—evening dress made the men look so similar, especially from the back. He knelt beside Payne, his hand at the man’s collar.
I knelt beside Peter. The stiff surface of Payne’s boiled shirt wasn’t moving. His eyes were open, but they had a dull veneer that meant he’d never blink again. Shock rippled through me at the sight. I couldn’t see any visible injury on Payne, but the tiles around his head were spotted with red drops. And then I saw the back of his head was quite damaged. I swallowed and looked away, concentrating on the area around the fountain as I composed myself.
Dirt from an overturned pot sprinkled across the floor. Here and there, footprints—some partial and some complete—crushed the dark crumbles of earth, while two lines cut through the sweep of the granules, running in a faint semicircle from the pot to Mr. Payne’s heels.
“What happened?” I didn’t look at Payne again, but focused on Peter. The skin around his left eye was swollen and red. “Gracious, Peter, your eye!”
He didn’t seem to take in my words.
“Were you in a fight? Did someone hit you?” I asked, glancing at Payne, but Peter didn’t reply, and my stomach flipped. He didn’t seem to see me at all. If I’d stood up and walked away, I doubt he’d have known I was there. His expression was vacant and far away. I touched his shoulder. “Peter, it’s me.”
He blinked and focused on my face. “Olive?”
“Yes. It’s Olive.” A flare of fear raced through me—this was horrible, just horrible. I tried to quash my emotions as I fought to keep my tone even. “What’s happened?” I asked, striving for the same tone I’d have used to ask, “Care for a game of tennis?”
I looked down at Payne. Peter’s gaze followed mine. I still had a hand on his shoulder and felt the shiver run through his body.
“I don’t know.” He turned back to me. His words were jerky, and he seemed confused. “He was just—lying here—like this.”
I tugged on Peter’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do. But we should send for Sonia.”
“Yes. Right.” Peter stood and backed away, his gaze still fixed on Payne. The color washed out of Peter’s face, and his fingers trembled as he reached up to touch his bruised eye. He didn’t look steady on his feet, so I took him by the elbow and guided him to the grouping of wicker chairs, which were tumbled over. I set a chair upright and pushed Peter into it, pressing his shoulders forward so he was bent over with his head near his knees.
I turned to Deena, who had inched closer to the fountain. “Find Sonia,” I said. “My stepmother, Mrs. Belgrave. She has nursing experience.”
Deena nodded and ran across the trail of dirt.
I called out, “And Inspector Longly.” Deena jerked back toward me, her face puzzled. “Go,” I said. “Hurry.”
She nodded and scuttled away, stepping around a chaise lounge that was on its side. She brushed by a trailing ivy vine, and it waved in her wake.
I knelt in front of Peter so that my gaze was on the level of his. “Peter, what happened?” I felt quivery, but I fought to hide my own turmoil and keep my tone smooth.
Peter, still in his hunched position, raised his head. His hair, usually slicked back, had fallen forward in straggly clumps from his hair tonic. The stiff surface of his shirt and his evening suit were smeared with dirt. He looked at me—really looked at me—and I could tell he was seeing me and not some distant haunting vision from his past. “I don’t know.” His tone was low, and his words were hesitant as if he were picking through hazy memories. “I came in through the door from the west wing.” He tilted his head toward the far end of the conservatory, where Deena had just left.
“I don’t remember much after that. I must have come along the path through the plants there.” His brow crinkled, and he winced, then touched the corner of his eye, which was swelling. “I think I tripped over a chair.”
I swiveled on my heels and looked carefully at the area around the fountain. Most of the chairs and tables were overturned. Fragments of wicker and chair cushions were scattered across the floor. The iron chaise that Deena had stepped around was directly in the path of someone entering from the west wing, and Peter’s book about beekeeping lay near it, splayed open, facedown with the pages wrinkled.
Deena’s continuous babble of words sounded and grew louder along with the swish of silk. I grasped the arm of Peter’s chair to steady myself as I stood, but Peter caught my hand and helped me up as he rose with me. “I know I’m a bit off at times.” He touched his forehead. “But I had nothing to do with . . .” He nodded to Payne’s body.
I squeezed his arm and released it as Sonia entered the central open area, going straight to Peter as she said, “Now what’s all this?” in that jolly artific
ial tone that nurses and nannies tend to use. Apparently, Deena hadn’t explained the situation clearly, and Sonia thought Peter was having another of his “episodes.”
I nodded to the fountain. “It’s Mr. Payne. I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him.”
Sonia pivoted toward the fountain and froze for a moment.
I said, “I sent for you because you have nursing experience . . .”
“Yes, of course.” Her voice had a distracted quality. She knelt beside Payne, checked for a pulse, then brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead in a gentle gesture that surprised me.
I’d always thought Sonia would be a fearsome nurse, someone who by the sheer force of her personality would convince—or demand—that her patients recover, but perhaps she showed more compassion to her patients than she did to people in her daily life. Perhaps that was the secret of her nursing success.
She sat back on her heels. “There’s nothing we can do.” She checked her watch and murmured, “Half past seven,” a holdover from her nursing days, I was sure.
My throat constricted, and Peter dropped his head and stared at the floor. Deena, who’d had the fingers of both hands pressed to her lips, now fisted her hands together at her throat. “How ghastly. Was it an accident? What happened?” She turned to Peter, but he didn’t move or say anything.
“Excuse me, Miss Lacey.” Inspector Longly stepped around Deena, who shifted away as if someone had pointed a hot poker at her. Longly scanned the scene around the fountain, his gaze resting for a long moment on Payne, then he raised his eyebrows at Sonia.
She shook her head. Longly nodded, then his voice assumed an authority that I hadn’t heard from him since I’d arrived at Parkview. “Right. If you could all step into the drawing room, I think that would be best. Miss Belgrave, perhaps you could summon Brimble and have him contact the local authorities.”
“Apologies for interrupting your evening plans,” Inspector Longly said. He stood in the drawing room, his feet planted on the center of the vine-patterned Axminster carpet while the rest of us ranged around the large room. Instead of the usual pleasant, low hum of chitchat punctuated with laughter, the room had been tense and quiet while we waited for the inspector. The only sounds had been an occasional muted murmur and the crackle from the blaze in the large fireplace.
Peter stood at the far end of the room. He’d drawn back one panel of the drapes and stared out into the garden, his back turned to the group. I imagined he wished he could escape outdoors. He was like Uncle Leo and would rather be outside, but that wasn’t possible tonight. Aunt Caroline had exclaimed over his black eye and sent for ice, but the cold compress dangled from his hand at his side.
Aunt Caroline, sapphires sparkling at her ears and throat, pulled her gaze away from Peter. “It’s certainly not your fault that you’ve been put in charge here, Inspector. Poor Mr. Payne. Such a sad situation. What can you tell us about it?”
“Not much at the moment, I’m afraid. I’ll be able to give you a clearer picture later.” He looked to Uncle Leo. “The local authorities have asked me to take charge of the investigation. With your permission, Sir Leo, I’d like to speak with each guest individually tonight. The chief constable will join me as I interview everyone.”
“Of course.” Uncle Leo stood behind Aunt Caroline, who was seated in one of the plush velvet-covered chairs. The lines in his face looked deeper, and his attention also kept straying to Peter. “I’m sure everyone will cooperate fully.” He put a hand on Aunt Caroline’s shoulder. “Caroline and I would be happy to speak with you first.”
“Yes, certainly.” Aunt Caroline reached for her shawl as she prepared to stand.
Longly said, “Thank you, Sir Leo.”
Captain Inglebrook leaned forward. “It must have been an accident, Lucas.”
It took me a moment to realize the captain had addressed Inspector Longly by his first name. Up until that moment, I’d almost forgotten Inglebrook and Longly were childhood friends. I hadn’t seen them spend much time together, and they had such different personalities.
Inglebrook sat on one of the sofas between Deena and Gigi. His evening wear was spotless, and his dark hair was combed back from his face, every hair in place. Gigi lounged in one corner of the sofa, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling in a leisurely manner, but Deena started when Inglebrook spoke. The feather in her hair bobbed and her diamond earrings swung as she jerked toward him. Her jumpiness was understandable after what she’d seen in the conservatory. I was still on edge too.
Inglebrook went on, “The chap must have tripped and cracked his head. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Obviously, he hadn’t seen Payne’s head. A fall couldn’t have caused that much . . . damage. I shut down that train of thought as Inglebrook smoothed a hand along his thin mustache and continued, “Surely we can dine, Lucas, then you can ask your questions later.”
Longly said, “It’s too early to make any statements regarding Mr. Payne’s death.”
I glanced from one man to the other. They might have been childhood friends, but there was definitely a rift between them now, and I didn’t think it could be put down completely to a rivalry for Gwen’s affection. Inglebrook had been much more attentive to Gigi.
In a fluid movement that reminded me of a cat, Gigi stood, and the simple lines of her bright pink sheath dress fell into place. Her only jewelry was a narrow band of seed pearls that she wore across her forehead and threaded through her dark hair. “Then you won’t need to speak to me—or Captain Inglebrook. We didn’t see Mr. Payne after tea. Captain Inglebrook and I played billiards until it was time to dress for dinner.”
“On the contrary, Lady Gina, I need to speak to each one of you to create a full picture of everyone’s movements this evening.” Longly’s voice was heavy with a note of authority.
Across the room, Gwen’s pale gold gown blended with the cream upholstery of her chair. She’d been fiddling with the clasp on her topaz bracelet. She snapped it closed. “But you won’t need to speak with Peter straightaway, Inspector. That can wait until tomorrow, can’t it? He’s had a terrible shock. Surely you understand.”
“I agree, it’s a difficult time, but I’ve found it’s best to talk with everyone immediately, when impressions are fresh. If Mr. Stone can spare me a few moments, I’d like to speak with him tonight.”
Peter turned from the window. My stomach clenched at the sight of his eye, which was now swollen closed. He gave Gwen a warning glance as she drew a breath to continue her argument. Peter said to Longly, “I’d be happy to talk with you at your convenience.”
“Thank you,” Longly said and turned to Sir Leo. “Despite your generous offer to talk with me first, Sir Leo, I’d like to begin with anyone who was in the conservatory this evening. I believe that includes Mr. Stone,” Longly said with a nod to Peter, then turned to me, “and Miss Belgrave.”
“Certainly,” I said, already running through what I’d say, feeling a twist of fear as I remembered the strange look in Peter’s eyes. I’d stick to the facts, I decided. I’d state exactly what happened, nothing more—no embellishment or elaboration.
Longly looked to Sonia. “As well as Mrs. Belgrave.”
Sonia and Father were behind me. The cameo Sonia wore at the throat of her high-necked gown bounced as she swallowed. “Of course,” she said in a blank yet deferential tone that I’m sure she’d often used when she’d said, “Yes, doctor.”
She stood a little behind Father. He drew her arm through his, pulling her to his side. Sonia leaned against him, and I realized that Payne’s death had probably brought back difficult memories for her too. She must have seen awful things during the war.
Longly pivoted back to the sofa. Gigi had dropped onto the arm and now sat swinging one delicate foot back and forth. She’d always been fidgety. Sitting in a classroom in boarding school had been torturous for her, but she stilled her movements as Longly’s gaze swept over the sofa to the opposite end. �
��And I must speak to Miss Lacey as well.”
Deena’s head jerked up. “Me? Surely, you don’t need to talk to me. I was only in the conservatory a minute or two. I just peeked in, really.”
“It’s vital I speak to you, Miss Lacey. You found Mr. Payne.”
“But Peter was there too.”
“You raised the alarm,” he amended. “We’ll get into all that in a moment.” Longly glanced around the room. “Was anyone else in the conservatory between tea and the time Mr. Payne’s body was discovered?”
I looked at Miss Miller, who was seated in an armchair near the fire, the skirt of her mauve silk gown ballooning around her chair. She twisted her handkerchief around one finger, unwound it, and then wrapped it around another finger. She didn’t say a word.
Longly turned to Uncle Leo. “If we might use your library . . .”
At Uncle Leo’s nod, Longly said to Peter, “Mr. Stone, if you would be good enough to accompany me to the library, we’ll begin with you.”
Chapter Seven
Inspector Longly looked up from his notebook and said to me, “You described Mr. Stone as hunched over Mr. Payne’s body with his hands at Mr. Payne’s throat, is that correct?”
We were seated on opposite sides of the large reading table in the library. A constable sat at the far end, scribbling in his notebook. Colonel Havens, the local chief constable, was in a nearby armchair, the smoke from his pipe drifting to the ceiling.
“Yes,” I said. “That was where Peter was when I first saw him, but he wasn’t in a threatening pose.”
