Murder in Black Tie

by Sara Rosett

  The envelope wasn’t sealed. He opened the single sheet of paper it contained. “Looks like it’s Mr. Payne’s copy of the invoice for the maps he sold to Sir Leo.” Longly returned the paper to the envelope and put it on the desk. “We’ll need to take the envelope into evidence, sergeant.”

  “Right, sir,” the sergeant said, then added, “The constable took the liberty, sir, of asking Lady Caroline if anything was missing. She sent her daughter, Miss Stone, who said none of the room’s contents had been taken. She couldn’t vouch for Mr. Payne’s things.”

  Longly put his glove away, then ran his hand over his mouth and chin as he surveyed the room. “Did you check the top of the wardrobe?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s bare.”

  “And between the mattress and box spring?”

  “Yes, sir. Nothing unexpected. Same situation with the drawers and under the rugs.”

  I stepped forward. “Have you checked the cupboard behind the wainscoting?”

  The inspector and the sergeant turned to me. Before Longly could send me on my way, I said, “There’s a recessed cabinet. The previous Lady Stone had them installed for storage when the bedrooms were renovated, but no one really uses them. Well, except for Peter, Gwen, and me. They were excellent hiding places for our loot when we were children.”

  Longly waved his hand. “Please, show us.”

  I crossed the room and knelt by the wall near an armchair. “It’s cleverly done. The trim of the wainscoting hides the door seam—well, except for this little bit at the bottom. Unless you look closely, you wouldn’t know there’s a cabinet here at all. You press the corner of the wainscoting here—” The panel popped open an inch, and I pulled it back. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.” The cabinet contained a thick tube of paper about two feet long. The bottom of the cabinet was dusty, but the roll of paper wasn’t.

  “Blimey,” the sergeant said. “How would Mr. Payne know about that hiding place?”

  I nodded to the nearby armchair. “If he was sitting there, he might have noticed the seam of the door isn’t quite hidden by the trim piece.”

  Inspector Longly put on his glove again and moved the roll of paper to the desk. After searching for a moment, he located and retrieved the penknife from the desk set that had been tipped onto the floor. Longly slit the piece of tape that held the papers together in a tube.

  The roll sprang open, revealing a map of India in sepia tones. Unlike the crisp white paper on the outside, the map was faded and the edges crinkled. Longly looked through the stack of maps, which kept their curved shape. Most of the maps were faded and yellowed, and the ink on many of them was a tea-stained brown.

  Longly examined the front and back of the maps as he worked his way through them. He seemed to have forgotten I was behind him, and I remained silent and still.

  “At first glance, it appears we have seven maps of India signed by Rudyard Kipling, five of Europe with the signature of Charles Darwin, six Italian maps with the signature of Lord Byron, three of Scotland with Sir Walter Scott’s signature, and one of Israel, but no signature on that one. That’s considerably more than he showed to Sir Leo. These will have to be analyzed, of course, but it seems Mr. Payne could match a map to anyone’s taste.”

  The sergeant scratched his hairline as he glanced around the room. “So you think someone was looking for these maps?”

  Longly turned to me. He hadn’t forgotten I was in the room because he didn’t hesitate or look surprised when he saw me. “Are you sure Miss Miller took a sleeping draught last night?”

  “You think Miss Miller might have done this? But she already had her—um—the item she wanted,” I amended with a glance at the constables.

  Longly motioned for the sergeant to take charge of the maps and escorted me out to the corridor. “I have to consider all possibilities, Miss Belgrave.”

  “Miss Miller certainly seemed sleepy when I spoke to her. I suppose it’s possible she could have been acting, but I don’t think so. And I doubt she would do something like that.” I gestured to the green room. “I think she might have wanted to search Mr. Payne’s room, but I don’t know that she’d have had the courage to do it.”

  “She does seem a bit timid,” Longly said, “but she searched Mr. Payne’s body. That took gumption. However, I doubt she’d have the knowledge to pick a lock.” Longly gave me a quick smile. “It’s a skill that most people don’t have—thank goodness.”

  “The locks on the doors are not incredibly secure. If you jiggle the key from one door in any of the other locks, you can usually get the door open. That’s another bit of knowledge I accumulated during my childhood with my cousins,” I added quickly. I didn’t want him to think I’d been creeping about the halls last night trying my key in the green room’s lock. “But I don’t think Miss Miller would have cared about the maps. Her only interest was in retrieving her letter, which she had last evening in her bedroom.”

  Longly looked back to the green room and spoke more to himself than to me. “Another option is that someone decided to take advantage of Mr. Payne’s death and help themselves to the remaining maps, the three that Mr. Payne let be known he still had for sale, but they couldn’t locate them.”

  “But no one seems to be in a perilous financial situation,” I said, then mentally added, except me. But I wasn’t going to point that fact out to Longly. Fortunately, the sergeant called him, and I left quickly, making my way to the billiard room, where I hoped to find Jasper. We needed to compare notes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jasper was indeed in the billiard room. He was slumped in a club chair with his elbow propped on the chair arm, massaging his brow.

  I sat down in the chair beside him. “Good morning, Jasper.”

  He lifted his fingers and looked at me from under them.

  “Hello, Olive. I thought you’d be along soon.”

  “Still recovering from last night, I see.”

  “Yes,” he said, and I thought there was a hint of wariness in his tone. “Olive, last night—” He shifted. “It’s a bit foggy, but I seem to remember being in your room . . .?”

  “Yes, you were.” He pressed his fingers down over his eyes for a moment as I added, “You were quite insistent about informing me about what you’d discovered at the pub.”

  His fingers lifted again. “And was that . . . all?”

  “Well, you had some rather nice things to say about my perfume.”

  Relief washed over his face, and I decided not to mention that he nearly kissed me—or that I’d wanted to kiss him. Best to bury that . . . little aberration and go on as we’d been.

  “Oh. Right. Good.” He squinted at me as if he was trying to work out if I was holding something back, then said, “Good. Then on to sleuthing. It’s been a productive morning.”

  “Really? What have you been doing?”

  “As I said, sleuthing.”

  “Are you sure? You look so comfortable.”

  “Believe me, my head isn’t comfortable at all.” He slowly rearranged himself in his chair and clasped his hands across his chest. “I’ve been gathering information—through emissaries.” He squinted at me. “You look animated. I suppose you’ve been incredibly busy and productive this morning.”

  “Several things have happened. Our childhood hiding places came in handy just now.” Without going into detail about Miss Miller’s letter because I’d promised to keep that bit secret, I told Jasper about Miss Miller’s presence in the conservatory, her accusation that Payne was passing off forged signatures on the maps, and the discovery of the abundance of maps hidden in Payne’s room.

  “Maps with forged signatures,” Jasper said. “Hardly something to kill someone over.”

  “I agree, but I can’t work out any other reason someone would want to do away with Mr. Payne.”

  “Therein lies the problem. My sleuthing has brought the same issue to light.”

  “Tell me what you’ve learned.” I burrowed deeper into the
chair cushions, settling in to listen. “I’m curious about how you’ve done it, seeing as you’re all but incapacitated.”

  “You forget about Grigsby. Never underestimate the power of a good gentleman’s gentleman.”

  “I never forget about Grigsby,” I said.

  “You say that as if he’s frightening.”

  “He’s like an English bulldog when it comes to guarding you.”

  Jasper grinned. “He tends to be a bit overprotective, but we all have our little foibles.” Jasper pushed himself higher in the chair. “I thought it would be a good idea to check on the servants. Since Mr. Payne had a tendency to behave so . . . badly, shall we say, I thought perhaps he might have, um, tried to force himself on one of the female servants. Perhaps Peter interceded and was injured.”

  “And the female servant bashed Mr. Payne on the head then fled? It seems . . . unlikely.”

  “And convoluted,” Jasper said with a sigh. He was grasping at anything he could think of to help Peter.

  I understood that, but I felt I had to point out the other flaw in the theory. I made my tone mild as I said, “Besides, Gwen knew about Mr. Payne’s . . . tendencies. She’d taken steps to protect everyone—”

  “But people don’t always do as they’re told.”

  “That is true,” I allowed.

  Jasper sighed again, deeper this time. “But you’re correct in your assessment of the idea. Grigsby made discreet inquiries among the servants, but it was a dead end. With the dinner party plans, it was all hands on deck, so to speak. As far as Grigsby was able to determine, no one was missing or unaccounted for any time during the evening. He also learned the police asked the same questions. From their lack of interest in the servants today, it seems as if the police have reached the same conclusion—that the staff wasn’t involved in Mr. Payne’s death.”

  “If that’s the case, then the murderer could only be one of the guests.”

  “It appears so.” Jasper leaned forward. “The murder must be something rooted in Mr. Payne’s actions or his background. We need to know more about him. Inspector Longly apparently feels the same way. Grigsby learned the inspector has been asking everyone what they know about Mr. Payne’s background, who his people were, where he was from, that sort of thing.”

  “Inspector Longly asked me those questions. I couldn’t tell him anything, though. And I don’t think any of the houseguests are going to be much help. I don’t believe Mr. Payne was known to anyone before he arrived. He came at the invitation of Uncle Leo.”

  “He had to be known to someone here. People don’t generally do away with new acquaintances.”

  “I can ask Uncle Leo how he came to invite him,” I said.

  “Most likely, Mr. Payne contacted Sir Leo and offered his maps for sale. It’s a common practice. Once it’s known that you have a penchant for collecting a certain thing, word gets out. I receive letters of that kind occasionally in reference to books.” Jasper had an extensive library that ranged from antique first editions to the latest crime novels.

  I thought back, trying to remember any tidbit that Payne mentioned about his personal life. “During our dinner conversation, I believe Mr. Payne made a passing mention of a flat in London,” I said finally. It was all I could think of other than the detail about selling maps.

  “Rather unspecific.”

  “Quite.” I pushed myself out of the chair. “I’ll track down Uncle Leo.”

  “And I believe I’ll write a few letters to collector friends of mine. Perhaps they’ve some information about Mr. Payne.” Jasper levered himself out of his chair more slowly than I had. He remained motionless for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he blinked them open. “No more evenings at the pub. Sleuthing is more taxing than I would’ve imagined.”

  Jasper left to write his letters, and I went to Uncle Leo’s study. I tapped on the door, but no one answered. I’d hoped I might find him there, but I knew it was unlikely. Uncle Leo was usually only in his study for a few hours in the evening. He liked to be out and about on the estate during the day, and his estate steward, Mr. Davis, hadn’t returned from London.

  I lingered a moment when I entered the room, scrutinizing the framed maps that covered the wood-paneled walls. I’d never considered antique maps as more than an interesting hobby of Uncle Leo’s. Could a piece of paper be at the root of Payne’s death? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps one of the maps that had been hidden in the cupboard was incredibly valuable. But then, why kill Payne? It wasn’t as if he’d been guarding the maps when he died. If the maps were the goal, it would make more sense to slip into the green room while everyone was occupied—say, during teatime—make a search, and remove the map. Payne might not have even noticed anything was missing until later because he had so many maps with him.

  I decided I wasn’t going to work out what had happened through mental cogitation and went to find Brimble. He had an uncanny knack of knowing everyone’s location and could probably pinpoint Uncle Leo’s whereabouts within a few feet. But as I rounded the newel post at the bottom of the staircase, I met Sonia, who had a dazed look on her face. Her skin had a sickly gray undertone to it as well, and her arms were drawn into her sides as if she were cold or in pain.

  I normally avoided interactions with my stepmother, but I couldn’t walk away from her with only a polite greeting in passing. Thinking of her prior bout with sickness that Gwen had mentioned, I asked, “Are you ill, Sonia? Do you need to sit down?”

  “No, I don’t. Oh, it’s appalling, just appalling. They’ve taken Peter away in the police motor. I saw it from the drawing room windows.”

  My heart sank. Gwen and her parents would be so distressed. It wasn’t a complete shock to me because I’d heard Longly ask Peter to accompany him to the police station this morning, but Sonia hadn’t been in the room. “That is distressing, but I imagine it’s just to answer questions. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.” I said the words, hoping they were true. Before Sonia could notice the lack of certainty in my tone, I added, “Let’s get you some water or a cup of tea.”

  She blinked and seemed to come out of her mental fog, which was an unusual state for her. I was surprised at her reaction. Sonia had a stoic nature and wasn’t given to either bursts of emotion or bouts of preoccupation. My father spent most of his day lost in thought about his writing. Sonia was down-to-earth and practical.

  “No. I’m fine,” she said, but her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I’m only concerned for—the family. How ghastly this must be for Caroline and Leo. Think of what people will say.” She glanced over my shoulder to the stairs and made a visible effort to calm herself. She drew a breath and switched on a strained smile. “Cecil, dear,” she said. “I thought you would be in the library all morning.”

  Father waved a notebook as he trotted down the last flight of stairs. “I forgot this, and I can’t get along without it. Good morning, Olive.”

  I was pleased to see Father moving so agilely. He’d been frail since his illness, but today he looked like his old self. He joined us on the main floor and waggled the notebook. “I knew I had some good notes in here about David’s time hiding from Saul. I’ll leave you ladies. Must get my thoughts down—” He took half a step away, then stopped and studied Sonia’s face. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  She widened her tense smile. “Yes, of course. Everything’s fine—completely fine. You go on to the library. I’ll come find you at lunch. I know how immersed you become in your books.”

  Father chuckled. “Indeed, I do. It’s a good thing you’re around, my dear. I might not eat until tea, otherwise.”

  With a pat on my shoulder, Father left for the library, his head bent as he paged through his notebook. I knew that within a few steps he was already engrossed in his notes, his thoughts with his writing, not us.

  As soon as he turned away, Sonia’s face transformed back into its strained lines. She made a move to leave as well, but I put a hand on her arm. If Father had noticed Sonia’
s distress, something was definitely amiss. The answer flashed through my mind. “You know something, something about Peter—no, about Mr. Payne. You became sick and had to leave shortly after the guests arrived. You’re never ill. And you’re not simply worried about the family’s reputation. It’s more than that.”

  Sonia had flinched when I said Payne’s name. “Shh!” Father had disappeared into the library as I spoke, and now she glanced around the entry hall, the hiss echoing up to the ceiling mural. “Someone might hear.”

  “I rather doubt it.” I looked up the deserted staircase. “We’re alone.” The black-and-white marble floor of the entry hall was as blank as a chessboard after the pieces had been swept away at the end of a game. “Clearly, you know something about Mr. Payne—that’s what’s eating away at you, making you ill. Whatever it is, you must tell Longly—”

  “No!” Her sharp word reverberated off the marble. She breathed in through her nose, then said in a normal tone, “Anyone could come down the stairs or be lurking in one of the rooms. I must go—”

  She made a move toward the stairs. I stepped into her path and crossed my arms. “What do you know?” If she knew something that might help Peter, I wasn’t about to let her leave without finding out what it was.

  The natural downturn of her lips deepened as she studied me, then she let out a short huff of breath. “All right. I will tell you, but only because I realize you won’t be put off. And you can . . . help.” She said the last word as if she’d eaten a bite of food that had gone off. “Come out to the garden. It should be safe to talk there.”

  Usually I’d be less than interested in strolling outdoors on a frigid morning—especially with Sonia—and would find some excuse to avoid it, but today I didn’t hesitate.

  A few minutes later I was wrapping my scarf around my neck and buttoning my coat as I followed Sonia across the terrace. We descended the flight of steps to the gardens. Her skin looked even worse in the wintry sunlight, and she pressed a hand to her midriff as if she had a stomach ache.