A Death in Devon

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Not for her, or so says Penny.”

  “Penny?”

  “That’s the maid. She tells me Toni is something of a free spirit. Lord Chasterly has a bit of a thing for her, but Toni isn’t interested.”

  “She still showed up, though,” he pointed out.

  I nodded. “Yes, but I’m not sure that means anything. She enjoys parties and socializing, and I don’t know yet who was at the other parties.”

  “Ah, as to that. I have a list.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inner breast pocket of his suit coat and spread it flat on the table.

  “Perfect! Just what I needed.” I peered at the neatly typed sheet.

  There were five columns of names. At the top of each column was a name in all capital letters with a date below it.

  “Each of these,” Jack pointed to one of the names in all capital letters, “is the host or hostess of the house party along with the date of the party. The guest list is beneath each.”

  “And what’s this?” I asked.

  Next to each date was an odd word or two. Some seemed almost normal while some were pure gibberish.

  “The location. All in or very near Devon.”

  “Dunchideock Cross?” I stared at him.

  “Yes. Lovely little inland parish.”

  “I see.” I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “It looks like Lady Antonia has only been to the first house party and this one. She did say she’s been away to the South of France.”

  “Doesn’t clear her,” he said. “But it does make her unlikely.”

  “Agreed. Mr. Frain, Mary Parlance, and Lady Fortescue have been to all the parties... which doesn’t look good for them.”

  “Although,” Jack pointed out, “Simon Parlance missed one. And he and his sister never do anything on their own.”

  “Except go to house parties,” I said dryly. “Alexander Malburn has been to three of the five, which puts him low on our list of suspects.”

  “Lord Chasterly himself has also been at all the parties save one. We can’t leave him out.”

  “No,” I agreed. “He’s definitely on the suspect list, though why he’d steal from his peers and then ask Mr. Woodward for help is beyond me. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t need the money.”

  “People don’t always steal for the money,” Jack reminded me.

  “True. I worked with a woman during the war. Dolly. Kept stealing stupid little things. Items out of people’s lunches or lockers, small tools, bits and pieces of scrap. She didn’t need any of it, but she had some sort of condition. They had to let her go, though they at least didn’t prosecute the poor woman. They could have since it was war time, but they brushed it under the rug, and we all pretended she’d gotten a better job offer.”

  “Poor woman. Must have been very unhappy.”

  I thought about it. “Actually, she seemed quite cheerful. She was sorry about it and returned everything she could, but otherwise, a very happy person. She just couldn’t control her need to take things.” I returned my focus to the list. “There are three names here that aren’t on Lord Chasterly’s guest list.”

  “Yes, Lady Olivander, Sir Ruben, and Vivian Morenton,” he said. “But you missed these others.” He tapped the list of five more names.

  “Yes, but those were only each at one of the house parties in question and none were invited to Lord Chasterly’s, so I think we can leave them out for now.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

  “Tell me about these other three. Why aren’t they on Lord Chasterly’s guest list?” It seemed to me that, seeing as how they were at all the other parties, they should be on the list.

  “He and Lady Olivander can’t stand each other,” Jack explained. “In fact, it was her party he missed.”

  “Really? Why?”

  He squirmed uneasily. “Rumor has it that years ago they were... ah... close. Very close. If you know what I mean.”

  I frowned, wondering what he was getting at. Then it hit me, and I felt like a prize idiot. “Oh, you mean they were having an affair.”

  His eyes widened and his cheeks turned bright red, making him look kind of adorable. “Er, yes, rather. It all went sour, and the two have barely spoken since. Although, of course, they move in the same circles and are often at the same parties and such.”

  “But it would explain why she isn’t on the guest list,” I mused. “It does not, however, expunge her from the suspect list.”

  “Indeed not. Especially as, according to my uncle, she’s been in a bit of a financial bind since her husband passed.”

  Now that was interesting, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything. After all, she wasn’t invited to this party.

  “Now Sir Ruben actually is quite chummy with Lord Chasterly,” Jack continued. “Sir Ruben is a bit older, but Lord Chasterly went to school with Sir Ruben’s younger brother. They’re also very distantly related.”

  “So why wouldn’t he be invited?”

  “I believe he was. Or at least my uncle is under that impression. Only he supposedly had to attend to some business or other in London and couldn’t go, although he should be at the soiree over the weekend.”

  “I see.” I tapped the pen against my chin. “Once again, that doesn’t rule him out. He could quite easily take a train or drive from London. And then, of course, there’s the shindig on Saturday.”

  “Very true, though once again motive isn’t clear. He’s extremely wealthy, and not just from family money. He made his own, you see. Hence the knighthood.”

  “Final name... Vivian Moreton. Who’s she?”

  He cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened again. “She’s an actress. Wouldn’t usually be invited to such parties, but she’s actually the daughter of a baron and not only rather wealthy, but exceptionally beautiful.”

  I felt an odd little stab of jealousy at the moony face he made. “Why wouldn’t she be invited?”

  “That I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not like Lord Chasterly is the sort of stick in the mud to not invite her because of her profession. Although he is rather smitten with Lady Antonia, so perhaps he didn’t want anyone else trying to steal her thunder, so to speak.”

  I couldn’t imagine anyone stealing the limelight from Toni. Not only was she beautiful, but she had charisma in spades. I felt a bit like an ugly little sparrow next to a swan. Not that I minded. I’d never been one to crave the spotlight, but I did wish that men like Jack wouldn’t moon over women just because they were exceptionally beautiful. Some of us had more important things. Like brains.

  I reminded myself that I had a job to do and to stay on task. I cleared my throat. “I guess we should focus on just those who are at the house party, at least for now.”

  “Agreed, though I can do some checking on the other names, particularly those that were at all the other parties. Double check their alibis, so to speak.”

  “Good idea. We should know if one or more of them is in the neighborhood. That won’t look good for them.”

  “Indeed not,” Jack agreed. “So what is your plan?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’ve never been undercover before. And the only guest I’ve met so far is Lady Antonia. She seems very nice, but I don’t suppose that means anything. I guess I’ll simply have to meet each guest and determine my first impressions.”

  “And then?” he prodded.

  I sighed. “Golly, I don’t know. Listen to what they say? Though I suppose they won’t talk about their plans to steal everyone’s valuables. Maybe search their rooms? Although I doubt they’d have anything suspicious hidden yet.”

  “No, likely not. I suggest you keep your eyes and ears open and be prepared to search the moment anything is reported missing.”

  “In other words, investigate after the fact.”

  He shrugged. “It’s really all we can do. Here.” He reached beneath the table and passed me a velvet bag.

  With some reluctance, I took it a
nd peered inside. Something glittered back. Something that looked like diamonds. “What is this?”

  “A brooch that belonged to my grandmother. My uncle thought it would be attractive to the thief.”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t bear it if it were to get stolen.”

  “That’s rather the point,” he said wryly. “Be sure and wear it where the other guests will see it. It’s gauche to talk about the value of something, but you’re American, so they’ll expect it.”

  The remark both stung and angered, but I bit my tongue. “Very well. I’ll do my best.”

  “You know what to do then?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said dryly. “I’m the bait.”

  Chapter 6

  Tippy was still waiting patiently for me outside the pub. I was glad to be in the clean, fresh air, away from the smoke and the stares of the men inside. The wind whipped at my updo, loosening locks to dance around my cheeks.

  “Perhaps we should stroll along the waterfront, Tippy,” I said as I untied his leash. “Seems like a lovely day for it. Perhaps I can get a stamp from the post office. I really should send this letter to Mama.”

  I’d already sent my parents a letter from London explaining my surprising inheritance and its terms, as well as the fact that I had a new job. I did not explain my new job involved going under cover to catch a criminal but kept to the cover story of being Mr. Woodward’s secretary. I knew it would likely come as quite a shock, especially since Mama had expected me back in Portland by now, but I was hoping she would understand and approve. After all, my mother had been something of an adventuress before she met my father.

  Well, perhaps calling her an adventuress was a bit too far. But she had traveled all the way to New York City to visit a cousin who was in the theater. It was quite a scandal in the family. The cousin’s profession, not my mother’s visit. In fact, some of the relations refused to speak of her. Again, the cousin, not my mother. But Mama had spent a whole two months there and often told stories about all the people she’d met and the places she’d been. But only when my father wasn’t listening. He didn’t approve.

  “Come, Tippy.”

  Tippy trotted alongside me, tongue lolling. His claws made little clippy sounds on the cobblestones.

  I clutched my handbag tighter, remembering what was now inside. “Did you know that Jack and his uncle want to use me as bait?”

  I swear Tippy’s clever fox face held a little grin.

  “Yes, you may find it amusing, but you’re not the one who will have to face down a burglar. I’m finding this a little bit terrifying if you want to know the truth.”

  Tippy let out a soft woof. I’m not sure it was meant to be comforting, but I decided to take it that way. I also decided not to question the fact I was talking to a dog.

  I paused to take in the stunning view. Gulls wheeled overhead as the ocean gently lapped against the sandy beach. It was low tide, but I could tell during high tide there would be no beach at all. The watermark came quite a way up the sea wall. Out on the water, little boats bobbed. Fishermen, no doubt. It was early yet, but I was betting they’d haul in their catch soon enough, and then the sleepy waterfront would be bustling and smelly. But for now, it was serene, the tang of saltwater heavy in the air.

  The post office was just a block off the promenade in a lovely little stone building with a red door and red window sashes. The wooden door creaked, and a brass bell tinkled as I entered. There were only two people inside and they both turned to stare at me.

  Both women were middle aged and wore simple, boxy shaped dresses popular during the lean years of the war, in direct contrast to my Christian Dior with its longer hemline and full, swishy skirt. A spark of embarrassment flooded me that I was frivolously flaunting my wealth. Which was ridiculous. I wasn’t at all wealthy, but everyone was supposed to think I was.

  The woman on my side of the counter wore a blue dress—the floral fabric faded with use, clearly the result of many washings—with stout, low-heeled brown shoes and a well-worn brown mac. She held a shopping bag and an oversized brown handbag in one hand and had been gesticulating wildly with the other. At least until I walked in.

  The woman behind the counter was stouter than her companion, and while I couldn’t see her shoes, her dress was a vivid pink, although mostly covered with a yellow apron. Her graying hair was held off her face with a matching swatch of pink fabric.

  I felt completely out of place. Would a wealthy aristocrat buy her own stamps? Probably not. But I was American, so even if one of Lord Chasterly’s guests stumbled across my gauche behavior, they’d probably chalk it up to that.

  “Can I help you, miss?” the woman behind the counter asked, giving me a thorough once-over.

  “Yes. I’d like to mail this letter to America.” I placed the envelope on the counter, giving the woman in the blue dress an apologetic look.

  “Ah, of course. You must be up at the Big House.”

  Since Aunt Euphegenia’s cottage was anything but big, I could only assume she meant Endmere, I nodded. “Yes, Lord Chasterly is such a wonderful host.” I told myself to shut up. I seemed to be blabbing needlessly.

  The postmistress smiled warmly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay. I’m Mrs. Johnson. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  Her kindness made me relax just a little. “Sugar Martin.”

  The woman in the blue dress snorted. “Whatever kind of name is that?”

  “Margeret, don’t be rude,” Mrs. Johnson, snapped. “Don’t mind her, love.”

  I swear Margeret tilted her nose ever so slightly and sniffed. “That your dog?”

  I glanced down. Tippy had followed me in. Or rather, I’d brought him in since I’d forgotten to tie him up outside. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I should have left him outside.”

  “Pish posh,” said Mrs. Johnson. “He’s fine. How odd. He looks a lot like—well, no it can’t be.”

  I had a bad feeling she recognized him, so I quickly changed the subject. “Are you by any chance related to the butler at Endmere?”

  She took the letter and sat it gently on a scale. “He’s my brother-in-law. That’ll be fifteen pee.”

  My mind scrambled. Pee? I wasn’t sure what that meant. I opened my handbag, pulled out my coin purse, and scrambled inside, trying to figure it out.

  “Pence,” Margeret said slowly as if I was stupid. “Pee is short for pence.”

  “Of course.” My laugh sounded as strained and awkward as I felt. I counted out fifteen pence and handed it to the woman behind the counter.

  The women took up their conversation again as my letter was appropriately stamped and placed into the right slot, and my receipt was written up. It seemed a Mr. Higgins was a bit of a lout, and a drunken one at that, and it was too bad as his wife was lovely. Also, the sermon on Sunday had gone on a bit long and someone ought to talk to the vicar about it. Finally, little Tommy Tilbury had been done—I gathered that meant he’d been arrested—for stealing Mrs. Potts’s prized chicken, but it had only been a prank, so he’d been let off with only a warning after an hour in a cell.

  “Speaking of thefts,” I found myself blurting, “have you heard about the robberies?” I wanted to wilt into the floor as two pairs of eyes swung my way.

  “Robberies?” Mrs. Johnson echoed.

  “What robberies?” Margeret asked, small eyes shrewd. She had clearly spotted a tasty bit of gossip.

  I swallowed and dove in. “Well, as you know, I’m staying at Lord Chasterly’s. He’s having a house party this weekend.”

  They both nodded, gazes glued to my face.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve been hearing from the other guests that other house parties in the area have been robbed. Valuable items stolen. Some right out of the guests’ rooms while they’re sleeping.”

  “You don’t say!” Mrs. Johnson leaned on the counter, making a shelf for her ample bosom. “What sort of valuables?”

  “Antique brooches, diamond cocktail rings, pearls, tha
t sort of thing,” I said.

  Margeret’s eyes were glittering with barely suppressed excitement. “Do you know who was robbed?”

  Apparently, the names of the wealthy and titled victims were a hotter commodity than the items themselves. “Ah, not exactly. But I believe Lord Chasterly himself had a gold money clip stolen, along with a small amount of cash.”

  Margeret let out a sound that was downright gleeful. “Were the robbers armed?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted. “It always happened when people were either asleep, or away from the house so no one ever saw the thief. They don’t even know if it’s one person or several.”

  “How exciting!” Margeret exclaimed.

  “Not for those that lost their valuables, I reckon,” Mrs. Johnson said dryly. “Afraid this is the first I’ve heard of such a thing. My brother-in-law keeps things close to the vest. Very uppity that one.”

  “Well, they’re trying to keep it hush hush,” I said. “Not wanting news to get out. Doesn’t look good or something. Where I come from, they’d have the full police force out, combing the countryside.”

  “That’s because Americans aren’t so uptight about appearances,” Mrs. Johnson said without rancor. “The upper classes here, they want everyone to think they’re untouchable.”

  Margeret nodded. “True enough.”

  “I’m a little worried someone will target this house party,” I admitted.

  “Not to worry.” Mrs. Johnson patted my hand. “If we hear anything or see anything suspicious, we’ll let you know.”

  “Would you? That would be so kind of you.” I doubted they would, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the locals keeping an eye out. Especially since, soon enough, they would be my neighbors. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too upset by my keeping them in the dark about that.

  After a few more pleasantries, and a whine from Tippy, we were on our way, bidding Mrs. Johnson and Margeret goodbye.

  “They were nice,” I said to Tippy. “At least Aunt Euphegenia’s cottage is in such a lovely, peaceful town.”

  Tippy let out an ungentlemanly snort.