Murder at Archly Manor

by Sara Rosett

  Inspector Longly said, “I understand from your cousin that the trip to London was fruitless.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. We now know exactly where Jane was and that she couldn’t have pushed Alfred over the balcony. I suppose you would consider it unproductive in one sense, but it seems to me that finding out the truth of the situation is just as important as finding another viable suspect.”

  “An admirable sentiment, and one I agree with. Your cousin informs me you can give me the former maid’s new address in London.”

  The constable took it down, then Inspector Longly said, “We’ll of course verify everything you told us.” He left the subject of Jane and took me back through what I’d seen of the struggle on the balcony.

  “You can’t be more specific than that—blonde hair and a sparkling dress?”

  “No, and I’ve tried to remember more—believe me, I have.” I’d spent most of the drive to London trying to tease out some small detail that had escaped me. I shook my head. “As much as I’d like to give you some other bit of information, I can’t. That’s all I remember. It all happened so quickly. It was more of an impression than a clear memory.”

  Longly nodded. “Yes, well, if that’s the case, I appreciate you having the restraint to not make up a helpful distinguishing detail that would clear your cousin.”

  “I doubt that would work.”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  I supposed that Violet’s warning shake of the head meant she hadn’t said anything about Alfred’s notebook, which I thought was a mistake. Inspector Longly was not a short-sighted fool like Jennings. I suspected Longly was a man who would pursue all the leads he could find, and it seemed a shame to hamstring him. When he asked my opinion of Alfred, I said, “My aunt and my other cousin, Gwen, were convinced that he wasn’t . . . a gentleman, shall we say.”

  “They thought he was . . . what? A fortune hunter?”

  “No, Violet doesn’t have a large dowry or the possibility of a massive inheritance. No, it was more that they thought Alfred was rather unsavory,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

  “And what did they base this opinion on?”

  “Nothing substantial. Alfred made several social blunders. He didn’t let Violet precede him up a staircase, and he didn’t offer his hand at the correct moment during introductions.” I sighed. “It sounds like nothing, but there was something about him that was . . . it’s difficult to describe. He was overly friendly, as if he was working extra hard to make sure you stayed on his side.”

  “And what did you find out about Alfred Eton?”

  I hesitated, and he said, “Your cousin Gwen told me the family had asked you to look into his background.”

  “In that case, you should know I was incredibly unsuccessful at uncovering information about Alfred. I couldn’t get him to tell me more than the barest facts about his childhood or parents. I came to the party hoping to meet some of his friends and confirm what Alfred had told me, but I didn’t achieve that goal either.” I told him the small amount of information I had gathered.

  Longly said, “I’m sure the Yard will be able to gather a few more particulars.”

  He took me through what I’d seen on the balcony a second time. “You’re sure it was a woman with blonde hair on the balcony with him?”

  “Yes, I’m sure, but that’s all I’m positive about.”

  Inspector Longly put down the pencil he’d been holding in his left hand and ran his fingers over his chin as he stared at his handwritten notes for a moment. “Your account tallies with Monty Park’s version, so I have a tendency to think what you say is fairly accurate. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give us any more details either.”

  Longly closed his notebook, reached for an envelope, and shook it gently. Four strands of pearls spilled onto the notebook. “Now, why do you have a surprised expression on your face?”

  “Because—” I reached for my handbag and took out the pearls. I handed them to Inspector Longly. “I found these on the terrace after Alfred fell. My foot skidded across the top of them. I picked them up and put them in my glove.”

  He took the string of pearls and laid them down beside the other four strands. “These four strands were found in Alfred’s pocket.” He touched the row of pearls I’d given him. “Where exactly did you find these?”

  “They were in front of the doors to the ballroom, the first set of doors.”

  “Did you find any other jewelry?”

  “No, that was all I saw.”

  He swept all the pearls into the envelope. “Thank you for your time. That will be all.”

  I was at the door when he said, “Oh, Miss Belgrave, I’m specifically instructing you to remain on the grounds of Archly Manor. No more jaunts to London.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t think I’ll need to make any more trips.”

  I left Inspector Longly and went along to the drawing room, which had a subdued atmosphere. Sebastian sat on the far side of the room conversing in low tones with Lady Pamela, who was draped across one end of a scroll-arm settee. Thea looked a bit pale but otherwise seemed to have recovered. She had buttonholed James, Sebastian’s secretary, who looked at me as a castaway would gaze at a distantly passing ship. Thea was describing the pickled paneling in her London flat, her voice carrying across the room. “. . . quite expensive. But as I always say, it never pays to be cheap, you know.” I gave them a wide berth and went to join Gwen, who stood at one of the open French doors that looked out over the terrace and the west gardens, a teacup and saucer in her hands.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said as I came to stand beside her. The window was open and the scent of roses and honeysuckle drifted inside. “I heard you return, but by the time I got downstairs, you’d been swept off to the inspector. Was he terribly angry with you? Was it grim?”

  “No, it wasn’t horrible at all.” In a low voice, I told her everything Violet and I had learned, and her tea grew cold as she listened without moving.

  She kept her voice down as well, but anger vibrated through it. “So Alfred was a cad—blackmailing people and threatening maids.”

  “Yes, you were right about him.”

  “But I never suspected he was as bad as that.” Her teacup clattered against the saucer as she set it down on a table.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think Violet told the police about the notebook. Did you speak to her after we returned from London?”

  “No, she went directly to her room. She said she had a headache and took a sleeping powder.” Gwen rubbed the bandage on her hand. “I think she doesn’t want to deal with it anymore, poor lamb. I’m sure the revelations of the last few hours are a lot for her to take in.”

  “We’ll have to convince her to tell Inspector Longly about the notebook. He seems a competent sort.”

  “If you say so.” Gwen’s cheeks turned pink.

  “He seemed to be interested in getting to the truth. Didn’t you have the same impression?”

  “He had quite a few pointed questions for me.”

  “You have to admit he seems to be better than the local police inspector.”

  “Possibly.”

  It wasn’t like Gwen to come down so firmly against someone, but perhaps it was because she felt defensive for Violet.

  Gwen glanced out the window, then surveyed the room before lowering her voice. “I can’t help but worry for Violet. I spoke to one of the maids whose brother is a police constable in the village, and he says that there’s no evidence against anyone other than Violet. What if they arrest her because there’s no one else?”

  “Of course there are other suspects. Jane and Thea are washed out, but Lady Pamela was upstairs.”

  The door opened and Muriel entered with Paul and Rose. They went to Thea, and James escaped with the agility of a mouse fleeing a momentarily distracted cat. He murmured something about a telephone call and left the room.

  I gripped Gwen’s arm. “Muriel! I’d completely forgotten about her. She’
d have been upstairs too, in the nursery. Granted, it’s the floor above the bedrooms, but she was upstairs.”

  Gwen shook her head. “But Muriel has dark hair. And you said the woman on the balcony was a blonde.”

  “There are such things as wigs, you know.”

  “But Muriel?” Gwen looked across the room. “She’s such a mouse. I don’t think she could do something like that.”

  “Do you want another suspect or not?” I asked.

  “You’re right. Put Muriel down as a long shot.”

  “And then there’s Lady Pamela,” I said. “She said Tug spilled his drink on her and she went upstairs. When did that happen? How long was she upstairs? Did it even happen? Maybe she spilled her drink to give herself an excuse to go upstairs.”

  “And I thought the fierce inspector might have frightened you out of asking questions. He read me the Riot Act when I told him you were gone. I should have known better.”

  “It’s my innate curiosity. Even if I wanted to stop asking questions, I don’t think I could. Apparently, we’re all going to be trapped here at least until the inquest, and I’m not going to sit around doing needlepoint.”

  “Although you do lovely needlepoint,” Gwen said with a mischievous look in her eye.

  “Thank you, but you know I can’t do anything productive while something is on my mind.” When Gwen had asked me to help Violet, I’d been reluctant, but talking with Jane and learning about Alfred’s notebook had fanned my curiosity. I wanted to help Violet, but I also wanted to figure out who else Alfred had been blackmailing.

  “Yes, you are a bit single-minded at times. But I don’t think Inspector Longly will be happy. He was extremely cross today when he found out you and Violet were gone.”

  “Then he’ll just have to be grumpy. There’s no law against asking questions.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The high-pitched voices of Thea’s children increased the noise in the drawing room and brought a sense of energy. I wasn’t paying attention to their chatter until Paul’s voice carried across the room, “. . . we’ll be murdered in our beds,” he said with relish.

  Rose’s chin wobbled, and Thea scowled at Paul. “No more talk of that.” She patted Rose’s hand. “No need to worry, dear. The police are here, and they’ll take away the person who did that horrible thing soon.” Thea’s gaze strayed to Gwen, who stood with her back to the room, but Gwen had heard the exchange. Her shoulders stiffened and red suffused her cheeks.

  “Muriel,” Thea said and motioned to the open French windows. “Take the children to the garden. It will take their minds off things.”

  Muriel was raising a fresh cup of tea to her mouth. She took a little sip, then set it down. “Yes, Mrs. Reid.”

  “Remember, you don’t have to worry,” Thea said as she squeezed Rose’s hand again. Then Thea pointed a finger at Paul. “And no more statements like that from you, young man. You know they upset your sister.” Muriel herded the children outside through the other open French door. Their squeaky voices, a counterpoint to Muriel’s muted alto replies, faded as they moved away through the banks of flowers.

  Gwen’s gaze was fixed on the garden as she said in a near whisper, “This is awful. If the police don’t find who really did it, suspicion will hang over Violet for the rest of her life. I’m going upstairs. I don’t care to speak to anyone right now.” Gwen left the room, pointedly avoiding Thea. But Thea was flicking through the pages of a magazine and didn’t notice Gwen’s snub.

  With a frisson of anger simmering through me, I decided I’d better avoid Thea as well. I joined Lady Pamela and Sebastian. Lady Pamela turned her head slightly as I approached. “Oh, Olivia, isn’t it the most awful thing?”

  Sebastian stubbed out his cigarette. “Don’t be a cat, Lady Pamela. Her name is Olive, as you very well know. I don’t know why you persist in these petty games. It doesn’t gain you anything.”

  Lady Pamela smiled slowly at Sebastian. “You’re terribly direct. It will get you in trouble someday, I’m sure, but it’s rather attractive.”

  “I always say exactly what I mean,” Sebastian said.

  Lady Pamela pulled her attention away from Sebastian and said to me, “I’m all out of sorts. I do apologize, Olive.”

  “I think we’re all out of sorts at the moment. It’s a terrible thing to have happened.”

  Lady Pamela reached for a cigarette. “It’s certainly ruined the party.”

  Sebastian took out his lighter. “Now there, I disagree with you. There’s nothing like a murder to add a little cachet to a party.”

  Lady Pamela drew on the cigarette, then whipped it out of her mouth. “Now who’s behaving badly?”

  Sebastian saw my face and added, “Of course it’s tragic and most unfortunate.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said firmly. “Alfred didn’t have any family, did he? Will you be handling all of the arrangements?”

  “The arrangements?”

  “For the funeral. You were his godfather.”

  Sebastian’s blasé manner slipped, and he actually looked uncomfortable. “I—well, I daresay I shall have to.”

  Lady Pamela swept her hand through the air, leaving a trail of smoke. “Sebastian, you’re such a goose. You’d actually forgotten you were his godfather, hadn’t you?”

  “No, my dear. I’ve been caught up in other things. Great geniuses like myself do that, you know. Total immersion in our work to the point that the rest of the world fades away.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Lady Pamela murmured. “Perhaps I’ll become a genius. How would one go about it?”

  Irritation prickled across my skin. They were treating Alfred’s death as a party game.

  Sebastian looked away from Lady Pamela to me and amended his expression from frivolous amusement to something more somber. “I do apologize. I’m treating things far too lightly. You see, I don’t like reality. I prefer the artificial world of my studio. I can control everything there. It’s like being a little god—quite addicting. When the real world is too much, I retreat there. I go up to my darkroom and shut myself in. No one can bother me there. I’ve been developing photographs.”

  His manner was still somewhat flippant, but I sensed an earnestness behind his words. I asked, “Is the darkroom part of your studio upstairs?”

  “Yes. I’ll show it to you if you’d like.”

  “I’d be interested in seeing it.”

  The door opened, and James reentered the room. He crossed to Sebastian and whispered something in his ear. Sebastian pocketed his lighter and stood. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I have an urgent call I must take.”

  He left, and Lady Pamela’s gaze skimmed around the room. I knew she was looking for some way to escape from me. I said, “I suppose the police have already talked to you?”

  “So tedious, all those questions. Where was I? How long did I stay upstairs? Who else did I see?”

  “But all important.”

  She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose.”

  “You really don’t have any interest in knowing who killed Alfred?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “It’s obvious. Violet did it.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “Well, it seems the police do. In fact, I’m surprised Violet is still here. I thought they would’ve taken her away by now.”

  “Did you actually see her in Alfred’s room?”

  “No, the only person I saw upstairs was you.”

  She seemed to enjoy imparting that detail. I was sure she’d also informed the police of it. I wondered if she’d gotten my name right.

  I ignored the barb and asked, “And you didn’t hear anything from the balcony when you were changing your gown?”

  “No. The doors to the balcony were closed in my room.” Her eyes sparked with interest as she really focused on me for the first time. “Why so many questions?”

  “Because Violet didn’t do it.”

  She laughed, throwing her head back, expo
sing the long column of her neck and the edge of a pointy collarbone. “Of course she did. Who else is there?”

  “You.”

  That wiped the smile off her face. “Are you accusing me of pushing that slick little social climber off the balcony?” Her voice was full of aristocratic hauteur.

  “You were upstairs.”

  “You are accusing me! I’m astounded. Me? You think I did it?”

  “I’m merely stating you had opportunity as well as Violet. Why should the blame immediately fall on her?”

  Lady Pamela’s lips curved into a little smile. “Because I am Lady Pamela Withers, and my father is Lord Harlan. The police will think long and hard before even insinuating I had anything to do with it. Violet is simply Violet Stone. Her father is only a baronet.”

  “So because Violet’s family connections are not as impressive as yours, she must be guilty.”

  “Exactly. Besides, I wasn’t the one who argued with Alfred. That’s common knowledge.”

  I glanced around the room to make sure Thea was still absorbed in her magazine and no one else had entered. “But he was blackmailing you.”

  She froze, one skinny arm raised to her hair. She stroked her hair away from her face. “If you repeat a word of that, I will vehemently deny it. And you have a lot less social standing than Violet. You’d do well to remember that.” She stood and stalked out of the room.

  Thea closed her magazine and tossed it aside. “What’s gotten into Pammy?”

  “I suppose we’re all a little on edge.”

  “Yes, it has been a trying day.” Thea crossed the room and sat down beside me. “I want you to know that we all think Violet is a sweet girl and hope things work out for her as well as possible.”

  “You mean we should hope the authorities are lenient?”

  “Well, yes. I suppose that’s the best you can expect at this point.”

  “There’s not a shred of real evidence against Violet. She had an argument with Alfred, and she was upstairs. But quite a few other people were there too, including you.”

  “Me?” Her eyebrows disappeared under her heavy fringe. “I was asleep.”