by Sara Rosett
“Well, I didn’t make much progress either. Alfred was fond of nicknames, but the nicknames Monty remembered weren’t Muncher or Songbird. And according to Paul, Muriel stayed in the nursery during the fireworks. Maybe we’ll discover something new tomorrow at the inquest.”
Chapter Sixteen
The inquest was held late Monday afternoon, and it was the most boring event I had ever attended. The Chief Constable, Inspector Longly, and the police surgeon made sure it was as low-key as possible. The pearls, the missing cufflink, and any other interesting tidbits of information were not mentioned. The pressmen packed into the back of the room must have been disappointed. Word was out about the tragic Silver and Gold party, which had been written up in all the London papers with degrees of exaggeration varying according to the sensationalism of the paper.
Violet, pale and subdued, answered the questions put to her but didn’t volunteer any additional information. The notebook went unmentioned, and I made a mental note. I had to convince Violet to tell the inspector about it. Monty gave evidence, describing what we’d seen from the lawn, but I was told I wasn’t needed and sat in the audience on a hard chair.
Lady Pamela treated the inquest as a social event, arriving in a gorgeous frock and executing a pirouette for the waiting reporters, who had arrived and set up camp in the village pub and outside the gates of Archly Manor. Inspector Jennings, while not a thorough investigator, in my opinion, was excellent at crowd control, and saw that the reporters were kept back from the gates of the estate. Because of the police’s vigilance in guarding Archly Manor, the inquest was the first close-up glimpse the reporters were able to get of the attendees of Archly Manor’s Saturday-to-Monday. I’m sure they thought it was a shame the proceedings were so flat and boring. A verdict of murder by person or persons unknown was returned. Inspector Longly stated that we could leave, but I suspected he or one of his people would follow us discreetly.
By the time we returned to Archly Manor, it was time to dress for dinner. Gwen and Violet decided we would leave early the next morning. Dinner was a bit strained, with only Thea droning on about the advantages of solid wood over veneers when it came to cabinetry. When the men joined us in the drawing room, Tug suggested dancing as he gazed at Lady Pamela, but Thea vetoed the idea. “Inappropriate after what happened . . . um . . . with Alfred, I think.”
“Perhaps we could have some music, though,” I said, thinking of Alfred’s list of nicknames. “Something subdued. Perhaps someone could sing—?” I broke off as Sebastian, who was standing behind Thea’s chair, made a cutting motion, his hand at his throat.
Thea perked up. “That would be all right as long as the songs are ballads. I could—”
“No,” Sebastian said firmly. “None of your caterwauling tonight, Sis.” Thea scowled, but Sebastian squeezed her shoulder briefly and said to me, “You’ll find us a decidedly unmusical group, Olive. I’m afraid none of us are talented in that area. Let’s have bridge instead.”
Lady Pamela, Monty, Tug, and I played a few half-hearted rounds of bridge, but none of our minds were on the game. Violet spent the evening turning the pages of a magazine. Gwen moved the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle around until another bridge game formed and she took a place at the table, but she missed two obvious plays. James was her partner, but Gwen’s absentmindedness didn’t seem to bother him. The secretary only murmured, “It’s fine. So difficult to catch some of these things.”
When Thea declared she had to go upstairs and check on the progress of the packing of her trunks, we all retired to our rooms. I slept fitfully and awoke early the next morning.
I was on my way down to breakfast when I heard a shriek as I passed Violet’s door. I paused on the threshold. Milly stood in the middle of the room, both hands covering her mouth as she stared at something on the floor. She was obviously in the middle of packing Violet’s clothes. The doors to the wardrobe were open, and folded clothes sat in a neat tower next to Violet’s sponge bag and pink enamel-backed brush and hand mirror.
“Are you all right, Milly?”
She jumped and jerked around to face me, her hand to her chest. “Oh, it’s you, Miss Olive.” She looked down at the floor again and then back to me.
“Whatever is the matter?” I walked into the room and around the end of the bed. She seemed to be frightened of a pile of clothes on the floor.
“She did it,” Milly said. “I didn’t want to think Miss Violet murdered Mr. Eton, but she did.”
“What are you talking about?”
Milly pointed to the clothes in the floor. “The cufflink—it’s caught in her dress.”
My stomach plummeted, and a coldness came over me. “The cufflink? How do you know about it?”
“Inspector Longly, miss. He told us about it and said to look for it.” She glanced back to the crumpled pile of fabric. “It’s just like he described—silver with Mr. Eton’s initials. It has to be his, and it’s caught on the dress Miss Violet wore the night of the party.”
I stepped forward. “Let me see.”
Milly shook her head. “I’m not to touch it. Inspector Longly said if we found it, to leave it and call the police immediately.”
“So Inspector Longly informed the servants the cufflink was missing?”
“Only two of us, miss. Me and Tabitha. We’re taking care of the ladies. He made us promise to keep it a secret and said it was very important.” Her eyes widened even more. “I shouldn’t have told you. He said not to tell anyone.”
“I expect he’ll realize you were shocked and spoke without thinking.” I picked up the dress.
Milly sucked in a breath. “Oh, don’t do that, miss. He said to leave it exactly as it was.”
“But I doubt that you found it in a pile on the floor.”
“Well, no. The dress was in the wardrobe. I took it off the hanger and was about to lay it on the bed to fold it in tissue when I noticed a bit of metal caught in the bow. When I saw it was a cufflink, I was so surprised, I dropped it.”
“Very understandable. Since it was in the wardrobe, it won’t hurt to look at it properly.” I draped the dress across the bed. It was white silk embellished with silver bugle beads and sequins. The sash at the dropped waist was elaborately beaded and caught to one side with a bow sewn to it.
I didn’t notice the extra bit of metal at first glance because it blended in with the silver beads, but I saw it when I looked closer. The silver cufflink was lodged in the beading in a crevice where the fabric was drawn into the bow. “Did you put this dress away after the party?”
“Yes, miss.”
“But you didn’t notice the cufflink then?”
“No, miss. But that was when the house was in such confusion. I would have normally taken it away so that it could be washed, but Miss Violet told me to hang it up. She would have it seen to later when she returned home.”
“So you hung it up but didn’t notice the cufflink caught in the decoration then?”
“No, but I was working quickly, and it barely shows.” Milly twisted her hands together at her waist. “I should tell Mrs. Foster so she can contact the police.”
“Yes, you had better do that.” I realized after a second or two that Milly still stood beside me. “Yes?”
“I think I should lock the door before I leave. It’s what the inspector would want, don’t you think?”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right.” I left the room with her. She locked the door with a key from her pocket, then she hurried down the hallway to the back staircase that would take her down to the servants’ hall.
I went in the opposite direction, speeding down the stairs and along to the dining room, where Violet was pushing eggs around her plate. Monty and James sat at the other end of the table. James was saying, “. . . fortunate that the reporters have shoved off.”
“Back to London now that the inquest is over?” Monty asked.
“Yes, apparently they’ve given up on us.”
“You’re an optimi
stic chap. I’m sure they’ll be back. It will make it easier to get to the train station, though. We can be thankful for small favors.”
I slipped into the seat beside Violet and waved away the servant who offered me coffee. I kept my voice soft as I said, “Milly just found one of the cufflinks Alfred wore the night he died caught in the trim of the dress you wore that night.”
Her fork clattered to her plate. “What? That can’t be possible.”
“I saw it myself. It’s definitely a cufflink, silver, with the initials A and E. I heard from—” I glanced at the other end of the table. James was reading a letter, but Monty was watching us. “Well, it doesn’t matter now where I heard about it, but it seems the police think Alfred lost the cufflink as he struggled against whoever pushed him.” The word was out about the cufflink. I didn’t have any qualms about breaking my word to Monty. Violet needed to know what had happened. The color had drained from her face as I spoke. I asked, “Did the police ask you about Alfred’s cufflinks?” She stared at me, her thoughts obviously miles away. “Violet, did the police ask you about these cufflinks?”
She blinked. “Yes, they wanted to know which ones he wore that night, and I described them. They never said one was missing.”
Monty told me he’d seen both the cufflinks in Alfred’s cuffs shortly before the fireworks began. Perhaps Alfred had lost one between that time and when he was killed. “Could Alfred have lost the cufflink earlier, perhaps on the way up the stairs? Could it have fallen off and snagged on your dress then?”
“Maybe.”
“And you didn’t notice it caught in the dress when you changed into your dressing gown later?”
“No. And I would’ve seen it if it had been caught in the fabric.”
“Perhaps not.” I described where the cufflink was on the dress. “It’s possible it was caught in the crevice by the bow and you didn’t notice it—or that’s what I’m afraid Inspector Longly may think.”
Violet pushed back her chair. “I must tell Gwen.” She left the room, and I followed her, but Monty pushed his chair back and caught up with me before I cleared the door of the dining room. “What’s happened?”
“Someone is trying to make sure Violet takes the blame for Alfred’s death,” I said. “I’m afraid I broke my promise and told Violet what you said about the cufflink. I felt she needed to know.”
“Quite all right. It’s not cricket to go planting incriminating evidence, what?”
“Thank you for not being upset.” I gave him my most brilliant smile and hurried upstairs to Gwen’s room. I tapped on the door and peeked inside, expecting to see Violet and Gwen talking. But Gwen was alone, propped up in bed with a tray across her lap. “Thank goodness we can leave today,” she said. “Are you packed? I’ve instructed them to bring the Morris around at nine. Will you be ready?”
“Where’s Violet?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“She didn’t come to talk to you?”
“No. I haven’t seen her this morning.”
I walked to the connecting door and tried the handle, but it was locked. The door from the hall into Violet’s room was still locked.
I checked my room, but Violet wasn’t there either. I went back down to the morning room and made a quick circuit through the ground floor. I went back upstairs and paused in the hallway, considering whether or not Violet would go up to the next floor, but only the nursery was up there.
Gwen opened her door and came into the hall. Her dressing gown floated around her legs, and her hair rested in loose waves across her shoulders. “Why are the doors to Violet’s room locked? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
A deep male voice boomed up the stairs. “. . . official police business.” Inspector Jennings’s bald head appeared first, then the rest of his bulky body came into view as he labored up the stairs. Mr. Babcock, looking as put out as his butlerly demeanor would allow, was one step behind him.
A rustling sound behind us signaled the arrival of the housekeeper, Mrs. Foster. The metal keys on her ring clicked as she flicked through them. “I’m afraid it’s true, Mr. Babcock,” she said as she unlocked Violet’s door. “It’s a matter for the police.” She sent a blistering look at me and Gwen as if it were our fault the police had again invaded Archly Manor. “I’ll leave you to oversee things, Mr. Babcock,” she said and rustled away down the hall.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Gwen asked.
I drew a breath to explain, but then another head appeared, bobbing up the stairs at a much faster pace than Inspector Jennings. It was Inspector Longly, taking the stairs two at a time. He crested the stairs, then his steps stuttered when he saw Gwen and me in the hallway. “I—uh—the front door was open . . .”
Gwen seemed to realize she was in her dressing gown and pulled the lapels together.
Longly gazed at Gwen with a dazed expression. “I—ah—had a message . . .” He swallowed. Pink bloomed in Gwen’s cheeks as Longly muttered, “New—um—developments . . .”
Inspector Jennings popped his head out of Violet’s doorway. “Come along, then. You’ll want to see this.”
“See what?” Gwen asked.
“Evidence,” Jennings said with a triumphant air. He turned to Longly. “On her dress.”
Jennings escorted Longly into the room with the air of a proud father showing off a new baby. Babcock followed them, and Gwen and I crowded into the doorway. Jennings and Longly bent over the sparkly dress, which was still spread across the bed. They were so focused on it, they didn’t notice that Gwen and I had followed them into the room. I explained to Gwen in low tones what had happened.
“But that’s impossible,” Gwen said. “Violet wasn’t even on the balcony.”
I kept my voice down as I replied. “It’s not impossible.”
“What do you mean?” Gwen asked in her normal tone of voice. She released the collar of her dressing gown and fisted her hands as if she were ready to take on the two police officials.
“Someone put the cufflink on Violet’s dress to make it look as if she were on the balcony.”
Longly swiveled away from the dress and said to Babcock, who still looked pained at the early morning intrusion of the police, “I need to speak to Miss Violet right away. In the study, I think, if Mr. Blakely doesn’t mind.”
“I’ll see to it.” Babcock glided away, conveying his disapproval in his tone and posture.
“I don’t think that will be possible,” I murmured more to myself than anyone else. They hadn’t noticed yet that Violet’s luggage was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Once Babcock returned with the news that Violet couldn’t be found, Jennings called for his constables. While they searched Archly Manor from the attics to the scullery, I did another fruitless tour of my own, then went to the drawing room. Gwen stood at the French windows, her hands clenched together as she watched the constables searching the garden.
The police search had included every cupboard, nook, and cranny in the house. Sebastian retreated to his studio and was angry when a constable insisted on searching that room and his darkroom. Lady Pamela was still in bed and had screamed when a constable entered her room. Thea had huffed and gone on about the inconvenience of it.
After she told Longly she had no idea where Violet had gone, Gwen retreated to her room. I hadn’t followed her. I knew she needed to be alone. Gwen was like that—she often went off on her own to sort things out. I was relieved to find her in the drawing room. She’d changed into a day dress and looped her hair into an untidy bun. I wanted to talk about my suspicions. I didn’t think either one of the police officials would be interested in my theories, but I knew Gwen would.
As I joined her, she kept her gaze focused on the gardens as she said, “I’m so afraid something else . . . has happened.” She swallowed. “I keep picturing Violet hurt or unconscious somewhere.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think Violet’s been attacked. I think she left.”
Gwen turned to me. “You mean she ran away? Why? Why would she do that?”
“She’s frightened. Someone is doing everything they can to make sure she looks guilty of Alfred’s murder. I don’t blame her for doing a bunk.”
“But how can you be sure she’s left?”
“Some of her clothes along with her sponge bag and valise are gone.”
Hope filtered into Gwen’s expression. “Really?”
“Yes. When I spoke to Milly this morning, she’d folded a stack of clothes. They were on the bed, but they’re gone now, along with the other things.”
“But how could she leave without anyone seeing her go?”
“When she left me in the breakfast room, she said she was going upstairs. Were you in your room?”
“No, I was in the bath.”
“Then Violet must have gone through your room and used the connecting door to get into her room.”
Gwen nodded. “Yes, she could have done that. We didn’t lock the connecting door.”
“It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to go to her room, grab a few things, then slip back downstairs. Lady Pamela and Thea were in their rooms, and I was downstairs speaking to Monty in the breakfast room,” I said.
“But then where did Violet go? She’s not in the house or in the gardens.” Gwen glanced out the window. The search had widened. Now the constables were moving along the lawn to the parkland beyond the formal gardens.
“I have an idea. Let’s check something.” I led Gwen through the frills of the rococo reception hall then down the corridor to Sebastian’s study. I nodded as I walked in the door. “I thought I remembered seeing a telephone in here.”
“Why is that important?” Gwen asked.
I crossed to the French doors behind the desk and peered at the handle. “Look, it’s closed but not locked.” I used the edge of my skirt to cover my fingers as I gently gripped the handle and pushed the door open.
