by Sara Rosett
“Running late, I’m afraid.”
“No, it’s more than that. You have an air of excitement fairly shimmering around you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I drew a breath to calm my racing heart. “It’s only because I had to rush down.”
“I trust you’ll tell me later. I do want to hear all about it.”
We went in to dinner, and it was fairly subdued, at least according to the standards of Archly Manor. Violet wore a black silk dress with floaty chiffon sleeves and a black feather in her hair. Gwen wore a lavender gown with a lace overdress. We drank a toast to Alfred, and the whole thing was rather well done, which surprised me. Except for a few cutting remarks from Lady Pamela, the tone of the evening was one of reminiscing, and no mention was made of the way Alfred had died. I was tense, listening for Longly’s arrival, wondering if he would interrupt dinner.
But the pudding was served and the tablecloth was removed without an appearance from Scotland Yard. The men opted to skip their port and cigars and joined the ladies directly in the drawing room. We were discussing whether or not we should play bridge, when Babcock glided into the room, whispered something in Sebastian’s ear, and then came to me and murmured, “Inspector Longly has arrived and wishes to speak to you in the reception hall.” I excused myself and followed Sebastian out the door.
Inspector Longly’s suit looked a bit out of place compared with my opulent gown and Sebastian’s tuxedo. Sebastian drew a set of keys out of his pocket as he greeted the inspector. “I understand you need to see a photograph in my studio.”
“Yes, let’s start there.”
I led the way up the stairs with Sebastian, Longly, and a constable trailing behind me. Sebastian unlocked the studio, and I showed Longly the photograph. He examined it with his one arm behind his back, then he stepped closer and traced a finger above the strings of pearls, counting under his breath. “Twenty on each strand,” he said to the constable, who made a note. Longly turned to me. “Describe these stones again that you thought were dress clips.”
I went over everything, describing how they had fallen out of Lady Pamela’s handbag. “I didn’t look at them closely, just scooped them up and put them back, but they were square cut like the ones in the photograph, and they had a surrounding line of small diamonds.”
Longly nodded, then said to Sebastian, “Do you have a copy of this photograph?”
Sebastian picked up a folder from a worktable. “I made one this afternoon. I thought you might need it.”
Longly glanced inside. “Thank you. You both can return to the drawing room. Mr. Blakely, I need to use your study again.”
Sebastian took Longly and the constable to his study while I slipped back into the drawing room and was immediately recruited to play bridge. Sebastian returned shortly after I did and whispered in Lady Pamela’s ear. She’d been jittery during dinner, constantly shifting position in her seat, adjusting the flatware of her place setting, or fidgeting with her jewelry. Her eyebrows lowered into a frown, but she followed him from the room, the beads on her pink dress clacking against her long necklaces.
I had a terrible time concentrating on the game and apologized to James when I put my cards down. “I’m sorry, my mind’s not on the game.”
“It’s fine. Happens to everyone,” James murmured in his even-tempered way, but he didn’t leap at the idea of another game with me as his partner. The evening ended early without Lady Pamela returning to the drawing room.
I went up to my room and rang for Milly. “Did Lady Pamela retire early?” I asked as she unbuttoned the row of small buttons on the back of my dress.
“No, she was with Inspector Longly.” Milly put my shoes away. “Apparently, he spoke to her ever so nicely, trying to convince her to talk to him, but she wouldn’t say one word more.”
“How do you know this?”
A flush stained her cheeks. “George, one of the footmen, was in the hall.”
“I see. So what happened?”
“Lady Pamela told the inspector he could wait on her in the morning at Harlan House in London, then she had everything packed and left.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning at breakfast, Thea announced, “I’ve had a telegram from my husband. The children and I are leaving directly to go to Brazil.”
I stopped spreading marmalade on my toast. “You’re leaving today?”
“Heavens, no. Too much to do today. Tomorrow—although how Mr. Reid imagines I can get everything done today, I don’t know. But he’s booked passage for us for tomorrow, so it must be done. Muriel will have to cancel the interviews of the governess applicants scheduled for next week and send my regrets to Lady Smythe. So disappointing to miss her garden party. I was so looking forward to it.”
Gwen set down her teacup. “Will Muriel accompany you?”
“Of course. Travel halfway around the world with two children on my own? Impossible! Oh, and I must contact Monsieur Babin to halt the work on the townhouse until we return.”
Sebastian turned from the sideboard. “I’m sure they can carry on without you.”
“And leave them unsupervised for six weeks? Unthinkable.”
“You let them work now unsupervised.”
“But I’m only a few hours away. Should anything come up, I could leave at a moment’s notice.”
“But you never do,” Sebastian said under his breath as he passed behind my chair.
“I heard that, Sebastian,” Thea said. “I go up to town often. Quite often. It’s different if one is out of the country. Unless you’d like for me to refer all of Monsieur Babin’s questions to you?” She smiled at him across the starched linen.
“Certainly not!” Sebastian circled his knife in the air. “Go on. Cancel your Monsieur Babin. If I approved the wrong shade of paint, I’d never hear the end of it.”
As Thea continued to verbalize her list of things that must be accomplished, I excused myself from the table and went to the kitchen. I knew I would disturb the servants’ hall by showing up unannounced, but I had to do it. I’d stared at the ceiling for a long time last night and finally decided that no matter how things turned out with Lady Pamela, I had to ask a few questions about Gwen for my own peace of mind.
The cook, Mrs. Finley, shooed away her underlings when I asked to speak to her. “Hello again. Sorry to interrupt.”
“That’s all right. I can work while we talk if you don’t mind.”
“Please do. It’s about the night of the Silver and Gold party. You were shorthanded?”
Mrs. Finley sprinkled flour across a board, then turned a mound of bread dough out of a bowl and began to knead it, her stubby-fingered hands moving and turning the dough deftly as she added a bit of flour now and then. “Yes. Katie was off to care for her sick mum, Jane was acting uppity, and Mrs. Foster had twisted her ankle. It ballooned up to twice its size, and Doctor Evans said she had to stay off her feet. Even with the girls up from the village, it was hard to get everything done. They’re well-meaning but not fully trained, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand. My cousin Gwen, Miss Stone, came down to give you a hand?”
Mrs. Finley shaped the dough into loaves. “That she did, and I was much appreciative. She knows how to run a household.”
“I know she was glad to help. Gwen is like that.”
“Kindhearted, she is.”
“But there was a little accident?”
Mrs. Finley put the loaves in pans and wiped her hands on a towel. “It was that foolish girl Mary. One of the girls from the village, come up for the evening. She dropped her tray. Miss Stone went to help pick it up and got a gash on her hand for her trouble. I wrapped her hand in a clean towel, and Miss Stone said not to worry about it. She would get a plaster for it herself.”
A delivery arrived, and Mrs. Finley needed to check it. I thanked her for her help and returned upstairs, relieved that my suspicion had amounted to nothing. I also felt a little guilty about it
, but my brain was the kind that wouldn’t quit once I got on a track. I couldn’t put it out of my mind. The little detail would have kept bothering me if I hadn’t sorted it out.
The rest of the morning passed quietly. After lunch, the men went off for a drive in the motors, Thea directed the maids as they packed for her, and Gwen and I helped Violet go through Alfred’s things. Gwen hadn’t liked the idea of staying at Archly Manor another day, but she was too good-natured to stay upset for long. By the time we were actually sorting Alfred’s belongings, Gwen was back to her usual helpful and practical self.
Sebastian had said his man would take care of Alfred’s clothes, but Violet had insisted we do it, which gave me an excellent excuse to check every pocket and seam. I’d come up with absolutely nothing so far. I folded a suit jacket then stacked it in a box. I fingered the fine cloth and the well-placed stitches. “Sebastian was certainly not stingy when he outfitted Alfred for his role as a gentleman.”
Gwen, who was stacking shoes, said, “Yes, someone in the village will make good use of all this.” She’d already talked to the housekeeper about the distribution of Alfred’s belongings. She turned from the wardrobe with a stack of records. “These were behind the clothes. Violet, do you want any of these records?”
Violet sat on the floor surrounded by stacks of half-unfolded papers and a scatter of envelopes, which I’d found on the top shelf of the wardrobe. All the letters were from Violet, and I’d handed them off to her. Violet flipped through the records. “No, there’s nothing good—only ballads.” She handed them to me, and I put them in the box with the clothes.
Other than the letters, his clothing, and his shaving gear and comb, there was nothing of a personal nature in Alfred’s room. It seemed the only bit of his past Alfred had brought with him were the playbills he’d left in the London flat. I couldn’t imagine not bringing anything when one went to a new country. For my short move to London, I’d brought photographs and notebooks along with my sewing kit and several books that I absolutely had to have with me.
“So the vultures have come to pick over the leavings.” Lady Pamela stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “Didn’t expect to see me, did you?” She sauntered into the room and stopped squarely in front of me. “I know it was you who told the inspector about my bracelet.”
Across the room, Gwen sent me a puzzled look.
Lady Pamela looked over the clothes we’d packed, then picked up the jacket I’d folded. She shook it out. “Alfred always did look nice in this one.” She dropped it back into the box.
“What happened with the inspector?” Gwen asked.
Lady Pamela turned and picked up Alfred’s comb. “A little . . . misunderstanding.” She opened the straight razor and ran her fingertip along the edge of the blade. “Once Inspector Longly spoke with my solicitor, everything was cleared up.”
I picked up the jacket she’d dropped and shook it out with a snap. “But the pearls were yours. And they were in Alfred’s pocket.”
She flicked the blade closed and slammed it down on the bureau. “Which has absolutely nothing to do with his death. I gave them to him and that’s all.” Lady Pamela strolled back to the door. She turned and fixed her gaze on Violet. “Believe me, if I wanted to kill Alfred, I wouldn’t do it when he had my jewelry in his pocket. I’d never be such an idiot. I’m sure it won’t be long before the true culprit is identified and arrested.” Lady Pamela turned away. A few seconds later, a door down the hall slammed.
Violet, her mouth set in a line, stared at the door after Lady Pamela left. “I’d like to throw something at her, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of being able to point it out as evidence of my temper.”
“What’s this about pearls?” Gwen asked me.
“Inspector Longly showed me several strands of pearls that were found in Alfred’s pocket. I think they were Lady Pamela’s, and she used them to pay off Alfred on the night of the Silver and Gold party.”
“But why would she use her pearls?” Violet asked. “She has loads of money.”
“Maybe not.” I refolded the jacket. “I’ve heard her father keeps her allowance small.”
“He’s stingy?” Gwen asked. “I’ve never heard of Lord Harlan being a miser.”
“Perhaps.” I explained how I’d seen the photograph in Sebastian’s studio. “Lady Pamela must have taken off her bracelet, snipped off the strings of pearls, and given those to Alfred while keeping the emeralds. If she’s telling the truth, she simply gave Alfred the pearls and went back to the party. If not, perhaps she decided that she didn’t want to face years of blackmail and decided to push him over the balcony.”
“But wouldn’t she have done that before she gave Alfred the pearls, rather than after?” Violet asked.
I tucked the jacket back into the box and sighed. “Yes, that’s the weakness in the argument.”
Violet scraped the letters into an untidy pile. “I’m going to put these away. And don’t follow me, Gwen. I want to be alone.”
After Violet left, Gwen looked at me, her shoulders sagging. “What are we going to do? Violet could live her whole life under the shadow of Alfred’s death with everyone whispering she did it. Lady Pamela will see to it rumors are spread around.”
“Yes, if only to preserve herself.”
That night when I was dressing for dinner, Milly came in to help me, but I’d already changed into another dress that Gwen had given me, a royal blue silk with a skirt that ended in a zigzag of beaded points. Milly picked up a bracelet of Venetian beads and held it out to me along with my gloves, but then she stopped and examined the bracelet. “This thread is about to break. Would you like me to mend it?”
I stared at her. Who else had been talking about mending a necklace . . .? Thea. The night before, she’d complained about her pearls . . .
Like a key turning in a lock, the memory opened up a train of thought.
“Miss? Perhaps your pearls instead?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” I took them and dropped them over my head.
“Would you like me to strengthen the thread?” Milly asked. “It would be a shame for it to break and lose the beads.”
“What? Oh, yes. Please do that.”
I pulled on my gloves, my mind racing as I settled them on my fingers. I realized Milly was speaking again. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Milly closed the door as she left, and I stood motionless, my thoughts going around and around. Five strands of pearls. There had been five strands of pearls found after Alfred died, four in his pocket and the one I’d found on the terrace. I listened to the footfalls in the corridor as everyone went down to dinner. If the four strands of pearls in Alfred’s pocket belonged to Lady Pamela, then what about the fifth? Was it from Thea’s necklace?
I sat down at the dressing table and fingered my pearls. What if Thea hadn’t taken the sleeping powder? What if either she or Jane—or both of them—were lying?
If Thea was awake instead of sleeping, she could have been on the balcony struggling with Alfred. Perhaps Alfred had gripped the pearl necklace, and it snapped as he went over the edge. Pearls were strung with knots between each one. A section of Thea’s pearls could have snapped off in Alfred’s grip as he fell.
When I stepped on the strand of pearls in front of the doors to the ballroom, was Thea upstairs, moving quietly back to her room where she could mend the necklace? Her pearl necklace was long enough that several pearls—even ten or so—wouldn’t be noticed. She must have worn a wig to disguise her brunette hair. I wondered if there was a dress-up box in the nursery, or—yes, I had seen wigs in Sebastian’s studio.
I was contemplating a quick search of those areas when another thought hit me that brought me to my feet. Thea was leaving Archly Manor tomorrow to go to Brazil. Had her husband really wired for her to come, or was it a good excuse to get out of the country before Longly began to examine all t
he pearl jewelry at Archly Manor and she became a suspect?
Should I call the inspector? I took a step to the door, then stopped. I couldn’t go to him with a hunch. I couldn’t telephone him again with another tidbit of information so similar to my last one. Especially since it hadn’t gone well with Lady Pamela. I had to make sure. I gave a decisive little nod to my reflection. There was only one way to find out.
I left as late as I possibly could, giving everyone plenty of time to go down to dinner, then peeked out my door. No one was in the hall. I darted out the door and slipped into Thea’s room. I scanned the assorted trunks and hatboxes. It might already be packed—no, her jewelry case sat open on the dressing table.
I locked the door, padded across the room, and carefully removed the long strand of pearls. I found the frayed bit of string Thea had noticed earlier. I perched on the dressing table stool and started on one side of the dangling piece of thread and began counting, touching each pearl as I worked my way around the necklace. As I neared the end, my heart hammered along with my whispers, “One thirty-eight, one thirty-nine, one forty.”
I reached the frayed bit and sat still, the pearls warm in my hands. “One hundred forty pearls, not one hundred fifty.” A little thrill went through me. I’d been right.
I moved to a lamp, switched it on, and examined the frayed thread. The pearls were individually knotted, and it was easy to see a new bright white thread had been used to repair a break between the pearls. The white thread contrasted sharply with the older, yellowish thread of the rest of the strand.
But why would Thea push Alfred? Her name wasn’t in Alfred’s notebook . . . unless . . .
I went back to the dressing table and pushed the lid of the jewel box closed. The initials D.R. were engraved on an oval plate attached to the lid. Not Thea Reid, but Dorothea Reid. The short, two-letter scrawl Violet remembered from Alfred’s notebook wasn’t an abbreviation for the word doctor or a nickname. They were the initials of Dorothea Reid.
