by Sara Rosett
Beatrice handed out the cups as she spoke, and we passed them along to everyone, not strictly Regency protocol, which probably would have had the footmen handing the cups around, but the footmen weren’t to be seen—probably cleaning up all those dishes—and Beatrice seemed to have decided to shift away from strict historical accuracy.
Toby and Sir Harold appeared to have bonded. They took their teacups and moved to the side of the room to examine a landscape painting of Parkview.
Monique looked up from her tiny spangled handbag and said, “Oh, I forgot them in my room.”
Beatrice said, “Shall I send for a footman?”
“Yes. I have to take my sleeping pills. I meant to bring them down with me. I simply cannot sleep in new places. Whenever we travel I must have my pills, or I don’t get any rest at all.”
Beatrice rose and reached for the bellpull. Waverly appeared instantly, so he must have been hovering in the hall. Monique described the medicine bottle then sat back to sip her tea, but Amanda, who was moving from one seat to another, stumbled and bumped Monique’s chair. Monique’s hand jerked, and tea sloshed over the rim of her cup and onto the pristine white of her gown. Monique leapt up, pulling the fabric away from her leg.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Amanda clasped a hand over her mouth for a second, then removed it, her face horrified. “My foot caught in my hem—are you hurt? Did it burn you? And your dress. Your gorgeous dress.”
“How could you be so clumsy? This is a Ventiniti. An original Carlotta Ventiniti.” Monique, tall and statuesque, her gold curls trembling with her anger, towered over Amanda.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” Amanda said miserably. “I’ll have it cleaned. I’ll do whatever—”
“No. You can’t fix this.”
Toby glided between the women. “Monique, darling,” he said. “It’s only a dress.”
She sputtered. “It’s a Ventiniti—”
“Yes, you made that point. Are you burnt?”
“No. I moved my hand so that it splashed on the dress…and the chair, I suppose.” She looked fleetingly toward the striped silk chair.
“Don’t worry about the chair,” Beatrice said. “We’ll be able to clean it and most likely your dress as well. Give it to Morgan. She’ll see to it. I’m hard on my clothes, she’s always telling me. Ah, Waverly, thank you.”
Waverly appeared, his gaze straying only briefly to the brown stain on the chair, as he held out a small silver tray with a medicine bottle and a tumbler of water to Monique.
The attention and the proffered silver tray seemed to mollify her. She swept the pill bottle off the tray, shook a pill into her hand, then downed it with a gulp of water. She lifted the pill bottle in Toby’s direction. “Pill, darling?”
“No, I’ll take one later,” Toby said with a shake of his head.
He set his teacup down on a side table and said to Beatrice, “We’ll say good evening now. Thank you for the lovely—and fascinating—dinner.”
Monique shoved the pill bottle into her small evening bag, jamming it in beside her cell phone, a gold tube of lipstick, and a clear plastic container that I recognized as a package of breath mints—and it was full. I could see the little white mints through the transparent package. I made a mental note. Monique was someone you did not want to make mad. She wouldn’t even give you a breath mint if she was angry with you.
She snapped the bag closed and swept out in a flourish of her slightly damp skirt. I had notes to write up for Elise so I departed for bed next, with the rest of the group saying goodnight behind me.
On the landing of the grand staircase, I paused to look out the tall windows at the courtyard. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it began. It must have stopped during Monique’s fit—that must have been why we didn’t notice the absence of the rain hammering down. The benches and trees of the courtyard were soaked, and the thunder was only a faint murmur in the distance. One of the tubs with the potted plants had cracked down the side, and dark potting soil had spilled out of the gap. The heavy rain had poured through the gap, carrying the potting soil with it. Black soil covered every inch of the courtyard.
Amanda, Beth, and Torrie joined me at the window.
“Oh, look. The rain has stopped,” Torrie said. “Maybe I will be able to get a run in before breakfast.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “If I can wake-up, that is. I’m knackered.”
“You did run seven miles today,” Amanda said. “If I did that, I’d be dead.”
Torrie covered another yawn and flapped her other hand at me as she moved along the gallery. “I’m for bed.”
I said goodnight and took the opposite side of the gallery. As they made their way toward the west wing, Beth’s voice floated back. “It’s making me reconsider an outdoor wedding…you just can’t depend on the weather. So unreliable…”
I spotted the huge display case with the butterflies and headed for it, wondering if Michael had seen it yet. I slowed down to give it a longer look now that I knew the butterflies were part of a collection that drew academics. But as I came closer, I realized the door to the room next to mine was still open. I heard Monique’s voice, shrill and whiny, and resumed my normal pace. I gave the room a quick glance as I walked by, and I could see why it was called the Mahogany bedroom. The rich grain of the wood covered the walls, and I could see one hefty carved poster of the bed, which was made of the same wood.
Toby, who was lounging in a chair directly in line with the door, raised a crystal tumbler in my direction.
Monique’s voice stopped abruptly, and I hurried on to my room, reaching for my key, which I had put into the frilled handbag, a reticule, that went with the dress, but I didn’t need it. The door was open, a gap of half an inch between the door and the doorframe. I thought I’d closed it, but I must not have pulled it completely shut.
Next door, the Mahogany bedroom door slammed with such force that the pictures on the wall bounced then I heard the sound of a lock clicking into place. I closed my own door quietly and began the long struggle to get out of my gown. To accomplish it on my own would have required flexibility on par with a member of a Chinese acrobatic troupe, which I did not have.
After ten minutes of struggling, I gave up and rang for Ella, feeling a bit like a child—I couldn’t even undress myself—but Ella played her part of lady’s maid to perfection, helping me out of the layers. Once I was down to the chemise, I said, “I can handle it from here. Thank you, Ella.”
“Would you like a cup of hot cocoa or warm milk sent up?”
“Thank you, no.”
“Are you sure? The other ladies in the hen party asked for hot chocolate. It would be no trouble to bring you some as well.”
“That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m fine. In fact, I’m so stuffed I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat breakfast in the morning.”
“What time would you like to be woken?”
I opened my mouth to say that she didn’t have to do that, but then closed it. It was all part of the experience. “Seven-thirty,” I said, which seemed positively decadent to me since my alarm often went off sometime around four a.m. before long days of shooting or scouting.
“Very good, Miss Sharp.” Ella bobbed her curtsey and went out, closing the door.
I skipped the flowing nightgown in a lawn fabric, opting for my own comfy worn t-shirt and sleep pants. It was a relief to be out of the laced corset. My back and shoulders ached from constantly standing and sitting with proper posture. The corset and the deep cut of the dress’s neckline forced me to stand up straight, something I didn’t do for hours on end, as my muscles were telling me.
I curled up in bed with my laptop and got my notes down on paper while everything was fresh in my mind. The canopy’s curtains draped from the ceiling and were tied off at each bed post so that occupants of the bed could close themselves in, for warmth I supposed, but I left them open. I finished and closed my laptop, then clambered out of bed to put the laptop on the desk.
I’d left the double glass doors open to catch any evening breeze, but the air was thick and still. The storm hadn’t blown out the humidity. It had only increased it. Before closing the door, I glanced around the courtyard. All the other balconies were empty as was the muddy courtyard below. The light glowing from inside the Mahogany bedroom went out.
I went inside and slipped the hook and eye latch into place on both sets of doors. Despite the humidity, my room with its lofty ceiling was cool enough that I wouldn’t have to sleep with the doors open to be comfortable.
I went through my nightly ablutions, then made sure both my laptop and phone were plugged in to charge, a nightly routine. The aim for historical accuracy didn’t extend fully to the bedrooms. No candlelight or gas lamps here, and all the wall outlets worked, I was happy to see as the charging icon appeared on my phone.
I crawled into bed, expecting to fall asleep right away after all the rich food and the strains of being so socially correct, not to mention having to stand up straight, but I didn’t drift off. It was so very quiet.
I’d become accustomed to the nighttime sounds in my little cottage, the swish of the occasional car on the road through the village, the tree branch that brushed against the window when the wind stirred it, and the neighbor who let her dog out around ten, and invariably called for it to return, her voice carrying across the darkness.
Parkview Hall’s blanketing quietness seemed loud, somehow. I almost wished I had one of Monique’s sleeping pills. My mind kept going over the strange scene in the dining room. I hoped that Beatrice would get a private investigator right away. I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse.
Chapter 6
I WAS SITTING ON THE balcony the next morning in the thready sunlight that occasionally peeped through the gray clouds already attired in my gown of choice, a royal blue creation in a soft cotton, drinking the cup of chocolate that Ella had brought for me while watching a man clear the mud off the courtyard with long sweeping motions of a hose when I heard a short scream, followed by the bang of a door hitting a wall, then a muffled voice in the hallway.
It sounded like Ella, so I crossed my room and opened the door. Ella stood backed against the far wall of the hallway, her eyes huge. Her complexion was nearly the same color as the white cap on her head.
“Ella, what’s wrong?” I asked, anger already rising at the thought that Monique had thrown a temper tantrum and directed her anger at Ella.
“They’re dead,” Ella whispered with a little shake of her head. “I went to wake her. She wanted to ride this morning, so I had to go in. Mrs. King said to. She said to go in the room, and wake her then tell her the time of the riding appointment. But they’re dead. Both of them.” She was breathing fast, the apron covering her chest, moving with each rapid breath. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Never. What should I do? I should call someone, shouldn’t I?”
“You wait here. I’ll…check on them.”
I knocked loudly on the open door as I looked around the room. The curtains, long swaths of green velvet trimmed with a gold fringe, were open. Ella must have pulled the panels back at the windows. Like my room, this room had two pairs of glass doors that opened onto a balcony, but at the moment the doors were closed. I could see the hook and eye door latches were in place.
Twin streams of sunlight fell in long bars across the emerald and gold patterned carpet to the bed. This bed was similar in design to the one in my room, but this one was on a grander scale. And instead of the curtains draping from the ceiling to the four corners of the bed like in my room, rods connected to the four posters, and velvet curtains hung from the rods. The curtains were pushed back, but I could only see vague body-shaped outlines in the gaps between the heavy fabric.
“Monique? Toby?” I called loudly. The only sound was the soft clink of the crystals on the chandelier, as it rotated slightly overhead. Suddenly, my heart was pounding. I edged closer to the bed. Toby was closest to me, his face slack. He was shirtless and one arm and shoulder were outside the covers. I didn’t have to step any closer to see the odd color of his skin or the complete stillness of his chest. I gulped and realized my breathing now matched Ella’s.
I took a steadying breath and moved to the other side of the bed, just close enough to see Monique. A white silk sleep mask covered her eyes, and she wore a gown with spaghetti straps in a matching material. She was flat on her back at the edge of the mattress.
Her color looked…normal. And was that…? I inched a little closer and saw her chest moving with the rhythmic breathing of sleep. Why hadn’t she answered me? I touched her shoulder. It felt warm against my cool fingers. “Monique?”
I gave her a nudge. Then a harder one.
After a few second’s hesitation, I pinched the edge of the sleep mask and slid it up onto her forehead. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes splayed against her fair skin. She sighed and shifted. I leapt back as if I’d been scorched. That was when I noticed the open pill bottle on the nightstand and the empty glass beside it.
“Kate?” Ella asked. She hadn’t stayed in the hall, but now stood poised in the doorway, her face still scared.
“I’m afraid you were half right,” I said. “Toby is dead, but Monique is only sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” Ella took a few steps into the room.
“Yes. She took a sleeping pill last night in the drawing room and it looks as though she took another one later. You better go find Lady Stone. I’ll wait here until she gets here.”
Ella nodded and fled. I moved to the chair I’d seen Toby sitting in last night and perched on the cushion. The light in the room changed as clouds drifted in front of the sun. The strips of sunlight faded and the room dimmed, taking on a grayish cast. I could faintly hear the sound of the water swishing across the flagstones outside. After a few seconds, Monique moved again, and I started. I really hoped she didn’t wake up until someone else got here. I couldn’t imagine what her reaction would be when she realized Toby was dead—and that he’d died while they slept in the same bed. No, I definitely didn’t want to be around for that scene. And I was sure there would be a scene.
I couldn’t see their faces, the curtains hid those, but I could see Toby’s weirdly colored arm stretched out on the covers.
What had happened? Did he have a heart attack? A stroke? Those were the first explanations that came to mind. He’d seemed perfectly healthy at dinner, but he’d complained of indigestion. Wasn’t that a warning sign of a heart attack?
I glanced at the side table where his crystal tumbler rested. There was no liquid left in it. I leaned over and sniffed. Alcohol. Scotch, maybe? I wasn’t much of a drinker and wasn’t sure. Had Toby washed down one of Monique’s sleeping pills with alcohol? Not a good combination. An old-fashioned skeleton key lay beside the drink. It had a tassel of dark green attached to the end of it.
I hadn’t met Mrs. King, but I had no doubt that the tall woman with the comfortably padded figure and disapproving frown who strode into the room was the housekeeper. The jingle of keys rang out with each of her steps. She wasn’t in historical costume. She wore the navy blazer and a skirt of Parkview Hall employees with a stiffly starched white shirt and thick-soled shoes that reminded me of Grace’s school uniform shoes. Ella hovered uncertainly in the doorway.
Mrs. King’s glance swept around the room. She gave me a quick nod. “You’ll be Kate Sharp.”
“Yes, I heard Ella—”
“She told me.” Mrs. King moved to the side of the bed. She paused for a moment, then swept the curtain back. The gold rings jangled loudly against the rod, but neither figure moved. Mrs. King pressed her fingers to Toby’s neck for a moment, then moved to the other side of the bed and put her fingers on Monique’s neck as she peered at her. Finally, Mrs. King straightened and let out a long breath through her nose. She didn’t say anything, but her breathing, posture, and face radiated disapproval.
Ella had slipped in the door and c
rossed silently to stand beside me. She said in an undertone, “Lady Stone isn’t here this morning. She’s at the Lodge. Mrs. King seemed the one to go to. I hope that was right.”
“You did fine,” I said as Mrs. King pulled back her jacket, setting off more clinking and jangles as she moved. She removed a walkie-talkie that had been clipped to her skirt and clicked a button. “Beatrice, you’re needed in the Mahogany bedroom at once. It’s an emergency.”
After a few seconds of static, Beatrice’s voice came through the speaker. “On my way.”
Mrs. King returned the walkie-talkie to her waistband. She turned to me. “Who else has been in here?”
“Since Ella left, no one.”
Mrs. King shifted her gaze to Ella. “And you unlocked the door this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am. With the key you gave me.”
Mrs. King gave a quick nod, then motioned to the door. “We’d best wait in the hallway.”
“We should call the police,” I said. “And maybe a doctor for Monique.”
“We’ll do nothing until Lady Stone arrives. Mr. Clay is beyond help. Mrs. Clay has a steady heartbeat and is breathing normally.” She motioned toward the door.
Ella was already in the hall, but I said, “Waiting doesn’t seem right.”
“We have procedures. They will be put into action, once Lady Stone says to do so.”
I could recognize a brick wall when I saw one, so I didn’t say anything else. Beatrice arrived almost immediately. She wore a beautiful day gown in a tangerine color. She loped along the hallway, taking giant steps, her natural stride, the fabric of the skirt snapping and flaring, her face worried. “You said an emergency?”
