by L. A. Nisula
Looking at the expanse of pure white, I could believe it. I slid my hand under the button band, pulling it as far away from his chest as I could.
Mr. Ainsworth ignored me as I slid the needle through the fabric. “So what are we having for dinner besides the marvelous soup, Mrs. Pomeroy? Your infamous boeuf Bourguignon?”
“Not tonight. A simple poached whitefish with salmon mousse. Just the thing in this humidity.”
I tried to hold the fabric steady while avoiding both touching Mr. Ainsworth and stabbing him in the chest.
Ross came through from the storeroom. “I opened the new wine, Mrs. Pomeroy.”
“And sampled it, no doubt.”
From Ross’s wobbly gait, I suspected the same, but he said,
“Just the crate. Just the crate.”
“Got a stash somewhere, then?”
Mr. Ainsworth chuckled and I clutched at his shirtfront, trying to keep the button in place and avoid scratching him, which was tricky since I had just passed the needle inside the fabric.
Mrs. Pomeroy stopped with the knife halfway through a potato. “We already have the wine for dinner. You said you opened the crate? You mean the Bordeaux? Who told you to open the Bordeaux?”
“Mr. Carrollton told me to.”
“With fish? Have you lost your mind, or is it just pickled?”
Mr. Ainsworth was still laughing. I made the best knot I could and got my needle away before I stabbed him with it.
“Mr. Carrollton did tell me to open it.”
“Just get the decanter for the Vouvray.”
Ross shuffled to the cupboard.
Mr. Ainsworth pulled a pipe out of his pocket.
“Not in my kitchen!” Mrs. Pomeroy snapped at him.
“I’m not lighting it, just putting it in here.” He put the pipe in his inner jacket pocket. “See, it buttons so it won’t fall out.”
But I saw him slip a packet of matches back into his side pocket.
Mrs. Pomeroy shook her head. “Smell up my kitchen so I can’t smell my own cooking, not to mention taste it properly.”
Mr. Ainsworth edged towards the stairs. “Thank you, Miss Cassie. Mrs. Pomeroy, I look forward to the salmon mousse.” He put his foot on the first step. “And he’s hiding it in the teapot.” He ran up the stairs without waiting to see the result.
Mrs. Pomeroy snatched the teapot from the shelf behind the stove and looked inside.
Ross saw Mrs. Pomeroy with the teapot in her hand and left the decanter on the table. He made for the stairs.
“Probably has another one stashed in the pantry.” She sighed. “Cassie, you’ll have to help him serve.”
Chapter 3
MRS. POMEROY SURVEYED the table. All the dishes that could be pre-plated were ready. What needed to be kept warm or cold was on the stove or in the icebox, their serving plates garnished and ready for the final preparation. “We’re as ready as we can be. All right. Ross, do not drink another drop. Cassie, just stay by the dumbwaiter and hand the courses to Ross. I think he’s sober enough to manage it.”
“Right.” I glanced at Ross. He was still upright; that was something, at least.
Mrs. Albright handed me a fresh apron and a lace cap. As I was changing, we heard the clock strike the quarter hour.
Mrs. Pomeroy picked up a tea towel. “All right. Let’s begin. I’ll send the first course up in five minutes. Ross, make certain you give Mr. Ainsworth the mousse with three sprigs of parsley. He’s allergic to shellfish, so I used olives on that one.”
Ross nodded.
“You understand, or are you just nodding?”
“Three parsley or Ainsworth blows up like a puffer fish.”
“All right then, Ross, we’re ready for you to sound the gong.” Mrs. Pomeroy leaned over my shoulder. “Keep an eye on him.”
“Right.” I grabbed the wine decanters to keep them away from Ross and started up the stairs. Ross followed me up with the serving tray. We parted at the first landing. Ross went to the front hall for the gong. I continued up to the pantry beside the dining room.
~ * ~ * ~
In the butler's pantry, I arranged the wine on the sideboard and listened for the gong. It happened at precisely five ‘til.
As the last echoes faded, I heard the guests coming up the stairs, but there was no sign of Ross. I peered into the dining room. It was a narrow room with just enough space for a table and chairs, a small fireplace, and very little else. The curtains had been drawn, blocking out the lightning from the storm. The guests were arranging themselves around the table. Mr. Carrollton was at the head, Mr. Ainsworth to his right, and Mrs. Delford beside him. At the other end of the table was a fashionable young woman in a cream and pale-peach dress with puffed sleeves and a long train that she was arranging around her chair. I assumed she was Miss Carrollton. Mr. Sharma was beside her, and Mr. Warland on the other side of him, to Mr. Carrollton’s left. Not the most balanced of dinner parties, but then it was probably a bit of a business dinner. Maybe it didn't matter so much. Or maybe they were discussing confidential matters.
My speculations were interrupted by Ross stumbling up the staircase. He stopped in the dining room door, realized he shouldn’t go that way, and came round to the pantry door. He didn’t say anything to me, just grabbed a plate of appetizers that were so small I couldn’t identify what any of them were and put it on the tray he was carrying. I stepped aside so he could go through the dining room.
I arranged the wine bottles until I heard the dumbwaiter slide into place with the first course. I got the tray of mousse fish out and looked them over quickly, but they were all intact. Mrs. Albright had either managed better without me or managed to hide whatever went wrong with them. Either way, I brought them to the serving table and waited for Ross to be ready to bring them out.
Ross came back with his empty tray and left it on the table. He grabbed the nearest decanter of wine. I reached for it. “Mrs. Pomeroy…”
Ross looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time. “I’m not drinking it. I’m just going to serve it. You can watch if you like. Or measure the bottle.”
I sighed. “Just be careful.”
He nodded and went back to the dining room. I transferred the plates of mousse to the serving tray and brought it to the door to wait for Ross. I met him as soon as he came through the door and stared at him until he put the half-empty decanter down on the table and took the tray of mousse from me.
As soon as Ross had started serving, I took the wine and left it by the dumbwaiter where I could keep Ross away from it. Then I went to the dining room door to keep an eye on things.
Ross was bringing the tray around very carefully. He seemed steady enough as he passed out the plates, but every time he moved from chair to chair, he wobbled in a way that made me wonder if I should dart out and grab the tray. But somehow he managed to make it all the way around and back to the pantry. He put the empty tray on the table and went straight for the silver cupboard. I wanted to check what he was doing there, but I heard the dumbwaiter creak to life.
Mrs. Pomeroy sent the salad up in several parts. The dressing first, then the garnish, then the lettuce, and finally the platter of tomato roses that would be the centerpiece of each dish. Ross was still at the silver cupboard, so I was left to arrange the plates on the serving tray, add the dressing, and garnish the plates as well as I could.
Ross crossed back to the table just as I was finishing and stumbled into the chair by my elbow, causing me to splash the dressing all over the tray. Ross took a tea towel and tried to mop it up. He managed to make it worse.
“I’ll do that. Go see if they’re ready for this.”
I couldn't tell if Ross was too many sheets to the wind or not really paying attention, but he didn’t object to me ordering him around. I was just getting the tray ready to go out when Ross came back with the cleared plates. He managed to get them to the table, but almost dropped them into the wash basin. I didn’t think I heard anything brea
k, so I ignored it and picked up the new tray.
Ross reached for the tray, and I caught a whiff of alcohol. He was hiding it somewhere in the room. “I’ll carry this, and you can serve from it.”
He muttered something about “maid in the dining room,” but he led the way without complaining out loud. I walked behind him with the tray and hung back as he handed out the plates.
As I followed Ross around the table, I could hear Mr. Warland’s voice raised. “I told you, Sharma, there's nothing to find.”
“I did not intend to—”
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Ainsworth broke in, “let’s save the discussion of business until after dinner, when the ladies have retired.”
Mrs. Delford raised her eyebrow.
Miss Carrollton said, “I don't mind hearing about business.”
But Mr. Sharma shook his head “No, no, Mr. Ainsworth is correct. We should discuss something more suitable at the table. I saw the most amusing play on Saturday...”
Somehow, Ross managed to make it all the way around the table and back to the pantry without spilling on any of the guests, although there were more than a few near-misses.
Back in the pantry, Ross’s gaze went to the silver cupboard before I’d even put the tray down. I knew if I wanted him to stay sober enough to cope, I had to keep him away from whatever he was keeping in there. The best way to do that seemed to be to keep him busy. He didn’t seem to mind taking orders, so I said, “I'll sort out the soup service. You can get the serving things tidied away.”
I didn't wait for him to answer but grabbed a tray and placed it on the ledge on the front of the silver cabinet. I set up the bowls as slowly as I could, but Ross made no move to approach the silver cupboard.
When we went back into the dining room, Miss Carrollton was bent towards Mr. Sharma, deep in conversation about the latest piano recital she’d attended. Mr. Warland was trying to say something about it, but had clearly never seen the concert in question. Mr. Ainsworth was ignoring his own admonition and discussing the Clawton file he'd brought with Mr. Carrollton. Mrs. Delford was sitting quietly, her finger tapping on the table like she was desperate to be taking notes on the discussion.
Ross brought the soup to the head of the table again. He managed to serve it without spilling on any of the guests, although I didn’t think the tablecloth was quite so fortunate, and I was quite certain that I heard Mrs. Delford give a disapproving click. In spite of all of that, Ross made it all the way round the table back to the pantry door without my help.
I took the serving tray from him and was stepping back to the dumbwaiter when it happened.
Chapter 4
FIRST I HEARD the sound of silverware clattering to the table. I rushed to the door, certain Ross had done something to cause it even though he was back by the silver cabinet again. The thought crossed my mind that I should do something to stop him from drinking whatever he’d hidden there, and it was chased out just as fast.
When I’d last seen him, Mr. Ainsworth had been calmly sipping soup. Now he was sprawled out on the table, convulsing. Everyone at the table was on their feet, staring at him in horror.
Miss Carrollton reacted first, screaming at the top of her lungs and collapsing back into her chair in a decent imitation of a faint. Ross heard that and came from the silver cupboard. He stood behind me, looking silently over my shoulder.
Mr. Carrollton took control. “Mr. Sharma, see to Miss Carrollton. Mrs. Delford, do you have his pills?”
“Of course.” She pulled her handbag off the floor and hunted through for the pillbox.
Mr. Carrollton went to Mr. Ainsworth’s seat. The solicitor was very still now. Mr. Carrollton reached for his shoulders to pull him upright, but he hesitated as he grasped the collar of the jacket. He pressed his fingers to Mr. Ainsworth’s neck, then to his wrist. “Don’t bother with the pills, Mrs. Delford. It’s too late. Warland, call the police.”
Mr. Warland got up from his chair. “Right away, Mr. Carrollton.”
Mrs. Delford had just pulled a blue enamel box inlaid with copper trees from her handbag. She hesitated, then put it down on the table. “I tried—”
“It wasn’t your fault. I think he was dead before he hit the table.” Mr. Carrollton looked around. “Mr. Sharma, would you take the ladies into the drawing room?”
Mr. Sharma nodded. “Of course.” He lifted Miss Carrollton up and carried her to the door. Mrs. Delford hurried to open it for him and led the way to the drawing room.
Mr. Carrollton released Mr. Ainsworth’s wrist. “Ross, help me move him into the study. It’s not right having him at the table.”
I was going to point out that it would be best to leave the body where it was when Mr. Warland came back.
“The telephone isn’t working. I’ll go on foot. There has to be a constable patrolling somewhere in the area.”
“You can’t see a thing in this storm. I don’t want two bodies on my conscience. Keep trying on the telephone every few minutes. Ross will help me get him settled; then I’ll join the ladies in the drawing room.”
“All right, Mr. Carrollton. If you think it’s best.”
“You, um, maid, I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”
“Cassie, sir.”
“Cassie, bring that soup down to the kitchen and tell the servants to keep the remains of dinner, but not to touch it, understood?”
So he suspected poison. “Yes, sir.” I collected up the soup tureen and hurried downstairs.
When I got to the kitchen, Mrs. Albright and Mrs. Pomeroy were scrambling to get the fish prepared to send up.
Mrs. Albright noticed me first. “Cassie, what are you doing here?” She came to take the tureen from me.
Mrs. Pomeroy looked up. “What’s gone wrong. Let me guess, Ross dropped the wine. No, the soup. Tell me he didn’t spill the soup on Mr. Ainsworth.” Mrs. Pomeroy was looking over the table. “If the soup is spoiled, I suppose I could manage a cheese platter, or there might be some cold tongue in the larder...”
“I’m afraid it’s more serious than the soup. Mr. Ainsworth collapsed at the table.”
Mrs. Pomeroy put down her knife. “Oh no. Was it his heart?”
“I don’t know. He just collapsed, and Mr. Carrollton said he had died. Was his heart bad?”
“He took pills. I thought he was doing all right. Are you certain Ross gave him the right plate?”
“I was watching. He did. And Mr. Ainsworth was convulsing; it didn’t look like a reaction to the food. Or his heart, for that matter.”
Mrs. Pomeroy looked over the fish plates. “Well, I suppose the meal won’t go on. I wonder what we should do with this lot.”
“Mr. Carrollton said to save everything in case the police want to see it.”
“The police?” Mrs. Albright asked. “Have they been summoned?”
“Not yet. The telephone is out, and Mr. Carrollton didn’t want Mr. Warland to go out in the storm. He’s going to send for them as soon as he can.”
“Not the doctor?”
Now that she said it, that did seem odd. “I suppose Mr. Carrollton thought, since he was already gone...” Mrs. Pomeroy made a small sob. Clearly she was more upset than she was letting on, so I tried to change the subject. “Maybe I should bring up some tea for the ladies in the drawing room.”
“Tea, yes, that will be good. I have the kettle on already.” Preparing tea distracted Mrs. Pomeroy.
Mrs. Albright slipped around the table so she could whisper, “What happened, really?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Mr. Carrollton seems to think poison, but I don’t know why.”
Mrs. Albright’s left eyebrow went up, but then Mrs. Pomeroy turned away from the stove to arrange the platter, and we couldn’t whisper without her noticing.
“I’ll get the cups, Alma.”
“What? Oh yes, they’ll need those. And tea. We'll need tea.” Mrs. Pomeroy poured the hot water into the teapot.
I went to the s
helf and found the tin of loose tea. “Was this what you wanted?”
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Pomeroy didn’t even look at the box.
When she’d finished preparing the tea, Mrs. Pomeroy stared at the tray as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. Mrs. Albright nudged me in the small of my back.
“I’ll take that. I heard Mr. Carrollton say the ladies would be in the drawing room.”
Mrs. Albright nodded. “That would be very helpful. Now Alma, let’s make ourselves some tea. And did I see one of your walnut cakes in the pantry?”
Mrs. Pomeroy picked up the kettle and started to fill it again automatically. “I’d better make it nice and strong if Ross is going to be talking to the police.”
I picked up the tea tray and started for the staircase.
I didn’t want to disturb Mrs. Pomeroy’s fragile calm, and Mrs. Albright had already gone to get the cake, so I would have to figure out where the drawing room was on my own. I assumed it was on the same floor as the dining room, so I climbed the two flights of stairs and started opening doors.
The first door I tried led to an unused library, with dust sheets complete with dust on all the furniture. Clearly not the drawing room.
The next room I tried was occupied. Mr. Carrollton was inside, sitting beside Mr. Ainsworth’s body, which was stretched out on the settee. I had the impression that he was talking to him, but that was impossible. Maybe he was praying, I thought. In any case, he spun around and stood when he heard me enter. “What are you doing here?” He was not exactly angry, but he was clearly not pleased to see me.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for the drawing room.” I raised the tray a fraction of an inch so he could see I had it.
“Tea for the ladies. That is a good idea. It’s the one with a Rembrandt copy by it, on the left.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He went back to sit by Mr. Ainsworth.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“What? Oh, thank you.” He didn’t turn.
