Death at Dinner

by L. A. Nisula

  “Don’t you trust anyone?”

  “Not even my own mother.”

  Mrs. Albright looked over at Mrs. Delford’s high buttoned boots and Mrs. Pomeroy’s sensible low-heeled shoes. “I’m not asking you to ignore the facts, just make certain they all come to light. She didn’t do it. Mrs. Pomeroy didn’t do it. But someone did. And if Scotland Yard doesn’t look any farther than those two...”

  I sighed. Mrs. Albright knew quite a bit about people not looking farther than the obvious suspect. “I’ll ask a few questions, but I’m not making any promises.”

  “Of course not. And if it is Mrs. Delford, well then, at least we’ll know for sure.”

  When we popped back up from under the table, neither Mrs. Pomeroy nor Mrs. Delford seemed to have noticed our absence. They were still discussing Inspector Hamilton and his investigations, and not being particularly fair to him considering how polite he’d been up ‘til now. I stayed quiet and listened for anything that might suggest clues one way or the other, but Mrs. Delford didn’t say anything illuminating, and Mrs. Pomeroy was mostly concerned with the implications that all of the trouble might have on her cooking.

  When we’d finished our tea, Mrs. Albright and Mrs. Pomeroy offered to see Mrs. Delford home, or, more accurately, to Mr. Ainsworth’s, where she was staying. Mrs. Albright gave me a very telling gaze as she said, “You don’t need to come along, Cassie. We can manage just fine.”

  So I was supposed to start my investigation at once. I ran through the list of typing I had to do, but none of it seemed to be a rush. I’d start with someone easy. Maybe it would be enough for Mrs. Albright. “Where does Miss Carrollton live?”

  If Mrs. Delford thought it was an odd question, she didn’t say anything. “Rainview Terrace, near Hyde Park. But she has a music lesson today near Regent Street. On Hanover, I think.”

  “Not a tutor at home?”

  “Apparently the piano is at the school. I don’t know, something special. Steam powered, maybe.”

  I’d never heard of a steam-powered piano, but I saw the others into a cab and took the Underground to Regent Street.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  The Underground took me as far as Oxford Circle, then it was a short walk down Regent Street to Hanover Street. This was a fashionable shopping area, so quite a respectable place to bump into a lady by accident. I thought Miss Carrollton would be easier to talk to away from home and servants and her mother, so I walked down Hanover Street until I located a music school on the first floor above a hat shop, but when I went upstairs and peered through the glass front of the door, there was no sign of Miss Carrollton or a piano, steam or otherwise. Just a boy of about twelve, scraping away at a violin. I went back down to the street and kept walking, but there were no other music schools. Perplexed, I went looking for someplace where I could consider my options.

  I doubted Mrs. Delford had been wrong about the time. She may have been a good murder suspect, but the one thing I was sure of was her competence as a secretary. So then where was Miss Carrollton? She must have lied about the lessons, but it was a very specific lie. Hanover Street, in case she was spotted there, perhaps, or possibly on Regent Street. And that meant she could be spotted here if I looked long enough. I still liked the idea of getting her alone outside her house. There were shops on Regent Street and therefore it was a more likely place to see her, so I went back there and wandered up and down, this time looking at faces as they passed.

  It was on the corner where Regent Street intersected with Conduit Street that I spotted her. She was just coming from Conduit Street and looked ready to cross to the shops on the other side of Regent. I rushed down the block to catch up to her before she melted into the crowd.

  “Miss Carrollton? Is that you?” It seemed a gentler way to get her attention than suggesting I had been waiting for her.

  Miss Carrollton turned. I smiled and waved. She waved back, but I could tell she didn’t remember me. She was also too polite to run off.

  As I caught up to her, I could see the moment my face started to seem familiar, even if she still couldn’t place me.

  It seemed best to be as honest as possible if I wanted her to cooperate. “We met at your uncle’s dinner party; I was helping Mrs. Pomeroy. I’m helping Mrs. Delford now. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions? Perhaps over tea?”

  “Mrs. Delford? Surely she’s not having a dinner party so soon after—” She trailed off, not sure how to describe the death.

  “She thinks she’s a serious suspect in the—um—incident. I’m trying to collect any information that might help her.”

  “Poor Mrs. Delford. Of course I’ll help in any way I can. Tea is a small thing. There’s a good place just down there.”

  Miss Carrollton took off down the street. I followed her. “The strawberry jam here is excellent, especially with the scones. The tea is indifferent but drinkable with enough sugar. So how did you know where to find me?”

  So that was the real question; how much did I know about her day’s plans. “Mrs. Delford said you had piano lessons around here today, although I looked in at the music school, and I didn’t see a piano.”

  She gave me a sheepish bit of a smile. “So you saw through me. Yes, I say I have lessons here, but really I just need to get out of the house on my own, and music lessons are a very respectable excuse.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “Look at the shops, mostly.”

  I looked at her hands, but there were no parcels.

  She caught on quickly. “I don’t buy anything, of course, or they’d know something was up. I put anything I want on hold and come back here to pick them up with my maid on another day. Here’s the shop.”

  The tea shop was on the corner, with a faux-medieval facade and leaded glass windows. Inside, it was a proper restaurant, with small tables, charmingly mismatched table linens, and a fake-happy waitress. I let Miss Carrollton order and we ended up with a pot of unnamed tea and scones with jam and butter.

  As soon as the waitress left, Miss Carrollton began describing the various hats she’d admired. “Of course I didn’t actually buy any, although there was a little fascinator with a mechanical bird that flapped its wings and a grey veil that was so darling, but completely impractical for visiting. Oh, thank you.”

  We were both quiet as the waitress spread the tea out between us. As soon as she left, I sprang, not giving Miss Carrollton a chance to distract me again. “Did you know Mr. Ainsworth well?”

  “Only through Uncle Edgar.”

  “And were they friendly?”

  Miss Carrollton sipped her tea as she considered her answer. “They were quite friendly, I think. I know that Uncle relied on him, that he trusted him with all of his business decisions.”

  There was something in the way she hesitated. “When you say ‘trusted’ and ‘relied’ do you mean because he has— passed on, or did something change?”

  Miss Carrollton sighed. “Something changed.”

  “When?”

  “When Mr. Sharma arrived, Uncle seemed to rely on Mr. Ainsworth less, almost like he didn’t trust him anymore.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I thought it had to do with Mr. Sharma courting me, but then I realized it had to do with Mr. Sharma questioning the accounts. I don’t think Uncle liked how Mr. Ainsworth was handling it.”

  “And how was he handling it?”

  “He said he would order an audit.”

  “And your uncle didn’t approve of that? I would have thought that was a standard response.”

  “I suppose it was, but Uncle still didn’t approve.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Oh yes, he normally trusted Mr. Ainsworth implicitly on all business matters. That’s why I thought it was about me, not that Mr. Ainsworth showed any interest in me before.”

  “Did you ever hear what Mr. Sharma objected to?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t speak about business with me. Although I di
d hear him say something about the numbers not adding up. It was when Mr. Sharma had been looking over the account books Mr. Ainsworth brought over.”

  “What was different about those books?”

  “Nothing that I know of. Uncle Edgar gave him his copy of the same books when he arrived. They were just the general ledgers.”

  “So there was something about the numbers that seemed wrong. I wonder what.”

  Miss Carrollton shrugged. “I haven’t heard anyone else complain about the numbers.”

  “Would you?” I hadn’t thought she’d be involved in the business.

  “Uncle Edgar isn’t married, so I play hostess when he has dinner parties for clients and investors. Mother thinks it’s a good way to meet respectable gentlemen with good prospects and positions. I’ve never heard any talk of numbers not adding up.”

  “Then why would Mr. Sharma say they didn’t?”

  “Maybe he wanted to get out of the deal? Maybe when he met me, he decided it wasn’t such a good deal.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” For all of her apparent disinterest in Mr. Sharma, she sounded genuinely worried.

  “Maybe you could ask Mr. Sharma when you see him next? Or get a look at the books?”

  “I suppose it might be possible.” She looked at me over the rim of her cup. “But Inspector Hamilton didn’t ask me to do anything like that.”

  “He has official methods of investigating. I don’t.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Investigating? What does Inspector Hamilton think of that?”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  Miss Carrollton smiled. “All right. I’ll try to find something out for you.” She seemed pleased by the idea of playing detective.

  “If you find anything, here’s my card. Just send me a note.”

  Miss Carrollton took the card I held out and looked at it. She seemed a little disappointed. “You’re a typewriter girl?”

  “That’s right. Freelance.” She must have thought I was a detective. “I do a lot of work for Scotland Yard typing up records.”

  That seemed to interest her more. “I see.” She dropped the card into her handbag. “I’ll tell you what I find.” She pulled out a small watch. “I need to get home or Mother will know I wasn’t at a music lesson.” She did not take out any money to pay the bill. “I’ll send word if I manage to get a look at anything interesting. Good afternoon.”

  Since I was paying for it, I ordered myself a slice of Victoria sponge and had it along with the rest of the tea, which was weak, and the scones, which weren’t bad, then took the Underground home and tried to catch up on my typing, which consisted of rather dull business letters for a solicitor and two files for the Yard, both rather usual robberies on the Underground, or I assumed they were; no one involved seemed to remember anything.

  Chapter 11

  I HAD INTENDED to spend Friday working on my typing and clearing out the most pressing assignments, but after a day spent at Scotland Yard and tracking down Miss Carrollton, I’d found the clicking of the keys relaxing, and concentrating on not accidentally typing “jail” for “gaol” kept my mind off of Mrs. Delford’s troubles, so I’d ended up finishing up all the work piled up on my desk before I went to bed.

  With a free morning spreading out in front of me, I started out by going to the bakery and taking my time deciding what to try. The Victoria sponge had been quite good, but I wanted something different. I decided on something called millionaire shortbread. After my experience with Victoria sponge, I bought four pieces and hoped to eat one in the end. I stopped by the telegraph aviary on the corner, but Miss Carrollton hadn’t sent me anything by telegram or mechanical bird. Of course, there was still a chance for something in the post. Until then, I planned to forget all about everyone connected with Mr. Carrollton’s dinner party.

  I had just gotten the kettle boiling and had my tea steeping when there was a tapping on my door. I recognized it at once and got out a second cup.

  “It’s open, Mrs. Albright.” I’d sort of been expecting her, so I arranged two pieces of shortbread on a plate.

  Mrs. Albright entered carrying a small stack of envelopes. “I brought up your mail. Nothing interesting, although there is a sale on fabric at Liberty’s.”

  Nothing from Miss Carrollton, then. It was really too early to expect anything, and rather unlikely there would be anything to expect. I brought the tea tray over. “Maybe we should go have a look.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t today. Mrs. Pomeroy asked me to visit her this afternoon. Mr. Carrollton will be at the funeral. She said she wanted to be prepared if anyone came back with him, but I think she really doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “Understandable. She was close to Mr. Ainsworth, then?”

  “She’d known him a long time. She worked for his father. He was a nice man. You saw him in the kitchen. So I was wondering what your plans were for the afternoon.”

  I remembered Mr. Ainsworth calling Mrs. Pomeroy his favorite cook. “Why do you want me to come?”

  “You understand all of these police terms. I think it would be a comfort to her to understand what’s going on. Besides, how often do you get to see a crime scene?”

  More often than I’d like, but clearly Mrs. Albright had put a lot of thought into how to tempt me into coming. “How can I turn down an offer like that?”

  Mrs. Albright relaxed. Mrs. Pomeroy must be very worried about the police if it was that important that something be explained to her. Mrs. Albright turned her attention to my tea-tray. “So what are you experimenting with today? Ah, millionaire shortbread. Very nice.”

  “Would you like some?”

  “No, no. I wanted to put together some things for Alma. I have some penny novelettes I was going to bring her, remind her of when we were young and read those every Saturday afternoon, take her mind off of this.”

  I took the hint. “I have some extra pieces of shortbread. Do you think she would like it to go with the books?”

  After Mrs. Albright had left with two pieces of the shortbread wrapped in a napkin, I spent the morning enjoying the rest my tea and going through patterns, trying to decide what I would need fabric for. Mrs. Albright came to pick me up after lunch, and we took the Underground back to the Carrollton house.

  When we got there, Mrs. Pomeroy was leaning on the railing around the stairs to servants’ entrance, waiting for us. “Miss Pengear, you did come. I’m so glad.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just smiled and stayed a step behind Mrs. Albright.

  “Well, come on downstairs. I have the kettle on.”

  We followed her down and through to the kitchens. I hung my hat and coat up after Mrs. Albright, so I was still in the cloakroom when Mrs. Albright followed Mrs. Pomeroy into the main kitchen. I heard Mrs. Albright gasp and hurried to follow.

  Mrs. Pomeroy’s neat kitchen was in shambles. Everything had been spread out over the huge wooden table. I could clearly see the divide between the chaotic jumble Scotland Yard had left behind and what Mrs. Pomeroy had started to organize.

  “I see the police were here.”

  Mrs. Pomeroy looked around her. “It was worse yesterday. I got all of the food back in the icebox, but we had so many visitors wanting to express their condolences, and all of them expected to be fed.”

  “I didn’t realize Mr. Carrollton was that close to Mr. Ainsworth.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t. No one thinks that. They just wanted a look at the murder scene.” Mrs. Pomeroy poked around the crockery set out on the table. “I’m sure I have some cups here.”

  Mrs. Albright found two saucers and a mismatched cup on the sideboard. “Why don’t we take you out to a tea shop, get you away from this mess.”

  Mrs. Pomeroy sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but Mr. Carrollton might bring people back with him, and I need to be here for that. Besides, I made a walnut cake. You wouldn’t want that to go to waste, would you?”

/>   I was very glad that Mrs. Albright agreed. “At least let me get the tea steeping, and then we’ll help you tidy this up.”

  “I won’t say no to that. But Miss Pengear, I’m sure you came to have a look at the crime scene. Just go on up. Mr. Carrollton won’t be back for a while.”

  “If you don’t mind—”

  Mrs. Albright set the steeping teapot down by the stove. “You’re the only one who’ll understand what’s there. That’s where you’ll be the most help.”

  I didn’t relish the thought of tidying the mess in the kitchen. “If you don’t mind, then I’ll go poke around a bit.”

  Upstairs, the front hall was empty. On an impulse, I went to the coat cupboard and poked around until I found the mackintosh. I felt all of the pockets, but there was no sign of a bottle, empty or otherwise. Ross must have taken it with him. I continued up the main stairs to the dining room.

  I half expected to see a constable on duty outside the door, but there was no one at the murder scene. Not that they needed anyone. The door was still blocked with Inspector Hamilton’s magnetic tapes. I examined the clamps holding them to the wall, but I could see that, other than a small space for Inspector Hamilton’s key, there was no way to release them. I doubted the lock would be something I could override myself, and it was very likely I’d trigger some kind of an alarm if I tried. There wasn’t much to see inside anyway. The police had cleared the table and taken the cloth. I peered through the gaps between the tapes, but there was nothing I hadn’t seen the night of the party.

  I continued down the hall to the drawing room where I had gathered with the ladies after the murder. The room had been cleaned since then, the armchairs pushed back into place against the wall, the small table back in its corner. I sat down on the settee and looked around the room from there, but nothing struck me. Not that I really thought Miss Carrollton had anything to do with the murder. I leaned back and felt something hard against my back. I felt around the cushions and found an empty whiskey bottle. So that’s where Ross hid it, probably while the guests were being questioned. I put the bottle back in case the police wanted to find it.