Death at Dinner

by L. A. Nisula

  Well, it had worked on the boy in the chemist’s shop. “I’m investigating a murder.”

  She started to knit faster. “A real murder?”

  I nodded.

  “Who died?”

  “A lawyer, I mean a solicitor.”

  “Oh well, I must say I’m not surprised. I once considered murdering a solicitor, when my Henry died and there were so many delays getting his will through the courts. But then I realized killing him would just cause more paperwork, and I’d never get my inheritance, so I persevered.” She leaned in closer without slowing her knitting. “Is that nice Mr. Sharma a suspect?”

  “He was at the dinner party where it happened. So was I.”

  “And that girl he’s courting, or more properly is being courted by, although I don’t know if that applies when it’s a third party doing the pushing, was she there?”

  “Miss Carrollton? It was at her uncle’s house.” I slid across the settee so I could lean in closer to her. “You know Miss Carrollton?”

  “Yes, her uncle brings her here often. I assumed that was why Mr. Sharma chose this hotel, but he seemed surprised by it.”

  “Mr. Carrollton recommended it to him. But why would that be the reason?”

  “Because of me, of course, or ladies like me. This hotel is very popular among my social set. Mrs. Prescott-Smythe isn’t really a proper member of the class she’s pretending to be, but that pretending causes her to be extra careful about respectability. And that makes it very popular with my sort of traveler. But it is such a bother when they expect me to be the chaperone. As if I didn’t have enough things of my own to do. Why do they think I come to London? To sit by a strange fire? And one wrong move by the suitor, and who’s to blame? Certainly not him.”

  “They must think someone as respectable as you ...”

  “Oh, don’t try flattery, dear. It doesn’t work on me anymore.”

  I smiled. “Well, I suppose you’re convenient, then.”

  She chuckled. “That’s more like it. So you’re here for Mr. Sharma?”

  “That’s right. I’m at a dead end, so I’ve gone back to the beginning.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to go even further back. He went out half-an-hour ago.”

  I didn’t doubt that she was right. “Do you know where he went?”

  “I’m afraid not. I saw him go, but I didn’t hear anything he might have said.”

  “Any idea when he’ll be back?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to try someone else.” I stood up. “I’ll call again another day.”

  “I look forward to seeing you.”

  I was going to answer when Mrs. Prescott-Smythe came into the room. “I am sorry, but Mr. Sharma has gone out.”

  “Thank you for checking. I’ll call again another time.”

  Mrs. Prescott-Smythe seemed pleased to be rid of me. She didn’t ask if I wanted to leave a message. I made a mental note to ask Mrs. McWade why Mrs. Prescott-Smythe didn’t like me.

  As I walked to the Underground, I considered my options. If I couldn’t interview Mr. Sharma, where did that leave me? Miss Carrollton would be with her family and, while I hadn’t met Mrs. Carrollton, I was imagining someone who would put Mrs. Prescott-Smythe to shame. Who could I visit on a Sunday? I roamed towards the Underground stop. I could always go back home, but Mrs. Albright would be waiting to hear what I had accomplished, and I didn’t have much to show for my day so far. I stopped at a chippy on the corner and got a paper of fish and chips for lunch, then found a bench near Westminster Abby and tried to keep the pigeons from sampling my chips.

  Thinking about lunch led me to an interesting question. If Mrs. Pomeroy was in prison and the butler and footman were still ill, who was watching over Parkside House? I didn’t think Mr. Carrollton was the sort of man to do everything for himself. Might he ask Ross to fill in again? If he had, maybe I could get another look at the crime scene. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but hopefully something would occur to me on the way there. I finished my fish and tossed the wrapper on the way to the Underground.

  Chapter 21

  WHEN I GOT TO MR. CARROLLTON’S HOUSE, I saw a delivery boy coming up from the servants’ entrance. That was a good sign; it meant someone would be in the kitchen to let me in. I gave the boy a chance to get to street level, then went down the way he’d come.

  The door was answered on the first knock by Ross. “What’d you forget this time? Oh, I know you. You were here that night. You’re, um...”

  “Miss Pengear. I heard Mrs. Pomeroy was in trouble again, so I came to help her. Could I take a look around?”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever you’d like.” He walked away from the door, leaving it wide open. I followed him in and made certain the door closed properly behind me.

  Ross went to the main part of the kitchen and started setting out what had been delivered on a tray. Fish and chips and a custard tart. He put the fish on a nice plate and nibbled on the chips as he arranged them.

  I went to the sink to wash the vinegar from my meal off of my hands. “You forgot the vinegar,” I said.

  “He doesn’t like it. Ever hear of that? Not liking vinegar?” He poured a glass of white wine and sipped it, then glanced at me. “Got to see if it goes with the fish.”

  “Of course. You would hate to spoil the taste of that with an inferior wine.”

  Ross looked at me trying to decide if I was joking or not, but all he said was “Hmm,” and added a napkin and silverware. Just then the bell rang. “He’s ready for it. I’ll see what you want when I’ve brought it.” As an afterthought he added, “There’s tea.”

  “Thanks. I’ll fix you a cup too.”

  Ross nodded and picked up the tray and promptly dropped it back on the table.

  “How much of that wine did you sample?” I went to help him re-arrange the tray.

  “Only, only...” He tried to glance surreptitiously at the sink behind me.

  I turned and saw six bottles lined up, all open, all with various amounts gone. I turned back to him.

  “I had to find the best one. Butler comes from to buttle; that’s to keep the wine cellar.”

  “And you take your job very seriously. Here, I’ll carry this upstairs for you.”

  “Mr. Carrollton won’t like that. He’ll think I can’t do the job.”

  “Well, you can’t.” I sighed. “Where is he dining?”

  “The study.”

  “Then here’s what we’ll do. I’ll send this up in the dumbwaiter. You collect it from the pantry upstairs and carry it to the study. Do you think you can bring it that far without dropping anything?”

  Ross nodded, but I wasn’t sure he was sure.

  “Once I send it up, I’ll go into the front hall and listen. If there’s any trouble, you can signal for me to come up, all right?”

  “I suppose. But keep out of sight.” He clutched the railing as he climbed the stairs.

  I put the tray into the dumbwaiter and waited to give Ross a chance to get to the pantry, then released the steam valve and waited until I could see the lift bringing the tray to the dining room. Once it was on its way, I ran up the stairs and to the front hall.

  In the front hall, I could hear Ross moving around upstairs. I recognized his shuffling walk, as if he was moving carefully so he wouldn’t upset the tray. I didn’t hear any sounds of breaking glass, so I assumed he made it from the dining room to the study without incident. While I waited for Ross to come down, just to be certain he’d made it, I noticed the phone cupboard was open, which reminded me of that night. Mrs. Pomeroy had said the other houses on the street had had no trouble with their telephones. So why here?

  I could hear someone moving around in the study above me. The footsteps were too steady for Ross, so I assumed they belonged to Mr. Carrollton.

  I went to the phone cabinet and followed the wire back to the wall. I didn’t expect much; Mr. Warland had been in the cupboard so he woul
d have seen someone fiddling with the wires. It was more in the interest of being thorough so I could stop thinking about it and move on to more promising leads. That was until I realized the wires didn’t go into the floor in the front hall. They disappeared into the wall. So they must have run between the walls and couldn’t be cut from here. Then why were they exposed in the study upstairs? I scanned the floor along the wall, looking for some spot where they might have drilled through the floor, but there was no sign of a hole.

  I heard Mr. Carrollton moving towards the staircase upstairs. Why wasn’t he in the study having his fish and chips? I’d have to hurry if I didn’t want to see him. I ducked into the front parlor. He wouldn’t go in there. When he passed, I could slip down to the kitchen.

  I could hear Mr. Carrollton coming down the stairs. I moved further into the room and noticed something odd. The molding coming down the wall was uneven, just the one piece, but it was the piece that traveled down just behind where the wires had entered the wall in the front hall. It was worth a try. I ran my hand along the edge of the wood, and it popped off easily, reveling the phone lines.

  I started at the floor and worked my way up, examining the wires for any signs of tampering. It didn’t take long. About a foot from the floor, I found the spot where the wires had been soldered together. It could have been a routine repair, of course, but Inspector Hamilton could get an expert to look at it. I heard Mr. Carrollton come down the last of the stairs and go through to the office. He didn’t hesitate, so I assumed he hadn’t noticed me, which made this the perfect spot for someone to cut the wires. They could hide indoors, out of the rain, and cut them, and later repair them all without being seen. So who had the expertise to do that? And how long would it take? How long would they have had to be unaccounted for?

  I slid the molding back into place and discovered that it snapped into two small grooves, one on the crown molding and one near the floor. Then I peered out the door. I had a clear view of the front hall and the corridor to the office. Both were empty, so I made a quick escape back to the kitchen.

  Ross was in the kitchen when I got there. “Did he see you?”

  “No, I was in the front parlor.”

  “What were you doing in there?”

  “Hiding so he wouldn’t see me. But I noticed something interesting. The phone wires pass through there, and they’d been cut.”

  “Must have been the repairmen.”

  “Repairmen?”

  “Mmm-hmm. They were in a week ago to fix something. Mrs. Pomeroy complained something awful about them. Tracked dirt all over the front hall, and Belmont already feeling poorly at the time.”

  “And you’re sure they were in the front parlor?”

  “That’s where the lines are.”

  So much for that theory. “Where else are the phone lines?”

  “Around back, but the police already checked back there. The lines weren’t cut.”

  “I’ll check anyways.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I went out the back door and into the small yard behind the house. I spotted the telephone line stretching over the side of the yard. I followed the lines to the edge of Mr. Carrollton’s yard but saw no signs of tampering. Surely the police would already have checked the pole and the connections to the main lines, so I turned back and followed the line back to the house. It entered through the cellar. I went back inside. “Ross, where in the cellar do they enter?”

  Ross was collecting up the wine bottles, but he put them down somewhat reluctantly and said, “I’ll show you. Let me get the key.”

  Ross led me down to the back of the cellar, under the kitchen. “That’s where they come in.” He pointed to a gap in the wall by the roof. “Mess down here. Never like that in my day.”

  He was right. The small room had apparently been part of the root cellar. Now the ceiling was thick with dust and cobwebs. I didn’t think it had been cleaned since the phone lines had been installed. They certainly hadn’t been cut in this room at least.

  I followed the lines across the ceiling, out into the main cellar, and along the wall until they disappeared up through to the floor above. “Where do those come out?”

  Ross looked up. “That should be through the storeroom, then up near the front hall.”

  So the lines I had seen upstairs. “Can I see the store room?”

  “If you want. It’s where you found the flowers for the party.”

  Ross led me back up to the kitchen and back to the storeroom behind the pantry. The wires ran up behind the shelves where the flower arrangements had been kept and up through the ceiling again.

  I gave the shelves an experimental push, but they were large, old-fashioned things, too heavy to move without anyone in the kitchen noticing. I grabbed a chair from the wall and put it under the spot where the line disappeared upstairs. I climbed up and examined the wire. It was dusty but uncut. I moved the chair and climbed up again. The chair wobbled this time, and I felt Ross grab it to steady it. I shifted my weight to climb down, and the chair leg gave way. I heard it snap, and then the chair lunged to the side, dropping me. I expected to land on the stone floor, and I was wondering how I would investigate with broken bones when I realized I wasn’t falling anymore.

  “You all right, Miss Pengear?”

  Ross had managed to catch me. “You have very good reflexes.”

  “Stop myself from falling all the time. Do you want another chair?”

  I scanned the phone wire. “No, that’s all right. I don’t think the dust up there has been disturbed in ages, certainly long before Wednesday.”

  “Of course.” Ross put me down and went back to the main kitchen. Once there, he went to the sideboard for a long drink. He saw me watching and held out the bottle. “Steady your nerves?”

  “I’m all right. Thanks.”

  Ross took another mouthful then put the bottle back.

  “Are you all right, Ross?” Mr. Carrollton was coming down the stairs. He spotted me. “Effie, wasn’t it? What’s going on down here? I heard a crash.”

  Ross was probably in enough trouble on his own, so I admitted, “I’m afraid the crash you heard was me. I broke an old chair in the back of the cellar when I was standing on it.”

  “Saw a mouse, did you? Well, don’t worry about it as long as you aren’t hurt. I’m afraid Mrs. Pomeroy isn’t here.”

  “I heard, so I came to make certain everything was all right, but it seems Ross has everything under control, so I’ll be going home.”

  “Very kind of you to call. Ross, find her a cab or something.” He turned on the stair and went back up.

  When Mr. Carrollton was out of hearing, Ross turned to me. “Thanks for saying I was doing all right. Do you want me to find a cab?”

  “I’ll take the Underground.” I gathered up my hat and gloves. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Mrs. Pomeroy didn’t do it.”

  “I know. I’ll keep looking into it.”

  Ross showed me to the door and for a few moments actually looked like a proper butler. Then he slipped as he closed the door behind me, ruining the illusion.

  Chapter 22

  MONDAY MORNING, I WAS UP EARLY, ready to consider my next move over tea and toast and lots of butter. It turned out to be an easy decision. Mr. Lynvale. The second visitor at Mr. Ainsworth’s house. I still hadn’t talked to him, and it was unlikely Inspector Hamilton would have put off his visit for this long. Maybe there would be a clue there. I had the address in my handbag, so as soon as I finished my breakfast, I returned to the Underground and set off for the shop.

  Mr. Lynvale’s shop was small, tucked between a bookshop and an estate agent. Inside, the shop was narrow and mostly filled with a long counter. Behind it was a wall separating the back room from the salesroom. The wall was covered in cubbyholes filled with different kinds of letter papers and envelopes and books showing examples of what could be specially ordered. There was a young woman behind the counter. She pasted on her smile
as she saw me come in. “Can I help you?”

  I decided on a round-about approach. “I need some letter paper that can be used in a typewriter.”

  “We have several weights.” She pulled sheets from six of the cubbies and brought them to me. We discussed the various papers for a while, and I chose something suitable for sending out invoices to better clients.

  As she was preparing my receipt, I casually asked, “Is Mr. Lynvale around?” I tried to sound like I wanted to discuss another purchase.

  “He’s in the back room. Would you like me to get him for you?”

  “Could I go back and see him?” It seemed more private, and I didn’t want him to feel rushed or be interrupted by customers.

  “I suppose. There’s a small office on the left. You’ll find him there.” She finished wrapping my paper then opened the partition in the counter and let me through to the back room.

  Mr. Lynvale was a middle-aged man with greying dark hair and a good quality suit, a little shiny at the cuffs. He was sitting at a desk that I took to be second hand until I got close enough to recognize the inlay as an 18th-century Venetian pattern. I’d seen one like it at the South Kensington Museum. I tapped on the door as I entered. “Mr. Lynvale?”

  He looked up from what I could see was a ledger book. I tried but couldn’t tell if the numbers were balancing or not. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “May I be of assistance?”

  “I hope so. You’re Mr. Lynvale?”

  He nodded and gestured for me to sit in a slightly battered Hepplewhite chair. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking into the death of Mr. Ainsworth. Mrs. Delford said you had called on him in the days before his death.”

  “Someone from your office was already here. Harrin. Harrington. Hamilton. That was it. I told him everything that I know, which wasn’t much.”

  I debated whether it would be better to let him go on thinking I was with the Yard or not. I decided it was too obviously if not lying, then at least deceitful. “I’m not with Scotland Yard. I’m conducting a private inquiry. So if you could tell me what you told them—”