by Sonia Parin
“According to my butler who heard it from a reliable source, Dr. Browning received a telephone call in the middle of the night, after which he sped his way through the village, heading toward Witford Hall, that’s Mrs. Howard-Smith’s home, to attend to Mrs. Howard-Smith.” The dowager took a quick sip of tea and then resumed telling her tale. “I’d had a restless night and thought I heard several vehicles drive by, but I didn’t bother getting up, although I did consider ringing for my maid. After some thought, I decided I really didn’t have the heart to wake her up.”
Evie cusped her hands around her teacup. “So, your news hasn’t actually been confirmed.”
“Oh, but it has. Do you think I would come to you with unverified news? It would be dreadfully unkind of me to unsettle you for no good reason.” The dowager lifted her chin. “I’m almost offended that it would even occur to you.”
“My apologies, Henrietta. How thoughtless of me.” Evie glanced at Phillipa and noticed the news hadn’t affected her appetite. “So, how exactly did you confirm it?”
“Oh, I called Barton and Brown. They took her away early this morning.”
Barton and Brown… The funeral directors.
“They’ve taken care of us for too many years to begrudge me the information.”
Evie picked up her fork only to set it down again. She had well and truly lost her appetite.
Mrs. Howard-Smith.
Dead.
“I didn’t detect any signs of illness yesterday. Do you think she might have had a condition of sorts?”
“I can only imagine her temperament might have had something to do with her demise,” the dowager said. “You can’t go through life being disagreeable and not pay the price. I’m sure the French have a saying for it. They seem to do so for so many things.” The dowager struck a pensive pose. “Mauvais sange comes to mind. They believe unnecessary worrying turns your blood bad, resulting in illness. They must have some special fate for those wicked souls who make others’ lives miserable.”
Evie mused, “I had a French nanny who would often accuse me of turning her blood bad. I never understood what she meant. She had a nervous disposition and would twitch whenever she saw me skipping about or, heaven help her… or me, running. She used to warn me against it all. Nothing pleased her more than when I slept.”
The dowager shrugged. “I suppose we shall have to swallow our pride and attend the funeral. I will, of course, dress in full mourning on the day out of respect for the family.” The dowager turned to Phillipa. “You say you are only here for a brief time?”
Phillipa nodded. “Only until my motor car can be fixed.”
The dowager turned her attention to her breakfast. “Oh, scones for breakfast. That’s a novelty. But then, I forget. You don’t call them scones.” Leaning in, she whispered to Phillipa, “We are still getting used to Evangeline’s ways. I’m afraid I still have a long way to go before I embrace the idea of biscuits for breakfast.”
“I asked cook to prepare a hearty meal,” Evie explained. “She knows how much I enjoy my biscuits. Although, to be fair to me, I do call them scones now.”
A footman strode in carrying a fresh pot of tea and some coffee.
When Edgar cleared his throat, Evie curved her eyebrows. Another visitor?
“Mr. Winchester.”
“Oh,” the dowager exclaimed with interest. “My early visit is paying dividends. When I got up this morning, I did not dream I would be meeting the elusive Mr. Winchester.”
“There’s nothing elusive about him, Henrietta. But this is a surprise.” Evie turned slightly and watched Tom enter the dining room.
He wore one of his country suits in a pale shade of brown and a pristine white shirt. His tie had been so expertly arranged, she’d almost believe he’d had assistance from a valet.
He looked surprised to find Evie had company. For a split second, Evie thought he also looked reluctant to step into a room with three women in it. Standing still, his gaze jumped from one to the other. Evie almost expected him to make a hasty retreat.
“I see you took me up on my offer to visit Berkshire,” Evie said and hoped he would read that as his cue.
“Yes, I arrived yesterday but I didn’t wish to bother you so late so I stayed in the village.”
The explanation suited their purposes of establishing a story for Mr. Winchester who also happened to be Tom, her chauffeur…
If he thought he could explain his disappearance with nothing but a blithe remark, he had another think coming. But what had brought him here so early? “Do join us for breakfast.” Evie turned toward Edgar who’d already jumped into action preparing another place setting at the table.
After they had left the Duke of Hetherington’s house several weeks before, they had returned to London and Tom had resumed his chauffeuring duties without any sense of awkwardness or reference to his role playing. Now, he appeared to have stepped back into his alter ego. Why?
She wished he had telephoned before coming. The circumstances at Halton House would call for delicate handling. At the moment, they only had to worry about Henrietta. But the dowagers were bound to drop in at any time together and, eventually, their curiosity would prompt them to dig deeper…
Since they would be sticking to their story and claiming to be childhood friends, the inevitable questions were bound to be asked. Why had Evie never mentioned him before? In fact, Sara had already asked her that very question. Of course, she could easily dismiss it by saying she had many friends she never mentioned.
However, they would need to navigate this particular ocean with care. Both Henrietta and Sara had met her mother and grandmother when they had traveled to England for Evie’s wedding. Evie knew they corresponded. One stray remark would be enough to end Tom’s undercover ruse.
Introducing him to Henrietta and Phillipa, Evie tried to keep her tone casual when she said, “Tom has been touring the country. In fact, I recently spent a few days at Yarborough Manor in Yorkshire and he dropped in for a visit.” Before anyone could comment, Evie changed the subject. “The dowager has just come by to deliver some sad news. A local died during the night.”
“Yes, I heard a rumor in the village,” Tom said as he strode toward the buffet table and helped himself to breakfast. “Did you know her?”
“I met her a couple of days ago and… she had tea with me yesterday,” Evie said as she tried to gage her butler’s response to Tom’s presence.
Both he and Caro knew her chauffeur, Tom Winchester, had been parading around as Mr. Tom Winchester. Belatedly, Evie wondered if they should have chosen another name for his alter ego. Regardless, Edgar gazed into space, his look as disinterested as ever. Evie knew Tom must have had a word with him, coming to some sort of understanding with him. It seemed to be working for him, so she decided to leave it alone.
Tom settled down next to her at the table. “Where did you first meet her?”
“At Mrs. Baker’s Delights. It’s a local village tea room.”
“She had been conspiring against us,” Henrietta declared.
“Long story,” Evie mouthed.
“I’d love to hear it,” Tom murmured right back.
“Evangeline,” Henrietta said. “Sara and I have been thinking of throwing a dinner party to welcome you back. Of course, Mrs. Howard-Smith’s unfortunate demise has rather thrown a dampener on our plans. If I believed in the afterlife, I would have no trouble imagining Mrs. Howard-Smith having a jolly good laugh at our expense.”
“What do you believe in?” Phillipa asked.
Henrietta made a dismissive hand gesture. “Well, we must transform into something but I doubt it is into a mirror image of ourselves. Perhaps we become butterflies. I suppose I do believe in some sort of existence. I just haven’t really given it much thought.”
“Hindus believe in reincarnation,” Phillipa remarked.
“Oh, and there are quite a few of them,” Henrietta said with interest. “With so many people believing in reincarnation, I will have to
give it some serious thought.”
“I think much depends on how well you’ve behaved yourself in this life,” Phillipa offered.
Henrietta’s eyes widened slightly.
“They call it karma,” Phillipa added. “If you’ve been bad, you might come back as a mangy dog or a beggar.”
“There’s always a catch.” Shaking her head, Henrietta finished her tea. “Well, I must get on with my day. And then I’ll need to rest because I should like to look my best for the service. I always fear being so close to one’s final resting place might tempt the grim reaper into speeding things along.” Henrietta sighed. “I dare say this will change everything.”
“How so?” Evie asked.
“Well, now that she is gone, the mutineers are without their leader. The Vicar’s wife might have appeared to lead the breakaway group, but I believe the true instigator remained in the background. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead. Yes, I mean Mrs. Howard-Smith. In any case, we should be humble in our victory. Perhaps we should offer the use of Halton House. I think that should appease everyone. I can’t imagine the Countess will want to hold the ball at her house. They will be in full mourning.”
“It sounds like you have your hands full,” Phillipa said as she pushed back her chair. “I suppose I should see if my motor car has been fixed. If you could point me in the right direction…”
“We’ll come out with you,” Evie offered.
The dowager stopped at the door. “Am I expected for dinner tonight?”
Evie hadn’t given it any thought. Now that the dowagers had moved out, she would have to start issuing invitations. “Henrietta. This is your home. You don’t need to wait for an invitation.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Evie tried to remember if she had tackled the issue of Henrietta and Sara moving out. No… They had been diverted. “Yes, you are expected tonight. This is your home,” she insisted. Evie exchanged a glance with Edgar and knew that would be enough to set the wheels in motion for the evening meal which she might otherwise have eaten on a tray.
They strode out into a fine day full of spring sunshine. Evie took a discreet peek at her watch to see if she would still manage to trek out as planned to meet the tenants. Looking up, she caught sight of a vehicle parked several feet away from the entrance.
A bright red roadster…
Mr. Winchester’s vehicle of choice.
Evie wondered where he had procured this one.
“We must talk,” Tom whispered.
Waving to the dowager, Evie replied in a hushed tone, “In a minute.”
When the dowager’s car disappeared down the driveway, Evie guided them around the house. “Phillipa’s car broke down. I’m hoping Edmonds will be able to fix it.” The stable hand had learned all he could from her late husband’s chauffeur who had retired a couple of years before. “If that fails, we should be able to get some help in from the village. And, now that I think about it, I am without a chauffeur.” Evie glanced at Tom. “Perhaps Edmonds will consider a promotion.”
“There’s no real need for that. If you require a chauffeur, I will be more than happy to drive you around.”
“Oh, how kind of you to offer. And, I suppose you have your own car.” She tilted her head and smiled at him. “Do you?”
“You know very well I do.”
Lowering her voice, she asked, “And are you about to tell me how you came by this particular car?” If she thought about it, the story he had given her the last time should have sounded far-fetched. Yet, she had fallen for it.
“Where there are means, there are ways.”
Frowning, she tried to understand what he meant. Once again, she thought about the story he had fabricated for himself. A self-made millionaire. An oil man who’d struck it rich in the oil fields of Oklahoma. According to his tale, Mr. Winchester had a vast fortune to dip into.
“Let’s leave it at that,” he said.
“For now,” Evie agreed. “However, at some point, I might wish to push for more information. Otherwise, I fear I might come across as being too naïve.”
They found Edmonds under the motor car whistling a happy tune. Tom crouched down and made his presence known. A moment later, Edmonds slid out from under the motor car and promptly jumped to his feet.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, milady. The water pump is leaking. I could try to fix it but I can’t guarantee it will last.”
“So, what do you suggest we do?” Evie would be as hospitable as possible, however, Phillipa would still need to have her vehicle up and running.
“I’ll have a talk with the local repairman. He might have a spare part but I doubt it.”
Phillipa brushed her hands across her face. “Well, I’m in a bit of a pickle.”
Evie gave her a reassuring smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need to. When do you have to meet your friends?”
“In about a week. I suppose that should be enough time to fix the car.”
“Would you like to let them know? You can use the telephone to contact them, but first, you might want to get settled in. I’ll ask the housekeeper to organize a room for you.”
Evie strode back inside with Phillipa and left her in Mrs. Arnold’s capable hands.
Back outside, she hurried her step and found Tom making his way toward her. “Finally,” she said.
“Let’s walk and talk,” he suggested.
“Where did you disappear to yesterday? Caro’s imagination has been running wild.”
“Since you’re going to stay here for a while, I wanted to get the lay of the land and find out who’s who,” he explained.
Before Evie had set off on her return trip from America to England, her grandmother had organized for Tom to become her chauffeur. Recently, Evie had discovered her grandmother had actually hired someone with a very special set of skills.
To start with, Tom had been able to transform himself from her chauffeur to a well-dressed and well-spoken gentleman. He had also displayed an uncanny ability to fabricate a credible background story for himself.
“Questions are being asked about Mrs. Howard-Smith’s death,” he said.
Evie missed a step. Grabbing hold of his arm, she managed to steady herself. “Are you about to tell me she died under suspicious circumstances?” Evie buried her hands inside her pockets. When her fingers collided with a piece of paper, she remembered the telegram she had received the previous day.
Now would not be a good time to bring up the subject and share the news. No doubt, the letter would find its way to another pocket, which meant she could once again delay making the decision…
“Yes. It appears she died of suspicious circumstances.”
Or maybe now would be as good a time as any since the news only kept getting worse…
Chapter Six
Suspicious circumstances? Please explain
“How did you come by that information?” Evie asked, her voice lowered to a whisper. Not that anyone would be able to hear them. They were now on a path leading to the folly and well out of anyone’s hearing or even sight.
“I am staying at the pub. It’s quite the center of information. By the way, do you own the pub?”
“The Woodridge Arms?” Evie shook her head. “The current owners are tenants. Some pubs are named after local landowners or coat of arms. If memory serves, one of the first Earl’s relatives established it but it has since changed hands.”
“Anyhow,” Tom continued. “when I went down to breakfast, everyone appeared to be talking about the unexpected death.”
Evie pressed her hands against her cheeks. It all seemed surreal. “So, tell me about this rumor you’ve heard.”
“One of the maids at the pub knows a housemaid who happened to be attending to Mrs. Howard-Smith during the night when she became ill.”
“Did she give any details?”
“The maid said Mrs. Howard-Smith had been physically sick. Before that, she’d complained of nausea.”
Evie didn’t like the sound of that. “Did she happen to mention when Mrs. Howard-Smith began complaining of feeling ill?” She hoped it hadn’t been soon after having tea with her.
Tom stopped and looked at Evie. “Not that I know of. Is that something you are particularly interested in?”
“The woman had afternoon tea at my house,” Evie admitted. “So, yes. I am interested.” She brushed a hand across her face. “When the dowager broke the news to me this morning, I asked if she had suffered from a condition. It seemed natural to want to know. If I asked that question, so will others.” Tilting her head, she gave him a brisk and somewhat self-mocking smile. “Do you know what else I imagine people will ask once they find out Mrs. Howard-Smith had tea at my house?”
“If there had been any animosity between you and if you had reason to kill her?”
Evie looked surprised. “Well, you were quick to jump to conclusions.”
He produced a chuckle. “Countess Woodridge, did you or did you not wish Mrs. Howard-Smith ill?”
“Heavens, that is no joking matter. How did we get onto the subject?”
“I think we put two and two together. People are bound to entertain a few assumptions. If Mrs. Howard-Smith had complained of feeling nauseous then, it stands to reason, they will assume she became ill from something she ate or something she drank. What did you have for afternoon tea? Or, more to the point, what did you feed her?”
Instead of answering, Evie asked, “Do you think the police will become involved?” And, if they did, would they question her? She could not be the first Woodridge to shroud the family name with shame and scandal. “Would it be premature of me to wish I had never returned to England?”
“A part of me wishes to assure you there is nothing to worry about, but my job is to prevent any harm from coming to you and to try to foresee any circumstance before they become an issue.”
“Yes… about that. We never really discussed your extra duties. Is that why you chose to go incognito as soon as we arrived?”
“My job is to do everything I can to keep you safe,” he repeated.
