by Emily Queen
“Marjorie,” Theodore answered in a dry tone that nearly elicited another giggle from Rosemary. If she weren’t mistaken, he didn’t find the woman nearly as enchanting as Marjorie wished he did. “Meet Rosemary Lillywhite and Vera Blackburn. Ladies, Marjorie Ainsworth.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Marjorie flashed a faux smile toward the women, turned her back to them, and spoke directly to Theodore as if they'd ceased to exist. "Come dance with me, Teddy. Please?" Her long black lashes fluttered, and her deep blue eyes sparkled from beneath a blond fringe of finger curls that shined in the twinkling lights of the chandelier above.
She ran one manicured hand up Theodore’s arm, pressing herself against him as much as she could and leaning in to give him an unobstructed view of her considerable assets. His chiseled jaw clenched with irritation, and his dark eyes turned stormy beneath a prominent brow. The expression ought to have made him appear formidable, but it only accentuated his good looks.
“I’m sorry, Marjorie, but I’ve just been told I’m needed elsewhere. I’ll see you later. You too, ladies,” Teddy said, shooting Rosemary an apologetic look and then nearly running off in the opposite direction. Vera was shaking with barely concealed laughter, and once again Rosemary resisted the urge to say something her mother would consider unladylike.
Marjorie stared after Teddy as though thoroughly baffled by his sudden departure, which only made the situation all the funnier. As soon as Theodore disappeared, a gainly, dark-haired gentleman approached Marjorie. He was attractive, or at least he believed he was. Yet there was something about his appearance that just seemed smarmy. Rosemary was sure he had been watching for Teddy’s departure and had waited to approach the woman once she was alone.
“Heya, Marjie. I saved you a dance. What do you say?” He held out a hand as if expecting her to fall into his arms.
Rose and Vera watched incredulously, thoroughly enjoying the show, as Marjorie snapped, “Go chase yourself, Herbie. You’re such a sinker. Besides, shouldn’t you be dancing with Grace? Remember Grace?” She stalked away, her nose in the air, and Herbie’s face turned the color of roasted beets before he moved off in the other direction.
“I think I’ll finish this now,” Rosemary said, slugging back the rest of her G&T once they’d finished convulsing over Marjorie Ainsworth’s bad fortune.
Chapter 6
“I think I’m about to get my chance to slip out and meet Grace.” Rose pointed toward where the band had stopped playing, and Ernest Cuthburt, the man from the foyer, took center stage. “Can you keep watch in case someone notices our absence?”
“Of course, but be careful poking around,” Vera warned, turning her attention back to the stage.
The man cleared his throat before speaking. “Please pardon my interruption, but I’d like to say a few words about the couple we’re here to celebrate tonight. For those of you who do not know me, I’m Ernest Cuthburt, and I have known the Bartons since their children were babies. I am proud to say, my godchildren, Theodore and Grace, are more family to me than my own."
That explained why he had felt comfortable enough to enter rooms the Bartons had wanted to remain free of guests, and also why he had so blatantly challenged the butler. Mr. Cuthburt clapped a hand to his friend’s back, and Rosemary noted how very similar the two men were in appearance. Both wore suits of nearly identical color and style even if there was a noticeable difference in the quality.
Though Mr. Cuthburt had displayed behavior of a somewhat questionable nature, he appeared far more genial than Mr. Barton, and Rosemary decided that of the two she liked him far more than her host.
As Mr. Cuthburt continued extolling the virtues of the Barton marriage, Rosemary had to raise an eyebrow considering the way Mr. Barton had behaved right in front of Mrs. Barton. She seized the opportunity to look around and take stock of the crowd. A few of the village ladies Rosemary recognized, and she could tell by the expressions on their faces and the way they kept glancing between Mr. and Mrs. Barton, that tomorrow, the gossip mill would churn at full speed. She highly doubted anything they had to say would be considered complementary and felt sorry for Grace and Teddy. Both seemed like good people despite having been raised by a couple who didn’t appear to have endeared themselves to their neighbors.
Looking around, she noticed someone else who had her eyes trained on the stage. Marjorie Ainsworth’s face was blank, though a muscle near her upper lip twitched slightly. When Mrs. Barton regarded her with a sneering glare, Marjorie dropped her hands to her sides, turned on her heel, and retreated towards the bar.
Observation is a sleuth’s most useful tool, Andrew had always said, and he was correct. Rose was learning a lot about the situation at Barton Manor just by watching the way the guests interacted with their hosts. Nothing she’d seen painted the Bartons in the best light, but she wondered if jealousy over their wealth might have something to do with popular opinion. Deciding to hold out judgment, for the time being, she began planning her exit.
Rosemary waited until the guests applauded Mr. Cuthburt’s speech before she seized the opportunity to slip out the side door of the ballroom. Instead of finding Grace waiting for her, Rosemary was pleasantly surprised to encounter her brother, Frederick, who had been standing in the doorway watching Mr. Cuthburt give his toast with a cynical expression on his face. “Rosie,” he exclaimed, slinging an arm around his sister’s shoulders.
“Hello, Freddie, I was wondering when you’d show up. Why did you want to come to this thing, anyway? It’s not exactly your usual scene.”
Blue eyes that perfectly matched hers crinkled as full lips turned up into a mischievous grin. “Now and then, I like a change of scenery.”
“You mean Mother dragged you here hoping to pair you off to the most eligible woman she could find. I’m in the same boat,” Rosemary lamented. “Shall I hand you an oar?”
Frederick elbowed her in the ribs. "In your case, it might be working. Don't think I didn't notice the look on your face when Theodore Barton passed you that drink. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the room. Though I think I’m more handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Don’t you agree?”
Rosemary rolled her eyes at her brother. “You are the most handsome, of course, Freddie.” Indeed, her brother was handsome, with his unruly curls and the aforementioned eyes, plus an air of unattainability that many women seemed to want to challenge. Occasionally self-absorbed to the point of narcissism, Frederick was under the impression he would always come up short when compared to his older brother. Overcompensation, that’s what drove Frederick, though his attitude grated on their father’s nerves.
“And I’m not here to meet anyone,” Rosemary continued. “I’m here to help Grace with a little investigating.” Frederick would worm the truth out of her eventually anyway, and since she held more of his secrets than he’d like for her to have, he wouldn’t dare bare any of hers to the world.
That did not also mean he wouldn’t give her an earful of his opinion on the subject, however, and Rosemary prepared for an onslaught while she filled her brother in on the details. To her surprise, he said nothing, only pierced her with those blue eyes and nodded once.
“Say whatever it is you have to say, brother dear. I can take it.”
“I’m not saying a word, Rosie. In fact, I think a project might be exactly what you need. You’re going to have to do this with my help, though, because there’s no way I’m letting you put yourself in harm’s way.”
Since it was easier to let Freddie think he was indulging her whim, or worse, that he was supporting her in an endeavor meant to help her get over Andrew, she merely nodded and left him to his illusions.
“Have you seen Grace around?” Rosemary asked. “We agreed to meet once the toasts had begun, but she’s not here.”
Frederick shook his head, “No, but I’m not entirely certain which one she is. I have never met her before.”
“I thought you knew these people, Freddie,” Rosemary chided.
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br /> “Only Mr. Barton, and only in a business capacity. Limited business capacity, because Father still insists upon chaperoning me as though I were a two-year-old.” Their father kept a tight hand on his business affairs, so much so that Rosemary had only a vague idea of what the family business entailed. To finance the productions of the textiles sold by Woolridge & Sons, Cecil Woolridge had invested money in a variety of other companies, but the details were so seldom discussed that she had never given it much thought.
“She’s wearing a sapphire cocktail dress with fringe along the hem,” Rosemary explained to her brother, “and this cute little pair of—oh, never mind, just follow me.” She led him into the ballroom and looked around for Grace.
Instead, her attention was captured when the main doors, the ones leading into the ballroom from the foyer, opened to frame Vera's mother in the doorway. Lorraine Blackburn posed without seeming to pose in a sequined gown that was more than a touch too fancy for this occasion but sparkled in the light. She was even more lovely than Vera, and that was saying something. Rosemary watched as her mother parted from the crowd and attached herself to the newcomer, following slightly behind like a puppy as Lorraine made her way towards the bar.
“Now the party officially begins,” Frederick whispered conspiratorially to Rose. Every eye in the room seemed trained on Mrs. Blackburn; most of the men’s wide with appreciation, while many of the women’s narrowed to slits of envy. Lorraine pretended not to notice even though it was clear she was used to—and enjoyed—the attention. Rosemary glanced around and fastened her gaze on Mrs. Barton, who glared at Mrs. Blackburn with barely concealed hatred.
“It seems there isn’t a woman here who Mrs. Barton gets along with, including her daughter,” Rosemary whispered back. “She looks like a snake, and Vera’s mother is the poor mouse who does not understand she is about to be swallowed whole.”
Frederick’s cheeks pulled up into a grin. “I believe the viper will come to quite a shock when she realizes Lorraine Blackburn has fangs of her own. Lorraine is the type of woman who is either loved or hated. There can be nothing in between. Come on, I need a drink.” He led Rosemary towards the bar while she continued scanning the room for signs of Grace.
Herbert Lock, still attempting to get his hooks into Marjorie, was explaining a complicated drink recipe to the bartender, and the look on his face when he turned around to find Frederick and Rosemary standing there was one of immense irritation.
“Hey there, Herbie,” Frederick said as though he were speaking to a child on the playground. “Taking advantage of the open bar, I see.” It didn’t sound as though the idea surprised him.
Herbert scowled at Rose’s brother, ignoring her completely, then glanced between Marjorie and the dance floor as if making a silent suggestion. Her eyes trained on Frederick, she didn’t spare Herbert another glance.
“And who might you be?” Marjorie asked in the same tone she had used with Theodore Barton, strengthening Rose’s opinion that the woman was an opportunist looking for rich, handsome prey.
“This is my brother, Frederick Woolridge,” Rose answered, amused by the look of sheer annoyance that passed across Marjorie’s face when Freddie failed to supply a name. “Freddie, this is Marjorie Ainsworth.”
“The famous Marjorie Ainsworth,” Freddie boomed, pleased at the prospect of both ticking off Herbert and being flirted with by a woman of Marjorie’s caliber. She was lovely, at least when she was quiet and had a target in her sights. “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. We don’t get many newcomers way out here in Pardington, and it seems you’ve been making quite a splash with the locals.”
Of course, she believes that to be a good thing, Rose thought to herself while Marjorie preened and leaned a little closer to Frederick. How can she not see the insult?
“I’m sure not even the wildest stories could have truly done me justice,” Marjorie flirted shamelessly, “though, you could find that out for yourself if you were so inclined.”
Freddie grinned, but earned himself a few good brother points when he replied, “I’ve got to make the rounds with my lovely sister first, but I’d take a rain check if you’re giving them out.”
Marjorie bit back a scowl and pasted a smile on her face, "Yes, that would be lovely." Her voice was tight, and when she noticed Herbert's smirk, she looked as though she wanted to punch him right there in the Bartons’ ballroom.
“Well done, brother mine,” Rose muttered to Freddie as she linked arms with him and began walking in the opposite direction. “Watch out for her, she’s a man-eater if I ever saw one.”
“Just the way I like them, Rosie. Just the way I like them.”
Across the room, Rosemary spotted Vera wearing an expression of extreme boredom as she nodded along to whatever her companion was saying. As Grace had failed to appear, Rosemary pushed through the crowd and approached her friend, who shot her a look of gratitude and Freddie a narrow-eyed glare. The last time Freddie had been in London, Vera had lost a rather sizable bet to him, though neither would address the specific terms. Money changed hands between those two like after-dinner mints, and when they were together, both of them acted as though they were still children and not fully grown adults.
“This is Mr. Arthur Abbot, an associate of Mr. Barton’s,” Vera explained. Rosemary was beginning to wonder if this party had been an excuse for Edgar Barton to gather all of his business partners in one place. He didn’t appear particularly excited about celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of his marriage to Mrs. Barton, and in fact, Rosemary hadn’t seen the feted couple together since the beginning of the evening. Not even during Mr. Cuthburt’s speech had Mrs. Barton stood with her husband. Perhaps she had also realized her anniversary party was a farce.
Come to think of it, Rosemary realized she had lost sight of Mr. Barton entirely. Another scan of the room revealed no brown-suited man. Dragging her attention back to the introduction at hand, she greeted the man who was now smiling at her as though she might be dim.
“Hello, Mr. Abbot,” Rosemary replied politely. “Do you know my brother, Frederick Woolridge?”
“Not personally, no. I know your father, though. Good man, Cecil Woolridge.” Mr. Abbot boomed. “I was just telling your friend here about my newest art acquisition,” Abbot continued without waiting for anyone to reply. No wonder Vera had felt trapped—it didn’t seem as though one could get a word in edgewise when Arthur Abbot had the floor.
While the man expounded upon the sublime beauty and resonant eloquence of a single brush stroke, all Rosemary could think about was the size and shape of the mole above his eyebrow. Two thick hairs sprouted from one end and made it look as though an overly large brown ladybird had landed upon the man’s forehead and decided to take up residence there. Fascinated, it wasn’t until she heard Abbot mention the word injection that she was able to pull her attention back to the conversation.
It appeared he had moved on to another topic.
“Having to be under the care of a personal physician is an inconvenience, but I do believe the treatment will add years to my life. Worth it, hey?” An elbow shot towards Freddie’s ribs, but he sidestepped handily, and, fixing his eyes upon a spot over Arthur Abbot’s shoulder, feigned a look of resignation.
“Why Rosemary, I believe we’re getting the high sign. The mater and pater seem to need a word.” To Arthur, he said, “Fascinating story, old chap. Must tell me how it all turns out.” He gave the man a hearty thump on the back.
Before the daggers in Vera’s eyes could turn lethal, Rosemary saved the day. “Vera, would you mind awfully if I tore you away for a moment?”
“Of course, darling. Whatever you need.” The three young people attempted to make their escape, while Abbot trailed behind, too thick to take the hint.
Rosemary finally spotted Grace who, in the midst of ducking out one of the doors to the balcony spanning the exterior of the ballroom, turned sideways as she passed Mr. Cuthburt on his way back inside. No, doing a doubl
e take, Rosemary realized it was actually Mr. Barton, cheeks flushed from the cold and brow furrowed in what appeared to be irritation, who had just walked by his only daughter without sparing her a glance.
Rose poked Frederick in the side while Mr. Abbot, having returned to his former preoccupation, continued to wax on about how many paintings he had purchased from an up-and-coming artist in London. Normally, this was a conversation Rosemary could sink her teeth into, but for the moment she had more pressing concerns.
“Sorry, brother, I owe you one,” she said low enough so only Frederick could hear, and with Vera in tow, mercilessly ditched him to Mr. Abbot’s tender graces.
Chapter 7
Once outside, Rosemary shivered in the chill that had crept into the fresh spring air now that the sun had set. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and looked around for Grace.
Veering left, and following the curve of the balcony, she could see the outlines of party guests on the other side of the curtained windows. It reminded her of the theater, all the characters playing their respective roles, while she, as an observer, watched in silence. Except, it was as though she’d come in at intermission and missed the first act in its entirety. This, to her, was a familiar sensation, one she’d experienced many times during an investigation, and it only piqued her curiosity. The desire to unravel the puzzle strengthened her resolve to learn who might threaten the owner of Barton Manor.
Escalating voices pulled Rosemary out of her reverie, and she followed them until she could see Grace’s shadow splayed across the stone floor just around the next bend.
“Come on, Grace. What I’m asking is easy kale to a man like your father. We know Teddy is in for the lion’s share, so we need something to keep us rolling in the green for the rest of our lives. You and me, that’s the plan, right?” Rosemary recognized the whiny, grating tone of Herbert Lock’s voice, and held her breath while she eavesdropped without remorse.
