by Emily Queen
She preceded Vera inside, and, inhaling the familiar scents, recalled the many meals she had taken at the little tearoom over the years. As a testament to how long it had been since the last time, Rosemary recognized none of the workers and few of the patrons. She and Vera circled around a large pillar standing in the middle of the space, hoping to snag their favorite hidden table, only to find that a familiar face already occupied it.
“Frederick!” Rosemary exclaimed. “Shouldn’t you be at the house, sleeping off your hangover beneath your bed covers or commanding Mother’s staff to fetch you tea?” Thankfully, he smelled as though he had bathed and was no longer wearing the same wrinkled suit from the previous evening.
Her brother leaned back in his chair and grinned. “The best cure for a night of excess is a plate of Mrs. Shropshire’s fish and chips. All that grease soaks up what’s left of the booze.”
“Frederick Woolridge, you dirty little rat! Did I hear you call my food greasy?” A grumpy voice caused Rosemary to spin on her heel and come face to face with the Mrs. in question.
She rushed forward to embrace the wrinkled old woman glaring at Frederick with mock indignation in her eyes. “Mrs. Shropshire, how good to see you,” Rosemary said sincerely.
“If you were about to say it’s been too long, you would be right, girl.” An arthritic finger wagged at Rosemary. “Your rascal of a brother keeps insisting you are quite fine and that you have not, in fact, been avoiding us, but I have wondered whether he has always had brown eyes or if he is just full to the brim with cow manure. As for you, Miss Vera. If this is how frequently you visit home, you have been neglecting not only me but your dear, sweet mother as well.”
Vera raised an eyebrow. “You must be the only person in Pardington who might call my mother a ‘dear, sweet’ anything, Mrs. Shropshire.”
“You always were a disrespectful little imp. Now, come here and let me look at you.” Vera preened beneath Mrs. Shropshire’s gaze and did a little twirl that lifted her skirt. “Too much leg, if you ask me. Not that you would listen to the opinions of a tired old woman, anyway. Quite lovely legs, I will admit, but that does not mean you have to flaunt them in front of us who have only the ravages of time beneath our skirts. Downright cruel, that’s what it is.”
Rose and Vera locked eyes and giggled. The grins on their faces would have confused the casual onlooker, incongruous with the conversation as they were. Mrs. Shropshire’s tongue was as sharp as the knives she used to carve her meats, and she had a history of using it to razz the young crowd. She also kept a pocket stocked with butterscotch candies and slipped them to children when their parents weren’t looking.
Once, during their disenchanted youth, Vera had drunk enough to get sloshed and then sicked up in the alley behind the tearoom. Mrs. Shropshire found her, helped clean her up, and forced her to eat some of the aforementioned hangover-curing fish and chips. She gave Vera one free pass, threatening to call Mrs. Blackburn if she ever so much as caught a whiff of alcohol on the girl’s breath again.
Rosemary, possessed of a nature far less wild, never required a similar threat. She had spent many an afternoon telling Mrs. Shropshire all her secrets and being doted upon in a way she rarely experienced at home. The old woman’s bark was worse than her bite, and now that she had dispensed with the vim and vinegar, the smile on her face telegraphed just how thrilled she was to have the three of them all back under her roof.
“Now, tell me, darlings, why are you in town? Sick of London, are you? Planning on settling back into village life?”
“Actually,” Frederick cut in, thoroughly enjoying himself, “Rosie and Vera are trying to solve a mystery. You’ve surely heard about the events last night at Barton Manor?”
Mrs. Shropshire’s grin turned upside down. “Naturally. You know how fast word travels in these parts.” She surveyed Rosemary, who waited for another onslaught of warnings against involving herself in a murder investigation.
Instead, the woman sat down with a grunt and pinned Rosemary with a look. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail.”
Unable and unwilling to argue, Rosemary gave out with the short version. “Someone shot Ernest Cuthburt, and I, along with Grace Barton, found the body in Mr. Barton’s study. There is some speculation regarding whether Mr. Barton himself was the intended victim, and right now poor Grace and our dear Freddie are on the inspector’s list of suspects.”
Mrs. Shropshire’s eyebrows raised clear to her hairline. “Hogwash. Utter hogwash. Surely you don’t believe Miss Grace capable of murder.” That Freddie might have been behind the caper was too ridiculous to address.
“Of course not,” Rosemary replied. “There are several others who would have had the opportunity, and now we are trying to discern motives for each one. Do you happen to know anything about Marjorie Ainsworth or Herbert Lock?”
She, Vera, and Frederick leaned in while Mrs. Shropshire eased back in her chair and smiled a conspiratorial smile. "Whether it has anything to do with the murder, I couldn't say, but those two scalawags are up to no good. They have taken tea together at least twice this week, and they spent the entire time huddled against one another, speaking in hushed voices."
“How interesting.” Vera voiced Rosemary’s thoughts out loud. “Based on the conversation we witnessed between them, there was no love lost. In fact, Marjorie was pushing Herbert toward Grace, and it was clear as day she wanted Teddy for herself.”
Mrs. Shropshire grimaced. “If there was a romance between them, I’ll serve shoe pie for supper. Sheer greed, it looked like to me.”
“Why am I not surprised that even given the hushed voices, you still managed to overhear their conversation?” Vera grinned at Mrs. Shropshire with a mixture of amusement and admiration.
The older woman winked at Vera. “Old buildings have funny echoes, my girl. ‘Tis no fault of mine if voices carry to my poor, innocent ears. Mr. Lock and Ms. Ainsworth spoke at length about money, and Marjorie went at him about getting her funds back. It seems she trusted a sum of money to Mr. Lock and had not seen hide nor hair of profit.”
Rose tapped her fingers on the edge of the table while the implications chased circles in her head. If Marjorie got her hands on even a portion of Teddy’s fortune, and Herbert his own on Grace’s, it would set the two of them up for life.
Rosemary voiced her theory to the table. “Even so, it doesn’t wash.”
“What’s on your mind, Rosie?” Frederick asked.
She chewed on her lip for almost a full minute before responding. “The timing is all wrong. I can’t see a viable motive for killing Mr. Cuthburt or even making an attempt at Mr. Barton. Not for that pair, anyway. Surely they would want him alive until after the matches were final. His death would put the kibosh on the whole scheme.”
“I agree.” Vera nodded.
“Who else is on the suspect list, sister dear?” Frederick inquired.
“It isn’t a terribly long one, according to Max. The only guests who were still present—at least, that we know of—were all of our family members, all of whom we can rule out, plus a handful of others. Marjorie and Herbert, the Bartons of course, and Arthur Abbot.”
Mrs. Shropshire frowned. “Arthur Abbot. The name is familiar, but I can’t put it to a face.”
“A chronic bore about the same age as Mr. Barton and Mr. Cuthburt, I expect,” Rosemary explained. “Went on and on about some piece of artwork he thought was the gnat’s whistle. Unfortunately, Vera took the brunt of it.”
“I certainly did.” Vera shuddered and took a sip of tea. “If he hadn’t been such a flat tire, I’d have thought him a poor little bunny. I expect his portion of the business has to do with keeping records or some such drudgery. Probably knows his onions, but I spent most of the time watching the large, rather disturbing mole above his left eyebrow dance around while he spoke.” She shuddered again at the memory.
A wave of recognition swept across Mrs. Shropshire’s face. “Ah. That one has
been in here a few times. Bought a house in town recently, from what I’ve gathered. Seems a decent enough chap, speaks highly of his late wife.”
“Ever notice anything odd about him?” Rosemary asked. “Excepting the infamous mole?”
“Nothing leaps to mind. Came over polite and mannerly, unlike you lot of hooligans, who have kept me from my work long enough,” Mrs. Shropshire said, rising with more agility than a woman her age ought to possess. “I expect I shall pay close attention the next time I see the man, and I also expect you to come around and pry for the details.”
Once they had piled back into the car, Frederick snorted. “My money is on Mr. Barton himself if you want to know the truth. He throws the party as a smokescreen, providing the good inspector with a plethora of suspects, and makes it look as though he were the real target. It’s a brilliant plan if I do say so myself.”
“You could be right, Freddie, you could be right,” Rosemary mused. “Except, he never left the ballroom during the time of the murder. Perhaps it was Mrs. Barton, sick and tired of her husband turning even their wedding anniversary into an excuse to conduct business. You know we heard them arguing earlier. It seems Mrs. Barton thinks her husband is having an affair with another woman. Though, who she thinks would take a second look at that man is a mystery. Mr. Cuthburt and Mr. Abbot were both partners to Mr. Barton, he had some arrangement with Herbert Lock, and then there is the conversation Vera witnessed between him and Marjorie. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings any to see that man taken down a notch or two.”
Vera had listened to Rosemary and Frederick's conversation quietly. "I believe you are not alone in that opinion. We forget one vital clue, though. The letter. The mysterious letter that disappeared so very conveniently, and which may not even exist. Could Grace have misread, or is she hiding something?"
Frederick’s eyebrow raised and he said thoughtfully, “If she refuses to speak to you, why not try to cozy up to her brother? You know, we pay far more attention to the goings-on in our sisters’ lives than we would like her to realize. Teddy comes off the protective type, and based on the way he was looking at you, Rosie, I think he would be more than happy to answer any questions you might be inclined to ask.”
Rose mimicked the expression on Frederick’s face, raised eyebrow and all. “I take it you do not subscribe to Mother’s theory that Teddy is the most dangerous of the Bartons? Or doesn’t your protective nature extend to your sister spending time with a possible patricidal maniac?”
“I have no intention of leaving you—either of you—alone with any of those people. Trust me, I have a plan.”
Chapter 20
Frederick’s brilliant idea entailed inviting Teddy and Grace to the Woolridge House stables for an afternoon horseback ride through the countryside. Rosemary had to admit that she’d missed the thrill of having a powerful animal beneath her, and the feel of the wind against her face as she sailed across the hills.
It seemed both Barton children had jumped to get away from the manor for an afternoon. Given it had only been a handful of days since the infamous party, Rose was glad to see the siblings bouncing back. Grace looked to be in better spirits than Rosemary had ever seen her. Teddy also appeared more relaxed, and it was an easy chore to persuade him to stick close to her side.
Welcome were the few moments of peaceful quiet as Frederick and Vera, who could have easily kept up with Rosemary and Teddy, hung back to keep company with a far more cautious Grace. As she had promised, she stayed within her brother’s line of sight but felt no danger radiating from the man who now crouched near the bank of a narrow stream and allowed the cool water to run over his fingers.
Teddy did not speak to Rosemary, only peered at her with a curious expression on his face until she finally broke the silence. “For someone with such a quick tongue, you are awfully quiet today.”
He smirked. “I thought it best if I kept my opinions to myself after angering you the other night. I would say your tongue is quicker than mine, and it is also razor sharp.”
“At least you refrained from asking me if I am all right,” Rosemary said with a small smile and a sigh. “That would have earned you a thorough lashing.”
He raised his hand in the scout salute and said with mock seriousness, “I swear never to inquire as to your well-being ever again.”
Rosemary could not help but chuckle, and the ice was broken. He had the demeanor and charisma that men of means often do, but instead of making one feel inconsequential, Teddy Barton inspired a feeling of comfortability that Rose guessed drew women to him like moths to a flame.
How many had burnt to cinders under his attention? That was the question of the day.
“If I might venture an opinion, you display a great deal more mettle than my sister. She always has been possessed of delicate sensibilities, and I think this whole thing has taken quite a toll. She is not acting herself,” Teddy said thoughtfully. “I have to say, I don’t like it. It’s easy to forget how precious family is until you are faced with losing one of them.”
Rose’s throat thickened painfully, his words resonating with her. She had known how lucky she was to have Andrew in her life and had done her level best to communicate her thoughts on the matter to him as often as possible. Still, she felt that there had been more she could have done, more love she could have given. She supposed that was normal and tried to push the thought from her mind.
“I think her reaction is quite normal. Finding the deceased came as a shock to us both, and you must remember Grace believed it to be your father in that chair. I expect it will take months for her to erase those few horrific seconds from her memory.”
Nor was Grace the only one who would relive the experience. Shuddering, Rosemary added, “Worse for her coming so hard on the heels of a rather unpleasant interaction with that simpering nitwit your father wants her to marry. Don’t underestimate her too strongly. After all, she agreed to come with us today.”
Teddy frowned while Rosemary gazed into the distance towards where Frederick’s and Grace’s horses had fallen even further behind Vera’s. She judged she had a few more moments with Teddy before they were once again a foursome.
“Are you saying Herbert Lock harmed my sister?” he asked, his tongue now the one with lethal edges.
Rosemary shook her head. “He only got as physical as grabbing her arm, but he treated her as though she was dirt under his feet.” She relayed what she had heard without a single pang of guilt. Grace needed someone to watch out for her, and her brother qualified as the most suitable option.
Teddy's fists had clenched into balls, and he stomped back and forth across the bank while his face turned a deep shade of red. "I should like to strangle him with my bare hands!" He roared and then stopped short when he noticed the look on Rosemary's face.
“I did not mean that,” Teddy said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Truly, I didn’t.” He exploded again. “I despise the sap. The mere mention of him puts me in a lather. Herbert Lock is a poor excuse for a man, and that he would treat a woman so callously proves precisely why.”
Still, Rose did not believe she was in any danger; however, the fact that Teddy’s mood could turn on a dime wouldn’t change her mother’s opinion that he might be the murderer. “Why do you suppose your father thinks him a viable option, then?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” He tapped his fingers against his leg. “The bigger mystery is why Grace hesitates to make her feelings known in the matter. Father wouldn’t force her to marry a man she dislikes, no matter what the reason.”
“Could it have anything to do with business?” Rosemary said, leading the conversation in the direction she needed it to take.
Teddy frowned. “No, I wouldn’t think so. Father isn’t in business with Herbert, and I don’t believe he has any intention of changing his mind on that score. We’ve worked diligently to ensure that Barton & Co. adheres to the letter of the law.”
It was an odd thing to say, and to Rosemary indicated
that, as she had already gleaned, the company hadn’t always operated in an upright manner. Despite some misgivings, she said as much to Teddy.
“No.” He sighed. “We weren’t always on the up-and-up. That was mostly before my time, and partly due to changes in the law. However, the situation has been a right mess to clean up.”
Rosemary filed the information away for later.
“As far as Grace is concerned,” Teddy said setting his jaw determinedly, “I can assure you she will not wed the deplorable Herbert Lock, as I intend to expose him for the cad he truly is. Whatever business my father has with him is over.”
Now she’d gone too far, Rosemary realized and tried to rectify the oversight. “Have a care, Teddy. It’s possible Herbert is a murderer, and equally possible your father was the intended target. Running him out of town at this stage of the game might put an innocent man in the gallows.”
Freddie was the man Rosemary meant, but she thought Teddy might have taken the wrong impression when she saw the look on his face. He started to speak, then stopped short as Frederick, Grace, and Vera approached, but his expression told Rosemary he may have regretted saying so much. Why he had been so forthcoming, she could not be sure. She hoped it meant that he had been honest with her. The two did not always mean the same thing.
Frederick appraised the pair, and Rosemary was sure he had noticed the anger that had crossed Teddy’s face. She directed a smile and a nod in his direction to let him know that there was nothing to worry over.
“That was exhilarating,” Grace said, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting us out. It sure beats sitting around at home waiting for another argument to break out, doesn’t it Teddy?” She dismounted carefully and placed a hand on her abdomen.
Her brother nodded, his eyes fixed on Grace, his expression speculative. “Indeed. Are you all right?”
“Yes, dear brother,” Grace grinned. “I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit overexerted.”
