Mrs Lillywhite Investigates Box Set

by Emily Queen

  “I know. It’s all anyone can talk about. Word is poor Mr. Lock was shot with the same gun as Mr. Cuthburt. Half the townsfolk are hiding in their homes lest they end up dead.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rosemary replied, rounding the corner from the telephone room, “neither of these crimes was random. It’s not as though there’s a crazed axe murderer on the loose.”

  “Oh, they’re enjoying it, really.” She grinned. "Nothing exciting ever happens around here. You two be careful, you hear. You’re putting yourselves in danger. I expect to hear from you by the end of the day, else I’ll worry. You understand me?” Mrs. Shropshire’s tone brooked no refusal, so Rose and Vera promised to ring her as soon as they could then insisted they must be on their way.

  They piled back into the car just in time for Wadsworth to hear the tail end of Rose and Vera’s conversation. “Who exactly are we tailing?” he asked, his tone dry as desert sand.

  “Grace Barton,” Rose said in a tone that mirrored the one Mrs. Shropshire had just used. “That snooty butler of theirs informed me she had business in London and would leave within the half hour. He declined to disturb Grace and insinuated that I shouldn’t be bothering Miss Grace. Thank you, Wadsworth, for, well, for being you.”

  “My pleasure, Madam.”

  They caught a lucky break when Grace’s town car pulled onto the street and headed in the direction of the village. Her pale face was visible through the cracked rear window, and she wore an eager expression that smacked of deceit to the pair of sleuths who trailed her. Wadsworth angled the car out of the chapel lane where it had been hidden behind a bank of shrubbery and followed several car lengths behind.

  “It appears Wadsworth has done this type of thing before,” Vera commented absently.

  "I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true," Rose said, thankful the partition between the front and back seats was up so he couldn't hear their conversation. "Andrew asked him to drive occasionally, and I always wondered why when we had a full-time driver on call."

  Vera peered at Rose, suddenly more focused than she had been previously. It had been days since Rose had mentioned her late husband, and for the first time, her voice had lost some of the bitterness and anger.

  “Does investigating make you feel closer to him?” she asked, hoping it was the right thing to do and then deciding she didn’t care if it wasn’t. They were long past the point where propriety dictated their actions towards one another, and she knew Rose would ask the tough questions if their roles were reversed.

  “It does, yes,” Rose said, her eyes taking on a dreamy, far-away quality. “It’s as though he’s guiding me, somehow. The pain is less when I’m able to think of him as he was when he was alive instead of focusing on the fact he’s gone. I wonder if he’d be proud of me, or angry that I’m taking a risk.”

  “I believe he would be proud of you, Rose,” Vera said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. I also believe he would want you to move on, eventually, and be happy with someone else.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Pot, for finding humor in your advice. While I might be the kettle, we are both of the same dark hue.”

  Lionel had been gone far longer than Andrew, and Vera showed no sign of settling down.

  "We are cut of a different cloth, Rosie my love. I find pleasure in the gay life of parties and harmless flirting. I've had my share of men."

  Wadsworth wisely declined comment, but the tips of his ears turned red.

  “Andrew would want you happy,” Vera repeated.

  Rosemary’s eyes welled with tears. “I know that he would, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to do so. You must understand.”

  “I do, my love. I do. When this is all over, you and I will take a long holiday. We’ll sit by the sea and breathe in the salty air, and let go of our demons once and for all.”

  They followed Grace all the way to London, and into a section of town that wasn’t considered high-end by any means, but where the streets were clear of debris and several businesses had set up shop. Wadsworth raised the partition as Grace’s car pulled to a stop on the side of the road. She exited, pulled her coat over her shoulders, and looked furtively around as she crossed the street and entered an establishment.

  Rose practically pulled Vera from the vehicle and glanced up at the sign above the door where Grace had disappeared. “It’s a chemist’s shop,” she stated with a raised eyebrow.

  “Perhaps she’s planning on taking another stab at murdering her father,” Vera mused. “This time with a little addition to his nightly decanter of whiskey.” Her cheeks turned pink as she realized what she’d just said. “That wasn’t nice. I suppose I’d rather it turn out to be Grace than have Frederick hang for the crime. Still, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you had a moment of weakness,” Rose promised while she threw caution to the wind and pressed her face close to the glass to look inside the shop.

  It was empty as far as Rose could tell, except for Grace, who stood at the counter speaking furtively to the man behind it. Something in the way she held herself, leaning towards him, and her expression told Rose this wasn’t a man Grace had just met. It was a man with whom she had a relationship, and the pieces began to fall into place as Rose recalled some of the things Grace had said.

  The comment about how Grace having no trouble finding a husband floated through Rose‘s mind.

  “I’m uncertain whether this helps her case or worsens it, but I believe we have discovered the reason Grace was so against being forced to marry Herbert Lock. Or, more accurately, one reason, aside from the fact that Herbert was an utter cad.” Rose crossed her arms while Vera took a peek.

  Grace reached across the counter and touched the chemist’s hand. He looked down at where her fingers lay against his skin, then back up with a regretful expression. The two spoke for another few moments, and when Grace exited the shop, her eyes were ringed with red. It was a look Rosemary had become used to seeing on the woman, and Teddy’s comment about his sister being fragile came flooding back.

  “Well, that was illuminating,” Vera said as she and Rosemary ducked back into the car to keep out of Grace’s sight. “What do you think, Rosie? Is she conspiring to kill her father, or has she gone and got herself in the family way?”

  Ignoring the choked sound made by Wadsworth, Rosemary allowed, “Either scenario might accomplish the same end.” Guiltily, because the image brought her some measure of pleasure, she pictured the apoplectic face of Mr. Barton should he learn his unwed daughter had a pea in the pod.

  “Remember how she acted when we took the horses out?” Vera reminded Rose. “Extraordinarily cautious, even though it was clear she’s a more than proficient rider. I thought it was odd at the time.” Speculation on the subject continued until Wadsworth’s dry voice cut through the talk.

  “I believe you shall get your chance to speak to Miss Grace on the subject.” He brought the car to a halt along the verge. There, in the road, stood Grace’s driver and the woman herself leaned against the boot of the car.

  That Grace had worked herself up over something was evident in the look on her face.

  Rosemary threw open the door without waiting for Wadsworth, only to have it nearly torn off when another automobile whizzed by.

  Heart beating rapidly at the near miss, Rosemary didn’t see the driver.

  She took her time and checked the road before she tried again, and once alighted from the car, stood beside it. Grace strode over to Rose and Vera, her face contorted into a look of fury. “What are you two doing here? Did you follow me?” There was more color in her face than Rosemary had seen for days.

  "We did because you left us no choice," Vera answered acidly. "You're in love with that man, aren't you?"

  Grace stared at Vera as if she’d gone mad. “Yes. Yes, I am in love with him. How does that affect you?” she asked, seemingly baffled by why Vera was so angry.

  “Because, Grace,” Rose
answered, “it gives you a motive for attempting to murder your father and Herbert Lock. Those murders are now being pinned on my brother, Frederick.”

  Goggling, Grace fanned her face with her hand. “When you said you believed I had nothing to do with this, you were lying. I can’t say I’m surprised. It isn’t as though either of you has ever attempted to be my friend before. I ought to have known you weren’t really my friends now.”

  She walked away.

  “Grace, wait,” Rose called, “please. For Frederick.” Her voice was pleading. Against her better judgment, Grace turned around.

  “I,” she enunciated carefully, “murdered no one. Particularly not Herbert. Father might be full of bluster, but there are ways around him if one is patient.”

  Head tilted, Rosemary assessed Grace’s face and posture for signs of prevarication, and finding none, had to relent. “I’m sorry, Grace, for not believing you. One does, however, have to put family before friendship, and my brother is being locked away for a crime he didn’t commit. You must understand my position. I can’t afford to dismiss anyone out of hand.”

  Now it was Vera’s turn to goggle. “Rose, you can’t be serious. We can’t keep confronting suspects and then just believing them when they say they didn’t do it.”

  “Do you think Grace guilty of murder?”

  Sighing, Vera admitted, “No, I suppose I don’t.”

  “Then let us stop wasting time chasing after her, shall we?”

  The matter of Grace’s innocence settled, all parties proceeded to Pardington.

  Anna must have been watching out the window. As the car pulled up, she emerged with a large umbrella to shield Rose and Vera from taking a soaking in the pouring rain that had begun to fall.

  Chapter 28

  The arrival back at Woolridge House saw Rosemary feeling defeated and at a loss. Her head was swimming, and all she wanted to do was take a nice, long bath. Vera declared she could use a bit of fresh, albeit exceedingly damp air, and elected to pull on a pair of Wellies and take a walk out to visit with the horses while Rose retired to her bedroom.

  “Anna, please make the water as hot as possible,” she said, rubbing the kink that had become lodged in her neck and shoulders.

  “Yes, Madam, is there anything else I can get for you?”

  With a shake of her head, Rose declined. “No, no, I’ll just find my slippers and close my eyes for a moment.” She remembered having kicked them underneath the bed and bent down to search. Her eyes lit upon a sheaf of papers, the sketches she had begun the night of the Bartons’ anniversary party.

  Retrieving them, she moved to the desk and noticed the sketch that her realization of Frederick’s absence had interrupted. Instinct rose up to set her blood thrumming in her veins. There was something here, she simply knew it.

  Rosemary leafed through the drawings, memories of the evening returning once more to swim vividly behind her eyes. There was the desk, strewn with papers and detritus, behind which Mr. Cuthburt had met his end; there was the ballroom where Rose had captured the allure of Mrs. Blackburn in shades of charcoal, as well as the look of envy on Mrs. Barton’s face; and the vision of Grace standing stiffly next to her father and mother.

  At the bottom of the pile was a sketch that made Rose’s hands shake with excitement and hope. Quickly, she snatched up the drawing she’d made at Leonard’s behest and compared the two.

  “Oh, my heavens,” Rose breathed, rousing Anna’s attention away from her task of returning a pile of dresses to their hangers. “I know who the murderer is.”

  Anna blinked a couple of times and dropped the garment she had been holding.

  “Drain the bath and go find Vera, please. Tell everyone to gather in the parlor. I’ll be right down.”

  The maid nodded and complied, leaving Rosemary alone for a moment. She was grateful for the reprieve and the opportunity to collect her thoughts. Glancing down at the paper in her hand, Rose shook her head and chided herself. She might have been able to spare Herbert Lock’s life, and Frederick’s misery, had she come to the realization sooner.

  It’s impossible to start at the beginning and skip straight to the end. Andrew’s words bubbled up from her memory. It’s in the middle where we discover the truth. Rosemary stood up, collected herself, and said a silent thank you to her late husband for having been a man who could comfort her even from beyond the grave.

  “It’s Arthur Abbot. He’s the murderer,” Rosemary explained to her family once they were all gathered in the parlor. “Look at this.” She showed them all the sketch of Mr. Cuthburt emerging from the cloakroom beneath the stairs in Barton Manor’s foyer. “I knew there was something off about that little room, and I’ve finally figured out what. It’s the end of a secret passage that leads upstairs.”

  Vera’s face cleared as she caught up with Rose’s supposition. The others, save for Leonard, who was grinning like the cat who ate the canary, appeared somewhat confused.

  “Don’t you see? He ducked out, killed Ernest Cuthburt, and then took the passage back down. He wasn’t counting on Frederick seeing him, but even so, he wasn’t close enough to the stairs or any other known exit, and therefore aroused no suspicion,” Rose explained. “I’m right, I can feel it. Despite the incongruous nature of her personality, I’ve never truly believed Grace was responsible.”

  Rosemary ignored Vera’s smirk since she had, indeed, thought Grace a possible killer at one point.

  “All Grace wanted was to get out from under her father’s thumb and marry her chemist, a man of whom she thought Mr. Barton would never approve. There are other ways to accomplish that without resorting to murder, and I’m positive she doesn’t have the stomach for it. We’ve already counted out Mr. Barton, Teddy, Marjorie, and of course poor Herbert Lock. Mrs. Barton never left the ballroom all night and was alibied by the staff for the time of the second murder. All the pieces fit together nicely.”

  Her father drummed his fingers on the table beside his chair and slipped a sliver of doubt into Rosemary’s conclusion. “What about Abbot’s alibi? That physician fellow stated that Arthur was with him, in one of the sitting rooms off the ballroom, from half-past eleven to nearly midnight.”

  Rosemary faltered, her mind searching for an explanation, and wondering how a man who couldn’t remember what he ate for breakfast could suddenly recall the specific details of Mr. Abbot’s alibi. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. The physician is lying. I’ll just have to prove it.”

  “Maybe not.” The admission came from the most unlikely of mouths: that of Mrs. Woolridge. “We only need him to confess. Isn’t that how they always do it in books? Set a trap, get him to talk. Don’t the criminals always want to tell their story? Then we can let the inspector handle the rest.”

  Stella's eyes nearly popped out of her head, but she kept her mouth firmly closed. "Wipe that look of incredulity off your face, daughter," Evelyn said anyway. "I want this case closed, and my son returned so we can all go back to our normal lives. If it means a little game of entrapment, well, that's exactly what we'll do."

  Everyone present nodded their heads in agreement. "For Frederick," they agreed and set about making a plan.

  “What about the Bartons? Do you suppose they’ll go along with it?” Rosemary posed the question that, if not answered in the affirmative, would toss a spanner in her idea.

  Her father stood, determined. “Never you mind about the Bartons. I’ll take care of them. Give me a few moments.” He strode out of the room and returned a short time later with a smile upon his face.

  “I told Edgar that we’d discovered who the murderer is and that if he didn’t cooperate with my requests, he wouldn’t get another penny from Woolridge & Sons. He confirmed that he has been out hunting ever since he heard the news of Herbert’s death, and he hasn’t spoken to anyone outside his family all day.”

  The pieces fell into place as several calls were made. Mrs. Woolridge left to ring Mrs. Blackburn and then, when she
was finished, left the door open for Vera. Once Marjorie Ainsworth was instructed to find herself at Barton Manor later in the evening, it was Rose’s turn to make a call.

  "I need to speak to Inspector Whittington, please." Rose's mouth formed a thin line as she listened to Max's housekeeper's reply. "Do you happen to know when he's due back?" Another pause and she let out a sigh. "Can you please tell him Rosemary Lillywhite needs to speak with him regarding a matter of some urgency? Yes, he will know how to get in touch with me. Yes, I will try his office. Thank you."

  Rose depressed the receiver to disconnect and then immediately placed another call, but still could not reach Max. “Drat,” she spat, before returning to the parlor. She hoped her message would reach him in time, but reassured herself that if it came down to the wire, the local police would have to do in his place. Then, she summoned Anna for the final preparations.

  “We don’t have time to wait for a messenger, and since Arthur Abbot has not been to Woolridge House since we arrived, that means you’re the only one he won’t recognize,” Rosemary told her maid. “I’m counting on you to deliver this to him.” She handed the shaking Anna a sealed envelope. “Wadsworth will drive you. I trust he can keep from being seen unless it’s necessary. There will be a special bonus in it for you.”

  Anna didn’t appear to relish the thought of delivering a message to a murderer, but she trusted her mistress and decided the possibility of a new dress or perhaps a pair of shoes was worth the risk. Once she had departed, it was time to wash and dress for an evening of subterfuge.

  “What about us?” Stella asked before anyone else could exit the parlor, indicating herself and Leonard. “We don’t want to miss out on all the excitement yet again.”

  Mrs. Woolridge raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “You have a child to look after, dear. It’s best if you stay behind where it’s safe.”

  For a moment Rose thought her sister would do as she always did and submit to Evelyn’s demands without argument. However, it seemed Stella had reached her breaking point. “Mother, if you want another grandchild out of me, I’d suggest you have second thoughts. We’re coming, and that’s final.”