Death by the Book

by Deering, Julianna

  “I may have been born at night, young man, but it wasn’t last night. Though I see how an innocent girl could be taken in by that glib tongue. Well, your foreign ways are no match for honest American truth, Mr. Farthering, and if Madeline is old enough to be in such a fix, she’s old enough to hear it. I hope and trust that, as you say, she is a good girl. Yet whatever she has or hasn’t done, she’s coming back home with me and no more nonsense about it. I won’t have her staying here for you to play upon her sweet, easily led nature.”

  He glanced at Madeline, and she could see him holding back a chuckle. Sweet, to be sure, the gleam in his eyes said, but easily led?

  Aunt Ruth jerked her head toward the door. “Come along, Madeline. I’m sure that lazy girl has your things packed by now. The cab is waiting.”

  “No.” Madeline tightened her hold on Drew’s hand, but she didn’t raise her eyes.

  Aunt Ruth pursed her lips and glared at Drew. “Don’t be stubborn, Madeline. We don’t have time for it. Get up.”

  “I’m not going.” Madeline lifted her head, her mouth set in a firm line. “I’m staying here.”

  “Darling.” Drew pressed her hand to his lips. “I’m so glad. I can inquire into getting a special license—”

  “I didn’t say I’d marry you, either.” She hoped her expression was cool and imperious, despite the tremor in her voice. “I’m not going to be rushed into or out of any decision as important as this one.”

  Drew kissed her hand again, a mingling of pride and disappointment in his eyes. “Nor should you be, darling. I’ve told you before, I want you to be sure of me. As sure as I am of you.”

  “Madeline Felicity Parker, if you think for one minute—”

  This time Madeline looked the older woman in the eye. “I’m not going, Aunt Ruth.”

  Her hand trembled a bit in Drew’s, but she didn’t look away.

  Aunt Ruth threatened, cajoled, warned, and pled, but it was all to no avail. Madeline wasn’t going home. Not yet.

  “Very well. You’ve taken the bit in your teeth. I suppose there’s nothing else but to let you run with it.” The older woman strode out of the parlor and, seeing Nick on the stairs, snapped her fingers at him as if he were the bellboy at New York’s gleaming new Waldorf Astoria. “You there. Boy.”

  Nick came down with an obliging bow. “May I be of service, ma’am?”

  “There is a taxicab waiting out front with our luggage. Tell the maid that Miss Parker will not be returning to America after all, and have her things returned to the cottage.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  Madeline hurried over to her aunt and took her arm. “I know you’re mad at me, but—”

  “And,” Aunt Ruth told Nick, “have them take mine there, too.”

  Madeline glanced, wide-eyed, at Drew and then back at her aunt. “You’re . . . you’re staying?”

  Drew swallowed audibly. “Here?”

  “I realize I can’t force Madeline to come back home. Well, I don’t suppose you can force me to leave, either.” Aunt Ruth gave him a poisonous smile. “Unless you want to charge me with trespassing and have your police drag me off to whatever sort of prison you have in your town. Perhaps you people are used to that sort of scandal and wouldn’t even notice.”

  Madeline glanced at Drew again. “No, of course he wouldn’t do that, Aunt Ruth. But do you have clothes and everything for a stay? Won’t Uncle Calvin and Aunt Emily be expecting you back?”

  Aunt Ruth made a dismissive little hissing sound. “Em will do just fine as she is, and Calvin’s her husband, not mine. She can see to him, too.”

  “But your clothes—”

  “I guess they have wash buckets in this country? And even dress shops?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then I don’t think that will be a problem. Now show me this cottage of yours.”

  “But Drew—”

  Drew took Madeline’s hand. “I think having your dear auntie to visit will be perfectly charming, darling. That way she and I can become great friends, and she’ll see you’re in no danger here whatsoever.”

  “No danger.” Aunt Ruth smirked. “None besides the half-dozen murders, more or less, and who knows what other shenanigans that have gone on here.”

  Drew pressed his lips together, and a shadow passed over his gray eyes. It had been not even two months since Mason was killed, and Madeline knew Drew still felt pain in the loss. And then there was Constance, murdered just a few days before that. Drew had told her of the guilt and regret that goaded him at every memory of her. Did Aunt Ruth have to trample those still-raw remembrances?

  The heat in Madeline’s face intensified. “Please remember, Aunt Ruth, that besides being my uncle, Uncle Mason was Drew’s stepfather. We were both very fond of him, and his death came as a great shock. I met his wife, Constance, only the one time, but she was Drew’s mother. You can understand how he must feel. How we both feel.”

  Drew managed a gracious smile. “It was a difficult time for all of us, Miss Jansen, as I’m sure you can well imagine. Surely you wouldn’t have wanted Madeline to travel all the way back to America on her own after such a loss.”

  Aunt Ruth pursed her lips. “I suppose not, not right away, but she could have come home anytime this past month. How long did you think I’d be put off with those letters, Madeline? And time passing and us wondering only the Lord knows what you might be doing over here.” She sneered at Drew. “Society folk. I told your mother, God rest her, she had no business marrying a foreigner and an upper-crust bigwig to boot. At least your father, God rest him, didn’t take her back over here where we’d never see her again. But that uncle of yours, and God rest him too, I suppose, I was always afraid he was going to turn your head with his fancy falderals and riding horses and high-toned finishing school. Now I see he did after all.”

  Madeline’s eyes stung. “Uncle Mason was like a father to me, and you know he was. After Daddy died, he tried his best to look after me, even if he couldn’t come see me that often.”

  “We looked after you, your aunt Emily and I, and it was only right that we did.” Aunt Ruth looked away. “I’m sorry that wasn’t good enough.”

  “I never said or thought any such thing. I know you both did everything in the world for me, and I’m more grateful than I can ever say.”

  “All Em and I ever wanted was for you to grow up a fine Christian girl, and this is the thanks we get.”

  Madeline sighed and didn’t reply. Obviously Aunt Ruth had made up her mind and wasn’t to be troubled with such paltry inconveniences as actual truth. Discretion being the better part of valor, Drew also said nothing.

  Finally, Aunt Ruth rapped her cane on the marble floor. “Well, is there or is there not a cottage?”

  Drew gave Aunt Ruth a determined smile. “Why don’t you show your aunt down there, Madeline, and I’ll see where Nick’s got to with your luggage. How would that be?”

  A few minutes later, the two women were standing on the doorstep of Rose Cottage. It was a charming place, picture-postcard perfect, and Madeline smiled as she opened the green-painted door to the quaint little front room.

  Aunt Ruth peered inside. “Not very big.”

  “We won’t need a lot of space.” Madeline led her through to the bright kitchen. “I haven’t done much cooking since they take care of that up at the house, but we can, anytime we want to. Isn’t it sweet?”

  “Humph.” Aunt Ruth stomped back into the front room. “Where’s the bedroom? Or do you not use the one here much, either?”

  Madeline bit her lip, but whether it was to keep herself from crying or laughing, she wasn’t sure. “I’ve been using this one.” She pushed open the door to the room she’d been occupying, a nice airy space with a cozy bed and heaps of fresh down comforters and mullioned windows all along the back wall that flooded the place with light every morning. “But if you’d like, I can move to the other one.”

  The second bedroom was much like the fi
rst, clean and bright and cheerful. Evidently even Aunt Ruth could find no fault with it.

  “No need for you to change now,” the older woman grumbled. “I suppose the girl can put all your things back where they were until you come to your senses.”

  Madeline squeezed her aunt’s hand. “You’ll see. It really is lovely here.” Then, without warning, she pulled her aunt into a tight hug. “I am glad to see you again. I am really.”

  Aunt Ruth stood stiff in her embrace, studying Madeline’s face, her own expression severe. Then she softened and stroked Madeline’s hair back from her temple.

  “I just hope you don’t end up being sorry you were ever mixed up with this Farthering boy. If you are, I’m certainly not one to say I told you so. Now go find out who’s knocking at the door while I see what’s what in here.”

  Madeline found Drew and Nick peering around the still-open front door. Nick looked especially wary.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Come in, you silly thing. Did you get it all?”

  Nick nodded.

  “All present and correct,” Drew said as he and Nick set down their burdens of bags and boxes. “After much persuasion, Anna is on her way to unpack for you.”

  “Oh, good. Poor girl, Aunt Ruth must have scared her half out of her wits. And she’s taken such good care of me here so far.”

  “I did have to give her a pound note to get her to come back.” Seeing the older woman come into the room, he winked at Madeline and put one finger to his lips and whispered, “Not a word.” He then turned and smiled at Aunt Ruth. “I trust everything is satisfactory, ma’am.”

  She granted him a nod. “It’ll do. For now. I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as a telegraph office nearby.”

  “Of course. You may come up to the house and telephone your message, or if you’d prefer to write it out, I’ll be happy to send someone down to the village with it.”

  “I’ll take it myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just to make sure.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll have the car brought round for you.”

  She made a grudging little huff of acknowledgment. Then, seeing Anna had made a wary appearance, she began settling herself and her belongings into the cottage.

  While Aunt Ruth was ordering Anna and Nick around, Madeline moved closer to Drew and lowered her voice. “It’s very nice of you, you know. Putting up with all this.”

  “I’m a nice fellow. And as irrefutable proof, I brought you this, hot off the presses.” He took a little book from his coat pocket and presented it to her. “Haven’t even cracked the cover.”

  “Oh, Drew! It’s the new Lord Peter.”

  “And Harriet Vane, as well.”

  Hugging the book to her chest, she leaned up and swiftly kissed his cheek. “And after I stole the last one from you.”

  “I told you I was a nice fellow.”

  “It might not do you any good, you know.”

  He smiled the warm, lazy smile she loved. “They say trials build character, so there’s that at least.”

  “Madeline!” Aunt Ruth stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “Come and see that all your things are put where you want them. Then you’ll be going to the village with me too, so say your goodbyes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Madeline sighed, and Drew squeezed her hand.

  “Courage, darling. You’ve got Lord Peter to help you along for now.” He raised his voice for her aunt to hear, “We would be delighted to have you to dinner this evening, Miss Jansen.”

  Aunt Ruth acknowledged the invitation and dismissed him with the same curt nod, and Madeline could only watch as he walked the path back toward the house. But before he disappeared, he turned and gave her that smile once more. It helped tremendously.

  Three

  To say that Drew’s first dinner with the formidable Aunt Ruth was uncomfortable would be a rather mild assessment, but he gave thanks that it was little more than that. Between him and Nick and Madeline, they managed to keep the conversation pleasant, directed away from those subjects most likely to cause contention. So the topics of shifty-eyed foreigners, slick talkers, and morally bankrupt scoundrels being strictly off-limits, they were left to discuss the weather and Aunt Ruth’s difficult and dangerous first-class passage across the Atlantic via luxury liner. Drew found himself only occasionally wondering about who had murdered Quinton Montford, and each time he banished those thoughts, they became less and less insistent. After all, he wasn’t the police.

  After three days, Aunt Ruth still managed to be only a little more than civil to Drew, but civility was an improvement nonetheless. Still, it was a bit wearing to feel like an intruder in one’s own home, and Drew decided an afternoon of golf would be a welcome change.

  Nick and Bunny hadn’t arrived at the club by the time he got there. Roger’s car was parked outside, but Drew hadn’t yet seen the man himself. He decided to go ahead and change his clothes. He was early for their tee time after all. Perhaps a few practice shots wouldn’t come amiss.

  Just as he got out of the Rolls, one of the caddies hurried up to him.

  “Mr. Farthering, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “A man asked me to give you this.”

  Drew tossed the boy a half crown.

  Would appreciate you joining me on the first green.

  The words were scrawled across the back of the card the boy had handed him. On the front, along with the official seal, it said J. T. BIRDSONG, Chief Inspector, Hampshire Constabulary.

  Drew walked through the clubhouse. There seemed to be a lot of people standing about the club in little groups, talking in low voices and glancing toward the course.

  “Good morning, young Farthering!”

  Drew turned to see Mr. Llewellyn from the village among the onlookers.

  “Good morning, sir. I didn’t know you played here.”

  “Don’t play at all,” he said, chuckling. “But I do ride my bicycle through this way quite often. Saw there’d been some sort of row, so I thought I’d find out about it.”

  “And?”

  The old man scowled. “No one knows anything. People milling about, claiming a man was hit by a stray ball and killed outright. Shouldn’t be allowed, talking when one hasn’t a clue, yet they won’t let anyone near enough to see what did happen. I may as well pedal myself on back to the village, eh? Tomorrow’s newspaper will be quicker than this.”

  “I daresay.” Drew waved and made his way through to the course.

  Several constables were holding back onlookers, and by the time Drew could see the first green, he didn’t need Birdsong to tell him anything. There was a body lying not two feet from the hole.

  Drew removed his hat, grieved once again to look upon death.

  The chief inspector managed a grim smile. “Ah, Detective Farthering. Good of you to come.”

  “Not at all, Inspector. What’s happened?”

  “Act Two, it would seem, of our little drama in Winchester last week. I thought perhaps another pair of eyes that saw the aftermath of the Montford murder might help us here.” Birdsong shrugged a little self-consciously. “Saw your car turn into the drive.”

  Like the last time, there was a note on the body, secured by a hatpin through the heart. Judging by the amount of blood on the shirtfront, Drew assumed the man had first been stabbed in the same area.

  He knelt to get a closer look. The victim was a placid-looking middle-aged man with a sedentary paunch in his jowls and belly. Rather well-off too, judging by his clothing. There were tobacco stains on his fingers and tiny burn holes in his coat.

  Drew scanned the neatly clipped grass at his feet. It seemed pristine still. The body must have fallen where it lay. There were no marks that would have indicated it was dragged or even shifted much. It would take nerves of steel to stab a man here on the green at the first hole at three o’clock in the afternoon with dozens of potential witnesses.

  Drew looked about again. The trees were a good
ten or fifteen yards away. The clubhouse was in plain view. He gave a quick wave to the men sitting up there with their gin and tonic, and they were obliging enough to wave back. He hadn’t a clue who they were, but they could certainly see him.

  How was it that no one seemed to have seen the murder?

  “Do you have any idea what sort of weapon might have been used?” Drew asked.

  “As best I can tell, something sharp and narrow-bladed,” the chief inspector offered. “Most likely the letter opener we found in the victim’s inside coat pocket. Common enough to be untraceable.”

  “And the body was lying this way?”

  “No. It was facedown, a bit doubled over. Impossible to see the blood or the wounds from any distance.”

  Drew considered that and then the note itself.

  Kentish wisdom would have him paid so.

  It was the same graceful writing, the same aged parchment as was used on Montford in the hotel room, fastened by another antique hatpin. This one was larger than the first and looked to be silver with an amethyst set into it. Drew read the words again. What did the killer mean by Kentish wisdom? And what had that to do with the first murder?

  “‘Kentish wisdom would have him paid so,’” Drew murmured. “‘Advice to Jack.’”

  What was the connection?

  “I don’t know how I can help you, Inspector,” Drew said.

  “You were involved with the first murder. Your solicitor.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘involved.’ I merely had an appointment with the man. He was dead well before I arrived.”

  “Fair enough,” Birdsong said. “But you were some little help in that matter at Farthering Place. I thought perhaps you might have some observations on these current cases.”

  Drew smiled faintly. “I see.”

  Birdsong drew himself up with a sniff. “It’s part of my job to make use of any source of information as may become available in an investigation.”

  “No need to be defensive, Inspector. If you want my help, all you need do is ask.”

  Birdsong scowled. “No, I do not want your help, Detective Farthering. I do not want you mucking about interfering with my official duties. No, nor your friend, Nick Dennison. Nor your young lady. All I want is for you to tell me if you’ve noticed anything besides these blasted bits of writing that would connect the two murders.”