“Now, now.” Madeline came and straightened Drew’s already straight tie. “I’ll make sure she stops calling you Adorable Drew, even though we all know you love it.”
Drew gave her a pretend glare, and Nick grinned.
“At any rate, I hope Farthering Place will have more formal occasions in time. It’s rather a delicate thing, though, isn’t it, knowing when to ease a home out of mourning and back into the social whirl?”
Madeline glanced at Drew and then smiled into Nick’s eyes. “This’ll be a fine way to start.”
“If you don’t have much respect for the dead, of course.” Aunt Ruth folded her hands. “Certainly, a fine way.”
Already the sound of guests arriving was coming from the entry hall, probably Mr. and Mrs. Allison.
Madeline took her aunt’s arm. “It’s just dinner, Aunt Ruth. We’re not having bareback riders and sword swallowers.”
“Of course, you young people know best. Still, I’d feel much better if you were seeing some nice American boy. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times . . .”
Her voice faded as she and Madeline left the parlor, and Drew turned to follow them out. “Coming, old man?”
“Always the life of the party, eh?” Nick said under his breath as he came up beside him, but there was humor in his voice, and Drew shook his head, laughing low.
“I tell you, Nick, she’s been a challenge, but I’m determined to win her over.”
“You may have met your match in this one, you know.”
“No, I refuse to give in. I just can’t let her get me off course. But I see where Madeline gets her contrary streak. I suppose if I can win over the old pepper pot, Madeline won’t be able to hold out much longer, either.” Drew straightened his tie one final time. “Come along. We can’t have Auntie telling Madeline tales about us.”
The two of them strolled into the entry hall and found Madeline introducing herself and her aunt to the Allisons. The older couple were the picture of respectability, and even Aunt Ruth could have no objection to them, especially as Mrs. Allison had been gracious enough to hostess Drew’s dinner party.
“Ah, Mrs. Allison.” Drew hurried to her and bowed over her hand. “I see you’ve met Miss Parker and Miss Jansen. Thank you again for coming. You know, it’s deuced awkward for us bachelors in these situations, especially those of us with no family to speak of.”
“It’s the least I can do for your dear grandmother’s sake.” Mrs. Allison’s eyes sparkled as she glanced over at Madeline. “And I daresay you’ll have a proper hostess for your parties before long.”
Her husband chuckled and shook Drew’s hand. “How are you, young man?”
“Very well, sir. And most grateful for your cooperation in all this.”
“Anytime, son. Anytime. Mrs. Allison was born for these little occasions and hasn’t had nearly enough opportunity to display her talents.”
Mrs. Allison laughed softly. “Go on, Alvin. We’ll see to things from here on out.”
With a nod and a bow to the ladies, Mr. Allison wandered off toward the drawing room. A moment later, Dennison opened the door to an old gentleman of military bearing and his equally martial middle-aged daughter. The daughter wore an unfortunate sallow green gown and an eyeglass on a cord round her neck.
In her place at Drew’s side, Mrs. Allison smiled. “Good evening, Colonel Potterhouse. Miss Potterhouse.”
“So pleased to have you, Colonel.” Drew shook hands and then turned to the daughter. “Miss Potterhouse, charming as always.”
“Pshaw.” She gave him a playful shove that nearly set him off his feet. “When are you coming down to Greyfield to ride with us?” She took up her glass and peered at Madeline through it. “Of course, you’re all welcome.”
“Won’t that be lovely, darling?” He took Madeline’s arm. “May I introduce Miss Madeline Parker and her aunt, Miss Jansen? Madeline’s quite a rider herself, you know.”
“Is she?” Miss Potterhouse peered again, obviously unconvinced. “Then you must come.”
Her father jiggled her arm. “Hurry along, Agnes. I want to have a word with Mr. Sim and his lady wife. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker.”
Madeline smiled slyly once they had left the entry hall. “Well, at least she likes you.”
“Freddie Bell, ma’am. Most pleased to meet you.”
Drew and Madeline both turned to see the American, impeccably dressed, bowing to Mrs. Allison, and then he turned to them.
“It’s a fine evening, Miss Parker.”
“Hello again.” Madeline took Mr. Bell’s hand. “How nice of you to come.”
Drew shook the man’s hand, this time with a grudging smile. “Yes, do come in, Bell. Now that you’ve come, I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks. I’ve heard a lot about your place here, Farthering. I like it. I like it a lot.”
“Very kind of you.”
“You think I might look around a little before dinner?”
“If you like. I’d show you myself, but I really should see to my guests at the moment.”
Aunt Ruth joined them just then, studying the American with evident approval. “You show him, Madeline. I’m sure the two of you have a lot in common.”
“Well, I . . .” Madeline glanced at Drew. “If Drew doesn’t mind, Aunt Ruth. Oh, this is Mr. Bell. He’s the one I met in the village the other day.” She turned to Bell. “This is my aunt, Miss Jansen.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Bell seized Aunt Ruth’s hand and pumped it up and down. “Always nice to meet someone from the States.”
“Yes, how nice to meet you, Mr. Bell. Madeline, you go on ahead and show this gentleman around the place.”
“Well—”
“Now, don’t keep the young man waiting, dear.” Aunt Ruth smiled at Drew with only a touch of combative smugness. “We’ll be just fine here.”
Drew returned the smile, determined to display nothing but gracious good humor, and stood aside. “By all means.”
The big American took Madeline’s arm and hurried her away.
“They make a nice couple, don’t they?”
Obviously subtlety wasn’t one of Aunt Ruth’s strong suits, and Drew had to keep himself from chuckling.
“Madeline’s company improves any man, I’d say, ma’am.”
“Drew, how are you, my boy?”
An older gentleman and his wife came into the entryway, and again Drew shook hands.
“So glad you could come, sir. And who’s this young girl you’ve brought along?”
The woman, comfortably sixty or so, simpered and shook her index finger at him.
“Naughty. Your father was just the same. Always threatening to steal me away from my husband if he didn’t take care. Oh, it was sweet of him.”
Aunt Ruth cleared her throat, and Drew turned to her.
“May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Paignton? This is Madeline’s aunt, Miss Jansen.”
Then more guests began to arrive, and Aunt Ruth stood at Drew’s side as he and Mrs. Allison welcomed them, commenting on how her niece was about somewhere “with a really fine boy from home.”
It was nearly time for dinner when Madeline finally reappeared. She was alone.
“What’s happened to your friend Bell?” Drew asked.
“I’m afraid someone stole him from me.” She took his arm, her periwinkle eyes twinkling. “That Daphne Pomphrey-Hughes said she was ‘just perishing’ to talk to an American boy.”
“Good. He deserves her.”
Madeline gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Has she been after you for a long time?”
Drew made a face. “Since her mother decided I was perfect for her, I believe.”
“Three years now, isn’t it?” Nick laughed. “But you’re losing her, old man. I warned you this would happen if you continued to neglect the poor girl.”
“Bell can have her, I say.” The words came out with rather more bite to them than he had intended, and
he smiled faintly. “Always nice when the guests hit it off, eh?”
Madeline glanced up at him, reading him as always, no doubt. “Are you feeling all right? You’re not mad at me for going off with Freddie, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
Nick grinned in the most annoying way. “‘The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil count.’” He winked at Madeline. “‘Civil as an orange.’”
“. . . and something of that jealous complexion.”
That was the rest of the quote. Drew knew it well and knew Nick very likely might be devil enough to say it aloud.
“Then it’s all much ado about nothing.” Madeline gave Nick a very superior smile. “We studied Shakespeare in the backwoods where I come from, too.”
Nick clasped both hands over his heart, a lovesick expression on his face. “Miss Parker, will you marry me?”
Drew shoved him. “Go away, cretin.”
“Hmmm, yes, I can see it already. He’s getting rather apricot-colored just there in the jowls. Or perhaps cantaloupe better describes it.”
Madeline laughed and squeezed Drew’s arm. “You really are a terrible tease, Nick. As if he would be jealous of me.”
Drew patted her hand. “Of course not, darling. What’s this Bell doing in Britain anyway? Run out of his own country by the Ladies’ Decency Committee?”
“He’s traveling all over Europe, a graduation gift from his parents before he opens his law practice in San Jose.”
“So he’s from California. I suppose he’s got whole vats of Hollywood stars for friends.”
She glanced over Drew’s shoulder. “You can ask him yourself.”
“Ah, there you are, Bell. Having fun? We were just discussing your Hollywood connections.”
Bell’s laughter was hearty and good-natured. Some people might have found it a likable attribute. Drew merely smiled coolly.
“To be honest, Farthering, San Jose’s a little far north for much in the way of Hollywood connections, but it was awful good of you to invite me to your party when I really don’t know anyone here in England.”
“For that, you must thank Miss Parker,” Drew said.
Madeline’s delicate eyebrows went up slightly. “Me?”
“For the invitation, darling.”
“But I thought you . . .” She faltered, glancing from Drew to Bell and back to Drew.
The American looked grave. “You didn’t invite me? Neither of you?”
Drew gave Nick an accusatory glance, but Nick only grinned and said, “It wasn’t me, old man. If I was going to invite someone from the States, it would be that Hoover fellow. These days, he looks as though a nice holiday would do him a world of good.”
Madeline smirked. “He just might get one, too.”
Bell put his hands in his pockets. “Well, now I feel the fool. Believe me, Farthering, I wouldn’t have horned in here without an invitation.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“Never had one. I just got a message at my hotel that I was invited here tonight at eight if I wanted to come. I assumed it was from you or one of your people. Maybe I’d better make myself scarce.”
The poor fellow looked truly chagrined, and Drew couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him. Only a bit. “No harm done. Can’t have a chap feel he’s not wanted, can we, darling?”
“Of course not.” Madeline took Bell’s arm, smiling up at him. “You have to take me in to dinner, like it or not, and then you can tell me what they’re saying about the presidential election this fall.”
Drew watched as the two of them wandered out of the entry hall, talking and laughing like old friends. “Cheeky devil.”
Nick’s grin was even more annoying than before. “Hmmm, I’d say you’re growing more and more carrot-colored as the night goes on.”
“Rot.”
“I take it you don’t believe his story—about being invited?”
Drew scowled. “I do. I just can’t imagine who would have invited him.”
“You don’t suppose she did but was afraid to fess up?”
“That hardly seems like her. She’d have asked me first. Or if she hadn’t, she’d have looked pert when I asked her about it and owned doing it.”
“I wonder—”
He broke off when Dennison appeared at Drew’s side.
“Pardon me, sir, but Mr. Morris is on the telephone for you.”
“Ah, thank you, Denny.” Drew glanced over at Madeline and her American, stopped on the other side of the room, admiring a landscape by William Linton. “See to things here for me, will you, Nick?”
He excused himself and went into the study to take the call.
“Roger, old boy, where in the world are you? We’re all pretty keen to get better acquainted with this Bohemian of yours. If this Clarice is going to make you late to the best parties, she’d dashed better be worth it.” He was answered only by silence. “Roger? You there?”
“Drew.”
Roger’s voice was scarcely a whisper, and so broken that Drew knew he wouldn’t have recognized it if he hadn’t known who it was.
“Drew. Oh . . .”
Drew heard a wrenching sob, then silence once more.
“Roger? I say, Roger!”
“You’ve got to help me. I just . . . I don’t . . . Sweet mercy, she’s dead. She’s dead.”
“What?”
“She’s dead, I tell you. Clarice is dead. You’ve got to come, Drew. To her cottage.”
“Roger—”
“You’ve got to come. She’s dead. You’ve got to come.”
“All right, all right. Get a grip on yourself. Tell me what’s happened.”
Again there was silence.
“Roger?”
“She, uh . . .” Roger sniffled and then caught his breath. “She didn’t come to the front door when I called for her, so I went round to the back. The door wasn’t locked, and I went inside. I found her sitting in that big modern chair she’d just got, the zebra one. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but when I touched her, she was cold. You’ve got to come, Drew. You see, you’ve absolutely got to.”
“All right, old man. I’ll be there directly once I’ve rung the police.”
“No.” Roger made a little whimpering sound. “They’ll think I’ve done it. They’ll think I’ve done them all.”
“All? All what?”
“Drew, she had one of those horrible notes pinned into her. Like the other two. Dear God, help me.”
“Dear God, help me,” Drew breathed heavenward. What was this about? What could Clarice Deschner possibly have to do with the other victims?
“Drew,” Roger pleaded, “you are coming, aren’t you?”
“Yes, straightaway. Hold on, and whatever else, don’t touch anything.”
“I pulled out that ghastly pin. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
That was the worst thing he could have done. Now the police were certain to suspect him.
“It’s all right,” Drew soothed. “Just sit down somewhere and don’t disturb anything else. Do you understand?”
All that came from the other end of the line was another low whimper.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, all right, but you’ve got to hurry. Oh, Clarice . . .”
Seven
Drew rang off and then called for Denny. “Will you ask Nick and Miss Parker if they would join me for a moment, please? Mrs. Allison too, if you will.”
Mrs. Allison agreed to continue as hostess in Drew’s absence and see that everyone was entertained, and Madeline decided she had better stay on as well, to keep an eye on Aunt Ruth. A few minutes later, Drew and Nick were at Long Cottage, not half a mile from Farthering Place.
Drew pulled the Rolls round to the back of the house and turned off the engine. Roger was crouched on the back step, silhouetted in the rectangle of yellow light from the doorway. A trembling pinpoint of glowing red marked the end of his cigarette.
Drew and Nick hurried over to him.
“You didn’t call them.” Roger’s eyes were red-rimmed, fierce, and frightened. “The police, I mean.”
“No, not yet.” Drew pulled him to his feet. “But we’ll have to in time. You know that.”
“Best go in and see what’s what,” Nick suggested, and Drew took Roger by the arm.
“No.” Roger tried to pull away. “I can’t go back in there. She’s . . . I just can’t.”
“Steady on now. We’ve got to know what’s happened. Let’s just go into the kitchen, all right? You don’t have to see her again.”
Roger screwed his eyes shut but didn’t resist when Drew led him past the body in the zebra-striped chair and into the kitchen.
“Just sit here and don’t do anything. Here’s an ashtray.”
Roger nodded and took another drag on his cigarette.
Drew and Nick went into the other room. The girl was in the chair as Roger had said, looking as if she had fallen into a deep sleep. For a dressing gown she had on a man’s silk smoking jacket, gaudily red with black Chinese dragons on it, just long enough to reach her knees, even with her bare legs curled up under her as they were. A hint of a black slip peeped out beneath it. A long stylish cigarette holder, also black, had slipped out of her limp fingers. As Roger had said, she was cold.
“No obvious cause of death,” Drew said. “No noticeable marks on her except the puncture there over her heart.”
He didn’t touch the cup on the table next to the chair. Perhaps something in the little bit of tea left in it contained a clue to what had killed her.
Nick scrutinized the small wound. “You said he pulled out the hatpin. I suppose there was a note, as well?”
“He said there was, but I don’t see anything.”
Nick got down on hands and knees to look under the chair. “Ah, the cretin’s probably burnt the deuced thing.”
“I don’t think the fire’s been lit for some time. Perhaps he has it with him.” Drew fingered the black-and-white evening gown draped over the back of the sofa. Next to it was a necktie, maroon and navy, not done up. “Looks as if she meant to come to dinner.”
“What do you suppose she wanted with that tie?” Nick asked, standing back up. “You don’t suppose it’s Roger’s?”
Death by the Book Page 9
