He seemed genuinely interested in her information and opinions, something Hazel hadn’t felt since Charles was alive. Still, she wasn’t sure how much to share with him at this point. After all, she wasn’t an official member of the police force. She thanked Alice for the piece of pie the cook placed in front of her, then refocused on the Inspector. “Unfortunately, the maid couldn’t identify the other party’s voice in the fight, but she did say she distinctly heard Doris say the words ‘not paid off.’”
“Interesting.” Gibson devoured half his slice of pie in two mouthfuls before continuing. “Meaning she hadn’t been paid off, or she wouldn’t be paid off? The answer could turn things in a whole different direction.” He shook his head. “Well, our investigation found something new today too. Lord Wakefield was not at his club the night of Doris’s death as he’d claimed.”
“Oh my,” Hazel said, feigning her best surprised tone. She already knew that, of course, thanks to Shrewsbury and his infinite mysterious contacts. She glanced over at the butler, who stood near the wall, his stoic expression intact. “That puts him squarely in the suspect column then, I suppose.”
“It does.” Michael smiled, the warmth reaching his eyes. “What else did you find?”
“My maid, Maggie, heard through the grapevine that Doris was planning a trip north. And Alice has a friend whose daughter works in the kitchens at Farnsworth and said Thomas Wakefield was seen in a tête-à-tête with Doris last week on an errand in town.” Hazel nibbled on the rich, sweet filling of her apple pie, savoring the shortcrust pastry on top. “Seems strange a person would plan to travel up to the northern regions with winter coming on, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm. It does. Unless that person didn’t want to be found, or bothered.” Michael sat back as Alice slid another slice of pie onto his plate. “The best cook in all the land. Thank you, Alice.”
The older woman blushed as she returned to the sink to wash the dinner dishes.
“Funny you should mention Thomas,” Michael said, digging into his second slice. “There’s been some gossip about an argument between him and the Wakefields’ chauffeur, Alphonse Ash.”
“Really?” Hazel filed that new information away for later. “Perhaps they were arguing over Doris. Word has it she used to sneak out to pass notes to Alphonse in the garage, but that stopped after they fought a few weeks ago.”
“None of that, however, explains why Lord Wakefield lied about his whereabouts the night of Doris’s death.” Gibson finished his last mouthful of pie then sat back, patting his trim, flat stomach. Hazel had always admired Charles’s sky-high metabolism. It seemed men could eat whatever they wanted and stay slim, while she had to watch every little mouthful, or she’d quickly outgrow her new wardrobe.
The inspector shook his head. “If he’s not the killer, he’s got nothing to hide, right?”
Hazel tilted her head, her gaze narrowed. “Yes, but what if he is the killer? Then the question becomes what did Thomas and Alphonse have to do with things?”
“Good point.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table as the other servants got up to finish clearing the table. “And where exactly was Doris going on her trip? The north country is pretty broad. And where did she get the money? Is that what she meant by ‘not paid off’? Had Doris not yet received passage for her trip?”
“I’m just not sure about any of it at this point.” Hazel sighed then sipped her tea. “That doesn’t make any sense. If someone was paying her off, then why go to the trouble of killing her?”
“Unless more than one person wanted to keep her quiet.” Michael pushed to his feet and grabbed his hat from the sideboard where he’d laid it when he came in. “All things to consider. I have to say, though, the thing that still bothers me is how did the killer lure her to that obscure turret room?”
“That is a mystery.” Hazel rose as well to escort her guest back toward the front door. They walked out into the dining room side by side. “Maybe that was the spot where she always met this person, like a lover. Or maybe they lured her there by saying they were going to deliver the money for the payoff.”
“If that’s the case, then that signifies intent.” In the hall, Gibson slipped his hat back on over his thick dark-brown curls, his voice turning serious.
“Indeed. And I suppose the police searched that attic room down the hall from the turret room.” Hazel tried to keep her tone nonchalant. The last thing she wanted was for Michael to think she was trying to tell him how to do his job.
“Naturally.” Michael’s eyes twinkled with amusement, then he turned serious. “Listen, I appreciate all the legwork you’ve done to this point, but murder is serious business, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Both touched and annoyed by his concern, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Thank you for the warning, Inspector Gibson, but I assure you that I am a big girl and can decide for myself about the risks and dangers of involvement in this case.”
She was about to say more, but Shrewsbury appeared around the corner with the inspector’s jacket. The sly butler disappeared again just as quickly, leaving Hazel to deal with the awkward moment.
“Well, then,” Michael said, giving her a small smile.
“Yes.” Hazel placed her hand on the knob, feeling as if she should say something more but not knowing what. “Thank you for stopping by, Inspector Gibson.”
“Michael,” he said then studied her for a few seconds. “May I ask you something?”
Her pulse quickened. In a previous moment, very similar to this one, during the Myrtle Pembroke case, he’d asked Hazel to dinner. She liked him, a lot, but she still wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. Was she? Of course not. She’d say no, definitely. Well, maybe one dinner wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She should cultivate him as a friend, because he did come in handy with these investigations and he was not hard on the eyes.
“Yes…” She drew the word out, wondering where he might take her. Perhaps that new French restaurant…
“Will you tell Alice her pie was divine?” Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “Ring me if you find out anything that can help catch the killer.”
And with that, he opened the door, nodded a goodbye, and left.
Chapter Ten
Hazel was back at Farnsworth Abbey the next day, this time lurking outside near the Sunbeam, where Duffy waited behind the wheel. They’d parked off to the side of the grand manor this time, behind a copse of trees, to wait for Lady Wakefield and Thomas to leave so she could get inside to question Eugenia.
The sun was shining, but the air was still brisk this early in the day, so she’d once again donned her new brocade coat—this time over a deep-plum charmeuse long-sleeved day dress with silver buttons up the front and a matching brimmed hat.
She hid near Duffy’s door on the driver’s side of the car, ignoring her chauffeur’s amused glances as she tried to duck and cover once Lady Wakefield and Thomas emerged from the house and approached their sleek grey Daimler limousine. From his sullen expression, Thomas wasn’t any more excited about breakfast with the Tewkesburys than he’d been the day before.
Once the pair had departed, Hazel smoothed her hand down the front of her dress and straightened her hat, checking her appearance in the vehicle’s side mirror, before approaching Farnsworth Abbey and knocking on the front door. Feeling an odd thrill of nerves, she patted the back of her hair, hoping her jaunt at hiding hadn’t mussed it up too badly.
Harrison, the butler, answered on her second knock, looking as prim as usual. “Good day, madam. May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Miss Eugenia Wakefield, please.” Hazel gave him a bright smile, hoping he wouldn’t boot her right back down the front steps. Surprisingly, he smiled back.
“Certainly, madam.” He gestured her into the hall then closed the heavy oak door behind her, his black uniform and white shirt crisp enough to cut someone. “This way, madam.”
If Har
rison thought anything strange about Hazel showing up unannounced right after the mistress of the abbey and her son had departed, he didn’t show it. Then again, she suspected the staff at Farnsworth weren’t so different from her own back at Hastings Manor—tight-knit and in constant communication about the goings-on of their employers. Given that they’d most certainly been gossiping about poor Doris’s demise and Hazel’s earlier visits, it was entirely possible Betsy had mentioned her conversation with Hazel the previous day, as well as the discussions she’d had with Mrs. Crosby.
The stately older gentleman showed Hazel into a brightly lit breakfast room, where Eugenia sat alone at a large round table. Before her was an assortment of silver-domed dishes and fresh fruits. All the poor girl had on her plate, however, was a piece of dry toast. She looked even paler and gaunter than she had the day before, if that were possible, and dark circles shadowed the delicate skin beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well in a very long time.
Hazel remembered that Lady Wakefield had mentioned her daughter’s lack of appetite since the accident the day before, and that looked to still be the case. Not that the poor thing could afford to lose weight—she was painfully thin as it was. Eugenia had always been slim by nature, from what Hazel remembered, but this was unhealthy. Even her normally creamy complexion had gone slightly grey. Her blonde hair was flat and dull, and her pale-blue eyes had taken on a haunted look, only accentuated by the way her gaze constantly darted around, as if she were expecting a monster to emerge from every corner. She started a bit as Harrison strode into the room.
A wave of sympathy for the girl washed over Hazel, and she forced a smile and stepped into the room behind the butler. Whatever was wrong with the poor thing, she looked as though she could use a good friend to talk to. “Good morning, Eugenia. I do hope you don’t mind me stopping by unexpectedly this morning.”
“Mrs. Martin,” Eugenia said, looking up at her with a surprised expression, as if just then realizing she and Harrison weren’t alone. Her gaze quickly dropped back to her lap, and the corners of her mouth turned downward. “I’m afraid my mother is out.”
“Oh no,” Hazel said, her tone brimming with fake disappointment. “And I was hoping to speak with her about that acknowledgement today too.” She slipped off her coat and handed it to the butler then took a seat beside Eugenia at the table. The girl’s pink cotton dress did nothing to help her appearance. It looked wrinkled and mussed, as if Eugenia might have napped in it, or cried long and hard in it. “Well, as long as I’m here, why don’t we have a chat? I was so sorry to hear about what happened to poor Doris. I do hope you’re doing all right after all that nastiness. It must have been such a shock to lose a good friend like Doris, especially so close to her trip.”
“Trip?” Eugenia asked, her teacup trembling in her delicate hand. “What trip?”
Hazel frowned. “Oh, perhaps I was mistaken. I could have sworn my maid, Maggie, had mentioned Doris traveling in the near future, maybe up north. Didn’t you know about that?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Right.” Hazel helped herself to a cup of tea and took a piece of toast from beneath one of the covered dishes, pulling another one out for Eugenia as well in hopes she might get her to eat a little something. “Well, anyway. Sounds like your brother was close to Doris as well. Nearly as close with her as the two of you are, eh?”
Eugenia gave her a sideways glance, frowning. “Not really. No. Doris was my maid, so I can’t imagine why she’d have much to do with my brother.”
“True enough.” She slathered on butter and some homemade raspberry jam onto her toast then took a bite of the sweet, savory goodness, not missing the fact Eugenia’s still sat untouched on her plate. There was definitely something amiss with the girl, that much of what Lady Wakefield said was true. Hazel was determined to work out what that was, one way or another, and continued her line of questioning about the murder. “It makes one wonder, though, doesn’t it? What a young woman like Doris would have to be involved with to get herself killed like that.”
For the first time since Hazel had entered the breakfast room, bright-red color infused Eugenia’s cheeks. She looked Hazel directly in the eye, her gaze now sparkling with anger. “Doris was not ‘involved’ with anything. She was a nice person, a person whom one could count on. A person who stood up for what she believed in.” The amount of passion in the girl’s tone had Hazel seriously rethinking her assumptions about Doris being a blackmailer and a loose woman. Perhaps Mrs. Crosby had been wrong. Maggie certainly thought Doris was a paragon of virtue. Now, apparently, so did Eugenia.
Maybe poor Doris had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“My apologies,” Hazel said, hoping to smooth Eugenia’s ruffled feathers and get the conversation back on track. “I didn’t mean to upset you, my dear. It’s just all so strange. And if we’re this unsettled about Doris’s death, I can’t imagine what the household staff is going through. I know even my employees at Hastings Manor are distraught over the loss. I’d imagine here at Farnsworth it’s affected everyone, especially the maids who were her friends, and even the chauffeur. I heard Doris was especially close with him.”
Eugenia gripped the edge of the table so tightly Hazel feared the wood would crack, and swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t know,” she whispered. “But I imagine they’d be upset.”
“And to see the body like that after she fell.” Hazel gave an exaggerated shudder. “Did you have to witness it too, Eugenia?”
“No.” What little color that had blossomed in her cheeks disappeared, leaving the tense girl looking even more ghostlike than before. She blinked several times as if centering herself. “I was…indisposed when Doris screamed. By the time I came out of my room, everyone was already outside. Then Mary, the housemaid, rushed in crying and told me what had happened. She told me not to look.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s how I found out.”
Hazel leaned forward slightly with interest. “Not from your mother or father or brother?”
“No. It was Mary that told me about Doris.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sitting back, Hazel clasped her hands in her lap. “Where were they?”
“My family?” Eugenia glanced at her, that guarded look back in her eyes. “I’m not sure. Contacting the police and calming the servants, I suppose.”
“Right.” Hazel finished her tea then stood, hailing the butler for her coat. “Well, then. I’ll leave you in peace, Eugenia. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll call again another time to speak with your mother about the acknowledgement. Thank you, dear.”
Eugenia merely nodded, her gaze locked on the floral centerpiece on the table.
Hazel followed Harrison back out into the hall and slipped her arms back into her coat while he held it for her. When she turned back around, she nearly tripped over their cat, Norwich, who must’ve snuck up behind her as she’d left the sitting room. Despite the butler’s rather sour look at the animal, Hazel bent to pet the cat, smiling as the feline swished his tail and stared at her with unblinking pale-green eyes, his lush black fur gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the nearby windows. “If only you could talk, Norwich. I bet you know all the secrets about this place, don’t you?”
“Ah, Mrs. Martin,” Mrs. Crosby said, bustling into the hall and taking Hazel by the arm to pull her aside, out of earshot of the butler. “I just wanted to ask if you could please be careful what you say to poor Miss Eugenia. She’s very delicate right now, and she trusted Doris. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”
Stunned, Hazel blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”
Mrs. Crosby wrung her hands, her expression worried. “It’s just that Doris wasn’t always doing right by Eugenia.”
“Oh?”
“Doris used to run errands for her mistress, but she might have abused her trust. Last week we were sent to Bond Street together. Lady Wakefield wanted me to get her furs out of storage for the winter season, and Doris ne
eded to pick something up at the chemist. Afterward, we were to meet up at the milliner’s. But I got done a bit early, and that’s when I saw Doris not at the chemist as she was supposed to be, but at Lady Etienne’s.” The woman leaned closer, her tone scandalous. “You know, the delicates shop?”
Hazel leaned back, frowning. “Perhaps she was getting something for Eugenia.”
“Pardon me for saying, but of course not, madam.” The older woman blanched. “Miss Eugenia’s a good girl. She’d never wear the sorts of things they sell in that establishment.”
As someone who’d never been quite brave enough to enter Lady Etienne’s, even when her Charles had been alive, Hazel had to admire Doris’s spirit. “Maybe she wanted to purchase something for herself then. It is 1923, and what was once considered taboo is now becoming more acceptable. Why, just look at our fashions.” She turned a visible ankle for Mrs. Crosby to see as an example.
“Be that as it may, madam, Doris should’ve saved such errands for her own time, not during working hours.” Mrs. Crosby frowned, seemingly ignoring Hazel’s interested stare. “But Doris was just that type, wasn’t she? Always bold as brass. Anyway, later, when I asked Doris about where she’d been, she said just at the chemist’s. Lied right to my face. I’m guessing whatever it was she bought in that place, she was hiding it, and for good reason too. Even if those lacy clothes weren’t sinful, there’s no way Doris would be able to afford them on her maid’s salary alone.”
Back outside Farnsworth Abbey, Hazel rushed through the door Duffy held open for her then waited until he was settled behind the wheel again. “Please take me to Bond Street. Pronto!”
Lady Etienne’s was notorious for their risqué lingerie—perfect for wearing beneath those skimpy, sheath-style flapper dresses that Hazel was just now getting used to. But today, the lacy nothings beneath would have to wait. She was on a mission.
And Mrs. Crosby still seemed adamant about Doris and her wayward character too. If what she’d told her about Doris was true, then it was quite possible she was buying something to wear for one of her lovers. By talking to the assistants at the shop, she hoped to find out exactly what Doris had bought that day and who paid for the purchases.
Murder by Misunderstanding Page 7
