Murder at the Mikado

by Julianna Deering

  “Once the old couple were gone, one of the man’s distant relatives, a great-nephew or some such, sold off everything they had.” There was a certain wistfulness in Mrs. Forest’s rheumy eyes. “There were a few rather grand pieces of jewelry that were a bit much for my shop, but I did manage to get hold of some of the smaller ones. All of them sold now. All but this.” She held up the brooch near Madeline’s cheek. “You would look charming wearing it. It suits you.”

  Madeline beamed at her. “It’s just what I wanted, even if I didn’t know it until just now. I’ll take it.”

  “Hogwash,” Aunt Ruth said the moment she and Madeline left the shop. “Utter and unadulterated hogwash.”

  Madeline giggled. “I don’t care if it is. I like the brooch, and I want it for my wedding.”

  “Besides,” Aunt Ruth said, “aren’t those things, the something old and new and all the rest, aren’t they supposed to be given to you? I didn’t think you were supposed to buy them for yourself.”

  “What difference does it make? If you like, I’ll give the brooch to you, and you can give it to me as a wedding present. How would that be?”

  Madeline put the little box holding the brooch into her purse and snapped the clasp shut.

  “Well, that Mrs. Forest can tell a tale,” Aunt Ruth said, pulling her coat more snugly around her neck.

  “I thought it was a very sweet story, and maybe it really is true.” Madeline took her aunt’s arm. “Come on. I want to go to the bookstore.”

  “Whatever for? You have stacks of books you haven’t read yet, as well as a whole library at Farthering Place.”

  “I know.” Madeline piloted her aunt across the slushy street and onto the sidewalk in front of the tea shop. “I just want to see how much it’s changed since it was open last.”

  Aunt Ruth looked over at the bookstore and frowned. “I’d think you would want to steer clear of it after what happened there.”

  “I can’t go my whole life being afraid of the local bookstore. Besides, from what I hear, Mr. and Mrs. Ketterley are very nice.”

  “I’m certain you and your Englishman will be in and out of their shop more days than not. If you—” Aunt Ruth stopped short, her lips pursed. “I think we need to go back home instead, Madeline. I have something I need to see to.”

  For a moment, Madeline was puzzled. Then she saw the gleaming red bicycle leaning up against the side of the bookshop and suppressed a laugh. “Still avoiding him?”

  Aunt Ruth shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. No man will ever influence where I choose to go or when I choose to go there. I just . . . feel like going home now.”

  “Yes, Aunt Ruth.”

  Madeline took her arm, still trying to hide her smile, and they hurried down the High Street. Just as they passed the bookshop, there was the jingle of a bell and the front door opened.

  “Well, good morning, ladies.” Mr. Llewellyn, owner of the bicycle, grinned and made a courtly bow. “What a delightful surprise to see you both.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Llewellyn,” Madeline called as Aunt Ruth practically dragged her around the corner to where Denton was waiting with the Bentley.

  “Aunt Ruth!” Madeline protested with a breathless laugh. “That really wasn’t very polite.”

  “The old flatterer,” Aunt Ruth muttered while scurrying into the backseat. “He must be seventy if he’s a day!”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know a fine woman when he sees one,” Madeline said, getting in beside her. “And Drew was just saying we ought to fix you up with someone here.”

  “To get me out of the house, I suppose.”

  “Not at all, Aunt Ruth,” Madeline said, squeezing her arm as Denton drove away. “To keep you here.”

  The color came up in her aunt’s face, yet there was a touch of a pleased little smile on her lips. “I hardly think so.”

  “It’s true. He’s really quite fond of you. I think, not having much family of his own, he likes borrowing mine. He hasn’t actually come out and said it, but I think he’ll miss you when you have to go.”

  “Pish tosh,” was all Aunt Ruth said, though she still looked rather pleased.

  Drew peered around the half-open door and saw Chief Inspector Birdsong at his overburdened desk. His chin was propped up on his hand as he pored over a typewritten report, one from a rather formidable stack of the same.

  With a glance at Nick, Drew tapped on the door. “Inspector?”

  Birdsong looked up, heaved a martyr’s sigh, then looked back at his report. “I thought you’d be here two or three hours ago.”

  “You did?”

  Exchanging puzzled glances, Drew and Nick stepped into the room.

  “And there’s young Dennison of course,” Birdsong added. “What? No Miss Parker?”

  “No,” Drew said. “She and her aunt are seeing to something for the wedding.”

  “That’s still on, is it?” Still not looking up, Birdsong put the report back on the stack and took a file folder from his desk drawer instead.

  “It is,” Drew said cheerfully. “Why did you expect I would be here two or three hours ago?”

  “That was when Mrs. Landis came to see you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes . . . it was.” Again Drew looked at Nick, who gave a shrug. “How did you know?”

  “Her husband works for you. Seems rather obvious that she would come to you, what with you being the faddish choice these days for upper-crust crime solving. And there was the simple matter of my constable making enquiries of the cabbie who drove her to Farthering Place. Brilliant bit of police work, that.”

  Birdsong smirked at Drew and then opened the file and began shuffling through its contents.

  “May as well sit down, the both of you,” he added, pointing with the stub of a pencil at the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Make it brief.”

  “I’ll go straight to the point then.” Drew sat down and pulled his chair just a bit closer to the desk. “Why haven’t you arrested Mrs. Landis?”

  Birdsong stopped messing with the papers and gave him a keen look. “Mrs. Landis is a person of interest in our investigation. We have not arrested her because we have not yet found enough evidence to do so.”

  Nick leaned on the back of the empty chair. “Not yet?”

  “Not yet,” Birdsong repeated. “Sit down.”

  With a chuckle, Nick complied. “But you have some concerns about her?”

  “One of the witnesses claims to have seen her.”

  “Conor Benton.” Drew nodded. “She told me about that, but she says he’s doing it out of spite, that she was home all night.”

  “And that is why she is not currently in custody. Her husband corroborates her story.”

  “How certain did you say Benton was that he saw her and not someone else?”

  “All right, he told me he didn’t actually see her face,” Birdsong admitted. “But he saw someone, a woman, he’s certain, and he thinks it was Mrs. Landis. Rather, he insists it was Mrs. Landis. He says he knows by the way the woman moved that she was the one. And she was heard to make a threat against Ravenswood down the local pub the Monday before he was killed.”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  Birdsong shuffled through his papers until he lighted on the one he wanted. “ ‘You don’t want to do that, Johnnie, I swear you don’t,’ or very nearly that.”

  “That’s not much of a threat. What does she say about it?”

  The chief inspector shrugged. “Says they were discussing a new production and how Ravenswood’s wife wants to do Shakespeare. Mrs. Landis claims it would be a flop if they did. I suppose it could have been that.”

  “Could be. It’s not much to go on.”

  “Well, Benton’s convinced at any rate. He recognized her cloak and just . . . how she was. He says in no uncertain terms that it was Mrs. Landis.”

  “Any other suspects?” Nick asked.

  “Just the usual. Wife. Business manager. Other members of
the troupe. Crime of passion like that? Anyone could have done it.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t premeditated?”

  “Bash a fellow with a bottle that way?” Birdsong scoffed. “No fear.”

  Drew sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Anyway, we’re looking into all of them. Not enough evidence as yet to arrest anyone. Of course, we’re doing our best to watch anyone we have reason to suspect.”

  Drew glanced at Nick and then gave the chief inspector a guileless smile. “And of course it’s early days yet.”

  “It is, in fact, Mr. Farthering, thank you very much. So, did you come to let me know I would be receiving your help in this case?”

  Drew grinned. “You appreciated my help the last time, Chief Inspector. Admit it.”

  “You did have an idea or two,” the chief inspector allowed. “When you weren’t putting yourself in danger of getting killed.”

  “He’s certainly not going to do that again,” Nick said sternly. “Not for a lark anyway.”

  “I’ve had that lecture from Madeline and from our dear chief inspector as well, Nick,” Drew said. “No need to go over it all again.”

  Chief Inspector Birdsong narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, since you’ve been duly cautioned by all parties, I suppose there’s little more to be said.” He shook a thick index finger in Drew’s face. “Do all the nosing about you please, but do not put yourself or anyone else in danger, and do keep us apprised of anything you happen to dig up, eh?”

  “Certainly. But you needn’t worry, Chief Inspector. I don’t have much time for this sort of thing at the moment. I’m about to be a married man. My carefree days of bachelorhood are coming to an end, and I am not my own. Besides, if I get murdered now, Madeline will certainly kill me.”

  “And well she ought. Now go along, both of you. Stay out of the way of any officers doing their duty, do not trespass upon private property, and leave that pistol of your stepfather’s locked up where it ought to be. Am I understood?”

  “Will do, Chief Inspector.” Drew stood. “Come on, Nick. We’d best get back to Farthering Place before we’re caught being truant.”

  “You know, Detective Farthering,” Birdsong drawled before they reached his office door, “I have been married a good many years myself. I haven’t kept a happy wife by putting myself in harm’s way unnecessarily.”

  “I will certainly bear that in mind, Chief Inspector.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Nick said once they turned on the road that led south back to Farthering Place. “Madeline might be all for the two of you investigating cases and helping the poor and innocent masses, but she’s going to want you home nights and in reasonably good order.”

  “You don’t think I want the same?”

  “Oh, no doubt,” Nick assured him. “But you don’t always remind yourself of that when you’re on the hunt.”

  “Well, I’m not really on the hunt this time, old man. I’ll just see what I can see.”

  “I don’t know how you’ll have time with the wedding coming up. You’ve got to see your tailor on Wednesday, and aren’t you and Madeline supposed to motor up to Stratford tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Romeo and Juliet. We’ve had the tickets for weeks now, and Madeline’s wanted to see the town and all the attendant tourist attractions. And then, of course, the play, though she was disappointed to realize that the Globe Theater of Shakespeare’s day was in London and not Stratford. Anyway, I’m not sure now if Romeo and Juliet was the best choice.”

  “What?” Nick said. “It’s one of the most romantic plays ever written. What better for a bride- and groom-to-be?”

  “I just wish there’d been a happier end to their story,” Drew said. “I wouldn’t want any of that tragedy to rub off, you know.”

  “Oh, no, no. I’m certain there won’t be any of that.” Nick grinned. “Provided you refrain from provoking the bride.”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  “Which brings us back to The Mystery of the Actor and the Femme Fatale.”

  Drew shook his head. “No need to worry about that. I’ll just poke about a bit, ask a few questions, and see if I can’t clear Mrs. Landis. After that, I’ll carry on preparing to marry the finest girl in the world. Madeline can hardly object to that, can she?”

  Nick gave him only a shrug and another grin, neither of which was the least bit reassuring.

  Five

  Three days had passed since Monday, when Drew had promised to look into the Ravenswood case. He’d spent Tuesday in Stratford with Madeline, happy to see her happy, and glad to have nothing but her on his mind. Wednesday was the final fitting of his wedding attire: a black, gray, and white ascot tie, morning coat, pearl-gray waistcoat, slim-cut striped trousers, and handmade button boots.

  “One cannot be too careful with the fitting of a body coat,” Drew told Madeline as he escorted her downstairs to lunch. “And if I hadn’t been aware of this before, I certainly am now.”

  She made an effort to look serious. “I imagine with Denny and Plumfield both accompanying you, you had to have appreciated the gravity of the situation.”

  “Well, Denny had to come to make certain his standards were upheld, and then of course Plumfield had to come along, as well. Everyone in Farthering St. John knows he’s been looking after me the past little while. A misstep at so critical a juncture would ruin him for life.”

  Madeline took his arm. “You know, Drew, it’s very good of you to take on Plumfield. Uncle Mason would be pleased to know he is still here at Farthering Place.”

  “I wasn’t sure I wanted a valet, you know. I think Denny is still a trifle offended to be replaced in that area, but that was never properly his job anyway. It’s been a local scandal since I came back from Oxford that I haven’t had a gentleman’s gentleman.”

  “The lord of the manor must keep up appearances.”

  He wagged one finger at her. “You needn’t be so amused, Miss Parker. When we’re married, you simply must have a lady’s maid or people will talk. Mrs. Farthering could never do without one.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Beryl’s already been helping me dress for when we have company. She’s really very good with the hair, too. I suppose I’ll keep her.”

  “My mother never had any complaints about her, which says quite a lot. And it’s kind of you to keep her on. No need to send the poor thing looking for work when she’s done so well here.”

  “I agree completely,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything else for a few moments, until finally she narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it?”

  “What is what, darling?”

  “What’s on your mind, and don’t tell me nothing. I know that look.”

  “Already?” He sighed melodramatically. “How ever will I keep things from you when we’ve been twenty years married?”

  “Drew . . .”

  “It’s just that I need to tell you something, and what with one thing or another, I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  They were at the top of the stairs now, where he leaned against the rail and drew her close to him. “No, I don’t expect you will. But I hope it needn’t be a great bother to you.”

  “What is it?”

  He took a steadying breath and then gave her a bright smile. “I told Landis I’d look into the Ravenswood case for him.”

  “You mean for Fleur.” There was a sudden tightness in her expression, a spark of anger in her eyes.

  He squeezed her hand. “No, darling, for him. Mr. Landis. It’s understandable, isn’t it? A man wouldn’t want his wife to be in a jam like this. Certainly he would do all he could to get her out of it.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I know I would, if it were my wife under suspicion.”

  She seemed to soften a bit, but then her mouth tightened. “I thought you weren’t going to have anything more to do with her.”

  “I’m not.”

 
; “Then why did you tell him you would try to clear her? Why did you even go talk to him about it?”

  “Please try to understand, Madeline. I merely went to give him a little advice on how to deal with the chief inspector and to recommend our solicitor. I was going to turn him down if he asked me to help. I did turn him down, in point of fact. I told him exactly what I told her, that I couldn’t help him. Then, well, he told me more about their little boy and how neither of them would much like it if she were taken away from them.”

  “What does that have to do with you?”

  He was silent for a time, wondering how much to tell her.

  “She asked me to forgive her,” he said at last, “and I realized that, after all these years, I never had.”

  He looked into her eyes, pleading for her understanding, and after a taut moment, she sighed and pulled away from him.

  “Okay, I agree. You ought to forgive her, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay in touch with her.”

  “I’m not staying in touch. I’m simply looking into a case for her husband. For a good man who works for my company.”

  “Why?”

  “We talked not too long ago about the possibility that investigating certain cases might be what I was meant to do with my life. To help people who needed it, people in a jam who didn’t know where to turn for help.” He took her hand in his. “I thought you agreed with me.”

  “I did. I do. It’s just—”

  “If she were a complete stranger, I would try to help her. If I’ve forgiven her, why shouldn’t I help her now? I suppose . . .” He searched her face. “Part of it is this thing with my mother. It’s been four months since I found out I’d been mistaken about Constance all my life, that someone else was my real mother. I thought it wouldn’t matter really, but it does. I just . . . I don’t want Landis’s boy to wonder his whole life about his mother.” He let out a slow breath. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him, but she tried to pull her hand away. He held it more tightly.

  “Madeline.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to think. I want you to know about your mother, of course. If it’s important to you. But I don’t know why that means you have to help Fleur.”