by Blythe Baker
“Both deaths were very public,” I explained, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Losing a loved one in that way is difficult, and I think I can offer her a small amount of comfort.”
Mr. Barlow raised his eyebrows, stretching his thin, pale face long. Then, he did something I’d never seen before—he smiled. “I’m sure your friendship would be a comfort to her. I’m sorry you will meet under such poor circumstances.”
He wrote the address down on a slip of paper and handed it to me, turning his attention back to his coffee and the day’s schedule as soon as the paper was in my hands. Without lingering, I turned and walked from the room, determined not to let paranoia isolate me. If I let myself get carried away, I’d find some deceit in every person I knew.
Elizabeth lived in a tidy bungalow just outside the city. The nameplate next to the door named it as the home of General Thomas Hughes. As I knocked, I wondered if she would ever have the heart to change the nameplate.
When the door opened, I was surprised to see Elizabeth herself standing there in a black dress similar to the one I’d seen her in at the polo match. Her eyes were bloodshot, purple circles pressed under them from lack of sleep or exhaustion or both. She glanced up and down the street nervously before greeting me.
“How can I help you?”
“Hello, Elizabeth?” I said, suddenly doubting my plan. “We do not know one another, but I am—”
“Rose Beckingham,” she said, taking a step back and appraising me.
I opened my mouth and then closed it, taken aback. “Yes, I am. We haven’t met yet, but—”
“Your family was murdered in an attack committed by a radical,” she said, placing special emphasis on the title.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head, the vase of white peonies I’d been holding in front of me dropping to my side. “I don’t understand what is happening. I came here to offer my condolences and—”
“Ask me about my father’s death,” she finished.
I sighed, frustrated with her interruptions and with the lack of control I seemed to have in the situation. At the polo match, Elizabeth had looked the part of the grieving daughter, but now she looked half-deranged. Her eyes darted around like she was following the path of some zipping bug I could not see, and she spoke quickly and quietly as though someone would yank her back into the house at any moment and our conversation would be at an end.
Clearly, being honest would produce the best results.
“Yes, I’m here to ask you a few questions,” I said.
She shook her head, her dark hair bouncing from the force. “You shouldn’t be here, and we should not be talking.”
I felt like I’d stepped into a dream. Or a nightmare, perhaps, would have been a more apt description. “What do you mean, Elizabeth?”
“Your family was murdered,” she whispered, closing the front door so I could only see half of her face. “And so was my father. You may think that is a coincidence, but I do not. No good can come from you being here.”
“You believe your father was murdered? People are saying he committed suicide.”
“People say many things,” she said, closing the door still more. I could only see one of her eyes and a stripe of cheek now. Her voice was muffled. “And people see many things. For whatever reason, our families were targeted, but we escaped. I do not intend to draw the ire of whoever is responsible.”
“I only have a few questions,” I said, resisting the urge to stick my fingers in the door and rip it open.
“Go to the White Tiger Club if you want to learn more about his death. No one there will know the truth, but I can’t offer you any more than I already have.”
With that, the door closed, and so did my opportunity to talk to Elizabeth Hughes.
9
I’d known Mr. Beckingham to frequent the White Tiger Club, and occasionally Mrs. Beckingham would tag along to “catch up with the girls” over a cocktail, but I had never been before, so I had little idea what to expect.
The club sat in the center of the town, not far from the headquarters of many departments of local and international government, allowing for officials to stop in for lunch during the day and take meetings there. Important looking men in suits stood around outside the front door as I walked up. Immediately, I worried my dark blue walking skirt and cream sweater were too informal for the kind of company I would find inside, but the doorman had already spotted me and was moving down the front steps to offer me his hand.
“Good afternoon. Your name, Miss?”
“Beckingham,” I said, affecting as much importance to the name as I could. “Rose Beckingham.”
If there was any recognition, the man did a fine job of hiding it. He nodded, assisted me up the three wide, flat stairs, and then left me on the top step to turn back to a wooden podium I hadn’t noticed at first. On it was a pad of paper with a long list of names. His finger ran down the list and, upon reaching the bottom without seeing my name, back to the top. He glanced up at me for a second before going through the routine a second time.
“I’m sorry, Miss Beckingham, but I do not see your name. Do you have a membership?”
A membership? Of course, a club for government officials wouldn’t let in just anyone. There would have to be a list of approved guests. I’d assumed the Beckingham name would be recognized and allowed in anywhere, but the heads of the house had been dead for eight months and their daughter—me—had moved to London. No one had been paying whatever exorbitant membership fees the club charged, so of course my name had been scrubbed from the list.
“Well, in fact,” I started with no idea where the sentence would go from there. Could I just explain to the man who I was and why I didn’t have an active membership? Even if he understood, he wouldn’t risk losing his job for a random young woman. I couldn’t tell the truth, and I wasn’t prepared to lie. I was half-tempted to just sprint down the steps and disappear into the crowd moving past.
“She is with me,” said a vaguely familiar baritone voice behind me.
I turned to see Lieutenant Collins, looking dashing as ever in his pressed uniform with his freshly-shaven face.
The Lieutenant leaned down to kiss me on the cheek, his hand pressed to my lower back. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear.”
The doorman stood a little straighter. “Lieutenant Collins. Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“That is because I didn’t say.” I offered the man a kind smile.
“I was supposed to meet you at home,” the Lieutenant said, passing a tip to the doorman as we walked through the doors and into a dark wood and plant-covered lobby.
“My mistake, dear.” I gave Lieutenant Collins a slight eyebrow raise as I repeated the endearment he’d used for me in front of the doorman. But now we were alone with no one close enough to overhear our conversation. “You did not need to save me.”
“It looked like you were about to be removed from the premises. Do you not still have a membership?” he asked.
“Apparently not.” I smiled and shrugged as though I couldn’t be bothered with such details.
“Do you have plans here today?” he asked, glancing around the lobby to see if anyone was waiting for me. “Or will I have the pleasure of your company?”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your plans, Lieutenant. I appreciate you getting me inside, but you do not need to rearrange your schedule for lunch with me.” The sentiment was real, but I also didn’t want to be tied down to the Lieutenant the way I had been in the prison. I wanted the freedom to talk to the staff and explore the rooms without suspicion.
“There is no schedule,” he said, placing a hand on my lower back and leading me towards the dining room. “I came here with the hope of running into someone I could dine with, though I must admit I never imagined I would be so lucky as to run into you.”
With no reason not to join Lieutenant Collins for lunch, I followed him into the dining room and to a table in the middle of the room where an Indian
servant in native garb took our order. The Lieutenant ordered for us both and no sooner had the serving man walked through the swinging door into the kitchen, than another man approached the table.
“Major McKinley.” Lieutenant Collins beamed and stood up to shake the man’s hand. “I’m surprised to see you.”
The Major, a beast of a man with bright red hair, rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t expect me to mourn at home the way everyone else here clearly expected.”
He had a thick Scottish accent and a booming voice that drew the attention of all the guests surrounding our table.
A blank expression passed over Lieutenant Collins’ face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—”
Major McKinley pulled out a chair and dropped down into it so forcefully I thought the legs would snap. “The entire staff here and most of the guests look at me like I’m the one who hanged myself from the library rafters. So, I saw a dead body, who cares? Who in the military hasn’t? I’ve seen scenes far more gruesome than a purple face.”
I adjusted my posture in my seat and Lieutenant Collins spared a quick glance in my direction to see how I was reacting to the Major’s gruff demeanor. I winked at him, and he seemed to relax, turning back to our new lunch guest. I had been shocked by the Major’s words not because they were crude, but because he had just admitted to being the man who found Thomas Hughes’ body in the club’s library. Just as Lieutenant Collins claimed he couldn’t imagine getting so lucky as to run into me at the club, I never would have imagined I’d be lucky enough to have a personal connection to the man who found the deceased man’s body.
“I’m sure everyone wants to be sensitive to the situation,” Lieutenant Collins said in a clear attempt to deescalate the conversation.
The Major barked. “I do not need sensitivity. I didn’t even know Thomas Hughes. We Scots are a hardy people and don’t waste time crying over spilled milk, as the saying goes.”
“Surely suicide is more important than a glass of spilled milk,” I said, inserting myself into the conversation. I leaned across the table and offered my downturned fingers to the Major. “Rose Beckingham.”
He raised a red eyebrow at me and then smiled as he accepted my hand, shaking it twice before letting go. “I’m not so mean as to say the death isn’t a tragedy, but I’m not going to avoid the premises because of it.”
“And we are glad you didn’t,” Lieutenant Collins said. “Avoid the premises, that is. We are happy to have you for lunch. Are you going to eat?”
The Scot lifted his upper lip. “You can eat the food here? I can’t stomach it. All the local spices make me sick. I ate at home before I came but thank you for the invitation.” He turned to me. “And how did you come to find yourself in the company of our shared friend Lieutenant Collins. Is he courting you?”
Words burst out of Graham, evidently before his lips were prepared for them, resulting in a kind of strangled, panicky sound. “No, no. Miss Beckingham and I are new friends. We ran into one another out front by pure happenstance.”
Major McKinley angled one eyebrow up and looked at me with a new kind of appreciation that made me less interested in a conversation with him.
“I assume you two know each other through the service?” I asked.
Both men nodded. “What has it been now?” the Major asked. “Six years?”
The Lieutenant smiled. “That sounds about right.”
“And not a woman in his life that entire time,” Major McKinley play whispered, elbowing the red-faced Lieutenant in the side. “So, imagine my shock when I saw him sitting here with the prettiest woman in the room.”
There was nothing I hated more than a forced compliment, especially one at the expense of another. Still, I needed to speak to Major McKinley about what he’d seen in the library the day General Hughes allegedly hung himself, so I couldn’t afford to anger him. I went for the subtle approach.
“I’m sure Lieutenant Collins has always had his pick of the women. I appreciate a man who can set aside frivolous relationships in the name of advancing his career first. It is admirable.”
Lieutenant Collins was once again red-faced, though I suspected it was for a much different reason now. He was too kind and had granted me so many favors that I couldn’t sit by and watch him be embarrassed by a man who was meant to be his friend.
“It can’t be helped,” Major McKinley carried on, as though I hadn’t spoken. “The women here are either the silly daughters of low level officials or native girls, neither of which are worth anything to a man of high standing.” He looked at me with his eyes narrowed. “Present company excluded, I’m sure.”
At first, I’d believed the Major’s harsh opinion of General Hughes’ death could have been because of a personal dispute between the two, but I was beginning to realize the General had a negative view of most people. The only kind word I’d heard him say had been about the hardiness of his own countrymen, though I suspected he could muster up a few harsh words for them, too, if the conversation required it.
Suddenly, he flung his hand in the air and waved it around, flagging down a passing male server who kept his eyes trained on the carpet as he approached, a nervous look in his eyes. “Am I not a paying member? Is anyone here going to offer me a drink?”
He ordered a scotch, and I hoped the Major was not an angry drunk. If so, the club had better be cleared out or everyone would be hanging from the rafters.
After the server left, the Major commented, “I can hardly understand a word these people say.” He pulled out a cigar box from the inside pocket of his jacket and weighed a thick cigar between his fingers. “Can I borrow your cutter, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Collins fished a metal cigar cutter from his own inside pocket and handed it to Major McKinley. The Major snipped off the end of his cigar and ran it under his nose, inhaling loudly. “I misplaced mine a week or two ago and haven’t been bothered enough to buy a new one yet. I keep assuming it will turn up eventually.”
“Things like that usually do,” I said.
The two men talked about shared friends and the various events they were looking forward to or dreading over the coming week, and I did my best to stay engaged, but my attention was mostly focused on finding a way to get the Major alone. I needed to talk to him about the General’s death without Lieutenant Collins around. The Lieutenant had been willing enough to grant me a few favors and put himself in uncomfortable positions to help me grieve the loss of my family, but I couldn’t imagine he would show the same understanding towards my interest in the death of one of his peers whom I hadn’t known in the slightest. Everyone had their limits.
Our food arrived, and after snapping at the Indian server for another drink and turning up his nose at the smell of our meal, Major McKinley leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and puffed on his cigar as if he was in a smoking room rather than the dining room. I could tell Lieutenant Collins, always the gentleman, found Major McKinley to be an unwanted addition to our lunch party, but his unfailing manners made it impossible for him to say so. If I hadn’t wanted to speak with the Major, Graham’s politeness would have been frustrating, but as it was, it worked to my benefit.
“The menu listed honey roasted carrots as a side dish, did it not?” I asked, searching through the food on my plate with my fork, as if looking for the nonexistent carrots.
Lieutenant Collins twisted his lips to one side and furrowed his brows. “I don’t remember seeing roasted carrots listed, but my memory is not the greatest. Especially when it comes to vegetables.”
I laughed and touched his shoulder. “A strong man like yourself must eat his vegetables.”
“Not unless forced,” he said laughing, his cheeks pink.
“Then I will have to force you,” I said, sliding my chair away from the table. “Let me ask someone about the discrepancy with the carrots and see if it can be remedied.”
Before I could even lift myself out of my chair, Lieutenant Collins did just as I’d expect
ed. He stood up and pushed my chair back under the table. “Allow me, Rose.”
I gave him a warm smile over my shoulder, admiring the clean-cut beauty of his face as he turned and walked towards the swinging kitchen doors. But not allowing myself to be distracted, as soon as the Lieutenant was out of hearing range, I turned my attention back to the Major.
“I gathered by our conversation upon your arrival that you are the person who found General Hughes.” The Major didn’t strike me as the kind of man who needed to be eased into a difficult line of questioning. He would have a greater respect for me if I showed no reservations.
Major McKinley sat up straighter at the sound of my voice but maintained his cross-legged position with his cigar balanced between his thumb and forefinger. “You gathered correctly.”
“I also gathered you may not have cared for the man,” I continued.
The Major shook his head. “No, that isn’t it. I hardly knew him, if we are being honest. We passed in the hallways and I would see him across the dining room on occasion, but we had never spoken before, so I had no reason not to like him.”
“Sorry for my assumption, but the way you discussed his death made me believe the two of you may have had a history.”
He lifted his lips in a small smile and tilted his head to the side, studying me. “You were bothered by my comparison between the General’s death and spilled milk.”
