Sylvia’s Secret

by Mary Vee

  Accepting a kind gift is always a gesture of compliment. “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  She picked up the tea service and left the room, leaving Branson’s cup and saucer with him.

  Chapter Four

  Branson used the moment of solitude to observe the St. James sitting room. One never knew where a clue might appear, even in the home of a neighbor considered to be upright and well-standing. Vases and exclusive paintings eluded to the host’s preference for Venetian art. On the corner of the buffet and half hanging off the surface, a single photobook appeared to have been forgotten. Typically, such a personal item would be stored in a library or private sitting room. Since it was there, Branson looked inside.

  The cover crinkled as he opened it. Photos gently secured inside had yellowed slightly. Memories of happy children with their mothers and fathers celebrating birthdays and holidays. An old image of this very home appeared in several. The fashions worn by the subjects dated the album at lease thirty years.

  “Mr. Carhill?”

  Branson closed the book and turned.

  A man stood at the arch, attired to the nines in the latest butler ware, including black morning coat, white wing collar dress shirt, black tie, grey vest, grey striped trousers, and the not quite expected, cufflinks. “You asked to see me, sir?” His deep voice and impeccable posture came off a bit intimidating.

  Especially for another hired worker. Branson checked himself for the expected decorum of a guest in this mansion and raised his chin. The butler would expect Branson to behave appropriately and to freely conduct his business as needed. “Yes.” He didn’t clear his throat or run his hand around his collar to loosen it from his neck, although he wanted to. “Miss Kelsey stated she saw a vehicle on the street outside this house the evening of December 10th. She said it moved past the front gate around seven fifteen and that it seemed out of the ordinary. I am representing the neighborhood watch. A concern has been raised regarding the safety of the neighborhood. Did you happen to see the vehicle or anything else suspicious?”

  Mr. Parker maintained his straight back as a butler would. He didn’t enter the room beyond the doorway or deviate from any other formal expectation of his duty. “I did, sir. As Mrs. St. James has granted permission to answer your questions, I am at liberty to tell you what I witnessed.”

  His comment peaked Branson’s curiosity. “Please have a seat and tell me what you saw.”

  Mr. Parker seemed leery about approaching a chair and sitting while on duty but gave in once Branson sat. “After dinner, on the same evening reported to you by Miss Kelsey, I walked through the rooms on the main floor ensuring everything had been secured for the night. In a neighborhood such as this, the staff from one home speaks with the staff of others during our free time. We are quite aware of weekly festivities and dinners venturing long into the evening and at which home from week to week. The information helps us protect the community and our employers.

  “As I walked through the parlor, I saw headlights move slowly along the street. I turned off the light and slipped behind the curtain. The vehicle moving across the road was a BMW and a dark color. To my knowledge, no one has a similar vehicle in the neighborhood.”

  “You’re sure the vehicle was that make?”

  “I am versed in every vehicle, make, and model. It’s a hobby.”

  “What time would you estimate the vehicle drove by?”

  “I made my rounds at ten that evening. Mrs. St. James had retired early.”

  Branson recorded the car’s second drive by in his notepad. “Did you notice anything else the evening of December 10th or the morning of December 11th? Unusual footprints in the snow? Anything missing?”

  “Not that I can think of at the moment, sir.”

  Branson handed him his card. “If you do, please call. The safety of the neighborhood may depend on it.”

  “Yes, sir. If you have no further questions, may I show you out?”

  “Yes, thank you. I am finished.”

  Mr. Parker walked him to the door and handed him his umbrella. “Good day, sir.” He opened the door and waited for Branson to exit before closing it.

  The morning turned out more profitable than Branson expected. Whoever drove the BMW through the neighborhood added new clues and supplied a significant piece of the puzzle.

  He walked to the Duvet home with a list of new questions and pressed the intercom on the gate.

  “Who is calling?”

  “Branson Carhill.”

  The gate opened without any additional inquiry. He walked the brick drive to the door and again was received by the butler.

  “Good day, sir. I assume you’ve come to investigate again. What would you like to see next?” The butler’s demeanor had changed. How nice. Mrs. Colinfield must have called and ordered the staff to cooperate with his investigation as she said she would.

  “Where would Mrs. Duvet keep her luggage?”

  “She hasn’t ordered it since her last trip. I would know because I am the one who brings it to her room.”

  “When did she last travel a distance requiring luggage?”

  “March this year. She went to Israel.”

  Curious. “Could you show me the luggage storage?”

  “I hardly feel comfortable taking you there, sir. If you could tell me what you are looking for, I would be glad to go there and examine the space.” He moved his hands from in front of him to behind his back. Sweat formed on his forehead.

  The room must not be tidy. A cobweb hanging from the ceiling. A mouse darting across the room. These concerns, if reported, could rightly get him in trouble.

  “No. I’m quite fine with going down there, Tanner. Please take me there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without any additional indication of offense, the butler walked ahead of Branson through the main foyer, down a long hall to a narrow stairway leading to the lower levels. Around another corner and through two darkened rooms, Tanner unlocked a door. He reached in and pulled a chain. A burst of light filled the cement block room and reflected off a few dust strands hanging from the ceiling.

  Four traveling cases in various sizes lined the wall.

  “How many suitcases does Mrs. Duvet own?”

  “Two belonged to her, one to her daughter, Mrs. Colinfield, and one to her deceased husband. All are here before you.”

  “She didn’t pack a case?”

  “No, sir. All the suitcases are here.”

  “Very well. I’d like to see Mrs. Duvet’s room again.”

  Tanner switched off the light, closed the door, and led Branson to the upper level. As they walked, the opportunity presented itself to ask about the car. If a maid overheard the conversation, she would hopefully offer the information. “Tanner, did you happen to see an unexpected vehicle driving down the street recently?”

  The butler stopped. He turned and faced Branson. A servant would never do that except in urgency. “What kind of vehicle are you inquiring about?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  He swallowed. “I did. You don’t suppose it had anything to do with Mrs. Duvet’s disappearance?” His sobriety rendered the poor man unable to say more. He stood with an expectant look.

  “I can only inquire. Did you see such a vehicle?”

  “The night before last, it was December 10th, Mrs. Duvet sat in her usual chair in the library. Around nine o’clock, she made her wishes to retire known, it was earlier than usual. She asked for a warm cup of tea to be brought to her bedroom. While her maids and assistants cared for her, my duties included ensuring the house was properly closed up for the evening. The hallway clock struck ten when I happened by the parlor, a room facing the front of the property. According to the neighborhood staff, no other home expected guests at that hour. There was no reason for a car to be passing by, especially slow as if looking for an address. I looked through the curtains and found a BMW rolling by.”

  “You’re sure?”

  �
�Quite.”

  “Did you notice the color?”

  “The sun had set, and there aren’t streetlights other than the ones at the end of the drive. The brick gate didn’t help much either. If I had to say a color it would be a dark shade. Perhaps red.”

  “Did you see where the vehicle went after passing the house? An unplanned guest for a neighbor or Mrs. Duvet? Possibly her daughter?”

  “No. I didn’t see where the vehicle went only that it continued on past the house. As for Mrs. Colinfield, she strictly uses a chauffeur and would hardly need to search for this address. If you would like, I can ask other staff employed in the neighborhood about the vehicle.”

  “I appreciate your assistance. Call me if you learn anything.”

  Tanner nodded. He turned and walked farther up the corridor. “This way, Mr. Carhill.” They walked up another staircase and turned again before he delivered Branson to Mrs. Duvet’s private room. Anneliese happened to walk from the other direction when Tanner excused himself.

  “Mr. Carhill, you’ve returned,” she said.

  “Yes. I’d like to search Mrs. Duvet’s room again, this time for the letters from her friends.”

  “Oh? You think you might find where she is in one of them?”

  “Possibly. Would you like to help me?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll do anything to bring her back.”

  “Good because we need to look for more than the letters. A note. Something scribbled on a piece of paper. A phone number. Anything with information that could help.”

  “I can do that. Mrs. Duvet is a wonderful woman. So kind.” She wiped an eye. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

  He never liked to leave false hope. It wasn’t fitting for a gentleman. Sometimes, though, a kind word of assurance had to be spoken. “There now, we’ll find her.”

  Anneliese lowered her head and sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Carhill. Thank you for all you’re doing.”

  He politely held his arm out toward the room indicating she should enter first. She took a step then stopped midway, looking to the left and right. “Where do you want to search?”

  “I’ll check the wardrobe. Would you look under the bed? Sometimes storage boxes with special items are kept there.”

  Anneliese knelt by the bed and lifted the bedding. “You were right, Mr. Carhill. She stores boxes under here. Since I’m not her personal maid, I had no reason to search for anything in such a place.” She pulled several boxes out into the open. “I don’t feel right looking in them.”

  “Anneliese, the intent is not to pry.” He gave her a stern eye. “We will not read or examine anything that would not assist us in finding her. Also, anything that we happen to observe will remain in the utmost confidence. Everything, and I mean, everything, will be taken to the grave for the sake of a good woman who is missing. Is that clear beyond all doubt?”

  Her face grew deeply serious. “Yes, sir.” She pressed the palms of her hands together. “I promise with all my heart.”

  “Very well. Let’s begin.”

  He slipped on gloves and opened the wardrobe doors. Faced with ten drawers, he pulled the knob of the first one on the right then lifted the items, running his hands to the very back corners then followed the same procedure for the remaining drawers and found nothing unusual in any of them. He closed the door and walked to the desk.

  “See anything that might help in those boxes, Anneliese?”

  “No, sir. I think these are memories from trips she’s taken in the past. Brochures, programs, photos, and little souvenirs. Each location has its own box. Places like Honduras, Israel, Jordan, Germany, Paris, Moscow, Alpine villages, Alaska.”

  “Keep looking. Check them all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The desk chair creaked when he sat. Fortunately, not in a hold-on because it’ll break kind of way. More of a well-loved way. He opened the center drawer and noted the same standard desk supplies after searching deeper. The drawer to the right contained a single book titled, Jane Eyre. He pulled out the hardback copy that appeared very old but had been kept in pristine condition. The copyright dated the edition from 1943. He gently flipped through the pages and found nothing to indicate the book was more than a well-loved story. He carefully returned it inside the drawer.

  “I’m finished with the boxes, Mr. Carhill. There isn’t anything here that tells where she might have gone. Is that what you think she did? Took a trip?”

  “It’s best to examine all the possibilities. I must admit, I’ve been surprised when I assumed answers to questions in the past.”

  “Shall I put the boxes back?”

  “Yes. For now.”

  He searched through the remaining very organized desk drawers, careful to check for false bottoms that might hide a secret and found nothing of importance. He knelt to the floor and looked underneath, behind, and at the sides. Smooth surfaces all around.

  He shifted the search to the closet. Anneliese took the right side, Branson the left. “Check behind the clothing. She may have wanted to keep the staff’s curious eyes from reading them.”

  “You think she hid them? There’s not a one of us on the staff who would pry into Mrs. Duvet’s private letters.”

  He turned to her. “Say one of the servants received a special note. A manservant wrote to a maid. The note was dropped by either one, and you discovered it. You recognized the man’s handwriting. Having a secret fondness for this manservant, would you look at the note out of curiosity?”

  She raised her chin. “I would like to think I’d only look at the paper to see who lost it. I’d take it to that person as soon as I possibly could.”

  “Let’s assume you had the strength to do precisely that. When you gave the note to the rightful owner, did you honestly believe they wouldn’t think you read the contents?”

  She sighed. “I suppose not.”

  “The more secretive these letters are hidden, the more important they are to Mrs. Duvet, and the more likely they are to have a clue showing us where she might be. She is most likely to hide them in a place that is convenient to her, out of the way, yet easy to reach.” He considered Sylvia’s leg problem. “I’m also thinking they will be between her waist to head height.”

  Anneliese parted the garments. “Oh, my. Look here, Mr. Carhill.”

  He walked to her side of the closet. In the space between the clothes was a magnificent antique mahogany chest. “Were you aware this was here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It isn’t big or deep. Barely would store much.”

  “It’s sure a beautiful piece, though.” She ran her hand over lavender lilies etched and painted in the surface.

  “That it is.”

  He raised the lid, pleased to find it unlocked. Inside and neatly piled, was one high school yearbook, one preserved dry lily, and a pile of ribbon-tied letters. “We have struck gold. Surely the clue we seek is here.” They removed the three items, took them out to the room, and spread them on the writing table.

  “Now that you’ve found what you’re looking for, I should return to my work. I’ll be back in a few minutes to clean this room.” Anneliese said. She walked toward the door.

  “Thank you.” Branson untied the ribbon securing the letters. The return address written on the back of the first envelope had the words, Elizabeth Alexander, Manhattan. He opened the unsealed flap and pulled out linen stationery. The date on the top was December 8.

  To my dearest friend and French club sister,

  Once again life has kept us both too busy for a social call. I have ordered my dish of Duck Confit and Chocolate Soufflé. Have you? Shall we all celebrate at the usual time? I assume you’ve blocked out the precise moment on your calendar. EST of course.

  In other news, my Phillip bought me a new painting. He couldn’t wait for Christmas to give it to me. Silly man never could wait. Care to guess the artist? He knows my true and closest social group is comprised of the Cinq Amis. Without my fo
ur sister friends, our travels, and the fun times, life would be an absolute bore. I’ll simply die without another secret trip. Code of course. One never knows who reads our letters.

  You will have to find time to visit me and my new painting. We’ll marvel over the colors he chose and his gifted brush strokes like we did that day in the gallery. You’ll stay at my home, of course. Better yet, let’s gather all our sisters. Here at my home. I’ll make the arrangements. You can’t say no. The invite has already been given. And we’ll only speak French. It’ll be such fun.

  Sweet sister, I promise not to allow any husbands. Or, maybe I’ll invite a special guest for you. Wink.

  Do write me back and we’ll set the date. The only word needed is yes. Do it now while I’ve talked you into it.

  Oui! Oui!

  Jusque là, until then

  Elizabeth Alexander

  “Excuse me, Mr. Carhill, if you don’t mind, I’m ready to clean Mrs. Duvet’s room,” said Anneliese.

  He gathered the letters, yearbook, and left the dried lilies centered on the desk. “Yes, of course.” Searching for clues had a certain je ne sais quoi when he worked at the scene. Ideas, questions, answers grew out of thin air. He walked to the door. If necessary, the work could be done as easily at his office. “Is Mrs. Duvet’s personal assistant here today?”

  “I think I saw her downstairs in the library.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Shall I take you there?”

  “No. You have your work. I can find it.”

  She smiled then walked to Mrs. Duvet’s bed and peeled away the sheets.

  He coasted through corridors. On the wall hung magnificent paintings of a European countryside, a vineyard, and a home. Decorative vases sat in nooks along with statues and other forms of art. They seemed to be displayed by the location where she purchased them. Each one told so much about this missing woman. One fact he’d surmised, Sylvia Duvet enjoyed traveling. She also cherished exquisite pieces as souvenirs from the places she visited.

  The main staircase displayed two paintings of the countryside, both with a European flair. After reading Elizabeth’s letter, he considered they might be of a French countryside. The five friends seemed to have kindled a strong friendship and would naturally want to display memories.