When Cora had fallen, it had been Randolph who’d appeared. Because he’d been right there. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted her to see where he’d come from, since he’d just slipped away to kill Gladys.
Randolph’s eyes were thoughtful, and Cora despised them. He should be acting more afraid. She knew. The fact should make his body quiver, though Cora thought it possible he’d never had an unconfident moment in his life. The man oozed self-assurance...the sort only found in the murderers in the pictures.
“Maybe Randolph is the murderer,” Cora said slowly.
“Nonsense.” Randolph gave a strangled laugh. “I wasn’t even in the house when the dead duke’s murder took place.”
“You climbed the tree. Or perhaps you even brought a ladder over from the barn. I don’t know how you got inside, but you did.”
“I didn’t do it,” he said solemnly. “I-I value life.”
It would be so easy to believe him. He’d been her support over the past few days, but she shouldn’t have been leaning against him. He was dangerous, as unstable as a drawstring bridge.
“You’re coming with me,” Edmund said.
“What are you doing?” Randolph’s voice sounded almost desperate, but Edmund swept his arms behind him and tightened his grip.
“Don’t run away,” Edmund thundered.
Veronica looked like she was about to swoon. “You’re so heroic, darling.”
Edmund smiled, but then his face grew grave. “We won’t have you murder anyone else here.”
“But look,” Randolph said desperately. “I didn’t do it. You must believe me.”
“You must have been hiding out,” Cora said somberly. “And you had access to murder Gladys. And motive. Why else would she have your camera cord?”
“Evidently someone planted it there,” he said.
“I agree,” Signor Palombi said.
Cora glared at him. “You would. The police can decide when they arrive.”
“Yes,” Edmund said. “In the mean time we’ll put you in the South Tower.”
“This is when a dungeon would come in handy,” the dowager duchess declared. “It’s a shame none of the former Holts ever took on the role of magistrate.”
“You’ll suffer for this.” Edmund’s voice was icy and cold. “Breaking into our house? Murdering my father? And then sitting in the drawing room and convincing Cora to arrange a bedroom for you? Interrogating all of us—pretending to help?”
“That poor sweet servant girl,” the dowager wailed.
She’d probably never said so many nice things about a servant before.
“B-but,” Randolph stammered. “Do something, Cora. Tell them!”
“I can’t,” Cora said sadly.
“Please?” Randolph begged.
Cora hesitated and then picked up the Shakespeare volume. “Take this with you. You can read it while you wait for the police.”
Chapter Twenty-six
THE SNOW HAD STOPPED, as if content with its transformation of the landscape. Pink and orange light sparkled over the slabs of snow. Some servants had ventured outside with shovels, and the sound of scraping and crunching snow passed through even the thick centuries-old glass windows.
“Let’s get out of this dreary house,” Veronica said. “It reeks of death and despair.”
“What would you propose, darling?” Edmund asked.
“We could go ice skating,” Veronica said. “We can’t simply wait for the police to arrive.”
“I think that’s precisely what we should do,” Cora said.
Edmund gave her a gentle smile. “We have the murderer already.”
Cora’s heart gave her a pang.
She’d liked Randolph...far too much.
But she’d clearly been utterly wrong about him.
“Look,” Veronica said. “I’m sorry about him.”
“He seemed so sweet,” Cora said mournfully.
“It’s still good we discovered him,” she told Cora in a stern tone. “He was a murderer. Don’t spend any time worrying about his fate. He doesn’t deserve it. He didn’t spend much time worrying about Gladys’s fate.”
“Maybe he wasn’t really the murderer—”
“But there’s still a strong chance he was, and if so, he should be locked up until the police arrive.”
“You’re right.”
Veronica beamed. “Of course I am.”
“Dearest, you go and take anyone who wants to go ice skating with you,” Edmund said. “I’ll wait for the police to arrive.”
“And I’ll work on the dowager duchess’s portrait,” Lady Audrey said.
“Oh, yes, you stay,” Veronica said. “Now. Who’s going to go with me?”
Signor Palombi, the dowager, and Mr. and Mrs. Ardingley all expressed various degrees of enthusiasm.
“It’s cold outside,” Cora hedged. She didn’t want to attempt to have a good time. Not now. Not when the first man she’d felt close to in her whole life was locked in a tower. Not when he’d murdered two people.
“You’d probably prefer to lie in bed. But don’t worry,” Veronica said airily. “You can borrow a cashmere sweater from me. It is very cold.”
Cora went to the room and opened Veronica’s wardrobe. There were several cashmere options. Gladys had arranged everything neatly. Cora brushed her hand against the soft furs and silks and velvets, organized in a perfect display of colors starting at ivory and a silvery blue to the most vibrant crimson and emerald colors. There was no black.
Veronica was, despite everything, an optimist.
It was one of the many things Cora admired about her.
Clearly, she was wearing her only black clothes to honor her father-in-law’s passing.
Cora grabbed a cashmere sweater and slid it over her shoulders. The material was so luxurious, and she twirled before the mirror.
She noticed the open record box.
And frowned.
Where was Horror Most Dreadful? The main reason Veronica had brought the gramophone had been to listen to it. Why did she only have music records? Had she hidden it? And if so—why?
The police should arrive soon, she hoped. The roads were beginning to clear, and Veronica and her husband were already speaking about visiting Latin America for a holiday.
Cora frowned. Veronica couldn’t have used the record and gramophone to mimic the late duke’s death. Was it possible that...
Cora needed to listen to the record. That scream hadn’t sounded natural. But perhaps it could be heard on the record?
If the scream was on the record, then the murder could have happened earlier than they’d thought. The murderer could have killed the duke, perhaps by stabbing him and then removing the chandelier in the hopes of successfully making the murder appear like an accident.
Veronica could have murdered him.
Not some mysterious stranger.
Cora shook her head. Veronica was Cora’s friend. She couldn’t suspect her.
But how well did Cora really know her?
The duke had been trying to get dirt on Veronica. Perhaps he’d been blackmailing her. Perhaps she’d been pressed too far.
I need to find that record.
Cora searched the closet.
And then underneath the bed.
And finally, underneath the chest of drawers—and it was there.
She’d found it.
Cora tucked the record underneath her sweater and hurried downstairs.
“There you are,” Veronica said.
“Yes,” Cora squeaked.
She couldn’t just accuse her friend of murder.
The police would arrive, and she could tell them of her suspicions... But they might laugh at her. It did seem ridiculous. And she didn’t even know if such a scream appeared on the record.
If Cora could only be sure.
If only the gramophone were not broken. If only the roads were clear and she could purchase a gramophone in town. Cora suddenly missed Los Angeles.
&nb
sp; But perhaps...If she could find another one.
Lady Audrey.
Her home was nearby. Perhaps her parents had one.
“I had such a dreadful experience skiing,” Cora said. “I’m really not up for more new winter activities, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Veronica said. “It will be such fun.”
Cora tried not to wince. Two people had just been murdered. No fun was supposed to take place now.
Cora had thought Veronica’s flippancy somewhat of an act, but perhaps Cora had assumed what she’d desired to believe. Perhaps she’d added hidden motives and secret feelings to all Veronica’s remarks, for the only reason that they were friends.
And even that had been an act.
The studio had insisted that Veronica and Cora spend time together, so Cora’s straight-laced reputation could make Veronica more proper, back when the studio considered such things important.
“I’ll be fine,” Cora said.
“You always were an odd thing,” Veronica said. “Very well. Most of the servants went to the village. They don’t want to hang around here, and since the weather is nice, we didn’t stop them.”
“That’s fine,” Cora said.
“Very well,” Veronica said breezily and waved goodbye.
Cora headed down the corridor to Lady Audrey’s room at once and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Lady Audrey said cheerfully, and Cora entered.
“Miss Clarke!” A flicker of surprise seemed to pass over Lady Audrey’s face.
Lady Audrey was in dark, wide-legged trousers and a flowing cream-colored blouse. Her hair was tied up. Her face was red, and paint splattered her clothes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Cora said.
“What is it?” Lady Audrey said uncertainly.
Cora regretted how passionately Randolph and she had followed her when she’d attempted to go home. “Can you help me? I-I need a gramophone.”
Lady Audrey’s eyes filled with suspicion for a moment, but then she nodded. “Yes. My parents have one. We can visit Oak Manor. It’s quite close. Besides, there must be some advantage to not having Mr. Hall scowling at us when we strode too near the foyer.”
Cora nodded, and guilt moved through her. “We may have been overly hasty in locking him up.”
Lady Audrey paused and scrutinized her. “Men can mislead one.”
“Naturally,” Cora said quickly, as if to adopt some of the worldliness Lady Audrey seemed to possess. “But Randolph—”
“Is certainly a suspect.”
“You’re right,” Cora admitted, but Lady Audrey did not look boastful.
“It’s difficult,” Lady Audrey said. “I understand. And perhaps Randolph is not the killer.”
Cora nodded, clasping the record more tightly to her.
“After all these horrible deaths,” Lady Audrey continued, “it would be dreadful if the police were to arrest the wrong person.”
They strode through the corridors, down the stairs and into the foyer.
“It’s so quiet here,” Cora remarked.
“One of their own died this time.”
Lady Audrey and Cora put on their various fortifications against the cold and departed the manor house.
The gray sky had turned a brilliant blue, and all the world sparkled. The sun glowed, and its bright rays illuminated each icy branch, each crystal-covered statue, and even each glistening block of ice in the moat with vigor, as if to boast of nature’s earlier prowess at having created the blizzard. Some snow settled on them in places, though they could not mask the glare of the sun’s reflection on the ice. The snow sparkled under the sunlight, and the wind had swept it into pleasing shapes, as if seeking to bring nature nearer the heavens. It seemed impossible to dwell on any negative consequences of the storm, even though the manor house had been as isolated as if they’d been barricaded by the best army.
“It’s so lovely,” Cora breathed.
“Yes,” Lady Audrey said. “There’s not a murder here every day.”
Cora nodded. The sun shone brightly through the trees, as if life was wonderful, as if no one had died at all. Perhaps she should return inside. She was likely wrong. Surely Veronica couldn’t really have murdered her father-in-law. But the thought didn’t feel right. It seemed to twist its way into her stomach.
Because, of everyone Cora had ever known, wasn’t Veronica perhaps the least unexpected person? Veronica had strong opinions. She’d clawed her way to the top of Hollywood, all in perfect manicures. She’d stormed British society, toppling the various rules of decorum that suggested a future duke should only marry a debutante. The skills an English woman was supposed to have to become a good wife to an aristocrat included a knowledge of tableware and ability to make benign conversation, instead of an ability to acquire worldwide renown.
It didn’t help that Veronica had lately excelled at playing vamps, happy to accept roles playing femme fatales, helped by the columnists’ frequent mention of her as displaying disastrous behavior.
The duke had threatened her. Could Cora truly say that Veronica would have held onto loftier values in the face of his contempt and urge to destroy all she’d made for herself?
Cora wanted to say yes.
She wanted so badly to say yes.
But Veronica had had the gramophone. She’d had the opportunity. She’d had the means. And she’d been in possession of an excellent motive.
If Veronica had taken two lives—well, Cora would have to inform someone.
Gladys had been young. Joyous. She hadn’t engaged in nefarious activities such as selling weapons to Germany’s allies, uncaring if they used them against England, uncaring even if they used them against their own people.
“The house is not far away,” Lady Audrey said. “We can grab snowshoes. I do love the countryside.”
“Perhaps you should move here,” Cora said.
Lady Audrey smiled. “Perhaps I shall.”
After a short distance they came to another manor house. It was less grand than Chalcroft Park, with neither turrets nor a moat, but it looked older and perhaps even more elegant. It had long windows that cast lovely light into the house when they entered.
Cora’s shoulders relaxed. “This is splendid.”
“The gramophone is in the parlor,” Lady Audrey said. “I’ll show it to you.”
Cora followed her into the room and put on the radio play.
“I’ll make some tea,” Lady Audrey said, leaving.
Cora settled down on the sofa and listened carefully to the play. Perhaps it had been a silly idea. There was mostly conversation.
Lady Audrey arrived with tea. “Mind if I listen?”
“Oh, go ahead,” Cora said.
Lady Audrey poured tea into blue and white china cups. “Just why did you want to play this record?”
“It’s just a hunch,” Cora admitted. “I don’t think I can share yet.”
“You think your friend had something to do with the murder?”
Cora widened her eyes.
“I recognize the name of the record,” Lady Audrey said. “We discussed it at dinner.”
“Oh, so we did.” Cora nodded and continued to listen to the radio play.
There was a part on the record where the person went into a basement. It took a while for him to scream, but when he did—it was dreadful.
She’d been correct.
Unfortunately.
Lady Audrey flinched at the scream. “I should make some more tea. I don’t need to hear the person discovering a body in the basement.”
Cora jerked her head toward Lady Audrey. “How did you know that he discovered a body?”
Lady Audrey faltered, and tea spilled over the saucer. Her face flushed, and she set down the tea and saucer onto the coffee table abruptly. The porcelain clattered noisily over the marble table. “What did you say?”
Cora frowned. “How did you know he’d discovered a body?”
“It
’s—er—obvious.”
“The man could have just been wounded. He could have been stabbed. Or shot.”
“I know methods of killing people,” Lady Audrey said impatiently. “I-I must have heard it.”
“You said you never heard the radio play before,” Cora said. “In the radio play we don’t know why he was screaming. In the next scene the narrator tells us the reason.”
Lady Audrey flushed. “I-I heard it before. I-I don’t like admitting to listening to crime dramas. Might not work with my intellectual reputation.”
“Or perhaps you didn’t want to give Veronica the satisfaction of knowing that her project is a big deal?”
“That’s it,” Lady Audrey said. “I was jealous. You understand, surely.”
Cora took her tea and sipped it slowly.
The scream had been there.
Veronica could have put on the gramophone when she changed, turning up the volume for the quiet part, and then waited for the scream to sound. Perhaps she’d opened the window so everyone could be sure to hear the scream better, or perhaps simply so people could think that an intruder had murdered him, should people not believe that a chandelier had crushed him.
It was dreadful.
Veronica must have been desperate for the duke to not threaten her to divorce her husband.
Cora frowned.
But it did seem...unlike her.
Still, this explained how the murder could have happened.
But perhaps... Perhaps Lady Audrey had done the same thing. Perhaps Lady Audrey had put on the record. Perhaps Lady Audrey had opened the window.
But why would Lady Audrey have gone through all the trouble of doing that?
Lady Audrey had been in her room when the murder happened. She didn’t have an alibi. The only people who had an alibi were Mr. Ardingley and Edmund.
Edmund.
The new duke.
The man who inherited his father’s fortune and title. The man whom the duke had desired Lady Audrey marry.
Would Lady Audrey have protected him? They were childhood neighbors. Had Lady Audrey wanted there to be more between them?
Had Edmund?
She looked out Lady Audrey’s bedroom window.
A figure in black strode toward them.
Calamity Under the Chandelier Page 15
