“I know you have been asked about the night of the murder already,” I said, “but I was hoping to hear about some of the more personal parts of the evening in the hope that they may reveal something of significance. How were Lady Matilda’s spirits that day?”
“She was quite happy, madam,” the maid said. “She was excited about the party.”
“Was she happy to have Archibald here?”
“Of course,” she said. “They’ve been close since they were children.”
“Do you remember what she wore that evening?”
“Her cerise gown, madam.”
“May I see it?”
“I suppose so.” She looked puzzled, but pulled the gown from its hanger. Though I knew it would already have been cleaned, I made a show of inspecting it nonetheless.
“Was there much mud on it?” I asked. “It’s amazing you were able to get it out.”
“It wasn’t so bad, madam. Just around the hem.”
“I shall have to have Meg speak to you.” I flashed her a winning smile. “She has such trouble with mud. You wouldn’t mind sharing your tricks, would you?”
Now she looked even more confused. “Mud isn’t all that difficult, madam.”
“Perhaps not for you.” I smiled again. “I would be most grateful if you’d share your secrets with Meg. Will you do that for me?” I must remember to warn Meg before this conversation or she would think I had lost my mind.
“Of course, madam, if that’s what you wish. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, no,” I said. “Don’t let me keep you from your work.”
She scuttled out of the room. I’m sure she thought I was the worst sort of out-of-touch eccentric aristocrat who was too stupid to realize that even the newest lady’s maid would know precisely how to deal with mud on a gown, but that did not bother me. The police would have searched Matilda’s room the night of the murder, but I thought it unlikely they had done much beyond give it a quick once-over, and now I was in it, prepared to do just that. They would have been loath to disturb a lady’s privacy, and I did not remember Colin telling me he had taken any interest in that particular part of the house.
I felt a bit underhanded doing it now, and a bit guilty at going through my friend’s possessions, but I could not discount her as a suspect, especially now that I knew she had almost certainly lied about going outside the night of the murder. I worked quickly, making my way methodically through the chamber. The first thing that sparked my interest was a folded paper I found hidden in the pages of a book, but it amounted to nothing more than a list of gowns she planned to order for next year’s London Season. In the drawer of her bedside table I found a diary, but I could not bring myself to open it. That would be too much of a violation.
I did not feel the same, however, when I came across a bundle of letters tied with a pink ribbon and tucked into the back of a drawer filled with silk undergarments. A prick of disappointment came when I recognized the handwriting on the envelopes as that of Archibald, and I worried that Matilda, like his American fiancée and Cora Fitzgerald, harbored romantic feeling for him. I started at the sound of footsteps in the corridor, afraid Matilda would find me, but they continued along, fading in the distance. I was relieved, even though I knew I was doing what the investigation required.
With trembling hands I untied the ribbon and flipped through the envelopes, looking for the latest one. Fortunately, they appeared to be in chronological order, with the most recent on top. I opened it, spread it out on my lap, and read.
My darling dear cousin,
I am gladder than I can say to learn you don’t object too strenuously to the change in our plans. I know how you adore Montagu, and I would love nothing more than for you to live there for the rest of your days. I have, however, promised myself to a young lady bent on playing mistress of the manor, at least for a while, and you know she is too headstrong to be put off. I thank you, thank you, and thank you, again and again for being understanding. You know Grandfather would be delighted at your generous spirit, and I promise not to make any changes to the house that are not easily reversed.
I am so touched by your continued kindness despite what could have been an awkward, if not painful, situation about the house. Here you are, disappointed, and yet offer to host a party for me. How could I refuse? You’re right that I should address the staff as marquess and do everything the proper way, so I shall, and we shall celebrate as you have suggested.
No, I shan’t be bringing her. She’s still in New York, with no plan to return to England until the Season next year, and we will be married the following Christmas. Which means, dear Matilda, that you can stay, content, in Montagu until then. I shall keep you informed of renovations and will do my best to inconvenience you as little as possible.
Do choose one or two things of Grandfather’s to take with you to the house in London. They will serve to remind you of Montagu.
I remain your ever-devoted servant,
Archie
I folded it quickly and shoved it back into the envelope. Matilda was as prone to lying as Cora Fitzgerald. Making a quick decision, I slipped the incriminating letter into my reticule and returned the rest to the drawer. Matilda knew of Archibald’s plans to marry, and she knew she was going to be pushed out of the house she loved. She had lied about all of it to me. Was that enough to drive her to murder a cousin for whom she had such affection? Enough to make her pay Miss Fitzgerald to do the deed for her?
I hesitated, then pulled the bundle back out of the drawer. I wanted—needed—to read the rest of them, so I took them all and headed for the stables. I would talk to the grooms and then find somewhere quiet to read. If I was lucky, I would find a way to return the letters before their owner noticed they were missing. I did not want to confront her until I was ready.
The stables were extensive, covering a huge swath of land. The head coachman was extremely helpful, although he protested they all had already told the police everything about the night of the murder.
“I have a very specific question for you,” I said. “One that the police would have had no reason to ask. There was a young lady who came to see Lord Montagu that night. She had not been invited to the party, and as such wouldn’t have been dressed in evening clothes. She wore a simple gown and was driving a pony trap. Could you see if anyone remembers her?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said. He returned a quarter of an hour later with one of the grooms.
“Do you mean Miss Fitzgerald, madam?” the groom asked. “The vicar’s daughter?”
“Yes, did you see her?” I asked.
“I tied up her horse when she arrived. She’s a most pleasant young lady.”
“How long was she here?”
He blew a long gust of air from his lungs. “It would be hard to say, madam. She arrived just before the guests had finished dinner, which was somewhere in the neighborhood of half nine, and left before midnight. The police were here shortly after midnight. She was gone before they arrived.”
“Do you have any idea how far before midnight?”
He thought for a while. “I remember one of the guest’s coachmen telling me it was already half eleven and commenting on the fact that no one had left the party. We always notice when someone goes off early in a huff, madam. It makes the time pass more quickly.”
“But no one went off in a huff that night?” I asked.
“Sadly, no,” he said. “The coachman was looking at the big clock over the stable gate, so he knew the time, and I am certain I had handed the pony trap back to Miss Fitzgerald before then.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Lady Matilda came out with her, and for a moment I thought it might have been someone leaving in a huff, so upset that the mistress had to escort her out, but it was no such thing.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Only to wish her a good evening,” he said.
“Was Lord Montagu with them?”
>
“No, madam.”
“Did you see him that night?”
“No, but then I wouldn’t have had cause to.”
“Of course,” I said. “Thank you very much for your assistance. It is much appreciated.”
I stalked back towards the house, anger bubbling up in me. Cora Fitzgerald and Matilda had been together so close to the time when Archibald was murdered? Suddenly reading my friend’s letters didn’t seem like such a crime.
Downstairs
xvi
Pru was finished with that uppity Lily. The girl thought she was better than everyone, and now that she was supposedly friends with Lord Flyte, she was more unbearable than ever. Throwing it in everyone’s face, she was, and it was causing unrest among the staff. Mr. Davis and Mrs. Elliott should have never allowed it, especially as Lily was most probably the sort of girl who always had friends she shouldn’t. Even Johnny could see that. He admitted as much. Of course, he had admitted it when he was trying to get Pru to let him undo the bodice of her dress, so his opinion might not be entirely honest, but Pru was willing to overlook that.
Lord Flyte wasn’t the sort of gentleman a girl could trust. He had looked at her in that way—that unmistakable way—when she spoke to him near the stables. Oh, he was right careful not to give anything away, but Pru knew what he wanted. She’d seen it before. She knew what to do. All that was left was to figure out how. She couldn’t go upstairs like the others. Her work was all in the kitchen and its environs, so she had no easy way to put herself in front of Lord Flyte again.
Lily acted like she had high morals, and Pru knew that was smart of her. If you didn’t put on a show of virtue, you’d be in a heap of trouble. There was so much to be gained by going with a gentleman, though, no matter the risks. Lily would be getting lots out of Lord Flyte, and so far as Pru was concerned, she ought to be the one reaping rewards, not some cheeky housemaid. She suffered enough in the kitchen and deserved a bit of fun.
Alice walked past her and scowled.
“Sorry you lost old Johnny, are you?” Pru taunted. “Guess you don’t have what he wants.”
“If what he wants is something you have, I’m glad to lose him,” Alice said. “You should take better care, Pru, or you’ll wind up in the kind of trouble you can’t get out of.”
“I’m not the one who’s headed for trouble,” Pru said. “It’s Lily you should worry about.” Pru smiled. Alice didn’t know anything, especially what Pru had planned for her nemesis. They would all treat her with more respect when she was finished. They’d be afraid not to.
17
Rage was not an emotion with which I had much familiarity, but that was exactly what consumed me when I stepped back into Montagu Manor. Fortunately, I saw reason and decided to calm myself before I confronted Matilda about neglecting to mention having escorted Miss Fitzgerald to the stables shortly after the murder. Not wanting to be disturbed, I went to the servants’ hall, took a seat at the long table in the center of the room, and read the rest of Matilda’s letters from Archibald. Twice, panicked maids approached me, wondering why I was downstairs, and I felt a little bad for having invaded their space. It had been the right thing to do, however. No one asked me what I was reading, and no one could have recognized the bundle of letters.
Finished with them and feeling bolder than I had when I had removed them from Matilda’s room, I went back upstairs and returned all of them but the last to their drawer. Unfortunately, none of the rest proved interesting to the case. After this, I spoke to three of the footmen before I realized I was stalling. It was time to confront Matilda. She had finished in the great hall and had moved on to the picture gallery, where it appeared she had abandoned her project in favor of taking tea with Rodney. This would have surprised me more but for the fact they were sitting at opposite ends of one of the longest tables I had ever seen.
“Goodness,” I said. “Can you even hear each other speak?”
“Why would I want to hear him speak?” Matilda asked. “It is tiresome enough to have to look at him.”
“Boudica’s beauty is enhanced when you can’t hear her voice,” Rodney said. Their eyes met, and I started to feel as if I were interrupting something.
“Matilda, I apologize for disrupting your respite, but I need you to be candid with me,” I said. “I believe you have left out some details of the night of the murder. Could you tell me again everything you know and be careful to omit nothing?”
Matilda’s face fell. “I did not hold anything back from you, I’m sure of it. How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
“You did not tell me about Cora Fitzgerald.” I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the table near to where she sat.
“We just spoke about her not an hour ago.”
“You neglected to mention that you walked her to the stables that night.”
“Did I? No, I don’t remember that at all. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t do it.”
“Your groom is confident you did.”
“Perhaps I did, then. How am I to remember everything? I had a not inconsiderable amount of champagne that night, you know, and then had to contend with the unexpected and violent death of a dear cousin. Details may have eluded me.”
Rodney rose from his seat and walked around the table to stand behind Matilda, resting his hand on the back of her chair, his posture verging on protective.
“What did you and Miss Fitzgerald discuss on the way to the stable?” I asked.
“I don’t recall any conversation.”
“She wasn’t a guest at the party,” I said. “How did you wind up with her? You said you didn’t go outside at all during the course of the evening.”
“I said so because I didn’t go outside—the groom is wrong.” She screwed her eyebrows together. “I am sure of it.”
“Why was there mud on the hem of your dress?”
“There wouldn’t have been. Gracious, Emily, you aren’t accusing me of something more than a bad memory, are you? You can’t think I killed Archie? Or that I paid that dreadful Fitzgerald woman to do it?”
“There is no need to accuse anyone, Emily,” Rodney said. “We all know Boudica wouldn’t have killed her cousin.”
“I don’t think she killed him,” I said, deliberately not addressing Matilda’s second question. I needed more evidence before I confronted her about that. Her shoulders relaxed.
“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “You gave me such a start.”
“I do, however, need you to explain the discrepancies in your story.”
“Truly, Emily, I have no memory of speaking to Miss Fitzgerald. She must have been with someone else who looked enough like me to confuse the groom from a distance. If I had seen her, I would have been forced to invite her in—which would have been awkward under any circumstances after I hadn’t included her on our guest list.”
“The groom spoke to you.”
“It wasn’t me, Emily.”
“Why did you lie to me about Archibald’s engagement? And about his plans to renovate Montagu? Then there’s the little matter of him having told you his fiancée wanted to play lady of the manor and that you would have to live in London.”
“Oh, Emily! You read that old letter, didn’t you?” She shook her head. “That is old news. Ancient. Archibald had changed his mind about all of it ages ago.”
“The letter was dated a fortnight before he died.”
“Whole worlds can change in a fortnight.”
“She is absolutely correct, Emily,” Rodney said. “We have no idea what transpired between Archibald and his fiancée before he died.”
“Nothing changes the fact that Matilda lied. Do you realize how bad that makes you look?” I asked, facing her.
“I know.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I panicked. Archie was dead and I was afraid that admitting to having known any of that would make me appear guilty. I can offer no further explanation. It was foolish and irresponsible.”
“What about Miss Fitzgerald?” I asked. “I shall be speaking with her as soon as I leave here. Is she going to tell me that you escorted her to the stables?”
“Not if she has an honest bone in her body,” Matilda said. “Although I am not sure that is something upon which one can count.”
“Matilda, this is no time to joke. Most of the evidence in this case is circumstantial, and quite a lot of it suggests that you would have liked to see your cousin dead. You certainly benefited from his demise.”
“Not now that Rodney has turned up,” she said. I had never before heard her call him by his Christian name.
“How many times have I implored you to see how my presence benefits you, Boudica?” Rodney asked. His voice sounded almost teasing.
“Rodney may be here now, but he wasn’t here before the murder, and there is nothing that proves—or even hints—you knew he would inherit instead of you. One might argue your plot had accomplished nothing.”
“Good heavens, you are accusing me.”
“I do not like this, Emily,” Rodney said. For the briefest instant, he dropped his hand onto Matilda’s shoulder, then removed it just as fast, presumably before she could bite it off.
“No, Matilda, I am not making an accusation. I do not believe you killed Archibald, but I do have my doubts about Miss Fitzgerald. I need to know when she was here and, more importantly, when she left. If you walked with her to the stables, you might be able to help.”
“I wish more than anything that I could,” she said. “I’ve made such a mess of all this, I know that, and I’m humbly sorry. I was wearing a cerise gown that night. I shall go through the guest list and give you the names of every lady of my coloring who was also dressed in red. Someone was with Miss Fitzgerald, someone other than me, and I will do everything in my power to identify her.”
“I cannot exaggerate how important this may prove to be,” I said. “If Archibald was in the house after Miss Fitzgerald left, then it is unlikely she killed him.”
Behind the Shattered Glass: A Lady Emily Mystery (Lady Emily Mysteries) Page 21
