‘Remember you have no business coming to my bedroom either. You are a driver. Don’t arouse suspicion by acting out of character.’
‘I will only leave a note if it is really important. Take care.’ Jake walked out with the stained garment and closed the door.
Alkmene stood motionless, her hands folded in front of her. Now that Jake was gone and the bustle of their short interaction was over, the silence was stifling, descending upon her like a heavy woollen cloak, closing round her, taking her breath away.
In this deep silence a sudden sound filled the room, like a soft moan. It came at her from all sides, making it hard to detect what it was or where it originated.
Her heart pulsating in her neck, she looked around.
It took her a few minutes of concentrated listening to deduce it was only wind coming down the chimney and rustling around in the fireplace.
She exhaled in laughter at her own jumpiness. Of course somebody had recently been murdered in this house, but like Jake had explained to her on the way over, there had been a clear motive for that. The killer had murdered Lord Winters because he or she felt Lord Winters had to die. It did not mean that she, Alkmene, would be in any danger staying here.
Right?
Still thinking of the odd high-strung Helena, her violent husband Albert, demanding George who had actually hired a burglar to steal his own father’s stones, the nervous staff, she felt a shiver go up her spine and cold settle into her stomach. There didn’t seem to be a normal soul around this place. Just people who were all watching each other as if they were afraid for their lives, and scrambling to make sure they dealt the lethal blow first, instead of receiving it.
From an investigative point of view this was a good thing, because nervous people made mistakes, talked too much, might be persuaded to tell on others to save their own skin. She had to be happy that it seemed like something could be gotten here, and soon too.
But from a personal point of view, it just felt like a highly volatile household to be a part of, even for a little while.
Like sitting on a barrel full of gunpowder while a slow burning fuse led a spark of fire to it.
You never quite knew when it was going to blow up.
Chapter Six
Because the household was grieving for the dead master, Alkmene decided not to wear an evening dress to dinner, but a simple blouse and skirt, in dark tones. She selected minimal jewellery – only a thin gold necklace and a matching bracelet. She brushed her hair but didn’t do it up or decorate it. She wanted to look very plain and demure. Not a threat to anybody.
However, as she came down the stairs and saw the company awaiting her in the drawing room, she realized her mistake.
The brothers were both in dark suits, the likeness between them eye-catching as they stood discussing something, each holding a glass of a honey-coloured liquid in their hands.
Helena was just filling her own glass. She wore a deep red dress with a daringly low-cut neckline, drawing attention to the necklace of fine rubies she wore. The stones sparkled under the light from on high, as if there was fire within them.
Helena’s hair was brushed back and decorated with a fine net of golden filigree as if a painter had worked his magic on it. Her mouth was the same colour as her dress, her cheeks heavily powdered, probably to hide the spot where her husband’s hand had made the mark.
Alkmene hesitated on the threshold. The two men didn’t notice her, but Helena did. She fixated on her with her deep dark eyes for a few moments, giving her a critical once-over. Then she smiled as if she was certain she was superior in this new meeting, this new struggle for the upper hand. She came over quickly, her dress rustling. Standing in front of Alkmene, she reached out the glass she had just filled. ‘Sherry.’
‘Thank you,’ Alkmene said, accepting it. She hesitated a moment wondering whether she should excuse herself for her clothes, but decided not to. It seemed that her better appearance had induced instant confidence in Helena, and Alkmene meant to draw her out as soon as she could. The mention of having seen light underneath the study door had been an outright lie. Helena had been up and about in the night for something, and Alkmene intended to find out exactly what it was.
She smiled and sipped her sherry.
The men turned to them. Albert’s relaxed expression changed the instant he saw his wife, his gaze settling on the rubies around her neck. ‘By George, did you have to wear those?’ he exclaimed. ‘We are a house in mourning.’
Helena reached up to run her fingers over the stones. It seemed almost like a caress. ‘They are so beautiful,’ she murmured.
Albert shook his head, but did not comment any more as if he did not want Alkmene to witness a scene. He probably didn’t realize she had seen him slapping his wife earlier. Perhaps he was eager to protect the facade of their perfect marriage?
His brother George just emptied his glass in a single draught and went to refill it.
‘George!’ Albert called to him. ‘Do meet our guest, Lady Alkmene. She is actually our cousin.’
George looked up, his cheeks reddish, his eyes aglow with something close to fever. ‘The poor branch of the family?’ he said, letting his eyes travel in a provocative way across Alkmene’s outfit.
Alkmene wanted to say something but refrained from it. George’s sense of superiority might make him underestimate her, and that was the very thing she wanted.
She focused on her glass of sherry as if she was embarrassed by his remark, too mortified to meet his eyes, let alone say something in return.
‘We have not heard from you for years,’ George said in the loud tone of someone trying to make a point. ‘Your father does something with plants, right? Write books or what?’
‘Treatises for journals.’ Alkmene sipped again. ‘It is a rather dry pursuit that I take little interest in.’
‘What do you take an interest in?’ George asked, his tone still too loud to be polite. Either he was trying to drown out his own insecurity or he was already tipsy.
‘Horse racing.’ Alkmene looked up to meet his eye. ‘Opera, theatre.’ She shrugged. ‘What else can one fill one’s time with these days?’
George laughed softly. He emptied the glass he had filled in two draughts and clanked it on the table.
Helena cringed at the sound.
George said, ‘If you know your bit about horse racing, we can talk, Alkmene. You don’t mind me calling you Alkmene, do you? You can just call me George. I haven’t got a title anyway. Second son, you know. Got the burden of family expectations, but no rewards to go with it. Now that Father has moved on, all of this belongs to dear Albert here. I get nothing.’
‘That is not exactly true,’ Albert said, his voice calm, but his eyes betraying his annoyance at his brother’s attitude. ‘Father has left you a substantial sum of money to live off, if you spend it wisely.’
His tone left little doubt that he didn’t believe his brother could manage the latter.
George held his head back and laughed. He was quite an attractive man, but his demeanour was marred by the weakness around his mouth and the exaggerated way in which he did everything. It was somehow forced, fake and therefore unappetizing.
George said, ‘You dare call that a substantial sum of money while you got this house, the land, the horses, the rents and the income from the businesses? You dare act like I got something, while I got absolutely nothing, all because I happened to have been born a year or two too late?’
Albert kept his expression neutral, but his tone was a bit vicious as he said, ‘I cannot help the order of our births, brother. But one could say when one considers closely that nature did not make a mistake.’
George opened his mouth to retort, no doubt with a jibe, when the door opened and a girl in a green dress walked in. The dress was simple but accentuated her trim figure. Her arms were bare, except for a few bracelets. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a bun that made her features stern, like they were hewn from stone. She halted two paces in
side the room and looked at Alkmene. ‘I did not know we were entertaining tonight.’
The disapproval in her voice was obvious.
‘This is our cousin: Lady Alkmene,’ George said, his tongue catching on the combination of l-k-m. ‘She has come to pay her respects to dear deceased Daddy.’
The girl’s eyes went wide. ‘Alkmene. But… You never replied to any of my letters. I thought…’
Alkmene hurried to say, ‘I am very sorry about that. I did receive them and thought it was very kind of you to write to me. You must understand I have been quite busy this summer and… Well, I do hope I can make up for my earlier absence now. I am so sorry that your father died.’
‘He had it coming,’ George said.
The quiet conviction in the words was worse than any outburst of anger could have been. This was something George meant from the bottom of his heart.
‘Time to go to dinner,’ Albert said hurriedly.
Alkmene took a step in George’s direction, hoping he’d offer to lead her to the dinner table and she could ask a quick question and find out why he had said such a thing about his father’s death.
But Albert quickly closed in on her and offered her his arm. She had to take it and walk beside him, while George offered his arm to his sister-in-law and Anne was left to follow the two pairs on her own.
The table in the dining room was laid out for five. Albert sat at the head of the table with his wife on his left side, Alkmene on his right. George was beside her, knocking into her with his elbow all the time. Anne sat beside Helena, studying Alkmene with an intent but neutral expression. She seemed curious rather than offended by her presence. Alkmene intended to apologize more fully for her lack of response to the letters as soon as she had a moment alone with the girl. She did look sad. A little lost in the room.
The butler came in to fill their bowls with soup. Alkmene sought for an opening remark that might help to return to George’s statement about his father’s death, but knew there was none. Albert had tried to cover up his brother’s faux pas. By consciously going back to it, Alkmene would only create an awkward moment and not learn anything. It would have to wait until later.
Anne leaned back, her shoulders straight, her neck stiff. ‘You must forgive us that we never wrote to you when we were still in India. But Father never spoke about you.’
‘Why would he have?’ George said, banging his spoon against the bowl as he picked it up with a wild gesture. ‘He never talked about Mother, so why talk about her family?’ He dipped the spoon into the bowl, scratching over the china. The sound was hair-raising, like the scrape of a fingernail over a chalkboard.
Helena cringed again. Her fingers rearranged the silk napkin in her lap.
Albert said hurriedly, ‘I think we have to consider that Father was very distraught after Mother’s death. Mentioning her was infinitely painful to him.’
George laughed softly. ‘Oh, it was.’
He cast a fiery, significant look around the table that all present seemed to understand, but Alkmene.
Flushing, Helena focused on her soup. Albert gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, while Anne’s blue eyes remained on Alkmene as if trying to read what she made of all of this.
‘I was never really sure…’ Alkmene said, lifting the spoon to her mouth. ‘What my aunt died of. I suppose it was one of those horrible tropical diseases you read about in the papers every now and then?’
‘Oh, it was a disease she died of, all right,’ George said.
Albert sat up straight. ‘There is no need to discuss this, certainly not over dinner.’
He glanced at his wife as if giving her an order. Helena took the cue at once and smiled at Alkmene. ‘You must tell us how you left London. Was the weather fine?’
‘About the same as here.’ Alkmene reached for the basket with bread. ‘Not as sunny as one would expect of summer, but quite warm.’
Albert said it was nice weather to take a walk or ride a horse, and Helena mentioned the garden was lovely. ‘We have spent quite some money making it look presentable again. You can imagine how after our absence in India for many years it had been neglected.’
‘Helena did most of the work on it,’ Albert said. ‘She has perfect taste.’
His kind tone and appreciative gaze at his wife were at complete odds with the slap he had dealt her earlier. But Helena had been quite hysterical then. Perhaps Albert had only meant to calm her down? Some psychiatrists did encourage a physical shock to bring the mind back to balance.
Why did she associate Helena with a psychiatrist at once? Helena was not a Winters by blood. Not related to Alkmene’s aunt who had allegedly been…
Losing her mind before she died?
Alkmene swallowed. She managed to say, ‘I’d love to see the garden some time.’
‘I can show it to you.’ Anne looked her straight in the eye. There seemed to be a special insistence in her proposition and a quiet demand in her look that Alkmene would accept this.
Helena shifted in her seat. ‘Why would you, Anne? You know next to nothing about plants.’ There was an undertone of ridicule to her words.
‘I do. I know the names of all the roses. That is more than you do.’
Helena didn’t flinch. ‘Your interest in horticulture will be as short-lived as your interest in anything.’ She looked at Alkmene. ‘We have been trying to get Anne interested in something to do with her life, you know. Some charity, a good cause, or perhaps learning a new language, playing the piano above her current ability. But she has no interest in anything, but staying in bed ’til after eleven and writing letters to all her old friends from boarding school.’
‘Other girls could live in Spain for a year to learn the language there. You are the only one so old-fashioned you won’t let me do anything,’ Anne spat, her cheeks reddening.
Helena hitched a brow. ‘If we let you go to Spain, you would only get into trouble. We want to prevent…complications.’
The word seemed to make Anne cringe. She looked down on her plate, her face on fire, her hand clenched around her spoon.
Alkmene hoped she would get a chance to go see the gardens with Anne, alone. She wanted to know why the girl’s sister-in-law kept her on such a short leash. The two women seemed too different to ever get along. Perhaps Anne would be better off not living here but in London, where she could do her own things and figure out for herself what she wanted to do with her life. Her family only seemed able to point out what she should not do, but not offer any constructive ideas for her future.
After the soup was finished, the butler brought in pommes duchesse, calf’s meat filled with leek and rolled in bacon, green beans and carrots in silver trays, and a delicious sauce that was according to Helena ‘a secret recipe’ of their long-time cook.
Alkmene asked if she could have it for her own cook in London, but was denied on the grounds that no guest had ever been allowed to take this particular recipe away from the house.
Anne didn’t engage at all any more, apparently sulking over the jibes by her sister-in-law about her Spanish ambitions.
George ate little, but drank a lot, not getting loud as some people did when filling up with alcohol, but turning into himself, his eyes dark and brooding.
His brother Albert kept an anxious eye on him, checking his watch every few minutes. Alkmene wondered if he knew by experience that after a certain time the drinking mood went from morose to exuberant and embarrassing.
Albert seemed relieved when George got up before dessert, saying he needed fresh air and leaving the room. The front door banged soon after.
The butler brought in fresh fruit with whipped cream and meringue on top. Alkmene remarked she could never get good meringue anywhere, and Helena actually became animated telling about the meringue she had found in Paris when they had stayed there for a few days.
Alkmene had still not quite determined what her background could be, but it did not seem to be English. As she was called Helena, i
t could be Greek, or Baltic. She was curious how Albert and Helena had met up and gotten engaged, but saw no innocent way to start the topic.
Albert left a plate half full of dessert and rose to excuse himself that he had to look over accounts. Anne pushed her chair back as well and mumbled something about a book she wanted to finish.
Alkmene was left alone with Helena, who took her time taking tiny bites of her fruit and nibbling on it like it was a foreign food that she consumed for politeness’ sake although she didn’t like it.
Suddenly the dark eyes descended on her, and Helena said in a sharp tone, ‘I am surprised your father lets you have such an unconventional driver.’
Alkmene felt the flush shoot into her cheeks. Had Jake been caught out already? How? When?
Clenching her spoon, she said innocently, ‘Unconventional? Why?’
‘Well, if I had an only daughter, I would not let her go about with an attractive man of her own age.’
Alkmene hitched a brow. ‘You make it sound like it is improper.’
Helena leaned back with eager curiosity etched in all of her features. ‘Do you not think it is?’
Alkmene feigned bewilderment. ‘Why would it be?’
‘Your father is far away in India, and you are travelling with a man who is not your brother or your husband.’
Alkmene laughed. ‘Parker is a servant.’ She left it at that as if the four words explained everything.
Helena’s face contorted. ‘A servant, almost like a thing, right? Not even a person to be considered. You own him like you own your car.’
‘I would not exactly put it that way,’ Alkmene said, perplexed by Helena’s violent response, but Helena had already risen with a rustle of her fine dress. ‘It is hard to understand for those who have not been born that way.’
She made her way to the door, gliding like a regal ship over smooth waters.
Alkmene said, ‘It is easy to criticize a level of society that one is actually dying to be a part of. After all, by marrying Albert Winters you have a beautiful house here, a garden to spend money on, horses and other pursuits. You even have a title now. Your marriage has not made your lot in life worse, has it?’
Diamonds of Death Page 5
