Merinda grabbed Jem’s arm tightly. “My friend Jemima is particularly interested in ornithology,” Merinda explained.
“Wonderful. Constable Forth and Mr. DeLuca, if you would care to begin with our gun cabinets, I’m sure Sir Henry will be along presently to greet you and tell you all about them. Last I saw him, however, he was engaged in the usual business. Though I tried to encourage him to leave it. For one night. If you will follow me, ladies, I will lead you to the birds. They are outside the conservatory at the front of the house. You will have just enough time before cocktails.”
Merinda’s and Jem’s shoes echoed over the grand threshold and through the great hall, which was ornamented with family crests and a massive Union Jack flag. Above them, the domed ceiling with crisscrossed banners graced balconies rimmed with mahogany rails.
Jem turned her head over her shoulder for a last glimpse of Ray, who stayed near Jasper awaiting Sir Henry’s imminent arrival.
Through the conservatory, a glass door led to further gardens and a span of lawn. There Merinda and Jem were introduced to all manner of feathered friend. Beyond their glass-encased shed, the city stretched from the high altitude of the castle’s sloping landscape, and the clucks and coos and interspersed music of a rather exotic gathering of birds were splayed on either side of an impressive encased glass shelter. It was not unlike a greenhouse, enshrining all manner of plants and flora.
“We are fortunate to host the magnificent peacock!” said a voice from beyond the door. Another attendant guarding the door gave an indicative nod. Walking further into the shed, Merinda and Jem found chittering ceremonial doves. In other circumstances, pale in comparison to the bright peacocks and parrots, they would have been the least interesting species on display.
“They are specially bred,” said a voice with a clipped British accent a moment later. Jem and Merinda straightened from their inspection of the doves and turned to face a man dressed in military attire with an insignia embellishing his shoulders. He approached them and then faced the cage, slipping a finger through the bars to stroke the downy ivory of one of the dove’s heads.
“Do they… erm… molt?” Jem asked, while Merinda now inspected their new companion.
“They do! Their cages are usually lined with feathers.” He smiled, brightly at Jem and somewhat suspiciously at Merinda, having taken in her odd attire. “I am Philip Carr,” he pronounced with a slight bow.
“Merinda Herringford.” Merinda pumped his hand. “This is Jemima DeLuca.” She cocked her head in a manner akin to one of the inquisitive birds in the cage behind her. “I have heard so much about you. Do you have a particular interest in ornithology?”
“I like birds. They calm me. Do you know the significance of these doves?”
“Messenger birds,” Jem provided.
“Feathers that mark cowardice,” interceded Merinda, searching Carr’s features intently.
“Indeed.” He chuckled. “I suppose there is nothing for a layman enthusiast to teach either one of you.”
“I have long wanted to meet you, Mr. Carr.”
Jem recognized this tone as a rather dangerous one and nudged Merinda that she would make little headway with that attitude.
“Indeed.”
“I am likely familiar to you from my escapades in the field of deduction.”
But Merinda’s self-important assessment of her credentials were interrupted by a rather pompous peacock, who chose that precise moment to flutter down from his perch to shrilly squawk at Merinda, jutting his body, framed by a perfect fan, in front of her.
“Cocky fellow,” Carr said, laughing.
Merinda glared at him, which seemed to make the bird more adamant to secure her attention. Unamused by the peacock’s intense scrutiny, she pulled Jemima through the glass doors and onto the lawn once more. For a moment, they were blessedly alone, Merinda casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to ensure the bird was encased in his sanctuary, a wall of glass between them.
Jemima attempted to stifle her laughter when the persistent bird escaped through the door in pursuit of Merinda before Mr. Carr could prevent it.
Several feet away, Merinda addressed him, hands on hips and body lurched forward: “Now listen here, you intrusive feathered fiend. Unless you somehow remember a strange man plucking plumage from your dove friend’s back, I expect you to turn around and march back to where you came from.”
The peacock emitted a little sound and cocked his royal blue head to his side, the tuft of feathers adorning his head swaying with the sudden movement.
“Merinda, he’s adorable,” Jem cooed, bending down and stretching out her hand to him. The peacock observed her, took two steps forward, and then nipped at her hand with his beak. Jem pulled back just in time.
“You see?” Merinda said. “The fellow is a brute.”
The brute, however, was not quite finished with Merinda, strutting after her even as she spun on her heel and led Jemima in the direction of the main house, leaving Philip Carr’s laughter in their wake.
Inside, Jasper and Ray feigned interest at the gun cabinets. Certainly Sir Henry had an impressive display. Each rifle and black pistol were gleaming with polish. The man himself had appeared with a few friends in casual entourage. Sir Henry extended his warmest wishes to Jasper and Ray and shook their hands amicably before the trio turned to the gun collection.
“Might this be the same care you take with your impressive collection of automobiles?” Jasper queried.
“You are an astute young man.” Sir Henry took a moment to appraise the constable. “I find that I need someone who will treat each with the same amount of special care. I do have one fellow, Graham.” He smiled. He turned to the small congregation of gentleman. “If you’ll excuse us.” He handed off his glass of whiskey to a servant and motioned for Ray and Jasper to follow him. The other gentlemen, Ray and Jasper could only assume, must have previously had the opportunity to view the grand house.
As Sir Henry led them down a set of dark mahogany stairs, Jasper gave Ray a slight smile. This is exactly where we need to be.
“The garage is connected to the main house by a rather elaborate tunnel,” Sir Henry announced proudly, ushering them forward. “But I must admit that the tunnel and the other wing are still in a rather crude state.”
“It’s decent of you to allow the men working on your estate to enlist.”
“We must all do our part.” Sir Henry lifted a lantern from a hook on the wall and led them forward. “My wife will probably have our heads for being tardy for the dinner bell, but I think you two will appreciate my collection.”
“We feel quite honored to be shown this part of the mansion,” Ray said.
“Nonsense. I saw the way Constable Forth was admiring my firearms. I imagine a man of the law would appreciate seeing how I take care of all of my possessions.” The walk thereafter was silent through dank, cement-lined corridors. Then they were met with another staircase. Sir Henry held the lantern in front of him and motioned them forward.
Once they were in the garage, Sir Henry introduced them to Graham, a silver-haired man with a pronounced limp and an oil can, who was attending to one of the many automobiles.
“Graham and I served against the Boers together. Can’t go anywhere without him!” Sir Henry said fondly. Jasper and Ray smiled at Graham, who ducked his head sheepishly. “Graham, will you see these fellows back to the main house? Gentlemen, I was not in jest. My wife will have my head if I am tardy for the bell. You, however, can be spared a similar fate on account of our hospitality. Graham here can tell you all you need to know.”
Jasper and Ray surveyed the latest models of the Ford and Cadillac variety gleaming iridescently through the half-moon windows, their glass panes glistening, their bodies perfectly polished.
“One of the two automobiles we assume responsible for Jem’s accident is registered to Sir Henry,” Jasper said out of the side of his mouth.
Ray straightened.
Jas
per motioned for Ray to follow him toward an impressive model with a green finish. They both examined a scratch above the right headlight. Though it seemed to be newly polished, the tear on the vehicle’s finish was quite pronounced.
“A recent accident here, Mr. Graham?” wondered Jasper, taking a look and seeing that there was further damage to the car.
Graham rose slowly and limped in their direction. “That car is so rarely used. The master prefers the Chevrolet Baby Grand for transporting guests and the Silver Ghost for his personal use.” Graham inclined his head toward an impressive model of the Rolls Royce family on the opposite side of the garage. “He sometimes allows the head butler to take the roadster on errands.”
Ray ran his finger over the jagged edge of the scratch, and Jasper noticed his friend’s ears redden, while his right hand shook slowly.
Jasper took command so that Ray could recover himself. “I must disclose that I am off duty, Mr. Graham, but we believe that this automobile was involved in an accident two days ago.”
“We are aware that the handle was broken and the vehicle scratched extensively.”
“You didn’t report it?” asked Ray.
“The butler denied that the damage occurred while he was driving. We’re not sure who took the car out, but it was returned, and the master promised leniency if the perpetrator came forward. He assumed the police had enough on their hands during these uncertain days.” Mr. Graham shrugged. “I like the challenge of repairing the damage. Sir Henry gave me carte blanche to restore it.”
“Sir Henry obviously loves his automobiles,” Jasper stated. “Surely he would want to discover who broke his trust.”
“He assumed it was an employee on a joy ride. Sir Henry is empathetic enough to remember similar antics in his youth.” Mr. Graham tut-tutted. “I have found the perfect finish and am just waiting for a shipment of the correct paint color.” His pale finger traced the damage. “I will sand it and polish it good as new. A shame. I never had the chance to test one of this beauties on account of my leg.” He stopped a moment, and Jasper and Ray exchanged a glance.
“And no one noticed the car driving out?” Ray asked.
“As I said, the family is used to servants being granted permission to use the automobiles. And so much has been going on, what with Lady Adelaide’s attention focused on the auxiliary and Sir Henry in consultation with the war effort.” Graham truncated further theory with a shrug.
Jasper and Ray remained a few minutes longer, pretending interest in Graham’s extensive knowledge of the other automobiles. Then they asked for his guidance back to the main house.
“Ah!” said Merinda as the gong tolled. “An insipid need for socialization.”
As they walked the short distance from the drawing room to the dining room, Merinda sipped champagne while Jem compensated for her silence with an exchange of the usual pleasantries with those around them. Sir Henry suddenly made the room smaller with his entrance. Merinda looked about for Jasper and Ray.
They arrived together from the opposite end of the ballroom attached to the dining room as Martha Kingston appeared at the table.
The lady reporter looked smart in a blue dress with sheer capped sleeves and a flower fastened to her loose red curls.
“Miss Kingston!” Jem said brightly. Her husband came up to stand next to her.
“Mrs. DeLuca.” Martha shook Jem’s hand warmly. “I am so looking forward to a small audience with your husband.” She transferred her cocktail to her left hand, pumping Ray’s hand enthusiastically with her right. “A tad hyperbolic,” Jem and Merinda heard her assess. “But a voice for the ages.”
Dinner was announced, and they all found their assigned seats. Merinda was sandwiched between Jasper and Philip Carr at the end of the table nearest Sir Henry, while Ray and Jemima were in proximity to Martha Kingston.
Their surroundings were resplendent. The wallpaper bore a russet red bear bursting into flame with the incendiary brush of the chandelier’s caress. Oil paintings of aged men and women, undoubtedly of the Pelhams’ lineage, watched sentry on either side. The table itself was magnificent with tall silver tiers and all manner of polished china and cutlery. Flowers added color and scent, and candlesticks caught the glistening light.
Jem helped Ray get through the meal by selecting the correct utensil for each course and ever so slightly indicating its usage to him.
Dinner was a parade of pretention that would have suffocated a Dickensian feast of the century before. After the distribution of the first course, Lady Adelaide, despite the protestations of her husband, rose.
“I know it is not our custom to toast so early in our evening, but I really must acknowledge two very special guests.” She indicated Jem and Merinda with her champagne flute, and while Jem’s cheeks flushed and Merinda beamed, their fame was acknowledged with good cheers from the dozen or so of the city’s most illustrious elite.
Each subsequent course was either drenched in rich sauce or candied and colorful in a delicate tableau.
Merinda was bored out of her tree. Jem was savoring every morsel, her appetite strong. Ray assessed each social cue, conversation, and action as if part of a newly discovered civilization.
Martha lifted her wine glass, glanced at Jemima sitting beside her, and then crowded her as she leaned toward Ray. “Mr. DeLuca, I have a proposition for you.” She eyed Jem. “Do you mind if we swap seats?”
“I assure you, Miss Kingston, that would be very improper—”
“Grand.” Martha was already on her feet.
Jem shuffled over to the reassigned seat, switched plates as unobtrusively as possible, and focused on her food, barely making out the enthusiastic whispers exchanged between Martha and her husband.
Her new dining companion on her other side attempted several times to lure her into conversation, but Jemima merely responded with one-word answers. She looked up and caught Merinda’s eyes. Her friend was stifling a yawn into her napkin while Philip Carr prattled on at an astounding rate beside her.
Then the toasts began, tripping over their emphatic words praising the glorious war effort and the men daily heeding its call.
Just as Sir Henry, who had partaken in too many toasts of his favorite scotch, was beginning to slur the opening lines of “The Maple Leaf Forever,” the fruit and cheese course was announced. With its entrance, the peacock that had so adamantly kept on Merinda’s heels earlier in the evening made an appearance in the dining room.
The guests erupted in excited laughter, but the bird had one intent, and it focused its beady eyes on her. Jasper looked to Merinda, torn between throwing himself in front of her as a barrier against the feathered interloper and laughing.
“Cracker jacks!” Merinda exclaimed with a scowl.
“This is one of our extraordinary Indian peacocks!” Lady Adelaide announced, trying to salvage the indecency of a bird fluttering onto the table and immediately stepping through the display like a prima donna, its unfanned tail trailing saucily.
The bird made its way to its intended party, staring at Merinda before opening its beak and emitting a loud squawk.
Jem was in hysterics, and Jasper was trying to capture his laughter in his napkin. Ray was hoping it would nip her.†
“Oh, for the love…” Merinda said. “Listen here! I don’t know why you keep following me.”
The peacock squawked again and jutted its neck toward her.
Lady Adelaide, over the commotion of the now feathered table, was desperately trying to get the attention of a maid.
“I’ve had about enough of you.” Merinda’s voice rose, causing the others to lapse into an interested silence. “I am particularly fond of Stilton, and your imprint is on it!” she chided, looking the bird in the eye.
It met her glare with unruffled aplomb.
“Merinda, have you met your match?” Jasper whispered.
“Cracker jacks!” Merinda said again. She lunged at the bird and picked it up while rising. Its little feet atte
mpted to claw at her, but she bravely risked being scratched.
Jem was certain now that the audacious creature might take a nip at Merinda. Instead, it burrowed its small head into the crook of her elbow. A servant approached to disentangle it from its one-sided embrace.
Later, with the bird safely returned to its cage, the guests erupted with comments of the peacock so enamored with a lady detective that it followed her in to dinner.
The laughter followed Sir Henry and the men into the study with the promise of brandy and cigars, and it rang with the chime of sterling silver spoons against china teacups provided to the ladies in the parlor.
And thus, while Jasper kicked Ray before he could launch into a tirade on the ease of profiteering under the noses of an inadequate city council, Merinda and Jem sat alongside a string of frosted ladies like a chained garland in the uppity parlor.
Merinda tuned out Lady Adelaide’s detailed descriptions of every antique and piece of art in the room.
“We want this manor to be a bower in which to hold the finer things. Its purpose will serve my meetings and Sir Henry’s enthusiasm and dedication to the war effort.”
Merinda was imagining how the grand space, with its turrets and secret passages and hidden wings, was most especially branded with the potential for murder.
An hour later, they spilled into the night. Merinda’s fingers tingled with the aftereffect of champagne not abated by the tea she’d sipped in the drawing room. Jem yawned, leaning slightly into Ray. Jasper wondered what it would cost to appropriate this house if only for a night and explore it fully with Merinda. How she would love the adventure of seeking out Sir Henry’s gun cabinet! Sneaking into hidden corridors! Speeding off in the automobiles!
So of course they were the last to linger out in the yard.
They stole a moment under the starry canvas of the sky. The world stretched beyond the pinpricks of the city seen from the manor, and Merinda thought, for the first time, that her city seemed small.
“Did you find out anything about your case?” Ray asked Jem quietly while they waited for an automobile in the queue of the fleet charged with seeing their guests safely through the city.
The White Feather Murders Page 14
