An Act of Villainy

by Ashley Weaver

  “Oh?”

  “Lady Honoria is holding a charity event, and I told her that I would speak to you about taking part in it.”

  “What sort of charity event?” I asked warily. I knew Lady Honoria and her lavish charity events, and I wondered what this one might entail.

  “It’s an auction. A great many items will be listed, and she wants society ladies to model the items to make them more attractive to buyers.”

  Under different circumstances, it might have been the type of thing that I would have enjoyed. As it was, I felt certain that, with my mother involved, it would prove to be a taxing experience. I would certainly donate to benefit the cause, but I did not care to model items at the auction.

  “I don’t think I’ll have the time,” I said. “I’m so busy as of late.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “It’s for a good cause. Surely it’s a much more worthwhile use of your time than your recent—and frankly vulgar—hobbies.” She waved a hand, and I knew she was dismissing my distasteful forays into the world of detection.

  “All the same,” I said. “I’m not sure…”

  “Surely you don’t mean to disappoint Lady Honoria.”

  Inwardly, I sighed. I could feel myself weakening. While I hated to give in to my mother, it was, after all, for a good cause. Besides, I could not hold it against Lady Honoria that my mother had commandeered her charity event.

  “When is it?” I asked resignedly.

  “Saturday evening.”

  I seized suddenly upon an idea as one in danger of drowning seizes upon a life preserver. “I’m afraid we’ve somewhere else to be on Saturday.”

  “Some nightclub, no doubt. Surely you can put that off. You will be in rather good company. Lady Margaret Allworth, Mrs. Camden…”

  “No, I’m afraid I’m going to the Holloways’ charity gala,” I interrupted. I had no idea, of course, if I could procure tickets, but my mother didn’t need to know that.

  She looked up suddenly. “Gerard and Georgina Holloway?”

  “Yes, there is the premier performance of Mr. Holloway’s new play and a party to follow,” I said. “I’m sure it will be a very nice event.”

  “Hmm. I suppose,” she said grudgingly. Though I was sure my mother would have liked nothing better than to disparage my plans when they conflicted with hers, the Holloway name held too much sway for her to do so.

  “Perhaps next time I may be of assistance to Lady Honoria,” I offered.

  “I shall count on it.” My mother’s objective effectively thwarted, she had no further use for me. She rose from her seat and I rose with her.

  “Where is your husband?” she asked as she pulled on her gloves. “Still abed? Or has he run off again?” There was no malice in the words. It was simply the delightful way she had of saying things that were probably better left unsaid.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ames,” said Milo dryly from the doorway. My maiden name having been, by coincidence, the same as my married name, it was always a bit unnerving to hear my mother referred to as “Mrs. Ames” by my husband.

  She turned to him, unabashed. “Oh, you are here. Well, what a nice surprise.”

  “I might say the same thing,” he said, moving to her side and brushing a kiss across her cheek.

  Her eyes swept over him. He had not yet dressed and was wearing a black dressing gown over his nightclothes.

  “You seem to be handsomer every time I see you.” The way she said it left doubt as to whether it was a compliment, and her next words confirmed this impression. “Rather flies in the face of the idea that blameless living keeps one young.”

  “It’s love that keeps one young,” he replied, unflustered. “So, with Amory at my side, I shall probably never age.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her favorite means of expressing nonverbal disapproval.

  I had always been somewhat amused by the relationship between Milo and my mother. I had been engaged to another man when I had met Milo, but my mother had not balked at the idea of my marrying Milo instead. It was not that she was a romantic woman, not by any means. Indeed, I had never seen much more than an average regard between her and my father, and any of my adolescent infatuations with boys she deemed unsuitable had been met with stern reminders that I was to marry well. Frankly, I would have expected the potential scandal of a broken engagement to outweigh my long-term happiness on her scale of importance, but Milo had managed to charm her quite easily, his good looks and winning manner supplemented by extensive wealth and excellent connections.

  He might have gone on charming her, despite his numerous transgressions, had he been a bit more discreet. But indiscretion was the one thing my mother could not abide, and I suspected it would take many years of very good behavior before she would be willing to accept that his reformation was legitimate.

  Milo, for his part, had given up trying to impress her long ago. He was not one to waste effort when it didn’t benefit him, and, now that he had won me, there was very little reason for him to care whether my mother liked him or not.

  It all made things very interesting for me when they were in a room together.

  My mother turned back to me. “I’ll come to see you again before I leave town if I find the time.”

  “Very well, Mother.”

  “I’ll show myself out. So nice to have seen you, dear,” she said as she walked toward the door.

  “And you. Send my regards to Father.”

  She went out without further comment and, hearing the front door close behind her, I sat down on the sofa with a heavy sigh.

  “Well. She remains as charming as ever,” Milo observed.

  I smiled wryly. “You might have stayed in the bedroom and avoided her.”

  “I heard her voice and thought I should rally to your defense,” he replied. “What did she want?”

  “She wants me to take part in a charity event.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve accepted?”

  “No, I said I was too busy.” I debated confessing my developing plans to Milo. It was sometimes better to let him know when everything was accomplished than to try to win his approval ahead of time.

  “Well, thank heavens for that,” he said. “One thing I can say for your mother: there’s nothing like a visit from her to clear one’s head early in the morning.”

  “She’s had the opposite effect on me,” I said, rubbing my temple. “I’ve now got a roaring headache.”

  “I think some coffee would serve us both well.” He turned his head ever so slightly toward the door. “Winnelda.”

  She came instantly into the room. No doubt she had been hovering just outside, probably trying to be certain that my mother had gone.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Bring us some coffee, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She went out again, and Milo came to sit across from me.

  “What are your plans today?” I asked.

  “I’ve got to see Ludlow about a few business matters. I’ll probably eat lunch out. And old Felix Hill is selling a horse I might want to have a look at. Do you have anything scheduled today?”

  “Nothing in particular,” I said absently. His plans would give me plenty of time to implement my own.

  Winnelda brought in a tray with the coffee things, and I poured a cup for Milo.

  “You’re not forgetting drinks with Gerard Holloway?” I asked, stirring milk and sugar into the coffee.

  “No,” he said, taking the cup. “I suppose I’ll go round to his club this afternoon and see him.”

  “He seemed very eager to speak with you,” I said. “What do you suppose he wants to talk to you about?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said, bringing his cup to his lips. “Perhaps he’s looking for investors in his play or some such thing, though he ought to know that I have no interest in the theatre.”

  “I wonder if you might have the opportunity to talk to him about his marriage,” I said casually.

  Mi
lo looked up from his coffee. “Amory…” He somehow managed to convey both wariness and a warning in the simple utterance of my name, and I knew that I had been correct in my assumption that he would not endorse my plan to help the Holloways mend their broken relationship.

  “Oh, I don’t mean anything invasive, of course, but you might find a way to remind him what a lovely woman Georgina is.”

  “No, Amory.”

  “You know how happy they have always been together,” I said. “It seems a shame that he should throw it all away for an actress.”

  “That may well be, darling, but it’s really none of our concern, and I have no intention of expressing any opinions on the matter.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll broach the subject,” I said. “Gentlemen like to brag about their conquests.”

  “Do they?” he replied.

  “Don’t they?” I challenged.

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he said. “It has been far too long since I made any conquests.”

  “Hmm,” I said skeptically.

  He set his cup down in the saucer. “I hesitate to point this out, darling, but you’re starting to sound like your mother.”

  He was quite lucky he escaped the sitting room unscathed.

  3

  AS SOON AS Milo had gone, I rang up Georgina Holloway. I telephoned on the pretext of discussing the charity gala, but I also wondered if she might need someone to talk to. Georgina Holloway had a great many friends, but I knew many of the women in our circle would enjoy nothing more than feigning sympathy only to relate all the sordid details to others when the opportunity arose. If Georgina needed a confidante who could keep secrets, I was more than happy to oblige.

  “It’s good to hear from you, Amory. It’s been a long time.”

  She sounded glad enough to speak with me, though it is difficult to read a person’s feelings on the telephone. Emotions, it seemed, did not travel well across the wires.

  “I’m afraid I have rather an ulterior motive for phoning you,” I said. “I’ve just seen the notice about your charity gala, and I was wondering if, perchance, you still have any tickets available.”

  It seemed she hesitated ever so slightly. “Well, yes, I believe we do, in fact. The Langstons purchased a box but got called away to Brussels. You could have their box, if you like.”

  “That would be perfect,” I said. “Where may I collect the tickets?”

  Again, there was a hesitation before she spoke, almost as though she was trying to decide something. “Why don’t you come for tea on Friday?” she said at last. “We could chat a bit, and I could give you the tickets then.”

  “That would be lovely.” I knew she had a very busy social schedule, and I thought she must indeed be in need of a sympathetic ear if she had invited me at such short notice, especially the afternoon before the gala.

  We rang off then, and a feeling of satisfaction stole over me. My plans were falling into place.

  * * *

  MILO DID NOT come home before dinner, nor did he telephone. It seemed he and Gerard Holloway must be getting on famously.

  I had learned over the years that it was never any good waiting around for him, so I went out for dinner alone, returning home to find our flat still empty.

  I had given Winnelda the night off and Milo’s valet Parks was away for the week visiting family after our extended travels, so I had only Emile, our pet monkey, for company.

  Milo had acquired the mischievous little thing in some sort of reckless wager while we were in Paris, and we had been unable to bring ourselves to part with him.

  We hoped, at some point, to send him to Thornecrest, our country home, to live a life of ease, but for now he lived with us at the flat, where he spent the better part of every day following Winnelda from room to room and tipping things over. Thus far we had lost two vases, a clock face, and a porcelain bird.

  Tonight, however, he seemed to be content to sit with me as I read. I fed him bits of fruit, which he nibbled quietly as I flipped the pages, and he further occupied himself by cracking open some nuts which I purchased for just such a purpose.

  “At least I know I shall always have you to keep me company when your papa neglects to come home,” I told him in French. Though I felt ridiculous explaining it to people, Emile did not speak English. At least not yet. Winnelda was making strides in teaching him our native tongue, a task she had devoted herself to with great zeal.

  He tittered something at me, which I felt sure was a concurrence, and then we went back to our mutual pursuits until ten o’clock. This was Emile’s bedtime, and he went readily to his cage to sleep.

  I decided to retire for the evening as well and had just reached the door to our bedroom when I heard Milo’s key in the lock.

  I stopped, hand on the doorframe, and waited for him to come in.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you might ring me up if you don’t plan on coming home at the appointed time?” I asked when he entered.

  “I didn’t know there was an appointed time,” he said lightly. “Anyway, you won’t be cross when you hear what Holloway wanted to talk to me about.”

  It was very typical of him to dismiss my concerns out of hand, but I pressed onward. “I should still like to know if you don’t plan on coming home for dinner. For all I know, you might very well be dead in the street.”

  “Oh, hardly in the street, darling. When my end comes, it’s much more likely to be in a gambling club or at the racetrack.”

  I could tell that he did not mean to take my objections seriously, so I let the matter drop for the time being. We had come a long way in our marriage, but that didn’t mean that we had quite reached the goal. One step at a time.

  I turned and went into the bedroom without comment. He followed me, loosening his necktie. “Did you have a nice day, darling?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said as I took off my silk robe, tossing it across the back of a chair, and moved to the bed. “It was very pleasant. Emile is excellent company.”

  “Well, you’re fortunate,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “That’s more than might be said of Gerard Holloway. He was in a morose mood, and, in consequence, the night was less than amusing.”

  I knew from long experience that Milo liked to pretend as though nights spent drinking and gambling were a great inconvenience, and I had no pity for him.

  I pulled back the bedding and slid beneath it, leaning back against the pillows that lined the tufted black velvet headboard. “Did you spend the entire evening with Gerard Holloway?”

  “Yes, we had drinks at the club this afternoon and then went to dinner. It took Holloway a great deal of beating about the bush and an even greater deal of brandy before he was ready to tell me why he really wanted to see me. It’s rather a delicate matter.”

  “What sort of delicate matter?”

  “I think you can guess.”

  I looked up at him, an alarming thought occurring to me. “Don’t tell me he means to do something drastic? He’s not going to abandon Georgina?”

  “Oh, as far as that goes, I wouldn’t think so. We didn’t talk much about Georgina. It had to do with Flora Bell.”

  I suddenly wasn’t sure that I cared for Milo keeping company with Gerard Holloway. As much as I had always liked the man in the past, I couldn’t help but feel that he was treating his lovely wife very shabbily.

  “Oh, I see,” I said absently, suddenly focused on smoothing out the wrinkles in the bedspread. I was beginning to lose interest in whatever plight might be befalling Milo’s wayward friend. Truth be told, the scandal of infidelity was a sore topic with me, and I was not sure I wanted to know the details.

  Milo took no notice of my sudden lack of enthusiasm for the topic and went on talking as he undressed.

  “Holloway’s concerned. Apparently, someone has been writing rather nasty letters to Flora Bell.”

  I looked up. “What sort of letters?”

  “Threats.”

  “Threats to harm her?
”

  “It seems so. He showed me one of them. It was vague, but clear enough. ‘Your time is coming. You’ll be sorry.’ That sort of thing.”

  “Sorry for what?” Despite myself, I was growing interested.

  “That’s just it. The letters don’t say. If they did, I expect it would be easier to narrow down the sender.”

  “And Miss Bell doesn’t know to what they refer?”

  “If she does, she hasn’t told Holloway about it. I find it a bit difficult to believe she doesn’t have at least an inkling of who might want to do her harm. Then again, she may have made several enemies on her road to success.”

  “Gerard Holloway has no idea who might be sending them?”

  “Apparently not. I put it to him, delicately, of course, that it was possible his wife had decided to try to get Flora Bell out of the way.”

  “Georgina wouldn’t do something like that,” I said immediately.

  “That’s what Holloway said,” Milo replied. “He defended her staunchly, in fact.”

  “How gallant of him,” I said, unable to keep the acidic edge from my tone.

  Milo glanced at me, but didn’t respond to my comment. “I know Georgina Holloway is a fine woman, but I maintain that one never knows what a desperate person is capable of.”

  “Oh, I agree that desperation can lead to questionable decisions,” I said. “Even uncharacteristic actions. But I don’t think anonymous letters are the way in which Georgina would act. If she wanted to chase the girl off, there are other ways to do it.”

  “Perhaps,” he conceded.

  “How many letters have there been?”

  “Three so far. The first one came the week they began rehearsals, but Miss Bell apparently kept it to herself. Holloway was with her when she received the second letter and was forced to confide in him. The third came only a few days ago. It’s been weighing on his mind, and he said when he saw us in the street he remembered we had had some experience solving mysteries as of late and decided to take me into his confidence.”

  “Surely there are potential suspects?” I asked.