Murder Has No Class

by Rebecca Kent

  “Mrs. Llewellyn, I don’t know why you persist in intruding on us, but I think you should know that I’m aware that your interest in purchasing this property is pure fabrication. You are, in fact, a tutor, employed at the Bellehaven Finishing School, and you most certainly do not have the means to purchase this estate. I can’t imagine why you are indulging in this masquerade, but I suggest you leave now.”

  She nodded. “Have no fear, I am leaving. In fact, I was just on my way out.”

  This seemed to have little effect on his irritation. “Just in case you are tempted to return, madam, I should warn you that should you attempt to do so, I shall have you prosecuted for trespassing.”

  Meredith thinned her lips. “I don’t like threats, Mr. Smithers. Particularly from a servant.”

  His eyes darkened with indignation. “I might be a servant, madam, as you so ungraciously put it, but I am in charge of this residence and have the authority to throw you out if such a need should arrive.”

  Meredith raised her chin. “There is no need to be uncivil. As I said, I was on the point of leaving when you rudely accosted me. However, there is a question I should like answered before I leave, and I believe it’s in your best interest to give me a satisfactory answer.”

  Wariness flickered across his face, and he took his time answering her. “And that is?”

  “I should like to know why you lied on the stand when giving evidence at James Stalham’s trial. That could cause you a great deal of trouble if revealed to the proper authorities. Perjury, I believe they call it.”

  Smithers wasn’t quite able to hide his discomfort. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” Meredith crossed her arms to hide the fact that her hands shook. “You testified that no one else was in the house the night of the murder, yet I believe you were fully aware that at least one person had visited that evening. Maybe two.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Miss Pauline Suchier and Lady Clara were both at the house that night.”

  As she’d hoped, the butler instantly reacted. “That is simply not so!” It was the most animated she had ever seen him. A spot of red appeared in each cheek and he jerked his hands in protest. “I did not lie. What I said was that no one else was in the house at the time of the murder. I admit that Miss Suchier might possibly have paid Lord Stalham a visit earlier. Since however, she had left before the murder took place, I saw no need to implicate her in the matter, thus causing unnecessary distress for . . . the family.”

  “For Lady Clara, you mean. She was here that night, wasn’t she?”

  The butler’s face was once more a mask. “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  Meredith nodded. “It’s as I thought. You’re protecting her.”

  Smithers raised his chin. “May I remind you again, Mrs. Llewellyn, that you are trespassing on private property. Please leave at once and do not return, or I will be forced to take some most unpleasant measures.”

  Jolted by the venom in his eyes, Meredith took a step back. “You have no need to be concerned. I have no wish to return, thank you.” Lifting the hem of her skirt, she swept down the hallway to the front door.

  Once outside, she could breathe easier again. Her encounter with Smithers had unnerved her, and she was still shaking when she reached the carriage. She had hoped to learn something useful that she could take to Inspector Dawson, other than her somewhat neophyte instincts, but having drawn a blank in that regard, she would have to rely on the inspector’s experience and powers of deduction.

  Reggie seemed relieved to see her, and wasted no time in urging Spirit into a fast trot. Since she had suggested stopping by the Pig and Whistle on the way for a sandwich and a glass of cider, she felt quite sure they would arrive in Witcheston in record time.

  Chapter 15

  “How much farther is it?” Sophie Westchester wiped a band of perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. “I don’t think I can walk another step.”

  A chorus of petulant voices rose in agreement. Olivia halted so suddenly the students behind her started bumping into one another.

  Grace, who had been forced to a halt behind her friend, received a hefty shove in the back that sent her forward into Olivia.

  “Ouch!” Grace turned around to glare at Sophie, who was directly behind her. “What’d you do that for?”

  “I didn’t do it.” Sophie jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “She bumped into me.”

  “I couldn’t help it. Maria bumped into me!” said the girl behind her.

  This was repeated all the way back until Olivia held up her hand. “For gawd’s sake shut up! The lot of you! What a bunch of sickly babies you are. You’re supposed to be suffragettes, strong and brave, ready to defend rights for women against all odds. You—”

  “Oh, put a sock in it,” Sophie said rudely. “We all know what a suffragette is—someone who thinks she can change the world by acting like a common hoodlum. Going around breaking things and smashing windows. What good is that going to do? Men are never going to treat us any better, or give us the vote, no matter what we do, so why bother?”

  Grace held her breath as Olivia’s face turned red. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that Olivia flew into a rage at the mere hint that her beloved suffragettes were wasting their time.

  Olivia advanced on Sophie, eyes flashing fire. “The protests will get us the vote,” she said, her voice deceptively quiet. “As well as a lot of other things that women can’t get just because they are women. People like Emmaline and Christabel Pankhurst, who sacrifice everything to raise protests against the government, won’t stop fighting until they make the world a better place for all of you and all of your female children. Maybe not tomorrow, or next year, but one day, and when that happens, women all over the world will go down on their knees and thank us. So, if you don’t want to be treated like a human being instead of an object put on this earth to serve men, then you don’t belong here with us. Go back to school and your dopey little Roger Platt and see where that gets you.”

  Gasps from the other students greeted this outburst, while Sophie stood like a stone, her face rigid with shock. “How dare you speak to me like that, you . . . you . . . underling!”

  Olivia looked about to retaliate, and Grace hurried to intervene. “If we are going to reach the pub before it closes we should be getting along.” She tugged on Olivia’s arm. “We need to hurry, Olivia, or your protest will never take place.”

  Scowling, Olivia nodded. “All right. Now listen to me, all of you. I have explained why we are doing this. If any of you don’t feel strongly enough about it to do what we have to do, then you’d better go back now.”

  “We’re here to get out of being stuck in our rooms,” someone said. Others murmured in agreement.

  Olivia exchanged an exasperated glance with Grace. “No, ladies, we are not here for the fun of it. Once we get to the village you will have to do exactly as I do. That means smashing every glass you can reach in the pub. Are you all with me?”

  A few doubtful murmurs of assent answered her.

  Olivia raised her voice. “We are going to show those chauvinistic pigs that we are worth something, that we are just as capable as any man, and that if we put our minds to it, we can rule the world. We refuse to be downtrodden slaves to men anymore. Now—are you with me?”

  This time a satisfactory number of voices shouted a fervent response.

  Triumphant, Olivia looked at Sophie. “Well?”

  Sophie shrugged. “I suppose I might as well come along.”

  “Good. Then no more whining. Ladies, march!”

  Falling in step behind her, Grace stared at Olivia’s back in admiration. If only she could be like her, she thought, as they started down the hill on the final stretch to the village. Olivia was so strong, so confident, so certain that what she was doing was right and just, and that she would be rewarded for her efforts.

  Grace wished fervently that she could belie
ve that. She’d lived long enough to know, however, that people like her and Olivia never got what they felt they deserved. You had to be born into a rich family to have a good life, with nice clothes and a lovely home and money to spend.

  Otherwise all you had to look forward to was working your fingers to the bone looking after someone else’s house, unless some poor sod came along and married you and then you spent the rest of your life working your fingers to the bone to take care of him and the children.

  Still, she had to admit, it would be rather nice to be able to strike back once in a while. Just as long as they didn’t get caught, that was. It might actually be rather satisfying to smash all those beer glasses in a place where women were deemed not fit to enter.

  Hanging onto that thought, she marched down the main street of the village, chanting to herself, “Votes for Women. Equal rights for all!”

  The street, usually crowded with Saturday shoppers, seemed unusually quiet. A few tired-looking women lined up in the doorway of the butcher’s shop, and two more ladies struggled out of the greengrocer’s hauling bulging shopping bags.

  Having reached the door of the pub, Olivia halted and held up her hand. Nodding at the church clock across the street, she announced, “The maypole dancing should begin in about half an hour. Everyone will be on the village green by now, so we shouldn’t have any trouble. When we go in, run through the public bar and grab all the glasses you can find and chuck them on the floor.”

  “It doesn’t sound very quiet in there,” one of the students said, as loud laughter erupted from inside the pub.

  Noticing Olivia’s anxious expression, Grace began to worry.

  Just a few old men, Olivia had said. Too old and feeble to stop them. That laughter didn’t sound as if it was coming from old men. In fact, it sounded a lot like—”

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the door to the pub flew open. Billowing smoke drifted out, bringing with it the smell of cigars and beer. Two young men appeared in the doorway, and behind them the sound of vigorous male voices rose in a lusty cheer.

  “Well, well,” Sophie murmured, “this is looking a little more festive than I expected.”

  The two men in the doorway looked her over, in a way that made Grace even more nervous. “Hello, hello,” one of them said. “What do we have here?”

  Olivia, obviously realizing she was about to lose the element of surprise, leapt in front of the startled men. “Out of my way,” she yelled, and gave one of them a hefty shove, sending him into his companion. “Come on, ladies, charge!” Before the men could recover, she had barged past them into the pub.

  Sophie grinned at the men, then beckoned with her arm. “Come on, girls. This looks like fun.”

  With their boisterous cheers ringing in her ears, Grace waited for the excited students to enter the pub, then plunged through the door behind them and into the dark, smelly bar. For a moment she had trouble adjusting to the gloom, then she heard a loud crash and splintering of glass.

  Turning toward the sound, she saw Olivia standing by a table full of young men, her arm raised and a glass of beer in her fist.

  “Here, what the blue blazes are you doing?” One of the young men leapt up to grab the glass, but Olivia was too quick for him. Down went the glass to shatter on the floor, spreading a pool of beer around it.

  Three of the men jumped to their feet, holding their beer aloft so that Olivia couldn’t reach it, while another grabbed her arms, holding her fast.

  Grace charged forward to come to her aid, followed by the rest of the students. As they approached the table, several more men gathered around, until all the girls were surrounded.

  Olivia struggled to get free, shouting, “Votes for women!” while Sophie swayed up to the closest male and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve never tasted beer,” she said, gazing up at him with a puppy dog look on her face. “I’ve always wondered if I’d like it.”

  “Well, sweetheart, you can taste mine.” The man had a soppy grin on his face as he tilted his glass for Sophie to sip the beer.

  Grace expected Sophie to grab the glass and smash it on the floor, and judging by Olivia’s expression, she expected the same thing. Instead, Sophie swallowed a mouthful of the beer amidst a roar of approval from the man’s friends.

  The man who’d been holding Olivia let go of her. Eyes blazing, Olivia appealed to the rest of the students. “Remember why we are here. Rights for women, remember?” She snatched a glass from another of the men and threw it down on the floor. Once more beer spread all around in a foaming mess.

  “All right, that’s enough.” To Grace’s dismay, two of the men grabbed Olivia and dragged her to the door.

  Grace ran after them, pummeling on their backs. “Let her go, you brutes. How dare you!”

  One of the men kicked the door open and pushed Olivia outside. Before Grace could protest again, rough hands propelled her out into the street. Stumbling up against the wall, she cracked her elbow, bringing tears to her eyes.

  Olivia stood brushing her arms as if trying to get rid of the memory of those cruel hands.

  Grace took a deep breath to steady her voice. “All right, now what?”

  “Now,” Olivia said, with a murderous gleam in her eyes, “we go back in and finish the job.”

  From the open window above Olivia’s head, the sounds of girlish laughter mingled with the raised voices of the men.

  “I don’t think they are going to listen to you,” Grace said, already having made up her mind that wild horses wouldn’t drag her back in there.

  “I’ll make them listen to me,” Olivia said, reaching for the door.

  “They’re having too good a time.” Grace gestured at the window, where the noise had grown even more raucous. “Let’s go home. We can have a protest another time, when only the old men are in there.”

  “I don’t know where all these cheeky louts came from,” Olivia muttered, “but I know they’re not from the village. They don’t belong here, so we have more right to be here than they do.”

  “I don’t think they’re going to see it that way,” Grace began, but Olivia had already shoved open the door and marched back into the pub.

  Sending up another desperate prayer, Grace followed her inside. Pure bedlam greeted her as she stood in the doorway, trying to adjust once more to the gloom.

  Men were pushing and shoving to get near the students, who seemed to be having a marvelous time, drinking from the beer glasses, chattering, laughing, and generally behaving in a most unladylike manner.

  It occurred to Grace that should Mrs. Llewellyn find out about this, she’d flip her wig. Obviously Olivia’s plan to smash all the glasses had failed miserably, and the best thing they could do was get the students out of the pub before they got into real trouble.

  As it was, Grace could see the bartender ordering the girls off the premises, which fell on deaf ears, thanks to the loud protests of the men.

  The sound of smashing glass turned her head. Unable to get near the tables because of the crush of men, Olivia had begun seizing tankards from over the bar. With a howl of protest, the bartender lunged for her, knocking the tankard from her hand to the floor. One more glass shattered.

  Now the bartender was hollering at everyone to get out, holding onto Olivia’s arms so she couldn’t reach for any more glasses. Grace started forward to help her, but just then a stern voice spoke from right behind her.

  “ ’ Allo, ’allo! What’s going on here, then?”

  Turning, Grace met the disbelieving gaze of P.C. Shipham.

  It was all too much for her. Closing her eyes, she let darkness overtake her and fell to the floor.

  Meredith alighted from the carriage outside the Witcheston police station with a certain amount of pleasurable anticipation, not entirely due to the glass of cider she’d enjoyed at the Pig and Whistle.

  She treasured her rare encounters with the quiet-spoken inspector. A refreshing change from her volatile and somewhat discomfiting sessio
ns with Stuart Hamilton.

  She could relax and enjoy the conversation when in the inspector’s presence, and that pleased her greatly. The fact that she also harbored a maternal instinct when she was with him was something she was reluctant to acknowledge.

  True, the man’s gaunt frame suggested he wasn’t consuming enough good meals, and his expression often suggested he was weighed down by problems, no doubt connected to his work. Meredith suspected he had no wife to take care of his needs, but so far had lacked the courage to ask, since it was none of her business, anyway.

  In fact, she had no idea why she should worry about him so. She hardly knew him, yet somehow he aroused her protective nature, and she invariably felt the urge to invite him to Bellehaven for a good meal and a relaxing glass of brandy.

  It was odd, since to her knowledge Stuart Hamilton had no wife either, yet she had not wasted one minute of concern about his welfare. Probably because he gave every indication of being thoroughly capable of taking care of himself.

  Seeing the inspector’s smile as she entered his office raised her spirits. He greeted her warmly, and guided her to a comfortable chair before returning to his desk.

  “It is always such a pleasure to see you, Meredith.” He leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. “To what do I owe this most welcome visit? Not bad news, I trust?”

  “Not exactly, Inspector.” She set her handbag down by her feet. “I actually came to ask for your advice.”

  “Ah.”

  His eyes were green today—something else about him that fascinated her. Sometimes his eyes appeared to be blue, sometimes green, and although she could see the warmth in them when he looked at her, she could also detect a tinge of sadness, as if he had suffered a great loss. Maybe that was why she felt so sympathetic toward him.