“Do you think they’ll create a restaurant for him here?” Ruby asked. She had draped a long chiffon scarf across the front of her dress, covering the plunging neckline, which had attracted many admiring gazes in the ballroom.
“Lionel would know more than I,” Griffin replied, tilting his head toward Fitzwalter. “What are Lord Norrance’s plans for Castorbrook, if I may be so bold as to ask? The rumor tonight is that the Corduvon hotel chain has the lead, as it were.”
“I stayed in one of their hotels in Majorca once,” Ruby put in. “It was right on the water, every room with a view and butler service. Très élégant.”
“Call me a blinkered Englishman, but I don’t think you can get any more élégant than Castorbrook. Look around you,” Griffin told her. “What do you say, Fitzwalter?”
“Norrance will have to speak for himself,” Fitzwalter replied, “but I like the chances of Platinum Places; they’re a small exclusive consortium. And you can’t count out the National Trust. They’re in the mix, too.”
“Will it be Corduvon or Platinum Places or National Trust? It sounds like names from an equestrian sport,” Jackcliff said, amused. “How appropriate for a pinched peer hoping to put together a string of racehorses.” He put two fists up to his eyes, mimicking binoculars, and intoned, “It’s Corduvon and Platinum Places neck and neck, but moving up on the outside is National Trust. Here they come down the backstretch, and it looks like it’s going to be—” He paused for effect, then continued. “Yes! It’s Affronted Dowager by a nose.”
Ms. Aldobruzzichelli’s peal of laughter had heads turning in our direction.
“Is there no chance the family could keep Castorbrook as a private home instead of selling the estate?” I asked.
“I’m sure the family would much prefer that,” Fitzwalter replied.
“Certainly the elder Lady Norrance would,” Jackcliff said, winking at me.
“But twenty-first-century realities come into play with a structure of this age, not to mention the delicate condition of its furnishings and treasures,” Fitzwalter continued.
“Have you seen the earl’s collection of rare books?” Birdie asked.
“Books are only part of it, my dear,” her husband said. “There are family portraits dating back centuries that are coveted by the National Portrait Gallery, French laces bought by one of the earl’s ancestors from King George the Fourth when he was trying to settle his debts. Rare silk tapestries from India. The house is full of history and precious items that require repair and maintenance, not to mention whole-house alarm and sprinkler systems. And all this doesn’t come for pennies.”
“Perhaps they could sell off some of the goodies in order to keep the place,” Ruby offered.
Fitzwalter shrugged but remained silent, perhaps aware that he shouldn’t compromise the privacy of his client more than he already had.
Griffin had no such hesitation and jumped in. “My father sold quite a few of the earl’s rare books and manuscripts in the past,” he told her. “I’ve heard that parcels of land carved from the estate have been auctioned off for years. You can sell an acre here and a portrait there—eventually there will be nothing left to barter with. I don’t blame the earl for looking to make a killing. I’d do the same thing myself if I had a jewel of an estate to bargain with.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Fitzwalter folded his napkin and laid it next to his plate. He made a show of looking at his pocket watch. “The pyrotechnics begin in a half hour.” He rose and helped his wife from her seat. “So nice to see you all and spend a pleasant dinner together.”
“I’m ready!” Ruby jumped up, allowing her chiffon cover-up to fall to her elbows. She saw me eyeing her décolletage and leaned down to whisper, “Don’t worry. I’m glued in.” She pulled Griffin from his chair. “Can’t wait to see the fireworks. How long is the show?”
“Twenty minutes, I hear,” he replied.
Ruby smiled at George and me. “We’ll see you downstairs.”
Jackcliff stood as well. “Ready, my dear?” he asked Ms. Aldobruzzichelli.
“Ah, fuochi d’artificio,” she said, and clapped her hands. “Very pretty, yes?”
“Let’s go see.”
She laughed as she took his hand.
“What do you think, Jessica?” George asked when we were alone at the table.
“I think we’re very lucky to have had the opportunity to stay here before Castorbrook becomes an ultra-luxury hotel.”
“I agree. My guess is the cost of a room here will be far more than anyone but the richest among us can afford.”
“Too bad. It really is lovely. Let’s go celebrate the New Year with the Grants while we can.”
We followed the crowd slowly making its way out of the dining room, and we passed the table at which our hosts and their family still lingered. The earl stood, giving last-minute instructions to his staff. “You have the sweets table ready?” he asked Bergère.
“It will be rolled out at the fireworks’ finale. It is exquisite, if I may say so myself.”
“What’s for pudding?” Kip asked, rolling his head. It didn’t appear to me as if time and a four-course meal had sobered him up.
“You told me you weren’t hungry,” Poppy said. “That’s why you didn’t want dinner, you said.”
“He’s not hungry,” Jemma put in. “He’s just drunk.” I noticed that her costumed companion from earlier in the evening was not dining with the family.
“Can always manage a bit of trifle,” the heir said, slurring his words. “Is there trifle?”
“I’ll send you some trifle if you’ll go up to bed.” The earl looked at him with annoyance. “You’re embarrassing the family.”
“Couldn’t do that. Don’t want to miss the show,” Kip replied with a silly grin.
The earl turned back to the chef. “Make sure the tray of caviar and champagne for the countess and me is delivered prior to the countdown. We’ll be at the north end of the room, near the gallery.”
“It will be waiting, sir.”
“Are you certain you want to bother?” the countess asked her husband.
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Some traditions should never be broken, my love,” he said in a voice loud enough for those of us waiting to access the hall to hear.
Several people around me, who’d been eavesdropping on their conversation as I had, voiced their support with a chorus of appreciative murmurs.
The earl acknowledged them with a nod.
“You’re very sweet, James,” Lady Norrance said.
* * *
Downstairs, the lights were dimmed in the ballroom in anticipation of the midnight fireworks. The band alternated slow ballads with lively tunes, each time increasing the tempo until the mood of the crowd was at a feverish pitch. George and I wandered to the far end of the room where the amplified music was not as blaring. Chairs were set up facing the tall windows, and a large lighted clock had been rolled in to count down the year’s remaining minutes. Waiters with trays circulated, offering more flutes of champagne to toast the New Year.
Lord and Lady Norrance took seats near us that were reserved for them, their private serving of caviar and champagne set out on a tray by Archer Estwich. The countess took a glass of champagne and handed the other to her husband. She leaned over the tray, picked up a mother-of-pearl spoon, and stirred the caviar, scooping a spoonful from the glass bowl sitting on ice. She tapped it onto a cracker and gave it to the earl, who popped it into his mouth. Kip reached to take the spoon, only to have his mother slap his hand.
“That’s for your father, not you.”
“But you’ll have some.”
“I may, but that doesn’t mean you are entitled to your father’s treat. Not after the way you’ve conducted yourself tonight.”
Kip pouted and fell into a chair next to his wife. “Have I been that bad?”
“Don’t ask. You don’t really want to know.”
Rupert took out his cell p
hone and snapped a photo of his inebriated brother. “I’m going to get paid plenty not to post this.”
Adela laughed. She used her phone to shoot Rupert shooting Kip.
Poppy shifted in her seat to shield Kip from the camera. “Don’t be rude. I don’t take pictures of you when you’re not looking your best.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Adela said. “Last Easter, you posted one of me with my hair sticking up everywhere.”
“That was funny. You have no sense of humor.”
“You only have a sense of humor when someone else is the victim.”
“I have to protect my image as the heir’s wife. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Put those damn things away!” The earl turned to his wife. “Everybody’s obsessed with those mobiles. I hate them.”
Lady Norrance held up a cracker with caviar for him. “I know, dear.” She made another for herself and looked at the earl. Before she could take a bite, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, nibbling on her fingers as he ate the caviar.
“James, people are watching.”
“Let them.”
Ruby and Griffin walked by and stopped to thank the earl and countess for inviting them.
“Not at all.” Lord Norrance’s eyes widened as he took in Ruby’s neckline. “We’re happy to have Jemma’s friends here.” He looked around for his daughter. “Where is she, by the way?”
“Oh, we just saw her talking to a friend near the band.”
The earl craned his neck to look down the ballroom, but the movement seemed to make him dizzy. He swayed and put out his hand. Griffin caught it and steadied him.
“I’m sure Jemma will be here any minute. How do you like my dress?” Ruby pirouetted in front of the earl.
“Very nice, Ruby. You look charming.” He grimaced and put a hand to his forehead. “I suddenly feel a headache coming on.”
“Where’s my chair?” The dowager approached the family group. She wielded her cane as Nigel accompanied her. “And my pillow?”
“I’ve got your pillow,” Adela said.
“Sit here, Mother.” The earl held the back of his chair for her.
“What is that?” She frowned at the caviar platter. A puff of air escaped her lips. “Fish eggs! Take those things away.”
“Not so fast,” her son said when Nigel reached for the tray. “I’ll have a little more.” The earl took another spoonful of caviar, smacked his lips, and handed the tray to Nigel. “Have the rest of that delivered to my rooms. I’ll finish it up later.”
“Certainly, Your Lordship.”
Kip hailed a waiter with a tray. “I need some champagne for the toast. Can’t welcome the New Year without a toast.”
“Kip, I think you’ve had enough,” Poppy said.
“You can never have too much champagne.” He took two glasses.
“Is one for me?”
Kip reared back. “No! Get your own.”
Nigel returned moments later, bringing the earl a cordless microphone.
“That time already?” The earl, looking upset, glanced over to the giant clock.
“Nearly, sir. You asked me to give you the microphone at five minutes to.”
“Yes. Yes. I’m ready.”
After some painful electronic feedback that silenced both the band and the guests, Lord Norrance gave a welcome speech, his eye on the lighted clockface. “Lady Norrance and I are delighted to have you join us to usher in this New Year.” He stopped to clear his throat. “Over the generations, Castorbrook has played host to other balls with five times our numbers here tonight, but we thought we’d keep this year’s celebration small and intimate with you, the most important people in our lives. The forecast is for light snow tonight, so we may have some heavenly lighting to add to our performance.” He doubled over with a fit of coughing.
There were several shouts of “Coming close” and “Watch the time.”
Eyes watering and red-faced, the earl cleared his throat. “All right, everyone, time to count down with me . . . Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”
“Happy New Year!”
The earl raised his champagne, looked at his wife over the rim of the glass, and threw back the remnants.
All the while, the clock bonged twelve times, the round face flashing on and off. A whining scream could be heard from outside, ending with an explosion in the sky with a shower of sparkling lights in yellow, white, and red drifting down to oohs and ahs by the crowd. Many held up their cell phones to capture the colorful display outside the windows. Recorded music filled the ballroom timed to the flashes outside, each more spectacular and brilliant than the last, until the smell of smoke could be detected in the ballroom.
George put his arms around me. “Happy New Year, lass. I hope it’s one of many to come.”
I smiled. “I hope so, too, George.” I turned my face up to his for a kiss, when the earl, choking, staggered backward into George’s side, forcing us apart.
He keeled forward into his wife’s arms. A piercing wail went up. “James! James! What is it?”
George rushed to help, using the Heimlich maneuver in case the earl had something lodged in his throat, but the man’s body was shaking with a convulsion, and then he went limp. George helped Lady Norrance lower the earl to the marble floor as the fireworks outside lent an eerie glow to the peer’s face. I knelt down next to them.
“What’s happening?” The dowager raised her voice to be heard above the blasts and accompanying music.
Rupert pulled the pillow from behind his grandmother’s back and gave it to George, who placed it under the earl’s head. “I’m calling for a doctor.” The earl’s younger son narrowed his eyes at the cell phone screen.
“It was so sudden,” Adela said. “He was just drinking his champagne.”
“What’s Father doing?” Kip pulled himself halfway out of his chair, leaning on his wife’s shoulder.
“Shut up, Kip. Sit down before you fall down.”
“James. James. Talk to me.”
“Is he all right?” the dowager called.
“I can’t see clearly to dial the number.”
“What can I do, Inspector?” Nigel asked.
“Nothing.” George put his fingers on the earl’s neck, searching for a pulse. He looked over at me, and I saw the truth in his eyes.
“He’s dead?” I whispered.
“Very much so.”
Chapter Sixteen
You can never find a police officer when you need one, I thought, grimly searching the crowd for Mardling and Willoughby. I didn’t fool myself into thinking I’d recognize the backs of their heads in the darkened room as I skirted along the lines of chairs and behind clumps of guests who’d risen to get a better view of the fireworks presentation. I hoped Willoughby’s tall silhouette would catch my eye. But it was not to be. I reached the end of the room where the musicians were taking a break, laughing at some story. I retraced my steps, trying once more to spot the pair on my way back.
Some of the guests had gone outside to watch the fireworks. If Mardling and Willoughby were among them, I had no hope of finding them. I was not dressed for the weather, especially with snow expected.
While I’d been hunting for the officers, George and Nigel managed to wrestle one of the three-paneled filigree screens into place to shield the earl’s body and family from the gaze of guests who might turn away from the fireworks and discover what was wrong.
George was rapping out instructions to Nigel when I slipped behind the screen.
“Make sure no one touches that tray of caviar he gave you,” George said, “Good, you have gloves on. Don’t touch anything with bare hands. Lock it away somewhere until I ask you to produce it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s his champagne glass?”
“I believe it broke when he fell.”
“Leave it where it is, then. Don’t allow anyone to clean up.”
George looked at me
questioningly, and I shook my head. He turned back to the butler. “Get Angus and some of the other lads up here to stand guard. No one is allowed to come behind this screen unless I say so.”
“Understood.”
“Perhaps you should ask the chef to bring the dessert table back to the dining room,” I said. “That way we can encourage people to go upstairs when the fireworks are over instead of lingering in the ballroom.”
“Good idea, Jessica,” George said.
“Right away, sir.” Nigel beckoned to a waiter and passed along my suggestion with instructions to do it quickly. “Anything else?” he asked George.
“I’ve told Lady Norrance that the body may not be touched until the authorities investigate the scene. We can’t know for certain, but it’s possible the earl did not die from natural causes. She and her family are welcome to retire into a private chamber if they wish, but once you’ve escorted them there, they may not leave. They must wait until the officers have a chance to put questions to them.”
While we’d been talking, the earl’s wife, mother, and children had huddled together near the body of James William Edward Grant, seventh Earl of Norrance.
His mother sat stiffly in her chair, waving away any offers of a drink and demanding people leave her alone.
Jemma knelt on the floor by her mother’s side and held her hand.
Rupert had attempted to conceal the body with his tuxedo jacket, but he managed only to cover the earl’s face and upper chest. Lord Norrance’s pearl gray waistcoat and white tuxedo shirt, part of which were visible, bore evidence of spilled champagne, the damp spots clear on the otherwise-pristine cloth. Rupert, in shirtsleeves, was hunched over in his chair, his head in his hands. Adela sat beside him, rubbing his back in slow circles.
Poppy sat next to Kip, whose head kept dipping as he struggled to stay awake. “Are you certain he’s not just injured? Tell him to get up.”
“He’s dead, Kip. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d understand what that means.”
“I unnerstand.”
“I’m not certain the family will follow my direction,” Nigel told George. “They’re accustomed to giving instructions to me, not taking them from me.”
Death of a Blue Blood Page 12
