“I’ll talk to them, and I’ll send Mrs. Fletcher to accompany the family to ensure everyone stays in one place.”
“Is there any room with a washroom attached or at least close by?” I asked. If I was going to be charged with keeping all of them together, I needed to think of what excuses someone might use to leave the room. Where are Mardling and Willoughby? We could surely use their help right now.
“There’s a cloakroom across from the drawing room,” Nigel said, interrupting my worried musing. “It has a loo.”
“Perfect,” George said. “We’ll invite them to go to the drawing room. If the countess wishes to stay with her husband, I’ll allow it, but I’m hoping to convince her to accompany her children and mother-in-law.”
“I’ll have a fire built in there now.”
“Have some tea brought in for them, too. No alcohol for anyone, except if the countess or the dowager requests it, of course. Nothing but tea for the young earl.”
I realized George was talking about Kip. With his father dead, he was now the eighth Earl of Norrance. And Poppy was the countess. I stole a glance at her. Unlike the others who appeared to be in some pain, she wore a serene expression as her husband sat next to her, sniffling. I couldn’t decide if Kip was fighting tears or trying to summon them.
There was a big boom as the finale of the fireworks show began with multiple rockets rising into the sky in quick succession. A giant wheel of sparklers twirled, and the numbers spelling out the New Year burned so brightly, they were impossible to read. As the explosions grew louder, many of the guests covered their ears, but when the last spray had fizzled into the smoky air, a great round of applause rose from the ballroom.
“Happy New Year, ladies and gentlemen,” the vocalist announced. “There is a slight change of plans. Please join us in the state dining room again for the sweets table. The chef has outdone himself with a chocolate surprise. Get your mobile cameras ready, because those goodies are going to go fast. We’ll join you shortly as we continue the party upstairs.”
The musicians began packing up their instruments to move them to the new location—all except the pianist, who shrugged as he closed the fallboard of the Steinway.
The ballroom emptied out, and while many guests glanced curiously at the filigree screen, no one attempted to find out what was behind it.
“Shall I turn the lights back on, Chief Inspector?”
“Yes. Thank you, Nigel.”
“Sorry, sir. No one is allowed behind there.” Angus put his hands out to block a visitor.
“Police. Stand aside.” Mardling pushed his way into the area behind the screen. Willoughby followed, nearly tripping on her hem.
George pulled them away from the family. “Where the devil were you?”
“Outside, watching the fireworks display.”
“Without a coat?” I asked.
“We sat in the car with the heater on,” Willoughby added.
George sighed. “Well, while you were gone, it appears as if someone may have poisoned the earl.”
The chandeliers suddenly came on and flooded the room with light, startling everyone in the area. Members of the family came to attention, squinting at the unaccustomed illumination. Lady Norrance looked down at her husband’s body and moaned. Jemma lifted her mother from her seat and guided her to another chair. “Come sit over here with Rupert and Adela.”
Rupert stood and hugged his mother. “It was his night of triumph, Mother. He was never happier than when showing off Castorbrook.”
The dowager raised her cane in the air. “But he was willing to sell it, the fool. I told him no son of mine should sell the family home. His father would have been horrified. It’s our heritage, our responsibility to maintain for future generations.”
“Hush, Grandmother. Not now.”
“Don’t you hush me, Rupert. I’ll have my say whenever it pleases.” She slumped back in her seat and grumbled, “Where’s my pillow?”
Kip roused and sat up blinking. He turned to Poppy. “Is the party over?”
“It is.”
“Did I miss the fireworks?”
Mardling walked over to the body and lifted the jacket. The earl’s face was a bright pink as if he had been exercising, but his lips were blue. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the gold coffered ceiling. Mardling leaned down and sniffed. He draped the jacket back over the earl and returned to where George and I stood.
“You shouldn’t touch his clothing,” George said. “There’s always the possibility of secondary contamination.”
Mardling looked surprised. “Are you certain he was poisoned?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” George said impatiently. “If we assume heart attack and it turns out otherwise, we will have lost precious time. I’m not taking any chances. We’re still in the golden hour.”
Mardling took out his cell phone. “Do we need backup?”
“Do you have to ask? Absolutely. Start an action book. We need crime scene examiners, and enough officers to take a record of all the guests and staff. I’m putting you in charge of the kitchen. Cordon off the area. I want the names of everyone who had access to food and drink. Nothing is to be thrown out until it is checked.”
“I’ll have to check with my superiors.” Mardling looked uncomfortable dealing with this demanding side of George.
“I’m afraid I’m pulling rank on you, Detective Sergeant, until we are clearer about the circumstances. If you need confirmation, here’s the number of the Met’s CID.”
George had called the Criminal Investigation Division of the Metropolitan Police, the formal name for Scotland Yard. He’d been instructed to stay at the scene and oversee the investigation until someone from the CID could be assigned to the case.
“If we’re dealing with murder, we have to move swiftly, Mardling.”
Willoughby raised her hand tentatively. “May I go change, Chief Inspector? My uniform is in the car.”
“Stay as you are until reinforcements arrive,” George told her. “It may make it easier for you to mingle with the guests. Keep your ears open and make notes of anything said that may pertain to the case.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officers left and George looked at me. “Mardling is going to try my patience. He didn’t want my interference, but he’s going to have to bear it now.”
“You said that he’s a competent investigator. He just has a different style than you.”
“He certainly does.”
Nigel had gathered the family at the ballroom door that led to the gallery, where we’d had tea that afternoon. The deceased earl’s mother gripped his sleeve.
Kip staggered after Poppy. “Why won’t you let me hold your arm?”
“I’ve done enough for you tonight.”
They made a sad procession, the Grant family, leaving behind their leader lying on the ballroom floor. Rupert glanced behind once, then put his arm around his mother’s shoulder and walked her out.
“Will you be all right staying with the family in the drawing room?”
“Of course, George. Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“No, lass. Just having you nearby has a calming effect.”
“I’m glad.” I stood on tiptoe and gave him a soft kiss. “I never wished you happy New Year.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was a somber group that waited in the drawing room for the police to arrive. Nigel had arranged for a fire to be lit, and the room was warm, at least in the area closest to the hearth. Lady Norrance had dropped into the chair that had been occupied by her mother-in-law at tea the day we arrived. The dowager countess frowned but didn’t raise an objection. Before he exited the room, Nigel helped her to another seat, grabbing a pillow from a settee to tuck behind her back since the one that usually accompanied her was cushioning the head of her deceased son back in the ballroom.
The two young couples found places near each other and whispered together. Jemma sat on an ottoman at her mother’
s feet and laid her head on the countess’s lap.
“Foolish, foolish man. What was he thinking?” Honora muttered. “Didn’t take care of himself properly. I told him his eating would bring on a heart attack.” No one challenged her. “Not supposed to lose a child. It’s not in the natural order of things.”
I sat in the same wing chair that had been my seat when George and I were invited to take tea with the family, right after I’d discovered Mrs. Beckwith’s body. Was it only two days ago? Now there had been another death. We still didn’t know for sure if Flavia Beckwith had died of natural causes. But it was almost certain that the earl had not. Could the deaths be related?
When Mardling lifted the jacket covering the earl’s face, I’d seen him lean down and inhale. I suppose if he recognized the scent of bitter almond, it would confirm for him that the earl had been poisoned. Cyanide gives off that aroma, but it’s usually only detected in a body during an autopsy—if it’s detected at all. Mardling hadn’t sniffed at the earl’s champagne glass or even his caviar, which Nigel had been instructed to take to Lord Norrance’s room. In those, the bitter almond odor might come through if cyanide was present. More telling, however, was the earl’s bright pink complexion, which was not the usual pallor of death. Cyanide, as well as other poisons, can turn blood cherry red. And his lips were blue, an indication of oxygen deprivation.
The famous author Agatha Christie was knowledgeable about cyanide poisoning and used it in several of her books. As a fan of hers and a mystery writer myself, I was familiar with the symptoms and signs. I was confident George was, too. Cyanide is one of the few poisons that can strike down a victim within minutes. Of course, without verification from a lab, we could be accused of speculating, even if our assumptions were based on known facts. I was acutely aware that I’d criticized George—at least to myself—for jumping to conclusions. Still, I couldn’t fault him for now proceeding as if a crime had been committed. To my way of thinking, there had probably been two murders, in close succession.
Why someone would want to kill the Earl of Norrance was the question. He’d been an affable host. I hadn’t witnessed any angry exchanges beyond the usual gripes that can arise in a family whose members spend a lot of time together. The earl and his countess seemed content in their marriage. Admittedly, it was hard to know what went on in private, but in public they appeared devoted to each other. Rupert, the aspiring filmmaker, had complained that the earl had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t find a job. If every father who made such a threat was killed, the world population would decline significantly. Kip could be accused of wanting to inherit the title and perhaps the estate, but he didn’t strike me as someone with any ambition. If anything, he seemed to be the kind of young man who avoided responsibility, even as his wife appeared eager to assume it. Jemma might be angry that the earl was trying to come between her and her “good friend” Colin, but was it certain that the earl knew of their relationship? The dowager countess was determined to stop the sale of Castorbrook, but would she go so far as to have someone kill her son? That seemed to me unlikely. At least, I hoped so. If the earl had been murdered, as we believed, we couldn’t dismiss those closest to him as suspects, but we might be better off looking outside the family for anyone with a grudge against him. I suspected there might be more than a few individuals.
There was a knock on the door and Nigel entered, carrying a tray of desserts. Behind him, Angus was bearing another tray with cups and saucers and pots of tea.
“Beg pardon, my lady. I thought you and the family might like to sample some of what the chef is serving.” Nigel set down his tray on a table and gestured to Angus to do the same.
“Very kind of you, Nigel, but I’m afraid I have no appetite. Do our guests know what has occurred?”
“There was no general announcement, but I believe the officers who were here earlier have been informing people as they circulate among them. We asked the band to refrain from playing. I trust that meets with your approval.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t bear to hear music right now. What a dreadful way to greet the New Year. Oh, James.” She caught herself before breaking down and waved off Angus’s offer of a cup of tea.
“I’ll have something,” Rupert said, approaching the table. “May I make a plate for you, Grandmother?”
“Take away that poison. Fatty food is probably what killed your father. I blame your mother for hiring that French chef.”
“A little bit of chocolate never hurt anyone, Grandmother, but if you’d rather not, I understand.”
Kip stood, gripped the back of his chair to steady himself, and held out his arms by his side for balance as he tottered toward the dessert tray. “I’m really hungry now,” he announced. But when he looked down on the rich desserts—the petits fours, cups of trifle and whipped cream, and squares of dense chocolate cake with spirals of spun sugar rising from each piece—his face turned green. He slapped a hand over his mouth and reached for the door. Angus held it open for him and followed Kip into the cloakroom across the hall.
Nigel filled two plates with samples from the dessert tray and delivered them to the young wives of Kip and Rupert. Then he did the same for me. I thanked him and set the dish aside. As attractive as the desserts were, I found I couldn’t eat while I was sitting in the midst of a family in mourning. No one had asked why I was there. I wasn’t even certain myself. George hadn’t wanted any of the Grants to leave the room before the local authorities arrived to remove the body and take their statements of what they believed to have happened. But I could hardly put my hand up to keep a sick man from reaching the bathroom. Even though I could reason with the others and request that they remain in the drawing room, if any of them insisted on going somewhere else—to their private quarters, say—I would have been hard put to insist that they stay.
Rupert, standing next to the table, dipped a spoon into several of the delicacies and licked it off. He tossed the spoon on the tray, wiped his fingers on a napkin, and shook his head. “Delicious, I’m sure, but everything has a bitter taste right now.”
“Not good for you anyway,” his grandmother said.
“Did Father ever consult a physician?” he asked his mother.
“Why should he? He was the picture of health despite what your grandmother claims. He rode every day. Jemma can tell you. That’s excellent exercise. He ate moderately.” She gave her mother-in-law a severe glance. “I watched him carefully.”
“Stress. Stress can kill you, too,” Honora put in.
“If you wanted to reduce the stress on him, you could have stopped criticizing James for his efforts to put the estate on a strong financial footing.”
“The estate, as you call it, has been in my family for three hundred years.”
“And at the rate we were going, it could put you in the poorhouse in one. He did everything to try to maintain it for you—and for his children. How dare you criticize him for caring about our future.”
The door to the drawing room burst open, and Elmore Jackcliff strode in, black cape streaming behind him. He threw himself at Marielle’s feet and took her hands in his, practically pushing Jemma aside. “My dear, dear lady. I am so terribly sorry. We’ve just learned the news, and I had to come at once to express my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you, Elmore. You are most kind.”
He looked around the room at the others, a pained expression on his face. “He was such a vibrant soul, so generous and caring. It’s a great loss, a great loss.” He rose to his feet and bowed in front of Honora. “And you, dear Lady Norrance,” he said, using her formal title. “My sincerest sympathies.”
Honora looked up at him, horrified. “We are not receiving at the moment, Mr. Jackcliff.”
“Of course. Of course. My humble apologies. I will return at the appropriate time.”
He left as swiftly as he’d come, and there was a stunned pause, as if the air had left the room. Rupert was the first to speak. “He’s a little odd, Mother
, don’t you think?”
“I know. I know.” Marielle pushed her long gloves down her arm and removed them. “I’m sure he meant well. He was very fond of your father.”
Rupert’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose toward the curl that dangled on his forehead. “He had a strange way of showing it, and Father had no patience for him at all.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean that Elmore didn’t respect and admire him.” Marielle stood, leaving her gloves on the chair, and approached the table with the desserts. She had removed her jewelry. Her gown was creased across the front from sitting, and she rubbed her bare arms up and down even though the room was very warm. “I think I’d like some tea now.”
Rupert shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes at Adela and Poppy.
The door opened again and Angus poked his head in. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I thought you’d want to know I took the young earl up to his room.”
Marielle nodded. It was the first time anyone had acknowledged Kip’s ascension to the title.
Poppy jumped up. “Kip needs me. I’m going upstairs.”
“He was sleeping when I left him.”
“Please sit down, Poppy,” Marielle said. “There will be plenty of time to nurse Kip back to health. He will certainly need your patience and understanding in the morning. For the moment, however, we agreed to wait for the authorities, and I’d like for us to keep our word.” She poured herself a cup of tea and returned to her seat. “Thank you, Angus. You may go.”
Honora gave Poppy a baleful look. “The earls and countesses of Norrance have always kept their word.”
Poppy looked as if she wanted to object, but in the face of two women with the title of Lady Norrance, she hesitated to stand her ground. I had a feeling it would not be long, however, before she exercised her power as the new countess.
The third time the door opened, I was relieved to see George, who entered with two men I didn’t recognize. He introduced them as officers in the local constabulary.
Marielle put down her tea and stood to greet the men. “Chief Inspector, are the guests still here in the castle? Speaking for the family, I think we would all like to go up to our rooms as soon as reasonably possible, but we cannot neglect our duties as hosts.”
Death of a Blue Blood Page 13
