Dressed for Death

by Julianna Deering

  “Oh, he’s all right,” Nick told her. “At least he’s been keeping himself busy and not staring at us every minute.”

  “I saw him earlier,” Drew said. “He looked as if he was headed down to the beach, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?” Carrie asked. “At least he wasn’t searching the house again.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me,” said Drew. “He and the vicar were having a talk. Then Will just grinned at me and hurried off.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “He’s driving me crazy with this detective business.”

  “Shall I go down and fetch him?” Nick asked, and she frowned.

  “No, it’s all right. He’ll be in when he feels like it.”

  A moment later, Mrs. Cummins came back onto the terrace wearing what were no doubt her most sensible shoes. “I think this walk will be just what we all need. Everyone ready?”

  Beddows appeared in the doorway and made a bow. “Beg pardon, madam. The Reverend Mr. Broadhurst is here to see you.”

  Mrs. Cummins bit her lip. “Oh, dear. He did say he was coming today. I completely forgot. I hope you will all excuse me.”

  “Couldn’t you see him another time, Mother?” Tal asked.

  “He could come along with us,” Madeline suggested.

  “You’d all better go along,” Mrs. Cummins said. “I know he has several calls to make today, and I don’t want to keep him too long. Just enjoy yourselves and be back in plenty of time for lunch.”

  The walk up to Little Abbey and back was a pleasant one, and by the time they returned to Winteroak House, everyone was in better spirits. Even Tal was eager for lunch. But when they all trooped into the dining room, Mrs. Cummins told them they would have to wait.

  “Miss Holland’s brother hasn’t come back from his walk yet,” she said. “We really shouldn’t start without him.”

  They sat down at the table anyway and told Mrs. Cummins about their visit to the abbey. Drew tried to ignore the tantalizing smell of roast chicken and vegetables coming from the kitchen and hoped his stomach wouldn’t decide to growl.

  “How is Mr. Broadhurst?” Madeline asked after a while. “I wish he could have come with us. I wanted to talk to him about his charities.”

  Mrs. Cummins smiled fondly. “He couldn’t stay long, I’m afraid. But he only came by to see how we were doing. He was so pleased to know you were all out getting some fresh air and sunshine. He takes such good care of his flock.” There was a lull in the conversation, and she looked worriedly at the clock above the fireplace.

  “I’m sorry my brother’s being so inconsiderate,” Carrie said, looking at her wristwatch. “Why don’t we go ahead and eat? There’s really no need for everyone to wait for him.”

  “I suppose it would be all right,” Mrs. Cummins said. “If you’re sure he won’t mind.”

  She rang the bell, and Beryl came into the dining room wearing a cap and apron that clearly belonged to someone else.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “We will begin now, thank you,” Mrs. Cummins told her. “And please tell Cook to put something by for when Mr. Holland comes in.”

  “Yes, madam. Right away.”

  She curtsied, beaming when Madeline gave her a subtle nod of approval, and then hurried back into the kitchen. A moment later, she was back.

  “I beg your pardon, madam, but the cook says to tell you she wouldn’t be surprised if the chicken is dry as last week, having to keep it warm so long and all.” She glanced at Madeline and made another curtsy. “I beg your pardon.”

  Drew chuckled when she was gone. “At least we’ll know why.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Cummins said. “You must all forgive me. If it’s overcooked, then certainly we shall have something else.”

  She reached for the bell, but Tal stopped her.

  “Don’t be silly, Mother. No matter how late we sit down, have you ever known Mrs. Ruggles’s chicken to be anything but delicious?”

  She chuckled softly. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I’m just not going to worry. At the worst, we can all eat the cake she made this morning.”

  Drew and Nick exchanged glances at the mention of cake.

  “Did you happen to notice what variety of cake she made?” Drew asked.

  “Chocolate.” She smiled at her son. “Tal’s favorite.”

  That won a faint smile from Tal in return. “I’d as soon start with that as chicken.”

  “Now, Tibby—” She broke off at a muffled thud and then a clatter from the direction of the kitchen and was immediately on her feet. “If Cook has broken another of my serving platters!”

  Her threat unfinished, she scurried out of the dining room, leaving her puzzled guests behind.

  “That didn’t much sound like a serving platter,” Drew said. “A serving platter would be more of a crash than a thud. That was—”

  A shriek pierced the air.

  Tal shoved his chair back and leapt to his feet. “What in the world—?”

  Drew was immediately beside him, not liking the profound horror in the sound. “We’d best go see. Nick, look after things here.”

  Tal was already out of the dining room and into the kitchen before Drew caught up to him. The cook was standing at the open pantry door, rolling pin at the ready, wide-eyed and determined to take on whatever had dared invade her hallowed domain. Beryl fled up the stairs, almost running the two men down.

  “Oh, sir! Mr. Drew! It’s horrid! Down—down there! Oh, hurry! Please, please, hurry!”

  By then several of the other servants were peeping into the pantry, gawking and murmuring among themselves.

  “See to her,” Drew called back to the cook as he scrambled down after Tal.

  The wine cellar was lit by a single shaded bulb overhead, a bulb that illuminated Mrs. Cummins’s bloodless face and bloodied hands.

  “Oh, Tibby,” she breathed and fell senseless into her son’s arms.

  Behind her, a body lay sprawled on its side and stained with blood, half concealed by the two wine barrels that had fallen, crushing the head. Drew recognized the clothes immediately.

  “Will.”

  Tal looked at Drew, his face as white as his mother’s. “Drew—”

  “Take her up the back way and put her to bed. I’ll clear everyone out upstairs.” Drew glanced at the body, another life snuffed out in an instant. “Just stay with her.”

  Tal nodded blankly, then realization came into his face. “You can’t possibly think she—”

  “I don’t think anything.” What am I going to say to Carrie? “Just take her upstairs.”

  Drew went up to the pantry ahead of him. Beddows the butler was peering down the stairs, the rest of the staff trying to see into the wine cellar from behind him.

  “There’s been an accident,” Drew told him. “Clear everyone out of the kitchen, if you would, and see they stay out. And be so good as to ring up Dr. Fletcher and the police.”

  At the mention of the police, several of the staff stared at each other while the butler nodded.

  “Very good, sir.” Beddows turned to his subordinates and gave a sharp clap of his hands. “Clear the room, if you please. You all have duties to see to. You will be sent for if you are required.”

  Mrs. Ruggles was at the kitchen table with Beryl, sobbing against her shoulder. She looked at Drew questioningly.

  “Stay there, if you will,” he said to her as Beddows ushered the others out. “I need to talk to Beryl, and I’m sure she’ll do a great deal better if you’re here to help her along.”

  Beryl looked up, eyes and nose and lips red and swollen, and then she saw Tal come out of the pantry carrying his still-unconscious mother. “Oh, sir.”

  Tal never glanced her way, never looked at any of them. He hurried up the back stairway and out of sight.

  Drew sat at the table across from the two women. “All right, Beryl, I know this is upsetting for you, but you must tell me everyt
hing you remember while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

  “Oh, Mr. Drew, I shall never be able to forget it. And him lying there with his head bashed in.”

  Mrs. Ruggles made little shushing noises and pressed a dry serviette into her hands, replacing the one she had already soaked with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Drew said. “We’ll try to make this as brief as possible. Tell me what happened. What did you see when you went down to the wine cellar?”

  Beryl sniffled and wiped her nose. “I . . . I heard that great clatter, so I went down to see what it was. And th-there he was, just like you saw him, Mr. Drew.”

  She began to sob again, and Drew pressed his lips together, waiting for her to calm, knowing he had perhaps a minute or two more before the girls pushed their way in and demanded to know what the row was about. Finally, Beryl looked up at him again.

  “And where was Mrs. Cummins?”

  “She was up in the pantry, sir. I suppose she heard the clatter too and came down after she heard me scream.”

  “I see. And how do you suppose she got blood on her?”

  “She was trying to help him. She . . . I didn’t think to even go to him, sir, I was that upset. I don’t know how she could bear it, t-touching him, but I suppose she went to see if there was something could be done.”

  “Did you see anything else,” Drew asked. “Anything that might tell us more about what happened?”

  “No, sir. I expect he was down there, and those barrels fell on him. Poor Miss Holland, she’s going to be ever so cut up over it.”

  Drew bit his lip, not liking to think of that just yet, not liking to think of any of this. It would certainly be quite a coincidence if such an “accident” was unrelated to the murder that had already taken place at Winteroak House.

  “Sir?” Mrs. Ruggles said, something in her tone telling him she had been obliged to repeat herself to get his attention. “If you’ve done, perhaps she ought to go lie down for a bit.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’ll need a word with you when you’ve got her settled in.”

  “Right, sir. Just as you say.”

  The cook was just helping the maid up the back stairs when Nick stuck his head in the kitchen doorway. “There you are. What’s going on? I daresay it wasn’t a broken serving platter that’s pulled all the color out of your face.”

  Drew stood and went to him, making his voice low. “It’s bad, Nick. Very bad. We have to keep Carrie and Madeline out of—”

  “Keep us out of what?” Madeline said as she pushed open the kitchen door. Her expression was mild, but there was something in her eyes that would not be gainsaid.

  Carrie was just behind her. “Drew, what’s happened? You know Billy will have a fit if he missed out on something to do with the case. He always . . .” She faltered, looking questioningly at Drew and then at Madeline and Nick. “Tell me what’s happened.”

  “Drew,” Madeline pled, her voice barely audible.

  “You’d better sit down,” he said. “Both of you.”

  “It’s Billy,” Carrie cried, lunging toward the pantry. “Something’s happened to Billy!”

  Nick caught her before she could take more than a step. “Wait.”

  “What is it?” she asked, taking hold of his coat with both hands. “Nick, what is it? Where’s Billy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked desperately at Drew and then urged Carrie into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Madeline sank into one across from them, and Drew sat beside her.

  He took her hand and looked over at Carrie. “I’m sorry. It’s . . . it’s your brother.”

  Tears spilled down Carrie’s porcelain cheeks. “Please, tell me what’s happened. Has he been hurt?”

  Drew shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  Eleven

  Carrie made one harsh sobbing sound and then swallowed it down. “Where is he? He’s down there, isn’t he?” She looked toward the pantry door. “Down in the cellar. Oh, Billy, why couldn’t you just let it alone?”

  “Sweetheart,” Nick whispered, moving to take her into his arms.

  She wrenched away from him. “I have to go to him!”

  “No.” Drew looked at Nick, his expression stern. “Don’t let her.”

  Nick caught her hands. “Carrie—”

  “What happened to him?” she breathed.

  “Wine barrels,” Drew explained. “It looks as though they fell on him.”

  Carrie’s lip quivered, and she turned to Nick once more, clinging to him. “Why can’t I see him? I need to see him.”

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Nick asked Drew.

  Drew nodded. “I’d rather none of you went down there. There’s nothing to be done for him now, and it’s a sight that will stay with you. I’d rather you have better memories to keep of him.”

  Carrie began to weep in earnest against Nick’s chest. Without a word, Madeline went over to their side of the table and put her arms around them both.

  “Dr. Fletcher, sir,” Beddows announced as he ushered the doctor in.

  “What’s happened?” the doctor asked. “All I was told is that I was wanted.”

  “You were quick to get here,” Drew said, standing.

  “I was just down the road. My office located me and sent me on here. What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an accident.” Drew led the doctor through the pantry to the top of the cellar stairs. “Down there. I don’t think there’s much to be done.”

  Dr. Fletcher pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Fatal then.”

  Drew nodded.

  “The police have been sent for?”

  Again Drew nodded.

  “Very good. I’ll see to things from here.”

  The doctor disappeared into the cellar, and Drew returned to the kitchen. Carrie and Nick were huddled together, he with his cheek pressed against her red-gold hair and she with her face buried against his neck, her slender shoulders shaking with her noiseless sobs. Madeline was rubbing her back, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Drew went to her and kissed her temple, and she slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him close. They stayed that way until the silence was broken by a decorous clearing of the throat.

  “Chief Inspector Birdsong, sir.”

  The butler stepped aside to admit Birdsong into the kitchen. Instead of his usual world-weary expression, there was a tautness in his mouth and something dark behind his eyes. “Where?”

  Drew gave Nick a brief glance, cautioning him to keep Carrie and Madeline where they were, and then he showed the chief inspector to the wine cellar.

  Dr. Fletcher looked up from where he knelt beside the body. “I haven’t moved anything. I just felt for a pulse. Not any, of course. Cause of death obvious.”

  Brilliant. Drew bit his tongue, not wanting to voice his bitter thoughts. He supposed it was all necessary, but he wondered that they even needed to say anything more. Over and over again these two, the doctor and the policeman, dealt with death of the ugliest sort. What more was there to say?

  “How long ago?” Birdsong asked in a clipped tone.

  “Not long,” the doctor said. “I’ll know more when I’ve had a chance to examine the body more thoroughly.”

  “Right. Just let me get my photographer and fingerprint man in here, and then you can take him off.” Birdsong eyed Drew. “I suppose you can give me the details.”

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” Drew said, looking around at the rock walls and shelves of dusty bottles. “But I’ll tell you all I know. That is—was—Will Holland.”

  “The American girl’s brother.”

  “He was determined to help us figure out who might have killed Alice Henley.”

  “I see.” Birdsong’s mouth tightened under his heavy mustache. “And he was how old? Sixteen?”

  “Seventeen, I believe. I’d have to ask Carrie to be certain.”

  “Seventeen,” Birdsong said.

  He said
nothing more than that. He didn’t even look at Drew, but somehow that one word ripped through Drew’s heart. Seventeen. Just a boy. A boy who wanted nothing more than to help solve a real murder and drive a tiger-striped car. A boy who thought this was all a game. And Drew had let him.

  “What was he doing in the wine cellar?” Birdsong asked.

  “I’m not certain. It may have been something perfectly ordinary, but he’d been pretty keen to come have a look. The Scotland Yard chaps have searched down here a number of times and found nothing. We all figured there must be some connection to the smuggling. I suspect Will came down to have a look on his own.”

  “And who found the body?”

  “Beryl, my wife’s maid. She was asked to help serve at lunch, as the regular girl fell ill. We all heard the crash of the barrels. Beryl came down first to see what it was.”

  “I suppose she’s the one who touched the body,” Dr. Fletcher said.

  There were some smears of blood on Will’s left wrist and cuff, a larger stain in the center of his white shirtfront.

  “That was Mrs. Cummins, I believe,” Drew said. “Beryl said she was trying to see if there was anything she could do to help him.”

  Birdsong nodded. “I’ll speak to her directly.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll be able just yet. She fainted, and her son carried her up to her room.”

  Birdsong’s bushy eyebrows rose. “And just how was he involved?”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of the photographer and two constables, who immediately began documenting the scene. Birdsong motioned for Drew to step to the back of the cellar with him where they wouldn’t be in the way.

  “Tell me again how your friend was involved.”

  “He wasn’t, actually. He was with the rest of us in the dining room. We heard the maid scream, so he and I went to find out what happened. She was just running out when we stopped her. Mrs. Cummins was down in the cellar and promptly fainted.”

  “The maid found her standing over the body.”