by Sonia Parin
“Are you able to account for everyone’s whereabouts yesterday?” Tom asked. “They might need to provide proof to the Sergeant.”
Mr. Beecham bobbed his head in thought. “Everyone has their tasks to perform throughout the day. If the job is not done, then someone is bound to notice. His Grace employs hard, dedicated workers and, needless to say, they are all loyal to him.”
Evie’s brows narrowed slightly. “How do they feel about the Duchess?”
Mr. Beecham took a deep swallow. “I know these men. They are here to work and not to meddle in other people’s affairs.”
Strange choice of words, Evie thought.
Mr. Beecham looked away and then down at the ground. Thinking she’d made him uncomfortable, Evie turned to gaze around her. Noticing a stable boy grooming a horse, she excused herself and strode away. As she approached, the young boy tipped his hat and promptly continued with his task.
“She is a beauty,” Evie remarked.
“His Grace keeps a fine stable, milady.”
“Do you enjoy working here?” she asked.
The young lad’s cheeks turned bright red. “I do, milady. Very much.”
“Does the Duchess ride?”
The boy bent down to run the brush along the horse’s leg and mumbled, “Not any more, milady.”
“Oh, did something happen?”
“She came off… at the last hunt.”
“I see. I suppose she doesn’t care much for getting back on a horse.”
“Not likely, milady. She then took her whip to the horse…” The boy broke off almost as if he felt he’d said too much.
Bending down slightly, Evie said, “How dreadful. I’m sure His Grace can’t have been pleased about that.”
“No, indeed, milady.” The boy looked about and lowered his voice. “He banned her… I mean, Her Grace, from the stables. Said if he ever caught her here, he would take a whip to her and see how she liked it.”
Well said, Bicky.
Evie couldn’t help shuddering. Cruelty to people who could defend themselves could be forgiven, to a point, but cruelty to defenseless animals was beyond the pale.
As she stroked the horse, she looked over at Tom and Mr. Beecham. The steward’s remark about loyalty had struck her as odd. She tried to remember his exact words.
They are loyal to him.
Not to the family, Evie thought, but rather, to him.
If any of the estate workers disliked the Duchess, they might express their opinions within their peer group, but certainly not in the presence of the family. And now… such an attitude would make perfect sense.
Had she read too much into the agent’s remark?
The estate workers would have heard about the Duchess using her whip on a horse. That would be enough to withdraw their loyalty.
That made Evie wonder if they had any thoughts about her. And, if they did, would they act on it? She’d never dream of harming an animal, but she remained an outsider. With some people holding a low opinion of her, locals working at the estate might take it upon themselves to choose sides.
Smiling at the boy, she turned to leave only to stop. What did it matter if the estate workers didn’t care for Clara? She hadn’t been targeted. In fact, she remained safe and sound and probably having the time of her life in London…
“The point is…” Evie murmured. “Clara committed a hideous crime. Yet the estate workers haven’t taken action against her.”
Not a single one of them would have reason to target Bicky or Evie.
Chapter Thirteen
“So you think I’m the murderer? What do I have to do to convince you that I’m not, be the next victim?”
—from ‘Charade’ 1963
When Tom finished talking with Mr. Beecham, he expressed a desire to spread further afield and visit some of the cottages near the large house, but Evie prompted him with a reminder they were attending a house party.
“Everyone usually meets in the library at this time for refreshments.”
“Usually but not always?” Tom asked. Clearly trying to excuse himself from the activity.
“We should stick close to the house,” Evie said. “Remember, the Sergeant will be dropping by today.”
When they strode into the library, they found everyone engaged in lively conversation. Without exception, they all turned and included Tom in their greeting.
“You seem to have become a party favorite,” Evie whispered.
“Only until the novelty wears off,” he whispered back.
They both approached a table and helped themselves to coffee.
“I take it there’s a lot of tea drinking and food consumed at these type of house parties,” Tom said.
Evie nodded. “We need our energy for everything else in-between. There’s nothing more amiable than to share a bit of news between sips of tea or coffee. Come to think of it, I find drinking tea or coffee far more conducive to lowering people’s guards than a glass of wine.”
Tom gave her a brisk smile. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Although, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable spilling all my secrets over a cup of tea.”
She looked at him without saying anything. It took her a moment to realize she had been held mesmerized by the simple conversation. Or, rather, by the fact he could hold a conversation without any sense of awkwardness interfering. It almost felt as if they’d known each other all their lives.
Moments later, a footman strode in and relayed a message to the butler.
Clearing his throat, Larkin announced, “The Dowager Duchess.”
Bicky’s mama, the Dowager Duchess, entered and gazed around the library. When she found the object of her vexation, she stopped and, wrapping her fingers around the handle of the umbrella she carried around everywhere, she said, “Bicky. There you are. I see you are alive and well now but why is it that I had to wait to be informed of your injury until this morning. There I was, enjoying my morning tea when my butler, yes indeed, my butler expressed his well wishes for your speedy recovery. He knew of the attempt on your life well before I did.”
“Good morning, mama. As you can see, I’m quite all right.”
“All right? All right? Stand there with your arm hanging by your side long enough and you will have pigeons nesting on your head.”
“Mama. I am perfectly fine. Dr. Higgins merely recommended resting and so I am resting my arm by not overexerting it with unnecessary movements.”
“Be that as it may, why was I not informed? The news spread right throughout the village and possibly beyond the county before it reached my ears. How do you think I felt when villagers stopped me to offer their well wishes?”
Bicky bowed his head. “Please accept my deepest apologies, mama. We did not wish to burden you with unnecessary worry.”
The Dowager Duchess gave an unladylike snort. “You seem to be downplaying the severity of your near miss. If you’d died, Alexander Fleshling, your cousin thrice removed, would have acquired your title. Do you think I would have looked forward to spending the rest of my life with a complete stranger taking your place?”
“Mama, you know as well as I do, there are risks involved in everything we undertake in life. I hope you will be able to put it all behind you. Have some fruitcake. I have recently been made aware of how fortunate we should consider ourselves for having brandy in our cake.”
The Dowager Duchess looked taken aback. “You want me to sit and enjoy a piece of cake when there is so much more I wish to say?”
Bicky took a step back. “More?”
“Much more.” The Dowager gave a stiff nod. “As I made my way to visit poor Lady Wainscot who has been taken ill…”
Evie exchanged a look of surprise with the others.
The Dowager rested her other hand on the umbrella handle. “I received more second-hand news. On top of everything else, someone took it upon themselves to inform me the Countess of Woodridge has descended upon us.”
“Mama.”
“Ye
s, indeed. The Countess of Woodridge has arrived and news about her visit is sweeping throughout the county.”
Tom leaned in and whispered, “Is it just me, or did she mean to imply you are some sort of plague sweeping through the countryside?”
Evie grinned. “No, she wouldn’t be so crass. She only means to compare me to a storm, perhaps even a hurricane.”
The Dowager’s gaze shifted from her son, moving until she had located Tempest Woodridge as she had, no doubt, mentally referred to her.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.” The Dowager’s eyes sparkled as she gave Evie a small smile.
Evie smiled back. “Duchess, how good to see you again.”
“To think you should have been addressing me as mama. But, oh no, despite the promise of a duchess’s coronet, my Bicky was not good enough for you.”
Evie approached her and, leaning in, greeted her properly. If anything, the Dowager never wavered from her intention to confuse people with her ever-changing opinions. It didn’t bother Evie because she understood the Dowager employed the tactic to sit on the fence, reserving her true opinions to herself and the privileged few within her close circle.
“Well, then…” Bicky said. “Now that’s all sorted out. Have some tea, mama.”
“Tea? But I haven’t finished yet.” The Dowager gave a small nod. “Oh, yes. There is more. Even before I reached Lady Wainscot’s house, I received a third piece of news.” The Dowager turned and scrutinized everyone’s reaction.
Evie resumed her place beside Tom, knowing full well the Dowager would now pin her attention on the newcomer because surely that had to be the third piece of news.
“Oh, yes. Here he is. I presume you are the very Mr. Winchester everyone is talking about.”
Tom bowed his head slightly. “Your Grace.”
“Oh, there’s no brashness about him whatsoever. Well, well. At least, some of the rumors were incorrect.” Turning to Evie, she said, “Nevertheless, everyone knows and once again, I am the last to be notified. Have you set a date?”
Teacups rattled on saucers.
Someone coughed. Evie thought she heard a snicker… or two.
“Well?” the Dowager demanded.
“I’m afraid you have been misinformed,” Evie said.
The Dowager sputtered, “Misinformed? Are you suggesting I have been lied to? Who would dare play such a trick on me? Is he or is he not your current beau?”
Evie sighed and tried to decide if she should play the role or not. If she committed to the charade, she would have to see it through to some sort of completion. It would definitely give her a brief respite from overprotective mamas but what of the long term? Would she then fake a break-up? And what sort of impact would that have on her life?
Evie took a moment to mentally follow the trail of deceit until she saw herself having to explain the circumstances of her fabricated relationship and eventual break-up to her grandmother, not to mention, her mother.
“Duchess, Tom and I are very good childhood friends,” Evie explained.
“And yet, I have never heard you mention him,” the Dowager challenged.
Evie gave her an impish smile. “You must admit, from the moment we met, you felt overwhelmed by the presence of one American. How could I have introduced more to you? Surely you don’t think me that wicked.”
“True.”
The Dowager appeared to take a moment to gather her thoughts. To Evie’s surprise, she did not move to the window to do so.
“You must come for afternoon tea and tell me all about him,” the Dowager invited.
“It would be my pleasure,” Evie said.
“And bring Mr. Winchester with you.” The Dowager tilted her head. “Winchester. Any relation to the Marquess of Winchester?”
Tom smiled. “No, Your Grace. I don’t believe so.”
“Is there any chance we might find a connection to him? Perhaps a distant one. The title is very old. In fact, it is the oldest English Marquessate still in existence. They keep finding heirs several times removed. You could be one of them.”
Tom, bless his heart, indulged the Dowager with a simple, “Perhaps.”
The Dowager brimmed. “Well, there you have it, Evangeline, you might end up becoming a Marchioness. That would be quite a coup for you.”
Evie smiled. “Either that or we might have to engage the current Marquess in correspondence and offer our sincerest apologies for being presumptuous enough to suspect a connection.”
Bicky made another attempt to distract his mama, stretching his hand toward a chair.
The Dowager lifted her chin. “Did I say I had finished speaking?”
In the ensuing silence, everyone took the opportunity to cross their legs, find a more comfortable spot or shift toward the edge of their seats. Whatever their response, they all knew they had front row seats to the Dowager’s finest performance to date.
Bicky stepped back until he collided with a chair and sat down.
Tom took the opportunity to help himself to some fruitcake, remarking, “Quite good. I think I taste brandy.” He took another bite and nodded. “Yes, the raisins must be soaked in it.”
The Dowager scanned the room as if gathering everyone’s attention to her. Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin and set a foot forward. Anyone watching her could have been forgiven if they thought she was about to burst into an operatic aria.
When someone coughed, the Dowager shot them a look that would have prompted anyone to offer an apology for the disruption.
“Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Burdened by all the news I had heard along the way and still rather shaken by my son’s close encounter with the grim reaper, I finally arrived at Hainsley Hall, all along assuming I would be there to express my heartfelt wishes for a swift recovery from who knew what affliction when I discovered a grave piece of news to add to the multitude I had been collecting throughout the morning.”
Everyone held their collective breaths.
“Lady Wainscot’s houseguests were all in a state of mourning over the near fatal attempt on the young Miss Wainscot.” Once again, the Dowager scanned the room, gaging everyone’s response. Seeing everyone’s wide-eyed expressions, she must have realized she was in the process of delivering fresh news, so she brightened. “Yes, you heard correctly. Someone tried to do away with Miss Wainscot.” The Dowager’s gaze landed on Evie. “And the finger of suspicion is being pointed directly at you, Evangeline Parker.”
Oh, dear. This couldn’t be good, Evie thought. The Dowager had just stripped her of her title. Belatedly, Evie pressed her hand to her chest and gaped. “Me?”
The Dowager gave a swift nod. “Yes, indeed. You.”
Larkin cleared his throat and announced, “Sergeant Newbury.”
The Dowager swung around to look at the newcomer. “Oh, I see. The authorities are taking prompt action and they’ve come to take Evangeline Parker away.”
Chapter Fourteen
The finger of suspicion
“I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding, Evie.” Bicky stepped forward to stand between Evie and the Sergeant, his good hand placed in the small of his back.
Sergeant Newbury took out a notebook. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I am here to carry out the police inquiries we spoke of yesterday. If I could please see each and every one of you separately.”
“Well, what do you propose we do?” the Dowager asked. “March out of the library to go stand out in the hall?”
Bicky said, “Larkin.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Please show the Sergeant to the drawing room. That way, and if need be, we could all illustrate clearly where we were at the time of the shooting.”
Larkin bowed his head slightly. “Very well, Your Grace.” Turning to the Sergeant, he gestured to the door. “Please follow me.”
After settling the Sergeant in the drawing room, Larkin returned. “The Sergeant wishes to speak with Viscount Maison.”
Charles stood up and, str
aightening his jacket, said, “Wish me luck.” He strode off, his manner somber yet full of valor.
A murmur made its way around the library.
“Good Lord,” Tom exclaimed. “You’d think he was being led to the gallows.”
“This is highly unusual,” Evie said. “I don’t blame anyone for feeling so on edge. It’s hard to ignore the air of guilt and suspicion hovering in the air.” Pouring another cup of coffee, she sat down.
The Dowager drew everyone’s attention with nothing more than the sweep of her eyes around the room. “Isn’t anyone going to comment on my remarkable piece of news?”
Bicky rang the bell and asked the under butler to organize someone to call on Hainsley Hall. “I would like a clear account. Gather as many facts as you can, please.”
“I see,” the Dowager harrumphed. “You refuse to take my word.”
“With all due respect, mama. You provided a sketch of the events.”
“But you didn’t ask for more information,” the Dowager pleaded. “I would have thought everything I said would be self-explanatory, but it seems you need a black and white picture with bright colors thrown in. Of course, I’ll be only too happy to oblige.”
Everyone in the room shifted and settled in for ‘Act Two’.
Tom said, “If I’d known this would happen, I would have sold tickets at the door.”
Unfortunately, Bicky sat within hearing. He exchanged a roll of the eyes look with Evie which reminded her of his opinions about Americans grasping every opportunity to make money.
To clarify his feelings, the Duke remarked, “Tom, you must give me private lessons on the art of entrepreneurship.”
Before the Dowager could begin, Larkin appeared and called, “The Sergeant will now interview Lord Chambers.”
Matthew adjusted his tie. “How do I look? I feel as though I’m about to interview for a position.”
As he strode out, Viscount Maison entered the library and patted him on the back. “Good luck, old chap.”
Everyone talked at once, asking Charles about the interview and expressing their surprise at how quickly it had gone for him.
