“How do you do?” Nick also shook Lincoln’s hand, turning him even further from Madeline. “Grand bash this, isn’t it? I hope Dad got you nicely settled into your new room.”
Lincoln’s heavy brows came together. “Dad?”
“Yes, Dad,” Nick said sunnily. “I’m sure you remember him, rather stodgy-looking older gentleman, very proper, very Victorian and that. Took your coat at the door, showed you into the drawing room when you arrived, moved your things for you when you changed rooms.”
“Dennison?”
“Precisely. John Hanover Dennison, butler and proud father.”
“See here, Farthering,” Lincoln protested. “This man says his father is your butler!”
Drew shrugged. “Well, he would know, wouldn’t he?”
Madeline and Carrie giggled at the indignation on Lincoln’s face.
“You see,” Drew added as he picked up one of the glasses he had just brought, “Mr. Dennison is the son of a gentleman’s gentleman, which is much better, my dear Mr. Lincoln, than being, as you are, merely a son of a—” he took a slow sip of his Bucks Fizz—“gentleman.”
Nick choked back a chuckle.
“You dare allow him into a society party,” Lincoln sputtered, “knowing he’s of the working class?”
“Why, he’s not working now, are you, Nick, old man?”
Nick looked about for a moment and then shook his head in wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t seem to be now, guv,” he said, putting on a broad Cockney accent. “No, most definitely not.”
This time Madeline laughed aloud, and Lincoln stiffened.
“I’ll make sure everyone here knows about this.”
“My friends already know,” Drew told him, his expression cool. “And I haven’t a care what anyone else thinks.”
“Then I see I am the one out of place here,” Lincoln said with grave condescension.
“I would say you are,” Drew agreed. “And I would suggest you turn your attentions toward those who might welcome them.”
Lincoln sneered. “Quite right. Perhaps I should go spend some time with your mother.”
Drew’s gray eyes flashed, but before he could respond, Madeline draped her arm across Lincoln’s shoulders and smiled into his eyes, all demure innocence, still holding the drink he had brought her.
“Now, I think that’s a lovely idea, Mr. Lincoln. I believe Aunt Constance is right over there.”
She turned as she said it, indicating the place, and just happened to empty her glass down his immaculate shirtfront.
Lincoln’s outraged oath could be heard over the music.
“Merely a slight mishap,” Drew assured the startled onlookers as Lincoln stood there gasping.
Madeline put one hand over her mouth, covering a smile. “Oh dear, Mr. Lincoln! Now you see why I really shouldn’t drink.”
Nick took a dry serviette from the tray and stuffed it into the front of Lincoln’s sodden waistcoat. “I’d help you clean up, old man, but I wouldn’t want you to think I was working or anything.”
Puffed up like an angry cat, Lincoln stalked off.
“I hope he didn’t hurt your feelings, Mr. Dennison,” Madeline said once he had gone, but Nick only laughed in answer.
“Nonsense,” Drew assured her. “He’s been offending the upper classes for years now. It’s his favorite hobby.”
He smiled as he said it, but there was still discernible anger in his taut face as he watched Lincoln make his way through the dancers and straight to Constance. Constance took Lincoln’s arm, said something urgent in his ear, and the two of them went out the side door.
Madeline slipped her arm through Drew’s. “I never did get to taste that Bucks Fizz.”
“Ah, well, we can’t have that, can we?” he said, and his smile was a little more genuine as he handed her a champagne flute filled with the bubbly orange beverage.
“Would you care to try one, Miss Holland?” Nick asked. “Or shall we have another dance?”
“I’ve never been one to turn down a dance,” Carrie said, and the two of them disappeared once again into the throng out on the floor.
“All right now, Miss Parker,” Drew said, raising his glass. “I would like to propose a toast to your lovely eyes, your fetching green frock, and your most subtle way of dealing with a cad.”
She laughed. “It’s not green. Not really.”
“No?”
“According to Madame Giselle, it’s eau de nil.”
“Ah, water of the Nile. Well, I’m certain Cleopatra herself could not have done it more credit.”
He touched his glass to hers and then waited as she took a sip.
“And?”
“It sort of spoils the taste of the juice, doesn’t it?” she said, handing the glass back to him.
He laughed heartily. “I expect it rather does. Well then, would you care for a dance?”
She listened for a moment, hearing the words in the smoky, mesmerizing tune: “Mad about the boy . . .” Perhaps this wasn’t the song to choose for a first dance with a man as attractive as Drew Farthering.
“Or shall we go out into the garden for a bit?” he asked. “We’re to have fireworks on the front lawn shortly, if you’d prefer that.”
“I’d love to get away from the crowd awhile. I’d better tell Carrie and Muriel where I’ll be.”
“Oh, they’re all right, aren’t they? Look. Nick’s looking after Miss Holland, and as for your Miss Brower . . .” He took a quick look around. “If she calls me Adorable Drew just once more—”
Madeline laughed. “Why don’t you show me the garden?”
They strolled out onto the back lawn. The windswept night was made for sweet talk and stolen kisses, and Drew realized he wasn’t immune to it. As they stood for a moment sheltered in the low-limbed wisteria, the music and the other guests seemed far away, not a part of their world at all.
“I love the smell of night,” he murmured, breathing in the fragrance of the wisteria blossoms.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, and seeing her standing there, nymphlike in her diaphanous eau-de-nil gown, he could only echo what she had said.
“Beautiful.”
She smiled and took his arm. “I was wondering, Mr. Farthering, if I could ask a favor of you?”
“Certainly,” he said, putting his free hand over hers as they began to walk. “If it is in my power.”
“I know we met just today, but we are family in a roundabout way.”
“Yes. I suppose we are.”
“Anyway, I was hoping you would start calling me Madeline.” There was sweet appeal in her half smile and in her periwinkle eyes. “If you don’t think that’s too brazen of me.”
“Not at all. Not at all. And I’ll expect you to call me Drew, as well.”
She laughed all of a sudden. “That was partly why I poured my drink down Mr. Lincoln’s front. He was being awfully familiar and pushy, calling me Madeline when I had hardly had three words with him and hoped to never have three more.”
“I hope you and I shall have a great many words,” he told her. “And dancing and dining and—”
With a thundering boom, a burst of white sparks illuminated the clouded sky.
“And fireworks!” she cried, throwing her hands up in joyous abandon, making him want to romp through the grass alongside her.
He caught her hand, and her fingers squeezed his at the next explosion, a shower of red, white, and blue. After four more red bursts, each more impressive than the last, Drew gestured toward a stone bench a little way ahead of them, and they sat down.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s been quite an exciting night.”
“Sorry about that unpleasantness with Lincoln earlier. I should have warned you about him.”
“I’ve already been—” The blast of another round of fireworks overpowered her words and rattled the panes in the greenhouse standing about thirty yards away.
“That was loud enough for
them to hear in London,” he said once the echoing boom had died away. “Must have been two or three at once.”
“We used to have this sort of thing all the time when we still had our house on Lake Michigan. The reflection of the fireworks on the water was the most beautiful thing.”
“You don’t still have the house?”
She shook her head. “When Mother and Daddy died, there was evidently a lot of debt to be paid, and the house went for that. I was ten, so I didn’t know much about it. I’m just thankful Uncle Mason made sure I was taken care of. He’s taken very good care of me since then, even if some of Mother’s people thought he was a bit too extravagant.”
He chuckled. “Protestant work ethic and all that, eh?”
“Something like that. Don’t scoff now. There’s a lot of wisdom in that school of thought.”
“I wouldn’t dream of scoffing,” he assured her. “There must be something right in it if it produces such unaffectedly lovely creatures as you.”
With a hiss and a boom, another rocket exploded over them, bathing them in red light. When it faded, there was still a becoming pink tint to her cheeks.
“And what about your Protestant work ethic?” she asked, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Or perhaps the Church of England has its very own work ethic.”
“I daresay it does,” he replied. “I don’t know how much it’s rubbed off on me, though. I was raised in the faith, mind you, but you know how it is. One gets a bit old to be playing church.” The sparkle in her eyes faded, just slightly, and he hastened to add, “Of course, lord of the manor and all, I still attend services most times. Funny old Bartlett, the vicar. His homilies never have a thing to do with the texts he chooses.”
She smiled. “As long as he reads the text, I think it’s a good start. No one can really listen to those words and not feel them inside.”
“Perhaps that’s so. Once my father passed on, though, none of it seemed quite the same to me anymore.” He shrugged and looked down, not wanting her to see into his eyes just then.
“You loved him very much.”
“He loved me,” Drew replied with swift certainty. “And I never saw him do an unkind or dishonest thing all my life.” He smiled a little wistfully. “As Hamlet said of his own father, ‘I shall not look upon his like again.’”
She smiled, too. “My father was like that. I suppose every child of a loving father makes him into a bit of an idol.”
“That may be so. At least you had your uncle to look after you. Losing my dad—I guess I’ve been rather at loose ends ever since.”
“Uncle Mason has been awfully good to me. My faith meant a great deal to me too after I was left an orphan.”
“I can understand how you felt.” He looked up again, making his expression exaggeratedly sincere. “At the tender age of nine, I was left an orphan.”
“You were not,” she said with a giggle.
“I was,” he insisted. “But, being so young, I hadn’t a clue what to do with it, so I sent it back.”
Her laughter was covered by the fireworks’ grand finale, a last salvo of green and red and blue, hissing and booming, answered by thunder from the clouded sky. Then, save the faint sounds of music and laughter from the house, there was silence.
They sat for a few minutes not saying anything, and Drew felt as if he could stay there with her for a very long while indeed. He’d never felt quite this way about any girl before, especially not so suddenly. But did she—?
“Madeline?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and conversational.
“Yes?”
“I think . . .” He reached over and took her hand. “I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve already grown terribly fond of you.”
He waited expectantly, but she said nothing. She didn’t even look at him.
“You haven’t told me how you feel,” he pressed after a moment, and she turned her face nearer to his, until their lips almost touched.
“Do I have to put it into words?” she asked, her voice low and languid, her eyes inviting.
He could feel the rush of blood in his veins. “Yes.”
She moved even closer and then gave him a quick, childish peck on the cheek. “I think you’re cute.”
She jumped to her feet and stood looking down at him with a pixie grin. After a stunned moment, he stood beside her, glad for the darkness that covered his flushed face.
“I see.”
She kissed the tip of one finger and pressed it to his lips. “I think you’re awfully handsome, and I’ve never been attracted to anyone half so much, but that may be nothing but moonlight and Bucks Fizz.”
Laughing softly, he shook his head and sat down again. “Fair enough.”
“Well, I am a tease,” she admitted, “and so are you, if you want the truth. Bringing me out here into this lovely garden and not even trying to kiss me. And looking at me through those long lashes. You should be ashamed.”
He laughed again. “And if I had tried to kiss you?”
She put her hands behind her back, a coy little gesture that made her all the more enticing. “I might have let you.”
“Or poured a drink down my shirt.”
She grinned at him still. “You can never be too sure.”
He drew one of her hands into his own and pressed it with a light kiss. “I thank you, mademoiselle, for returning me to my senses.” Looking up at her, he kissed her hand again, this time with tantalizing deliberation. “We’ll talk about this again one day.”
With a flash of lightning and a rattling clap of thunder, the sky ripped open, releasing a torrent of rain.
“Quick!”
He grabbed her hand and ran toward the greenhouse. It wasn’t far away, but by the time they reached shelter they were both soaked through with cold rain and warmed with running and laughter. The smell of earthy decay inside the greenhouse seemed stronger than usual. There was also the faint odor of fresh paint and another nasty smell too, but rain did that sometimes. He hunted down a lantern and a dry match, and soon they had a small circle of light.
“I’m afraid your lovely dress is spoilt,” he said, plucking at her rain-spotted sleeve.
She laughed. “You’re not much better.” She pushed a lock of hair from his forehead and wiped away the little rivulet of water that had run down from it onto his nose.
“We shall look a sight, the pair of us, going back into the house like this.” He dared her with a smile. “We could stay out here and create a scandal. Or, I should say, have one invented for us.”
She pursed her Cupid’s bow lips and leaned conspiratorially closer, clinging more tightly to his arm. “You mean when they find us out here frozen to death?”
“Oh, I say, what an idiot I am. Of course you’re cold.”
He began struggling out of his sodden dinner jacket, but she stopped him.
“No, thank you. I’m drenched enough as it is.”
“Well—” He held up the lantern, shining its feeble light around the greenhouse. “Ah, just the thing. Come along.”
He marched her over to a pile of mackintoshes tossed in the corner.
“We mustn’t have you catch your death. It simply isn’t done.”
He picked up the coat on top of the pile and held it up for her to put on, but she wrinkled her nose, shrinking back. The nasty smell was stronger than ever now.
“It doesn’t look entirely clean, does it?” he admitted, a bit embarrassed.
She took the lantern and examined the next one down. “This one’s worse, I think. Smells sort of sickening.”
“Hold that closer,” he said, puzzling over the dark stain.
Something had spilled or soaked over the coat, and he pulled it back to see if the rest of the pile were in the same state. Madeline gave a sudden, stifled cry, and he grabbed the lantern and set it down before she could let it crash to the floor. She didn’t make another sound, but she clutched his shoulder painfully hard, her breath coming in little smothered gasps.
/>
He flung the coat back into place and stood up, as shaken as she.
“Come on. Let’s go back inside.”
“Drew, that’s—”
“Come on,” he urged, and he led her back to the house, through the kitchen door, and into the chair nearest the fire.
“Are you all right?” he asked, dropping to one knee on the stone floor beside her. “Here, give me that, if you please.”
He snatched a drink from the tray Anna was taking to the guests and pressed Madeline’s hands around it.
“Drink that down. You all right?”
“I don’t—”
“Drink it,” he insisted, and she managed a sip.
“Is the young lady ill, sir?” Anna asked.
Drew looked up, distracted. “No. Yes. Go and get Mr. Parker straightaway, if you would, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She bobbed a tiny curtsy and disappeared through the kitchen’s swinging doors. A moment later, the doors swung again and Mason came into the kitchen.
“Drew? Madeline, my dear, what is the matter?”
Drew got to his feet. “We just found Lincoln in the greenhouse. I’m afraid he’s taken a load of buckshot to the head.”
Four
We’re to touch nothing in the greenhouse and allow no one to leave the party until they arrive,” Mason said as he replaced the telephone receiver.
“I could have told you that much,” Drew muttered, wishing he could do something more than stand about waiting for the police. “Besides, it’s too late about the greenhouse. No telling what evidence we’ve ruined.”
“I’m sure the police can handle this,” Mason said, his face pale. “We’d best tell Dennison what’s happened. He can keep his eye on the guests, too.”
“Nick as well, if you don’t mind, sir. He can be quite useful from time to time.”
“Very well. Send Anna for them both, if you like. No need to tell her what’s happened yet. It’ll be all over the village by morning anyway.”
Soon Dennison, père et fils, joined them in the kitchen.
Keeping his voice low, Drew gave them the news.
“David Lincoln!” Nick said. “Of course, it stands to reason that someone would eventually—”
Rules of Murder Page 4
