Lady Rample Steps Out

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Damn, what’s he doing here?” Hale muttered, withdrawing his hand from mine. Again, that strange mix of relief and disappointment.

  “Good question.” I turned to stare again. It was definitely the man Chaz and I had run into outside The Astoria Club. I noticed one of the men at a nearby table slip Leo Fairfax a roll of pound notes. In return, Leo handed him something, though I couldn’t tell what. Whatever it was, it was small enough to fit in the man’s palm.

  Hale swore under his breath and grabbed my arm. “We should get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t look. Pretend you didn’t notice anything. I’ll explain when we get outside.” He slapped some bills on the bar, then hustled me up the stairs and outside without a backward glance.

  As we left the club, the rain had stopped, and the sun painted the morning horizon pink and orange. It would have been romantic if I wasn’t so focused on what had just happened. I stopped in the middle of the pavement, refusing to budge another inch. “Now explain.”

  Hale’s expression was grim as he took my arm and pulled me gently toward the tiny park across the street known as Golden Square. This early in the morning it was empty, the statue of King George II standing quiet sentinel to the dawn.

  “It’s not common knowledge,” Hale said as we walked, “but Leo has been in the opium game for quite some time.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  That surprised him. “You do?”

  “A—ah—friend of mine used be involved in that world years ago. He knew Leo back in the day. Was that what was happening? Leo was selling opium?”

  Hale nodded. “Mostly he deals it out of his wife’s club, but occasionally he sells elsewhere. Wherever he can make a buck.”

  I assumed “buck” meant “pound,” or “dollar,” I suppose, since he was American. This confirmed what Aunt Butty had told me about Leo Fairfax and his drugs problem. “Leo’s selling drugs in the Astoria Club?” I asked, surprised Helena would let him get away with it. I’d have bashed the blighter over the head. Felix had not approved of drugs, nor did I. Even Aunt Butty, for all her Bohemian ways, would not tolerate anything stronger than cannabis.

  “Yeah. But Musgrave found out and threatened to turn him in. Guess Leo’s expanded his trade.” He didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other about it.

  Perhaps the Astoria Club wasn’t the best place for Chaz to be spending time. Not if it was the center of Leo’s opium trade. Chaz didn’t need the temptation. Perhaps I should speak to him about it.

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me inside?”

  He grimaced. “Never know who’s listening. Don’t want it getting in the wrong ears, ya know?”

  I didn’t, but I let it go. The drugs world was not my cup of tea, as it were. “Could Leo Fairfax have killed Alfred Musgrave?” I asked as he led me over to a bench where we took a seat. The stone seat was rather chilly on my nether regions and I shivered.

  Hale draped an arm around my shoulders. “Doubt it. He’s too busy hitting the pipe.”

  I wasn’t familiar with the term, but imagined it had something to do with taking opium. Still, getting kicked out of his wife’s club for dealing drugs was a good reason for wanting Musgrave dead. I wasn’t about to write Leo off my suspect list. Not just yet.

  I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. An unusual occurrence for me. But then, Hale Davis was unlike any man I’d ever met. His arm was a warm contrast to the nip of the morning air. The musky, citrus scent of him stirred me in ways I hadn’t been since... oh, ever. The heat I’d felt in the no-name club returned. Aunt Butty would have approved. Myself, I found it equal parts disturbing and thrilling. I was used to men being interested in me. I wasn’t used to returning the favor. I found I enjoyed my freedom.

  “I should be getting home,” Hale said finally.

  I cleared my throat. “Give you a lift to your hotel?”

  Hale refused the ride. “I’m only a couple blocks away. I could use the walk.” He didn’t move. If anything, he drew me a little closer. The heat of him pressed all along my side and I felt suddenly giddy.

  “If you’re sure.” My stomach fluttered strangely.

  He gave me a look that sent heat surging into body parts long quiet. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me thoroughly right there in the park in front of God and anyone who might be awake at that ghastly hour.

  His lips were soft and supple. His breath mingled intimately with mine. His tongue, oh his tongue was erotic velvet. Just when I was about to do something thoroughly unladylike—like melt into a puddle or hike up my gown and straddle him—he jumped up, bid me goodnight, and strode down the street without a backward glance.

  Feeling a little flustered, I watched him go, unsure how to react. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized my lipstick no doubt needed refreshing. It wouldn’t do to get caught mussed up. I opened my evening bag to retrieve the tube, and a small, white feather fluttered to my lap. I picked it up and eyed it carefully. Something in the back of my muddled mind stirred.

  A gunshot that sounded like a cough.

  A single feather on the floor.

  No pillows in Helena’s office.

  I needed to visit the club right away!

  Chapter 14

  The next day, I found myself in front of the Astoria Club again. The place was starting to feel like a second home. I was spending a ridiculous amount of time here.

  I’d barely slept, eager to discover if I was right. But I’d been forced to wait until a reasonable hour to put my plan into action.

  Helena was sitting at her desk, back to the door, riffling through paperwork as if nothing had happened. Apparently, the police had released her office. I wasn’t sure I could sit quite so calmly in a dead man’s chair.

  I glanced around. No pillows.

  I cleared my throat and she whirled around, hand to heart. “Oh, Lady Rample. You startled me.”

  “Ophelia,” I reminded her. “North let you back in, I see.” I took a seat, uninvited. The plush, pink armchair looked too inviting. I was trying to think of a way to bring up the pillow situation. I’d seen her using one in her temporary office, but the room was devoid of anything so frivolous.

  “Yes. They’ve taken all the fingerprints and whatnot they needed. Good thing, too. The work is piling up, as you can see.” She held out one pale, delicate hand to indicate the mound of papers and files on her desk. “I we can’t afford to stay closed, regardless of the situation.”

  “I had no idea there was so much paperwork involved in running a club,” I said, leaning back. It was awkward, as if the seat was a bit too deep. I shifted uneasily. There really should be a pillow. Just a small one for the lower back. I had a chair just like it at home and it had a pillow. A thought wriggled its way into my mind. I had to ask. “I don’t suppose you have a pillow anywhere? This seat is dashed uncomfortable without it.”

  A faint frown line appeared between her eyes. “There was one...” She glanced about vaguely. “I’ve no idea what happened to it...”

  “No matter.” I brushed it aside, careful not to reveal my true intentions. “You were saying? About the paperwork?”

  “I decided to finish the audit.” Helena patted one of the large piles.

  That was interesting. Why would she finish the audit if she was the one skimming? To better hide her thievery? But why, if Musgrave was gone? She didn’t need to hide anything. As full owner, she could take whatever she chose out of the kitty, as long as she was honest about it with the tax man.

  “I did skim, as you deduced,” she explained. I was surprised by her bald admission. “But not as much as Alfred claimed. I kept careful records. Just in case.” She handed me a small, gold-foil covered notebook.

  Inside, in small, dainty script, were columns of numbers. Dates and amounts, from the looks of things. I did a few quick calculations in my head. I’d always been rather good at math.

  “Looks like about two hundred pounds over
the past several months.” That was, perhaps, a couple of months’ wages taken over quite some time. Not enough to really raise eyebrows.

  “Exactly. Money is tight. I needed a little extra to cover household expenses.” Her grim expression told me her household expenses had a lot to do with her husband. “But Alfred claimed closer to two thousand dollars was missing within the last six months. I never took that much, as you can see.”

  “Yes. I can see that.” If her little book was accurate. But I could see no reason why she’d keep a fake book of embezzlement. It was dashed odd. “Who else would have the means and opportunity to take this money?” I asked as I handed back the book.

  “Alfred, of course. And since he’s the one who wanted the audit, I can only assume it wasn’t him.”

  “I agree. What about your husband?”

  “I don’t let him near the money or the books,” she said dryly. “For good reason.”

  From her expression, I assumed she knew—or at least assumed—I was aware of her husband’s penchant for opium. “What about what’s his name? The manager?”

  “John Bamber? Well, yes, of course he has access to the books. Plus, he makes the deposits most mornings. In fact,” she lowered her voice, “he’s the one who was helping me out. I believe it’s what is referred to as ‘cooking the books.’ He assured me Alfred would never know.”

  “Apparently, he got that wrong.” And if Alfred found out, it would be a very good motive for murder. “Is he here now? Mr. Bamber?”

  “I believe he’s at the bar. We’re expecting a shipment of liquor today.”

  “Then let’s go have a chat with him.” I had started to rise when Mabel staggered through the open doorway, face white as a sheet.

  “Mrs. Fairfax!”

  “What is it, Mabel?” Her tone was one of exasperation. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Sorry, Missus, but it’s Mr. Bamber. He done tried to kill himself!”

  “What?” Helena rose from her chair, mouth and eyes wide.

  “Come see for yourself, ma’am!” Mabel beckoned wildly and took off down the hall.

  I charged after her with Helena close on my heels. I was glad I’d worn my wide legged trousers and low-heeled t-straps. All this dashing about was bloody exhausting.

  In the dressing room, stretched out on the fainting couch with a pillow beneath his head, we found John Bamber. He was unconscious, breathing shallow and skin white as milk. On a low table beside him was a glass of water and several empty papers that had likely contained sleeping powders. Next to that was a neatly printed note on a scrap of torn paper. I picked it up. It said simply:

  I CAN’T GO ON.

  How very melodramatic.

  Helena went to her knees beside him. “John! John! Wake up.” She gave him a little shake, but there was no response.

  There was nothing for it. I reached down and slapped him hard enough to leave a pink mark on his cheek. He gave a moan, but nothing else. “Mabel, call the doctor immediately. And then bring us a glass of milk.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” She scurried off to do my bidding.

  “Why are you thinking of milk at a time like this?” Helena wailed.

  My, the melodrama was catching. “Because, you idiot, that’s what you’re supposed to drink after you’ve poisoned yourself. It lines the stomach so the poison doesn’t penetrate.”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?’

  “I trained as a nurse during the War.” Not to mention I read a lot. I certainly had as a girl. And I’d been fascinated by morbid things such as poisons and murder. I was currently a huge fan of the Queen of Mystery, Agatha Christie. I’d read all her works and eagerly awaited the next. Of course, finding a poisoning victim in real life wasn’t nearly so exciting.

  Mabel returned, glass of milk sloshing in her hand. “They’re on their way.” She shoved the glass at me.

  “Thank you. Now, let’s get him up so I can get this down his throat.”

  Between the three of us, we managed to hoist him into a sitting position, and I forced the milk down his throat. I think we got more on the couch than we did in him, but I hoped it was enough.

  Fortunately, Dr. Eliot arrived with his nurse and shooed us away. Once the ghastly noises started, Helena and I hurried to the bar, well out of earshot.

  “Drink?” she asked, rounding the bar and eyeballing the bottles of liquor.

  “Don’t mind if I do. Highball, please.”

  She smiled. “Good choice.”

  After pouring whiskey, ginger ale, and ice into a glass for me, she made herself a Sidecar. We sat at the bar, side by side, nursing our drinks.

  “He tried to kill himself, didn’t he?” Helena said finally.

  “Looks that way.” Though something niggled in my mind. Something not quite right.

  “Why do you suppose he did it?”

  I twisted my glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside. “I imagine he was afraid Musgrave would catch him at it.”

  “But Alfred is dead.”

  “True. But you decided to go ahead with the audit. Up until now, you’ve believed his only wrong doing was to help you hide a bit of money. He knew the minute you finished the audit, you’d know the truth. He was using your skimming to hide his own. And he was stealing a lot more.”

  She shook her head. “He should have come to me. He should have told me. I’d have helped him. Why would he do that?”

  I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. She would have made a damn fine barman. “Who knows? Maybe he was in a spot of trouble and didn’t realize you’d help him. Maybe he thought he could pay it back before anyone knew it was gone. Maybe he enjoyed the thrill. I’ve read some do.”

  “He was such a kind man,” she said morosely. “Always willing to help a girl out when she needed it. I guess we’ll never know why he did it.”

  I gave her a startled look which she didn’t see. “He’s not dead yet. The doctor may have gotten to him in time.”

  There was the merest pause. “Oh, yes. Let’s hope so.”

  Again, I eyed her, but she appeared sincere. “Yes, let’s.”

  “Maybe he’s the one who killed Alfred,” she said after a bit.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps it’s like you said. Poor John believed Alfred was going to catch him out, so he killed Alfred. Then guilt got the better of him. That’s John for you. Very sensitive. He would definitely feel guilty about being forced to murder someone.” She smiled widely as if she’d solved the crime single handedly.

  “It’s a good hypothesis.” If a bit obvious.

  “We should tell the police.” She took a sip of her Sidecar, made a face, and added a healthy dose of cognac.

  I repressed a shudder. Cognac was possibly my least favorite beverage. “Of course. I’ll mention it to DI North.” Maybe.

  Helena had made an excellent point. It made sense, this motive for Alfred’s murder and John Bamber’s attempt at suicide, but something felt off. Something didn’t quite ring true. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

  DETECTIVE INSPECTOR North arrived a few minutes after Dr. Eliot. After a brief confab with the doctor, North took over Helena’s office for questioning. Mabel was the first one in, as she was the one who found Bamber unconscious.

  Being of the nosy variety, I left Helena to a second cocktail, slipped past the uniformed policeman North had posted outside Helena’s office, and into the dressing room where we’d found Bamber. Apparently North considered the event a suicide and therefore didn’t post a guard on the dressing room itself. The pillow had fallen off the chaise longue and onto the floor. I picked it up and examined it carefully. It was perfectly intact. A search of the rest of the room revealed two more pillows, all intact. I swore silently.

  I slipped back down the hall and took up a position where I could overhear. I was well aware from previous visits that voices could be heard from within the ladies’ WC. So I told the guard I needed to use the necessary
—which made him blush like a tomato—and locked myself in the tiny room. Taking my empty Highball glass out of my handbag, I pressed it to the wall and listened carefully. The voices were slightly distorted, but the words were clear enough.

  “—I never was so shocked in all my days!” It was Mabel at her most dramatic. “He was just lying there like the dead. I near passed out.”

  “But you didn’t.” Even with the distortion, North’s voice was dry as dust.

  “’Course not.” She sounded offended he’d had the temerity to ask such a thing. “I went and got the ladies.”

  “By which you mean Lady Rample and Mrs. Fairfax?”

  “’Course. Who else?” Her tone indicated she considered him an idiot of the first order.

  “Did you touch anything in the room? Anything at all?”

  “Not a thing. Just saw him and ran. Figured what with the note and all, he done somethin’ stupid.”

  North cleared his throat. “Did you see anyone else here?”

  “Only some’at earlier. The musician wot plays that saxophone. Devil’s music, you ask me.”

  I almost dropped the glass, I was that surprised. Beau Parks had been here? I hadn’t seen him.

  “Do you mean Beauford Parks?” North asked with surprising patience.

  “That’s the one,” Mabel affirmed.

  “Was he anywhere near John Bamber?”

  “’Course. They was arguing fit to burst. Quiet like, though. Hissin’ like snakes.”

  “What time was this?” North asked.

  Mabel made a humming sound as if trying to dredge up a faded memory. “Oh, ‘least half hour before I found Bamber out cold.”

  Which would give Beau plenty of time to poison Bamber. If he had been poisoned.

  “Could you hear what they said during the argument?” North asked.

  “Not a word.”

  “Thank you, Mabel. That is all.”

  I heard the door to the office open and North muttering with the officer on duty. I quickly tucked the glass behind the waste basket. No need to get caught in the act, so to speak. With a quick check in the mirror to see all was in order, I unlocked the door and stepped into the hall.