by Shéa MacLeod
Poor Miss Semple. She certainly didn’t seem to be having much luck with her choices in suitors.
At last the rain stopped, the sky cleared, and the sun returned, turning the soupy ground into steamy, muddy muck. The air grew hot and humid and I felt myself wilting slightly.
I was about to beg my leave when Binky joined us. Was it just me, or was he looking rather shifty and nervous? Beads of sweat lined his upper lip and his forehead under the brim of his fedora. Could be the heat. Or could be something else entirely.
He gave me the side-eye. “Ophelia. What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d check out the fete. But it’s all gone to rubbish, darling. Don’t you think?” I played the languid and dimwitted ingénue rather well, I thought. Perhaps I should seek a career on the silver screen.
“We should probably go back to the house,” Miss Semple agreed. “It’s too, too hot. And the mud is ghastly. I fear I shall ruin my Ferragamos.”
“I suppose you need a ride,” Binky said to me. Rather ungraciously, I thought.
“Too kind, darling. Don’t mind if I do.” Perhaps I could get something out of him on the ride home.
Alas, it wasn’t to be. Binky drove like a maniac through the country roads, nearly crashing into a tractor in the process. We fishtailed around corners and bumped over potholes with great enthusiasm. It was all I could do to keep my seat and hold onto my hat. If Aunt Butty ever had the pleasure of riding with Binky, she’d never complain about my driving again.
He pulled up to the front door in a screeching halt and exited the vehicle, storming into the house without bothering to assist either myself or Miss Semple.
“Well, I never!” The other woman managed to extricate herself from the car, although she nearly toppled into a mud puddle in the process. “I need a drink.”
“I’m with you. I think an Aviation is in order, don’t you?” Interrogating Binky would have to wait.
Chapter 9
Miss Semple draped herself across the divan cushions and waited expectantly while I mixed two Aviation cocktails, carefully measuring out the costly crème de violette. I handed her one, then took the comfy chair across from her.
“Miss Semple—”
“Call me Julia.”
“Julia then. And I’m Ophelia.”
“What a lovely name,” she said, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Very Shakespearean.”
“Isn’t it just. Are you friends with my cousin-in-law?”
She blinked, ridiculously long lashes brushing perfectly powdered porcelain cheek. Her lashes had to be false. Had to be. “Cousin-in-law?”
“Binky.”
“Oh! Lord Rample. He’s your cousin?”
“In-law. The cousin of my late husband.”
“I thought perhaps you were Lord Rample’s mother,” she said innocently.
I have never in my life wanted to strangle someone so much. Julia and I were of an age—mid-30s, give or take—and if anything, I looked younger. Extra padding will do that. But I bit my tongue. Bees with honey. And Julia Semple certainly had a stinger.
“Not quite,” I managed to bite out. “He’s actually older than I by a good four years.”
She widened her eyes. “How astonishing.”
I wondered if Aunt Butty had brought any laxative with her and if she would let me borrow some to put in this Semple woman’s tea. “I’m sure. So... how long have you known Binky?”
“I only met him here for the first time.” She took a sip of her cocktail and made an approving hum. My estimation of her went up slightly. “I believe Harry knows him.”
Harry deVane didn’t know Binky. He knew Aunt Butty. And somehow Binky had wormed his way to an invite based on his vague relation to her. The thought irked me.
“Frankly, I don’t know why he came,” Julia continued. “Claims the whole thing is an awful bore. He’s not wrong. Dashedly dull. But one doesn’t say that, does one.”
So why did he worm an invite then? Curious. “If it’s so dull, why did you come?” I asked.
“Harry, of course. He’s worth simply millions. And, of course, I have the most awfully mad crush on him,” she added quickly.
Crush on his aforementioned millions, more like. We chatted inanely about various people we knew and events we had attended, but the minute my glass was drained, I made my excuses and escaped. Now to find Binky.
He was hiding in the library. Not because he was a great reader. He was listening to the radio and pounding down a bottle of whiskey he’d liberated from Harry’s cellar.
“There you are,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
He frowned. “What do you want?” His tone was querulous and his words slightly slurred. If the bottle was anything to go by, he was well on his way to raging drunk.
“Why are you here, Binky?”
“I’m drinking, obviously.” He waved a glass at me, nearly sloshing the contents onto his jacket.
“No, I mean here, at this house. At this party.”
“Oh, that...Harry begged me to come.”
“Don’t lie, Binky. It doesn’t become you. I know you used Aunt Butty’s name to finagle yourself an invite. Why?”
“If you must know, I had business to attend to in this part of the country. And, thanks to your late husband, I don’t have the funds for a hotel. What else was I to do?” He downed the liquor and poured himself another.
I sat in the chair next to him. “I see. So this is simply a matter of saving money. Free lodging. Free food. Free booze.”
“Of course. What else?”
“How about that man I saw you talking to at the church?”
I think he paled slightly, but it was hard to tell beneath the flush of alcohol. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His hand shook slightly as he poured himself another drink.
“You’re a terrible liar, Binky. Felix always said so.”
“Leave my cousin out of this,” he snarled. “He’s the reason I’m in this mess.”
“What mess?”
Unfortunately, while Binky wasn’t the brightest, he was smart enough to clam up. “Leave me in peace, Ophelia. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
And that, as they say, was that. At least for now. But I was determined to get the truth out of him. One way or another.
DINNER THAT NIGHT WAS a somewhat somber affair. It was only the house guests, and everyone seemed either focused on the discomfort of the heat and humidity, or the break-in, which appeared to instill equal parts fear and excitement.
“Things like this never happen where we come from,” Maude Breverman whispered over dinner. She was seated to my left and wanted to talk about nothing more than the break-in. She likely didn’t have much excitement in her life. “It’s rather thrilling, being faced with danger on every side.”
Her crepe pink silk turban—which matched her too-snug bias-cut rayon gown—practically quivered with excitement. And it must have been doing so for some time, for it had slipped slightly to the side and tufts of her frizzy gray-streaked blonde hair were sticking out. She wore no makeup save a bit of blush pink lipstick and had a large rope of pearls around her neck.
“Oh, yes, it’s been quite the...adventure,” I said lamely, not sure how else to put it.
“And Mr. deVane has been so kind and considerate about the whole thing. He offered to put us up in a hotel, should we be more comfortable, but of course Mathew wouldn’t have it. He wants to be near the action.”
“How do you know Mr. deVane?” I doubted the frumpy American had anything to do with spies or robberies, but one never knew.
“Mathew has some sort of business deal going on with him. I’ve no idea. No head for business whatsoever.” She tittered like a schoolgirl, which was odd and awkward and ill-suited on a woman her age. “Harry invited us to stay as we were in England for another of Mathew’s little business meetings. Kind of him, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes, very. Is this your first trip to England?”
“Min
e, yes, but Mathew has been here, oh, twice before.”
Could Mathew Breverman be the spy? Or have something to do with the break-in? Perhaps Harry’s study hadn’t been tossed because of some government shenanigans. Perhaps it was a simple matter of business competition. Mathew Breverman could have been looking for something to give him a leg up in negotiations or some such.
My mind toyed over various possibilities all through the rest of dinner while Maude prated on about her home, children, and friends back in... somewhere in America. I was a little vague on the matter. Frankly, I wasn’t much listening. It was with some relief that we women finally left the table and I was able to get away from Maude.
While the men sucked down their port and cigars, I made a beeline to the drinks cart and gathered all the fixings for an Aviation. Ethel and Amelia Kettington joined me as I was pouring.
“Fix me up one of those, would you,” Ethel demanded more than asked. She was wearing an equally out-of-date gown in unrelieved black. It washed her out and made her look even more haggard and horsey than usual.
“Sure thing,” I said agreeably, pulling out two more glasses.
“Are you certain Mr. deVane won’t mind?” Amelia twittered. Her gown was almost a twin to her sister’s but in a ghastly shade of brown which flattered her even less.
“Don’t be daft, Amelia. Harry wouldn’t leave his liquor lying about if he didn’t want us to help ourselves. It’s a party, after all.”
Ethel might be brusque to the point of rudeness, but she had a point. “Ladies, to your very good health,” I said, handing over their drinks.
Ethel took a long draft and let out a gusty sigh of appreciation. “Better than Harry’s. You have skills, Lady R.”
I ignored the rather familiar moniker. “Please, call me Ophelia.”
She used her martini glass to indicate herself first then her sister. “Ethel and Amelia.”
“So pleased,” murmured Amelia over the rim of her glass.
“Didn’t have a chance for a chin wag earlier,” Ethel barked.
“No,” I said. “We didn’t. I take it you’re one of Harry’s neighbors.”
“For years now. Since he bought the place. Glad, too. Was falling to ruin.” Ethel slugged back the rest of her drink and held out her glass. “Don’t suppose you could mix us up another.”
“Of course.” While I fixed her another drink, I steered the subject toward the break-in. “I suppose the police questioned you about the break-in last night.”
“They did. Ghastly business.” Ethel took the drink I held out. “We had nothing to tell them, of course.”
“That’s not entirely true, sister,” Amelia said with a little flutter of her hand. “Remember I heard something during the night?”
Ethel snorted. “She was imagining things, as usual. Vivid dreams. Too much imagination. I pride myself on having no imagination whatsoever.”
“How...lovely for you.” I couldn’t help a slight tinge of sarcasm in my tone, but it appeared to fly over Ethel’s head.
“It does make life simple,” she said proudly. “No getting oneself worked up over nothing.”
“But it wasn’t nothing...” Amelia bit her lip when her sister shook her head.
“Don’t be daft, Amelia. You had a dream. No more.”
Amelia said nothing but stared morosely into her drink. It was clear I needed to get the younger Kettington sister alone if I wanted to discover what she’d heard during the night.
At last the men joined us and Harry clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gents,” he said in his smooth, mellifluous voice. “I’ve a treat this evening. A famous jazz musician all the way from the Americas. Hale Davis!”
Everyone clapped politely as Hale appeared in the doorway, bowed, and took his place at the piano. There were oohs and ahhs as he did some complicated scale thing on the piano and everyone settled in comfortably while he trilled out several popular songs such as St. Louis Blues and Mad About The Boy. Every now and then he’d glance my direction, but it was so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it.
While he played, I caught Aunt Butty up on my investigation so far. Including my confrontation with Binky.
“Don’t worry,” she assured me. “I’ve got ways to make that boy talk. When I get done with him, he’ll spill all his beans.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
She tsked at me and I held back a grin. Aunt Butty had her own way of doing things.
I’d hoped to catch Hale after the evening’s entertainment, but Harry hurried him off, and I was left with nothing to do but find my way to bed. I’d downed three Aviations and was definitely feeling well-lubricated. Bed was probably a good idea. I could seek out Hale in the morning.
Once again, Maddie was nowhere to be found, so I undressed myself. I was just pulling on my pajamas when from somewhere in the house below came a bone-chilling scream!
Chapter 10
I dashed into the hallway and nearly crashed into Aunt Butty. We stared at each other a moment. Her hair was up in rags, covered with a silk scarf, and her face was smeared with cold cream. She wore pajamas similar to my own but had managed to throw on feather-tufted mules and a robe whilst I remained barefoot and robe-less.
“You heard that?” I asked.
“Of course. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“It came from downstairs.” Chaz appeared from his room in striped bottoms and a satin smoking jacket.
The three of us charged down the stairs even as other doors opened, and heads popped out. I could hear questioning voices above, but I ignored them, focused on finding the source of the scream.
The marble floor was ice cold against my bare feet as I ran across the foyer and down the hall. The study door stood open for once, light spilling into the hall. A dark figure stood in the doorway, small, angular.
“Maddie? What are you doing here?” I came to a stop beside her and stared into the room.
Sprawled across the rug next to the fire was a man in a cheap, beige suit. Next to him lay a bowler hat as if it had been knocked off his head, perhaps in the midst of a struggle. A knife protruded from the middle of his back and around the knife spread a dark stain.
I turned Maddie to face me. “Don’t tell anyone anything. Do you understand?” She stared at me blankly and I gave her a little shake. “Don’t speak to anyone but me. This is important, Maddie. Do you understand?”
The urgency in my voice must have gotten to her because she finally nodded. Satisfied, I thrust her at Aunt Butty, and entered the study to kneel beside the body. I reached out and placed my fingers on his neck.
“Should you be doing that?” Chaz asked from the doorway.
“Who else?” At least I had some training in the matter. During the Great War I’d spent some time working as a nurse. Granted, I’d been very junior and had mostly emptied bedpans and cleaned ghastly messes, but I knew a few things about dealing with wounds. And finding pulses. The man on the floor had none.
“Who is he?” Chaz asked, moving closer. “He can’t be a guest. Look at that suit. Appalling.”
He was right. The cheap wool was scratchy and the cut ill-fitting as if it had been made for a larger man. Plus, the hair—thinning and mousy—was in dire need of a trim. He wasn’t anyone from the house party.
I knew I shouldn’t touch the body any more than I had to, but curiosity got to me. I carefully turned the man’s head, so I could see his face. Even though I’d have expected it, I must have started because Chaz knelt next to me and asked in a low voice, “You recognize him?”
I nodded. “I’ll explain later.” I turned the dead man’s head back into position and climbed to my feet.
A cursory glance around the study revealed nothing out of order, but I didn’t have time to investigate properly. More guests had arrived, and voices were shouting in the hall as everyone jostled to see into the room. Harry appeared in the doorway.
“What the deuce
is going on?” he all but bellowed.
“I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation,” Chaz said calmly, rising to his feet and nodding toward the body.
Harry blanched. “Good god!” He turned and yelled down the hall, “Jarvis! Ring the constabulary!”
“Of course, sir,” came Jarvis’s voice, as unruffled as ever.
“We should preserve the crime scene for the police,” I said quietly as Chaz and I exited the study.
“Is he dead?” Harry asked.
“Afraid so,” I replied. “No pulse. And there’s a knife through his back.”
“Good god,” he repeated. His face was ghostly white, and he looked like he might fall over.
“We need to get these people out of here,” Chaz said, gripping Harry’s arm. “Can’t have them in the way. Can you imagine what the ladies will do if they see a body?”
I decided to ignore his denigration against my sex. Instead I focused on searching out Aunty Butty while Chaz and Harry took over, ushering the guests back to bed and closing up the study for the arrival of Detective Inspector Willis.
I noticed Aunt Butty at the top of the stairs. She pointed to her room and disappeared, so I murmured my excuses to Harry, who ignored me, and hurried up to join her.
Maddie was huddled in an armchair next to the fire, unlit on the warm summer night. Aunt Butty sloshed brown liquid into a glass and thrust it at Maddie. “Drink this.”
“I-I d-don’t drink,” Maddie protested. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
“Tonight, you do,” Aunt Butty said firmly, practically forcing the stuff down her throat before tossing some of it back herself. She thrust the bottle to me and I took a heavy swig. The whiskey burned its way down my throat to pool warmly in my belly.
Once Maddie had calmed, I perched on a stool next to her. “Maddie,” I said softly, “can you tell me what happened?”
“I was going to return a book I borrowed from the library,” she explained, holding up a paperback still clutched tightly in her hand. “So I slipped downstairs after everyone had gone.”
“Go on,” I encouraged her.
