The Baron at Bishops Avenue

by Jason Blacker

  Frances left the room and headed back towards Agnes'. It was a much smaller room. A room more suitable to a child. The bathroom was located across the hall. Agnes' room contained a single bed on an iron frame with silver filigree work on the headboard. The bed was made though the pillow looked firm and suggested it hadn't been used the night previous. A chest of drawers was positioned at the end of the bed next to the wall on the right as you walked in.

  Frances looked through it but there was nothing of note to find, just the expected clothes. The side table contained a glass that was empty. Frances picked it up and sniffed at it. It gave no odor and seemed as if it had contained nothing much except water. Next to it was an envelope of sleeping powder. The envelope contained twenty four, so it was written on the outside. Frances counted twenty two remaining. Next to the bedside table was a dressing table with mirror.

  There was a smaller round makeup mirror on a stand to the left. The whole surface of the dressing table was covered in a fine white crocheted linen. There was an assortment of makeup bottles and powders up against the mirror like a skyline of buildings. On the right side of this was an expensive perfume bottle. Its label read "Fleur de la Nuit" by Maison Tortue, and Frances knew it to be the most expensive current perfume one could buy. French of course. The bottle had been used, but only slightly. The yellow liquid was still very near the top.

  Frances brought it to her nose and she could still smell the delicate floral scent. It was gorgeous. She had a bottle at home. It was amongst her most prized perfumes. She put it back down and opened up the main drawer as she sat on the cushioned bench stool in front of the dressing table. The main middle drawer contained assorted brushes and small mirrors as well as makeup pencils.

  The drawer on the left contained boxes filled with jewelry. In the right drawer were assorted paperback books. Mostly romances with two Sherlock Holmes books. The one on the very top was The Valley of Fear and beneath it was His Last Bow. Frances took both of them out of the drawer and opened them up to the first page. They were both inscribed by the same person and dated from earlier in the year.

  "My Darling,

  Your beauty is a greater mystery than Sherlock could ever solve. I am entranced by your beauty and elegance. You are my Fleur de la Nuit.

  All love,

  S"

  His Last Bow was similarly inscribed. Frances leafed through the romances including the popular Lord Farthington Returns Home. None of these romance novels were inscribed, though two of them contained telegrams as bookmarks.

  Frances took them out and looked at them. The earlier one was dated November the 23rd.

  I WILL INVESTIGATE LEGAL LIABILITIES STOP

  AND LOOK WHERE ANGRY YORKSHIREMEN SIT STOP

  S

  The second one was dated the 26th.

  IN WINTER IT LOOKS LOVELY STOP

  S

  They were curious telegrams and she wondered what the correspondence was about. It would difficult to surmise what with just having one half of the correspondence. Nevertheless, she put them in her coat pocket and decided to show them to Husher as well as tell him about the Baron's legal documents she had just found and the inscriptions in the book.

  Frances stood up and looked around. There were a couple of watercolor paintings on the wall and at the far end opposite the dressing table was a closet. Frances took a look inside but there was nothing more than clothes in it.

  Frances left the room and headed back downstairs and walked towards the kitchen. As she passed the dining area, Agnes Marphallow remained where Frances had some minutes before left her, as if she had been turned to stone by Medusa.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Marphallow Home

  THE kitchen was large and spacious. It was big enough to keep six chefs with plenty of elbow room. However, from what Lady Marmalade could tell, there was only one cook or chef, and that was Vera Breggan. However, she was not to be found in the kitchen. None of Agnes' staff were. The only one even remotely close to the kitchen was Agnes' housekeeper, Edith Edevane. Frances walked up to her as she sat at an average sized wooden table with four wooden chairs around it. Edith ate an apple from a plate that had been cut in pieces. Not the plate, it was the apple she had cut up. It was a red apple, its aromatic and slightly sweet fragrance tickled Frances' nose. Frances offered her hand.

  "How do you do, I'm Frances Marmalade," she said.

  Edith put down her piece of apple and wiped her hand on a serviette on her left side. She stood up and curtsied before taking Lady Marmalade's hand.

  "Pleased to meet you, my Lady, I'm Edith Edevane."

  Frances was briefly taken aback by the formality. The woman must have heard someone acknowledge her by her title, for she had given Edith no indication of it.

  "Please call me Frances. There's no need for formality my dear. Should I call you Edith or Mrs. Edevane?"

  Edith smiled a curt smile at Frances and remained standing.

  "Please call me Edith."

  "Edith," said Frances. "I understand that you're Lady Marphallow's housekeeper."

  Edith nodded. She was a slim woman of average height. That put her a few inches taller than Lady Marmalade. She was also likely twenty years older too. Frances put her in her late fifties. She had a hard face that made her look unhappy and cross. Though Frances couldn't be certain if that was truly her personality. She hadn't known her long enough. She wore little makeup, just enough to put some color on her cheeks and her hair was short and grey. She was plain looking and from what Frances could gather, unmarried.

  "Do you know where Mr. Spilligan and Mrs. Breggan are?" asked Frances.

  "I should imagine they're out back having a cigarette."

  Frances nodded and smiled at her. Edith gave no smile in return, and waited until Frances had exited the room to the back garden before she sat down and continued to eat her apple. She paid no attention to what was going on outside. There was nothing to hear even if she tried. Besides which, the day had been incredibly difficult what with the death of her employer.

  Outside, Frances saw Mr. Spilligan and Mrs. Breggan. They were at the end of the garden a good hundred feet away if Lady Marmalade had to guess. They both had cigarettes in their hands, though as Frances strode towards them, Mrs. Breggan snuck hers in her left hand behind her guiltily. Frances walked up to them with a pleasant non-threatening smile on her face.

  "How do you do," she said, smiling at them warmly. "I'm Frances Marmalade."

  Neither of them said anything for a moment. Finally, Mrs. Breggan curtsied with her left hand still behind her back.

  "My Lady, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Vera Breggan."

  She looked furtively at Frances.

  "Please call me Frances, dear, and please indulge in your cigarette if you wish."

  "Thank you, my Lady," said Breggan, unable to use Frances' first name.

  She pulled her hand out from behind her and took a puff on her cigarette. There wasn't much of it. Humphrey Spilligan on the other hand had just started his cigarette or so it seemed. He looked at Lady Marmalade with what might have been disdain or just his height looking down at her, but she was unmoved. Spilligan took a long draw on his cigarette before speaking.

  "I am Humphrey Spilligan," he said, "as I'm sure you know."

  Lady Marmalade nodded, looking up at him, keeping her smile warm and friendly on her face.

  "Terrible crime committed in this home," said Frances.

  "Awful, my Lady," said Breggan.

  Frances looked at her and nodded. Vera was a plump short woman, close to Lady Marmalade's height with rosy cheeks and a round face. Frances put her in her late twenties. She seemed like the simple sort of milkmaid you might find on a country farm. Her hair was brown and in two braids that hung down either side of her face, coming to rest a short distance above her ample bosom. She wore a grey dress that went to her calf and a white apron that had smears of pink on it. Frances assumed it was the blood of some poor beast.

&n
bsp; "You're Lady Marphallow's cook, aren't you?" asked Frances.

  "Yes ma'am," said Breggan. "She's been awful good to me."

  "And how long have you been employed with the Marphallows?"

  "Five years this past spring, ma'am," said Breggan. "Best five years of my employment so far."

  "You've been happy to work here?"

  "Oh yes," said Breggan. "They've treated me right kind they have."

  Out of the corner of her eye Frances could see the ever so slight quizzical look that Humphrey gave Vera as he looked on at the two of them talking. Humphrey Spilligan was a tall slender man in a black butler's uniform. His grey hair was parted at the side and he was clean shaven. He stood with this hands crossed in front of him with his two fingers on his right hand jutting out with the cigarette between them. The smoke curled up in front and to the side of his face. There was something about Humphrey's carriage. The way he stood and held his hands, his effete manner that suggested to Frances that he was a closeted homosexual.

  "They've paid you adequately then?" asked Frances.

  "Oh most certainly, my Lady," said Vera, "I really can't complain."

  Lady Marmalade didn't believe her. Though to be fair, times were tough and most men and women were happy to have work whatever it might be.

  "Tell me," said Frances, "did you know if Lord and Lady Marphallow kept any money in the house?"

  Frances looked at Vera carefully, looking for any telltale signs that she might be lying. Vera took another puff.

  "It helps calm the nerves you know," said Vera, "especially with everything that's been happening today. Quite terrible really. Terrible."

  Frances nodded, unsure if Vera was stalling or just nervous. Frances didn't say anything for a long while. This made Vera even more nervous. So nervous in fact that she started to talk.

  "I imagine they must keep money around, mustn't they?" she asked, looking for reassurance from Francs which she wouldn't give.

  "Why would you think that?" asked Frances without judgement.

  Vera looked over at Humphrey looking for some reassurance. He wouldn't offer it either.

  "Well, they're rich they are. He was a baron after all, he must have some money. I mean they have a big house, and sometimes the Lady gives some to Mrs. Edevane if she asks her to pick something up from the shop."

  Frances nodded.

  "Yes, that would seem quite right. And do you know where Lady Marphallow might keep this money?" asked Frances.

  Vera shook her head vigorously as if a bee were buzzing by looking to sting her.

  "No, not at all, ma'am. I've never seen where she keeps it. Wouldn't be my business, would it?"

  "No I suppose it wouldn't."

  Frances turned towards Humphrey.

  "And you're the butler?"

  Humphrey nodded and took a puff on his cigarette. Vera put hers out on the bark of the tree behind her. She held onto the stub as if it were an injured bird.

  "How long have you been with the Marphallows?"

  "I should think it's been twenty years this past spring," he said. "I'll be happy to speak to the Inspector about all of this. I didn't do it."

  "I didn't ask you if you had."

  "But if you'll forgive me, Frances, you're being quite sharp in your questioning, and I've never heard of a police woman before."

  "Then you are misinformed, Humphrey, for there are already police women patrolling the streets."

  Humphrey shrugged.

  "I bet there's not one woman detective constable," he said.

  "And you'd be quite right. But if you are feeling awkward talking to a woman about a crime, Mr. Spilligan, I can quite easily request the Inspector come and make you more comfortable with that idea."

  Frances offered him a stiff smile. They locked eyes for a moment and Frances held his gaze until he broke away and looked at his cigarette.

  "No need for that," he said. "I just haven't seen it yet. I'll be happy to tell you what I know, just like I would the Inspector."

  "Then we'll get along famously," said Frances. "Are you aware of any amounts of money that your employers keep in their home?"

  Humphrey shook his head.

  "Not at all. But like Vera says, sometimes Lady Marphallow gives Edith some money to buy things from the store."

  "What sort of things?"

  Humphrey frowned.

  "Odds and sods, mostly produce or some flour or sugar if Vera needs something for her cooking. Sometimes we accept parcels here and the driver needs to be paid for it. What has any of this got to do with the Baron's murder?"

  "We'll have to see. Nothing is ever as it seems. I assume if you've been employed here for twenty years that you've been quite happy with the salary you've been paid."

  Humphrey looked down at the ground.

  "Happy enough."

  "You'd like more?"

  Humphrey looked up and inhaled on his cigarette. Then he turned around and rubbed it out against the trunk of the tree. He squished the bit of ash with his shoe. He dropped his stub into Vera's hand and looked back at Lady Marmalade.

  "Wouldn't we all prefer a little more? Wouldn't you?"

  "I'm quite happy with what I have," said Frances.

  "Yes, I suppose you are," he said.

  It was with a sarcastic tone he offered those words. He was a man who seemed unhappy with his lot in life. Or perhaps he was just not very responsible financially. Either way, it would offer motive.

  "So you don't think that the Marphallows pay enough, do you?"

  "I know they pay the going rates, Frances," said Humphrey, clearly annoyed with where this conversation was going.

  "Then what are you trying to say?"

  Frances looked up at the tall, thin man. He looked older than his late fifties would suggest. Frances would put him at seventy more likely. But she couldn't be sure if that was the gauntness in his face, the cigarettes he smoked or his general sense of dissatisfaction. Whatever it was, she was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if she had to strain her neck looking all the way up at him all day.

  "I'm saying I'd like more, and I'm saying that I deserve more for all the years I've been in service to them."

  Vera was nodding solemnly. Frances looked at her.

  "You agree?"

  "Well, not for myself you see, ma'am, but Mr. Spilligan here, Humphrey, really does work a lot for them and he does deserve more if he says so."

  Vera looked back down at the ground, or perhaps she was looking at the two dead stubs in her hand which she held carefully. Either way, Frances found her an odd, if not simple bird. Perhaps just eager to please. Frances looked back over at Humphrey.

  "Were the Baron and the Lady aware of your general dissatisfaction with your wages?" she asked him.

  Humphrey looked over her head back towards the house. Perhaps he saw someone calling his name, though rather the blank stare in his eyes suggested he was thinking.

  "I hadn't had a chance to mention it to the Baron. I was planning on bringing it to his attention this weekend. Today even would have been a good day to bring it up... But then you know what happened."

  Not only was he riddled with general malaise, he seemed to be a coward with it too, or so thought Frances. Perhaps a sad, lonely, old homosexual bitter at life's hand that he had been dealt. Frances turned towards Vera.

  "Tell me, Vera, what time were you here this morning?"

  "Eight o'clock like I'm supposed."

  Vera looked around nervously. Frances noticed that she didn't wear a watch.

  "How can you be so certain if you don't have a watch, Vera?"

  "Well, ma'am," said Vera, "I have a clock at home naturally, and I'm always awake by six in the morning on weekends. Four on weekdays. The bus and the walk to my employers' home here takes me exactly fifty seven minutes, and I leave the house promptly as my clock chimes seven. I haven't been more than five minutes late these past five years on more than three occasions. Though perhaps Lady Marphallow will know fo
r certain. I also heard the grandfather clock in my employers' living room chime eight times shortly after I arrived."

  Frances nodded.

  "And what time is breakfast service on Saturday mornings?"

  "Lady Marphallow likes it ready for nine, though she isn't always punctual with it, though I always have it ready by then."

  "And what about the Baron?"

  "We take our orders from the Lady, ma'am. Sometimes the Baron eats with her, on other occasions he isn't home."

  "I see. And did you not see him in the living room this morning? And wasn't that peculiar?"

  "I didn't see him, ma'am. I'm not usually in the living room, unless I'm serving guests there. Breakfasts are in the dining room where Lady Marphallow was this morning. Mrs. Edevane sets up the table and I put the service out when it's ready, usually at Mrs. Edevane's orders."

  "And what time did you put it out this morning?"

  "I didn't, ma'am," said Vera. "I was just about ready to. Mrs. Edevane had given me her nod which meant I was to take the service through, but then we heard the Lady scream and that put everything on hold."

  France nodded her head.

  "I understand. And what time was that?"

  Vera looked over at Humphrey and then back at the ground.

  "I don't know exactly, ma'am. Like you said, I don't have a watch. I rely on Mrs. Edevane for the timing of the services. But it was before nine thirty, but after nine."

  "And how can you make that determination?" asked Frances.

  "Well, like I said, I heard the chimes at eight, the one chime at half eight. Then I heard the nine chimes at nine, and then some time after that Lady Marphallow screamed and shortly after that I heard the half nine chime."