by Emily Queen
If Rosemary didn’t know for certain there was a loving heart beneath Lorraine’s shenanigans, she would have thought the woman enjoyed leaving chaos in her wake.
Having finally had enough, Mr. Woolridge cleared his throat loudly. “We are truly sorry for what happened here tonight, but how much longer are we expected to wait? You have spoken to my daughter and my wife, and I will answer any questions you have, but I implore you ask them quickly as it is getting rather late.” Unlike Mr. Barton, Rosemary’s father’s demeanor held no antagonism, and his tone was respectful.
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Max handled the whole scene with the blank look of someone who had experienced far worse surrounded by considerably more deplorable company. “Miss Blackburn, has your statement been taken?” he asked Vera.
She confirmed that it had and Max nodded, “I understand you and Rosemary arrived together. You are free to leave. I will interview Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge and send them on their way. I’m afraid, Mr. Barton, that you and your family will be availed of my company a while longer.” Rose didn’t think him the least bit remorseful and took a small amount of pleasure that Mr. Barton was getting back some of the attitude he fully deserved.
“Thank you, Max,” Rosemary said for both herself and Vera. “Mother, Father, I’ll see you at home after I drop Vera off. Lorraine, would you like to ride with us?” She had an ulterior motive but kept her face innocent.
“Yes, Mother, why don’t you come with us?” Vera insisted. “But I think I will stay with Rosie tonight if Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge do not mind.” The decision came as a surprise to Rosemary, but a pleasant one. She would feel safer with Vera in her bed, even if her friend did tend to hog the covers.
Evelyn wouldn’t have dared refuse Vera right in front of Lorraine, though Rosemary had to admit she would not have done so under the circumstances, regardless. “Of course, dear. You three go on ahead. Your father and I will be along shortly.”
Rosemary cast a glance at Max after bidding goodbye to the Bartons and whispering in Grace’s ear that she would call on her in the morning.
“I would walk you out,” Max said apologetically, “but I need to wrap this up. There’s a constable by the front door. Ensure that he sees you to your car.”
Promising to do just that, the three women made their way to the exit, Lorraine appearing slightly disappointed she was unable to stick around and eavesdrop.
“Wait just a moment, please,” Teddy Barton said, having extricated himself from Grace’s grasp. “I would be happy to walk the ladies to their car unless you consider me a possible fugitive should I leave your sight.” He peered at Max as if for approval. The inspector glanced between Teddy and Rosemary as though he might protest, finally resigning himself and nodding in agreement.
Teddy escorted the women outside, taking the opportunity to speak to Rosemary while the driver helped Vera and Mrs. Blackburn into the car. “You’re taking this whole thing in stride,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice. “Most women would be reduced to a puddle of tears like my dear sister, but you appear unruffled. Why is that?”
Rosemary bristled slightly at his comment. She had hoped Teddy Barton was more evolved than his father, but perhaps he also enjoyed subjugating women. “I have seen men who can’t handle the sight of blood, or look a dead body in the face. Becoming unnerved at the realities of death is not an exclusively female trait.” Rosemary retorted. “Thank you for your concern, but I really ought to be getting on home now.”
“Wait just a moment. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Teddy realized he had put his foot firmly in his mouth and rushed to defend himself.
“Perhaps not, but the fact remains.” Rose crossed her arms and peered at Teddy defiantly.
He appeared as though at a loss for words, and that was not something that happened to the enigmatic Theodore Barton often. The woman standing before him was a firecracker indeed. She heated his blood in a way the compliant women his father constantly threw in his path never would.
“I apologize, truly. My attempt at a compliment was inexcusably inept. You surprise me with your composure, and I am intrigued as to how you came to be that way.” Teddy appeared contrite, and Rose softened somewhat.
“You are forgiven. I’m probably being sensitive,” she allowed. “I may not appear as though ruffled, but I find no enjoyment in this situation.”
Teddy nodded towards the car. “No, I didn’t mean to imply that you did. Truly. I’m sure you would like to get on your way, try to get a good night’s sleep. I—I hope to see you again, Rosemary Lillywhite.” He stuttered slightly, giving the impression he may have been intending to say something else, but Rose did not have the patience or the energy to linger upon what it might have been.
“Good night,” Rosemary answered, folding herself into the back seat of the car. Vera stared at her with a thousand questions in her eyes, but Rose shook her head and mouthed the word later. She would be expected to repeat the events of the evening, including every single word of her conversation with Teddy several times to placate Vera, but that could wait.
“Well color me surprised,” Lorraine exclaimed. “Who would have thought an evening with those two insufferable bores could prove more exciting than a night on the town.” She appeared positively gleeful.
Vera turned a sharp look in her mother’s direction, “You’re acting callously, and it is rather unbecoming, Mother,” she said, her tone just as razor-edged.
“Oh, Vera, don’t be such a wet blanket. Obviously, I feel sorry for the miserable sod. However, I find it far easier to handle unpleasantness with humor rather than despair. It keeps me from getting too many frown lines or feeling the need to swallow a handful of pills. I’m sure that handsome young inspector will figure out who did the vile deed, and then we can all rest easy knowing the murderer is behind bars.”
Somehow, Rosemary doubted the Bartons or Mr. Cuthburt’s family would rest easy that night. That someone had snuffed out a life while a whole house full of people drank champagne and danced made her heart hurt and stiffened her resolve. She didn’t care what Max Whittington or her mother said. She would do everything she could to help solve the case, whether or not her assistance was accepted.
“Though, between the three of us,” Lorraine continued, “I must admit I didn’t care much for Ernest Cuthburt. It will be interesting to see what becomes of Barton & Co. when old Edgar is left with only that surly widower Arthur Abbot as the only one to advise him,” she said with a wink.
Vera’s gaze whipped to her mother. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing whatsoever, dear. Just that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, is all.”
Chapter Twelve
The car pulled up in front of the Blackburn estate, and Lorraine waited until the driver opened the door before turning to Rosemary and Vera with a glint in her eye. “Keep an eye on dear sweet Grace, won’t you girls? She’s been in such a fragile state, and I expect this might just push her over the edge.” She leaned in to give both girls a quick peck on their cheeks, and then she was gone with a whoosh of scent and a swirl of her gown.
Vera sunk down in the seat and heaved a sigh. “That woman will drive me mad one of these days,” she said, miserably. “Just you wait and see.”
“It doesn’t seem like too many people think highly of Grace. Or any of the Bartons, for that matter,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. Vera’s comment about her mother went ignored, Rosemary having heard the diatribe enough times she could recite it right along with her friend.
“Don’t you think it rather odd, this whole situation? Grace coming to look for Andrew, but finding me, whose family lives right down the road? I can’t imagine what the end game would be, and I definitely did not get the ‘crazed murderer’ vibe from Grace, but still…”
“Personally, I have my eye on that Marjorie Ainsworth woman. It completely slipped my mind until just now, Rosie, but I saw her and Mr. Barton in a rather um, awkward situation.”
Vera’s right eyebrow raised as she said the words ‘awkward situation,’ and Rosemary’s jaw dropped.
“Do you mean what I think you mean?” she asked.
Vera shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, but I saw him follow her out onto the balcony—let’s see, it must have been just prior to my conversation with Mr. Abbot—and I decided to do some sleuthing. There’s a lovely spot between the curtains where you can look through the glass and also remain hidden from the view of everyone inside the ballroom and anyone out on the balcony,” she explained.
Rosemary wasn’t surprised her friend had managed to catch a glimpse of something scandalous, or even semi-scandalous—Vera was trained as an actress, after all, and keen observation was one of the skills she had honed to a fine point.
“Anyhow, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they had their heads together and were speaking furtively. Marjorie seemed to get upset, said something that made Mr. Barton’s head look like it might explode, and then stalked off,” Vera finished, her eyes bright. “If it didn’t have to do with anything of an untoward nature, I will happily eat my shoe.”
“I will hold you to that, my love,” Rosemary said, the determination in her eyes belying her light tone. Vera must have seen Mr. Barton not long before she herself had seen him reenter the ballroom from the balcony. At least the look of irritation on his face made more sense now. Rose thought about it all the way back home and made a mental note to investigate the line of inquiry further at the first opportunity.
Woolridge House was quiet as a mouse when Rosemary and Vera entered, but all the same, Wadsworth stepped into the light of the entryway and appraised the pair with a narrow-eyed expression. “It is rather late, is it not, Madam?”
“Yes, Wadsworth, it is. There was some excitement at the party,” Rosemary replied evenly. “A man was killed.” She enjoyed dropping the information and watching Wadsworth digest it. She offered no additional details, but instead inquired to the whereabouts of her maid, Anna.
“I gave her permission to retire for the evening. She has attended to your rooms, and your fire has been lit. Will Miss Blackburn be joining you?” Wadsworth asked, having adequately composed himself.
“She will. Now, stop fussing and go to bed yourself,” Rosemary commanded gently. Wadsworth raised an eyebrow but said nothing except the expected ‘Yes, Madam’, though Rose doubted he would get a wink of sleep for worrying over her safety.
The fire had reduced itself to coals, and Vera pushed Rosemary towards the bath, urging her to wash and dress for bed while she tended to it. By the time Rose had removed her makeup and changed into her nightgown, the fire was back to roaring, and she took a minute to warm herself before hunting down the pad of paper and the pencils she had packed into her case.
“Vera,” Rose said, her eyes filled with apologies, “I’m sorry you were dragged into this. Truly, I didn’t think.”
Vera brushed off Rose’s concerns. “I knew exactly what I was getting into, Rosie dear. And if you think for one second I would have let you walk into this situation alone, you don’t know just how much you mean to me.” Before Rose could say another word, she kissed Rosemary on the cheek and retreated into the other room.
While Vera took her turn bathing, Rose began to sketch. It helped clear her mind, and she also wanted to ensure that she retained as many details of the crime scene as possible. While her pencil worked across the page, she bit her lip and thought about all the events that had happened that evening.
It had been odd, the way the now deceased Mr. Cuthburt had been sneaking around, and even odder that he had ended up in Mr. Barton’s study. If he had nefarious intentions, his meddling might have been exactly what got him killed.
Mrs. Blackburn’s opinion of Mr. Cuthburt only confused matters; Lorraine was the type of woman to hold a grudge over even an imagined slight, and so she had to take Vera’s mother’s ire towards the man with a pinch of salt. Rosemary wished she had noticed more of Mr. Cuthburt’s movements, but her eyes had been trained on Mr. Barton and anyone who appeared to harbor ill intent towards him.
Unfortunately, his overall attitude and demeanor were such that there might be any number of people who could want Mr. Barton dead. His wife, for example—spending thirty years married to a man who had enough ambition to aspire to great wealth, likely at the expense of his family’s happiness, could drive even the most timid woman to lash out. And Eva Barton was no wallflower, of that Rosemary was sure.
Grace’s father had posed a threat to her freedom. If he really had intended for her to marry Herbert Lock, it would have given Grace enough ammunition to consider finding a way out no matter what the cost. Rosemary knew there was more to that story and fully intended to discover the truth, but she still could not find a plausible explanation for why Grace would have employed her assistance if her intention had been to commit the murder herself. Unless she was an even more gifted actress than Vera, Rose was positive Grace had not expected to stumble across a body when she had entered the study.
Marjorie Ainsworth’s expression during Mr. Cuthburt’s toast had spoken volumes—about what though, Rosemary couldn’t say. Whether it had to do with the Bartons or Ernest himself was something that bore investigating. What Rose knew was that Marjorie had said something to anger Mr. Barton during the evening, leaving her to assume there was a connection between the two that would need ferreting out. She wouldn’t put anything past the insufferable woman.
Theodore Barton likely did not need the money his father might have left him; however, Rosemary had no idea what the nature of their relationship was. She thought about the way Frederick and their own father interacted, but knew that even with friction, there was no way her brother would resort to something as deplorable as murder.
“Oh!” Rosemary exclaimed, dropping the sheaf of sketches she had completed onto the floor.
Vera poked her head out of the bathroom door. “Are you all right, Rosie?” she asked, her face full of concern.
“Where did Freddie get off to tonight? Did you see him in the ballroom after he went off with Teddy?” Rosemary asked, pacing the room.
Vera smiled. “I don’t think you need to worry about Frederick, my love. He thought it would be a good idea to place a bet with Herbert Lock to determine which idiot could consume the most gin without becoming ill. Unfortunately, I am almost certain old Herbie slipped the bartender half the pot in exchange for only filling his glass with water every other round. The last time I saw Frederick, he was half seas over, lurching towards the bathroom. My best guess is he’s passed out somewhere, sleeping it off.”
“So much for brotherly love and all that.” Rosemary frowned, remembering Frederick’s vow to help her keep an eye on Mr. Barton. “I hope he wakes up with a hammer in his head,” she said, calming down and shaking her head at her brother’s questionable decision-making skills.
The sketches forgotten, Rosemary snuggled into bed and allowed the soft sounds of Vera’s breathing to calm her enough for sleep. It did not come easy, but it came eventually, and the last thing Rose remembered thinking before she drifted off was that she hoped for a dreamless night.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosemary woke the next morning and scowled at Vera, who was lying next to her wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and snoring soundly. The scowl quickly changed to a look of adoration when she noted the peaceful look on her friend’s face. No nightmares had intruded upon Rosemary’s slumber, and she knew she could thank Vera’s comforting presence for that.
By the time she had bathed and donned a charcoal gray calf-skimming dress that still paid homage to her heavy heart yet did not make her appear as drawn as pure black, Vera was awake and her hair tamed into submission. Anna had come in to stoke the fire and eyed her mistress with concern.
“I am perfectly fine, Anna. We both are,” she added when Anna looked over at Vera with the same question in her eye. “I promise. Please, try not to worry.”
“Yes, Miss,” Anna murmured,
though with a reluctance that suggested she could not completely wipe the concern from her mind. Poor Anna possessed a timid nature, and any change in routine tended to turn her pale with worry.
“I am absolutely famished after our adventures last night. What are the chances there is a pile of bacon waiting for us downstairs?” Vera asked, her eyes alight with more than hunger.
Her mouth watering at the sheer thought, Rosemary’s stomach grumbled. “Pretty good. But why don’t we go find out if I’ve underestimated the cook?”
It might have been any other day at Woolridge House; the entire family was gathered save for Frederick, including Stella and her husband, Leonard, and of course little Nelly. Rose rolled her eyes, a plan to find and wake her brother from his hungover stupor with a cup of cold water already forming. The folds of a newspaper hid Mr. Woolridge’s face, but Mrs. Woolridge kept the conversation going for the entire group.
“Really, dear, four pieces of bacon at breakfast? Is there something you and Leonard are keeping from us, or do you have a deeply seated desire to expand your waistline for no good reason?” Evelyn prodded Stella, whose ears turned a bright shade of red when she noticed Rosemary and Vera standing in the doorway.
“Well, come on in and eat, then, Rosemary, Vera,” Mrs. Woolridge continued without taking a breath. “There’s tea of course, and coffee if you would prefer, toast, bacon, eggs, and fruit. Perhaps you could set a plate of the latter in front of your sister, lest she consume all the bacon before you even get a taste.”
“Evelyn, let the poor girl alone,” Mr. Woolridge said, rustling his paper as he set it and his reading glasses on the table next to his untouched plate, and casting a grin at Rosemary. Nobody else in the house dared say a scolding word to Evelyn save for her and her father, and they enjoyed ribbing her on the rare occasions the three were in the same room. “She will never want to eat another slice of bacon again, and that would indeed be a tragedy.” Cecil winked at his youngest daughter and refused to meet his wife’s irritated gaze.
