The Case at Barton Manor

by Emily Queen

  “Please, Max, tell me where you are headed with this investigation, aside from my brother. Have you been able to narrow down the suspect pool? There were so many people milling about, not including the staff. However, it seems unlikely one of them murdered Mr. Cuthburt. I cannot imagine what their motive might have been.”

  Rosemary allowed her eyes to well up slightly, attempting to use her feminine wiles to appeal to Max’s chivalric sensibilities. After all, he seemed to care about her well-being, and she now wondered if brushing off those concerns and citing herself as “perfectly fine” had done her a disservice.

  He softened slightly, just as she hoped he would, and she vowed to be less pushy and more pleading in the future. It might not set well with the bright young things of her time, but it was a means to an end. With her family on the line, she was not in the position to put pride before purpose.

  “None of the staff appear to be viable suspects, and neither do most of the guests. The study was on the second level, as you know, and accessible via three separate routes. The servant’s staircase is out, due to the fact that activity in the bowels of the house was extensive, and anyone attempting to use that means of egress would have been spotted by one of the staff.”

  When Max rubbed at one of his eyes, Rosemary noticed signs of fatigue. Had the poor man been up all night?

  “You look exhausted, Max. Could I offer you something to eat?”

  He shook his head and continued the conversation. “We already know you and Grace used the exit towards the side stairs, though your escape was noticed by the butler. That may be because he is trained to keep an eye on the members of the household, however, and it is possible someone else slipped out through that door without him noticing.” Max stopped for a moment, his eyes searching back and forth even though his gaze was trained on something only visible in his imagination.

  “That leaves only the main staircase, or perhaps the balcony. Is there any way the killer could have scaled the exterior wall?” Rosemary asked.

  “No. There isn’t so much as a trellis that reaches the second level. It is also clear from the wound that the killer was standing in the doorway.”

  Rosemary frowned. “The main staircase, then. Am I to assume that’s where my brother was spotted?”

  “Yes, and the fact that it had to be foyer stairs supports the theory that the killer was someone who knows the layout of the house. By all accounts, your brother does not fall into that category, and that’s why he falls low on my suspect list. I will give him the benefit of the doubt for as long as I am able.”

  In silent thanks, Rosemary laid a hand on his and kept it there for a moment.

  “Woolridge & Sons has a minimal stake in Barton & Co., and Mr. Barton confirmed that until last night, to his knowledge, Frederick had never been inside the manor. The theory that Mr. Barton was the intended victim still holds water. It’s almost as though I’m investigating two separate crimes. I cannot as yet discern a motive for killing Ernest Cuthburt, and I also have to be mindful that if Mr. Barton was the target, he may still be in danger.” Max sighed and rubbed his eyes again.

  “Is that why you’re concerned about Grace’s whereabouts?” Rosemary interjected, feeling a little like a cat pouncing on an unassuming mouse.

  Max pierced her with a look. “Were you stationed outside the door with a highball glass to your ear, Rose? It would not surprise me in the least if you were.”

  “Not exactly,” she said, “and it doesn’t matter how I know. It doesn’t make a lick of sense why she would tell me about the letter she found in Mr. Barton’s desk if her intention was to murder her own father.”

  “I agree,” Max said. “Furthermore, the letter has gone missing, and if it had been part of her plan to implicate someone else, she would have left it there.”

  “It still hasn’t turned up? Did you ask Mr. Barton about it?” Rosemary inquired.

  He nodded wryly. “I did not, however, alert him to the fact that his daughter was the one who informed me of its existence. I tried to lure him into telling me about the letter himself, and when he didn’t rise to the bait, I cited an anonymous source and finally broke through his protests.”

  “And?”

  “He denies receiving a letter of the type I described, which means he probably disposed of it himself.”

  Rose was quiet for a moment. “Or the murderer did. Perhaps he sent the letter, didn’t get the response he wanted, and then decided to simply do away with Mr. Barton anyhow. He didn’t want to leave behind evidence, so he took the note with him.” She threw out the first theory that came to mind and reiterated that she could not fathom Grace Barton having the temerity to kill her own father.

  “I understand she’s your friend, Rose, but sometimes people do things for reasons beyond our comprehension. From what I understand, she may have had a personal motive. You said yourself she has no desire to marry the man her father prefers. Perhaps the notion of a life spent with Herbert Lock pushed her over the edge.”

  “Well, then, I would have expected the body to have been that of Herbert Lock himself. Would that not make more sense?” Rosemary retorted. “Let me help in any way I can. I was there, Max. My observances could be of some use to you, and it would ease my mind, for Frederick’s sake. He is my only remaining brother, you know.”

  It was a low blow and they both knew it, but it squarely hit the mark.

  “Fine. What I have is a whole house full of people with either a clear motive and an iron-clad alibi, or no discernible motive and no alibi at all. Mrs. Barton says she was in the kitchens, though the butler swears it was Grace who came to speak to him. There could be many personal reasons she—or either of her children—might want her husband dead. You are just as well-acquainted with the type of man Mr. Barton is as I am, so that doesn’t come as a surprise. Mr. Barton didn’t leave the ballroom during that time, and your own parents have attested to that. Theodore Barton was in the billiard room—according to what you told me last night, avoiding Marjorie Ainsworth—and there are several men who can vouch for him, as well as Marjorie herself. She insisted upon speaking to Theodore and according to his chums, dragged him outside like a naughty puppy. They had quite a laugh over it, from what I’m told. I did not realize Marjorie had any personal relationship with Mr. Barton, so that is a line I will tug after I hear what Miss Blackburn has to say. Mr. Abbot was with his doctor, getting an insulin shot. The only other guest who wasn’t present in the ballroom was Mrs. Blackburn, who has no discernible motive, as far as I can tell.”

  By the end of the speech, Max’s jaw had clenched in frustration.

  “This entire case is one big circle. Nobody so far has had anything bad to say about Ernest Cuthburt, and I’m at a loss for a motive that doesn’t have to do with some nebulous theory about a business deal gone bad.” He stood and so did Rosemary, recognizing they were nearing the end of the conversation.

  Laying a hand on her arm, Max squeezed gently and delivered his request in the same way. “Please, heed my advice and stay out of harm’s way. I will need to speak with your friend briefly, and then I shall be on my way. I still have the accounts of the rest of the guests to sift through. Perhaps I’ll find something that will clear Frederick, and point towards the actual killer.”

  Rosemary nodded. “I will just go get Vera for you, then. Are you certain I can’t bring you a plate? I’m sure there’s something left from breakfast.”

  “Thank you, but no. Just send Vera along.”

  Rose went and did just that, but she stayed and listened while Vera launched into a detailed explanation of her movements during the party, including the scene between Marjorie Ainsworth and Mr. Barton.

  “Thank you, ladies. Your cooperation has been duly noted. I will be seeing you,” Max said, nodding at each of them and then ambling down the driveway to his parked auto.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Well, he is quite the tall drink of water now, isn’t he?” Vera said when as Max passed the ga
te at the end of the lane.

  Perhaps Rosemary had been right, and the two fancied one another. She was not entirely sure how she felt about that. She had not expected Vera to be the type of woman who attracted Max’s interest, though she meant no disrespect toward her friend in thinking so. Any man would be lucky to snag a catch such as Vera; it was simply that Rosemary had expected Max to pursue a woman who wanted to settle into a life of family and children.

  She could not have known that, deep down, a family was exactly what Vera wanted. Someday, once she had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

  “I suppose he is,” Rosemary agreed.

  “This day is too beautiful to waste on all of this drudgery,” Vera said, raising her face to the warmth of the sun. “I would far rather be at home in London, with no thoughts of murder on my mind.”

  “As would I,” Rose agreed. “But, alas, here we are. And now, I can’t go home until I have cleared up this mess. You, however, are under no such obligation.”

  Vera snorted, “Rosie, don’t be daft. I’ve no intention of returning to London without you. We’re a team; you know that.”

  “Vera, do you—” She didn’t have time to finish her thought before Vera stood and peered across the lawn.

  “Oh, look. It seems we have just found your poor hungover brother,” she said, motioning toward the end of the driveway.

  Frederick raised his hand in a wave, and Rosemary crossed her arms in front of her as she watched him approach, his hair a rat’s nest and his suit the same one he had been wearing the evening before.

  “Where on earth have you been?” Rosemary demanded. “We thought you stumbled in before us at some point last night. Do you even know what has happened?” She bombarded him with questions, mimicking their mother for a moment because she knew it would irritate him.

  “Lower your voice. If ever you love me, I am begging you to have a care.” Frederick pressed his thumb and forefingers against the bridge of his nose. He appeared as though he might be sick, and his sister thought it was no less than exactly what he deserved.

  When silence restored him enough to ask, he said, “Has something happened?”

  Rosemary let the words fall out of her mouth as though she were talking about something as inane as the weather. “I discovered a dead body in the second level study of Barton Manor.”

  One of Frederick’s bleary eyes peered at his sister while the other dropped closed. When she repeated herself, he gave his head a shake, then winced from the pounding pain. Alternating the squint from one eye to the other, he tested Vera’s face for veracity.

  “And we are all suspects,” Vera deadpanned. It was less than funny, but the way she delivered the line made Rosemary’s lip quiver slightly.

  “The inspector in charge is not the only one interested to know where you passed the nighttime hours. Tell me, where have you been, Frederick?” Rose demanded. “Do you have any idea how bad it looks that you’ve been out all night?”

  Her brother looked even greener around the gills and swallowed a couple of times. “I fear I shall do my manhood a disservice and be sick if you ladies persist with this farce.”

  Crumpling, Frederick lowered to the top step, hugged his fragile middle. A shift in the breeze put the women downwind.

  “Oh, my sainted aunt.” Acutely uncomfortable, Rosemary fanned her hand in an attempt to dissipate the potent combination of stale tobacco and even staler liquor. “You smell like something scraped off the floor of a dive the morning after the night before.”

  “Not far off the mark.” Voice husky, Freddie huddled until his sister huffed out a breath.

  Rising, Vera volunteered to mix up a hangover cure. Smirking, she took herself away from the fragrant wreck of a man and left Rose to pry what truth could be gleaned from his addled brain.

  “Tell me where you’ve been. This is not the time to play the fool, Freddie. Not when there’s been a murder, and you’re a suspect.”

  Finally, he pulled himself together enough to look at Rosemary’s deadly serious expression. “A murder? Who?”

  “Grace’s godfather, Mr. Cuthburt. During the party last night.”

  Moments passed while Frederick gathered his wits about him.

  “I’m sorry, Rosie. Really, I am. But you can’t believe I had anything to do with a murder, can you?”

  “Of course not, you dolt. But I’m not the one you may have to convince. Tell me where you were all night.”

  “Well, I spent most of the evening getting sloshed with that deplorable man who Grace Barton is being forced to marry. For you, I might add, sister dear. Distracting him seemed like a better option than punching him in the nose. Which I would have thoroughly enjoyed after seeing the look on his face when Marjorie was flirting with me.”

  “Yes, I have heard about your little bet. But then you disappeared and have not been home since.” Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “So, explain yourself. You were supposed to keep an eye on me, not that you needed to.”

  “Surely not, sister. That’s why the second I let you out of my sight you found a dead body,” he retorted.

  Rosemary placed her hands on her hips and stared him down.

  Sighing, Freddie acquiesced. “Fine. I hit the bar with Teddy and then ran afoul of that horrible Herbert Lock. I’ve seen him a few times at the pub in town, you know, and he’s always blathering on about how well he can hold his liquor. I sorely wanted to find out if there was any truth to it.”

  “Apparently, he can hold his better than you can hold yours, brother dear.” For the sake of punishment, she held back Vera’s theory on how Lock had won the bet.

  “Yes, Rose, I get the point. If you must know, I spent a moderate amount of time in the downstairs bathroom, and the next thing I remember, I was stumbling over the gravel in the front driveway. I saw Teddy on my way, with Marjorie Ainsworth in tow. Never did get that dance with her, either.” His eyes took on a dreamy quality, and Rose nearly smacked him in the face to break him out of his reverie.

  “For goodness’ sake, Frederick, focus!” She yelled instead.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes, Marjorie was with Teddy. He did not look impressed, and he asked if he could give me a ride home with a look of desperation in his eyes. I declined, deciding a walk might help me sober up. This morning, I woke up beneath one of the weeping willows at the end of the lane. Are you quite satisfied? It is not one of my better stories, but it is not one of my worst, either.”

  “That is true. But why are you wearing that smile on your face? Did you not understand what I said? We are all under suspicion for the murder of Ernest Cuthburt! Particularly, you.”

  “Me?” Frederick asked. “Why me?”

  “Because someone saw you after you came out of the bathroom. You may not remember it, but you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Max told me that Marjorie dragged Teddy outside to have a conversation with her around the time of the murder. What time was it, do you think, when you saw them?” Rosemary asked though she knew it was unlikely her brother would remember.

  To her surprise, he smiled. “It was midnight on the nose. I could hear the peal of the chapel bells and thought to myself that it was far too early to have gone so far around the bend.”

  “Far too early, indeed,” Rosemary admonished.

  Frederick continued to grin, though there was a hint of a shadow behind his eyes. “Never fear, sister dear. I didn’t kill Mr. Cuthburt. Therefore, I have nothing to worry about. The diligent inspector will figure it out in due time.”

  “So you’re not at all concerned about what Mother and Father have to say?” she fired back, ignoring the comment about Max.

  At that, Frederick’s face screwed up into a grimace. “I may not be out of the woods yet, after all.”

  Rosemary was unsurprised to get a summons from Grace Barton the next morning and fretted over what she might say to the woman while she got dressed and put on her makeup. A pale green dress skimmed between the knee and ankle, and she had even put on a belt with
a bead-encrusted buckle that Vera had insisted would match perfectly.

  “Wouldn’t this be the best time to wear black, though, Vera?” Rose asked. “Considering there was a death just the other night?”

  “There’ll be enough black to go around, Rose. And you aren’t mourning Ernest Cuthburt with anything more than obligation, so I think it’s just fine. Besides, if we run into either of your beaus, you’ll want to look your best.” Vera winked and returned to the mirror where she brushed a smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye.

  With a withering look, Rosemary admonished her dearest friend. “Neither of those men has any interest in me, nor I in them, and you know it.”

  “No, what I know is what I’ve seen, and what you know is nothing. You’re oblivious to the fact that Max has you on the highest of pedestals, and Teddy Barton is just waiting for the right moment to sweep you out of Max’s grasp.” Vera eyed her friend with new eyes. “I’m right, you know absolutely nothing.”

  Rosemary shut her mouth and blushed six shades of red. “It matters little, regardless. I am not on the market. I’m not sure I’ll ever be back on the market, Vera.”

  “Well, I am. This melancholy won’t last forever, my love. In fact, the shadows around your face have already dissipated slightly, and the rainstorm that’s hovered over your head this year has turned to a slow drizzle. Before you get all defensive,” Vera said as Rose opened her mouth to interrupt, “I’m not suggesting that you forget about Andrew. I’m suggesting that at some point, the wound won’t be so fresh and you’ll find that your heart has healed enough to allow room for someone else. It might be Max. It might be Teddy Barton. Or, it might be someone else entirely. I, for one, am excited to see what happens.”

  “Well, I am not,” Rosemary said. The mere thought of allowing another man to hold her or kiss her the way Andrew did carved a fresh hole in her misery. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Vera nodded, but noted that Rose’s words didn’t have quite the same conviction as they had previously. “If you end up with Max, I’d be happy to take Teddy off your hands for an evening. He looks like a man who knows how to move a woman around the dance floor.” She giggled and winked at her friend.