Sabrina’s mouth opened just slightly, but for a moment no sound came from it. Then she merely looked annoyed. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. I’ll send our acceptance round to Westings. And, yes, I will mind my manners when I’m there. I’ll be absolutely dripping with charm.”
Drew hadn’t been entirely sure what to make of Morris and Frances Gray, and under no circumstances was he going to miss an opportunity to meet Carter Gray. If nothing more, the old fellow was sure to know more about earlier times here in Bunting’s Nest, perhaps even unknowingly reveal some connection between the two murder victims that hadn’t before come to light.
He gave Sabrina an approving nod. “Excellent.”
Twelve
Westings was a red-brick Georgian affair, not as old or as large as Bloodworth Park Lodge, but grand enough in its own right. The chauffeur turned the Bentley into the drive and through the open gates.
“There she is,” Beaky said, “and without a whole wing that needs remodeling.”
“Nice,” Drew said. “Very nice.”
Madeline gave him a knowing grin. “The house or the cars?”
“Wouldn’t say no to that Jaguar SS2 Saloon there. And that is a nice little Alfa Romeo,” he said with a longing look at the one parked in the drive, “you have to admit.”
“Red’s not your color, dear.”
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Wouldn’t have to be red.”
“There’s nothing like it on a night with only the moon and stars and miles of empty road,” Sabrina said, eyes alight. “And with the cold wind making your face tingle and your blood run fast.”
“You’ve ridden in it then, have you?” Drew asked.
“Oh, not his.” She hurried out of the car when the chauffeur opened the door. “I meant my little Austin. You’ve seen it in our drive, haven’t you? Come along, Beaky.”
Drew narrowed his eyes, watching her walk up to the house on Beaky’s arm until Madeline came up beside him and elbowed him subtly in the ribs.
“What sort of mischief are you imagining she’s up to now? As far as I’ve heard, it’s not a crime in this country to drive a little sports car in the moonlight.”
“It depends, darling, on whether the car belongs to you or to someone else.”
Before she could demand an explanation, he slipped her arm through his and escorted her up the steps to join Beaky and Sabrina in Westings’ foyer. The maid took their coats, and an ancient butler tottered ahead of them to the sitting room.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bloodworth,” he announced in a quavering voice. “And Mr. and Mrs. Farthering.”
Morris and Frances Gray, and an elderly man with a cane who must be Carter Gray himself, were waiting to receive them.
“Good to have you,” Morris said, shaking Drew’s hand and bowing graciously over Madeline’s. “I daresay, seeing how lovely you and Mrs. Bloodworth look this evening, even Lord Byron would have been—”
“Stop that blathering, Morris, and introduce us.” The elderly man peered at Drew from under heavy white brows. “You’re young Bloodworth’s detective, are you?”
Morris glanced at Drew, looking embarrassed and apologetic all at once, but Drew only smiled at the elder Gray and escorted Madeline over to him. She would be just the tonic for the old man’s irascibility.
“Drew Farthering, sir, and this is my wife, Madeline.”
“My father, Carter Gray,” Morris said rather lamely.
“Good evening, Mr. Gray,” Madeline said, giving him her prettiest smile. “It’s so nice of you to have us to dinner.”
“American, eh?” Gray looked her up and down and then turned to Drew. “One of our English girls not good enough for you, boy?”
“Not after I met my Madeline,” Drew said good-humoredly. “And I daresay you don’t blame me, sir.”
The old man snorted, but there was a sly smile playing at his thin lips.
“And Mr. and Mrs. Bloodworth are here as well, Father,” Morris said. “You remember Mr. Bloodworth, don’t you?”
“Remember him?” the elder Gray barked. “Of course I remember him. He came to see me about some nonsense between Westings and the Park Lodge some months back, and I was going to set my hounds on him. Well, young man, are you keeping your end of the bargain and not doing any mischief?”
Beaky turned slightly pink. “Yes, sir. Of course. In fact, I was going to ask you about—”
“How’d you end up with so handsome a wife, eh?” the old man interrupted. “And from London, I’ll be bound. One of these modern creatures who don’t mind what they do, eh?”
Beaky’s face was flaming now. “I wouldn’t exactly say—”
“London is such a wicked place,” Sabrina purred, sweeping up to Beaky’s side and taking his arm. “Though not nearly as decadent as I hear it was back in the eighties.” She put one graceful hand up to her cheek. “I understand you young blades got up to the most shocking escapades.”
He gaped as she batted her long lashes at him. Then he burst into laughter.
“Hang me if you’re not right about that. The girl has spirit, Bloodworth. You could have done worse.”
“Now, Papa Gray, you mustn’t tease.” Frances put herself between him and Sabrina. “People will think you’re serious, and you wouldn’t want to embarrass Mr. Bloodworth.” Her mouth was suddenly very prim. “Not about his wife.”
“What? Oh. No harm, young Bloodworth. No harm. We’re all friends these days, eh?”
Beaky glanced at Sabrina, saw she was smiling, and smiled, too. “Of course we are.” He patted the white hand that clung to his arm. “In fact, when Drew and Morris and I were at the Hound and Hart the other day—”
“Just for a bite of lunch, my dear,” Morris said as Frances shot him a poisonous glare. “Mr. Farthering had stopped to have a look at the Alfa Romeo and we got talking and—”
“Oh, don’t go on about that silly car.” She gave Drew a saccharine smile. “It’s perfectly all right for you young fellows, of course, but Morris ought to have outgrown that sort of thing ages ago, don’t you think?”
“It’s a boy’s car,” the old man growled. “Something some scapegrace from university ought to be driving, not a man well into middle age.”
“It doesn’t do any harm, Father,” Morris said, his voice scarcely audible.
“Quite right, Papa Gray,” Frances said. “I’ve told him time and again—”
“I love sports cars,” Sabrina said brightly. “They’re so much fun.” She edged past Frances and perched herself on the arm of Mr. Gray’s chair. “You should come riding in my little Austin someday. You’d love it.”
He chuckled. “Would I now? Well, well. Perhaps I should.”
“Now, you know that would be very bad for your lungs,” Frances said, tugging solicitously at the afghan over his lap. “Dr. Pine says you must stay warm.”
“Pine’s a quack,” Mr. Gray muttered, but he patted her hand. “Don’t fret now. There’s life in the old man yet.” He turned again to Sabrina. “Wouldn’t know what to do without her, you know. It was the only worthwhile thing my son ever did, marrying her. I don’t know how Westings would have gotten along if she hadn’t taken charge of it. You’d think she had the blood of the Grays running in her veins and he the one who had only married in.”
“We can’t all be so practical,” Sabrina said, and she turned her smile on Morris. “How dull it would be to think about sheep and generators and fencing all the time, don’t you think?”
Before he could do more than give her a grateful nod, the butler returned and announced that dinner was served.
Sabrina hopped up from the arm of Mr. Gray’s chair and, with a sly look at Frances, held out her hand to Morris. “You will take me in to dinner, won’t you?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, suddenly looking more suave and composed than Drew had ever seen him.
The elder Gray struggled to his feet with the aid of his cane and his daughter-in-law. “Mrs. Farthering, would you
do me the honor?”
Madeline took his arm. “You must tell me all about Westings, Mr. Gray. It’s such a lovely place.”
He beamed at her, and Drew knew the old man was in safe hands for the time being. That left only Frances.
Drew made his most elegant bow and then offered her his arm. “May I, Mrs. Gray?”
With a baleful glance toward her husband, she accepted, and then she turned hospitably to Beaky.
“Don’t be left out, Mr. Bloodworth. You must come along with us.” She laid her hand on his arm, allowing him to escort her, too. “It’s terribly awkward having odd numbers, isn’t it? But, well, we couldn’t leave out Papa Gray, could we?”
“Of course not,” Beaky said, looking past her to where Morris was pulling out a chair for Sabrina at his father’s left.
Frances followed his gaze, and her expression turned arch. “Poor Morris. Always in his little dream world, even if he knows it can’t last long. But who am I to complain? I have Westings to look after, and of course, you have the Lodge. They are always there no matter who comes and goes.”
She stopped at the opposite end of the long table from Mr. Gray, and Drew pulled out the chair for her. He took the seat to her right, across from a bemused-looking Beaky, unable to keep from wondering precisely what, or who, was in Morris’s little dream world.
Morris sat himself between Drew and Sabrina. “I’m sure one of you can tell me something about what’s going on in the civilized world. London and all that. I believe you lived there before you came up to the Lodge, Mrs. Bloodworth.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, leaning back slightly as the maid served the watercress soup. “All my life. Not that Yorkshire’s not entirely charming, of course, but I am still very fond of London. I think I miss the theatre most.”
“And well you might,” Morris said with a sigh. “It’s like visiting a new world every night. I did manage to get down to see Richard of Bordeaux last year, starring the magnificent Gielgud.”
“Wasn’t he wonderful?” Sabrina said. “King Richard was certainly presented in a better light than he was in Shakespeare’s version. Not so entitled and full of himself.”
“But even in that, one feels rather sorry for him by the end. Shakespeare had the remarkable ability to evoke sympathy for even—”
“Really, Morris.” Frances peppered her soup and then ate a spoonful. “I’m sure these young people don’t want to hear about stuffy plays all night.”
“No, my dear,” Morris whispered, and he looked down into his soup.
“I enjoyed Richard of Bordeaux when Drew and I went to see it,” Madeline said.
“Well, of course you would,” Frances said. “You newlyweds don’t even know where you are or what you’re seeing half the time. Not that it isn’t entirely sweet, of course.”
She ended with an indulgent little smirk, and Mr. Gray peered at Madeline over his spoon.
“Newlyweds, are you? Ha. Doesn’t surprise me. The two of you look as if you stepped out of one of those new talking pictures they have on in the city.”
Drew didn’t dare smile, even though talking pictures had been out for some years now and silents were quickly becoming a thing of the past.
“Not quite newlyweds anymore, sir. We’ll be celebrating our second anniversary come December.” He raised his glass to Madeline, meeting her eyes with a look meant for her alone and receiving such a look in return. “And I couldn’t ask for anyone so perfectly suited to me. She even likes a good mystery as much as I do.”
“‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,’” Morris quoted, raising his glass as well. “You’re a fortunate man, Farthering.”
“I am a blessed one,” Drew said, “in spite of myself.”
“Balderdash,” the old man sputtered. “It would be more of a miracle if a personable young man of intelligence, wealth, and family didn’t end up with a fine-looking wife.”
“That may be so, sir, though I know what a hash I’ve made of things choosing without God’s blessing.”
“Poppycock!”
“Father, please,” Morris said.
“It’s poppycock, and I shall say it’s poppycock. Next thing this young gull will tell us is that he expects to find the great hound leering at him at the next crossroads.”
Sabrina’s spoon rattled into her bowl to break the sudden silence, but Drew only chuckled. “I daresay someone would like me to think so, but barghests hardly fall under my idea of Christian orthodoxy.”
Mr. Gray drew his heavy brows together and then gave a low growl of a laugh. “Hang me if you don’t remind me of that fool Miles. I never could get him to lose his temper either. Vicar or not, it’s an outrage what happened to him. If Trenton and his imbeciles can’t find the killer, I expect you to, am I understood, boy?”
“I shall certainly do my best, sir,” Drew said, sobering. “If it wouldn’t trouble the ladies too much, I should like to know your opinion of the whole situation. You’ve been here all your life and know everyone. Do you have any theories?”
“I’m afraid I’m the only one who ever had a cross word with him, and he never would answer me back.” The old man’s expression was tinged with regret. “He said he rather liked talking to me. It made him have to think about what he believed and why. Now, don’t give me that sort of look. It’s still nonsense, but he was sincere about it.” He considered for a moment more, and his expression turned hard. “There’d be few tears shed if our local poacher swung for the murder, I can tell you that, but I can’t think of why he would have done it in the first place. He’s not one to lift a finger without there’s profit in it. I know.”
Drew hesitated, wondering if he ought to risk being asked to leave. Still, the opportunity might never again appear. He glanced at Madeline and then plunged ahead. “No disrespect, sir, but might I assume you’ve . . . had dealings with Midgley before?”
Mr. Gray frowned. “I can’t say he hasn’t done a job for me now and again. Years ago now, mind you, when Bloodworth was alive and really deviling me.” He narrowed his jaundiced eyes. “I always suspected Midgley wasn’t above taking money from him as well, laughing up his sleeve at us both.”
Morris looked faintly disgusted but unsurprised.
Frances put her hand up to her open mouth. “Papa Gray! How could you!”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked, girl.” He held up his gnarled hands. “Did you think I was going to go out and cut fences with these? And Bloodworth was no better. I daresay even his nephew there would agree.”
Beaky blinked. “Yes, sir, I would. And it doesn’t surprise me in the least to hear he had Midgley do some of his dirty work. I’d like to apologize on his behalf, sir.”
Mr. Gray scowled. “Oh, don’t go on about that again. I’m too old and tired to worry over it anymore.” He leaned over toward Beaky, more forbidding than ever. “I don’t wish to discuss it ever again.”
“Right.” Beaky nodded, looking relieved. “We will consider the subject closed.”
“About time,” Sabrina said, giving her sweetest smile to her hostess. “It will be ever so much more neighborly.”
She smiled at Morris, too.
The watercress soup was followed by poached salmon with cucumber, boeuf bourguignon, and some rather overcooked green beans. That one flaw in the meal was well compensated for by a divine raspberry meringue pudding and some of the best coffee Drew had ever tasted.
They retired to the drawing room for a glass of port and more conversation until the elder Gray began to nod off. Beaky quietly suggested it would be an opportune time to end the evening, and with thanks and compliments to the hostess, they all made their way to the car. Rather than waiting at the open door of the Bentley, the chauffeur was bent over the engine, electric torch in hand.
“What’s the trouble, Basset?” Beaky asked, coming up to him.
“Beg pardon, sir, but she didn’t sound right when I started her up. I just wanted to give her a look.”
&nb
sp; Beaky looked under the bonnet himself. “Anything?”
“Nothing I could tell in the dark here, sir. But I may have to tinker with her a bit in the morning.”
“Will she get us home?” Sabrina asked, pulling her fur wrap closer as she, too, leaned in for a look.
The chauffeur touched his gray cap, his earnest young face looking younger and more earnest under the stylishly thin mustache he was attempting to sprout. “I believe so, madam. I don’t think it’s much of anything.”
He shut the bonnet and then opened the door for her. Beaky handed her in and then Madeline, and then he and Drew took their places beside them.
“Old Gray wasn’t such a bear as I’d expected,” Drew said once they were under way.
Beaky shrugged. “He’s a brassy old cove, there’s no denying, though he seems to have taken to the two of you well enough.”
“He and Frances oughtn’t to bully Morris the way they do,” Sabrina said, and then she made a dismissive gesture with one graceful hand, hardly more than a glitter of her diamond bracelet in the dimness of the car. “Not that it’s any of my business if he won’t stand up for himself.”
“It’s very kind of you to try to stand up for him, my dear,” Beaky said, patting the hand in her lap.
At this, Drew glanced over at Madeline, but she was looking out the window and didn’t, or wouldn’t, see.
“Stop it,” Madeline said once they were alone in their room that evening.
He turned to her, his dinner jacket only halfway off and one eyebrow raised.
“You’ve been smirking at me all night. Stop it.”
“Smirking? Me? I never smirk.”
“You always smirk.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re doing it now. You always do when you think you’re being clever. Stop it.”
He chuckled and finished extricating himself from his jacket. “Well, don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”
Murder on the Moor Page 15
