Death Wears a Mask

by Ashley Weaver

  “Thank you.” I supposed I might as well set up the trap while an opportunity presented itself. “My neck is feeling a bit bare.”

  “Yes, I noticed you had taken the necklace off.”

  He was a rather observant gentleman. “The clasp was loose, and I was forced to leave it in the card room until Lord Dunmore has time to put it in the safe.”

  “Indeed? Well, I think your neck couldn’t possibly have looked any lovelier with the necklace than it does now.”

  I laughed. “It’s a stunning piece of jewelry.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  He seemed disinclined to discuss jewelry, and we talked of other things. As we moved about the dance floor, something caught my eye. Lord Dunmore and Vivian Garmond stood at the edge of room, talking to one another. It was the first time I had seen them together, but there was no romance in what was happening now. I could tell that at once from their body language and the expression on Mrs. Garmond’s face as she looked up at him. I couldn’t help but feel I had not helped matters between them by wearing the Dunmore Diamond tonight. Perhaps I would have the opportunity later to explain the situation to Mrs. Garmond.

  The dance ended, and Mr. Foster escorted me from the dance floor, his hand resting lightly on my waist.

  “Can I get you another drink?” he asked.

  “Not just now, thank you.”

  “Here you are, Amory.” I hadn’t seen Lord Dunmore approaching until he appeared at my side. I glanced to where he had been standing with Mrs. Garmond, but she was gone. “I’ve been looking for you. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you, Foster?”

  Mr. Foster stepped back, a smile flashing across his face. “Not at all. I’ll take another turn with her later.”

  It seemed that Lord Dunmore looked a bit annoyed, but the expression was gone so quickly that I couldn’t be sure. I wondered if he was still preoccupied by his encounter with Mrs. Garmond.

  Mr. Foster walked away, and Lord Dunmore turned to me. I thought he might ask me to dance, but it seemed that was not his intention. “I want to talk to you for a moment.”

  I glanced around. It was so loud in the ballroom that I was certain that no one would overhear us. “What is it?”

  “It’s too hot in here,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere where we can get a bit of air.”

  “Outside?” I suggested, indicating the doors that led from the ballroom out onto the terrace.

  “No. It’s too windy. It would muss your hair, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  “No, I suppose not,” I replied.

  He smiled and took my hand in his. “I know. Come with me.”

  I let him lead me out into the foyer and across to the small sitting room on the other side, where I had sat the day I had come to visit him. We entered, and he closed the door behind us, the heavy oak muting some of the noise of the ball. The room was cooler than the ballroom had been, but there was something slightly intimate about the setting, and I wondered what it was that he wanted to talk to me about.

  He didn’t release my hand as he turned to face me. “There? That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is,” I answered. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Alexander? Is it the diamond? I’ve left it in the card room as we discussed.”

  “No, it isn’t that. Wanting to be alone with you isn’t reason enough for me to spirit you away?”

  I felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as though Lord Dunmore had flipped some sort of switch. Really, it was almost impressive.

  “It is cooler in here,” I conceded, unsure of where this might be leading. The various warnings I had heard about Lord Dunmore nagged at the back of my mind.

  “I’m still feeling a bit warm.” His voice had taken on a silky quality that put me on guard.

  “I believe dancing has that effect,” I replied as blandly as possible. So did arguing with one’s mistress in a crowded ballroom.

  “It isn’t only dancing,” he answered. “I’ve found many much more effective means of warming the blood.” There was something practiced yet oddly natural in his approach, like an actor who had played a role so long that he forgot he was someone other than the character he embodied.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  His eyes locked on mine. “If you’d let me, Amory, I can have a fire lit in no time.”

  It was only with great effort that I kept my brows from flying upward in surprise. He really was shameless. What I found remarkable, however, was that the blatant suggestion that would have been completely offensive from another man somehow managed to be almost flattering coming from Lord Dunmore. Almost.

  He stepped closer, and I put up a hand to halt his progress. “I shouldn’t think that necessary, Lord Dunmore,” I said firmly.

  “A moment ago I was Alexander.”

  “It seems that using your Christian name has given you unwarranted encouragement. That was my mistake.”

  He smiled suddenly, and some little change in his posture completely dispersed the intimacy of the moment. “Am I annoying you, Mrs. Ames?”

  “I think you’re very charming,” I answered carefully, “but you should know that I am quite immune to it.”

  “In other words, I am wasting my time.”

  “You are wasting your time, my lord.”

  His eyes searched my face for a moment, and, apparently seeing that I meant it, he sighed and gave an elegant shrug. “Fair enough. You can’t blame a man for trying.”

  You could, in fact. But I decided that was an opinion best kept to myself.

  “I hope we shall be friends,” I told him. “But only friends.”

  “If you insist,” he said with faux ill humor.

  “I do. We don’t need people talking. In fact,” I said, “it would probably be better if we aren’t seen coming out of this room together. Why don’t you go back to your guests, and I’ll follow in a moment.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it before turning to go. At the door, he stopped. “We could have had a lot of fun together, you and I,” he said wistfully.

  “‘Fun’ is quite overrated,” I told him. “Love and devotion have a much more lasting appeal.”

  He looked at me, and I knew he understood my meaning. His quarrel with Mrs. Garmond had no doubt spurred on his unseemly advances, but I hoped he could see the error in such logic.

  “You’re quite a woman, Amory,” he said. Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  I didn’t quite know how to feel about what had just happened. On the one hand, it had been inappropriate in the extreme. On the other, perhaps Lord Dunmore had been too much used to getting his way. I hoped this was a lesson he could profit by. And that perhaps he could find a way to work things out with Mrs. Garmond.

  I dropped into a chair and rubbed a hand across my forehead. This night was already turning out to be much too eventful, and we had yet to encounter the killer.

  My eyes fell on the telephone, and I remembered that I needed to ring Winnelda and see if Mr. Gibbs had had any luck in identifying the thief. I went to the telephone and gave the operator the number to the flat. She connected me, and a moment later Winnelda picked up. “Ames residence,” she said crisply.

  “Winnelda, it’s Mrs. Ames.”

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Ames!” she said cheerfully. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I asked Mr. Gibbs—the gentleman who called for Mr. Ames earlier this evening—to telephone me and leave a message with you. Has he phoned yet?”

  “Oh, yes, madam! He phoned about twenty minutes ago.”

  I felt a rush of excitement. “What did he say?”

  “He said to tell you … wait just a moment…” I could hear the crinkling of a piece of paper, and then Winnelda read carefully. “The gent was of medium height with dark hair.”

  I waited, but she did not continue. “That’s all?” I asked at last, disappointed.

  “That’s all he said, madam.”r />
  “Thank you, Winnelda.”

  “Is the ball going well? Did the ladies like your dress? And the necklace?”

  “Yes, everything’s going quite well. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  “I shall look forward to it, madam!”

  I rang off, lost in thought. Medium height with dark hair. I realized suddenly that that description could conceivably be applied to any of the male suspects. And if it was one of the women, they might have had a gentleman acquaintance sell the pieces for them. Really, this clue had turned out to be of very little help.

  I heard the door open behind me, and I wondered if Lord Dunmore had come back.

  I turned. “Oh, hello, Mr. Foster.”

  He closed the door behind him and glanced around the room before his eyes came back to me. “I see Dunmore’s abandoned you, and I hate to see so lovely a lady all alone.”

  I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt a bit uneasy. Mr. Foster had never been anything but polite, but there was some slight change in him now that I couldn’t quite name. He seemed different somehow. But perhaps it was only that my nerves were all on edge this evening.

  “I was just getting ready to rejoin the festivities,” I told him.

  “Don’t hurry out on my account,” he said. My eyes flickered past him to the door. He was standing before it, and I would have to go around him to leave.

  “Oh, it’s not that,” I said lightly. “I think perhaps I’d better go and see if my husband has arrived. If you’ll excuse me.” I walked purposefully toward the door.

  “Wait a moment.” He held out a hand, and I stopped myself just before I walked into it.

  He looked down at me, his expression not quite as pleasant as it had been a moment ago. The faint warning bell that had been going off in my head seemed to get louder.

  “There’s no need for you to rush away.”

  I looked at him warily. There was something in his tone that I didn’t quite like, a hint of something dangerous beneath the light words.

  “I’m afraid I must be getting back.”

  “Or you could stay, and we could take advantage of our time alone.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I had heard him correctly, but I thought I would give him a chance to retract it.

  “I believe I’ve made myself clear enough,” he said. “Surely you haven’t misinterpreted it.”

  I felt a surge of irritation at his insinuation and at the direction in which this conversation was headed. I was not certain how he had come to believe that I would be in any way receptive to advances.

  “It appears you are under some misapprehension about me, Mr. Foster,” I said coolly, hoping to put the conversation to rest.

  It didn’t seem to have worked, for he smiled, and it was not a very nice smile. “Come now, Mrs. Ames. You needn’t play the prude. After all, you’ve been toying with Dunmore. Well, I won’t let that worry me. You wouldn’t be the first woman we’ve shared.”

  I was not easily given to embarrassment, but I flushed at his crudeness.

  “There is nothing untoward occurring between Lord Dunmore and myself,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady in the face of my growing anger and repugnance. I pushed past him and reached the door, but he pressed his hand against it and prevented me from opening it.

  “You can protest all you like, but we both know the truth.”

  “Please let me past, Mr. Foster.” My voice was calm, though, in truth, I was both furious and alarmed. His posture made it very clear that he did not intend to let me out of the room.

  He smiled again. “I don’t think you really want to go. I’ve known many women like you. You’re tired of your husband’s philandering and want to get even. Perhaps you’re just bored and looking for excitement. In either case, I can offer you a remedy.”

  “I don’t want…”

  “I think you do.” He stepped closer, pressing his body against mine as his hands dropped to my waist. I tried to step back and create a space between us, but he propelled me backward, pressed me between himself and the wall near the door.

  “Let me go at once,” I said. I considered screaming, but I doubted very much I would be heard above the noise of the ball.

  I put my hands against his chest to push him back, but it only seemed to encourage him. “Don’t play hard to get, Mrs. Ames.”

  He tried to kiss me then, and I turned my face away, pushing against him as hard as I could. He was strong, lean, and muscled from his years on the tennis court, and I didn’t move him in the slightest. I felt the first surge of real fear as I realized he did not intend to release me.

  “I like a woman with fight in her,” he said with a laugh. His mouth dropped to my neck, and I tensed at the sensation of his lips on my skin.

  “Mr. Foster, let me go,” I demanded, struggling against him as hard as I could.

  He grasped my arms, his fingers boring into my skin, as he pressed me more tightly against the wall. His eyes came up to mine, and there was something unpleasant in them. “I’m tired of playing games with you.” He tried to kiss me again, and when I turned my face away he whispered something very coarse in my ear.

  I’m afraid he gave me no choice. I brought my knee up quickly and very hard.

  He released me and staggered back, doubled over and swearing vigorously. I stepped quickly past him, pulling open the door. “I do not play games, Mr. Foster.”

  I left the room without a backward glance.

  29

  UNDER ANY OTHER circumstances, I would have left the house at once. As it was, I could not leave before our plot had been carried out. I just had to be sure to steer clear of Mr. Foster for the rest of the evening. I wondered if I should tell Inspector Jones what had happened, but I doubted anything much could be done about it. It was my word against Mr. Foster’s, after all.

  I could scarcely believe it myself. Mr. Foster had never appeared anything but pleasant and polite, the very picture of a gentleman. Then again, I knew perfectly well how deceiving appearances could be. It only took the right circumstances for the mask to drop away.

  One thing I now knew. Mr. Foster was a very likely suspect. If he was capable of treating women in such a fashion, I didn’t doubt for a moment that he might be capable of worse.

  I was so lost in thought, still shaking with anger and the residue of fear, that I didn’t hear the voice until it had called me three times.

  “Mrs. Ames.”

  I looked up and saw Vivian Garmond standing near the stairs.

  “Hello, Mrs. Garmond,” I said, trying to compose myself.

  “Might I speak to you for a moment?”

  I looked back at the door to the sitting room. Mr. Foster had yet to emerge, but I didn’t particularly want to be there when he did.

  “Certainly,” I told her. I was not at all in the mood for another confrontation at present, but I supposed now was as good a time as any to talk to her.

  “There’s a little room just this way,” she told me. She led me without hesitation down the wood-paneled corridor just beyond the sitting room, obviously familiar with the house. She stopped before a door and opened it, switching on the lights, and we stepped inside. It was a small study, the impersonal décor indicating it was not much used.

  She closed the door behind us and turned to me. “I saw you go into the sitting room, and I knew that he was with you, so I waited outside,” she said. “Much longer, and I would have come in.”

  “Mrs. Garmond, please believe me when I say there is nothing between me and the viscount.”

  She shook her head. “No, Mrs. Ames. I was talking about Nigel Foster.”

  I frowned, confused.

  She hesitated, as though trying to decide something. Then she went on in a quiet, steady voice, her sad, dark eyes meeting mine. “I know what people say about me, Mrs. Ames. I see the way they look at me with contempt, how they avoid talking to me whenever they can.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of what sh
e was telling me, so I waited.

  “People believe that my son is Alexander’s. Well, he isn’t.”

  I was surprised. Frankly, I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but the paternity of her son was none of my affair, and I certainly didn’t intend to judge her for it.

  She must have read the sympathy in my expression, for she went on. “I think I can trust you to keep this to yourself, Mrs. Ames,” she said. “I … I was married to Mr. Garmond very briefly before his death. Alexander came along later. But when I came home afterward and people started talking, I let them. Alexander doesn’t care what people think. He never has. And it was better people thinking my son is his than knowing the truth. You see, Mr. Garmond was not my son’s father either. Nigel Foster is.”

  I stared at her. This I had not been expecting.

  She continued in a calm voice, as though it was someone else’s story she was telling from memory. “We were in Greece at the same time, and I got caught up in the romance of an affair with a handsome, charming tennis star. I fell quickly for him, but our romance was short-lived. By the time I discovered I was expecting a child, he had left the country. Mr. Garmond came along then, and shortly after we met he asked me to marry him. I accepted, but he died unexpectedly of an illness, and I found myself quite alone and pregnant in a strange country. It was then I met Alexander. He was very kind to me. I gave birth to my son in Greece, and Alexander accompanied us home.”

  “Did you ever tell Mr. Foster he had a child?” It was none of my business, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want him to know. You see, he’s not a good man. I realized that almost at once. There were always other women, a great many of them. And he … he has a bit of a violent streak. He expects people to give him what he wants, and he is willing to take it if they don’t.”

  This I had seen firsthand.

  “He was engaged once to a young woman, but I had heard they broke it off. Did you hear that?”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering what Mrs. Roland had told me.

  “They said she had been in an accident of some sort, but the truth of it was that he beat her and she fell down the stairs.”