Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  I rolled my eyes at Aunt Winnie. Dear God, Cora was almost as bad as John in terms of dull, repetitive conversation. John stared at Cora in confusion. “His paper on Austen’s death? Why on earth shouldn’t he present it?”

  “Because it’s obscene!”

  John shrugged. “I guess. But it’s just an opinion.”

  “But what if people believe it?” she asked, aghast.

  John narrowed his eyes in concentrated thought as he mulled over this puzzle. “Then they believe it,” he replied some moments later. “You know, I actually had suggested some of the very things myself a few years back at one of our meetings.”

  I stifled a groan. Of course John would claim that he’d thought of Richard’s theories first. John was so full of himself that it wouldn’t surprise me if he claimed to have somehow influenced Austen herself. “I happened to fully agree with him that there are more to Austen’s stories than meets the eye,” he went on. “Of course, no one listened to me as they seem to do him.” Cora opened her mouth to interrupt. “My point is,” John quickly continued, “that you can’t control what people think or when they decide to think it. Just as you can’t control what people will do with ideas gleaned from others.”

  I regarded him with something akin to amazement. It was the most sensible thing I’d heard him say since I’d met him. And trust me, he’d said a lot.

  With a low bow, John politely excused himself, no doubt in search of other women more appreciative of his dubious charms.

  Cora stamped her foot in irritation, the movement sending her wig farther askew. “Well, we’ll just see about that.” Without another word, she turned and headed toward where Richard stood talking to Alex. Neither Aunt Winnie nor I tried to stop her. Frankly, we were both sick to death of hearing about her outrage.

  We watched in silence as she made her way to them, her body swaying to an unheard beat as she crossed the room. From where we stood, we couldn’t hear what she said, but she must have called out to Richard as she approached because Alex turned around in apparent surprise. The whole scene was strange enough, but seeing one Elizabeth Bennet confront her twin only increased the oddness. Just as Cora drew near, she lost her footing and lurched forward into Alex, spilling Alex’s glass of wine in the process. Cora appeared to apologize and then handed Alex her fresh glass before turning her attention on Richard.

  Watching her angry gesticulations and finger pointing while Richard calmly observed her from behind his Darcy mask was strangely comical. It was like watching an outtake from Pride and Prejudice. Soon Richard began to laugh, if his shaking shoulders were any indication, and Cora yelled something in obvious irritation. It appeared that Alex attempted to calm Cora down, but rather than listen to her, Cora turned and, thankfully, headed out of the hall and away from all of us. As uncharitable as it may sound, I honestly don’t think I could have listened to any more of her complaints with a polite face. Aunt Winnie must have had the same thought, because she said with a sigh, “I suppose I should go after her. But then again, I suppose I should also bake my own bread and grow my own vegetables, and that sure as hell isn’t happening either.”

  “Let her go,” I replied. “She doesn’t listen to anything we say anyway. Let Izzy deal with her for a while.”

  “Speaking of Izzy,” said Aunt Winnie, as she peered around the room, “where is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. After promising me that she wouldn’t leave my side this evening, she promptly left my side.”

  Aunt Winnie smiled. “Perhaps she was in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her. “Somehow I doubt that was the motivation.”

  The orchestra began another piece and the dancers took their positions, among them Richard and Alex. With their masks and costumes, they really did resemble Darcy and Elizabeth. What made it even more “realistic”—if you could even use that word—was that despite what people might say about them—namely, that he was an arrogant ass and she was a flibbertigibbet—it was clear from their interactions as they danced that there was real affection between them. You didn’t need to see their faces—their body language said it all.

  I wasn’t the only one watching them. A little distance from where I stood was Gail Baines. Wearing a dark green dress with a coordinating turban, she leaned against the wall, her face pale. With glassy eyes, she followed the movements of Alex and Richard as they performed their dance. Next to her, Ian tried without success to divert her attention.

  “Mother?” he said, his face anxious. “Why don’t I take you back to your room? I think you should rest. You don’t look well.”

  “I tried to talk to him,” Gail muttered in response, her voice thick. “Bastard wouldn’t even answer me. Who the hell does he think he is? He can’t hide that money forever. He can’t!”

  Ian gently took his mother’s arm. “Mom? Come on. Let’s go. I’ll take you up to your room. I think you should lie down.”

  Gail shook him off. “I’m fine. I don’t need to lie down.” Still glowering at Richard, she took a sip of her drink. “Who the hell does he think he is? He’s a fraud! He’s nothing but a lousy fraud! Did you try to talk to him?”

  Ian gave a reluctant nod of his head. “I tried but he, um, he, um…”

  “He blew you off, didn’t he?”

  Ian’s long face was a portrait of misery. “Mom, really, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. But now, I really think that you…”

  “He is such a bastard!” Gail said, with a sudden burst of energy. She pushed herself off the wall and seemed intent on heading toward Richard. Ian reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Where are you going?” he asked in alarm.

  “To tell him exactly what I think of him,” she said, trying to break free of his grasp.

  Ian’s eyes grew wide, and he kept a firm grip on Gail’s arm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, his voice tense. “Not here. Not now.”

  However, Gail was in no mood to listen to any advice. She twisted away, the movement catching Ian by surprise. He hurriedly grabbed out for her but ended up pushing Gail off balance. As she tried to right herself, her glass dropped to the ground, breaking into several pieces as it hit the floor. Gail stared at the mess, her expression confused. Ian took advantage of her bafflement and quickly steered her toward the doorway behind us. As he passed by me, he said, “Elizabeth! Can you tell Valerie that my mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’ve taken her back to her room.”

  “Sure,” I answered as Ian continued to steer Gail out of the room.

  “So, are you enjoying your first Regency ball?” Aunt Winnie asked in a bemused voice once they were gone.

  “Honestly, I feel like I stumbled into a scene penned by Julian Fellowes.” I shook my head. “It’s not only pretty to look at, but it’s chock-full of drama. I half expect Alan Cummings to pop out any moment and provide me with a brief synopsis.”

  Aunt Winnie laughed and said, “And don’t forget. This is only the first day of the festival. We have a whole week ahead of us.”

  No sooner had she said this than Alex suddenly bent over awkwardly, clutching her stomach in apparent pain. Richard quickly escorted her away from the other dancers. Tipping her mask back on her head, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a brief conversation with Richard, Alex turned and left the ballroom. Richard walked back to his empty table and sat down.

  Within a matter of minutes, however, Alex reappeared, her mask firmly back in place. From the way she strode briskly across the floor to where Richard sat, it was clear that whatever had been ailing her had passed. It dawned on me that she seemed angry. Her movements were erratic and her posture combative. As she drew near, Richard stood up in apparent surprise. Alex grabbed him roughly by the wrist and dragged him through the back exit and out of the room.

  “Oh, dear. Do you suppose that there is trouble in paradise?”
murmured Aunt Winnie.

  “It would appear so. I wonder what caused the sudden change,” I said.

  “Maybe she realized that she’s married to one of the stupidest men in England.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I agreed. “And speaking of which, my glass is empty. Would you care for a refill?”

  Aunt Winnie and I were just returning from the refreshment table when a voice behind me called out, “Elizabeth!” I turned. To my surprise, I saw Byron and Alex. Byron had changed out of his costume and was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He had an arm around Alex, who was leaning heavily against him. She was still in her Elizabeth costume, but her hair had come undone and now hung in limp curls around her damp face.

  Seeing me, Byron said, “Elizabeth! Have you seen Richard? I can’t find him, and Alex is really sick. I think he needs to look after her.”

  “He just left through that door.” I pointed to the exit in question.

  Alex moaned. “I wish to God he’d stop smoking. He’s been popping in and out of this room all night.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “I don’t think he went outside to smoke. In fact, I thought he was with you.”

  Alex looked at me in confusion. “With me? That’s impossible. I’ve been in the bathroom. Getting sick.”

  “Where did you see him go?” Byron said to me.

  I again pointed to the doors. “Over there. He left with someone.”

  Byron glanced at Alex before mouthing to me, “Lindsay?”

  I shook my head.

  “Come on, Alex. Let’s go see where he is,” Byron said. Alex nodded weakly.

  “Here, I’ll show you where he went,” I offered and moved in the direction of the doors. Aunt Winnie followed behind me.

  I’ll admit that when I reached the doors, I had a brief premonition of something ugly lurking behind them. Unfortunately, my thoughts veered toward interrupting a lovers’ embrace or a lovers’ spat.

  Of course, it was neither.

  No, it was far worse than that.

  We pushed open the heavy doors, entered a narrow service hallway, and stared at the grim scene before us. There, among extra table linens and serving carts, lay a body. And not just any body, but a Mr. Darcy body. For a dedicated Janeite such as myself, it was bad enough to see Mr. Darcy sprawled on the floor; it was even worse when you saw the dark crimson stain that spread across his chest.

  CHAPTER 11

  Where there is a disposition to dislike, a motive will never be wanting.

  —LADY SUSAN

  ALTHOUGH THE MASK was still in place, it wasn’t hard to guess who lay behind it; not many Darcys sported a diamond pinkie ring.

  Alex let out a piercing scream when she saw the body. “Is that? Is that…?” she gasped, breaking away from Byron and running to the unmoving figure on the ground. Crumpling into a heap beside it, she gently pulled back the mask. Richard Baines returned our horrified stares with his own vacant one. “Oh, my God!” sobbed Alex. “No! No! This can’t be happening!” Grabbing his hand, she cried, “Richard? Can you hear me? Richard, answer me!” She then cradled his face in her hands as she continued to call out his name.

  Byron broke out of the stunned daze that still held Aunt Winnie and me immobile. Moving quickly to Richard’s side, he felt for a pulse. Finding none, he turned frightened eyes first to Alex, then to me. “Call the police,” he said.

  “Police?” cried Alex, looking at him aghast. “No! Call a doctor! We have to help him!” Turning her tear-stained face up to me, she said, “Please, we have to help him. Somebody get a doctor. Now!”

  Byron reached out and gently took her hands away from Richard’s face. “Alex?” he said, his voice low, “he’s gone. We need to call the police.”

  Alex stared back at Byron, but her eyes didn’t register his words. “Richard,” she repeated.

  Aunt Winnie went to Alex. Taking her hand, she said, “Come here, dear. You shouldn’t look anymore. Let’s get you away from this.”

  Alex stubbornly shook her head. “No. I’m not going to leave him. He’s not … he’s going to be fine. I’m not leaving him.”

  Aunt Winnie patted Alex’s shoulders sympathetically while she firmly eased her away from the body. “Call the police, Elizabeth,” she said as she helped Alex to her feet.

  Finally, the spell of finding Richard’s body lifted. I turned and ran back into the ballroom, shouting for someone to call the police.

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, the police arrived. Various men and women of the force moved about with brisk authority, dusting for fingerprints, taping off areas, snapping pictures, and taking names of those present. Although someone had placed a white tablecloth over Richard’s body, it didn’t hide the fact that there was a dead body not twenty feet from where we stood. The situation was made all the more surreal by the almost comical contrast between our Regency garb and the police’s modern-day uniforms. It was a little like that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail when the police descend on King Arthur and his men and haul them off to jail.

  Now, I have always been very up front about my Anglophile tendencies—despite the rather vocal protests from some of the more conservative members of my Irish Catholic family. It is my dream to live in England, surrounded by tweed, crumpets, and tea. To say that I have idealized life across the pond would be an understatement. A case in point would be my preferred pastime of watching episodes of Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot. Sure, the characters stumble across dead bodies with an alarming regularity, but they are dead bodies in England. It’s somehow more civilized—and less frightening—when tea and cucumber sandwiches are served while the kindly inspector conducts his investigation.

  I wonder when I will ever learn that fiction and reality are really two very, very different things.

  I had no tea. I had no cucumber sandwich. What I did have was a very grumpy-looking woman by the name of Inspector Middlefield asking me all sorts of questions, with nary a kind word or expression. Of course, it probably didn’t help that the poor woman had to lead her inquiry surrounded by a roomful of people dressed like extras from a fluffy BBC period piece.

  I guessed her to be about fifty-five. She was tall and reed thin, with long, thick salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled into a tight bun. Her face was all sharp angles, except for her eyes. These were a brilliant cornflower blue, their saucerlike shape made even more so by the prescription glasses that now perched precariously on the tip of her nose.

  “I understand that you were one of the people to discover the body,” Inspector Middlefield now said to me, pushing her black-framed glasses back up the bridge of her long nose and regarding me intently.

  “Yes. I saw Professor Baines leave through those doors,” I answered, indicating the ones behind me. “A few minutes later, Alex asked me where he was. I showed her.” I glanced over at Alex, who was slumped in a chair, staring blankly at the floor. Byron stood next to her, his hand placed awkwardly on her shoulder in an apparent effort to comfort her. Inspector Middlefield saw my glance and lowered her voice slightly.

  “Yes,” she said. “I understand that you stated that Professor Baines exited the ballroom with his wife? And that it appeared that they were in the middle of an argument?”

  I nodded—somewhat reluctantly, as Alex was not three feet from me. “I thought it was Alex. It certainly looked like her. I mean, whoever it was, was a similar height and build.”

  “But it was definitely a woman?” asked Inspector Middlefield.

  I nodded. “I think so. I mean, I guess so. I thought it was Alex until she came in a few minutes later and asked where Richard was, so maybe I was wrong.”

  Alex’s head snapped my way upon hearing that. “You are wrong! It wasn’t me! You have to believe that,” she cried, her eyes wide and still wet with tears. “I was in the bathroom getting sick. Richard and I were dancing when my stomach suddenly cramped up. I left to go to the ladies’ room. I ran into Byron on my way, and he saw that I was really
sick, and so he waited outside the bathroom for me.”

  She tilted her head up at Byron, a beseeching expression on her face. Byron nodded at the inspector. “That’s true. She was pretty sick,” he added with a rueful glance at his right shoe. I followed his glance. There was a beige blob of … something on the toe. Feeling bile rise in my throat, I quickly looked away.

  Alex continued. “I got really sick in the bathroom. I can’t remember ever being so sick in my life. When I came out, I asked Byron to help me find Richard. I wanted to go back to the hotel, and I didn’t think I could make it alone.”

  Inspector Middlefield turned to me to corroborate that statement.

  “That’s what she said when she asked me where Richard was,” I said.

  “So why did you think it was Mrs. Baines who was fighting with the deceased?” asked Inspector Middlefield.

  “The costume, I guess. The woman was wearing the same Elizabeth Bennet costume and mask as Alex. And she was about the same height as Alex.”

  Inspector Middlefield’s eyes strayed to Alex again. They were filled with doubt.

  Alex buried her head in her hands. “Oh, this is unbelievable!” she cried in frustration. “I didn’t kill my husband! I loved him. Why would I want to hurt him? I don’t know who took him out those doors, but I swear to you, it wasn’t me!”

  Inspector Middlefield took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through her nose. “You say that you left the ballroom and went directly to the bathroom?” she asked.

  Alex nodded fervently. “Yes. That’s when I ran into Byron. He waited for me, and then we both went back inside the ballroom to look for Richard.”

  “And what were you doing, Mr.”—Inspector Middlefield glanced down at her notebook and then back at Byron—“Chambers? I understand you left the ball early. Why was that?” Although her voice was bland, it still didn’t hide the fact that Inspector Middlefield viewed Byron as a suspect.

  Byron’s face slacked with shock as the same impression seemed to strike him. “Richard asked me to see to a few tasks he wanted completed by tomorrow,” he said, his voice a shade higher than it had been a minute ago. “I was just coming back to ask him a question about one of his notations when I bumped into Alex.”