Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery

by Ashley Weaver

  “There’s truth in that,” said Mr. Hamilton, looking at me almost defiantly. I had the feeling that he held me personally responsible for the fact that Rupert’s death had been declared a murder.

  “Yes, but he was hit on the head before he fell.” A brief silence greeted my announcement.

  “Hit on the head with what?” Mr. Hamilton demanded.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  He snorted his disgust. “The entire thing’s ludicrous.”

  I happened to glance then at Larissa Hamilton. She looked far from amused. I could only imagine how it must be to be married to a bore like Nelson Hamilton. In comparison, Milo was a model husband.

  “It’s all very upsetting, but I suppose that is no reason we should discuss it at dinner. Let’s talk about something a bit more pleasant, shall we?” I asked.

  The conversation shifted then to mundane topics, but there was no escaping the underlying tension that hung heavily in the air. Veronica Carter did her best to attract all of Milo’s attention, and she seemed to be succeeding. More troubling than this, however, was my worry about Gil. It wasn’t like him to disappear without notice. I had once again knocked on the door to Emmeline’s room before dinner, but there had been no answer. If he was there, he was not taking visitors.

  The meal was finished at last, and I was only too happy to see it end. I wanted nothing more than to escape to my room and enjoy the rest of the evening in solitude. If only Gil would turn up …

  “I wonder what has become of Gil,” I said to Milo as we rose from the table. “I haven’t seen him all day. I do hope he is all right.”

  If I expected sympathy or concern from Milo, I was to be disappointed. He looked at me, something of a hard smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “He has survived the last five years without you, Amory. I think he will manage.”

  * * *

  WE DISPERSED AFTER dinner. I watched Milo follow Veronica Carter out of the dining room, ostensibly for a game of cards. Though I was well accustomed to his neglect, it grated on me that her blatant flaunting of her assets should prove successful.

  Repressing whatever feelings of jealousy I might have, I went once again to Gil’s room, but there was no answer to my knock. I considered calling Inspector Jones, but I really had nothing to report. Gil probably just wanted to spend some time alone. If he hadn’t surfaced by morning, I would contact the inspector, but I tried to convince myself that such a step would be needless.

  Mentally exhausted, I retired to my room. I threw my gown over the back of a chair, and my stockings over its arm. Then I took a soothing bath in gardenia scent before I pulled on my scarlet-colored nightgown.

  I had just begun to brush my hair when a knock sounded at my door. Hoping it would be Gil, I set down my brush and hurriedly pulled on a silk flower-printed robe.

  I cracked the door, expecting to greet Gil, and found Milo, still in evening attire.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, somewhat rudely.

  He leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets. “Amory, my darling, aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  Under the circumstances, I felt it ridiculous to leave my husband standing in the corridor. I pulled back the door, and he entered, flashing me one of his smiles as he did so. I was instantly suspicious.

  “You look extremely fetching,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that negligee before.” He leaned closer. “And you smell positively enticing.”

  I shut the door and crossed my arms, hoping the gesture did not appear as defensive as it felt. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Is your own room not to your satisfaction?”

  He gave my room a casual, cursory inspection before turning to me. “Veronica Carter is there at the moment. I thought it best not to disturb her.”

  Despite myself, I tensed. What possible reason could he have for coming to flaunt his newest liaison? I resisted the urge to order him from the room. There was no need for a scene. My anger would mean very little to him.

  My tone, when I spoke, was cool and, I hoped, uninterested. “Oh? I take it she is expecting you back soon?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what she is expecting.”

  I smiled coldly, my eyes narrowed. “Come now, Milo. Surely you don’t mean to imply that you don’t know her purpose there. She is certainly responding to your invitation.”

  “Nonsense. We played cards and then parted ways. I had a drink and was coming down the corridor when I saw her enter into my room. Really, darling, I’m surprised at you. A woman secretes herself in my bedchamber, and I come running directly to you. I should think you would be impressed by my steadfast loyalty and devotion.”

  “You must have done something to give her the impression that she would be welcome.”

  He smiled, almost grimly. “Women, I have learned, tend to believe what they wish to believe.”

  I would not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that I had often seen this to be true.

  “She indicated that you were acquainted with her in Monte Carlo,” I went on.

  “She was there, though she was wasting her dubious charms on me.” He sighed. “Give me the least bit of credit, Amory. What would I want with a nasty bit of goods like Veronica Carter?”

  The argument, to some odd extent, was sound. “I admit I thought your taste would be somewhat better.”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “I married you, after all.”

  My anger was not to be offset by his charm. “You were speaking to her a great deal at dinner.”

  “And you were speaking with that blowhard Hamilton. However, I didn’t notice you inviting him into your boudoir.” He glanced around, brow raised. “He isn’t here, is he?”

  I sighed, almost managing to contain my smile. “Really, you are ridiculous.”

  He smiled. For a moment, there was something of the old familiarity between us.

  “Do you want a drink?” I asked.

  “Thank you, no.” He settled himself into one of the white armchairs, pulling at his necktie. “It’s dashed inconvenient to have that woman clogging up my room.”

  “Perhaps it would be more effective for you to ask her to leave.”

  “I thought coming here might be more efficient. It speaks volumes, but discreetly.”

  “Poor, dear Milo. You just aren’t used to saying no to women.”

  He picked up one of my stockings from the arm of the chair and toyed idly with it. “I suppose I shall have to stay here all night.”

  “Oh, you want to stay here, do you?”

  “Of course, there may be scandal,” he answered, sotto voce. “Whatever will people say? Imagine, a man spending the night with his own wife.”

  There was no point in ignoring the obvious. “It is rather unusual, as we haven’t shared a room in some time.”

  His eyes met mine, and he seemed as though he was about to reply when there was a light tap on the door.

  Milo’s brow quirked. “Expecting someone?”

  “Certainly not.”

  In actuality, I was irritated to be interrupted when we were on the brink of this particular discussion.

  I pulled open the door, and Gil rushed in before I could say anything. “Amory, I need to speak with you.”

  At the sight of Milo lounging in my chair, long legs extended, arms folded on his chest, one of my silk stockings dangling from his hand, Gil stopped short. “Ames,” he said.

  Milo smiled pleasantly. “Trent. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “I’ve just dropped by to speak to Amory.”

  “So I see. Well, don’t let me stop you.” He waved a hand in a magnanimous gesture. “By all means, speak with her.”

  “I … had rather thought to speak with her alone.”

  “I expect you did.”

  “I have been looking for you all day, Gil,” I said, before they could begin to trade barbs. “I was beginning to be afraid that something dreadful had happened to you. Wherever have you been?”<
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  “That’s what I need to speak to you about.” He cast a glance at Milo, then looked back to me, lowering his voice. “It’s rather urgent.”

  “We are all ears,” Milo said.

  Gil’s jaw tightened, and his reply was directed at me. “I’d rather speak to you alone, Amory. If you don’t mind.”

  I turned to my husband. “Milo, perhaps you would give us a moment,” I said. Whatever Gil had to say would not take long, and if he would feel easier in telling it without Milo, then so be it.

  “Really,” Milo replied, “I’m not certain I should leave. In fact, I might, under other circumstances, be inclined to ask what exactly a gentleman is doing coming to your room so late at night.”

  “I might ask you the same thing,” Gil replied, turning to face Milo. His posture was tense, and there was a decidedly unpleasant look on his face. Though a gentleman in every respect, I was not entirely certain that Gil would be above landing a blow in a tense situation.

  Milo appeared unperturbed by the threat of imminent fisticuffs. “I have every right to be here. She is my wife, after all.”

  “How nice of you to remember at last,” Gil retorted.

  “Please,” I interjected. “It’s been a very trying week, and I would appreciate as little additional turmoil as possible.”

  Gil looked at me and had the good grace to look at least marginally ashamed. “I’m sorry, Amory. I’m afraid I’m on edge myself.”

  “It’s all right, Gil. There isn’t any need for quarreling,” I went on.

  “None at all, my dear.” Milo’s tone was light and his face remained impassive, but his eyes were uncharacteristically cold. “Except for I believe the general practice is to be affronted at attempts on one’s wife.”

  Gil was, I think, about to reply to this, but my glance stopped him.

  It was at this inopportune moment that another knock sounded at the door.

  “You should charge for admission, Amory,” Milo drawled from his seat. “You may be able to offset the expenditures of this little holiday.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Milo.”

  I crossed to the door and opened it to find Inspector Jones looking placidly back at me. Without my invitation, he stepped into the doorway, hovering somewhere between the hallway and my room proper. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Ames, but…” His eyes caught sight of my guests.

  “Mr. Ames, Mr. Trent.” There was an irritatingly interested note in his voice. He stepped fully into the room, and I shut the door behind him.

  “Inspector Jones,” Milo smiled, “I’m glad you could join us. The party was just beginning to get dull.”

  “Throwing a party, are you, Mrs. Ames?” He glanced from me to my husband to Gil and back to me. “A rather exclusive one, it appears.”

  “An accidental gathering,” I assured him. “Milo came here because Miss Carter is in his room and he doesn’t wish to disturb her.”

  I ignored the low, derisive laugh that came from Gil.

  Inspector Jones looked at Milo, and his gaze came back to me, vaguely expectant.

  “A gross misunderstanding,” Milo said, as though the phrase would explain the entire situation. Then again, I was not certain it merited explanation. Our bedrooms were not exactly the business of Inspector Jones.

  The inspector’s brows rose ever so slightly at Milo’s reply, though his expression did not change. I was certain he would begin to think we were all mad. “I see. Mr. Ames arrived because Miss Carter is in his room. And”—he turned to Gil—“who is in Mr. Trent’s room?”

  Gil frowned irritably. “There is no one in my room, Inspector. I needed to speak to Amory.”

  “Alone,” supplied Milo.

  “As intriguing as all of this may be,” said Inspector Jones. “I came here for a particular reason. I came to enquire, in fact, if you knew of the whereabouts of Mr. Trent.” He turned to Gil. “And here you are.”

  “Yes, here I am. What is it that you wished to see me about, Inspector?”

  “You were apparently gone from the hotel for a good deal of time today, Mr. Trent. I couldn’t locate you, and no one seemed to know where you had gone. Would you mind telling me where you were?”

  Gil stiffened ever so slightly and hesitated for only a moment before he spoke. “At the risk of appearing to be rude or uncooperative, I must say that I don’t particularly see that that is any of your business.”

  I was surprised by this answer. It seemed to me Gil could have no conceivable reason for concealing such information, especially at a time like this.

  “Is that any way to speak to a policeman?” Milo asked.

  Gil turned to Milo. “I should be careful, Ames, if I were you. I am very close to losing my temper.”

  “I think you’d better be careful about making threats, Mr. Trent,” said Inspector Jones. “It puts you in rather a bad light.”

  There was something in the inspector’s tone that made me uneasy. Gil must have sensed it, too, for he was composed in an instant. “What exactly does that mean, Inspector?”

  “It means, Mr. Trent, that I am arresting you for the murder of Rupert Howe.”

  13

  I GASPED, COMPLETELY stunned by this latest and completely unforeseen development. “You can’t possibly mean it, Inspector.”

  He regarded me coolly. “I’m afraid I never jest about such matters, Mrs. Ames. I am perfectly in earnest.”

  “But this is absurd,” said Gil, finding his voice after the moment of surprise. “Why on earth would I kill Rupert Howe?”

  “To prevent him from forming an undesirable attachment to your sister. Mrs. Ames heard you threaten him while standing outside her window,” he said, nodding in the direction of the windows that faced out to the sea. “The night before he was murdered. You warned him to leave your sister alone.”

  I was both angry and upset at this betrayal of my confidence. “I said no such thing!” I exclaimed. “You have mistaken what I told you, Inspector.”

  “Mrs. Ames, I realize this is uncomfortable. No doubt you are also angry that I have taken into account the information you gave me. However, you did tell me that the two of them were having a heated discussion outside your window.”

  I turned to Gil. “I didn’t mean for this to cause trouble, Gil. I was trying to find you today, to let you know that I had spoken to the inspector.” I turned back to Inspector Jones, my voice cold. “I had thought you would be inclined to interpret that information in a reasonable manner.”

  “It is very reasonable, Mrs. Ames,” he said, unfazed by my anger. “Unfortunate as it may be.”

  Gil took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s all right, Amory. I’m sure this will all get straightened out in time.”

  I turned back to the inspector. “You haven’t any evidence against him, not really.”

  “I’m afraid that’s incorrect,” he said calmly. “Mr. Trent was seen on the terrace in the company of Mr. Howe not long before the time Mr. Howe was believed to have been killed.”

  This was another piece of news that caught me completely off guard.

  “By whom?” I demanded.

  “That is something I would rather not disclose at this time.”

  “This is outrageous!” I said.

  “I understand how you might think so,” Inspector Jones answered in that irritatingly calm way of his. “But I am inclined to see it somewhat differently.”

  “You can’t possibly…”

  “Never mind, Amory,” Gil said, gently interrupting my protest. “We’ll sort it out. I’m ready, Inspector. We may as well go.”

  “I don’t believe you did it for a moment, Gil,” I said, clutching his arm. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to clear this matter up. Don’t worry.”

  He smiled. “I know you will, Amory. It will all be all right.”

  “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs. Ames,” said the inspector. “I realize my intrusion may have been inopportune.”

  “I shall be taking this mat
ter up with your superiors, Inspector,” I said.

  The man actually smiled at me, an amused little smile that I found to be highly annoying. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Ames, but you must do what you feel is necessary.” He nodded slightly in Milo’s direction. “Good evening, Mr. Ames.”

  “Inspector,” he returned. He sounded almost bored, as if this whole thing had been a scene in a play that he didn’t find particularly interesting.

  Inspector Jones and Gil reached the door, and Gil offered me one last feeble smile before they left. The look in his eyes clutched at my heart. He was worried, despite his assurances to me. Murder was no small charge. Determination welled within me. I certainly wouldn’t let him be hanged for a crime that he didn’t commit. I would find out who killed Rupert Howe if it was the last thing I did.

  “An unpleasant business,” Milo said from behind me. He had remained quiet throughout the climactic scene, and for that I was grateful. If he had uttered one of his little bon mots, I may have lost my temper.

  I turned to face him. “This is madness. Absolute, utter rubbish.”

  He rose from his seat. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink, thank you.”

  I paced toward the sofa and then back toward the door. This was terrible. “I should never have told the inspector what I heard. If I’d have thought for a moment that Inspector Jones would misconstrue what I was saying, I would never have spoken with him. Gil didn’t kill Mr. Howe. It’s utterly preposterous.” Despite my shock, the irony of the situation was not lost on me. I had been terribly afraid that someone might implicate Gil, and I had managed to do it myself. How dreadfully stupid I had been.

  “You’re as pale as death, Amory,” he said, pressing the glass into my hand. “But perhaps that is the wrong expression to use at present.”

  “I don’t want it,” I said, pushing the drink he had given me back toward him.

  “It’s only soda water,” he replied. “I haven’t forgotten your aversion to stronger beverages.”

  “Thank you, then.” I took a sip. Strong beverage or not, the cool crispness of it seemed to help clear my head, which had begun to throb. I pressed my fingertips to my temple.