A lovely little antique shop caught my attention, and I spent a few moments browsing through the crowded rows of knickknacks, ranging from cheap plaster busts to very good china. I found a set of gold cufflinks engraved with the letter A and purchased them on a whim. I thought Milo would like them.
I had just left the shop when I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers exiting a shop at the end of the street. They were walking quickly, their backs to me. I called out to them, but they appeared to be deep in conversation and didn’t hear. A moment later, they got in a car and drove away.
I decided to head back to the hospital, but as I walked down the street, I noticed the building that the Rodgerses had exited. It was the apothecary shop. A thought occurred to me suddenly, and I stopped outside the door, hesitating for just a moment before charging ahead.
I entered the shop, and the little bell above the door jingled a greeting. A single woman stood behind the counter. She had a round, pleasant face framed with flame-colored hair. She smiled brightly as I came in. “Good day, miss. Is there something I could help you with?”
“I just saw my friends leaving,” I said, “but I didn’t catch them in time and they’ve driven off. We’re all staying up at the Brightwell. I don’t suppose they purchased a bottle of aspirin for me? They may have forgotten.”
“No, miss. They didn’t purchase any aspirin,” the woman said.
Almost before I knew what I was saying, I nodded and spoke casually. “I suppose they were picking up the sleeping tablets.”
“Yes, miss. The lady said she had misplaced hers.”
I kept my expression studiously neutral, but my thoughts were racing. Why should Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers come to purchase sleeping tablets immediately after Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton had been drugged? Surely they knew about Mr. Hamilton’s death by now. It seemed a very odd time to make a trip to the apothecary.
I purchased a bottle of aspirin to replace the one I had given the inspector. Instead of falling into place, things only seemed to be getting more and more complicated. One thing was certain: there were enough sleeping tablets floating around the Brightwell Hotel to do away with all of us. As the woman at the counter chatted on amiably, I resolved that I would be very careful of what I ate or drank at the Brightwell from this time forward.
* * *
LOST IN THOUGHT, I arrived back at the hospital. The unhelpful woman at the desk informed me that the inspector had not yet emerged, so I took a seat. Unwelcome thoughts continued to race through my head. If someone had meant to kill me in my room after drugging me, it had been a lucky thing that Milo had decided to spend the night in my room. Yet I could think of no reason why someone should wish to murder me. I had very little to do with the whole affair. If indeed Mr. or Mrs. Rodgers had something to do with it, I could think of no conceivable reason why I should pose an impediment to them. None of it seemed to make any sense.
By the time I saw Inspector Jones coming toward me, my nerves were quite on edge. Despite my distraction, I noticed immediately that his expression was grim.
I stood, bracing myself for the worst. “Is she all right?” I asked.
“She’s alive,” he said, “which is not at all the same thing.”
“She’s taken it very hard?”
“It seems so. She’s not entirely coherent. Whatever drug she was given was exceptionally strong.” He paused, as though considering how much he should say, and then went on. “It’s very likely that Mr. Hamilton was given the same thing. He was faceup in the water, indicating that he was probably held down until he drowned. He would have been too disoriented to struggle much.”
A chill swept through me as I recalled the splashing Milo and I had heard. Mr. Hamilton had been putting up what fight he could, trying to save his life, but it had not been enough. A wave of sadness swept over me. If Milo and I had come out of the wardrobe a moment sooner, perhaps we could have done something …
“Are you all right, Mrs. Ames?” Inspector Jones asked. He was watching me intently, and his expression was almost kind.
“It’s been a dreadful day,” I said. In truth, I felt on the verge of tears.
“There is one other thing.”
“Indeed?” I asked, something very like dread in my voice.
“I had one of the doctors look at those tablets you gave me. They’ve not yet finished analyzing them, but he is quite certain that they are sleeping tablets and not aspirin.”
It was not really a surprise, but it was still something of a blow to hear my suspicions confirmed.
“Who might have had access to them?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Anyone, I suppose. I’m afraid I am sometimes rather careless about locking my door. But the bottle was exactly where I left it.”
“Was your husband with you that night?”
“Yes, but I can think of no reason why he would have done it. In fact, I don’t understand why anyone should have done it,” I said. “Surely I don’t pose a threat to anyone.”
“You may know more than you think,” he said cryptically. “Come. I’ll take you back now. You should get some rest.”
I nodded. What I wanted now was to lie down in the quiet of my room and share what I had learned with Milo. When exactly he had become a source of comfort to me, I didn’t know, but at the moment I found myself wanting very much to be with him.
Inspector Jones and I walked back to the car in comfortable silence.
I hesitated to tell him what I had discovered regarding Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers; he would no doubt only berate me for my underhanded tactics. However, I couldn’t bring myself to keep the information quiet. Skirting around my methods, I told him what I had learned.
“Indeed,” he said, and I could read nothing in his expression.
“Might the Rodgerses have any reason for killing Mr. Howe?” I asked.
“It may be nothing,” he said, not answering my question. “But you did well to let me know.”
At last, we reached the hotel. The car pulled to a stop, and Inspector Jones turned to me, his face grave. “I believe this will all be resolved soon. In the meantime, please be careful, Mrs. Ames,” he said.
“I intend to, Inspector.”
I walked toward the hotel so lost in thought that I nearly collided with Lionel Blake.
“Oh, excuse me,” I said.
I looked up at him and noticed at once the tension on his features. However good of an actor he might be, he was making no attempt to hide his distress at present.
“Is it true what they are saying?” he asked me without preamble.
I nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so.”
He rubbed a hand across his chin and mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out. The only word I caught was “lord.” Then he seemed to catch himself, and I watched with fascination as he deliberately smoothed his features and presented me with the calm, handsome expression I had come to expect from him.
“I’ve been out walking around the grounds,” he said, and even his tone had undergone a transformation. There was absolutely no trace of strain in his well-modulated voice now. “The hotel is beginning to seem so stifling. I will be very glad to leave this place.”
“As will I.”
“Do you think there will be much publicity?” he asked me suddenly.
I thought it a strange thing to ask. But perhaps as an actor he always had to consider such things. “The Brightwell and the police have done a remarkable job of keeping the press away thus far,” I said. “Though I’m sure the papers are still full of sensational tales. I’d almost rather not know what they are saying…”
“I do hate to give interviews.”
“I shouldn’t imagine that would be necessary,” I answered. “It would be entirely at your discretion to do such a thing.”
He nodded. “Yes. You’re right of course.”
I must have glanced at the hotel, for he was immediately all contrite politeness. “Forgive me for keeping you, Mrs. Ames. I know you must b
e anxious to rest after … I do apologize.”
“No apologies necessary, Mr. Blake,” I said, glad nevertheless to be on my way. “I’ll see you at dinner, perhaps.”
“Yes.”
I walked past him, and a final glance over my shoulder confirmed that he had continued his solitary walk. There was something in the encounter that nagged at me, but I was too weary at present to attempt to analyze it.
I entered the hotel feeling more tired and worn than I ever had in my life. I glanced around the people seated in the lobby, hoping to spot Milo. Instead, Mrs. Roland appeared out of nowhere, and before I could retreat, she caught sight of me and headed in my direction.
Today she was dressed in a turquoise dress bedecked with a pattern of huge magenta hibiscus, over which she had layered what seemed to be a dozen necklaces of every description: seashells, pearls, jet beads, and what appeared to be hollowed-out and intricately carved pieces of wood. She fairly clattered as she glided toward me.
“Amory darling!” she exclaimed. “You’re still here! I thought you’d gone with your husband.”
I was only half-listening. As much as I liked the woman, there was only so much my nerves could take at present.
“Gone where?” I asked, my gaze caught momentarily by an emerald-encrusted tortoise on a long gold chain that hung around her neck.
“Back to London, of course. I assume that’s where he went.”
I looked up sharply. “Milo’s gone?”
“Why, yes, darling. Your charming husband left not long ago. I assumed you’d gone with him.”
I felt as though I had been dealt an unexpected blow. “Surely you must be mistaken.”
“Not at all, dear.” She gave me an exaggerated wink. “It’s impossible to mistake your husband for anyone else.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Roland. I must see to something.”
“Yes, of course. You really should get some sun, Amory,” she called, as I walked away. “You’re looking rather pale!”
I approached the desk with as much calmness as I could muster. Surely she was mistaken. Milo would not have left without saying anything. The very idea was ridiculous.
“Have I any letters?” I asked the clerk. “Mrs. Amory Ames.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ames. There’s a note for you. It was left by your husband about half an hour ago. He asked that we give it to you upon your return.”
I took the envelope and recognized Milo’s personal stationery. Perhaps he had gone to the village and I had missed him. I opened the envelope and pulled out the note, written in his familiar bold script.
Had to dash off to London, darling. Not sure how long I shall be gone.
M.
22
I SHOULD NOT have been surprised, but I was. In fact, I was utterly astounded. I stared at the note for a long moment before crumpling it in my hand. I resisted the sudden impulse to burst into tears. Truth be told, I was too tired to cry.
This was my fault; I should have known better than to begin to rely on him. I had known, deep down, that he was capable of something like this, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Now, I was paying for my stupidity.
“Amory…” Gil’s voice broke into my thoughts, and I turned to find him and Emmeline emerging from the lift. I attempted to keep my feelings from showing on my face, but Gil was not easily fooled.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, a concerned frown crossing his brow.
I mastered my emotions and managed a smile. “Yes, Gil. Thank you.” I turned to Emmeline. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit better.”
“Gil insists I need some sun and fresh air,” she said. “Will you take tea with us?”
“I … I think not today, thank you. I’m not feeling very well.”
I could feel Gil’s gaze on me, though I could not meet his eyes.
“Emmeline, will you wait for me in the dining room?” he asked her.
“Yes. I’ll see you later, Amory?”
“Yes, Emmeline. I should like that.”
She left us, and Gil turned to me. “Let’s go into the sitting room a moment, shall we?”
I followed him. Finding the room empty, he turned to me. “Now then, what’s wrong?”
I pushed my thoughts of Milo away for the moment. There were more important things to discuss. “I suppose you’ve heard about Mr. Hamilton.”
He nodded. “Inspector Jones stopped by to ask me my whereabouts.”
“He doesn’t think that you…”
Gil smiled, but his eyes were dark. “It only happened after I had been released. I expect I’d hang just as easily for two murders as for one.”
I felt ill at his words. “Don’t say that.”
“They haven’t taken me back in charge, at any rate,” he said. “I suppose they want to make sure that it was murder. I’ve telephoned Sir Andrew. It seems he will have his work cut out for him.”
That reminded me of something I had been wanting to ask him. “Mr. Rodgers said that you sent for Sir Andrew before your arrest,” I ventured. “Were you so certain it would happen?”
“I thought it might. I … you see, I’d written Rupert some pretty strongly worded letters. I was sure they would turn up.”
“But they haven’t.”
“Not yet. I suppose it’s only a matter of time. More coals heaped on the fire.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said, almost to myself.
I felt Gil’s eyes on me, assessing me. “But Mr. Hamilton’s death and my arrest weren’t what you were thinking about when I came up to you. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
I smiled tiredly. “It’s no good trying to hide things from you, is it, Gil? You may as well know. Milo’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“To London. No explanation.” I managed a laugh that I hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “It’s very typical, you know.”
I found I couldn’t quite meet Gil’s gaze and looked down at the crumbled paper in my hand instead.
“Why do you let him do it to you, Amory?” he said suddenly.
I looked up, surprised by the question, and saw that his eyes were hard and dark. I realized suddenly that he was angry—not only at Milo, but at me.
“You deserve better.” His voice, though calm, held an edge. “Isn’t five years of it enough?”
“I suppose this is really between Milo and me,” I said, finding my own ire rising at the accusation in his tone. “After all, he is my husband.”
“I would have made you a much better one.”
I felt myself pale at the words, and we stared at one another. My lips parted, but I found I could think of nothing to say.
“I think perhaps I better check on Emmeline,” he said after a moment of heavy silence. “Excuse me.”
I watched him go, still unable to think of any sort of appropriate response.
He hadn’t gone far when he stopped and turned. “Does Inspector Jones know? About Milo’s leaving, I mean.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I … I don’t suppose he does.”
“If you can get in touch with Milo, you’d better do it. Tell him to hurry back. It won’t look well, his running off after two murders.”
* * *
I SPENT THE rest of the miserable evening in my room. Gil’s words echoed over and over in my head. It had been terrible, looking at the hurt and disapproval in his expression. Even worse, I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him. I had made a hasty decision to marry Milo, and I was reaping the consequences. Gil might not have made life as exciting as Milo did, but he would not have made me miserable, and he would not have deserted me when I needed him the most.
I barely touched the dinner I had sent up. Perhaps Gil was right; perhaps five years was enough. As much as I had hoped Milo and I might reach some sort of harmony in our union, I needed someone I could rely on, someone who would be at my side when I needed him. Milo simply wasn’t. Perhaps it was time that I simply admitted my mistake and
acknowledged that we couldn’t make a go of it.
The knock sounded on my door, and for a fleeting moment I thought it might be Milo. Then I realized that he probably wouldn’t have knocked.
I pulled the door open and was not completely surprised to see who was standing there.
“Hello, Gil.”
“I need to talk to you, Amory,” he said.
I hesitated a moment before stepping back and pulling open the door. As he entered, I noticed that his gait was somewhat unsteady and that the strong scent of alcohol followed after him.
“You’ve been drinking,” I said, surprised. Since I had known Gil, I had never known him to indulge in more than the occasional glass of wine. From the looks of things, he had had something much more substantial since our conversation this afternoon.
“I have, a little,” he replied. He turned to me, his features somber. “I need to talk to you.”
“Perhaps you would rather do it tomorrow, when you’re feeling better.”
“No. I need to tell you something.”
“Would you like to sit down?”
“Not now, thank you.”
We stood facing one another.
“I’m sorry about today,” he said. “It seems I’m always making a mess of things.”
“We’re all strained at the moment. You needn’t apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he went on. “It’s none of my business.”
“Let’s just forget it, Gil.”
“I knew that first night, you know,” he said suddenly. “When you met him, I knew that … well, I had a feeling that things were going to change.”
I remembered the night I met Milo as though it were yesterday. Gil and I had been at a large party given by some lord or the other. Milo had arrived late, just as we had sat down to dinner. It hadn’t been cliché, locking eyes across a crowded room and all that sort of thing. I had noticed Milo when he walked into the dining room, of course; most of the women present had. I hadn’t given him much thought, however. Dinner finished, Gil had gone off to speak to someone, and Milo had appeared at my side and asked me to dance. I had known who he was before he introduced himself. His reputation was wild even then, but he had been pleasant, polite. It would have been ill mannered of me to refuse. He led me to the dance floor, and, looking into those bright blue eyes, I had felt a strange sensation the first moment I was in his arms …
Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery Page 21
