by Sara Rosett
“Just establishing some basic information, Mr.—?”
“Tower. Perhaps you should take all of our names down.”
“All in good time. My sergeant will speak with each of you in a moment and—”
The dowager cut in, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have shocked Clara with my news at dinner. I should have broken it to her privately.”
“News?” Makepeace asked.
The dowager hesitated and shot a quick look at Felix, then Gigi before she said, “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. I decided to change my will and leave everything to Clara. I announced the change at dinner. Clara probably needed a few moments alone to take it in—that’s why she lingered in the study, I’m sure of it.”
“I see.” Makepeace managed to infuse the two words with an ominous tone as he turned to look at Gigi. “And from the covert looks everyone is sending your way, I take it you were to be disinherited?”
Gigi had been so still and withdrawn that I wondered if she was taking in what was being said, but at Makepeace’s words, she popped up and faced him. “You’re insinuating I did something to Clara. I would never do that. Granny’s money is her own, and she can leave it to whomever she pleases. And she announces she’s changing her will quite often—don’t you, Granny? I took no notice of it.”
Makepeace looked at Felix. “Is that correct, Viscount Daley?”
Felix, still looking pasty, nodded. “That’s right. Granny likes to fiddle with her will. Nothing new there.”
The feeling that I knew the inspector nagged at me, and I studied his face, trying to place him. Perhaps it had been during a social gathering that I’d met him, not during an investigation? Again, I came up blank, but the thought tugged at me, and I kept mentally cycling through acquaintances.
Makepeace, his hands in his pockets, strolled away from Gigi. “But if the men remained together all evening and you were the only person to leave the drawing room after Miss Clack, then it seems as if you, Lady Gina, are the only person who had the opportunity to stab Miss Clack.”
Gigi looked at the man as if he was babbling nonsense. “No, I didn’t. I couldn’t get into the study, even if I’d wanted to. I knocked on the study door, the one that opens onto the hallway, and there was no answer. I tried the handle, and it was locked, as anyone will tell you.”
Mr. Tower stepped forward. “The keys to the hall door and the pocket doors have gone missing. I had to use my pocketknife to open the pocket doors.” During the exchange, Inglebrook had edged slowly away from Gigi’s chair.
Gigi added, “And it wasn’t just tonight that I didn’t go in there. I haven’t been in the study for days.”
Makepeace swung around, his eyebrows high. “Really? Are you sure about that?”
My heart plummeted at the question. I knew it was not a good sign to hear those words from a detective inspector. Inglebrook must have sensed it too because he faded back another few steps.
Makepeace pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and folded back the edges, revealing Gigi’s cigarette holder, which was broken into two pieces. “Then how did this get into the study—under Miss Clack’s body?”
Gigi stared at the cigarette holder, a stunned expression on her face. Mr. Tower moved from the side of the group around to Gigi’s chair. “Lady Gina, don’t—”
Gigi didn’t seem to hear Mr. Tower. She reached for the cigarette holder. “That’s mine.”
Makepeace jerked his handkerchief out of her reach. “Yes, it’s very distinctive. Practically one of a kind.”
A look of bafflement came over Gigi’s face. “I don’t understand. I couldn’t find it this evening. I assure you I was not in the study—or near Clara all evening.” Her voice had changed. It wasn’t quite so confident. I heard a hint of fear in her words. I happened to glance at the dowager at that moment and was surprised to see a glint of satisfaction on her face. In the next second it was gone, but it gave me a cold feeling.
Mr. Tower said, “I must protest. What you have here is circumstantial. Additionally, you’re going about this investigation—if one could call it that—in an extremely sloppy manner.” With his tall stature, he looked formidable, but the inspector didn’t seem to be at all fazed by the big ginger-haired solicitor.
It was wrong—all wrong. The dowager should be protesting, not Mr. Tower. Why was she letting Makepeace carry on in this theatrical manner?
Suddenly it came to me where I’d seen Detective Inspector Makepeace. I jumped up and stood beside Gigi. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Gigi. I’m not sure how it all fits together yet, but this man doesn’t have any right to accuse you of murder. He’s not a detective inspector.”
Gigi swiveled to look at me. “What?”
I spoke over the murmur that ran through the room. “Unless he’s changed careers and rapidly ascended the ranks of the police force, I don’t see how he could be. He was on stage a short time ago in Any Two Can Play.” I turned to the man who was calling himself Makepeace. “You played the role of the rival for the leading lady, didn’t you?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, then he shot a look out of the corner of his eye at the dowager.
Felix leaned forward. “Yes, by George. It is the same chap.”
The dowager’s manner had been cold that afternoon when Gigi introduced me. Now her blue eyes were like ice chips as she glared at me. She switched her attention to Makepeace. “Bravo, sir! Bravo.”
Gigi whirled to the dowager. “Granny, what have you done?”
The dowager ignored her and nodded at Elrick. He rolled back the pocket doors, and Clara stepped forward. Her clothes were still covered in red smears, but she was very much alive. A bright flush filled her cheeks as a babble of conversation broke out.
Clara took a tiny step into the room with her hands gripped together. The dowager said, “Well done, Clara. A fine performance. You fooled everyone. They were all completely taken in.”
Inglebrook, who’d moved further away from Gigi as the “inspector” presented his evidence, was now standing by the study. He said, “I’m happy to see you’re unharmed, Miss Clack,” and her blush deepened.
“But I don’t understand,” Gigi said. “All the blood. There was so much blood.”
“Ketchup,” the dowager said, then went on in a slightly taunting tone. “Don’t you see, Gina? It’s a party—like those extravagant and imaginative ones you’re so fond of. It’s a Murder Party.”
Chapter Six
I sat at the dressing table removing my jewelry later that evening, listening to Stella chatter about the excitement. Her voice was muffled as she put away my shoes in the wardrobe. “Only Mr. Elrick knew what Her Grace was about. Not even Mrs. Monce. She’s quite upset about it, she is.”
I put my mother’s pearls away and picked up my hairbrush. “So someone took the keys from Mrs. Monce’s key ring?”
Stella closed the heavy wardrobe doors. “It was Mr. Elrick. I don’t know how he managed to do it, but he did. And then Her Grace had one of the maids pinch Lady Gina’s cigarette holder from her dresser before she went down to dinner.” Stella turned around, her eyes bright with excitement. “Will this be written up in the newspapers?”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Essie had been the first person to depart that evening, and I knew she was itching to get away so she could write up her story and turn it in. I had a feeling the dowager had invited Essie intentionally so the news of the event would spread.
“Anything else, miss?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you.”
“Will you want a tray in your room in the morning, miss?”
“No, I’ll go down to breakfast.”
“Very well. Good night, miss.”
Stella clearly thought the whole incident was a delightful joke and a nice break in the routine, but Gigi had been hurt and angry. I slipped on my dressing gown and made the trek down the long twisting corridor to her room. I tapped on the door, an
d she called out for me to come in.
“I came to check on you . . .” I trailed off because I didn’t see her, but then a voice came from the enormous mahogany bed.
“Over here.”
I peered beyond the swags of the curtains that enclosed the bed and located Gigi, a tiny figure curled up against the headboard. She hadn’t changed out of her evening gown. She’d been smoking a cigarette, but as I approached, she stubbed it out in an ashtray that was overflowing with cigarette butts and waved away the smoke. She picked up a crystal glass filled with an amber liquid. “Would you like some? I brought the decanter from the library.”
“I can see how you might need it, but I’ll pass for tonight.” I sat on the foot of the bed. “Gigi, I’m so sorry.” She focused on the liquid as she tilted the glass one way, then another.
“Granny did it to make a point, you know. In case I didn’t understand that, she had a little chat with me after everyone left. I’m living a dangerous and reckless life, and she orchestrated tonight’s performance to warn me of how easily something could go wrong. I could be involved in a ‘very distasteful situation,’ as she called it. Of course it was also intended to embarrass me. That’s why Essie was here. I should have picked up on that detail. Granny wouldn’t invite Essie to dinner in the normal course of things.”
She took a sip of the whiskey, then lifted one finger away from the glass and pointed at me. “But you knew he wasn’t a real inspector. How?”
I tucked my feet up and leaned back against one of the bedposts. “He looked familiar. It just took me a while to place him. I saw the play a few weeks ago.”
“But there had to be more to it than that.”
“Well, yes. ‘Inspector Makepeace’ was going about the investigation the wrong way. He should have spoken to us separately, and, honestly, he looked far too young and handsome.” I ran a hand along the fringe that edged a swag of the bed curtain. “There’s something about the work the inspectors do. It seems to weigh on them. ‘Makepeace’ had none of that weariness about him. And, I suppose the main thing that gave it away was that it was all very . . . theatrical.”
Gigi tipped her head back against the headboard. “Trust Granny to go all out for something like this. If I wasn’t so angry, I would be rather entertained.” With her gaze still on the canopy, she said, “This is when I miss Jeffery the most. It was always us against the world. He was my big brother, and I know I drove him absolutely mad at times, but he was always on my side. That cigarette holder was a gift from him, and now I don’t even have that. Granny succeeded in breaking the last thing he gave me.”
“I’m sorry it happened.” It seemed so inadequate to only repeat the same words, so I added, “You know it will all blow over in a day or two. Someone else will have an even more spectacular party, and the Murder Party will be old news.”
“Yes,” she said, but her eyes were glassy. She blinked hard as she leaned over for the decanter. “Perhaps Edith’s Greek party or even Lisbet’s scavenger hunt.” The decanter clicked against the glass as she poured herself a refill.
When I left my room the next morning to go down to breakfast, the stop-and-go drum of keys striking the platen interspersed with the ring of the typewriter’s bell carried through Felix’s closed door. A distinguished older woman carrying a tray sped by me. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a severely tailored black dress. She moved with the assurance of a long-established servant as she deftly balanced the tray with one hand, tapped a door with her knuckle, then opened it and said, “Good morning, Your Grace,” as she stepped through the doorway.
Stella came down the hall at a leisurely pace, carrying another tray. Her hair was neater this morning, but already a few flyaway wisps were escaping. She inclined her head a fraction of an inch when I said good morning. She should have stepped aside and allowed me to pass, but she blocked my path. “If you’ve changed your mind about a tray in your room, you can have this one.”
“Thank you, but no.” I had hoped to find the dowager in the breakfast room and initiate a conversation about her worries. I’d dine slowly, and perhaps the dowager would appear for a more substantial breakfast in addition to the tea and toast I’d seen on her tray.
“Her Grace requires us to take a breakfast tray to Lady Gina’s room at nine each day.” Stella hunched forward over the tray and lowered her voice. “It’s a waste of food, if you ask me. Lady Gina sleeps right through the morning and never notices the tray. You might as well take this one”—she hefted the tray, then frowned—“except that silly girl, the new kitchen maid, forgot the spoon.” Stella heaved a put-upon sigh.
“As I said, I’m on my way down to the breakfast room.” I thought her sudden solicitous attitude had more to do with the location of my room than a desire to please me. Gigi’s room was located a good distance away, around two more turns of the corridor. Leaving the tray in my room would save Stella a considerable number of steps.
Stella said, “Very good, miss,” but her sour expression conveyed she thought the opposite. China rattled behind me as Stella thumped the tray down on a console table and turned back to the servants’ stairs. I decided it was a good thing Gigi wasn’t waiting for her tea because it would surely be cold by the time Stella descended to the kitchen and returned.
I lingered over breakfast, but only Addie arrived. “Good morning, Olive. Isn’t it a glorious day?”
Iron-gray clouds covered the sky and wind tugged at the branches of the trees in the back garden. “It looks overcast, actually.”
Addie looked up from spreading marmalade on her toast and peered out the window. “Oh, I do hope it doesn’t rain. That would ruin everything.”
“Do you have outdoor plans?”
“I’m meeting Rollo at the Achilles statue,” she said, referring to the monument in Hyde Park which had been erected in memory of the first Duke of Wellington. “I had a most mysterious note from him this morning saying we had to meet immediately.”
“Then I hope the rain holds off for you.”
“I’ll go whether it rains or not. He said we simply must meet today.”
I sipped my coffee and chatted with Addie, but when she finished eating, I left the room with her. I encountered the woman who’d taken the tray into the dowager’s room. “Is Her Grace available this morning? I’d like to speak with her.”
The woman sniffed and looked down her long nose at me. “Her Grace has departed.” Her tone implied I was a lazy slugabed and should also be out and about.
“When will she return?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
Despite the threat of rain, I decided I’d go out as well. Since the dowager had left, I might as well make good use of the time. I knew Gigi wouldn’t rise before noon at the earliest. I’d let Mr. Quigley hop around the dressing table earlier as I prepared for the day, so I gave him fresh water and informed him I’d return by teatime. He tilted his head and let out a trill. “Yes, teatime.”
“Redeem the time,” he announced.
“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to do. I’ll have Harry look in on you so you don’t get bored, but I must find a flat,” I said, then wondered if I was a bit cracked to carry on a conversation with a parrot.
I bought a paper at the first newsagent I encountered. One of the headlines screamed, Lady Gina Alton Murders Family Companion. “Oh my.” I stepped to the side of the pavement and scanned the article, which had Essie’s byline on it. It was a brief but accurate recounting of the previous evening. I made a mental note to be sure to dispose of it before I returned to Alton House. I folded the paper over to the advertisements and searched the listings for available flats.
Five hours later, I shoved the paper into a bin and made my way back to Alton House. The rain had held off, but that was the only bright spot in my day so far.
I went to the drawing room and halted inside the doorway. “So sorry I’m late—goodness, what’s happened?”
The tea tray
was upended, and Clara was sponging the carpet with a handkerchief beside it while Gigi yanked on the bellpull. “Hello, Olive. Bit of an upset.”
A familiar squawk sounded overhead, and a horrible foreboding washed over me. “Mr. Quigley got out of his cage, didn’t he?” I scanned the ceiling and spotted his bright red tail feathers trailing down from the crystal chandelier, which was rocking gently.
Gigi grinned. “Yes, but it’s not a tragedy. I let him out.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and he behaved very nicely. Sat on my shoulder and quoted a Scripture, ‘Behold a great red dragon.’ It was something from Revelations, apparently. Granny recognized it, and I could tell she was impressed with Mr. Quigley.”
“You brought him to tea with the dowager?”
“Don’t look so stricken. He’s too pretty a boy to leave in your room.”
“Did he”—I gestured to the upended tray as two maids entered and began to gather up shards of china and glass and blot at a spot of marmalade on the carpet—“cause this?” I asked faintly, wondering if I could afford to replace the broken cups.
“Oh, no. That’s my fault. I leaned over to put my teacup down, and Mr. Quigley didn’t like the sudden movement. He flapped his wings and startled Clara—”
“And my hand knocked against the tray,” she finished miserably, and I knew she was calculating the cost of the damage just as I had been.
“Nonsense,” Gigi said firmly. “My fault entirely. I’ll tell Granny so if she says anything.” She gave a nod that indicated the matter was closed. “Now—” She turned and cocked her head. “Mr. Quigley, you can come down. It’s safe, I promise.”
“I don’t think it was a good idea to bring him in here, Gigi.” I felt a little sick as my gaze skipped over the delicate objects in the room, the china figurines, the gold carriage clock, and the stone bust on a pedestal in an alcove. “He’s not like a dog. You can’t just call and he’ll come to you.”
