“One does wonder, doesn’t one?” I replied. “I find it hard to believe that she has been able to hide anything major for all these years.”
“What’s more, how did Bertie come to know it?”
“Mrs. Busby mentioned that they caught Bertie in the vicar’s office and that a lock on one of his drawers was broken, a drawer that contained confidential records.”
“What kind of records?”
“As to that, she was very vague. She claimed the vicar wasn’t entirely sure what might have been in the drawer. But I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him directly.”
“Perhaps we might find a way to bring the matter up to him.”
I smiled at him, glad he seemed inclined to let me investigate rather than protest my involvement as he usually did. “I do adore you when you say things like that.”
His blue eyes flashed wickedly. “I adore you all the time, my darling, but I will take what admiration I can get from you.”
I laughed. “You know perfectly well that I am putty in your hands.”
It was his turn to laugh. “If that’s the case, you are the most unmalleable putty I’ve ever come across.”
“Well, perhaps not putty, exactly,” I conceded. “But I’m awfully fond of you.”
“Awfully fond, eh? You shouldn’t make such extravagant declarations,” he said dryly. “I’m likely to grow conceited.”
He came over to me, and, placing his hands on the back of the divan on either side of me, he leaned down, his mouth very close to mine. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asked in a low voice.
I looked up at him, my heart picking up the pace. It sometimes still startled me how very much I loved him, even after all this time. “Not tonight,” I said, rubbing a hand along the lapel of his jacket.
“You’re exquisite.”
He leaned to brush a teasing kiss across my lips then pulled away, his mouth moving to my jaw and then just below my ear. “Of course, when I say ‘we’ might investigate, I mean me,” he murmured against my skin. “You’re not to wander about the village asking people questions, not in your condition.”
“Milo!”
He kissed me again then, and, though I found it very annoying when he used his charms to silence my protests, I couldn’t help but enjoy it. I slid my arms up around his neck and disregarded the matter for the time being. There would be time for this argument tomorrow.
* * *
I DID NOT go to the inquest the following morning. Milo said it wouldn’t do for me to sit all day in a hot and crowded room, and I had to admit that I agreed with him. Walking around the village and short visits with suspects was one thing, but sitting for prolonged periods on an uncomfortable wooden chair in an airless room was quite another.
Besides, I could only imagine the sort of things the majority of villagers were to say if I appeared at an inquest heavily pregnant.
No, I was forced to rely on Milo’s excellent memory to supply me with anything of interest. It seemed a very long time before I heard his footsteps in the hallway leading to the morning room where I sat knitting.
“Well?” I demanded as he came into the room.
“Good afternoon to you, too,” he said with a smile.
I waved an impatient hand. “Don’t give me nonsense. Give me the details of the inquest.”
He let out a short laugh and came to brush a kiss across my lips. “My bloodthirsty darling, always so impatient for gruesome details.”
I declined to encourage his teasing by giving him a response.
He sank into the chair across from me. “The verdict was murder, of course.”
“Of course.” I set my knitting aside, ready to give the matter my full attention.
“The doctor says he was hit with the rock several times. The first blow likely knocked him unconscious, and the rest were administered as he lay on the ground. His skull was crushed.”
I grimaced.
“And one more thing: a chain was missing from around his neck. Marena Hodges said that he always wore it. It wasn’t found anywhere near the body.”
“Why should the killer want that?”
“An excellent question.”
I thought suddenly of the envelope the vicar had given him. “Was there anything found in his inside jacket pocket?”
“No.”
We sat for a moment in contemplative silence.
“I spoke to a few of the stable hands before I left this morning,” he said at last. “That seems to be a dead end. None of them seemed to think that Bertie had any enemies, though more than one of them said that he’d seemed a bit distracted as of late.”
“That was probably to do with Marena.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or with the secret he knew about her mother? It clearly bothered him, whatever it was.”
“Mmm,” he said noncommittally. He clearly wasn’t entirely convinced, and I wondered why.
Grimes came into the sitting room just then. “Mr. Ludlow is on the telephone for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Grimes,” Milo said, rising from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, darling.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, still lost in thought.
He went to speak to our solicitor, and I continued to turn the matter of Bertie Phipps’s murder over in my mind. Something was wrong with all of this, something I couldn’t quite place. I supposed I would have to question Milo more closely about the inquest.
There was a tap at the door, and I looked up to see Grimes standing there. “Mr. Darien Ames has arrived, madam.”
I wondered what the butler thought of all of this. He had been very loyal to the elder Mr. Ames. How did he feel about the appearance of a son the man had fathered on the wrong side of the blanket?
“Show him in, Grimes.”
I knew Darien was coming to see Milo, that the two of them had much to discuss, but I wanted to be there to greet him. Milo would likely be detained speaking to Ludlow, and I would have a few moments alone with my errant brother-in-law.
It wasn’t just idle curiosity that had me wanting to speak to my newfound relation. I had told Marena that I would pass along her message to him. I wondered if he had noticed her absence over the past day. Or perhaps he had found another woman in the interim. He did seem to move from one to the next with impressive speed.
“Hello, Darien,” I said as Grimes showed him into the room.
“Good afternoon,” he replied with a smile.
I studied him. It was uncanny how much he looked like Milo. It wasn’t just the black hair and the smooth, handsome planes of his face. There was something about his expressions, even, that mirrored the ones with which I had become so familiar. I wondered if their father had made the same sort of expressions.
“Can I offer you some tea?” I asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” He stepped forward then, and, in the light shining through the window, I realized that his eyes, though blue, were different from Milo’s. Milo’s eyes were a bright, clear azure, like the Mediterranean in the summer sun. Darien’s were paler, stormier in color, hovering somewhere between wintry blue and an Atlantic gray. They were striking in contrast to his dark lashes. It was no wonder that women lost their heads—and apparently their good sense—over him, and I could tell at once that, if he remained in our lives, he was going to be difficult to keep out of trouble.
Milo had been the same in his day, of course. Indeed, there were still times when I was quite useless at preventing him from getting into situations he assumed, correctly, that his good looks would get him out of.
“Sugar or milk?”
“Neither, thank you.”
“How are you finding Allingcross?” I asked him as I poured his tea. It was the sort of inane question one was expected to ask of a visitor, but I felt I had to start somewhere if we were going to become acquainted.
“It’s … different from what I’m used to,” he answered as he took the proffered cup and saucer. There was no de
rision in his tone, though I had almost expected it, and it occurred to me that he was much less acerbic today than he had been upon our first meeting. I wondered if it was because Milo wasn’t here, and he felt no need to put up a front.
“What are you used to?” I asked him, curious about his history.
“The sea,” he said. “Dover, Folkestone, Hastings. We moved around a bit, my mum and I, so she could find work, but we always stayed near the sea. She loved it.”
“Milo said she has passed?”
“Yes. A year ago. Pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s a part of life, so they say.” He took a sip of his tea.
Despite his carefree air, he couldn’t hide the sadness that clouded his eyes. For all his bravado, it must have been difficult for him to be left alone in the world after her passing. Not only that, I could tell he had been very fond of his mother.
No doubt the sea had reminded him of her. I wondered if that was why he had been walking along the beach in Brighton that day when he encountered Imogen. Perhaps he had been lonely and drawn to seek companionship with the pretty young woman he met at the seaside. I realized I was making excuses for him, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit more sympathy toward him than I had previously.
Milo came into the room just then. Apparently, he had been closer at hand than I had thought.
“Hello, Darien,” he said. There was something in his tone that caught my attention, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.
“Milo.” Darien rose from his chair to face his brother.
They made a stunning pair, the two of them standing side by side. It was a good thing, I reflected, that the two of them had not been brought up together. I thought the pair in combination might have proved too much for the women of London.
What a stir they would create the next time they were in town together. Of course, I realized I was getting ahead of myself. There was nothing to say that the two of them would ever be in London together. After all, their relationship wasn’t exactly starting under the most auspicious of circumstances.
I did hope that they would be able to find a way to enjoy each other’s company, however. Milo, though he would never admit such a thing, had no doubt felt the void of family connections in his life. It would do him good to have a brother.
“I heard there was some excitement at the festival,” Darien said as he took a seat.
I was a bit surprised he had brought it up. Then again, perhaps it was his roundabout way of inquiring after Marena.
“Yes, Bertie Phipps was murdered,” I said, watching his face. “The verdict was given at the inquest this morning.”
I looked at his nose and the corner of his mouth, noticing there was no permanent damage from his altercation with Bertie.
He must have noticed my searching gaze, for he smiled. “If he went around hitting people, I imagine he had plenty of enemies.”
“I spoke to Marena,” I said, ignoring his quip. “She’s very distressed about Bertie’s death and said she needs some time before she sees you again.”
He took the news as one might expect: with a show of amused indifference. “If that’s what she wants.”
I hadn’t meant to bring it up, but irritation was beginning to rise again, and suddenly I felt that the question couldn’t be avoided. “In the meantime, don’t you think you should speak to Imogen?”
“I suppose I should. The sooner that’s out of the way, the better.”
I tried to tamp down my anger. He was treating the young woman abominably, but I had the feeling that he would not respond well to being lectured. He seemed to enjoy saying and doing things for the shock they would cause, so the best course of action seemed to be to remain unfazed by his brazen behavior.
“You don’t mean to continue your relationship with her then?” I asked calmly.
Darien looked up. “I thought I had made that plain.”
“It wasn’t plain to her,” I said, just barely keeping from clenching my teeth in an attempt to refrain from telling him what I really thought of his behavior.
He shrugged. “It was all a lark. She knew it as well as I did.”
“She was very distraught when she came here.”
He seemed to sense that I was getting angry and apparently decided that he had had enough of goading me toward it. “I appreciate that you’re indignant on her behalf,” he said with apparent sincerity, “but you’ve been taken in by her. Imogen comes off as a sweet, innocent girl, but that’s not how she really is. If you’ll pardon my saying it, I certainly wasn’t the first young man she’s had a lark with.”
“That’s enough,” Milo said mildly.
Darien looked over at his brother. “Have I said something shocking? I would have thought any wife of yours would be accustomed to scandalous talk.”
There was the faintest flicker of irritation in Milo’s eyes for a brief instant, and then it was gone, replaced by that mask he so often used, the cool, expressionless one it was so difficult to see behind.
“There’s no need to discuss your escapades with my wife,” he said.
“You’ll recall that she brought it up,” Darien said lightly. “But as you wish, dear brother. I didn’t come here to offend. After all, we’re family.”
Though the words sounded pleasant, I knew that they had been designed to irritate Milo further. This time Milo showed not even a glimmer of annoyance. Darien would have to work a bit harder if he wanted to push Milo to some sort of outburst; Milo was too skilled at hiding his emotions to give his brother that particular satisfaction.
There was a sudden tap on the door. We all turned to see Grimes standing in the doorway.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ames, but Inspector Wilson has just arrived. He’s requested to see you at once. I told him you had company, but he says it’s most urgent.”
I suddenly had an uneasy feeling.
“Show him in,” Milo said.
Grimes left, and I looked at Darien. He had affected an almost bored expression, but I thought there was a certain tension in his shoulders as Grimes returned a moment later with the inspector in tow.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Milo said. “What can we do for you?”
The inspector looked more uneasy than any of us. Hat in hand, he glanced around the room, before his gaze came back to Milo. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ames. I’m afraid my errand isn’t a pleasant one.”
“Oh?”
He turned to look at me for a moment, as though he was expecting me to take my leave. I looked back at him, a genial expression on my face.
At last he seemed to realize that I wasn’t going to leave the men to their discussion, and he cleared his throat. “I’ve come to talk to you about the death of Bertie Phipps.”
Milo nodded. “I thought as much. Would you like to have a seat, Inspector?”
Inspector Wilson cast his eyes around at the expensively upholstered furniture and shook his head. “I’d just as soon stand, Mr. Ames. I won’t be staying long.”
“Very well.”
Inspector Wilson cleared his throat. “As you know, the verdict of the inquest was murder.”
Milo nodded.
“This afternoon, a witness came forward, someone who could place a suspect at the scene of the crime.”
Lady Alma must have decided to go to the police then. I hadn’t thought her evidence enough to make Mrs. Hodges a definite suspect, but perhaps Inspector Wilson felt differently.
A thought occurred to me. “But weren’t we all at the scene of the crime, so to speak?” I asked. “After all, it happened not very far from the festival.”
“That’s true, Mrs. Ames, but I’m speaking a bit more specifically than that.” He didn’t elaborate but instead turned back to Milo. “Rumor has it that you’ve got a brother who’s recently come to the village.”
“I have a half brother, yes,” Milo said. He admitted that much and nothing more, didn’t even bother to indicate Darien, who was watching the conve
rsation with interest.
Inspector Wilson, however, had turned to look at Darien. It was clear enough who he must be; that resemblance was unmistakable. “This is the young man in question, I take it?”
Darien rose from his seat then, giving the inspector an overly polite bow of his dark head. “Darien Ames, at your service.”
“Mr. Ames, it’s come to my attention that you were quarreling with Mr. Phipps not long before he was killed. In fact, the altercation came to blows. Is that true?”
Darien passed a hand across his jaw. “It came to a blow. Just one. Bertie Phipps hit me, but I declined to return the favor.”
“But you threatened to kill him, didn’t you?”
There seemed to be a shift in the atmosphere, and I realized that something serious was happening here, something that had nothing to do with Mrs. Hodges. I glanced at Milo, but his gaze was resting on Darien, his expression intent.
Darien shrugged, still maintaining his air of confidence. “I might have said something to that effect. One often does in the heat of the moment. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Were you at the festival yesterday?” Inspector Wilson asked.
“No. Marena … Miss Hodges said it would be better if I didn’t come.”
“And yet you were seen crossing the field where Bertie Phipps’s body was found around the time when he must have been murdered.”
Darien’s voice rose. “Now wait a minute…”
“Be quiet, Darien,” Milo said.
“Our witness told us as much this morning. A search of your room at the inn revealed a pair of boots with blood on them, an envelope of money with Albert Phipps’s name on it, and a chain worn by Mr. Phipps that was missing from the body.”
“What the devil…” Darien said.
There was the sound of footsteps as a second man came into the room, a sergeant in uniform.
Inspector Wilson’s gaze came back to me. “I’m sorry to do this here, Mrs. Ames, but it can’t be helped.”
He stepped forward, and the sergeant moved forward with him.
“Mr. Darien Ames,” Inspector Wilson said gravely. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Albert Phipps.”
A Deception at Thornecrest Page 13
