A Deception at Thornecrest

by Ashley Weaver

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” I assured him quickly. “The doctor says everything is going very well. And medicine has advanced a good deal in the last thirty-three years.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m quite confident that everything will be fine. It just … occurred to me.”

  I reached out and caught his hand and squeezed it, and he brought my hand to his lips for a brief kiss.

  “What else is in the trunk?” he asked then, the brief moment he had let his guard down passed.

  I turned back and carefully lowered myself to the floor so I could reach farther into the trunk. How difficult it was to move freely with a large round object attached to one.

  I removed the next item. It was a stack of letters, the envelopes yellowed from their time in the trunk. I looked at the writing on the outside. “Letters from your father to your mother. Love letters, I suppose.”

  There were a great many of them. Knowing what I did about Milo’s father, I found it difficult to imagine him penning effusive words of love, but I suspected he had been a different sort of person before the loss of his wife.

  Milo didn’t reach out to take the letters from me, so I set them on the floor beside the trunk, pulling out the next wrapped item. It was a stack of five leather books, the covers embossed with the initials D.A. Dora Ames.

  I flipped one open to find an elegant hand across the pages. A few lines told me what they were. “These are her journals,” I said softly.

  I closed it, not wanting to read them before Milo had the chance. He deserved to be the first to learn something about his mother. I was glad that we had found them, that he would get to hear something of her voice after all.

  There was one more item in the bottom of the trunk, fabric of some sort beneath the wrapping.

  I pushed the wrapping aside and saw a sea of white. I knew immediately what it must be.

  “Her wedding gown,” I breathed.

  I carefully lifted it out of the trunk. It was a stunning creation of satin and lace, with puffed sleeves and an off-the-shoulder bodice. I could imagine how beautiful she must have looked in it, but I didn’t have to. As I pulled the skirts of the gown, yards and yards of gleaming fabric, from the trunk, a second photograph fluttered to the floor.

  Milo reached to pick it up and handed it to me. It was a photo of their wedding day. I studied it. Milo’s parents stood side by side, dressed in their finest. They both looked so young, and, despite the stiffness of their poses, I saw the unmistakable brightness of happiness in their eyes.

  I felt a fresh pang of sadness that her joy had been short-lived, and I wished again that she was here to meet our child. A thought occurred to me. “What would you think if we took a bit of the train and made a christening gown for the baby? I think it could easily be done without destroying the gown.”

  “I think it’s an excellent idea, my love.”

  I carefully folded the wedding gown and put it back in the trunk with the other items. I would see about making the christening gown soon, once things were a bit more settled.

  “That was rather like discovering a treasure chest,” I said as Milo helped me to my feet and I brushed the dust off of my hands.

  “I’m surprised my father kept these things,” Milo said. “I thought he’d disposed of everything that belonged to her.”

  “It seems he couldn’t bring himself to part with her most cherished items.”

  Something else occurred to me. “I suppose that was the reason your father left Darien’s mother before she gave birth to him. He wanted to sever the connection on his own terms, before he could lose another woman he cared for.”

  “But she didn’t die. They might have been happy together. It was a selfish and cowardly thing to do.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “He ought to have married her. Or at least provided for her.”

  “I always wanted a brother when I was a child,” Milo said, unconsciously repeating what Darien had told me. “I suppose it was an ally I really wanted.”

  I felt a little pang of sadness for the loneliness of his childhood. I was lucky enough to have had my cousin Laurel as a friend and confidante growing up. Milo had not had any such luxury. It was no wonder he was often so vexingly aloof.

  “Perhaps your wish has come true,” I suggested.

  “I’m an adult now, darling,” he said. “Wishes are nonsense, and I no longer have need of an ally.”

  “That doesn’t change the facts, Milo. Darien is still your brother,” I said gently. “And he is in need of an ally.”

  Milo sighed. “It would’ve been better for everyone concerned if he’d never come here,” he said.

  “But aren’t you glad that you’ve had the chance to meet your brother?”

  “A brother who may be a murderer?” he asked. “I think, given the option, I’d just as soon have never known.”

  “I don’t think he did it,” I said. “I truly don’t.”

  He studied me. “I suppose you have someone else in mind.”

  I hesitated. I knew he wouldn’t like it if I told him I had been investigating. I supposed, however, that he already suspected as much.

  At last I gave a sigh of defeat. “I have a few suspects, but there are so many loose ends. I haven’t the faintest idea who they all lead back to.”

  “But you’re confident it isn’t Darien.” There was skepticism in his voice.

  “I just don’t think he had sufficient reason.”

  “My beautiful darling, always the optimist.”

  “Why don’t you give him a chance, Milo? You may find out that you have more in common with him than you think.”

  “Then you’re still bound and determined to find out who did it and prove his innocence.”

  I knew he wasn’t going to be at all pleased at what I had to say next, but there was nothing to be done about it. “You may as well know. Inspector Jones is coming here this evening to talk things over with me.”

  “Delightful. I’ll be glad to see the old boy again.” He didn’t mean a word of it, of course, and he knew that I knew it.

  “He’s got business in Maidstone. It’s just a social call.”

  He waved aside my explanations, something like resignation in his tone. “You needn’t make excuses to me, darling. Since when have I ever had any power to stop you?”

  “Would you stop me if you could?” I asked, curious.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a tempting prospect, to be sure. But you wouldn’t be my Amory if you were compliant and incurious.”

  I stepped closer to him and slid my arms over his shoulders, looking up at him. “And you wouldn’t be my Milo if you didn’t say the sweetest things to disarm me when I feel as though I ought to be cross with you.”

  His arms went around me. “It seems we shall both just have to make the best of it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  He leaned to kiss me, and I felt a sense of immense relief.

  With Milo on my side rather than serving as a distraction, we could find out who had killed Bertie Phipps and Marena Hodges.

  24

  WE ASSEMBLED IN the drawing room after a subdued dinner. Darien had been on his best behavior. We all had, I supposed, none of us wanting to say too much in front of the servants.

  Brushing aside Milo’s offer to collect my knitting for me, I went to the morning room. My back was aching from sitting too long in the uncomfortable dining room chairs, and I was glad for a chance to stretch my legs.

  I returned to the drawing room and stopped outside the door, curious to see how Milo and Darien might interact without my presence as a cushion between their rougher edges. I was glad to hear them conversing very civilly. There had been a sharpness in both of their voices in most of their earlier conversations. Even at dinner they had been polite, nothing more. So I was glad to hear that there was an easiness to the tenor of their conversation.

  I stepped into the drawing room. They were sitting at a table, c
ards spread out before them, both of them smoking cigarettes, drinks on the table.

  They were too absorbed with their card game to notice me, and I stood in the doorway for a moment watching them.

  Milo was relaxed at the moment, comfortable in his role of host. He was sitting back easily in his chair.

  Darien seemed to be enjoying himself, too. There was an expression of genuine amusement on his face as Milo made a wry remark, and he swore good-naturedly as Milo put down a winning card.

  I was glad they had found a moment when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

  Milo, in that way he had of sensing when I was nearby, looked up.

  “There you are, darling,” he said.

  The two of them started to rise from their chairs, but I waved them back. “Don’t get up, please.”

  “Would you care to play a hand?” Darien asked. “Milo’s just trounced me.”

  I smiled. “I don’t think so, but thank you.”

  I moved to a chair near the fire and picked up my knitting.

  “We’re discussing the murders,” Darien said.

  I stilled, forcing myself not to glance at Milo. I might have known that there were ulterior motives behind this friendly game of cards with his brother.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “Yes, we’ve theories on who might have done it.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the “we.” Though Darien might believe they were now on steady ground, I knew better. Milo, despite his show of sentiment in the nursery today, was not ready to accept his brother with open arms. I only hoped Darien realized it before he became too invested in forming some sort of relationship.

  “And who have you decided upon?” I asked lightly.

  “My money’s on the vicar,” Darien said. “Perhaps he was secretly in love with Marena. He killed Phipps to get him out of the way and then killed Marena when she wouldn’t give in to his advances.”

  I tried to picture Mr. Busby as the lecherous bounder, in love with the girl who had been almost a daughter to him, and failed. It just didn’t fit. The whole idea made me feel vaguely sick to my stomach.

  “Inspector Jones has arrived,” Grimes said, interrupting these unpleasant thoughts.

  “Oh, yes. Show him in, Grimes,” I said.

  Darien’s brows rose. “The police have come again, eh?”

  “Inspector Jones is a friend of mine,” I told him.

  “Police friends. How very bourgeois of you.”

  A moment later the inspector came into the room. He looked exactly the same as the last time I had seen him. There was something cheering in the fact that he always looked just as one expected him to.

  I rose from my seat to greet him, stretching out a hand as he came forward. “Hello, Inspector.”

  “Mrs. Ames,” he said as he took my hand in his. “How lovely to see you. You’re looking well.”

  My free hand went to my stomach. “I suppose one needn’t be a detective to notice that I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Allow me to offer you my heartiest congratulations,” he said. “Children are one of life’s greatest rewards.”

  I smiled. “I’m very much looking forward to motherhood. How are your wife and daughters?”

  “Very well, thank you. My eldest is soon to be wed.”

  “How wonderful.”

  “Her mother seems to regard it as a tragedy,” he said with a smile. He turned then to Milo, who had risen from his seat but not made any effort to come and greet the inspector.

  “Mr. Ames,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “And you, Inspector,” Milo replied. “Welcome to Thornecrest.”

  Milo and Inspector Jones had never regarded each other very warmly. Indeed, there had been a time when Inspector Jones had suspected Milo of a murder. Their relationship had thawed a bit since that point, however, and they both pretended to be friendly when the occasion called for it.

  The inspector’s eyes moved then to Darien. He was always adept at concealing his thoughts, but I saw the interest in his expression as he noticed Darien’s resemblance to Milo.

  “And this is my husband’s brother, Darien Ames,” I said. “We’ve only just recently met him. Darien, this is Detective Inspector Jones of Scotland Yard.”

  “Scotland Yard!” Darien gave a low whistle. “Brought in the real professionals, have you, Amory?”

  Inspector Jones gave him a mild smile. “This is just a social call.”

  “Ah. Well, then I’ll just give you all the chance to catch up, shall I?” It was clear that Darien had no intention of spending the evening chatting with the police, friend or no. “Nice to have met you, Inspector.”

  “And you, Mr. Ames.”

  Darien walked unhurriedly from the room.

  “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” Milo said. “I need to have a word with my brother.”

  He followed him out, and Inspector Jones and I were alone.

  The inspector turned back to me, his brows raised ever so slightly. “Another one, eh?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said with a laughing sigh. Inspector Jones had a way with words. I realized that another one was precisely the way I had felt about having a second Milo dropped on my doorstep.

  “Milo’s father had a … dalliance that resulted in Darien. Darien only just discovered he had a half brother and came looking for Milo.”

  “I see.”

  I decided I might as well come out with the truth of it now. “What I didn’t mention on the phone is that Darien was arrested for the crime.”

  “Ah.” He said this with perfect equanimity, as though he had been waiting for some revelation from me and was glad to have it at last. As for myself, I felt again the sense of calm that always resulted when I knew Inspector Jones was on the case. He was so very competent, so thoughtful and slow to judgment.

  “It’s all been rather trying, especially at this particular time, with the baby soon to arrive.”

  “Yes, I can well imagine.”

  “Please sit down, won’t you?” I said, realizing I had been remiss in my duties as hostess. “Would you care for some coffee?”

  “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  I turned to the tray of coffee things Grimes had brought into the drawing room after dinner. “Did you have a successful trip to Maidstone?”

  “I’m one step closer to catching a ring of counterfeiters, so I believe it was successful, yes.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I poured him a cup of coffee from the silver pot. “You prefer yours black, if I remember right?”

  “Yes. Thank you. You have a lovely home,” he said, looking around. “A bit roomier than your London flat.”

  I laughed at this bit of understatement. “Yes, Thornecrest has been in Milo’s family for ages. His father made many updates in his time. We’ve been here the last few months, preparing for the baby. Milo thought to keep me away from trouble here.”

  Inspector Jones smiled. “And yet it found you.”

  “I’m afraid so, much to Milo’s chagrin. You see, he’s not particularly keen on my involvement … given my condition.”

  “A natural concern on his part,” Inspector Jones said neutrally.

  “Yes, of course. But Darien is his brother. I couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing.”

  “The local police aren’t performing to your satisfaction?”

  “Inspector Wilson is a good enough sort of fellow, but he lacks imagination.”

  “Which Amory, of course, possesses in spades,” Milo said, coming back into the room just in time to make this irritating observation.

  I frowned at him and continued speaking to the inspector. “There’s something about all of this that doesn’t fit, something that doesn’t make sense. I feel that if I could only put my finger on it then everything would fall into place.”

  Inspector Jones took a sip of his coffee. “Why don’t you give me the details.”

  I had given him a brie
f summation on the telephone, but now I explained the deaths in more detail, outlining the theories I had surrounding each of the suspects.

  “The vicar and his wife were at odds with Bertie Phipps,” I said. “He had been seen going through the vicar’s private correspondence, and it has come to my attention that the vicar had been receiving and then withdrawing large amounts of money from his accounts.”

  “How do you know that?” Milo cut in.

  “I didn’t go snooping through his desk drawers, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” I said archly.

  “I’m not insinuating it. I’m assuming it.”

  “Well, you assume incorrectly,” I said. “Lady Alma was the one who had a look at the drawer with the broken lock. It hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  “I’m astonished you didn’t think of it first.”

  Inspector Jones cleared his throat gently, setting us back on course in the way a schoolmaster might correct bickering students.

  “Mrs. Busby couldn’t have killed Bertie,” I said. “At least, I don’t see any way it would have been possible with her wheelchair. She can wheel herself, of course, but to kill Bertie in the middle of the field and return to the festival without being missed or seen by anyone seems impossible. But she did buy poison at the apothecary shop.”

  Milo’s brows rose at this revelation, but I didn’t dignify this reaction with a response. Mostly because I had indeed been snooping in that particular case.

  “Do you suppose they might have committed the murders together?” I suggested. “Perhaps the vicar killed Bertie because of something that he knew, something he might have shared with Marena. Perhaps it was necessary that Marena be killed, too.”

  I recalled suddenly that I had mentioned to the vicar the possibility Marena might know something, shortly before Marena had been killed. Was it possible my comment had been the impetus for murder? The thought made me ill.

  “When was the poison purchased?” Inspector Jones asked.

  “A few weeks ago,” I said, realizing with relief it could not have been bought for the express purpose of silencing Marena before I could ask her questions. “And anyway, wouldn’t it have been easier for the vicar to be the one to purchase it? Nothing is easy for Mrs. Busby in her chair.”