It didn’t help that Veronica had lately excelled at playing vamps, happy to accept roles playing femme fatales, helped by the columnists’ frequent mention of her as displaying disastrous behavior.
The duke had threatened her. Could Cora truly say that Veronica would have held onto loftier values in the face of his contempt and urge to destroy all she’d made for herself?
Cora wanted to say yes.
She wanted so badly to say yes.
But Veronica had had the gramophone. She’d had the opportunity. She’d had the means. And she’d been in possession of an excellent motive.
It didn’t matter how pleasant Veronica might be if she didn’t see one as a threat.
If Veronica had taken two lives—well, Cora would have to inform someone.
Gladys had been young. Joyous. She hadn’t engaged in nefarious activities such as selling weapons to Germany’s allies, uncaring if they used them against England, uncaring even if they used them against their own people.
“The house is not far away,” Lady Audrey said. “We can grab snowshoes.
I do love the countryside.”
“Perhaps you should move here,” Cora said.
Lady Audrey smiled. “Perhaps I shall.”
After a short distance they came to another manor house. It was less grand than Chalcroft Park, with neither turrets nor a moat, but it looked older and perhaps even more elegant. It had long windows that cast lovely light into the house when they entered.
Cora’s shoulders relaxed. “This is splendid.”
“The gramophone is in the parlor,” Lady Audrey said. “I’ll show it to you.”
Cora followed her into the room and put on the radio play.
“I’ll make some tea,” Lady Audrey said, leaving.
Cora settled down on the sofa and listened carefully to the play.
Perhaps it had been a silly idea.
There was mostly conversation.
Lady Audrey arrived with tea. “Mind if I listen?”
“Oh, go ahead,” Cora said.
Lady Audrey poured the tea into blue and white china cups. “Just why did you want to play this record?”
“It’s just a hunch,” Cora admitted. “I don’t think I can share yet.”
“You think the new Lady Holt had something to do with the murder?”
Cora widened her eyes.
“I recognize the name of the record,” Lady Audrey said. “We discussed it at dinner.”
“Oh, so we did.” Cora nodded and continued to listen to the radio play.
There was a part on the record where the person went into a basement. It took a while for him to scream, but when he did—it was dreadful.
She’d been correct.
Unfortunately.
Lady Audrey flinched at the scream. “I should make some more tea. I don’t need to hear the person discovering a body in the basement.”
Cora jerked her head toward Lady Audrey. “How did you know that he discovered a body?”
Lady Audrey faltered, and tea spilled over the saucer. Her face flushed, and she set down the tea and saucer onto the coffee table abruptly. The porcelain clattered noisily over the marble table. “What did you say?”
Cora frowned. “How did you know he’d discovered a body?”
“It’s—er—obvious.”
“He could have been stabbed. Or shot. Or drowned.”
“I know methods of killing people,” Lady Audrey said impatiently. “I-I must have heard it.”
“You said you never heard the radio play before,” Cora said. “In the radio play we don’t know why he was screaming. In the next scene the narrator tells us the reason.”
Lady Audrey flushed. “I-I heard it before. I-I don’t like admitting to listening to crime dramas. Might not work with my intellectual reputation.”
“Or perhaps you didn’t want to give Veronica the satisfaction of knowing that her project is a big deal?”
“That’s it,” Lady Audrey said. “I was jealous. You understand, surely.”
Cora took her tea and sipped it slowly.
The scream had been there.
Veronica could have put on the gramophone when she changed, turning up the volume for the quiet part, and then waited for the scream to sound. Perhaps she’d opened the window so everyone could be sure to hear the scream better, or perhaps simply so people could think that an intruder had murdered him, should people not believe that a chandelier had crushed him.
It was dreadful.
Veronica must have been desperate for the duke to not threaten her to divorce her husband.
Cora frowned.
But it did seem...unlike her.
Still, this explained how the murder could have happened.
But perhaps... Perhaps Lady Audrey had done the same thing.
But why would Lady Audrey have gone through all the trouble of doing that?
Lady Audrey had been in her room when the murder happened.
She didn’t have an alibi.
The only people who had an alibi were Mr. Ardingley and Edmund.
Edmund.
The new duke.
The man who inherited his father’s fortune and title.
The man whom the duke had desired she marry.
Would Lady Audrey have protected him?
They were childhood neighbors.
Had Lady Audrey wanted there to be more between them?
Had Edmund?
She looked out Lady Audrey’s bedroom window.
A figure in black strode toward them.
A figure whose hair looked very much like Edmund’s.
“Is that the duke?” Cora asked, her voice wobbling.
A smile flickered on Lady Audrey’s face. “Oh, yes.”
Cora stepped away from the window.
It seemed odd that he’d followed them here.
If there was just something that he needed them to be informed of, surely he could have sent word to them without physically stopping by.
There were advantages to being a duke after all.
A chill went through Cora.
Veronica had never liked the relationship between Lady Audrey and her husband. She said they’d been far too close, even as children.
Edmund was handsome in his way.
Did he perhaps really love Lady Audrey after all? Or had they simply been working together to ensure he received his full inheritance?
I shouldn’t be here.
Horror rushed through Cora.
She was all alone in a strange place.
No one knew she was here.
Lady Audrey slipped down the stairs to greet Edmund, and Cora peered out the window.
They were leaning far too close.
Almost as if they were—kissing.
Who would have better access to Veronica’s gramophone than the duke?
Who else would be able to know about the record she’d brought of the radio play?
Why, they’d even played the radio play on the BBC—perhaps the duke had heard the lengthy scream on that. Heavens, perhaps Lady Audrey had.
All Cora had achieved by coming here was informing Lady Audrey that she knew about the record.
And now she’d seen Edmund.
They’d killed twice before.
Why would they hesitate to kill a third time?
Cora tried to remain nonchalant when he went up the steps.
If they thought she didn’t suspect them, perhaps they could let her get away.
If only Randolph were with her.
If only she hadn’t been so horribly wrong.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Cora dashed across the drawing room and settled onto the sofa. She grabbed hold of the tea and did her best to feign innocence.
Footsteps approached, and her heartbeat quickened. She focused on the dove blue painted walls and long white curtains that seemed to embody calm. The portraits of pastel-wearing women that hung on the walls, presumably of Lady Audrey’s ancestors,
seemed to be of people who’d never read about an unpleasant occurrence, much less commit murder.
“Hello.” Cora forced her voice to sound casual. “Tea?”
“Lady Audrey told me you found a certain record,” Edmund said.
“So I did. A mystery. It was—er—most entertaining.”
“And why did you choose to listen to that?”
Cora attempted to shrug casually. “I wanted something diverting. Music can be so tiring after a while.”
“Don’t waste my time. You know Audrey and I were behind the recent murders. You know we used the gramophone to give me an alibi.”
Oh.
Lady Audrey had told Edmund everything.
Cora set down her teacup.
Fear prickled every nerve in her body.
What was he going to do to her?
Stab her and then shove her body in one of these chimneys?
“You wanted your inheritance,” Cora said.
He scoffed. “It wasn’t just about the money. But I’m a duke now. It’s a very splendid thing.”
“He was your father,” Cora exclaimed. “How could you have murdered him?”
Edmund laughed. “You are really too sentimental. You would think you would be somewhat more hardened. Still believing those Victorian fantasies generated by authors decades ago.” He snorted. “My father was nothing to me. His health was holding me back. He could have lived for twenty more years, frail, pitiful, threatening to cut me off at any moment.”
“He was going to see the solicitor next month,” Cora said.
“He told me. Foolish man.”
“So you murdered him,” Cora said. “And you used Veronica’s gramophone to confuse the time of death.”
“Yes,” Edmund said. “I thought that was quite a clever touch. She’d told me the name of the radio show, and that she was listening to the record. As if I was interested in it. But when I decided to murder him...well, it seemed like a good idea in case the accident idea wasn’t believed. If they suspected anyone, it would be her. Once they found out about her pitiful childhood. Father told me all about it.”
“Quite revolting,” Lady Audrey sniffed. “It’s a wonder she was allowed to become a star. There are higher standards in England, thank goodness. I wouldn’t mind seeing her hang. It was a mistake for darling Edmund to marry her. If only he’d listened to everyone. But we can rectify things now. We can marry. Just how it’s supposed to be.”
Edmund swept into a bow and kissed her hand. “Yes, darling.”
His eyes though were lifeless, and Cora shivered.
She doubted he cared for Lady Audrey either.
She doubted his regard extended to anyone besides himself.
“Why did you kill the maid?”
“She discovered Edmund and me in bed together one morning before Veronica and you arrived. If she told someone else... If she used her mind...”
Oh.
Gladys had mentioned that Lady Audrey had given her information about the murder. She must have visited Lady Audrey’s room. The maids split which rooms they attended, but Gladys must have served Lady Audrey. And of course, she would have noticed if Edmund had been there one morning but known she wasn’t supposed to share that information.
That was the gossip that Gladys had been unsure whether to share with Veronica.
One shouldn’t speak poorly of one’s employer.
Servants were trusted to be discreet. No wonder she had been so torn.
“After I left the library, I heard her talk with you. Thank goodness Wexley chased her away. It was easy to send her on an errand upstairs and then kill her.”
“And why did you leave her in my room?”
“Well. I would have liked another location. No one would believe that you desired to kill your maid. She was a horrible one, but you hadn’t known her long. But I knew you were occupied downstairs, and you wouldn’t even know something was wrong when you didn’t see her in the evening.”
“And why did you use the strap from Mr. Hall’s camera?”
“I thought that was a nice touch,” Lady Audrey said. “Personally I think anyone entering a house in a blizzard is suspicious, especially when they have the gall to begin questioning people. I didn’t expect you to actually accuse him of murder. We couldn’t believe our luck.”
Edmund grinned. “I wonder how we should murder you.”
Cora’s heartbeat raced. “Y-you can’t do that.”
“I assure you we can.” Lady Audrey’s eyes flickered. “Two bodies in two days. Nobody suspected us. You even suspected your own friend and your-would-be lover, rather than us.”
“I suspected you. I suspected everyone!”
But Lady Audrey was right. Cora had been so determined to see justice fulfilled that she’d stopped following her instincts. She’d stopped trusting in general. Her job had been snatched away, and she had been uncertain about anything, not knowing what to believe of absolutely anyone.
I was wrong.
“If there’s a third death, on your estate this time, I’m sure more attention will be drawn to you, especially since you are not with the others,” Cora said. “They might even suspect you.”
“Stop talking,” Edmund grumbled. His wrist wobbled as he raked his hand through his hair. “My head hurts.”
Cora didn’t feel sorry for him, no matter how stressful a task Edmund found murder to be. Surely, any concept of good and evil one had been taught during one’s life might cause one to waver. Edmund knew murder was wrong. Likely the prospect of a noose coming down on his throat if he left too blatant a clue accidentally for someone to find was similarly nerve-wracking.
“Let’s take the sleigh.” Lady Audrey pulled Cora up and ushered her from the splendor of the manor house to the frigid winter air. “Get inside.”
Cora climbed into the sleigh, and it soon moved over the snow. The horses’ bells jingled merrily, uncaring that they might as well be taking her to the underworld. Their manes still glistened, and the world was still beautiful.
The sleigh rushed toward the manor house, and the turrets came into view. Where was a stone for the sleigh to get stuck on?
But there was nothing.
Perhaps not even hope.
Had Edmund and Lady Audrey been evil all their lives, or had the temptation to kill simply overwhelmed them?
Had Edmund desired to become a duke so badly? Had the prospect of all the money, all the magazines that would praise him for his attractiveness and his kindheartedness simply for giving the occasional charitable donation and cutting ribbons on buildings that would bear his name, overwhelmed him and compelled him to hasten his father’s death?
Cora tried to think.
What would she have done in the Gal Detective films?
In movies, the victim tried to always keep the murderer speaking until help arrived.
I might not survive.
Her heart leaped unevenly in her chest, and she swallowed hard, as if the action might force the panic down.
“I don’t understand,” Cora said, striving to keep her voice calm. “Why would you have killed your own father?”
Edmund waved his hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“He was your own flesh and blood.”
“Americans, for all their boast of power, seem remarkably prone to provincialism and excessive sentiment.” Edmund assessed her, and Cora tried to find something in his face that would explain his actions, but he appeared every bit as good-natured and mild-mannered as before. “Look, he never wanted to be a father. It was his duty, and he delayed it to the ripe old age of forty.”
“So your father may not have had longstanding paternal instincts.”
“No,” Edmund said. “He didn’t have any paternal desires.”
“That’s not a reason to kill him.”
“Signor Palombi was there. He was my mother’s lover. He was going to tell the duke that I’m his child. That I’m a bastard and cannot inherit from him!”
Cora blinked. “I don’t think that was Signor Palombi’s intention. Why did you think Signor Palombi was your father? Did your mother tell you that?”
“No,” Edmund said. “But it’s obvious. Rhys resembled the duke much more than I ever did.”
“Your father was still a person,” she said, struggling to understand why Edmund had taken his life. “Perhaps you didn’t like him, but how could you murder him?”
Lady Audrey grinned. “We live in the countryside. We’ve been shooting rabbits and foxes since we were little. A bit of blood doesn’t befuddle us.”
“The man was poised to destroy my life,” Edmund grumbled. “Why can’t you see that I had to kill him?”
His voice rose, like an irate toddler, and Lady Audrey stroked his shoulder.
“You had to do it,” Lady Audrey said in a soothing tone, and Edmund relaxed under her administrations.
“Why did you marry Veronica?” Cora asked abruptly.
“You do have so many questions,” Lady Audrey said.
“Who else are you going to tell? Perhaps it might help to talk about it.”
“Lest it plague our dreams?” Edmund snorted. “Please, not all of us are followers of Viennese quacks.”
Cora was silent.
She was hardly a Freud enthusiast.
She knew too little about him to have a strong opinion.
But even if she were a devotee of the man who had recently inspired film directors to add nightmare sequences to their movies and have their camera dwell on strange symbols, she would not care if Edmund and Lady Audrey were plagued for the rest of their sleeping hours with sinister images of chandeliers and staircases.
She had to believe that she could escape and that any knowledge from their confessions could lead to their conviction.
Because if this really was to be the end of her life—and she abhorred to admit that it might be—she was not going to spend her last minutes alive devoid of hope.
And after all, if she did escape, she needed to ensure that they were not acquitted by a jury intimidated by Edmund’s and Lady Audrey’s lofty aristocratic background and perhaps confused why two people who seemed to have everything would end the lives of others with a casual cruelty that others confined to squashing insects.
The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries Page 16