“I’m sorry,” Cora said gently.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I just liked this position.”
Cora wondered if he was truly talking about the exact compilation of duties he’d had at Orchid Manor, or if he were speaking about his proximity to one servant in particular.
His gaze returned to her bulging sweater. Cora was just about to explain, when the volume from the music room seemed louder. The door must have opened.
“Quick,” she said. “Follow me.”
Mr. Mitu nodded gravely, perhaps eager not to see the chief inspector again, and they hurried down the corridor. She pushed open the door to the servant’s quarters and then removed the photograph. It wouldn’t do for someone to see her smuggling Mrs. Ivanov’s items under her sweater.
“That’s a photograph of Mr. Ivanov,” Mr. Mitu said, slightly incredulously, as if debating whether or not to deem her as equally infatuated in the late Bulgarian aristocrat as Mrs. Badger.
“And his sister.” Cora pointed at the image of Natalia.
“Indeed,” he said.
“Do you think you could translate the article for me?” Cora asked.
Mr. Mitu nodded. He glanced around and then edged closer to the light coming from the narrow window in the stairwell.
“We are delighted to commend Anton Ivanov on his exceptional performance.”
She stiffened at the sound of the man’s name. Evidently, Mr. Ivanov had not been an imposter. The reason for his death could not be attributed to that. The faint suspicion in her mind eased. She hadn’t supposed Mrs. Ivanov would have been pleased to discover she’d married a charlatan.
Mr. Mitu glanced up. “There’s quite a bit about wrestling. Would you like me to translate it?”
“Just tell me anything important,” she said. “I’m sure he did a wonderful job.”
“He did,” Mr. Mitu said, and there was a slight awestruck tone in his voice as he continued to scan the document. Then he stopped. “That’s strange.”
“What?” Cora lifted her gaze.
Mr. Mitu’s brow remained furrowed, as if expecting the words before him to change. Finally, he shook his head. “The paper refers to the woman beside Mr. Ivanov as a Miss Zina Nikolov.”
“Oh.” Cora’s mind swirled. Her suspicion had been correct.
“It must be some sibling prank,” Mr. Mitu said. “Aristocrats find amusement in the most unusual things.”
“I think in this case the newspaper article is not lying,” Cora said, taking the cutting from him. “I’m going to need to see the chief inspector. Thank you for your help.”
Mr. Mitu nodded, surprise still visible on his face, and then Cora marched upstairs, toward the music room.
The chief inspector was still speaking with a constable, but this time Cora did not hesitate to approach him.
“Excuse me?” the chief inspector peered down at her, and Cora straightened her shoulders, wishing she were wearing her heels. His gaze drifted to her hand. “Are you rearranging your hostess’ pictures?”
“What? No!” She handed the newspaper cutting to the chief inspector.
The man didn’t make another joke and instead scrutinized the article. Finally, he raised his head. “I assume you’re going to explain what this is?”
“It’s a framed newspaper clipping of Mr. Ivanov winning a wrestling prize.”
“This looks like Natalia Ivanov,” he said.
“And yet, the name she’s referred to is Zina Nikolov.”
He blinked. “Is that so?”
“The alphabet is different, so I had to ask Mr. Mitu for certain.”
“He’s not the best resource for knowledge about the investigation,” he warned.
“You can check it externally,” she said, “though I think you can see now that Zina takes up rather fewer letters than “Natalia.”
“Hmph,” the chief inspector said. “That is interesting. Very interesting.”
“I’m glad,” she hesitated. “Natalia and Mr. Ivanov seemed very fond of each other. I wonder, on reflection, whether she was his lover.”
“You think he brought her along to live with him when he snagged a wealthy Englishwoman?”
“Bulgaria is far away, and Mrs. Ivanov has never mentioned meeting any other family members.”
“I would think Mr. Ivanov would have kept her away from them.” The chief inspector retained his grip on the picture. “Thank you for your help, Miss Clarke. You’ve been exceptional today. Most exceptional. Definitely unexpected.”
Cora smiled. “It’s only one thing for you to look into.”
“Your other information has proven useful too.” The chief inspector tilted his head. “In fact, I suggest you join the others. Things might become interesting soon.”
Cora blinked, but then rejoined the other guests. She sat down at the breakfast table, now devoid of even biscuits. She attempted to make conversations with the others, but her heart seemed to jump and lurch inside her chest.
Natalia wasn’t really Mr. Ivanov’s sister. Her name wasn’t even Natalia. She’d feigned a close familial relationship with him for years, solely to be able to live with him. What must it have been like for her to live beside Mrs. Ivanov all this time? Had she truly loved Mr. Ivanov? Or had she resented him for making her give up her life to play one that had never existed?
A door opened, and a constable hurried inside. He directed his gaze at the breakfast table and everyone stiffened. He then rushed toward the music room, clutching a piece of paper.
“Most odd,” Veronica murmured.
In the next moment, footsteps returned to the room, this time coming from the opposite direction.
The chief inspector appeared, the constable at his side, and he marched toward them.
The others glanced at one another briefly and then pasted polite smiles on their faces.
The chief inspector did not bother to nod and he continued to march until he stopped before the table. He cleared his throat. “Zina Nikolov, I am arresting you for the murder of Anton Ivanov and Mr. Badger.”
Natalia blinked.
“Who is this Zina Nikolov?” Mrs. Ivanov asked.
“I would have thought it obvious,” Mr. Fawcett said, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It’s the other Bulgarian.”
“But her name is Natalia,” Mrs. Ivanov said.
“So you believed,” the chief inspector said, breaking from his script. “I am afraid this woman has rather pulled the wool over all of our eyes. She’s not the only one.” The chief inspector turned. “Mr. Fawcett, I am arresting you as Zina Nikolov’s accomplice.”
“What?” Mr. Fawcett lifted his eyebrows up. “That’s nonsense. Absolute nonsense. I am an upstanding citizen.”
“Upstanding citizens don’t correspond with foreign governments about potential invasions. And upstanding citizens never murder those they dislike.”
“I would never murder anyone,” Mr. Fawcett said, and his face became a shade better suited for extravagant floral arrangements.
“We believe your accomplice handled the actual murders.” The chief inspector turned a cold, assessing gaze to Natalia.
Not Natalia.
Zina.
“I-I don’t understand,” Mrs. Ivanov stammered.
“You’ll find out soon enough at the inquest,” the chief inspector said, as the constable cuffed first Zina and then Mr. Fawcett. “But the case was solved by one of your guests. Miss Cora Clarke.”
“She is nothing but an actress. She is wrong,” Zina exclaimed.
“That’s quite enough from you,” the chief inspector said, and the constable forced her up and from the room. “One rather does wish at times that gags weren’t quite so out of fashion.”
“I believe the correct term is cruel,” Mr. Rosenfeld said.
The constable opened the door, ushering Zina from the home she’d lived in for two years, and it soon closed with a heavy bang. Mr. Rosenfeld turned his attention to Cora. “What is your explanation for t
his, young lady?”
“I—” Cora opened her mouth and shut it quickly. She turned to the chief inspector.
He seemed to understand her distress, for his features softened. “Your suspicions on both those people were correct. I would like to extend my deepest gratitude toward you and my apologies for not bestowing sufficient importance on your opinions before.”
“Cora is spectacular,” Veronica said, and the others echoed her thoughts, though selecting words with rather less flourish.
Everyone seemed slightly stunned. They’d worried about the identity of the killer, only to find out that two other guests had been responsible. Their seats might have been empty, but they received more stares than when they’d been full.
Mr. Rosenfeld rose. “I suppose I’ll get back to London.”
“Fabulous idea,” Veronica said.
“It seems I owe you an apology as well,” Mrs. Ivanov said. “It was wonderful of you to solve the case. I’d imagined it was Mr. Mitu, but obviously I was wrong.”
“We can’t all be detectives,” Veronica said smoothly, and the others murmured agreement once again.
Some pride rose in Cora’s chest, and it did not diminish when Mrs. Badger appeared from the music room. She turned to Cora. “Thank you for your help.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Cora said.
Mrs. Badger smiled. “As am I. It is a consolation that his murderer will be punished. I expect she’ll hang.”
“The poor girl,” Mr. Rosenfeld said.
“She killed two people.” Veronica bristled. “There’s not that much to be sentimental about.”
Mr. Rosenfeld nodded, though his face appeared stricken.
“Well done,” Veronica said to Cora.
“Yes, very well done,” a voice behind Cora said. It was low and deep and sounded like amaretto.
Cora turned around.
Randolph.
The man smiled at her, and the skin about his eyes crinkled. “You should feel very proud, sweetheart.”
Happiness coursed through her at the endearment.
Everything is magnificent.
The crime had been solved, even though it had seemed hopeless, and the two people had been arrested. They wouldn’t be able to harm anyone else, and Cora was safe to celebrate with Aunt Maggie.
Still...
It did seem a trifle quick.
“I must admit to being somewhat astounded by how swiftly the chief inspector acted,” Cora said.
“The evidence was damning,” Randolph said. “Apparently Mr. Fawcett’s room contained various correspondences with the German government.”
Veronica patted Mrs. Ivanov’s arm sympathetically.
“You are sweet my dear,” Mrs. Ivanov said. “I will go upstairs.”
Sympathy welled through Cora. Mrs. Ivanov might exude privilege, but she had noticed something suspicious was going on in the house long before anyone else. Cora wished she’d believed her more when they’d first met. Perhaps then, she could have been more vigilant.
No doubt, the slight unease that ran through her could be attributed to that guilt. She shivered, suddenly eager to leave Orchid Manor, despite all its beauty and comfort.
“Miss Clarke suspected the woman who called herself Natalia was not really who she said she was,” Randolph said, absentmindedly stroking Cora’s hair. “The chief inspector was able to verify that Ivan did not have a sister. She was, in fact, Ivan’s mistress.”
Mr. Rosenfeld gave a strangled cry, but when Cora turned to look at him, his expression was one she associated with admiration. “That is quite some actress. Living under Mrs. Ivanov’s nose all this time. Some actress indeed.”
“One who killed two men,” Veronica said drily.
“Er—yes,” Mr. Rosenfeld said, rising. “I suppose I should tell my valet to start packing. No point staying here.”
Veronica gave a tight smile again, and Mr. Rosenfeld strode past her toward the stairs.
“Then it’s over,” Veronica said.
“Indeed,” Randolph said. “You two have a habit of getting into trouble.”
Veronica smiled. “Thank goodness Cora figured out who the criminals were. I’m quite ready to leave. To think we went on a walk with Natalia as if nothing at all had occurred. Though she did seem quite nervous when Archibald desired to go to the folly.”
“I imagine she didn’t want to discover the body,” Randolph said. “It does rather subject one to more questions.”
Cora ruffled Archibald’s head. “Good boy.”
Archibald cast her a puzzled look before closing his eyes contentedly.
“I’ll go into Eastbourne now,” Randolph said. “I have some calls to make. The government will want to examine those caves at once.” He kissed her cheek, and butterflies fluttered through her. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll be back this evening.”
“You can find me in the kitchen,” Cora said. “I’ll be finally visiting Aunt Maggie.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cora returned to her room, walking past the now empty rooms of Mr. Fawcett and Not-Natalia. Her footsteps clicked against the marble floor.
She glanced around. It was impossible to ignore the sleek perfection of Orchid Manor. The wide windows overlooked the channel and Downs, the size not constrained by an old-fashioned attention to facades and other architectural flourishes that might impede the view.
She would almost miss the place.
Almost.
She opened the wardrobe. Her clothes were arranged nicely. She wouldn’t even need Georgie’s help. She turned to find her suitcase and then realized she would perhaps need Mrs. Ivanov’s maid’s help after all. The suitcase was not under the bed and it was not on top of the wardrobe.
Archibald gazed at her curiously, but when she opened the door, he sprang into action and scurried into the hallway.
“We’re going to find the maid,” she said.
She doubted he recognized the name, but he evidently did recognize she hadn’t said “walk.” He gave a slight accusatory look before he marched down the hallway, glancing behind him every now and then to ascertain that he was being followed.
She called for the maid, but the doors were heavy.
She’s probably in Mrs. Ivanov’s room.
She knocked on the door, and in a few moments, it opened. Mrs. Ivanov appeared. She’d covered her honey blond hair in a silk scarf and she’d put on a matching silk negligee. Glamour was evidently something she did not abandon even in sleep.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Cora said. “I just wanted to speak with your maid. Is she up here?”
Mrs. Ivanov turned. “Oh, she must have gone downstairs.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Cora said. “I’m just packing. Or at least, I wanted to start packing.”
Mrs. Ivanov nodded. “I’ll ring the bell for her.”
“Thank you,” Cora said.
“It’s no trouble at all.” Mrs. Ivanov smiled sweetly. “I wish you could have been here at a better time.”
“I only wish I could have stopped your husband’s murder,” Cora said.
“I couldn’t stop it either,” Mrs. Ivanov said.
Cora nodded.
It would always be awkward between them.
She pondered how it must have felt for Mrs. Ivanov to know her husband, the man she adored, had been living with his mistress under her roof for years. And then to think that the same mistress would kill him—
She paused.
Why would Natalia—Zina, she corrected herself, have killed her lover, the man she supposedly adored? Had Mr. Ivanov been cruel to her? It seemed dubious, but Cora knew men sometimes differed when they found privacy. When men were not being adored by a public, they might change. What had Mr. Ivanov been like, when he was not attending parties, comfortable in his role as playboy? Mr. Rosenfeld certainly had not liked their business arrangements.
Yet, what had compelled Zina to murder him? Was it because of his family? An
d what had compelled her to murder him then? Amidst a crowd of people?
Had she grown tired of making accidents for him? Why would she desire to risk being discovered? Surely, she would have feared people would have looked into her background. People would examine a murder more than an obvious accident.
Cora frowned.
Zina had struck her as being intelligent. Whatever hatred she’d had for Ivan, she’d hidden well.
In fact...
Something tightened in Cora’s chest. Perhaps she’d gotten it all wrong. She’d suspected Zina of lying. She’d even suspected she’d visited the folly in the morning. But when the chief inspector and the constable had hauled her away, Cora hadn’t experienced the sense of relief that she should have.
Zina may have had secrets, but had her secrets involved killing Ivan? She’d lived in the same home as Mr. Ivanov. She would have had many opportunities to murder him, in more subtle ways that looked like actual accidents.
Perhaps the person who would have murdered him was not Zina. Perhaps Zina benefited too much from Mr. Ivanov being alive to consider murdering him. Perhaps she’d even loved him. After all, she’d been happy to play the role of sibling.
Mr. Ivanov had blackmailed Mrs. Ivanov’s accountant’s wife, he’d gotten Mrs. Ivanov’s friend involved in poor business investments, and he’d had an affair under Mrs. Ivanov’s nose for years.
Mr. Ivanov was not the only man to have a mistress, but most men who had mistresses were more discrete about it. Most men did not invite their mistresses to live with them, assigning them false identities.
“You seem thoughtful,” Mrs. Ivanov said.
“Just thinking over the events,” Cora confessed.
“I see.” Mrs. Ivanov’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a chill descended over Cora’s spine.
She shouldn’t be here.
Not in Mrs. Ivanov’s suite.
Not when the house was empty, not when the constables and the chief inspector had left, not when everyone else had gone.
Zina was going to hang for Ivan’s and Mr. Badger’s murder, but perhaps she had not really killed anyone.
Perhaps her morals had been lacking, but that did not make her a murderess.
The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries Page 35