Annie gestured towards the taps, pocketed the money, and headed for the stairs to the rooms on the second floor. Beryl scooted around behind the counter and expertly filled a still water-spotted glass to the top with her favourite local cider. While she had no taste at all for beer, she did enjoy hard cider. It was a specialty of the region, and she believed firmly in supporting the local economy. When the barmaid returned a moment later, she shook her head when Beryl asked to have it added to her tab.
“Let’s put it on the slate for his nibs,” she said under her breath. The girl inclined her head towards the staircase. Beryl could only imagine how rudely the Kimberly party must have behaved to provoke such a response from Annie, who was usually a straight arrow and a bastion of good humor. It must have been something especially egregious, as the young woman picked up her tray of glasses and carried them to the back room as soon as a member of the party appeared at the foot of the staircase.
“Hello again,” said the man Beryl had found admiring her car the day before as he approached the bar and perched on the stool beside her. “I am delighted to accept your friend’s invitation for bridge on behalf of my companions and myself.”
“Are you connected to the Kimberly party?” Beryl said.
“Indeed I am. Colonel Kimberly was my mother’s uncle,” Rupert Fanhurst said. “Which makes Florrie my step-great-aunt, I suppose. Will my presence disarrange your plans for the table?”
“Think nothing of it. You are all very welcome this evening,” Beryl said.
She was an avid bridge player, as was Edwina, and Mr. Fanhurst’s attendance would upset the numbers. Beryl’s initial reaction was to consider who else could be invited to make up the numbers for a second table. Charles Jarvis could always be counted on for a rubber.
Beryl had no idea whether or not Simpkins knew how to play. She rather thought it unlikely. Even if he had a firm grasp of the rules, he was liable to be too well lubricated to focus on the game by evening.
Beryl discounted the idea of inviting the vicar or his wife on the grounds that they would put an even greater crimp in the gambling than Edwina was inclined to do. She briefly considered her other acquaintances from Walmsley Parva before deciding that it was best not to expand the guest list. Edwina would be rattled enough to discover there would be one extra member of the party. Adding any more would surely distress her.
Besides, she thought upon further consideration, if she or Edwina sat the games out, they would be in an ideal position to observe the play. In Beryl’s opinion, nothing revealed character so quickly as a crash landing from an airplane or a heated game of bridge. Perhaps Rupert Fanhurst’s unexpected appearance would be the best thing that had happened to the investigation thus far.
“Until this evening, then,” Mr. Fanhurst said, sliding off the stool and reaching for Beryl’s hand. He bent forward and raised it to his lips.
As she watched his retreating back, Beryl wondered if his courtly manners were intended to get into her good graces on account of her celebrity or because of her connection to Simpkins.
Chapter 32
Crumpet barked from somewhere along the front hallway, and Edwina cast a glance around the parlour for a final time. Simpkins had helped her to place a card table in the center of the room before announcing he had no intention of socializing with the Londoners and leaving the house for the pub.
A pad of paper and a pen to keep score as well as a pack of cards lay on the table’s smooth surface. She ran the list of refreshments she had prepared through her mind as she nervously plumped a pillow on the sofa.
She most assuredly had not liked Mrs. Kimberly or Mr. Armitage when she had made their acquaintance earlier. She could not imagine either of them would have improved since last they met. Edwina had been thrown off kilter by the news that an additional member of their party would be joining them.
It made things rather more difficult for someone to need to sit out the game. She had managed to convince herself that the evening would not be intolerable if she had the chance to enjoy the game. But now it seemed that someone would have to offer to sit out. Edwina had insisted that she would observe the others from her favourite spot on the sofa.
Beryl had offered to be the one to sit idly by, but Edwina had reminded her that as the superior cardplayer, she would be better at creating the sort of strain during a game that so often revealed character. No, Edwina had said, it would be far better for her to sit on the sidelines with her knitting and to observe all the goings-on. She would use the opportunity as the hostess to chat with whoever was serving as the dummy in any given game. Beryl had reluctantly agreed, and the whole matter had been settled before the doorbell sent Crumpet into a frenzy.
The Kimberly company party swept into the room with wide smiles. Edwina could not get over the sense that Mrs. Kimberly was nothing more than a dance-hall girl who had made a fortunate match. Edwina could make out the faintest hint of a lower-class accent, despite the younger woman’s designer gown and luxurious fur wrap. Her clothing was another giveaway as to her origins. A well-bred lady would not have made the mistake of being so overdressed for an evening of bridge in the country.
Mr. Armitage, Edwina thought, was exactly what he purported to be. As a well-heeled solicitor and man of the city, he wore clothing that was understated, and his manners were solicitous but reserved. She was quite certain from their previous encounter that his purpose in attending that evening was not simply to enjoy a game of bridge. He had the best interests of his board of directors in mind and was likely looking for a way to pressure Simpkins to heed his advice in all matters pertaining to the company.
Mr. Fanhurst was effusive in his appreciation of the invitation. He made it sound as though he had been in actual danger of dying from boredom, should he have found himself left to his own devices for another evening at the village pub. He presented Edwina with a box of chocolates and said that he had enquired of the shopkeeper as to her preferred confections.
Edwina lifted the paper lid from the box and noted without surprise that Prudence Rathbone had recommended sugared almonds and Turkish Delight, her two least favourite sweets to be found anywhere in Great Britain. Prudence had still not quite recovered her good humor over the difference of opinion she and Edwina had had concerning the inclusion of members of a nearby mining community in Walmsley Parva’s May Day celebration the month before. Edwina thanked the young man for his gift and placed the opened box on the table, along with the variety of finger sandwiches and fairy cakes she had prepared for the evening’s refreshments.
Beryl brought up the rear as the party entered the room, and made her way directly to the drinks table, where she set about filling a cocktail shaker with chips of ice and splashes of spirits. Over the sound of her vigorous rattling, she enquired after their plans.
“I’m so glad you were able to join us this evening, as I’m sure you will all have business back in London soon, won’t you?” Beryl asked. “You must be eager to figure out how best to run the business with a new man in charge of it all.”
“I’m sure that it will be worth it to stay in the village for a few more days,” Mr. Armitage said. “After all, I think it’s safe to say we are all still trying to figure out how best to proceed.”
“Do your business interests take you away from London often?” Edwina said, retrieving her latest knitting project from the basket beside the sofa.
“I’m happy to say that Colonel Kimberly’s company enjoys widespread renown and is stocked all across the empire. I have seen a great deal of the countryside during my tenure as chairman of the board of directors.”
“We’re not going to spend the whole evening talking business, are we?” Mrs. Kimberly asked, glancing over at the card table.
“Certainly not,” Beryl said. “If you all will take your seats around the table, I’ll finish making the drinks and then join you.”
“Do you not intend to play, Miss Davenport?” Mr. Armitage said.
“Beryl is
the real bridge enthusiast of the two of us. I’m perfectly content to simply observe. Besides, I’d like to get this jumper finished before the child I’m making it for has outgrown it,” Edwina said, lifting the tiny sweater for all to see. Mrs. Kimberly’s eyes lingered on the small blue object in Edwina’s hands.
“What shall we do for partners?” Beryl asked as she expertly poured the cocktails from the shaker into five awaiting glasses.
“I propose that Mr. Fanhurst and Mrs. Kimberly play against the two of us, Miss Helliwell,” Mr. Armitage said. “They have played together often and are a formidable pair. I think they might even be able to give you a run for your money.”
Beryl squirted some soda water from the siphon into each of the partially filled glasses, then handed the drinks around to their guests. As she passed one to Edwina, she gave her friend a sly wink. Edwina felt quite certain their guests did not know what they were in for.
“I am looking forward to the challenge,” Beryl said. “Mrs. Kimberly, would you like to be the first to deal?” Beryl slid the pack of cards across to the younger woman, and before Edwina knew it, the evening was in full swing.
Edwina watched covertly from her place on the sofa, her knitting needles clicking through the fabric of her project more slowly than was her habit. The bidding and the playing were so fast and so furious that her attention was diverted to a greater extent than she would have thought possible.
It was obvious from the very beginning of play that Mr. Fanhurst was an audacious bidder. Mrs. Kimberly and Mr. Armitage both seemed far more hesitant in their play. Several times during the first game, Mrs. Kimberly let it be known in so many words that she was not entirely pleased with her partner’s performance. Mr. Armitage was better at hiding his concern when Beryl threw caution to the wind and bet heavily on her hand. Still, Edwina was quite certain from the way he twitched the side of his mustache that he was none too comfortable with her style of play.
After the first hand, Mr. Fanhurst served as dummy, and Edwina took the opportunity to speak with him while he sat it out beside her on the sofa.
“Please accept my condolences on the death of your uncle,” Edwina said. “A terrible loss, I’m sure.”
Mr. Fanhurst swirled the contents in his glass and took a sip before answering. “I hadn’t realized how much I would miss the old reprobate until he was gone,” he said.
“The two of you were not close?” Edwina asked.
“I think it’s safe to say we merely tolerated each other. He felt I was a dilettante, and I thought he was a stodgy old goat who had no notion whatsoever of what it’s like to be young in the world of today,” he said. “I suppose you think I’m heartless for not being more bereaved, but I would rather be considered heartless than to go to the effort of pretending something I do not feel.”
Edwina felt rather shocked at his forwardness. She had not become entirely accustomed to how jaded the young people seemed these days. Perhaps they always had been, and she was the one who had changed. Perhaps her age was catching up with her, and she no longer understood what it was like to be young and trying to discover one’s own way of being in the world. Certainly, the younger generation had been through a great deal, and much of the future looked bleak.
They called the Great War the war to end all wars, but somehow she doubted that that would prove to be the case. It had taken something from all of them, but in many ways, she felt it had stolen the most from those who were youngest. How cruel to be under thirty and to realize that the economy was in dire straits, jobs were few, and for the vast majority, the notion of God was entirely dead. No, she did not think Mr. Fanhurst was heartless. She thought that he was heartsick, like so many other young men just like him.
“I make it a point not to judge the relationships of others,” Edwina said. “Elderly relatives can be demanding and difficult, and oftentimes they forget what it’s like to be young.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience,” Mr. Fanhurst said, leaning in towards Edwina and fixing his light blue eyes on her face.
“Suffice it to say, I’ve had my fair share of interactions with my elders that were not entirely enjoyable. You appear to get on much better with his wife than you claim to have gotten along with him,” Edwina said. She indicated towards Mrs. Kimberly with her free knitting needle.
Mr. Fanhurst followed her gaze and glanced over at his aunt. “Florrie’s been like a breath of fresh air in that moldering old pile of a house. Until she arrived, the place was like a mausoleum. I still can’t believe my uncle convinced her to marry him.”
“Where did they meet?” Edwina asked.
“Theirs was a shipboard romance. She had tragically lost her husband to an outbreak of malaria overseas and was returning home. My uncle had been abroad himself on business and apparently was instantly smitten. They were actually married by the ship’s captain before they returned to Southampton,” Mr. Fanhurst said. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when he returned with such a pretty young thing on his arm.”
“You hear about such things happening, but I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone in real life to have enjoyed such a storybook romance,” Edwina said. “Although, it does seem that Mrs. Kimberly’s luck with her husbands is rather poor.”
“I expect she’ll be okay before long,” Mr. Fanhurst said. “A woman like that finds a way to land on her feet without much difficulty.”
He got to his own feet and returned to the table as the hand drew to a close and the tricks were counted up. Before long, it was Mrs. Kimberly’s turn to play dummy, and she perched in the same place her nephew had sat not long before.
“May I interest you in a plate of sandwiches or a fairy cake?” Edwina said, laying her knitting aside.
“That’s very kind of you, but I find I have no appetite this evening,” Mrs. Kimberly said.
“Grief has that effect on many people, I have noticed,” Edwina said.
“I don’t believe it’s the grief over my departed husband that is responsible for me feeling so poorly,” Mrs. Kimberly said. “I think it more likely that I am feeling the ill effects of discovering my husband thought so little of me as to leave the vast majority of his estate to a stranger rather than to his devoted wife.”
Edwina hardly knew what to say. While she was certain that Simpkins would find his life vastly improved by the sudden influx of wealth, she realized that his good fortune came at another’s expense. It was obvious that Mrs. Kimberly had had expectations and that they had been thwarted. Her willingness to place Edwina in an awkward conversational position served only to reinforce the idea that she had not been raised as a lady.
“I’m sure it all came as quite a shock to you. It’s no wonder you have not felt quite yourself,” Edwina said.
“I don’t mind telling you, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I have palpitations and dizziness,” Mrs. Kimberly said.
Edwina thought it likely that Mrs. Kimberly didn’t mind telling anyone anything at all. She seemed the sort of woman who habitually unburdened herself to strangers on a train. If it had not been for her feeling of responsibility towards Simpkins, she would have been pleased never to have encountered Mrs. Kimberly again. She was exactly the sort of woman Edwina most liked to avoid. Still, one could not be rude to a guest in one’s own home.
“Perhaps you should avail yourself of the services of our local doctor. I am not one to often suffer ill health myself, but Dr. Nelson is well respected in the village,” Edwina said. In point of fact, Edwina had been less than satisfied with her own dealings with him back in the autumn, but there was no need to besmirch his reputation with an outsider.
“As we will likely be here for a few more days, I will take you up on your suggestion,” Mrs. Kimberly said. “I should like to be feeling well for the return journey.”
“Do you have something special awaiting you when you return home?” Edwina said, picking up her knitting once more.
“I’ve made p
lans to stop in at Tunbridge Wells on my way back to London. I should hate to feel unwell during my visit there.”
Edwina tried not to show any emotion at the name Tunbridge Wells as she wrapped the light blue yarn around her needle. She did not wish to spook her quarry.
“Will that be your first trip to that town?” Edwina asked.
“Yes, it will be. I had planned to visit it with my husband before he became ill, and I decided not to deny myself the pleasure of the journey, even though he is now sadly unable to make it with me,” Mrs. Kimberly said.
“What made you decide that you wish to visit there?” Edwina said. “Was there anything special that called your attention?”
Mrs. Kimberly shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “I was quite eager to visit the rock formations at Wellington Rocks. I have been told that they are not to be missed,” she said.
Edwina found that hard to believe. If Beryl had said that she wished to spend a day scrambling about sightseeing at a famous rock formation, Edwina would not have batted an eyelid. But a woman such as Mrs. Kimberly, with her stiffly coiffed hair and inappropriate fur stoles, did not give off the impression that geology was one of her passions. Edwina could well see her being interested in visiting rocks if they were diamonds, sapphires, or rubies, but other than that, her interest seemed quite implausible.
“I expect you shall find it to be quite lovely. I visited there as a child with one of my aunts. You will certainly want to make the effort to feel well, though, if you are going to be traveling about sightseeing or taking the waters,” Edwina said. “When you call the doctor’s surgery, be sure to mention my name, and I expect they will be able to fit you in easily.”
Mrs. Kimberly gave Edwina a sly smile, leaned forward, and tapped her playfully on the arm. “Now, why would the doctor be so willing to accommodate you, I wonder?” she said. “Have you been up to some sort of mischief here in this stagnant little backwater?”
Edwina felt the back of her neck flush warmly. She wished fleetingly that her hair still fell to her shoulders. There was simply no response that she could think of to such a suggestion. While she did know that some spinsters were known for forming inappropriate attachments to various members of their communities, Edwina had never considered herself to be in danger of someone believing her to be one of them. She was careful to comport herself in such a way as not to draw criticism from her fellow villagers and was startled that an outsider would be so boldly offensive, especially as she had no reason to be.
Murder Cuts the Mustard Page 20