‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the chief inspector, ‘are those what I think they are?’
‘A pearl necklace and four diamond earrings,’ said the sergeant triumphantly, holding them out to him for inspection.
‘Must be worth a pretty penny, I’d say,’ Chief Inspector Innes remarked, examining each piece in turn. ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said looking up, a grin spreading across his face, ‘it seems we’ve solved one mystery, at least. Unless I am much mistaken, we now know the identity of the jewel thief who’s been plaguing the London season.’
Chapter Seventeen
This time when she awoke, Rose felt as if she had not been asleep at all, so vivid and disturbing had been her dreams. One in particular stuck in her mind long after she had wakened. It was one involving Iris Franklin trampling through the garden in the dark, banging on the door of the gardener’s shed for all she was worth, her knuckles red and bloodied with the effort. She seemed to be a very long time about her task and, just as she appeared on the verge of admitting defeat, the door had swung open suddenly, more of its own accord rather than as a result of the woman’s efforts. Startled, Iris had hesitated before entering, one foot on the threshold, the other still on the path.
Rose felt herself rush forward, desperate to warn Iris of the danger that awaited her. She found herself pushing aside thorn bushes, fir trees and great trails of ivy, all of which had sprung up suddenly in her path much in the manner of an enchanted forest. Eventually Iris was in her sight again and, in her dream, Rose stretched out her arms to clutch at the woman’s gown, only to realise that her fingers had become withered and gnarled like those of a witch. Indeed, they more resembled claws than fingers as she tried to snatch at the brilliant blue material of Iris’ dress, snagging and ripping a length of it to ribbons. As Rose stared at the ruined lump of drapery in her hand, the material became satin, which slipped through her fingers like sand. Again and again she persevered to hold it but, try as she might, she was unable to gain purchase on the smooth fabric. She had only one option left and that was speech. At that moment a howling wind sprang up and whipped at the sides of the shed as if the very elements were determined to thwart her. The wood of the shed rattled and creaked in agonised protest and she was aware now of the need to shout in order to be heard. Words formed in her throat but, when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She felt herself choking; indeed, she had difficulty breathing.
Meanwhile, Iris, seemingly oblivious to Rose’s various efforts, stepped inside the gardener’s shed. The next moment, Rose found herself standing beside her. To her surprise, the scene that greeted them was far from alarming. For the shed was cosily lit by candles and a fire burned brightly in the grate. It resembled more a tiny cottage than a shed. A table had been pushed against one wall and was covered with a starched linen cloth and laid for tea. A good tea by the look of it, considering the amount of porcelain plates and polished cutlery on display. Gingerbread men, currant buns, iced biscuits and fancy cakes hung gaily from the ceiling. Iris put out a hand as if she meant to taste them. The moment she touched a pastry there was a loud clap of thunder and the candles were extinguished. The fire died abruptly in the grate. In the space of a few seconds the shed had become dark and frightening. Iris turned and stared reproachfully at Rose, as if it were all the girl’s fault. As Rose made to speak, the mask fell from the woman’s face. Rose realised then she had made a mistake because it was not Iris Franklin at all. The face belonged to someone else entirely. The thought struck her that the costume was all wrong because how could it be Lavinia?
‘I fooled you!’ Lavinia cried, laughing at the look of astonishment on Rose’s face. ‘Surely, darling, you never believed for a moment that any of it was real? It’s all just a wonderful game. I told you we would have a fairy tale ball, didn’t I?’
Rose sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She was just wondering whether everything had been no more than an awful dream when the events of the ball came flooding back to her with a dreadful clarity. A quick glance at the window told her it was morning. In fact the sun was doing its best to peep through the gaps in the curtains. She fumbled on the bedside table for her wristwatch. It shocked her to discover it was almost ten o’clock. Yet strangely no one had seen fit to waken her. Her thoughts flew instantly to Cedric, and then to her lady’s maid. Where was Edna with her breakfast tray? The house might have been quite empty for all the noise she heard, she the last occupant, abandoned and alone …
She shook her head and tried to rid herself of such a ridiculous notion, conscious that her thoughts were coloured by the remnants of her unsettling dream, which still haunted her. She sighed and scolded herself for being fanciful. For if she strained her ears she could hear the distant sounds of the house. And was that not Edna’s footsteps she could detect coming across the landing? The girl’s pace was necessarily slow because she had to balance the tray of breakfast things.
As if to confirm her suspicions, her lady’s maid opened the door skilfully with her elbow and deposited the loaded tray hastily on to the top of a stool, glad to be rid of her burden before she dropped or spilt anything. The next minute, she had rushed to open the curtains. The sunlight filtered in, lighting up the room.
‘Oh, I’m awful pleased as how you’re awake, miss,’ Edna said, turning to regard her mistress. ‘I told Miss Farrier as how you would be. Least how you’d want to be woken, what with a murder having happened in the house. Well, in the garden, if you want to be exact. But it’s still shocking, ain’t it, miss?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Rose, with feeling. ‘Edna, where is Lord Belvedere?’
‘Oh, the master’s with the policemen, your ladyship,’ replied her lady’s maid, remembering this time to address her mistress correctly. ‘He stayed up so as to have a word with them after you went to bed and he said as how they weren’t to talk to you no more till you’d had a rest. Quite strict about it, he was, according to Mr Manning, and quite right too, if you ask me. Not that they thought very much of that, the policemen, what with you having seen Mrs Franklin and had a word with her and all. But his lordship was ever so firm.’
‘Are you saying Lord Belvedere has not been to bed?’ asked Rose, clearly shocked.
‘Oh, he has, miss, you needn’t fret. He snatched a few hours after the policemen left before they came back afresh this morning to start their investigating. His lordship slept in his dressing room so as not to wake you. Awful considerate of him. Of course, when I said the policemen left, I didn’t mean all of them. One of the constables was left to guard the gardener’s shed and another positioned himself by the front door, much to the annoyance of Mr Manning. The police told us as how we weren’t to touch anything, so all the remnants of the ball are still downstairs, even the food. Awful cross about it, Mrs Farrier is. She says it’s an absolute disgrace to leave the house in such a state and there’s no need anyway, seeing as how the murder took place in the garden, not the house.’
‘And the guests?’
‘Oh, they’ve all gone. The policemen took their names and let them leave. Nothing else they could do really, what with it being so late, or early, depending on how you want to look at it. And some of ’em being a little the worse for drink, if you don’t mind me saying. Still, they could hardly have expected anything else, what with it being a ball and all. Not that I think very much of that inspector chap. He’s got what my mother would call a ferrety face.’
‘Do you know his name?’ asked Rose, wondering if he was one of the policemen she had encountered during her previous investigations.
‘He’s a Chief Inspector Innes, so Mr Manning says. It’s a pity because, though he’s from Scotland Yard, he’s not a patch on Inspector Deacon.’ Rose started at mention of that name, unaware that the inspector had made such a favourable impression on her maid.
‘I was rather hoping it’d be him as came because likely as not he’d have brought Sergeant Lane with him.’ Edna explained and then stopped abruptly, her cheeks reddening. ‘Stil
l, I suppose it could be worse,’ she added quickly, arranging Rose’s pillows for her. ‘Now, I daresay you don’t fancy eating much, not after what’s happened. But you’ve got to force yourself and think of the baby, as my mother would say.’
‘Your mother says a great deal, Edna,’ Rose said, laughing in spite of herself, ‘not that she isn’t right. And, as it happens, I’ve got rather an appetite.’ She took a mouthful of toast, on which was spread butter and marmalade. ‘I say, this tastes jolly good.’
Edna beamed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Rose was reminded, as always, how young the girl was. She stretched forward and touched her maid’s hand.
‘How are you, Edna? And how are the rest of the staff? Are they bearing up all right?’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Edna. ‘Though it’s awful good of you to ask. But it isn’t as if it hasn’t happened before. In fact, I overheard Mrs Farrier tell Mr Manning it’s becoming something of a habit.’
‘It is rather,’ agreed Rose, mournfully.
She closed her eyes for a moment, refusing to let her mind stray. For she would not allow herself to dwell on the various murders that had occurred at their main residence, Sedgwick Court. The time would come soon enough when she would, and wonder, as she often did, if murder had a peculiar fascination with her. Was it attracted to her? Was that why it always seemed to find her? She gave a heartfelt sigh, aware that she must return to consider the present. That another murder should occur at one of the Belvederes’ residences was almost too awful to contemplate. Somehow, it seemed worse that it should have happened at a ball, of all things. It was then that she thought of Lavinia and all the planning and effort the girl had made to ensure that her party was a success. She gave a shudder and resolved to go to her as soon as she had finished breakfast.
‘Of course,’ Edna was saying, ‘some of the new maids Mrs Farrier got through the agency haven’t been in a situation before where there’s been policemen in the house, let alone in one where there’s been a murder. One or two of ’em are a little frightened and saying as how they’re going to leave. And a couple of the others are as excited as punch and saying as how they are going to get their photographs in the papers. Mrs Farrier’s put them straight on that; gave them short shrift, she did. Said as how, if they did, they could pack their bags and leave, ’cause there’d be no job for them here at Kingsley House.’
Rose frowned. She had not given any thought to the newspapers. Only now did it dawn on her that shortly, if not already, there would be a group of pressmen lined up in the lane beyond the garden. They would be craning their necks to peer over the wall to try to get a glimpse of the gardener’s shed. They might also be queuing up in the street outside, ready to pounce the minute the front door was opened. She did not think for a second that they would have any scruples about waylaying the servants and tradesmen on the basement steps as they went about their business. She was reminded of the fact they were in London, not in the country, and that it was the middle of the season. The Belvederes’ masquerade ball had been a much publicised affair, eagerly awaited and anticipated as a good source of tattle for the scandalmongers; that a murder should have occurred at the event merely added greater scope for salacious gossip. She imagined the lurid headlines that would appear, and shuddered.
She was just finishing her breakfast when Cedric appeared. Rose was immediately taken aback by his rather haggard appearance. In the space of a few hours he seemed to have aged considerably. For, beneath his tan, his skin was pale and strained and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Indeed, he seemed to carry with him an air of utter weariness and melancholy, which lightened a little at the sight of his wife. He slumped down beside her on the bed and took her hand in his. It was a moment before either of them spoke.
‘Are you all right?’ Cedric said at last.
‘I rather think it should be me asking you that,’ Rose said quietly, with a rueful smile. With her hand she traced the newly formed lines on his face, her fingers travelling over his lips. ‘Have you slept at all? Edna told me you’d snatched a few hours.’
‘I tried to sleep, of course, but really I hardly slept a wink. I simply couldn’t get the image out of my mind of –’
‘Of the dead woman? Miss Casters?’ Rose asked quietly. ‘Was it very awful?’
‘Yes,’ Cedric said the word slowly. ‘I’ve seen more than my fair share of dead bodies, but there was something particularly ghastly about this one.’
‘Oh?’
‘There was something rather grotesque about it,’ Cedric sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. ‘Of course, there usually is, but it seemed worse. I’m not putting it very well, but I suppose it was the fact that she was in costume and wearing a mask and that ridiculous wig. It was almost as frightful as Lavinia’s, which is saying a great deal. It took Wrenfield an age to remove it; you’d have thought it was stuck on with glue rather than a few hair pins.’
‘Wrenfield? Wasn’t that the man who was wearing the gold mask? He didn’t introduce himself to me when we met on the terrace but Hallam happened to mention his name. Is he a policeman?’
‘He certainly acts as if he were,’ Cedric replied dryly, chuckling in spite of himself. ‘But, no, he’s not a policeman as such, just a man used to running the show.’
Rose raised her eyebrows and looked at him enquiringly. Cedric bent forward and lowered his voice. There was little need to do so for, except for themselves, the room was quite empty.
‘I daresay Wrenfield will have my guts for garters for what I’m about to tell you. He didn’t say as much, but I rather got the impression he was speaking in confidence. Still, Franklin knows who he is and, more to the point, what he was doing at the ball. Though, given what occurred afterwards, I daresay Wrenfield rather wishes he’d been a good deal less forthcoming.’
‘Darling, you are talking in the most frightful riddles.’
‘I am, aren’t I? Well, here goes. Commander Wrenfield happens to be none other than the head of this country’s Secret Service.’
‘Gosh.’ Rose’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘Rather an eminent and formidable man who, as it turns out, also happens to be Hallam Atherton’s employer. By some ruse or other our Commander Wrenfield managed to get himself invited to our ball. Hallam was remarkably evasive on the subject, which rather leads me to suppose he was instrumental in acquiring the invitations on his employer’s behalf.’
‘Why should Commander Wrenfield have wished to attend our masquerade ball?’
‘Ah, now we’re coming to the crux of the matter,’ said Cedric, putting an arm around his wife, who nestled into him. ‘I daresay in the ordinary course, masquerade balls are not really in the commander’s line. But you see, darling, they do provide one with an ideal setting in which to keep a clandestine appointment.’
‘Are you saying the commander arranged to meet someone here, in this house?’
‘Yes. A rather volatile sort of chap with a foreign accent. He and Wrenfield took great care to arrive separately and in disguise. You see, it was very important that neither party should be recognised. I gather from Wrenfield that his companion is quite a brave little fellow in his own way. By keeping his appointment with the commander, he was not only doing a great service to this country, but also placing himself in considerable danger. I suppose that is why they chose to meet in what might be considered to be a concealed room.’
‘The Retreat!’ exclaimed Rose. ‘That explains what Hallam was doing standing behind the folded screen. It seemed jolly odd at the time, but, of course, he was on guard.’ She laughed, in spite of herself. ‘He was awfully put out when Lavinia asked him what he was up to.’
‘His role was to prevent anyone from going into The Retreat.’ Cedric gave a wry smile. ‘It was just his bad luck that I happened to choose last night to show Raymond Franklin the Belvedere antiquities.’
He proceeded to give his wife a comprehensive account of what had occurred, ending with the theft of the se
cret documents.
‘I believe they relate to some sort of invention or other of the utmost importance. Wrenfield is being awfully tight-lipped about it, but anyone can see he’s frightfully cut up about what’s happened. And as for the little foreign fellow, well, he was quite beside himself with worry. You see, if nothing else, it shows that someone knew what he was up to,’ continued Cedric. ‘He’s in hiding now, poor fellow.’
‘And Commander Wrenfield’s quite certain that the thief was this man wearing the gold cravat and scarlet waistcoat?’ said Rose.
‘Yes. That’s to say, he is tolerably certain, and so am I. For one thing, the chap took considerable pains to hide his face from view. Who else would attend a ball wearing a mask that prevented the wearer from eating and drinking; it doesn’t make any sense.’
‘A mask that covered his entire face?’ said Rose. ‘Why, I do believe I saw him myself. Yes, of course! It was when I was going up for a lie down. It was Edna’s idea that I should, and rather a good one, as it happens.’ She paused a moment to stroke her stomach. ‘We were crossing the hall when Edna spotted him. She went so far as to point him out to me because she thought he looked a bit creepy.’
‘What time was that?’ Cedric said quickly.
Rose thought a moment before answering.
‘I think it was about half past one,’ she said. ‘I remember Edna commented on the time. She said it was either just before half past one, or a little after. I can’t remember which.’
‘Never mind. I doubt a few minutes either way makes much difference. What is important is that our thief was seen in the vicinity of the small drawing room shortly before the theft. Now, if I remember rightly, Franklin and I made our way to The Retreat about two o’clock. I suppose our thief must have been in the buffet room when we went behind the folding screen. It’s quite possible that he saw us. He must have looked a trifle odd just standing there in the small drawing room. He wouldn’t have been able to eat or drink anything, on account of his mask.
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 16