‘You will hardly be surprised to learn that I intend to make my own inquiries into Hilary Casters’ death.’
She spoke quietly, but firmly. She did not look at Cedric, fearful of his expression. She knew he valued her detective abilities more than anyone and in the usual course he would be expecting her to intervene, while he took steps to remove any obstructions put in her way by officialdom. Yet, in this instance, she was conscious that he would heartily disapprove of her involving herself in the case. To place herself at risk of danger in her present condition he would view as more than a little foolhardy. She did not believe, however, that her husband would attempt to dissuade her. He would leave her to make her own choice. Besides, he was aware that any attempt would be futile, that, once her mind was made up, there was nothing he could do to change its course.
‘Why, of course, darling,’ Lavinia was saying. ‘I think that’s a jolly splendid idea. And really, it never occurred to me that you would do anything else. I mean to say, there’s hardly any point being an amateur sleuth if –’
‘I also intend to investigate the theft of the stolen papers,’ said Rose. ‘For it seems to me that it is quite impossible to investigate one case without also investigating the other.’
Chapter Nineteen
It was all very well to decide to carry out her own investigation, but the question, as always, was where exactly to begin. This was the problem that preoccupied Rose’s mind as she dressed, though her thoughts strayed for a moment as she considered which of her maternity garments she should wear. She had been half inclined to wear a wraparound skirt in a small polka dot print, coupled with a loose pleated blouse in the same material. After some deliberation, however, she considered it would be more appropriate to wear a more serviceable dress of dark rayon crepe which folded around her body and fastened at the back. She studied her profile critically in the looking glass. The dress, she concluded, did not conceal her pregnancy nearly as well as the Jane Austen gown had done. Nevertheless, because it tied at the back, the dress presented a smooth front, which helped to camouflage her condition.
She placed a hand protectively over her stomach and wondered whether she was making a grave mistake by undertaking her own investigation. Would it not be more sensible to leave the matter to be dealt with by the relevant authorities? Having only briefly met with the commander and the chief inspector, and exchanged not more than a few words with each, it was difficult for her to share in her husband’s conviction that the investigation into Hilary Casters’ murder would not be properly investigated.
Still, she had given her word, and she meant to abide by it. She sighed and walked across the room, her thoughts returning to the matter in hand. In the usual way of a murder investigation, her first course of action would have been to inspect the scene of the crime. A quick look out of her window, however, informed her that in this case it was quite out of the question. The constable stationed to guard the gardener’s shed in the early hours of the morning was still there looking, she thought, rather tired and irritable. She did not consider he would take too kindly to a request by her to enter and examine the premises.
She withdrew from the window and turned her mind to reflect instead on the various players. She found it difficult to picture them in her imagination without their masks and costumes.
In her advanced stage of pregnancy, if she wished to question Raymond Franklin about the events leading up to the death of Hilary Casters, she would have to summon him to Kingsley House. This, however, she was rather reluctant to do with the commander and the chief inspector in the house, to say nothing of Iris. According to Cedric, Raymond Franklin was currently residing at his club. This, she considered, was a pity for the simple reason that to visit the man at his club in her current condition was not done. Besides, it was highly likely that the club did not permit women visitors. It occurred to her on reflection that her husband might conduct the interview on her behalf. Given that the two men were friends, it was quite likely that Raymond Franklin would be more forthcoming to Cedric, than to herself.
Her thoughts turned next to Iris Franklin. Here, she felt, was a most intriguing character who must surely hold the key to the question that was on everyone’s lips. Why was Hilary Casters dressed in Iris’ masquerade outfit? There were, of course, a number of other questions which required answers. What was Iris doing roaming in the Belvederes’ garden in the early hours of the morning? And what exactly had she meant when she had stated that her husband had tried to kill her?
Rose glanced at her wristwatch, feeling suddenly that she had wasted a great deal of time, for the hands showed it to be a quarter to eleven. It was likely that any moment now the commander and the chief inspector would decide to interview Iris. Indeed, it was even possible that they were with her at this very moment, asking her questions. If anyone had asked, Rose could not have explained why, but she felt a sudden need to interview Iris before she spoke to the officials. She supposed it must have something to do with the woman’s startled cry, the memory of which still echoed in her head, or the desperate way in which Iris had clutched at her arm as if she regarded Rose as her saviour.
For once Lavinia gave very little regard to her appearance as she brushed the attentions of Eliza, her lady’s maid, aside. Instead, she hurriedly dressed herself in the first garment that came to hand, a pale grey, floaty chiffon creation. She opened the door of her bedroom, made her way across the landing and crept down the stairs. On reaching the wide landing, she paused a moment to glance in at the empty ballroom, which was still adorned as it had been for the ball. Last night the room had appeared lavishly and ornately decorated; now in the brightness of the morning light the ornamentation looked ostentatious and a little vulgar.
Lavinia hurried on her way down the stairs until she came to the hall. The door of the small drawing room, she noted, was ajar. Beyond that room lay The Retreat with its concealed entrance. She was tolerably certain that Commander Wrenfield and Chief Inspector Innes had the use of the room for their investigation and, not wishing to alert them to her presence, she hastily removed her shoes and, holding them in one hand, scurried across the hall in stockinged feet.
She came to the servants’ door which Rose had passed through only the night before. She hesitated a moment before going through, unsure what lay beyond. For despite her frequent visits to Kingsley House, and the fact that she had recently set up residence there, she had never before ventured into the servants’ quarters. Like Rose before her, she discovered that the stairs that lay behind were very narrow indeed, and without carpet, which gave them something of a raw and unfinished quality. She approached the stairs cautiously and replaced her shoes. Whereas Rose had climbed up the stairs, Lavinia ventured down them. There was no steadying bannister on which to grip and she took each step gingerly, her hand pressed against the wall as she did so, feeling for all the world as if she were descending into the very bowels of the earth.
She emerged into a tunnel or corridor and made her way along it passing, as she did so, what was presumably the housekeeper’s room on her left and the kitchen and the scullery on her right. What few servants were present in these rooms were too engrossed in their various tasks to notice her. It was not until the corridor broadened out into a hall of sorts that her presence was discovered some time later. For the moment she found herself facing the entrance to two rooms. One was the butler’s pantry and the other, considerably larger in size, was the servants’ hall. It was this latter room that attracted her attention, though her business was in the other room. Nevertheless, she took a step forward and peered into the room which was bustling with chatter. Seated around a substantial, scrubbed table was a large number of servants who were evidently engaged in eating what was for them their midday meal, though it was only a little after a half past eleven. It did not occur to her, as it might have done to anyone else, that the servants had, in fact, been up for hours and that they took their meals at a time to fit in with those of the Belvedere family.
For the first time in her life, Lavinia had the odd sensation that she was trespassing. The surroundings in which she found herself were not her own. They were as foreign to her as were the slum dwellings of the poor. She had encroached on her servants’ domain. It was only here that she could witness them at their ease. How odd it was to see them not as servants there to do her bidding, but as men and women among their peers.
How long she might have stood there watching them, transfixed, she did not know. Certainly at some point she would have slipped away and retraced her steps back to the main part of the house with which she was familiar. In the end, however, the decision was taken from her. The late arrival of one of the footmen in shirtsleeves, who had evidently been smoking and gossiping with a couple of the tradesmen in the courtyard outside, drew attention to her presence. The footman himself had rushed past her with barely a glance, intent on taking his place at the table without his absence being noted. In this, however, he had failed dismally.
Manning, seated at the head of the table, had just embarked on a reproachful speech when he spied Lavinia hovering in the hall. In the middle of informing the unfortunate footman that lunch was served at half past eleven sharp, as well he knew, he faltered. The other servants, intrigued, followed his gaze until every eye was turned to look at Lavinia. There was a scraping sound as chairs were pushed back and all the servants, without exception, rushed to their feet.
Lavinia looked on aghast. An apology formed on her lips. But, before she could utter it, Manning and Mrs Farrier were by her side and she found herself being ushered along to the housekeeper’s room. It was rather a small room, by Lavinia’s standards, but pleasantly furnished with two armchairs and a writing desk. Lavinia, aware suddenly that she had made a dreadful mistake, but still determined on her course of action, said hurriedly:
‘I say, I’m most dreadfully sorry to have disturbed your meal, but I was wondering if I might use the telephone? You do have a telephone extension in your pantry, don’t you, Manning?’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ replied the butler, somewhat taken aback. ‘But if I might suggest the telephone in the hall –’
‘No,’ said Lavinia quickly. ‘You see, if I use the telephone in the hall, there is a chance I might be overheard.’
The rather shocked expressions that met this statement suggested, even to Lavinia, that her staff might require a more detailed explanation.
‘I should absolutely hate it. For the police to listen in to my side of the conversation, I mean. Just between ourselves,’ she lowered her voice so as to suggest that what she was about to impart was being told to them in the strictest confidence, ’I absolutely must telephone Miss Belling and I’m jolly afraid that the inspector, or chief inspector, or whatever he is, will say I can’t because she was here last night and they haven’t spoken to her yet. But really, poor Priscilla … Miss Belling was frightfully upset by what’s happened. I simply must telephone her to make certain she’s all right.’
Lavinia accompanied her speech with the brightest of smiles. It was quite probable that neither of her companions believed her, but she was confident that they knew their place and would not wish to say anything which might be regarded as speaking out of turn. Her assumption was proved correct for, a minute later, Lavinia found herself safely ensconced in the butler’s pantry, the telephone receiver in her hand, and the door very firmly shut.
‘Hello. Priscilla, darling, is that you? It is? Wonderful. I was so dreadfully afraid that someone would have to go and fetch you, and really I can’t be long, because I’m standing in the butler’s pantry.’ She accompanied this statement with a giggle.
‘The butler’s pantry?’ queried Priscilla. If her voice sounded a little breathless, Lavinia did not notice.
‘Yes, darling. You see, I didn’t want our conversation to be overheard. It’s so tiresome if one has to be careful about what one says, don’t you agree?’
‘Yes. Look here, Lavinia, what’s happened? The sergeant wouldn’t tell us very much. He took our names and wouldn’t have told us anything more if someone hadn’t overheard one of your servants talking about a murder. When we put it to him, all he’d say rather grudgingly was that there’d been a death.’
‘Someone was murdered,’ said Lavinia. ‘In the gardener’s shed of all places.’ There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. ‘I say, Priscilla, are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Priscilla, rather weakly. ‘Was … was it anyone I might know?’
‘Well,’ said Lavinia, rather enjoying the role of being the bearer of such news. ‘They thought at first it was Iris Franklin.’
‘Iris!’
‘Yes, but you needn’t worry, darling,’ said Lavinia quickly. ‘It wasn’t her. It was Raymond Franklin’s secretary, Hilary Casters. The one that’s caused all the scandal. Of course one can hardly say it serves her right, but she did rather bring it on herself, don’t you think?’
This speech was met with silence. Lavinia, feeling rather disappointed at her friend’s reaction to this salacious piece of news, found herself speaking more freely than she had originally intended.
‘She was wearing Iris’ costume. It was Raymond Franklin who found her body. Of course, the police believe he killed her by mistake. By that, I mean they think he meant to kill poor Iris. Did I tell you she was found wandering around the garden? She gave me the most awful fright, I can tell you, because of course I thought she was dead. And there she was standing right in front of me, peering in at the window of the gardener’s shed. My dear, I thought I’d seen a ghost! I almost fainted and I’m sure I should have done had Commander Wrenfield not come to my rescue. He was frightfully gallant and looked a peach in his gold mask.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a dreadful pity he’s so old.’
‘Did you say Hilary Casters is dead?’
‘Yes, darling, do keep up. It wasn’t Iris, so you needn’t worry. And I daresay Raymond Franklin will get what’s coming to him. Though Ceddie’s quite convinced he isn’t the murderer, but that’s only because he’s a friend of his.’
‘Hilary Casters was murdered in the gardener’s shed at the bottom of your garden?’
‘Yes,’ said Lavinia brightly. ‘Isn’t it frightful? Ceddie intends to raise it to the ground. I can’t imagine any gardener wishing to plant seeds in it, or whatever they do in a gardener’s shed, can you?’
‘No, I don’t suppose any gardener would.’
‘But that’s not all. I shouldn’t really tell you and they’d all be frightfully angry if they knew, but I simply can’t keep it to myself.’
‘Oh?’ Again Priscilla sounded rather breathless, as if she had been running.
‘You’ll never guess what I’m about to tell you, darling. It’s absolutely too thrilling for words. Hilary Casters was the jewel thief, the one who’s been plaguing the London season!’
There was a long silence at the other end of the line.
‘Priscilla, are you there?’ demanded Lavinia impatiently.
‘Yes,’ Priscilla said in a rather peculiar voice. ‘How do you know Hilary Casters was the jewel thief?’
‘They found a pearl necklace and two pairs of diamond earrings beside her body.’
‘How do they know they didn’t belong to Miss Casters?’
‘Well, one would hardly take two pairs of earrings to a ball. And besides,’ Lavinia added triumphantly, ‘one of the pairs was mine. I was wearing them earlier in the evening. They pinched my ears terribly so I took them out. I put them in a little dish beside the clock on the mantelpiece. It never occurred to me that anyone would think to steal them.’
‘How shocking. But it’s wonderful they’ve been found. I’m awfully glad you telephoned, but I’m afraid I have to go.’
‘Oh, but I haven’t told you the reason why I telephoned,’ cried Lavinia.
‘Wasn’t it to tell me about the murder and … and about the theft?’
‘Well, of course, but it was also to ask you something e
lse. Something very particular. I say, Priscilla, are you all right? You sound a little muffled.’
‘Yes,’ said Priscilla. ‘What is it? What is it you wanted to ask me?’
‘Well,’ said Lavinia, Cedric’s words about her behaving like a child echoing in her head, ‘I’d be awfully grateful if you didn’t tell the police, or Ceddie come to that, about our little joke. There really isn’t any need and, besides, I’m afraid they’d think it was rather childish.’
‘All right. I won’t breathe a word about it. After all, it can’t possibly have any bearing on the murder, can it?’
Chapter Twenty
Although her telephone conversation with Lavinia had ended some minutes earlier, Priscilla still stood in the hall clutching the receiver very tightly in her hands. She felt giddy and breathless all at once and was most awfully afraid that she was going to faint. Yet she was conscious also of the need to keep her head. Thank goodness Lavinia was no longer on the other end of the line. She wondered if her friend had been able to tell that her hands had been shaking all the while they had been speaking on the telephone.
A faint noise from the sitting room brought her to her senses. It was then that she became aware she was still cradling the receiver. She had forgotten she was holding it, so immersed had she been in her own private thoughts. She quickly hung it up and took a deep breath. As she did so, she chanced to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the hall mirror. Her dark complexion looked a little pale, but otherwise only her eyes gave her away by their rather furtive expression.
She walked into the sitting room and found Daniel in very much the same position as she had left him some hours earlier, propped up in one of the glazed chintz armchairs, his head thrown back and resting on a cushion. She had wrapped a blanket around him and taken off his shoes. His jacket lay draped over the other armchair, his mask and hat, with its ridiculous ostrich feather, discarded on the floor by his feet.
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 18