It was rather cold in the room and she pulled her dressing gown more tightly about her, wishing she had stopped to put on a pair of slippers before she had gone to answer the telephone. She walked over to the occupied armchair and regarded her brother’s sleeping form. She realised it had been the sound of his breathing that she had heard in the hall, which at intervals teetered on the edge of becoming a snore.
When she had entered the room, her intention had been to waken him immediately. Indeed, she had envisaged taking him by the shoulders and shaking him almost roughly. It was only now when she saw him in repose, the peaceful expression on his face, that she hesitated. In sleep he looked unbearably young, his features untroubled by the worries that haunted him during his waking hours. She was reminded, as always, of their childhood. If only, she thought bitterly, she could peel back the years. If she had watched him more closely, she might have … Her train of thought stopped as abruptly as it had begun. It didn’t do any good to dwell on the past. She must waken him.
‘Daniel, wake up.’
She spoke briskly and louder than was strictly necessary, watching as her brother turned his head slowly in her direction, opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. A look of bewilderment fleetingly crossed his face before he caught sight of Priscilla and his surroundings. He smiled.
‘Hello? I say, did I fall asleep in this chair? You should have woken me. What will your maid think when she discovers me here?’ He laughed. ‘She’ll think I’m some waif or stray you found on your way home.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Priscilla, a little breathless, ‘Agnes lives out and, anyway, she doesn’t do for me on Sundays.’
Priscilla removed her brother’s dinner jacket from the other armchair and sat down, drawing her legs up underneath her so that her freezing toes were covered by the material of her dressing gown. She sat regarding her brother for a moment, her elbow propped on the arm of the armchair, her head slightly on one side, supported by her hand.
‘That was Lady Lavinia on the telephone,’ she said, watching Daniel’s face closely for any reaction.
‘Oh?’
To her surprise, he sounded almost indifferent. Next moment he started, as if it had taken a moment for her words to register. He sat up sharply and leaned forward, the cushion tumbling on to the ground.
‘Lady Lavinia? I say, did she tell you anything about the death?’
‘Yes. That guest was quite right. There was a … a death.’
‘Well, we knew that. The sergeant confirmed as much at the time.’
‘Someone was murdered, Daniel,’ Priscilla said quietly, speaking very slowly. ‘They found the body in the gardener’s shed.’
‘Murdered? Good heavens!’ exclaimed her brother, looking interested, ‘Who was it? Anyone we know?’
‘They thought at first it was Iris Franklin, you know, the heiress?’
‘Did they, indeed! That would have made quite a story. One can quite imagine the lurid headlines.’
Priscilla wished desperately that he would not be facetious. It occurred to her to wonder whether his complacency was merely an act.
‘It wasn’t Mrs Franklin.’
‘No, I rather gathered that.’ Something in her voice caught his attention and he said sharply. ‘Who was murdered? Do you know?’
‘Her husband’s secretary.’
‘Her husband’s secretary? Not Hilary? Not Hilary Casters?’ Daniel jumped up from his chair, the blanket joining the cushion on the floor, all sign of flippancy gone. He glared at her, his bottom lip trembling. ‘I don’t believe you!’ His voice had risen to a dangerous level.
Priscilla was on her feet too, her cold toes quite forgotten. She was aware that her heart was beating very fast. It seemed to her incredible now, but for a brief moment during her telephone conversation with Lavinia she had experienced a sense of relief. It had been quickly followed by fear. She had thought at the time how awfully difficult it was to reconcile those two very different and conflicting emotions, to know which one to surrender, and which one should dominate. Now fear pervaded the room and she had the odd sensation that she was treading along a path of egg shells, only some of which were of her own making.
She stared at Daniel’s ashen face, aware that she had spoken too abruptly. A part of her had ached to know the worst and yet another part had wanted to put him on his guard. She took a few tentative steps towards him, stretching out her hand as if to touch his arm. She did not get the chance to do so because he flung her hand away from him as if he found the very gesture hateful. Next moment he was striding about the room like some restless animal. She watched him walk, making no attempt to stop him, knowing that his pacing would eventually stop of its own accord.
At last he positioned himself in front of the fireplace, his back to her and his head lowered, his fists resting on the mantlepiece. He took a few minutes to compose himself. When he turned around to face her, he appeared to be in control of his features, which were set in a blank but rigid expression. His voice, however, wavered a little when he spoke.
‘Is … is it really Hilary? The murdered woman, is it really her?’
‘Forgive me, Daniel, darling. I shouldn’t have spoken so bluntly. I had forgotten you were acquainted with Miss Casters. It’s a dreadful shock for you to hear she’s dead and in such a manner.’
‘Acquainted with her? Is that all you think she was to me?’ muttered her brother, a note of bitterness in his voice.
‘I suppose I knew you were a little fond of her,’ Priscilla replied cautiously.
‘It was more than that. I was half way to being in love with her. I … I was in love with her.’
‘Oh Daniel!’ Priscilla felt her own heart sinking at her brother’s declaration, for it seemed to her that all her worst fears had been realised.
‘Oh, I won’t pretend she felt the same way about me. I daresay I meant very little to her other than providing a mild distraction. She was in love with that fellow, Franklin, of course. It was dashed unfortunate for her that he happened to be married. I tell you,’ he added with a savage passion, ‘when I find out who killed her, I’ll –’
‘The police think Raymond Franklin did it. Apparently it was he who found her body,’ Priscilla said, knowing that the worst, from her brother’s perspective, was yet to come.
‘Franklin? Wait till I get my hands on the fellow, I’ll tear–’
‘Oh Daniel, do be quiet. The police think he mistook Hilary Casters for Iris because she was wearing Iris’ costume. Lavinia didn’t mention it, but as well as the gown I suppose she must also have been wearing Iris’ mask and wig.’
Daniel stared at her blindly.
‘What do you mean?
She lowered her voice a little and spoke more slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.
‘They are saying Raymond Franklin meant to kill his wife but killed Hilary Casters by mistake.’
‘What? Good lord!’
Daniel sank into the nearest armchair and held his head in his hands. It was a moment or two before he spoke.
‘What was she doing there at the ball?’ he mumbled, more to himself than to his sister, his head still in his hands. ‘That’s what I want to know. She didn’t tell me she was going.’
‘That’s not all.’
Priscilla seized her brother by both arms. The sudden movement made him raise his head and look at her. She paused a moment before continuing, determined to wait until she had his full attention.
‘Listen to me very carefully, Daniel. They are saying Hilary Casters was the jewel thief, the one that has been terrorising the London season.’
‘What?’
‘Apparently they found a pearl necklace and two pairs of diamond earrings beside her body.’
‘The jewel thief? What utter rot! How dare they?’
Again he disentangled himself from her grasp and resumed his pacing of the room.
‘They’ve no right to say such a thing,’ he said, with impassioned feeling. ‘Why,
Hilary wouldn’t steal a sweet let alone a piece of jewellery.’
Priscilla opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it, her eyes all the while following her brother on his progress around the room.
‘Besides,’ said Daniel suddenly, his face brightening a trifle, ‘Hilary couldn’t possibly have been the jewel thief. She would have had to attend the other debutante balls, wouldn’t she? Well, she could hardly have done that, could she? I mean to say, it’s all very well them saying that she was pretending to be Iris at a masquerade ball, but she could hardly have carried it off at the usual sort of balls, could she? Iris Franklin and she didn’t look a bit alike and Hilary would hardly have received an invitation to dances in her own right, would she? And people would have commented on it if the poor girl had gone as anyone’s partner, what with the frightful insinuations that have been written about her in the newspapers.’
‘Yes. But she needn’t have attended the balls herself. She might have had an accomplice,’ said Priscilla. ‘Perhaps in the ordinary course her role was to dispose of the stolen jewellery, not steal it. That might have been someone else’s task.’
‘You mean someone who was commonly invited to attend debutante balls and dances?’ said Daniel, rather scornfully. ‘Don’t you think you are being a little far-fetched, darling? You’ll be telling me next that Iris Franklin was Hilary’s accomplice!’
‘Hardly,’ Priscilla said, her tone suddenly becoming deadly serious. ‘Iris Franklin is an heiress. She would hardly have needed to resort to theft.’
‘Then what are you saying?’ demanded Daniel, though he saw the answer in his sister’s face as clearly as if she had said the words aloud. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘You think I’m the jewel thief, don’t you? You think I’m the jewel thief and Hilary Casters was my accomplice! I showed a bit of interest in that newspaper article and made some flippant remark and now you think me guilty of a series of crimes.’
‘Your gambling debts,’ said Priscilla, somewhat desperately. ‘You said yourself that you had got in with a bad crowd.’
‘So in order to get myself out of Queer Street I resorted to theft, is that the general idea?’
‘Yes,’ Priscilla said, a little weakly. ‘No. Oh, I don’t know. Of course I don’t want to believe –’
‘Well, if you think I’ll remain here to be insulted,’ Daniel scowled, gathering up his hat and mask and pausing a moment to put on his boots, ‘you don’t know me very well. Really, Priscilla, I expected better of you. I daresay I might not be much of a fellow but –’
‘Oh, do be quiet,’ cried his sister. ‘I don’t care a fig if you’re the jewel thief, not really. But don’t you see? I’m awfully afraid that the police might think it gives you a frightfully good motive. If there had been a disagreement and you had squabbled –’
‘Oh, yes, I see all right,’ said Daniel, glaring at her. ‘But it isn’t the police I need worry about; it’s you. You’ve quite convinced yourself that I’m the murderer.’
Chapter Twenty-one
‘Where have you been?’ Rose asked Lavinia curiously, encountering her friend in the hall. ‘I’ve been looking all over the house for you.’
‘I went for a walk,’ Lavinia replied, a little off hand, walking briskly away from the servants’ door, ‘I fancied a breath of fresh air and one can hardly get that in the garden, can one?’
‘What did you do with your hat and gloves? They’re not on the hall table.’
Rose meant little by the question, in fact she was a little surprised by her own inquisitiveness. Lavinia, meanwhile, was indignant.
‘Good heavens, Rose, why must you ask me all these questions? Does it matter what I did with them? I went out without a hat and I daresay I put my gloves down somewhere with my handbag. I expect they’re in the dining room. Shall I get them for you so you may inspect them?’
‘No, of course not.’
Rose now regarded her sister-in-law with a degree of interest, certain she was lying. If nothing else, the idea that Lavinia would venture out of doors without a hat was quite unthinkable. She was tempted to pursue the matter further, but thought better of it. Lavinia in her present mood, she felt certain, would be uncooperative if she were to appear any more inquisitive. Instead, she said:
‘I should like to speak with Mrs Franklin. Do you know if she is awake?’
‘I expect she is,’ replied Lavinia, relaxing a little. ‘I know if I was Iris, I’d hardly have been able to sleep a wink, no matter what sedative the doctor gave me. Would you like me to accompany you? I mean to say, Iris is a particular friend of mine. Oh, do say you would?’
‘Very well. But you must leave it to me to ask the questions.’
They climbed the staircase and, on reaching the second floor, took the corridor which led to the guest bedrooms. Iris Franklin had been installed in the principal room. Rather to their surprise, the door was opened to them by a middle-aged servant dressed in a plain frock of black silk, whom neither of them recognised.
‘Oh, begging your pardon, your ladyships,’ said the woman, appearing somewhat flustered on recognising her visitors. She curtsied a little awkwardly, as if she were not very practiced in the art. She smoothed down her dress and wrung her hands together.
‘I thought as how you were Mrs Farrier, her who’s been ever so kind to my mistress. My name is Crabbe, your ladyships. I’m Mrs Franklin’s lady’s maid. Came here this morning, I did. That worried I was, when my mistress didn’t come home, nor the master neither, come to that,’ she added as if the whereabouts of Raymond Franklin had been something of an afterthought. ‘Sat up all night, I did, and then telephoned at nine o’clock this morning, what I regard to be a decent hour after a ball is held in a residence. Mr Manning, he told me as how Mrs Franklin had been taken ill. And, like I said, I came here as soon as I could and have been sitting with my mistress ever since.’
‘That was very good of you,’ said Rose kindly. ‘Did Manning tell you what had happened?’
‘No, I can’t say he did, your ladyship. He just told me as how my mistress had been taken ill and the doctor had given her something to make her sleep. I can’t say I was very surprised being as my mistress is given to a bit of ill-health. An affliction of the nerves, that’s what I call it, on account of her not being very strong.’ An anxious expression crossed the woman’s face. ‘But while I’ve been sitting here I got to wondering whether it was worse than what Mr Manning said because there was a fair bit of whispering from the younger servants when I went down to the kitchen to heat up a bit of milk. Not that I’d like you to think Mr Manning stood for it mind, because he didn’t. He told them to get on with their work and stop gossiping. But when I asked him to tell me what had happened, precise like, he wouldn’t and then I got to worrying.’ She took a step forward. ‘Will you tell me, your ladyship, what happened? I’m not one to pry, but I think how it’s best as I know. Best for my mistress, I mean. Then I can look after her proper.’
‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I think you are quite right. I shall tell you. But first will you inform me whether your mistress is awake?’
Miss Crabbe turned her head so that she could look back into the room.
‘She’s still sleeping. Ever so peaceful, she looks.’
‘Good,’ said Rose, more to herself than to her two companions. For it had occurred to her that it might prove very useful to speak to the lady’s maid before she interviewed her mistress. ‘Shall we go into this room?’ She indicated with her hand the bedroom opposite. ‘We shan’t be disturbed.’
Miss Crabbe appeared surprisingly hesitant and Rose added:
‘We can hardly have our conversation out here on the landing.’
‘No, of course not, your ladyship, that wouldn’t be proper. But it’s just that I don’t like to leave my mistress by herself, not when she’s been so poorly, like.’
‘Of course not. But you needn’t worry. Lady Lavinia will sit with her, won’t you?’ Rose said, looking pointedly at her
friend. Lavinia did not answer other than to make a face as soon as Miss Crabbe’s back was turned. With something akin to ill-grace, she disappeared into the room occupied by Iris while Rose ushered Miss Crabbe into the empty bedroom.
‘Please take a seat, Miss Crabbe.’
‘I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind, your ladyship. Though you’ll want to sit of course, m’lady.’ The lady’s maid’s eyes strayed towards Rose’s stomach.
‘As you wish,’ replied Rose. She did not sit herself, however, but remained standing, feeling it would encourage her companion to speak if they remained at the same level. ‘I shall tell you what happened and then I’d be grateful if you would answer a few questions.’
The lady’s maid looked at her inquisitively.
‘I’m afraid you must prepare yourself for a shock,’ said Rose.
Rose’s natural inclination had been to approach the subject tentatively, but she was painfully aware that any moment now Iris might wake up and the commander and the chief inspector decide to interview her before she, herself, had an opportunity to speak with her. Therefore, with some reservations, she came straight to the point.
‘There has been a murder here at Kingsley House. It occurred during our masquerade ball.’
‘A murder?’ The servant looked both aghast and confused in equal measure.
‘Yes,’ said Rose, ploughing on, mindful of the need for haste. ‘It happened outside in the gardener’s shed. It’s the building at the bottom of the garden.’
Miss Crabbe gave an anguished cry and her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘My poor mistress,’ she wailed.
‘Your mistress is all right,’ Rose said gently, watching the woman closely. ‘But I take it you are familiar with the premises to which I am referring?’
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 19