The young man stepped forward.
‘How do you do, Lady Belvedere?’
Rose started, for though she did not think she had ever met the young man before, his voice was at once familiar to her.
‘Tell me, Mr Belling, were you wearing a felt hat with an ostrich feather?’
‘Weren’t all the men?’ said Lavinia, somewhat dismissively. ‘Now, shall we take tea in the small drawing room? It may be a little crowded,’ here she paused to stare pointedly at Raymond Franklin, ‘but I daresay it will do as well as any other room and I don’t care to take tea out on the terrace.’
‘Excuse me, m’lady.’
Rose jumped, for Manning had suddenly appeared at her shoulder. ‘Mrs Franklin’s lady’s maid has just telephoned,’ said the butler, drawing her aside. ‘She would be much obliged if she could have another word with you.’
Though the butler had lowered his voice to speak to her, his speech had unfortunately coincided with a lull in the general conversation so that everyone present heard his next words almost as clearly as if he had shouted them.
‘Miss Crabbe asked me to tell you she’d remembered something that might be important, though she didn’t know how it could be, seeing as it didn’t make any sense. Those were her exact words, m’lady, because I made her repeat them to me,’ continued Manning, apparently quite oblivious to the fact that he had an avid audience.
As the butler proceeded to give Rose the gist of the telephone conversation, she was all too aware that every face was turned in their direction. She realised afterwards that even then she had been filled by a sense of danger and hardly heard Manning’s next words.
‘She said she’d call on you this evening if it were convenient, but that she couldn’t wait for an answer as she was telephoning from the hall of Sycamore House and must be quick. Her mistress doesn’t hold with the servants using the family’s telephone, you see.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Miss Crabbe fetched her finest hat from its place on the shelf in the old wooden wardrobe that stood in her room, together with her coat and the delicate pair of hand crocheted gloves her niece had given her for Christmas, which she kept for best.
The lady’s maid put on the hastily assembled garments and regarded her reflection critically in the looking glass.
‘It may look a bit faded,’ she remarked to herself in the mirror, referring to her hat, ‘but at least I look respectable. Though I admit my coat’s seen better days. It’s got one or two darns but they ain’t noticeable, not unless you look closely, and who’s likely to do that? Anyhow, I have nothing to be ashamed of when the footman takes my hat and coat from me and, as for her ladyship, it won’t be the cut of my clothes that she’ll be interested in, but what I have to tell her!’
Having concluded the matter of what to wear to her satisfaction, Miss Crabbe glanced out of the window, noting with some displeasure that dusk was fast approaching. She had intended to set off for Kingsley House a good deal earlier, but what with the mistress being in such an odd, fastidious mood, where nothing she did for her was quite right, her duties had seemed more onerous and taken more time to complete than was usual. It weren’t a bit like her mistress to be all pernickety, though of course she’d known the reason for it. Didn’t want to be left alone as likely as not, and who could blame her? Rattling around in that grand house of hers with nothing for company but a house full of servants. The mistress had wanted her to sit with her to do her sewing. Not that she’d given her much peace to get on with her work. ‘Crabbe, read to me’ or ‘Crabbe go and fetch my shawl from my dressing room, the black one with the little embroidered flowers.’ The instructions were endless. Fidgety, that’s what the mistress was, making her feel like a child’s yoyo, given this task and that so that she hadn’t known if she was coming or going.
She had been beginning to fear that she wouldn’t have an opportunity to call on Lady Belvedere that evening after all. For at one point it looked as if she would be obliged to remain at her mistress’ beck and call all night. There was a part of her that was wondering if her mistress wasn’t doing it out of spite. For likely as not one of the other servants had told her how they’d caught her using the telephone in the hall, acting as if she owned the place. The mistress wouldn’t have liked that one little bit, for everyone knew she didn’t hold with servants taking liberties.
‘Well,’ said Miss Crabbe aloud, ‘that’s as maybe, but I’m going to call on Lady Belvedere one way or t’other. And if it means I have to pretend I’m dashing out to post an urgent letter and will be back in a few minutes, when in fact it will be a good while longer, so be it. I’ll deal with the mistress’ ire in the morning after we’ve both had a good night’s sleep.’
The lady’s maid slipped out of the house stealthily, managing not to arouse the curiosity of the other staff. With that feat accomplished, she set off on her journey on foot, maintaining a brisk pace. After a quarter of an hour of energetic walking, it occurred to her that it might have been more advisable to have taken a bus at least part of the way, though she was naturally parsimonious by nature. However, she told herself, if you looked on the positive side, it did provide her with an opportunity to gather her thoughts, something she’d had little time to do before now.
In the still night air, with only herself for company, doubt crept into her mind for the first time concerning the prudence, or indeed wisdom, of her self-imposed task. For was it not possible that what she had to tell was of very little value? In the dead of night had she not given it more significance and weight than by rights it deserved?
Consumed by these troubling thoughts, she slackened her pace. Indeed she almost stopped walking. A part of her was even tempted to turn back. For how awful it would be if Lady Belvedere were to think her a silly woman given to fancies. But she had come this far on her journey and a nagging little voice in the back of her head told her there was a discrepancy all right and she had a duty to bring it to the attention of Lady Belvedere, if not to the police themselves.
It was almost dark when Miss Crabbe approached Kingsley Square. As she drew near, the shadows at the edges of the pavements seemed to widen and grow to such an alarming degree that she had the odd sensation that she was pitching forward into a sea of unknown darkness. The feeling was not alleviated by the knowledge that, within the square itself, a large, empty expanse of lawn stretched out in front of the houses. She shivered, for the imagery brought with it a sense of peril. She was merely being fanciful of course, she told herself, to believe jeopardy awaited her at each turn of the road, or across the green, yet with each gust of wind the irrational fear persisted.
‘I should have come here when it was light,’ she murmured to herself. ‘It were foolish of me to come when it was dark, what with the murder still fresh in my mind. I’ll be imagining I see poor Miss Casters’ ghost in a minute.’
It was at that precise moment she heard the footsteps. She half turned and peered into the darkness. She could make out no one in the shadows, yet the footsteps seemed to be getting nearer. Alarmed, she increased her pace. The footsteps did likewise. She stopped abruptly, as did the footsteps.
‘It’s only an echo of my own making,’ she told herself harshly. ‘You’re a silly, foolish old woman Gladys Crabbe, so you are, with less sense than what you were born with, which weren’t much. Fancy thinking –’
The blow that struck her came seemingly out of thin air. Certainly it took Miss Crabbe so unawares that she did not have a chance to either finish her sentence or cry out. For a fleeting moment her body remained motionless where it stood, before it gave way and crumpled on to the ground.
‘What time did you say this woman was coming to see you, your ladyship?’ enquired Chief Inspector Innes a trifle curtly given the lateness of the hour and the fact that he had already had a rather long and trying day.
‘Miss Crabbe did not give an exact time,’ replied Rose. ‘I expect it was dependent on when she could get away, though,’ she added
glancing at the clock on the mantlepiece, which showed that it was fast approaching twenty past ten, ‘I would have expected her to have been here before now. I do hope nothing is wrong.’
‘More likely than not she’s changed her mind,’ replied the chief inspector gruffly. ‘Thought over what she knew and decided it didn’t amount to much, certainly not enough to bother your ladyship with.’
‘If that were the case,’ answered Rose firmly, ‘I feel certain she would have telephoned or sent a note.’
She moved towards the window, though with what aim was unclear, for she could not see out of it on account of the thick curtains being drawn across. Standing with her back towards the policeman, inwardly she gave vent to her feelings of annoyance. She heartily wished that the chief inspector was not there. His presence was hardly likely to encourage Miss Crabbe to talk freely. It was unfortunate indeed that he had happened to appear a few minutes after Manning had delivered the lady’s maid’s telephone message and Lavinia had seen fit in her wisdom to inform him of its contents.
‘I wonder what the woman has to tell Lady Belvedere? Something dreadfully trivial, I expect,’ Lavinia had remarked with a giggle.
Rose, her mind made up, walked over to the bell-pull and tugged it. When the butler arrived at her summons, she said:
‘Manning, I should like you to ring up the butler at Sycamore House and ask for Miss Crabbe.’ She was aware of the butler’s look of astonishment, which he was doing his best to conceal. ‘If you are informed that she has already retired for the night, you must demand that someone be sent to her room to make sure she is there.’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ said the butler and disappeared from the room.
‘If you don’t mind my saying,’ said the chief inspector, ‘I believe your ladyship is worrying over nothing.’
‘Has it not occurred to you, Chief Inspector,’ said Rose, ‘that, of everyone present on the night of the ball, Miss Crabbe was best placed to notice anything amiss? For a considerable period of time, she was standing at the end of the lane not far from the gardener’s shed, which was made such good use of by both the murderer and the thief. We only have her word for it that she did not venture down the lane to see what was keeping Miss Casters. It is quite likely that on one occasion at least she walked a little way along the lane, but it was such a short distance that she hardly thought it worth mentioning. But what if she happened to witness something, the significance of which has only just struck her?’
Some of the urgency she felt seemed to penetrate the room, for certainly now the policeman looked rather anxiously towards the door, as if awaiting the butler’s return. Cedric, who was the only other occupant in the room, had until that point remained silent, but now he glanced at his wife apprehensively and said:
‘Do you really think something has happened to the woman?’
Before Rose could answer, they heard hurrying footsteps in the hallway and the door was thrown open. Manning appeared looking distinctly flustered.
‘They sent one of the maids up to Miss Crabbe’s room, m’lady. The woman wasn’t there and her bed hasn’t been slept in. I asked that they check the wardrobe and the maid was of the opinion that her coat was missing and possibly one of her hats, though she couldn’t be sure.’
‘Thank you, Manning, that will be all,’ said Rose somewhat upset, sinking down into a chair, her legs suddenly heavy beneath her. She turned her head towards the policeman. ‘You must arrange for an immediate search, Chief Inspector,’ she said weakly, ‘though I wonder if even now it isn’t too late.’
As if to confirm her words, they heard the shrill ring of the telephone bell in the hall outside. Without exception they all started, their nerves now considerably on edge. The door opened and one of the footmen appeared.
‘Begging your pardon, but there’s a call for you, sir,’ he said, addressing the chief inspector. ‘Awful urgent they said it was,’ he added rather unnecessarily.
The chief inspector disappeared into the hall and Rose and Cedric exchanged worried glances as they waited with bated breath, certain in the knowledge that their worst fears had been realised. When the chief inspector returned the expression on his face, which had turned a deathly pale colour in the interim, only served to confirm their worst suspicions.
‘You were quite right to be anxious, m’lady. A constable going about his beat found the woman not a stone’s throw from here. She’d suffered a blow to the back of her head, from what I can gather.’
He walked over to the fireplace, as if to gather his composure. It was a moment before he turned to face them and proceeded to give them a full account of what had happened.
‘I consider myself to blame,’ said Rose, her own face ashen. ‘As soon as Miss Crabbe telephoned and left her message I should have sent a car to fetch her. Oh, why didn’t I? I should have known she was in danger.’
‘It does no good blaming yourself, your ladyship,’ replied the chief inspector, equally despondently. ‘And, whatever you say, you weren’t to know what would happen. If anyone’s at fault it’s me, for not taking your concerns seriously. But it don’t do no good to dwell on such things as can’t be changed. What we have to do now is determine who could have attacked the woman. Who knew she had something to tell you and was coming here this evening?’
‘There lies the problem, Chief Inspector,’ said Cedric grimly. ‘A great many people knew Miss Crabbe intended to come here and divulge what she knew. My sister, Lady Lavinia, for one, not to mention your main suspect, Mr Franklin. Also Miss Priscilla Belling, a friend of my sister’s, and her brother, Mr Daniel Belling. He’s rather a black sheep, as it happens, who’s got himself into a bit of a hole with gambling debts and goes around with something of a bad crowd, if the rumours circulating at my club are to be believed.’
‘Is that so?’ remarked the policeman, looking decidedly interested, as was Rose, to whom this was also news.
‘And what’s more,’ said Cedric, ‘they all attended the ball. Your sergeant will no doubt have their names written down somewhere.’
‘Mrs Franklin might also have been aware of her lady’s maid’s intention to come here,’ said Rose meditatively. ‘Remember Manning told us that Miss Crabbe had used the instrument in the hall? It’s quite possible that Iris Franklin overheard her telephone conversation, or possibly another servant told her what was said. Tell me, Chief Inspector, did you tell Commander Wrenfield that you were coming here this evening, and for what purpose?’
‘Well, of course. Him and Mr Atherton, who happened to be present when I spoke to him. But you’re hardly suggesting,’ the policeman spluttered, ‘that the commander had a hand in this sorry business?’
Before Rose was obliged to answer, the door opened again, this time admitting none other than their house guest.
‘Oh, I say, I do beg your pardon. I do hope I’m not intruding. I didn’t realise the chief inspector was still here.’
‘Do come in, Mr Franklin, we were only after talking about you,’ said the policeman, eyeing the newcomer with a great deal of suspicion. ‘You’re staying here, I believe? Tell me, did you happen to go for a walk around the square after dinner? Perhaps you wanted to take the night air?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ answered Raymond, looking somewhat apprehensive. He glanced nervously at his host and hostess as if imploring them to enlighten him or come to his aid.
‘Your wife’s lady’s maid, Miss Crabbe, has been murdered,’ said Rose somewhat abruptly, studying her guest closely. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Chief Inspector Innes start visibly and open his mouth as if to protest at such blatant indiscretion. She turned her head towards him and said briskly: ‘It’s no good trying to keep what has happened to ourselves, Chief Inspector. It will be common knowledge soon enough.’
The chief inspector made as if to open his mouth but evidently thought better of it. Instead a frown crossed his freckled forehead.
Cedric caught his wife’s eye and raise
d an eyebrow. A shrewd observer might have caught the faint glint in his eye.
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘Iris’ lady’s maid has been murdered? Gosh,’ exclaimed Lavinia, when informed of the news next morning while she was having breakfast. ‘I must say, it seems to be a frightfully unlucky household. I wouldn’t blame the Franklin staff one bit if they all queued up and gave notice.’ She bit into a piece of buttered toast. ‘And it happened not very far from here, you say?’
‘Out on the communal lawn,’ said Rose, her eyes drawn instinctively to the window, as if by looking out she would see played out before her the grim scene to which they were referring.
‘How ghastly,’ remarked Lavinia, with a shiver, taking another large bite of toast. ‘I don’t think I shall ever be able to look at the lawn in quite the same way.’ She paused and added: ‘It seems that woman did have something of importance to tell you after all.’
‘Yes,’ said Rose quietly, wondering how it was that her friend’s appetite was not affected by the melancholy atmosphere in which they found themselves.
‘I suppose,’ said Lavinia, making a face, ‘I ought to pay a call on Iris. I expect she’s gone quite to pieces. She’s rather pathetic at the best of times but, with all that’s happened lately, she must be losing her head.’
‘Must you be quite so unfeeling?’ Rose said, turning to bestow on her friend a look of reproach.
‘What I meant,’ said Lavinia, quite unrepentant, ‘is, first Iris’ husband kills his mistress in mistake for her, and then he murders her maid. It must be rather awful for her.’
‘We don’t know for certain that is what happened,’ Rose said. ‘If you recall, Mr Franklin was not the only person to hear Manning give me Miss Crabbe’s message.’
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 27