by Sonia Parin
“Pull… up…a…”
“Oh, do sit down, Edgar.” Evie wanted to say she would do anything to ensure he stayed on as butler. She knew her suggestion broke all protocols. The household staff preferred everyone to know their place, and any breach was bound to be viewed as disruptive. But there were exceptions.
Throughout the years, Evie had attended countless ghillies balls where neighbors, estate workers and household servants mingled with the gentry without any difficulties. “Just this once, I’m sure it won’t kill us to have the butler, otherwise known as Lord Edgar, sitting with us for lunch.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Watching him hesitate, Evie refrained from rolling her eyes. She couldn’t put her finger on the feeling taking a hold of her. Needless to say, it all felt strangely unfamiliar, almost as if she’d reached a crossroad and she had no idea which direction to take. She only knew she needed to keep moving. “It’s Evie Parker.”
Phillipa whispered, “You are a champion. Will I be required to repay your generosity?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Evie whispered in jest. Glancing up, Evie thought she heard Edgar murmur something about this being highly unconventional and irregular.
Instead of letting the remark go, Evie said, “I’m sure our guests are quite accustomed to unusual circumstances, Lord Edgar.”
They all nodded.
Settling back, Evie took a moment to appreciate the intricate folds in the table napkin and smiled as she recalled Henrietta once saying that while she arranged a serviette on her lap, Evie arranged a table napkin. She’d never had any issues with her American way of doing things… In fact, the dowager had always stressed the fact she would not expect Evie to change her ways since one could remain the same and still embrace new customs.
Evie tilted her head in thought. Even after all these years, she sometimes still struggled to understand the dowager’s meaning…
Arranging the table napkin on her lap, Evie laughed under her breath.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked.
She gave him a small nod. “I think I’m reacting to Henrietta’s shock by losing myself in introspection.”
“Introspection? What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Table napkins and serviettes.”
He laughed. “What would Sigmund Freud say about that?”
Smiling, she said, “I will have to consult my books. I’m sure I’ll find some sort of explanation. Perhaps something to do with avoiding reality and finding refuge in the mundane.” Turning to the others, she said, “Now, what exactly is my role?”
“You are a relative with no income to speak of,” Ernestine said.
Evie glanced at Edgar and thought he looked rather apologetic. Remembering Phillipa’s remark, Evie said, “From what I understand, Lord Edgar has taken pity on me.”
Ernestine nodded while Edgar looked anywhere but at Evie.
Evie considered waiting for a better time to break the news about Mrs. Sheffield. She looked around the table. Everyone looked relaxed and relatively content. So much so, she entertained the idea of postponing the task. But if she didn’t tell them now, then when would she do it?
“If I may have everyone’s attention, please. There is something I need to tell you.” One by one, they all looked at her. Clearing her throat, Evie said, “You are bound to hear all about it sooner or later, and I would much rather it came from me.
Phillipa grabbed hold of her hand. “Are you all right?”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“Yes, but… I sense you are about to share some rather bad news.”
Nodding, Evie pushed the words out, “There has been an incident in the village. Mrs. Sheffield is dead.”
Phillipa brightened. “Oh, excellent ad libbing. How did you ever come up with that story?”
“I’m afraid it is all too true,” Evie said.
Unfortunately, everyone’s excitement drowned out Evie’s clarification.
Zelma Collins declared she couldn’t wait to incorporate the idea into the script. “Please tell us more.”
Uncertain as to how she should proceed, Evie decided to go with the flow. Scooping in a breath, she continued, “As Caro, or rather, Lady Caroline Thwaites and I made our way to the dressmaker’s store this morning, we saw…” Looking at their eager faces, she fully embraced the idea of mixing reality with fiction. “We saw the dowager coming out of the store and later we learned she had been questioned by the police.”
Edgar set his glass of wine down. “Mrs. Sheffield is dead?”
Phillipa nodded. “Come now, Cousin Edgar. Do try to keep up.” Leaning toward Evie, she murmured, “Lord Edgar is rather slow at times. We thought it would be a quaint character trait.”
“Yes, she is dead,” Evie confirmed. “I’m afraid I have no other details. Lady Carolina and I spent the rest of the morning comforting the dowager.” She looked around the table and realized Caro was missing out on the ad libbing. Signaling to a footman, she asked him to find Caro. “Please ask her to join us in the dining room.”
Overhearing her, Phillipa said, “My goodness. Your generosity knows no bounds.”
“I’m afraid I harbor ulterior motives,” Evie admitted. “If Caro learns of Edgar’s inclusion, she might resent me for not inviting her to join us. And you know what happens when Caro is displeased with me.”
Phillipa laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if you forget Caro is your maid.”
“I prefer to live in harmony. When she arrives, please remember to address her as Carolina.” Evie glanced at Tom who appeared to be minding his own business. “Have you been roped in to play a role?” she whispered.
Tom chortled. “I have no idea what is going on and I would like it to remain that way.”
Edgar cleared his throat. “How did the dowager take the news of Mrs. Sheffield’s death?”
“Oh, thank you for reminding me. The dowager doesn’t know about Mrs. Sheffield’s death and I would like to keep it that way for the time being at least.”
“Yes, but… Has the dowager been implicated in the death?” Edgar asked.
Eve remembered she had related the story as a fictional account. Or, rather, everyone had assumed she had been ad libbing so she had decided to go with the flow.
The scriptwriters looked from Edgar to Evie and then whispered among themselves. Heaven only knew what they planned to do with that information.
Evie lifted her chin and declared, “The dowager is in no way involved. She merely happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”
Edgar shot to his feet at the same time as the door opened. Swinging around, Evie saw the dowager entering and stopping at the door, her gaze sweeping around the room.
“My apologies, Evangeline. I have changed my mind. When I reached my room, I decided I would prefer to be among company… But now I see I might have interrupted something.”
Edgar stepped back from his chair and directed the footmen to set a place for the dowager.
“Henrietta,” Evie said. “We have been experimenting. Edgar has been asked to play a role in the play…” With everything that had been going on, Evie couldn’t remember if she had given the dowager all the details. In case she hadn’t, she decided to fill in the gaps. “He is Lord Edgar.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Henrietta clapped her hands. “What fun. Can I join in?”
Evie sent her gaze skating across the table. She hoped everyone remembered to avoid mentioning Mrs. Sheffield’s death.
“Of course.” She looked at the scriptwriters. Fearing they might turn the dowager into a servant or a mad interloper, Evie chose a role for her. “I suppose you could be the dowager.”
Henrietta gave her a bright smile. “Oh, that should be easy enough. I have years of experience playing the role. How am I related to Lord Edgar?”
“You could be cousins,” Evie suggested.
Taking her place next to Edgar, Henrietta looked at Tom. “And who
are you playing?”
“I am merely a bystander, my lady.”
“Oh, that is a marvelous idea,” Zelma Collins said. “You are an unnamed character who is present in every scene, there to witness it all without commenting. A silent bystander. Modern theater at its best.”
The others all nodded and Bernie piped in, “Yes. I love it. It would be like having a member of the audience up on the stage.”
“So, do I have any lines?” Henrietta asked.
“We’re making it all up as we go,” Bernie said.
“Yes, but…” Henrietta looked slightly confused. “Surely, I should receive some sort of direction from the director of the play.”
Bernie leaned forward. “Well, how do you think the dowager would react to the news of a murder taking place in the village?”
Evie stiffened. So much for warning them to avoid the subject.
“I should think she would be shocked,” Henrietta said.
Zelma sat back and gazed up at the ceiling. “We need a name for the murder victim.”
Henrietta glanced at Evie. “A few days ago, I would have suggested Mrs. Sheffield, but that would be in poor taste.”
And too close to the truth, Evie thought.
“Mrs. Hatfield,” Zelma suggested.
Evie shifted in her seat. She wanted to object to the use of the name but the others all seemed to be in agreement, including Henrietta.
“That sounds ideal. I must say, I’m ever so glad I decided to join you for lunch.”
Just as they were all turning their attention to the first course, Caro made an appearance.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Caro said, her tone breathless.
Evie tried to catch Henrietta’s attention but the dowager sat transfixed as she watched the footmen rushing about to set a place for Caro.
“It seems I have much to catch up on,” Henrietta mused. Looking at Caro, she asked, “And who are you playing?”
Caro gave her a wide grin. “I am Lady Carolina Thwaites, my lady.”
“And are we related?”
Caro nodded. “Yes, I think we are all related.” Looking around her, she asked, “What have I missed?”
Zelma filled her in, saying, “We have chosen a victim. She lives in the village. Her name is Mrs. Hatfield.”
Caro exchanged a look with Evie that spoke of surprise.
As the others tossed around some more names for characters who might or might not be used, Evie pushed her food around the plate. Going along with the play had seemed like a good idea, now she wasn’t so sure.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the footman nudge the other and signal toward the French doors leading out to the patio.
Tom, too, must have seen the gesture. They both turned discreetly and looked out onto the garden where they saw a woman approaching. Her steps faltered and she stopped on the edge of the patio. She looked around her, stumbled back and then took a decisive step forward. Bending down, she grabbed a handful of gravel and…
Evie responded with a resounding, “Oh, oh… my…”
“Stay here.” Tom surged to his feet and hurried toward the French doors even as the woman’s arm flung back and swiftly forward, releasing the gravel which then showered against the windows.
Everyone turned.
“Murderer!” the woman called out and then wailed her accusation again. “Murderer.”
“Oh,” Henrietta exclaimed. “Is this part of the entertainment too? I say, you have gone to a great deal of trouble. It is so authentic.”
Tom rushed out and reached the woman in time to stop her from flinging another handful of gravel.
It took a moment for Evie to realize she had her hand pressed against her chest as if it could ease the panic surging through her. She managed to get up but she had to take a moment to make sure her legs would hold her.
Evie had never felt so cowardly as she did that moment. She didn’t want to go outside but she knew she had to if she wanted to find out the reason for the woman’s outburst.
Tom stood in front of the woman, his hands stretched out by his sides in an effort to stop another outburst.
“Please calm down, ma’am,” he drawled out in his New England accent.
“I will do no such thing. You are harboring a murderer,” the woman declared. “And I will see she is brought to justice. Mark my word, I will do it, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Evie asked, her tone not quite as commanding as she would have liked.
The woman wore a beige dress suitable for a day walking in the spring sunshine. The rim of her straw hat cast a shadow over her eyes, but Evie could tell they were narrowed. She looked significantly older than Evie.
Looking into the distance, Evie saw some estate workers rushing toward the house. She guessed they had witnessed the commotion and wanted to help.
“Ma’am, please calm down,” Tom said.
Evie groaned under her breath. She could see the woman’s jaw muscles crunching and could almost feel sympathy for her. No woman liked to be told to calm down, certainly not when they were in the midst of a raging storm.
“You all think you own the place and you can do as you please. Well, I’m here to tell you things will change, starting with the police taking that woman into custody so she can answer for her crimes…”
Tom took a step forward, his arms still stretched out as if trying to herd the woman away. To her credit, the woman held her ground for as long as she could and then took a stumbling step back.
Evie rushed forward. “Clearly, you have some grievances. What is your name?”
The woman’s lips parted slightly. “Anna. Anna Weston.”
Evie could see the estate workers closing in. She didn’t want the situation getting out of hand. At a guess, she’s say Anna Weston had known the deceased. Taking a chance, she said, “You were acquainted with Mrs. Sheffield.”
Anna Weston gave a stiff nod of her head. “Such a kind-hearted soul. Everyone in the village knows what the dowager did.”
“They had a disagreement. Nothing else happened,” Evie reasoned.
Anna Weston’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth tightened with rage. “She killed her.”
Chapter Nine
The timely arrival of the police put an end to Anna Weston’s public display. A constable took care of escorting her back to the village, leaving Evie and Tom to deal with the detective whose appearance on the scene had made everything all too real.
Evie dropped her gaze to the ground and studied the track marks left by Anna Weston.
She had made quite a show of protesting, digging her heels in and insisting the police take the dowager into custody.
Evie drew in a quivery breath and looked at the detective.
Mrs. Sheffield had died and the police were looking into her death.
What did that mean? Evie heard the question bouncing around her mind and refused to acknowledge it because she already knew what it meant.
The constables had come to restore the peace. However, the detective had come on an entirely different matter.
Mrs. Sheffield had died under suspicious circumstances. Or, worse…
Evie firmed her lips. She refused to accept Henrietta could be in anyway involved or, heaven help her, responsible for the woman’s death.
She studied the man who now stood in front of her, his hat in hand. A head taller than Evie, he wore a plain brown suit and black shoes polished to a high sheen. His light brown necktie sat slightly askew. Evie had to fight the urge to straighten it.
He had smiling eyes with the edges slightly crinkled as if to suggest he smiled or laughed a great deal, something that struck Evie as odd. Surely a man of the law should have hard, calculating eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Evie brushed a hand across her face. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Detective Inspector Jon Chambers. My apologies for the intrusion, Lady Woodridge. I believe the Dowager Countess of Woodridge is curr
ently residing here.”
And he believed that because he had already stopped by the dower house, Evie reasoned. Had the neighbors seen him? Were they now speculating and spreading the word around?
Evie drew in a calming breath. At least, the intention to calm herself had been there, but after several seconds she felt anything but calm. “Yes, that is correct.”
“We should like to have a word with her, if that is convenient.”
Evie suspected the detective did not wish to wait for a convenient moment. In fact, his firm stance suggested he would not budge until he spoke with the dowager.
Evie wanted to protest, saying the police had already spoken with Henrietta, but if she looked past his smiling eyes, she could see determination written all over his face. The man would not back down.
Regardless, Evie decided to exercise her right of refusal. “I’m afraid that is not possible at the moment. The dowager is indisposed. She has strict orders from the doctor to rest.”
“And I’m afraid I will have to insist,” the detective said, his voice smooth and annoyingly friendly.
Evie gave him a warm smile. “In that case, we have reached an impasse. In order to enter Halton House, you will need to get past me.”
He held her gaze for a moment and then dropped it. Evie imagined him trying to change his tactics. She understood he had been sent to perform his duty but she also knew he would tread with care.
Evie didn’t wish to make his job difficult, but she couldn’t forget she had a duty to her family. “Where is Detective Inspector O’Neill?” she asked.
“He’s on another case, my lady.”
Evie decided to take exception to the small smile he offered. It seemed to suggest she had no option but to deal with him and him alone.
Hearing the sound of tentative footsteps behind her, Evie closed her eyes and prayed the dowager had not taken it upon herself to see what all the fuss was about.
“Evangeline.”
So much for praying, Evie thought. Turning, she gave the dowager a reassuring smile. Instead of the frailty she had seen earlier, Evie perceived something entirely different now.
Henrietta turned her attention to the detective. As she studied him, she seemed to rise in height. Her shoulders squared and her chin lifted.