Murder in Black Tie

by Sara Rosett

  Gwen leaned over the birdcage. “Gigi, what are you doing?”

  “I’m out for a walk. It’s what one does in the country, isn’t it? One wanders around in the bracing air, admiring the trees and shrubbery and such.”

  A man hurried out of the trees, his suit jacket flapping as he ran, exposing a bit of a paunch that pressed against his waistcoat. Gigi turned away from him and resumed her quick pace up the road. I let the motor roll forward alongside her. “Do you want a ride? I’m not sure where we’ll put you, but—”

  “Gigi!” the man called as he jogged up to us. “Please, wait a moment.”

  Gigi whirled to face the man, who looked to be in his early thirties and had light brown hair and brown eyes that matched the tweed he wore. “Yes, Mr. Payne?”

  I stepped on the brake. From her sharp tone, it was obvious Gigi was displeased with Mr. Payne, and I wasn’t about to speed away and leave her alone with him.

  “Gigi—please—” Winded from his run, Mr. Payne drew in a deep breath, his face perplexed. “I didn’t realize—”

  Gigi turned to Gwen and me. “Mr. Payne suggested a walk through the grounds.”

  “Yes, because there was a break in the drizzle” —he gulped air— “and I thought we should take advantage.”

  “Yes, you certainly did.” Her words were soft, but I caught them. Gigi had the look of a teacher who’d just cracked a ruler against the knuckles of a naughty student.

  Payne looked away from her steady gaze, turning the other side of his face to me for a moment. His left cheek was bright pink. As he swiveled back to Gigi, his expression transitioned, a contrite look replacing puzzlement. “If I’ve offended, I apologize.”

  Gigi gave a sharp nod as a breeze stirred, rippling her mink coat. The bare tree limbs overhead rattled, and leaves skittered across the ground.

  Gwen cleared her throat. “Olive, I don’t believe you’ve met our guest. This is Mr. Vincent Payne. He’s brought some rather spectacular antique maps with him from London to show Father. Mr. Payne, this is my cousin, also up from London, Miss Olive Belgrave.”

  Payne’s face immediately transformed again into a wide smile, which deepened the dimple in his chin as he removed his trilby. “How do you do?”

  It seemed Payne had one of those mobile faces that could shift through expressions, instantly altering his features. “Very well, Mr. Payne,” I said. “I’m glad to be here at Parkview after a long drive from London.”

  “That’s right!” He pointed at me. “You’re the brainy detective lady.”

  I felt as if I were an animal at a zoo as he gawked at me.

  “We’re safe as houses now with you here,” he said as he stared. “I’ve never seen a lady detective. Well, now I don’t have to worry about anyone pinching my maps—they’re extremely rare, you know. If any criminals are around, just the word of your arrival will send them packing.”

  “I’m sure there are no criminals around Parkview,” Gwen said.

  Payne’s grin widened as he scanned the road in an exaggerated manner, his gaze traveling from one end of the lane to the other. “You never know, Miss Stone. That’s one thing I’ve learned—you can never be too careful.” He returned his hat to his head and extended his arm to Gigi. “Shall we continue?”

  “I don’t think so.” Gigi stepped onto the running board of the Morris and hooked her elbow along the door. “You don’t mind if I catch a ride with you back to Parkview, do you, Olive? These shoes aren’t made for tromping around the countryside. I can’t walk another step.”

  “Of course not.” I glanced at Payne. “I’m afraid we don’t have room inside, but you’re welcome to the other running board.”

  Payne opened his mouth, but Gigi said, “Mr. Payne prefers walking. He assured me earlier of his deep love of country walks.”

  Payne said, “Er—I do enjoy the out-of-doors on occasion.”

  “Excellent,” Gigi said. “Then we’ll see you at the house.” She tapped my arm. “Let’s go.”

  I let the motor roll forward, and we left Payne trudging along behind us.

  “That was rather mean,” Gwen said to Gigi.

  Gigi put up her free hand to hold onto her hat as the Morris picked up a bit of speed. “No more than he deserves. I like a little petting as much as the next girl, but he was overfamiliar.”

  Gwen looked scandalized. “I knew he wasn’t a gentleman.”

  “Don’t worry, I can handle men like him.” Gigi’s eyes flashed. “He won’t bother me again.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” Gwen said. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s the maids.” She leaned back against the seat. “I’ll have a word with the staff and make sure none of the maids are left alone with Mr. Payne.”

  As we neared Parkview, the figures of Longly, Deena, and Inglebrook came into view. The red Alfa Romeo was parked at the foot of the divided staircase that curved to the double doors of the grand house. Deena was still between the two men, her arms linked through theirs as they climbed one branch of the staircase. Even from a distance, I could see the wide smile on her narrow face. “It appears a few days in the country was just what Deena needed,” I said to Gwen.

  “She does seem to be in better spirits, which is good. But Mother’s still upset because the numbers aren’t even. We have one too many ladies.”

  Gigi said, “Your mother is so sweet and old-fashioned. Tell her it’s fine. We’re used to the shortage of men.”

  “Mother won’t be deterred. She’s so relaxed about some things, but she’s adamant about having even numbers. Mother would have invited the curate, but he’s away.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m sure Sonia—ill or not—would maneuver me in his direction at every possible opportunity.” After Sonia married Father, she’d decided I should also experience wedded bliss and had fixed on the curate as the best local candidate. “What about Mr. Davis?” The bald and rotund estate manager was a pleasant dinner companion.

  Mr. Quigley’s cage rocked as I swept around the circle drive. Gwen gripped the ring at the top to brace it, keeping her fingers clear of the cage itself. “Mr. Davis is attending to some business for Father in London. Mother sent a note off to Jasper to see if he’ll join us to even things up.”

  “Jasper will be here?” Jasper was Peter’s school chum. Because Jasper’s father was in civil service and lived abroad, Jasper had spent most of his school holidays at Parkview. A few months ago when our paths crossed in London, Jasper and I had renewed our acquaintance. We met for tea at the Savoy occasionally. A little burst of happiness filled me at the thought of seeing Jasper so soon. “I thought he was off on a shooting trip to Scotland.”

  “It was cut short for some reason, and he’s back. But he won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Gwen said. “We’ll just have an uneven table tonight with thirteen. It’s unlucky, but what can we do?”

  Chapter Three

  Gigi had no qualms about carrying Mr. Quigley’s cage inside, and I dropped her and Gwen at the bottom of one branch of the divided staircase. I drove around to the old stables. By the time my luggage and boxes were unloaded, I’d missed tea, so I headed straight up to my room to change for dinner.

  I was in my favorite room. It overlooked the interior courtyard and was decorated with hand-painted Chinese wallpaper and a matching three-panel wooden lacquered screen with the same pattern of bamboo, flowers, and birds. The design of green leaves and flowers in the rug that covered the center of the room echoed the Oriental theme. It had always been “my” room whenever I stayed over at Parkview. Bowls of yellow and white chrysanthemums gave the room a cheerful touch. I imagined Ross, the aged gardener, had cut them this morning, and Gwen had probably arranged them.

  It didn’t take the maid, a chatty young woman named Hannah, long to unpack my trunk, draw a bath for me, and help me out of my travel clothes. I dismissed her and went through the connecting door to have a long soak. One of the lovely things about th
e Oriental room was the adjoining bath, a luxury that most rooms didn’t have. When the previous Lady Stone had renovated the upstairs, she’d had a linen closet transformed into a bath and created a connecting door between the bath and the Oriental room. Aunt Caroline’s predecessor had been determined to modernize the house and created as much useable space as possible during the renovations, which meant that besides overseeing the installation of new baths in each wing, she’d packed as many cubbyholes, nooks, and storage closets into the two wings as possible.

  She’d also seen that a door was added to the bath, which opened onto the hallway so other guests could access it. Hannah told me that everyone in this wing had already bathed, so I took my time, luxuriating in the deep tub and trying to work out what could make Longly, who had seemed smitten with Gwen, become so standoffish.

  He wasn’t fickle. I couldn’t believe he’d drop her so quickly. Perhaps Violet had thought Longly would be jealous when he saw Gwen and Inglebrook. If that had been her plan, it had backfired. And even on my short acquaintance with Captain Inglebrook, I could tell he wasn’t husband material. I picked up a bar of soap and a sponge. Gwen and Longly hadn’t argued, so what could have caused his change in attitude? Had he found out something about Gwen that he found disagreeable? No, I didn’t think that was possible. Was it her parents? Uncle Leo and Aunt Caroline each had their eccentricities, but they were lovely people, and I couldn’t imagine they hadn’t welcomed Longly as a guest. After a bit more ruminating, I gave up and reached for a towel.

  I was used to taking care of myself and didn’t call for Hannah again when I climbed out of the tub. I chose my teal silk gown with a fitted bodice that flowed over my waist and hips. Intricately embroidered flowers trailed from the bodice down to the swirl of the full skirt. It was one of my oldest gowns—a hand-me-down from Gwen—but it was one of my favorites because of the beautiful detailing.

  Dinner this evening was more informal—well, as informal as Aunt Caroline allowed. She’d unbent enough to designate tonight as an evening for the men to wear dinner jackets. For tomorrow’s dinner party, tailcoats would be expected, which meant the women would wear their finest couture and jewels. I left my mother’s long string of pearls for tomorrow night. Unlike Gigi, who had some spectacular family jewelry, and Deena, who could pick up as many baubles with precious stones as she liked, my accessories were a bit limited. I smoothed my dark bob into place, worked my gloves up over my elbows, and picked up my silk shawl, determined to corner Longly and figure out what had happened to cause such a shift in his manner.

  I opened my door and found a plump blonde woman with wide blue eyes, high cheekbones, and white strands threaded through fair hair. She was kneading a handkerchief. “Oh, hello there,” I said as I closed the door to my room. “You must be Miss Miller. I’m Miss Belgrave. How do you do?”

  “Not good. Not good at all.” She glanced first one way, then the other, up and down the corridor.

  I blinked. One did not actually answer rhetorical questions honestly, but Miss Miller was so distressed, the truth had slipped out. She waved her handkerchief down the hall. “I went to look at the fountain in the garden through the window at the end of the corridor—the view is lovely at night with it lit up. And then I noticed a beautiful portrait of an Elizabethan gentlewoman—how uncomfortable those ruff collars must have been. How did they get them to keep their shape, do you think? Starch, I suppose.” She waved the handkerchief to the opposite end of the hall. “And then I spotted a landscape of Parkview Hall, which must have been painted before the fountain was installed because it was just a field—so fascinating to see the changes over time. I’m afraid I lost track of time as I admired the paintings, and now I’m turned around. I don’t think this is the hall I was in before.” Miss Miller flourished her handkerchief at one of the window alcoves, where a panel of the drapes had been drawn back. “I can tell I’m completely turned around because when I looked out this window, the view wasn’t of the gardens, but the courtyard.”

  “You’re in the west wing.” Two wings extended from the central block of the house. At the other end of the house, the conservatory stretched from the end of one wing to the other, creating an enclosed courtyard. I reached to pull the drape closed then paused, my hand on the thick fringe at the edge of the panel.

  Gas lamps lined the courtyard, their dancing flames creating circles of illumination. Sonia’s silhouette with her old-fashioned gown and puffy bun was unmistakable. She was speaking animatedly to someone in the shadows under the colonnade that ran along one side of the courtyard. It wasn’t a casual conversation. There was an intensity to the sharp motions she made with her hands and a tension in her body. She shifted, and the light from the lamp illuminated a man’s shoulder along with the glossy sheen of a dinner jacket lapel, but it didn’t reach the man’s face. It wasn’t Father. The man wasn’t tall enough. Why would Sonia meet a man in the shadowy courtyard?

  Behind me, Miss Miller said, “Perhaps that nice Captain Inglebrook will come along and show us the way. It’s so helpful to have a man around, isn’t it? I do miss my brother Winston. He’d never have let me wander the halls and become lost. When we were houseguests he was always quite firm that I should wait for him in my room, and he’d escort me to dinner.”

  I drew the panel across the window and turned to Miss Miller. “Don’t worry. I know the way.”

  “You do? How clever you must be if you can remember all the twists and turns,” she said with a tone of amazement as if my knowledge of Parkview was akin to understanding physics or being fluent in Chinese.

  “Not really. I practically grew up here at Parkview. There’s probably not a nook or cranny that I don’t know.”

  “Well, isn’t that marvelous.”

  I guided her along the corridor, past the main staircase, and said, “The drawing room is the second set of double doors on your left. You go on ahead. I have a little detour to make.”

  “Thank you, my dear. So kind of you. You’re sure you’ll be able to find your way back?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine.” I retraced my steps back to the main staircase. I went down to the ground floor, then along the passageway to the conservatory at the back of the house. Peter was a quiet soul and had a habit of strolling in the conservatory before dinner. I hadn’t seen him for ages, and I wanted to say hello to him outside of the crush in the drawing room.

  The humid warmth of the conservatory closed around me. Beyond the masses of greenery and flowering vines, the glass ceiling and walls were blackly opaque as if someone had dropped a giant cloth over the whole section of the house, cutting off the view. That thought brought Mr. Quigley to mind, and I wondered if he was sleeping in a cage covered with fabric or if Deena would bring him to the drawing room with her tonight. An earthy smell interlaced with lighter floral notes filled the air.

  I wound my way through the enormous space, toward the soothing trickle of water that came from the fountain at the center of the room. The conservatory had been an excellent place to play when we were children. We’d had one game of Sardines that ended with all of us crammed together behind the ancient rubber tree and its buttressing roots that created a woody screen. The leaves of the tallest palms brushed against the glass roof while trees, shrubs, and massive urns overflowing with ferns and ivy filled the space. The aged plants created a series of screened winding paths. Green was the dominant color of the foliage, but it ranged from shades of deep emerald to paler sage to silvery olive tones.

  I found Peter by the fountain in a white-painted iron chaise lounge, his feet stretched out and a cushion behind his head. Arcs of water sprayed out from the circular dish of the fountain into the shallow pool of the square lower basin, which was set into the floor and lined with colorful Italian tiles that a previous baronet had brought back from his grand tour of the continent.

  Peter was smoking a cigarette as he read a book. As soon as he caught sight of me, he jumped up and stubbed out his cigarette. Unlike Gwen and Viol
et, who had taken after Aunt Caroline and had fair hair, Peter was dark like Uncle Leo. He came through the mix of wicker and iron chairs to greet me. “Olive, you’re looking well.”

  “So are you,” I said and meant it. His face still looked lean, but his eyes had lost their sunken look, and he seemed relaxed instead of edgy. I caught sight of the title of the book he held, his finger marking his place. “Reading up on horticulture in your spare time?”

  He rubbed an eyebrow. “Farming is rather complicated.”

  “What are you learning about?”

  “Crop rotation, animal husbandry, and bees, among other things. We have our own honey now—that’s my pet project. I’ve been overseeing things at the home farm, and Father’s given me free rein to produce and sell honey.”

  “That’s fascinating. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

  “Don’t get me started. I can see Violet didn’t warn you off. She told me if I said honeybee one more time, she’d scream.” He crossed his arms and leaned against a chair back. “Now, what’s this I hear about you and Jasper?”

  “What do you hear about me and Jasper?”

  “Not much. Except his voice takes on a certain tone—one that I haven’t heard very often—when he speaks of you.”

  “That’s—”

  “Olive!” The shrill tone cut through the balmy atmosphere of the conservatory.

  My shoulders tightened. I turned toward the sound of rustling silk. “Good evening, Sonia.”

  My stepmother batted a huge elephant ear leaf out of her way and crossed the black-and-white marble tiled floor to the fountain. Her gown would have been suitable for a Gibson Girl with its fitted waist, high neck, and long sleeves, but I knew Sonia wasn’t wearing old gowns. She and Father were comfortable, financially speaking. They had enough to provide for themselves—and for me, if I’d chosen to live with them. I’d tried living at Tate House, but I couldn’t stick it. I’d escaped to London. A poky flat—even one with damply curling wallpaper—was preferable to being under Sonia’s thumb.