A Sinister Service

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “What’s a pattern book?” Amelia asked.

  “It’s where a designer records every pattern he’s ever devised. It’s both his livelihood and his legacy.” Again Trent took a defensive stance. “Why would I take it? I have no desire to be a designer.”

  “Trent.” Fox opened his eyes wide and stared hard at his friend. Eva guessed it was a caution not to say anything that could possibly incriminate him, such as admitting he resented his father’s plans for him.

  Too late. Detective Inspector Nichols said, “I’m sorry, but your young friend not only had opportunity, he had a motive as well.”

  “What motive?” Fox’s gaze flicked ever so briefly to Lady Annondale, then returned to the detective inspector.

  “We have it on good authority that Trent resented his father for withdrawing him from Eton and forcing him to work at Crown Lily. And I think you know it, too.”

  This time Fox made no effort to avoid pinning his eldest sister with an accusing glare. “Julia! How could you bring that up?”

  “I didn’t. Don’t be daft.” She clutched at the silk scarf draped over her shoulders. Her face turned florid with indignation.

  Eva didn’t like the looks of that blush. She turned right about, reentered the baize door, and hurried downstairs to the call-board outside the housekeeper’s parlor. She set the bowl of beef bones on a nearby dresser and pressed the buzzer for Hetta’s room on the third floor.

  “Ja,” came over the speaking tube. “Hetta here.”

  “Hetta, please come down to the main hall. Lady Annondale may need you.”

  Eva heard a gasp through the tube, then a hurried, “I come now.”

  Then she hurried back upstairs and into the hall. Amelia stood with Lady Annondale now, and they each had an arm around the other’s waist. Phoebe stood behind Fox, as if ready to reach out and stop him from . . .

  From following in pursuit, which he seemed half bent on doing. He, too, had turned an angry red. A scowl knitted his brows above eyes blazing with anger. Eva suspected he was also close to tears, but masking them with his outrage. “You’re making a mistake. A stupid, ignorant mistake and you’ll regret it. Do you know who our grandfather is? Do you know who I am?” He started toward them, but Phoebe grasped his shoulder. He shook her off, but stayed where he was.

  The policemen remained impassive as they crossed the hall. When they reached the front door, Trent stopped, tugging free when Constable Dodge tried to pull him along. With a pang, Eva realized the dog had followed along at the boy’s side. Trent bent down to pet him, and reached his arms around him. Then he slowly rose to his feet.

  “You’ll take care of Jester, won’t you?”

  Fox went forward and this time Phoebe let him go. “Of course we will. But you’ll be back soon. You’ll see. By the end of the day, maybe. I’m not about to let them keep you at that place.”

  Trent shrugged. “Thanks. But there might not be much you can do about it. As long as I know Jester’s being looked after, I’ll be all right.” He put up no further resistance when Detective Inspector Nichols opened the front door and Constable Dodge nudged him outside.

  When no one made a move to close the door, Eva walked to it and gently pushed it until the lock clicked into place. The Renshaws, and even Miss Townsend and Miss Blair, stood in silence, staring at the empty place where Trent had been. Jester let out a long, low whine, prompting Fox to crouch, and then sit on the marble tiles to comfort him.

  At a heavy tread on the stairs, Eva glanced up to see Hetta hurrying down. She went directly to Lady Annondale.

  “Madame must rest. Come and lie down a while. Ja?”

  Lady Annondale nodded, her features weighed with fatigue. Where her face had burned with exasperation minutes ago, she now looked wan and pale. Eva was relieved that she went docilely upstairs with Hetta.

  “Well, now that the excitement is over . . .” Miss Townsend didn’t bother completing her thought. She turned about and went back into the drawing room. Probably to finish her tea and cake, Eva thought.

  From his inhospitable seat on the tiles, Fox looked up. “What are we going to do? We can’t let Trent take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “Of course we won’t.” Amelia joined him at Jester’s other side, tucking her skirts beneath her legs as she lowered herself to the floor. “Phoebe will know what to do. Won’t you, Phoebe?”

  Lady Phoebe met Eva’s gaze. “I . . . I don’t know, Amellie. . .”

  She seemed about to say more, but fell silent as Fox twisted around and craned his neck to peer up at her again. “Amelia’s right. You always know what to do in these circumstances. Don’t pretend you don’t. You might be able to fool Grams and Grampapa, but we know what you and Eva have been up to these past couple of years.”

  “Fox, it’s one thing to poke around at home in Little Barlow, where I know everyone and—”

  “What about Cowes?” he challenged. “We didn’t know anyone there except for the family and the wedding guests.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Fox turned his attention back to Jester, doing a thorough job of scratching behind his ears. Eva understood this was merely a way for Fox to work off extra energy and frustration. He blinked several times, and she guessed tears once again were threatening. He was, after all, still a child despite his recent surge in height. “If you won’t help,” he said mournfully, “I’ll do it alone.”

  Amelia stroked Jester from the top of his head to his tapering hindquarters. “I’ll help you.”

  “No, you won’t, Amelia. Nor you, either, Fox.” Lady Phoebe went to her siblings and joined them on the floor. “All right, I’ll ask some questions and see what I can find out. Eva?”

  “Of course, my lady. You can count on me. Oh, I almost forgot.” Hurrying back through the baize door, she returned belowstairs and retrieved Jasper’s treat. Back in the main hall, she set the bowl down on the marble floor between Amelia and Fox, beneath Jester’s nose. After one excited snort, he happily dived in and attacked the contents with gusto. Seeing as no one seemed about to move to another location anytime soon, Eva made herself as comfortable as possible on the floor with the others.

  “Ahem.”

  They all glanced up to see that Mildred Blair was still in the hall. She studied them with large eyes dramatically lined with kohl. Her crepe georgette hem fluttered around her ankles as she strolled closer to them.

  “I hate to be the grim one here, but have any of you stopped to consider that the boy might be guilty?”

  Fox started to protest, but Miss Blair didn’t give him a chance.

  “Yes, I understand he’s your friend, and no one likes to think ill of anyone so young. But before you go trying to incriminate someone else, shouldn’t you allow that perhaps the police are correct?”

  Fox came to his feet, startling Jasper so much he stopped gobbling and lifted his head. “You know what, Miss Blair? I didn’t like you much last spring in Cowes, and I like you even less now.”

  “Fox,” Lady Phoebe admonished, but Miss Blair waved a hand.

  “That’s all right, I don’t require that you feel affection for me. I’d just like you all to be realistic, and fair. Because to exonerate Trent, you must incriminate someone else. Don’t take that lightly.”

  Fox’s eyes narrowed on the woman. “Come on, Jester,” he said. The dog made no move to follow, but dipped his head once more into the bowl. “Jester, come.” Fox glanced down, realized the problem, and stooped to slide the bowl out from under Jester’s nose. “Come, Jester.” This time the dog eagerly followed his new friend and the bowl of beef bones across the hall and up the stairs.

  Amelia came to her feet. “I’ll go talk to him. Miss Blair is right. We must proceed with the utmost caution.”

  Once Amelia reached the stairs, Lady Phoebe shook her head and sighed. “ We are not proceeding with anything. Eva, I suppose it’s up to you and me to make sure those two”—she pointed at the stairs and the two siblings j
ust then disappearing on the upper landing—“stay out of it.” She sighed again and regarded Miss Blair. “But you’re right. I don’t believe Trent did anything wrong, but we certainly don’t want to accuse an innocent person solely for the sake of clearing another.”

  Eva stood and helped Lady Phoebe up.

  Miss Blair came closer. “Thank you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “For not disagreeing with me merely to put me in my place.”

  “That’s not what my brother is doing. He’s terribly upset about his friend.”

  “I realize that, but Veronica loves to contradict me for no honest reason, and Ernest, well, he never misses a chance to assure me that once he inherits, I’ll no longer be welcome at Lyndale Park. Not up on the third floor, not even in the cottage, where he’s currently residing.” With a little laugh she shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything more from your sister.”

  “Lady Annondale isn’t like that.” Eva had held her tongue during the entire encounter with the police, and the past several minutes as well. It wasn’t her place to interfere. But she would not stand by and listen to anyone belittle a member of this family. Especially this woman who had plotted against Lady Annondale last spring after her husband died. “I’m sorry to speak out,” Eva said to Lady Phoebe. Turning back to Miss Blair, she said, “But your judgment of Lady Annondale is entirely unfair and incorrect.”

  Miss Blair smiled placidly. “Is it?”

  “It most certainly is.” With an effort, Eva kept her features even, rather than allow Miss Blair to see what she really thought of her.

  “Hmph. I wondered if you had a tongue, Miss Huntford. Now I see that you do. Good for you.” She retreated into the drawing room, leaving Eva to wonder if she’d just been insulted or complimented. She also couldn’t decide if she should feel sorry for Mildred Blair, or simply loathe her.

  * * *

  “Don’t pay any mind to her, Eva. She likes to stir up trouble,” Phoebe said. “She’s also terribly arrogant.”

  That, Phoebe decided, was a vast understatement. Mildred Blair enjoyed nothing so much as throwing other people off balance and making them appear foolish. Phoebe didn’t appreciate one bit that Mildred had chosen Eva as her target. Especially since Eva would not defend herself. She would stick up for any member of the family, but for herself, she would remain silent and endure insults as a matter of course.

  “You needn’t worry about me, my lady. The likes of Mildred Blair can’t get the better of me.”

  “Good. I just wish she wouldn’t try. Why don’t you and I go to the library.” Phoebe linked her arm through Eva’s. “We’ll lock ourselves in and hide from the madness that seems to have taken over this house. No, make that the entire town of Langston.”

  Once they’d entered the library, Eva closed the door firmly. Phoebe waved her over to a comfortable, overstuffed settee set in the alcove of a bow window.

  “What a lovely place to curl up and read.” Phoebe leaned back, pulled her feet up beneath her skirts, but skewed her lips. “If only this were a pleasant day where our biggest challenge had been agreeing on a china pattern for my grandparents. How long ago it seems we set out to do just that. It’s hard to believe it was only this morning.”

  “So much has happened, all of it unimaginable.” Eva pulled a pillow out from behind her and held it on her lap as she settled in. “Now, how to help Master Trent?”

  “I’m not sure yet. All I know is I can’t allow Fox to try to catch a killer. He’s my grandfather’s heir and he must be kept safe.”

  “He wouldn’t thank you for that sentiment, I’m afraid.” Eva chuckled softly.

  Phoebe laughed, too. “No, I don’t suppose he would. It would hurt his male pride.”

  “You do realize, my lady, that your grandfather—and your grandmother, for that matter—would be equally devastated if anything should happen to you.”

  Phoebe thought about this for a moment. “Yes, that’s true. But as I said, Fox is Grampapa’s heir. I can never be the Earl of Wroxly. Only Fox can be that.”

  “So much to set upon a child’s shoulders.” Eva absently ran her fingertip back and forth over the velvet trim on the pillow she held. “Do you believe Fox will stay out of things?”

  Phoebe heard the doubt in Eva’s question and considered how much Fox had changed in recent months, how he’d matured, or, rather, had been forced to, due to events last spring. Then, within twenty-four hours he had gone from a needling, spoiled child to a young man who suddenly understood the consequences of his actions. Phoebe had wanted him out of harm’s way then, but he’d insisted on helping discover who had murdered Julia’s new husband. In fact, if not for Fox sneaking around and putting himself in danger, Julia might not be here now. Or Eva, either.

  Phoebe shuddered to consider how life might have changed that day. “Now that I think about it,” she said, “he capitulated awfully quick when I agreed to help Trent. So, no, we can’t trust him to stay out of it.” She reached over to put her hand on Eva’s. “We’ll have to act fast, won’t we?”

  “I fear we will, my lady.”

  Phoebe studied Eva’s profile. “When are you going to dispense with all that wretched formality? We’re alone. You’re my friend—the best I’ve ever had. And we’ve been through so very much together. Can I not simply be Phoebe?”

  “Such changes in our world these past years.” Sounding wistful, Eva gazed across the room. Phoebe wondered if she was looking back, or ahead. “They’ve been easier for you than for me, you realize. You were still quite young when the war began, and the younger one is, the more readily change is accepted. I grew up during the old days, when tradition seemed eternal, a state of being that always had been and always would be. A tradition that separated people into categories with strict lines between them, and even stricter rules governing how one treated the other. We see now that tradition is as delicate as gossamer lace. In many ways change is a good thing. There are more opportunities for everyone, rich and poor alike. But change can also be . . . unsettling. Uncomfortable.” Eva turned back to Phoebe with an apologetic tilt to her lips. “Difficult to get on with.”

  “I understand, dearest Eva.” Phoebe leaned and kissed Eva’s cheek. “All in good time, then. For now . . . let’s consider what we’ve learned so far at Crown Lily. There was that Moira Wickham you mentioned.”

  “Yes. She’s head painter, but wishes to be a designer. Ronald Mercer stood in the way of that. He didn’t believe a woman could be skilled enough for the position.”

  “How resentful was she?”

  “Quite. But not only toward Mr. Mercer. I believe she’s resentful toward men in general. She mentioned being a surplus woman, someone who will never marry and is forced to make her own way in the world.”

  “A horrid term, that.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. After serving their country during the war years by filling in for fighting men in the factories and elsewhere, and then being faced with the reality that so many men died, they’d likely never find husbands, these women are now blamed for being unmarried and having to earn their own living.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I’ve read articles suggesting these women are set to destroy the natural order of things by continuing to work. They’re shredding the very fabric of family life. Can you imagine? Of course such articles were written by men. I can’t blame Miss Wickham for being resentful.”

  “You and I are lucky.”

  Yes. Phoebe had Owen, an earl’s second son, who, because of his brother’s death in the war, found himself his father’s heir, while Eva stepped out on a regular basis with Miles Brannock, a constable from Little Barlow. Both men had made it through the war relatively unscathed—at least physically. Neither talked much about his experiences, but Phoebe knew both men suffered from the memories, from nightmares born in the trenches.

  “We’ll want to discover where Moira Wickham was at the time of the murder,” Eva pointed out.

 
“Yes. And the same for Percy Bateman, the other designer, who very much wanted the commission for our china pattern. Did you notice how Mr. Mercer tried to disparage Mr. Bateman’s talents, calling him overly bold in his designs and saying he needed reining in?”

  “I did overhear that. So then, like Moira Wickham, Percy Bateman might have seen Mr. Mercer as an obstacle to his career, as well as to his self-respect.”

  “You’re right to put it that way, Eva. Self-respect might be more of a motive to kill someone than money. At least in some instances. It’s not easy being criticized and humiliated time and again.”

  “Indeed, it is not.” Eva glanced toward the door.

  Phoebe wondered if she was thinking about Mildred again. Mildred’s comments today were merely the tip of it. Last spring, during Julia’s wedding, Mildred had treated Eva as though she were little better than the lowest scullery maid.

  Eva turned back to Phoebe. “Your sister mentioned a missing pattern book, if I’m not mistaken. It seems to me the person who would most benefit from such an item would be Percy Bateman.”

  “Perhaps.” Still, Phoebe wasn’t so sure. “I wonder if Mr. Bateman would care about Mr. Mercer’s patterns. Perhaps he didn’t need or want the ideas of an older man. But Moira Wickham might. Or she might have wished to erase all traces of Mr. Mercer’s influence on Crown Lily entirely.”

  “She might,” Eva agreed. “I heard something else before the police arrived when I was belowstairs preparing tea. One of the footmen mentioned he thought Gus Abbott might be guilty.”

  “Gus Abbott?”

  “He’s the head clay mixer, and he’s not only the man who found Ronald Mercer in the grinding pan, but the very person Mr. Mercer went there to speak with.”

  “Goodness. That certainly gives him opportunity. But motive?”

  Eva shrugged. “That, I don’t yet know.”

  “And then there is Trent,” Phoebe said with a sigh. “We can only find answers by returning to Crown Lily and asking questions. Where to start?” Phoebe sat back as a plan took shape in her mind. “Julia and I must meet with Mr. Tremaine and Mr. Bateman to continue with our order. They’ll be only too happy that we’re still willing to patronize Crown Lily, so they shouldn’t suspect we’re there for any other purpose.”