Murder at Archly Manor

by Sara Rosett

  Aunt Caroline swiveled toward me. “What I want to do is hire a detective, but your Uncle Leo won’t hear of it. He says you young people have to live your own lives and we should stay out of it. But I’m not going to let my daughter marry someone I don’t know.”

  I tilted my head. “Even if Uncle Leo won’t hear of it, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t have done something on your own.”

  Aunt Caroline exchanged a glance with Gwen, then gave me a smile. “You always were perceptive, Olive. Yes, I have made inquiries, but really, I have no idea how to go about it. My friend Antonia told me it will cost at least several hundred pounds to hire a detective.”

  I glanced across the china and silver spread on the table and the elegant lines of the house soaring above us. “But that shouldn’t be a problem?” Parkview might look a little scruffy in certain areas, but surely there weren’t deep financial problems here?

  “Oh no, dear. I can pay it out of my household accounts.”

  At this statement, I smiled at Gwen. We both knew it would be Gwen who paid the money out of the household accounts, not my aunt.

  “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to find someone like that,” Aunt Caroline continued. “I don’t want to associate with that type of person—you know, someone not of our class. However, this situation with that rather oily young man must be dealt with.”

  I had consumed a slice of cake and several of the small sandwiches. I felt full and content, but as Aunt Caroline’s determination penetrated my tranquil state, my heartbeat sped up. I sat up. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Five

  “I’ll look into Alfred’s background,” I said. “If you’ll consider paying me for it.”

  The doubtful look that had settled on Aunt Caroline’s face intensified. “I don’t know, dear. It doesn’t seem like a good thing to do. Who knows where this will end? If he’s the sort of person I suspect, you could be dealing with some unsavory characters.”

  “Nonsense,” Gwen said. “I think it’s a splendid idea. Olive has a knack for figuring things out. Remember how she found Lady Sofia’s sapphires last year?”

  Aunt Caroline dipped her head in a nod. “Yes, and that would have been terribly embarrassing if it had come out.” She studied me for a moment. “I’d forgotten that incident.”

  Gwen said, “Olive is perceptive and clever. All she needs to do is talk to a few people and find out if what Alfred says is true.”

  Gwen’s words boosted my confidence. She was the sweetest of cousins and tended to be generous to a fault, but she didn’t throw out false praise. I turned in my seat so that I was facing Aunt Caroline. “I don’t mind doing it. In fact, I would appreciate the chance to do it—as a job. Truthfully, it’s looking positively bleak in London.”

  “No prospects?”

  “None.” It was much easier to be honest with Aunt Caroline than it was to be with Sonia and Father.

  “Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt if you asked a few questions.” Aunt Caroline gave a small nod and shifted her chair backward. “Yes, give it a try. If nothing else, I can hire a private investigator later.” A look of distaste passed over her face, then she brightened. “Hopefully that won’t be necessary. Do you think fifty pounds would be enough to start?”

  I choked on my tea but recovered. “More than adequate. In fact—”

  “If this is to be a proper job, you must have a retainer.” Aunt Caroline picked up her macaron. “Gwen, you will be a dear and take care of it, won’t you?”

  I felt the weight on my shoulders ease. I’d be able to pay my rent and even have a nice dinner.

  “Of course, Mum.” Gwen lifted the teapot to refreshen our cups. “I knew asking Olive down was a good idea. I’m sure she’ll have it sorted out in a few days. How will you begin?”

  “I think the place to start is with Alfred himself.”

  Speaking to Alfred proved to be a challenge. Violet and Alfred wanted to be together. That is, they wanted to be together alone. I had a devil of a time even finding them after they finished their game of tennis, which they’d switched to after croquet. I was seated off the far end of the table from them during dinner, so I couldn’t talk with either one of them then, but I finally ran them to ground in the drawing room after dinner.

  They had escaped to the far side of the room. Arms touching, they occupied a settee as they looked through gramophone records. Violet was determined we would have dancing after dinner despite being short on eligible men for partners. Peter had sent his excuses and dined in his room, and Uncle Leo had flatly refused to participate. “Not light on my feet at all, as your mother will tell you,” he’d said. Aunt Caroline had confirmed the truth of the statement in the matter-of-fact tone of a long-married woman.

  I took a chair beside Violet and offered to hold the records they rejected. After chatting about their tennis game for a few moments, I asked, “Violet, have you met Alfred’s family?”

  She didn’t look up from the albums. “Alfred doesn’t have any family.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—”

  Alfred bumped his shoulder against Violet’s. “You mustn’t say it so abruptly, old bean. It shocks people.”

  Violet raised her head, her eyes wide. “But it’s true.”

  “Yes, it is, but you can’t toss it out there so casually.” He turned to me. “It’s perfectly fine. Don’t look so horrified. My parents died in a ferry accident in India.”

  Violet handed me some records. “Nothing but opera and classical music. It’s a terribly tragic story—about Alfred’s parents, I mean. He’s all alone in the world now.”

  “Except for you, Vi.” Alfred sent her a smoldering look, and Violet looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

  I cleared my throat. “So you have no other family at all? No one to invite to the wedding?” I hoped talking about the wedding would gloss over my nosiness.

  Alfred handed a record to Violet. “This one isn’t too bad,” he said to her. To me, he said, “My father was an only child, as was my grandfather, who has also passed, along with my grandmother. My mother was an orphan. Their history has a sad beginning but a happy ending because they found each other. They met before my father sailed for India and married within a few weeks.”

  “And they never returned to England?”

  “Didn’t want to. I didn’t either until last year, when I had a letter from my godfather. He’d heard about the ferry accident and invited me to come back to England.”

  “Sebastian is a dear,” Violet said. “Even if he doesn’t want anyone else to think so. He’s always saying really cutting things—very harsh and critical—but he’s been incredibly sweet to Alfred. He helped Alfred find his flat in South Regent Mansions, and he’s taken him on as a photography assistant.”

  “So this is the society photographer, Sebastian Blakely?”

  “Yes. He takes the most beautiful photographs. He can make anyone look good.”

  “That is a valuable skill, I’m sure.”

  Violet squeezed Alfred’s arm. “You must get Sebastian to teach you all his tricks. Then you can set up your own business, and you’ll have all the stuffy society matrons insisting you take their photographs.”

  “He might think that was a bad turn, you know,” Alfred said to Violet.

  “All’s fair,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  I said, “In love and war, I believe.”

  “I’m sure it applies to business too,” Violet said, focused on the records again.

  Alfred shook his head and looked amused. To keep the conversation going, I asked, “So you hadn’t met Mr. Blakely before you got his letter?”

  “No, but I thought if I was ever going to visit England, it might as well be then. There was nothing to keep me in India. I wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest. But I must say, Sebastian’s been grand. Helped me get set up and introduced me around.” He sent another look toward Violet.

  Before they could get lost in their lin
gering glances, I said, “India must be a fascinating place. What did your parents do?”

  Alfred reluctantly pulled his gaze away from Violet. “Father was in accounting. He had a post in the civil service.”

  “So where did you live?”

  Violet tapped my leg with one of the gramophone records. “He’s already told you, silly. In India.” She emphasized each syllable as if I were hard of hearing.

  “I meant in which city in India?”

  “In Delhi.”

  “What was it like in Delhi?”

  “Insufferably hot.”

  Violet dropped the last of the records onto her lap with a moue of discontentment. “These are all so stodgy.” She sighed. “At least we have Sebastian’s Silver and Gold party to look forward to. Are you going?” Violet asked me.

  “No, I don’t know him.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Sebastian won’t care.”

  “But I don’t have an invitation.”

  Violet waved her hand, brushing away my objection. “It’s not one of those starchy old-fashioned parties. You can come with us. It’s a Saturday-to-Monday. We’re staying with Sebastian at Archly Manor. I’m sure he won’t mind if you come. The party is Friday night, and you need to wear something silver or gold. Gwen is coming too—although I’m sure it’s only to keep an eye on me. She doesn’t usually go to his parties. If you’re there, that will give Gwen something to do besides glower at me. Sebastian’s parties are the absolute best. Last time we played charades, and it was screaming.”

  “That wasn’t technically charades,” Alfred said.

  “Oh, I know, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had playing charades.” Violet bounced a bit as she shifted toward me. “We were utterly stumped and had guessed every possible thing, so Sebastian went upstairs to his studio and came back down wearing a dress, gloves, a wig, and a monstrous hat dripping with flowers. Then he had poor James—that’s Sebastian’s secretary—lie down on the sofa. Then Sebastian went into this whole act of mincing over and shaking James’s hand. Sebastian was Queen Mary!”

  “Sounds as if Sebastian is quite the character,” I said.

  “Oh, he is. I’ll fix it up with him for you to come with us.” She swung toward Alfred, her face bright. “I know—you could play something for us on the piano.”

  Alfred said, “Then we wouldn’t be able to dance together, silly goose.”

  “Oh. Yes, that’s true. Never mind about dancing, then. You can play, and we’ll sing a duet. Something fun.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. They left me with stacks of gramophone records in my lap.

  Alfred was a talented piano player and sang well. He and Violet serenaded us for the rest of the evening. As soon as the party broke up, I went upstairs and sat down at the writing desk in my room. I took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote down everything I’d learned about Alfred. It was a pitifully short list, but it was a start.

  Over the course of the next two days, I did my best to casually bring up Alfred’s background, his time in India, or his parentage. But each time, I couldn’t pin him down to anything more specific than what he’d already said. The only details I could get from him about India were that it alternated between horribly hot weather and horribly rainy weather. He’d had a happy childhood in Delhi. His father had enjoyed his job as an accountant, and his mother had thrown herself into colonial society.

  I couldn’t draw any further information from him, not the name of a friend or acquaintance, anything more specific about his father’s job, or even the location of where his parents had met. Over the breakfast table on Friday morning, I renewed my attack. Alfred was eating an egg, and Violet, who was seated at his side, was buttering toast.

  I said, “I’d really love to hear more about your time in India, Alfred.”

  Violet paused with her knife in the air. “I never knew you were so interested in India, Olive. What’s brought this on? Are you thinking of going out there yourself? I’ve heard it’s much easier to find a husband there.”

  Aunt Caroline, who had been going through the morning post, dropped her envelopes and flashed a warning glance at Violet. “The weather is lovely, and I think it will hold. Should we picnic today?”

  Violet said, “That would be spiffing.”

  “Violet, please,” Aunt Caroline said. “Don’t use those horrible slang terms. It’s not ladylike. Will you go with us on the picnic, Olive?”

  “It sounds like a wonderful afternoon, but I have to pass. I have other plans.”

  I went upstairs, rang for a maid to pack my bag, then went to see Aunt Caroline when I thought she’d be finished with breakfast. I found her in the morning room checking her painting supplies, which she planned to bring on the picnic.

  “I’m off to London,” I said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to press Alfred for more details. It’s getting rather awkward.”

  Aunt Caroline paused, her hands bristling with paintbrushes, and sighed. “Yes, as Violet demonstrated this morning. But what will you do?”

  “I’ll visit South Regent Mansions. See what I can find out there. I’ll try to confirm when he moved in and find out who visits him, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s the next logical step.”

  “Gwen will pick me up tomorrow, and we’ll meet Violet and Alfred at Archly Manor for the party.”

  “I’m not pleased about that party—such extravagance doesn’t seem appropriate. So many people are facing such difficult times.” She tucked the brushes into her box. “But I know better than to throw obstacles in Violet’s way. She’d picture herself a persecuted Juliet at the first opportunity.”

  “A wise decision, I think. She’d play the role with gusto. I’ll let Gwen know anything I discover.”

  “Excellent,” Aunt Caroline said without looking up from her paints.

  “South Regent Mansions,” I said later that afternoon as I settled back against the seat of the London taxi. The fifty pounds that Gwen had counted out of the household account resided in my handbag, which I held securely in my lap with both hands clasped over it. Fifty pounds! It seemed an enormous amount. A few years ago I would have thought it a trifling sum, but after scrimping and counting every shilling, I had a new appreciation for the value of a pound—and I now had fifty of them.

  The taxi zipped by a dress shop with scrumptious little hats and beautiful frocks. I turned my gaze to the other side of the street and squashed a sigh of longing. The money was for the investigation into Alfred. I couldn’t spend it frivolously. A taxi ride was the most my conscience would allow. Well, and maybe a good dinner. Transportation and food were legitimate expenses.

  The taxi pulled up outside the undulating facade of South Regent Mansions in Mayfair. If Alfred could afford to live here, he was certainly doing all right. I paid the driver and gave a generous tip. How wonderful it was to not have to be stingy.

  Chapter Six

  Not ever having bribed someone, I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. I suspected stating the fact that I was offering a bribe would be gauche, so when the hall porter at South Regent Mansions repeated that he really couldn’t say anything about Alfred, I opened my handbag and edged out one of the five-pound notes. Perhaps I should offer two five-pound notes? No, better to start low. I glanced around the elegant proportions of the entry hall, which was deserted, but I was sure it wouldn’t stay quiet for long. I squeezed the crisp bill in my palm. It made a satisfactory crunching sound as it crinkled. The porter’s gaze darted down and lingered on the note.

  “Are you sure you can’t tell me anything else about Alfred Eton?” The hall porter had confirmed Alfred was, indeed, a resident, but that’s all he would say.

  “No, miss.” With his narrow forehead, wide cheeks, and a mustache that covered his upper lip and traced down each side of his mouth, he reminded me of a walrus. His narrow shoulders and broad hips only added to the effect. “I really couldn’t say, miss.” He slowly drew his gaze away from the money. “I
’ve only worked here a month. Mr. Eton moved in before I came, so I don’t know when he arrived.”

  “What about friends and associates? Mr. Eton must have an occasional visitor.”

  He smoothed his extravagant mustache while he thought. “No, nothing that would be appropriate to share.” The lift rattled and began its descent. The porter looked to the front doors, clearly ready for me to leave.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is it a woman who visits him? Is that why you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Wouldn’t be right,” he said with a note of finality.

  I extended my hand. “Thank you for speaking to me.”

  His eyebrows went up slightly in surprise, but he reflexively reached out to shake my hand. I pressed the note into his palm. “Perhaps you could keep an eye out and let me know if anything changes. I’ll drop by again soon.” It was hard to tell with the mustache, but I think he smiled.

  Not the outcome I wanted, but at least I might have an ally in South Regent Mansions. As I strolled through Mayfair, I considered how to enter that exchange in my expenses. Aunt Caroline wouldn’t be happy to see bribe listed. Perhaps incentive pay. Yes, that sounded much better.

  I walked until I came to a telephone box, where I made two calls. First, I rang up Essie Matthews. She wasn’t in, but her maid informed me Essie was looking for a new hat and told me which shops were her favorites.

  Next, I telephoned Jasper. His man answered. When I asked to speak with Jasper, Grigsby said, “I will inquire as to whether he is available.”

  A few moments later, Jasper’s voice came over the line. I asked, “Does your man dislike all females who telephone you, or is it just me?”

  “Olive, old girl! You have to excuse Grigsby. He takes his duty to protect my virtue quite seriously. How are you?”

  “I have a job,” I said. “It’s temporary, but it pays well.”