by Sara Rosett
I straightened and massaged the kink in my neck.
Last night Gwen had insisted on accompanying Violet to her interview with Inspector Jennings. I had returned to my room and sat down in the chair beside the empty fireplace, but I’d left the connecting door between my room and Gwen’s open, thinking I’d hear them when they returned. I must have slept through any noise they made.
I stood and rotated my shoulders, then stretched my arms. I still wore the white dress with the gold overdress, but it was creased with wrinkles. I walked to the windows, drew back the curtains, and blinked against the bright sunlight.
It was a gorgeous summer day with a bright blue sky above the dense trees. I opened the window, and a breeze ruffled the drapes. Some of the paper lanterns had fallen out of the trees and were scattered across the lawn. The morning dew had coated them, and now they had a sad, deflated look.
A servant moved across the grass, picking up the lanterns, bits of trash, cigarette butts, and discarded plates and glasses. The grinding noise of an engine filled the air, then a lorry with the name of a caterer emblazoned on the side came around the house from the back entrance and lumbered along the drive toward the main gate. The police must have finished on the terrace and ground floor. Last night, they’d banished everyone from the north side of the house where Alfred had fallen.
I went to the connecting door between my room and Gwen’s, which was still slightly open as I’d left it. I pushed it back another few inches. Gwen sat in front of her dressing table, her loose hair spread across her shoulders. She was wrapped in a dressing gown and held a brush in her hand, turning it over and over as she stared at the glass. My movement, reflected in the mirror, caught her attention. “Oh, good. You’re up. I didn’t have the heart to wake you when we came back from speaking with the police.”
“How did that go?”
Gwen put the brush down and rubbed her forehead. “Terrible. That awful man from the police thinks Violet pushed Alfred. And I think the only reason he didn’t arrest her last night is because an inspector from Scotland Yard will be here later today.”
“I had the same feeling about him—that he suspected Violet, but that premise is absurd. Heaps of people came to the party. And who knows how many of them came upstairs?”
Gwen looked up. “What do you mean? Sebastian had footmen stationed at the main stairs as well as the servants’ staircase to prevent anyone from wandering into the rooms above the ground floor.”
“Well, yes, but who’s to say someone didn’t slip past a footman or perhaps bribe their way upstairs? And even if we’re only considering people who could legitimately get beyond the footmen, Violet wasn’t the only one upstairs.”
“Someone else was up here at that time?”
“Yes. Reams of people, actually.”
“Who?”
“Lady Pamela, for one. She came out of her room when I came upstairs to find Violet. Thea had retired to her room with a headache, and I know Jane was tending to her. Who knows who else was on this floor at that time? Anyone could have been lurking behind all the closed doors.”
“I was up here too.” Gwen smiled briefly. “But I don’t think the fact that I—or anyone else—was on this floor will have any impact on what the police think. They seem to have made up their minds.” She aligned the brush with a comb. “I had to telephone Mum this morning. It was awful. She’s so worried. On top of everything else, Father has come down with something.” Gwen said, her voice wavering.
“Gwen, what’s happened?”
“The doctor suspects it might be the . . .” Gwen took a breath. “The flu.”
“Oh, Gwen. I’m sorry. That’s awful. I’m sure he’ll be fine, though.” After the horrible flu epidemic a few years ago, just the word flu sent a chill through me.
Gwen blinked and sniffed. “Yes, I’m sure he will be too. It’s all that tramping around the estate. Mum said it was especially damp a few days ago, and he was out the entire day. I’m not going to tell Violet. She has enough to worry about right now.” Gwen picked up her handkerchief and blew her nose. “The doctor’s quarantined everyone at Parkview. Otherwise I’m sure Mum and Father would already be on their way here. Father’s contacted his solicitor, but the solicitor is in Ireland.” Gwen tossed the handkerchief onto the dressing table. “Everything is so terrible right now. When word gets out in Nether Woodsmoor, Mum’ll be devastated. The whispers. You know how monstrous people can be.”
“Yes, I know—they can be vicious, especially in a village.” I pressed my lips together, remembering the gossipy murmurs I’d heard in Nether Woodsmoor as a child about Mum . . . and about me too. After Mum rode a bike through the village wearing trousers, I could still hear two of the old biddies as I waited behind them at the chemist. Unaware of my presence, Mrs. Nettlebury said to Mrs. Taylor, “. . . what can you expect? She is American, after all. Common—not up to our standards at all. I have no idea what the dear vicar sees in her.” Since something as innocuous as my mother’s clothing set them off, I hated to think what the reaction of some of the villagers would be to the news that Violet was caught up in the investigation of Alfred’s death.
I moved across the room and sat on the end of the bed. “Don’t worry about Uncle Leo. You know he’s as strong as an ox. He’ll be fine in a few days. Just think of what a horrible patient he is and be glad you’re not the one trying to convince him to stay in bed and rest.”
Gwen’s nervous fingers were fiddling with the brush again, but she made an effort and a tiny smile appeared. “Yes, that is true.”
“And as far as the police’s opinion about Violet, we’ll just have to find someone else for them to consider.”
Gwen stopped fingering the brush. “Do you think it’s possible? To find someone else? And is that quite . . . fair? To divert their attention onto someone else?”
“Gwen, dear, you have to stop being so tender hearted. Is it fair to suspect Violet simply because she was on this floor? Really, that’s all they have to go on,” I said.
Gwen’s forehead wrinkled. “No, it’s not right of them to decide it was Violet with so little to go on.” Her face cleared and she swiveled fully toward me. “You can do it.”
“Of course I’ll do anything to help Violet.” We’d grown up together. I would do everything I could to help Violet. Gwen, Violet, and Peter were like siblings to me. And Gwen was right about the scandal. It would devastate Aunt Caroline. Uncle Leo didn’t mind things like that so much, but Aunt Caroline wasn’t so lost in her painting that she wouldn’t notice the sting of gossip.
Gwen’s face became animated. “No, I mean you can investigate this, like you were investigating Alfred.”
“But that was different. I was only looking into his background.”
Gwen said, “It’s not that different. You’ve already found out some information, like who was on this floor. Now you just need to find out who had a motive to push Alfred over the balcony.”
“When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound at all like meddling in a police investigation.”
“You wouldn’t be meddling. A few questions here and there.” She came over and sat on the bed beside me. “I don’t know if you heard that Violet and Alfred argued, and several people overheard them.”
“Tug mentioned it to me.”
A look of distaste crossed Gwen’s face. “Not a very pleasant young man.”
“So you danced with him too?” I asked.
“You mean, did I try to keep him at arm’s length to stay out of range of the fumes?” She grinned, then turned serious again. “In any case, the fact that Violet and Alfred argued . . . well, I’ll be the first to admit she has a temper, but Violet would never do anything to actually hurt Alfred.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“But the argument is awfully significant—at least in the eyes of that police inspector. Last night, he kept going on and on, asking Violet about it. She said it was about whether they should sit out a dance or not, which I don�
�t believe for a minute. So that’s three things against Violet—her relationship with Alfred, she was on this floor, and she and Alfred argued.”
“This inspector from the Yard may be completely different from the local police inspector. The Scotland Yard inspector may have an open mind.”
“But what if he doesn’t? No, you’ve got to do it.” She straightened, her face alight. “I know. I’ll pay you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Gwen squeezed my hand. “I know you need the money.”
“I don’t think—”
“I won’t hear anything else about it. Consider this an extension of our earlier decision to have you search out the truth about Alfred,” Gwen said in her best lady of the manor voice, then her shoulders sloped and worry filled her expression. “You will do it, won’t you? You’re so good at this kind of thing. I’d be hopeless at it. You’re marvelous at finding things out.”
“I wasn’t actually doing that well where Alfred was concerned. It had all been a dead end, in fact.”
“Please. We’ll work together. You’re miles better at something like this than I am, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Yes, you do tend to see the best in everyone. If I left it to you, you’d never have the heart to name another suspect.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far—it is my sister we’re talking about—but you’re right. I do tend to assume the best.”
I couldn’t turn her down. I patted her hand. “While I, hard-hearted working girl that I am, don’t have any such qualms.”
I bathed and changed into a pale yellow dress with white piping on the sleeves and collar. It was too frivolous for a job interview, but it was perfect for a country house visit. I couldn’t do anything about the dark circles under my eyes, but I dusted my face with powder and added a touch of color to my lips. I selected a long necklace of bugle beads, which reminded me of the pearls I’d found on the terrace. I probably should’ve given them to the police inspector, but after his immediate assumption of Violet’s guilt, I’d decided to hold onto them and give them to the inspector from Scotland Yard. When I’d taken off my gloves, I’d left the pearls inside them. With all the confusion around Alfred’s death, a maid hadn’t been up to tidy my room or put my clothes away.
I went to my dresser and shook out the glove. The string of pearls rolled across the dresser, milky white and perfectly matched. I dropped them in my handbag. The pearls were the least of my worries. If the inspector from Scotland Yard wasn’t reasonable, I would still do everything I could to make sure he widened his investigation beyond Violet. I’d made a promise to Gwen, and I’d fulfill it. It seemed the best place to start was with the other people who had been on the second floor last night.
It was only a little after eight. I was sure that Lady Pamela wouldn’t emerge from her room for hours, and Thea was probably still asleep as well, so I couldn’t make any progress there, but I could find out more about Jane. She’d definitely been buzzing with strong emotion when she had come to Thea’s room, and she’d left Archly Manor shortly afterward. I rang for a cup of tea. When the maid brought it, it was the same dark-haired young woman with the long nose who had escorted me downstairs. I wondered if she’d gotten any sleep at all. She put the tray down and was about to leave when I asked her, “Has Jane returned?”
“No, miss. I don’t expect she will. I think she’s gone to London to stay with her sister.”
“Did Jane go to London often?”
“As often as she could. Her sister works in a bank. Jane said that someday she’d be able to work there too. I thought it was all talk, but I suppose it has to be true, now that she’s gone and left. After Mr. Eton spoke to her so harshly, I’m not at all surprised she left.”
I hadn’t heard about this. “Something happened between Jane and Mr. Eton?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m sure . . . a small misunderstanding.” She moved toward the door. “If that will be all . . .”
“No, wait. It’s important. Jane and Alfred argued?”
She gave a small nod.
“And what did they argue about?”
“I don’t know, miss. I only saw them from down the hall. Mr. Eton was rather looming over Jane, pointing at her. He was mad—I could see that by his face. He was frowning and jabbing his finger at her. She pushed his hand away and said something . . . impertinent, I thought, by the look of it. Then Jane walked away. That’s all I saw, I promise. I didn’t hear a word they said.”
I couldn’t draw any more details out of her, so I dismissed her, drank my tea, and ate the buttered toast on the tray. I left my room by the door that opened onto the hallway. I walked past Gwen’s door and knocked on the door to Violet’s room. I’d convinced Gwen to lie down and rest for a while. She hadn’t slept at all, and I didn’t want to disturb her. The doors on the other side of the hall were closed. Light showed under Alfred’s door, but Lady Pamela’s and Thea’s doors were still closed and no light showed from under them.
I tapped on Violet’s door. No response came from the other side, so I peeked inside. Violet, wearing a lilac dressing gown, was curled into the corner of one of the chairs positioned in front of a roaring fire, her head resting against the wing. Without lifting her head, she glanced at me, then returned her gaze to the fire.
“Goodness, Violet. It’s stifling in here.”
“I can’t seem to get warm.”
“Then you should get dressed and come outside. It’s a beautiful day, and the sun is bright. It will be hot soon.”
“I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone either.” She shifted her shoulder, turning away from me slightly. I sat down in the chair across from her. “Violet, I know you’re upset about Alfred.”
“It’s awful,” she said in a small voice that was unlike her usual robust tone. “I don’t want to think about it, but it’s all I can think about. And then there’s that ghastly policeman. He thinks I pushed Alfred. It’s like an endless carousel in my head. First Alfred and then the police. I was afraid that they were going to take me away. And then what would I do? What would Mum and Daddy do? They’d be crushed—absolutely crushed.”
“Then I suggest you help me prove you didn’t do it.” I spoke with the starchy tones that Nanny at Parkview used on Gwen, Violet, and Peter when they were young. Violet was already distraught, and I didn’t want to give her any reason to become more emotional than she already was. I wanted to ask her about the argument between Alfred and Jane but decided to hold off. She was in a fragile state, and it wasn’t the right time to fire questions at her.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “But how can we do that? I was in this room, alone. There’s no way to prove that.”
“No, but we can prove that someone else could have been on the balcony besides you.”
Violet turned. Her hair was pressed flat against her head where she’d been leaning on the chair. “Like who?”
“Well, there are lots of people who might be possibilities.”
“Who?”
“Lady Pamela, for one. She was upstairs at the same time you were. I saw her when I came up to find you. I’m sure she’s sleeping now. It would be incredibly bad manners to burst into her room and ask her about last night, so we can’t talk to her right now, but I intend to talk to the footman who guarded the landing. I’ll find out who else came upstairs. Then there’s also the maid, Jane, who left sometime last night and hasn’t returned. I want to discover where she’s gone.”
At the name of the maid, a spark of interest appeared in Violet’s eyes, but then she dropped her gaze to the arm of the chair and ran her finger over a seam. “Anyone else?”
“Thea had a migraine.” With the extreme pain Thea had been in, I couldn’t picture her wrestling with anyone to shove them over a balcony. “She was either asleep or incapacitated from her headache, but I’d still like to talk to her later today when she finally comes out of her room.”
Violet traced the seam, giving i
t all her attention. “I suppose I could get dressed.”
“Excellent idea.”
I went downstairs and asked Babcock where to find the footman who had guarded the landing during the party. If he was curious as to why I was asking about a footman, Babcock didn’t show it. With his face impassive, he told me George had gone to retrieve the breakfast tray from the nursery and would be down shortly.
I trotted up the stairs to the first floor, then went down the hallway to the narrow set of stairs at the end of the corridor, the servants’ staircase that ran from the top floor to the kitchen on the ground floor. I climbed the bare wooden stair treads to the next floor and met the footman as he backed out of the nursery door, a tray with empty plates balanced in one hand.
I didn’t want to startle him, so I waited until he’d closed the door and turned in my direction. “Hello, George. I’m Miss Belgrave.”
“Yes, miss. I remember you from last night.”
I eyed the full tray, which had to be heavy. “Excellent. I won’t keep you. I have a question about last evening. Who went upstairs shortly before the fireworks began or right after?”
He wasn’t quite so schooled as Babcock in keeping his expression blank, and a flare of surprise showed on his face for a second before he cleared it and said, “Besides yourself, I saw Miss Violet and Mr. Eton as well as Lady Pamela and . . .” He stared over my shoulder as he thought. “And Miss Stone.”
“What about Mrs. Reid?” I asked. “Did she leave her room after I brought her up?”
“No, miss.” He adjusted his grip on the tray.
“I’ll walk with you to the stairs,” I said and turned. He followed me as I asked, “And Jane, the maid. What about her?”
“She came up, but that was earlier, when you were with Mrs. Reid.”
“And did she come down?”
“Yes, miss. She was carrying her suitcase.”
“And she didn’t go back up later?”