Murder at Archly Manor

by Sara Rosett

  My hands went clammy, and I returned the pearls to their position in the jewelry box. I was careful to leave the lid open just as I’d found it. I went to the door and listened for a moment, then remembered the light. I scuttled across the room, switched off the lamp, then slipped out and made my way down to the drawing room.

  At the bottom of the stairs, instead of turning left for the drawing room, I turned right and hurried down the hall to Sebastian’s study. I closed the door and went to the telephone. It again took a while to be connected to Scotland Yard. I listened to the clicks on the line as the clock on the mantle ticked. I expected the door to open at any moment with someone—Gwen, Violet, or perhaps a servant—tracking me down.

  Finally, a male voice came on the line, but it wasn’t Longly. “I must speak to Inspector Longly.”

  “He’s on a case,” a gravelly voice said. “Message?”

  “Have him telephone Olive Belgrave at Archly Manor. It’s urgent. I must speak to him tonight.” After a few seconds of dead air, I said, “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “. . . Belgrave . . . Archly . . . Manor,” he said, drawing out the syllables. He must have been speaking as he wrote the words.

  “It’s urgent. Make a note of that as well. I must speak to Inspector Longly tonight.”

  “As I said, he’s on a case. May not be in until late.”

  “Then I need to speak to someone else.”

  “I suppose I could have the constable telephone when he gets in later.”

  “Yes. Please do that.”

  I replaced the ear piece and blew out a breath, but I didn’t feel relieved. Once I told Longly what I’d found out, would the outcome be any different than the one involving Lady Pamela? A broken necklace didn’t prove Thea’s guilt. I was sure if she was confronted with the necklace, Thea would come up with some excuse for it—most likely she’d blame the damage to her necklace on her maid. No, if I wanted to help Violet, I had to do more than point out a frayed thread.

  I steadied my breathing. I didn’t want to enter the drawing room vibrating with energy as I had the day before. Monty had picked up on my excitement then. I had to be more circumspect. When I entered the drawing room, I paced sedately to where Violet was speaking to James in a corner. “James, I need to speak to Violet for a moment alone. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not.” He ambled away.

  “Violet, I need you to do something tonight at dinner. I think we can flush out the person who killed Alfred.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Babcock entered and announced dinner. “I don’t have time to explain it right now. Will you help me?”

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  I whispered a few sentences in her ear.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes. That should do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Set a nice little trap.”

  “A trap?” Violet asked.

  “Not so loud,” I said through a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not setting you up as bait.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “No greeting for your old pal?”

  “Jasper! What are you doing here?” I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize someone had fallen into step beside me.

  “I was nearby and decided to drop in. I hear there’s been an exciting turn of events.”

  Jasper and I followed Muriel and Hugh into the dining room. “Yes, quite a bit has happened.”

  “You’ll have to tell me after dinner. I’ll wait with bated breath.” He drifted off to the other side of the dining table.

  Violet was seated not far from me. About halfway through dinner, during a lull in conversation, she said to Tug in a clear voice, “. . . nothing to worry about, Olive figured it out—who pushed Alfred, I mean.” She shot a triumphant look in Lady Pamela’s direction. “It’s only a matter of time. She’ll contact the inspect—”

  “Violet!” I said.

  “What? Oh.” She glanced around the table, then murmured, “I didn’t realize . . .”

  Gwen cleared her throat. “Such lovely weather we had today. Where did you go on your drive, Monty?”

  Conversation resumed, but it wasn’t my imagination—there was a definite tension in the air for the rest of the meal.

  After dinner, Violet insisted that Alfred wouldn’t have wanted us to sit around like “sad sacks” and convinced Sebastian to move the gramophone to one of the doors that opened onto the terrace. Sebastian’s collection of music included some records he’d brought back from America, and we danced across the terrace to the strains of Dancing Time. Aunt Caroline would have disapproved of the evening’s entertainment, but I thought Violet was probably right. Excellent food, dancing, and music was exactly the right type of wake for Alfred.

  Monty asked me to dance. As he took my hand, he said, “So you’ve figured it out. And let me guess—you won’t give me even a hint?”

  “No, I’m sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell anyone until I speak to Inspector Longly.”

  “Probably not a good idea, keeping it to yourself.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  The music came to an end, and Jasper strolled up to us. “Cutting in on you, old boy,” he said to Monty, who still held my hand. Monty didn’t let go. “Well, I suppose that depends on what Olive wants, doesn’t it?”

  I twisted my hand out of Monty’s grip. “Don’t be a goose, Monty. Of course I’ll dance with Jasper. We’re all dancing with everyone,” I said.

  “If that’s what you’d like.” Monty stalked off.

  “Touchy chap,” Jasper said as we began to foxtrot.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into Monty,” I said. “He’s usually so good natured.”

  “I know,” Jasper said.

  Several beats of music passed. “Well, what is it?”

  “He likes a clear playing field—no competition.”

  I stared at Jasper for a moment, then looked over his shoulder to where Monty stood, arms crossed as he watched Jasper and me, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “But that’s silly. You and I are pals.”

  “Of course we are.” Jasper smiled at me, and a warm sensation fluttered inside me. “Got the wrong end of the stick, doesn’t he?”

  Was that a hint of flirtation in his tone . . . or was it a challenge? Before I could respond, Jasper continued, “But you can’t tell Monty that. Once he’s in a mood, there’s no talking to him.”

  Jasper directed our steps to the dim end of the terrace, away from the light glowing from the drawing room. “Now, what are you up to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That scene in the dining room you and Violet staged. What game are you playing at?”

  “We’re not playing at anything.”

  Jasper raised one eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.” He tightened his grip on my hand, and we whirled through a series of tight turns, his gaze locked on mine. “You’re not dancing around the terrace without a care in the world—you’re up to something. You can’t fool me, you know. You’re playing in deep waters. I have no doubt you figured out the murderer—that’s just the clever sort of thing you’d do. It’s the other bit that worries me.”

  I looked back at Monty. He was still glowering as he watched Jasper and me. For the little plan I’d set into motion with Violet, I needed someone with me for the rest of the evening. I’d thought I would ask Monty, but it didn’t look as though he was in the mood to be helpful at the moment.

  I returned my attention to Jasper. “Perhaps I am up to something . . . and I could use a little help,” I said, realizing I’d rather have Jasper with me anyway. Obviously, Monty’s mood blew hot and cold, something I hadn’t known before. Jasper could be decidedly flighty about some things—like his clothing—but I knew I could trust him.

  “Good,” Jasper said. “That’ll work out well, because I intend to stick to you like glue for the
rest of the evening.”

  “When I said I would stick with you for the rest of the evening, I had no idea that you were going to keep me up until dawn.”

  “It’s not dawn,” I said. “It’s barely two o’clock. Sebastian’s parties always go until the wee hours of the morning. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.” I adjusted the arrangement of pillows in my bed and stepped back for a critical look. “Will it do?”

  Jasper stood beside me, his head tilted to one side. “In the dark? Yes. It will fool someone, but only for a moment or two.”

  “That’s all we need.” I moved to the main light switch near the door. “You go sit down on the floor over there on the other side of the wardrobe. I’ll turn off the light and check if I can see you from this side of the room.”

  Jasper moved across the room and hunkered down on the far side of the hulking piece of furniture. I switched off the light, and darkness filled the room except for a band of moonlight coming in through the window where I’d pulled back the drapes. The pale shaft of light fell across the bed and showed the dim outline of what looked to be a figure under the blankets. I peered into the blackness around the wardrobe, but I couldn’t see any shadows or an outline that resembled a person. “I think it will work.”

  I moved slowly across the room, hands extended in front of me so that I didn’t bump into anything. I navigated around the chairs in front of the fireplace.

  “Over here,” Jasper said, and I turned a degree, following the sound of his voice.

  My extended hand brushed against his fingers. I felt my way up his arm to his shoulder and sat down beside him. “Good idea to move the chairs slightly,” I said. “If she has a torch, the wingbacks should shield us from her view, at least from the doorway.”

  I became aware of the scent of lime, which must have been Jasper’s aftershave, as I settled back against the wall.

  After a few moments of silence, Jasper asked, “How do you think Thea will do it?”

  “She’ll want to get me out of the way. Death by misadventure would be the best thing for her. The simplest method would be an overdose of sleeping powders,” I said.

  “Cold?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You shivered.”

  “I did? Well, it’s odd to speak about someone plotting one’s death.”

  “I can see how that would give you a bit of a chill. Would you like my jacket?”

  “No. I’m fine. Thea’s not going to kill me. We just need to catch her attempting it. She’ll have exposed herself as the one person who had to silence me—surely the inspector will be able to arrest her then.”

  “It would be better if your inspector were here.”

  “Yes, I know, but I couldn’t talk to him, and Thea is leaving in the morning. Going to Brazil—or so she says.”

  “Ah, I begin to see why you’re so dead set on this scheme—it’s for Violet, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. She shouldn’t have to live in the shadow of Alfred’s death.”

  “Your loyalty is astounding, you know.” Jasper shifted position. “Someone might go to all this trouble for themselves, but rarely would someone do it for anyone else.”

  “Hush—did you hear that?”

  Footfalls sounded faintly, grew louder, then continued past the door.

  After a moment, Jasper said, “False alarm. Do you ever use sleeping powders?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. Might be an issue for Thea.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure Thea plans to tell the investigators I couldn’t sleep and asked her for some powders. Tragic I took too many by mistake, that sort of thing.”

  “I suppose if that doesn’t work, her other choice would be suffocation,” Jasper said. “It’s quiet. She could straighten the cushions and pillows, then pour some of the sleeping powder down your throat afterward and hope the doctor misses any signs of suffocation.”

  Hearing Jasper lay it out so analytically sent another shiver through me. “Enough about that,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what method she tries. She won’t succeed.”

  “Quite. Your protector is here.”

  “You’re not my protector. You’re my witness.”

  “That’s rather a comedown. Well, think of it however you like.” His voice became serious. “You’re quite sure it’s Thea who will arrive?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because I don’t fancy a bout of fisticuffs in the dark with some hefty man. Don’t want to pull my punches then find out it’s actually a man and I should have gone all out.”

  “It can’t be a man. It was a blonde woman in a dress on the balcony who pushed Alfred.”

  “So a man couldn’t wear a dress and a wig?” Jasper asked. “Sebastian does have a thing for costumes, you know.”

  “Yes, I know that, but only women were on this floor when Alfred was pushed,” I said, my words coming slowly.

  “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

  “I’m only wondering where Sebastian was when Alfred died.” The footmen had sworn no one else had gone upstairs, but they’d lie for Sebastian if he told them to . . . and he did have the rack of costumes in his studio. I rubbed my forehead. “Now you have me doubting myself.” I shook my head and shifted so that I was sitting straighter against the wall. “But then how would Thea’s pearls come to be on the terrace and her necklace shortened and mended? And I don’t think she would recruit anyone to do this for her. It will be Thea,” I said and told him about the pearls and how I figured out it was Thea who’d pitched Alfred over the balcony.

  “Well, I can’t fault your logic there, except for the fact that you can’t figure out why Alfred was blackmailing her.”

  “Yes, it would make a much more reliable argument for Inspector Longly.”

  I felt Jasper’s shoulder shrug against mine. “Who knows? Perhaps something to do with her husband’s frequent extended overseas trips? Maybe he’s not the upstanding businessman he wants everyone to believe he is. I’ve heard a murmur or two about him and his amazing success in business—questionable practices. I thought it was sour grapes, but maybe there’s a bit of truth there.”

  We fell silent after that, except for Jasper’s occasional complaint he couldn’t feel his legs. Every time I heard footfalls in the corridor, I went rigid. My heartbeat sped up. Jasper leaned his head against the wardrobe, and I could tell from his breathing he’d fallen asleep.

  By three o’clock, the household had settled down, and the only noises were the quarter hour chimes from the little clock on the mantlepiece and the occasional creak and groan of the house as it settled. I was considering putting my head on Jasper’s shoulder and taking a short nap when I heard the click of the door latch releasing.

  I gripped Jasper’s arm with one hand and reached out to cover his mouth with my fingers, expecting him to make some sort of noise, but he came fully awake the moment I squeezed his arm and didn’t make a sound. I used my grip on his arm to balance as I shifted so I was crouched, ready to spring up.

  As the door swung open, the shadow of a figure stretched across the carpet to the foot of the bed.

  “It’s a child,” I said to Jasper as I stood. I caught the back of the chair as the blood rushed tingling into my legs and feet. “Paul? Is that you?”

  “Miss . . . Belgrave?” He scrubbed his hand across his hair and blinked as he came a few steps into the room. “Where’s Muriel? I had a nightmare and want her to sing to me. She does that sometimes, and it helps me get back to sleep.”

  I went across the room to him. He was in his pajamas and had a bleary-eyed look about him. In the light from the hallway, he spotted Jasper, who’d stood up and moved toward us. “What’s he doing?”

  “A game,” I said quickly. “We’re playing a game.”

  “Topping!” He came fully awake. “I want to join.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that. You should be back in bed. It’s late.” I put my hand on his shoulder to turn him to the door. “Let’s go look for M
uriel. I’m sure she’s upstairs.”

  “But she’s not. She’s not in her room. I looked, and she wasn’t there. I wanted her to sing for me because it helps me go to sleep,” he repeated.

  “That’s nice of her. You must be very special. Mr. Eton tried to get her to sing once, and she wouldn’t do it.”

  Paul nodded. “She only sings in the nursery. Mr. Eton used to ask her to sing. It makes her mad, and when he called her his songbird, that made her even madder, so I never call her that.”

  I’d been inching Paul to the door, but I stopped and dropped down onto my knees so my face was the same level as his. I put both hands on his shoulders. “Songbird? Are you sure that’s what Mr. Eton called her?”

  “Yes, not often, just every once in a while. It made her so angry, so I never do it.”

  I went cold all over. Little details—gramophone records and a few words casually spoken—hadn’t seemed important, but now they slotted into place and created a picture that set my heart thumping. I stood up. “I was wrong.” A band tightened around my chest, choking off my breath and my words. “I was wrong—so wrong.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Fighting to draw in a breath, I dashed out the door and down the corridor to Thea’s room. I threw the door back against the wall.

  Muriel had changed out of her evening gown and now wore a day dress, a hat, and gloves. She stood at Thea’s bed, a valise on the floor beside her feet. With her arm wrapped around Thea’s shoulders, she held a glass to Thea’s lips. The bang of the door against the wall startled Muriel, but Thea only tilted her head slightly and seemed to struggle to lift her eyelids.

  I raced across the room, trying to ignore the constriction in my chest, and knocked the tumbler from Muriel’s grasp.

  She jerked her arm out from under Thea’s shoulders. Thea’s upper body flopped onto the pillows as Muriel spun away from the bed, her long beaded necklace whirling through the air. She gave my shoulder a hard shove as she turned.

  I stumbled backward a few steps, caught my balance, then lunged for Muriel, who was charging for the door. She had a head start on me, but I grabbed the long necklace that was bouncing against her shoulder blades and yanked.