Murder at Archly Manor

by Sara Rosett

  She jerked backward, hands at her throat. The necklace snapped and beads rained down, plinking onto the furniture and floor. Then Jasper was there, blocking Muriel’s path to the door. He grabbed one of her wrists and twisted it behind her back, immobilizing her. Muriel writhed against Jasper’s hold, but he captured her other wrist and imprisoned it behind her back. She jerked from side to side, panting.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Shocking lack of manners.”

  My legs felt like pudding, but I moved to the bed and checked Thea. She was breathing. Some of the pressure on my chest eased, but it was still an effort to force out her name. “Thea?”

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  I pushed away from the bed and inhaled a raspy breath. “I think she’ll be . . . okay. I’ll get Sebastian . . . to call . . . a doctor.” Muriel was still lunging and fighting against Jasper’s hold, but her strength seemed to be diminishing. Her movements were getting smaller, and she was panting harder.

  Jasper hitched one of Muriel’s arms higher, which subdued her. Jasper said, “Run along. then. We’ll wait for you here.”

  Sebastian closed Thea’s door, leaving Dr. Evans with her, and stepped into the hall with Jasper and me.

  The doctor and the police had been summoned, and Muriel was locked in an empty room on the top floor with a hefty footman standing guard outside until the police arrived. Paul, who’d run into Thea’s bedroom with Jasper, hadn’t seemed traumatized, and Mrs. Foster had been summoned. She’d called for Milly, who had taken Paul back to bed.

  Sebastian released the door handle of Thea’s room and ran his hand over his bony face. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said to Jasper and me. “I’m not completely awake yet. Muriel killed Alfred? Why?”

  “Muriel was the songbird. She has to be,” I said.

  “I’m sorry?” Sebastian said.

  “Alfred was blackmailing Muriel. He used nicknames when he listed his blackmail targets in the notebook Violet found. The word Songbird was on the list, but I couldn’t figure out who it could be. Not everyone on the list paid Alfred,” I said, thinking of Monty, “so I assumed the person who Alfred called Songbird had refused to pay, and Alfred had let it go. It appears I was wrong—so wrong.”

  “But why?” Sebastian asked. “What reason would Alfred have to blackmail Muriel? She’s so . . . bland.”

  “I think Alfred and Muriel must have known each other in America.”

  Jasper swiveled toward me. “Why would you think that? Has Muriel ever been across the pond?”

  “I believe she has, at least from her vocabulary.” I turned to Sebastian. “I lived in the States for a while, and Americans refer to the post as mail and instead of the word rubbish, they use the word trash. Muriel used both of those American terms. I noticed Muriel said she put Thea’s letters in the mail that first day at the picnic, which made me think we might have that in common, a visit to the States. But when I asked her at dinner, she said she’d never traveled to the United States. And we know Alfred was in America too.”

  Jasper said, “It’s a rather large country, though.”

  “But Alfred teased her—or perhaps taunted is a better word—at dinner before the Silver and Gold party. Remember?” I said, walking down the hall to Alfred’s room. Speaking over my shoulder to the men following me, I said, “Alfred asked if Muriel would sing for us, and she said she couldn’t carry a tune. There was an undercurrent between them. If she was the Songbird in Alfred’s notebook, what better way to hide that talent than to pretend she couldn’t carry a tune?”

  Alfred’s room was still empty, and the door was open. I clicked on the light. The boxes we’d filled with Alfred’s belongings sat in a row by the door. “Thank goodness they’re still here.” I pulled out the records and flipped through them. “Yes, here it is. Alfred knew she could sing because he’d heard her when she performed in vaudeville.”

  I separated one record from the others and read the label, “Muriel Webb, the Songbird Serenader, performing your favorite vaudeville ballads.” I handed the record to Jasper. “I bet among those playbills Alfred had in his flat is at least one with Muriel on it along with the Dapper British Gents.” I shook my head, angry with myself. “I should have looked at these more carefully.”

  “How could you know they were important?” Sebastian asked.

  “Alfred doesn’t have a gramophone in here, and he didn’t have one in his flat. Why would he have kept these records hidden away in his wardrobe? Most people keep their records near the gramophone. I should have realized that these were important, but it didn’t come together until Paul said Alfred called Muriel a songbird.”

  Sebastian stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his dressing gown. “But then why did Muriel try to kill my sister?”

  “Remember Violet’s comment at dinner about me knowing who killed Alfred?” I tightened my grip on the record. “I thought it would smoke out the killer and make them come after me.” I swallowed. “I was foolish. I thought it was Thea who’d killed Alfred, but it was really Muriel. She must have dressed in Thea’s clothes, and I imagine she wore a wig. When Violet made the statement at dinner, Muriel must have decided to kill Thea. She could set it up so Thea would take the blame for Alfred’s death. I’m sure we’ll find a ‘suicide note’ Muriel prepared, which has Thea confessing to killing Alfred. And I would have fallen right in with it, fool that I was.”

  Jasper touched my arm. He was about to say something, but Dr. Evans tapped on the open door to Alfred’s room. “Good news. Thea will awaken later, perhaps with a slight headache, but otherwise no worse.”

  Sebastian let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, doctor.”

  Despite all the carping between Thea and Sebastian, there was an affection between them—a prickly sort of affection, but affection nonetheless.

  “I’ll be by later tomorrow—er—today to check on her again,” Dr. Evans said. He and Sebastian shook hands, then Dr. Evans said, “No need to ring for anyone. I’ll show myself out. I’m sure you want to see your sister.” He left, and the three of us went into Thea’s room. Sebastian went directly to the bedside, where Thea lay unmoving.

  I went to the writing desk and studied a piece of paper tucked under the corner of the jewelry box. Jasper looked over my shoulder and read the note aloud, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. Please forgive me.” It was signed with Thea’s name.

  Sebastian came to stand on my other side. “It looks remarkably like Thea’s writing.”

  “Muriel was Thea’s secretary,” I said. “She’d have plenty of correspondence to copy from. No, better not touch it.”

  Sebastian retracted his hand. “Of course, you’re right. The police will want to see it exactly as it is.”

  “Yes, as well as this,” Jasper said.

  I hadn’t heard him move away, but now he was across the room beside the bed, hunched over the valise that had been beside Muriel’s feet when I had entered Thea’s room earlier. “Someone must have kicked it during the scuffle,” Jasper said. The valise lay on its side, clothes and shoes spilling out of it. “Look there, at the bottom.” Jasper pointed to a glimpse of flaxen strands peeking out between a tangle of fabric.

  “I recognize that wig,” Sebastian said. “It’s from my studio. She must have slipped in one day when I was in the darkroom and taken it.”

  “But how did she do it?” Jasper asked. “Wasn’t she in the nursery watching the children during the fireworks?”

  “No, she left.” The three of us turned toward the piping voice. Paul peeked around a chair near the door.

  I stretched out a hand. “Obviously, you didn’t go back to bed. How long have you been listening?”

  “A while. I came to check on Mum.”

  “She’s fine. Just asleep. Come see for yourself,” Sebastian said.

  Paul crossed the room and leaned on the edge of the bed for a few seconds. “When will she wake up?”

  “Later today,” Sebastian said. “Now, what’s
this about Muriel leaving the nursery on the night of the fireworks?”

  Paul twisted the button on his pajama shirt. “After Jane came up with a treat from Cook—she’d promised to send up punch and cakes for me and Rose—Muriel said Mum had changed her mind, and we couldn’t watch the fireworks. I was going to sneak out of bed, but I got so sleepy I couldn’t keep my eyes open no matter how hard I tried. I drifted off but woke up later. That’s when I heard the pops of the fireworks.”

  “And you were determined to see them, weren’t you?” Jasper asked. Paul swallowed, and Jasper said, “You snuck out of bed? I would have done exactly the same.”

  Paul glanced at Sebastian, who gave him a nod. “Yes,” Paul said. “I was trying so hard to be quiet, but then I saw Muriel’s door was open and she wasn’t in bed. It wasn’t fair she’d get to see them when we couldn’t.”

  I crouched down, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked in a soft voice, “Then why did you say Muriel was in the nursery when I asked you?”

  “Because she was—at first. When she put Rose and me to bed, she stayed up a while. I know because I checked. Every time I looked out, she was out there. It was only later that she left. You didn’t ask if she’d been there the whole time, just if she was there.”

  I brushed the hair off his forehead where it was falling in his eyes. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” I stood and sighed, exchanging a glance with Jasper. “This could have all been avoided if I’d asked the right question.”

  The door thumped against the wall. “Now see here, what’s all this?”

  Hugh stood in the doorway, his dressing gown wrapped around his tubby figure. What little hair he had stood straight up on his head. He held an unfolded letter and an envelope, which he waved around. “What’s all this commotion? I’m a light sleeper at the best of times, but how’s a man supposed to rest with all this noise?”

  Sebastian ruffled Paul’s hair, then turned to Hugh. “Ah—Hugh, old chap . . .” Sebastian’s glance pinged between Jasper and me. “We have some—er—difficult news.”

  “Can’t it wait until later? It’s four in the morning. Shoving notes under doors and tramping in the corridors. Outrageous behavior. It wouldn’t be tolerated at Stratham House.”

  “I’m sorry we woke you,” I said. “Did Muriel leave you a note?”

  “Yes—how did you know?”

  “And she said she’d been called away,” I said. “A sick relative of some sort, I expect?”

  Hugh nodded. “Her aunt in Yorkshire.”

  I looked at Sebastian. “I’ll take Paul back to bed,” I said. Sebastian sighed, clearly not pleased to be the host at this particular moment. He walked across the room and clapped a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Come down to the study, old boy. You’re going to need a drink.”

  It was nearly noon the next day before things calmed down at Archly Manor. The local police arrived, followed by Scotland Yard. Thea awakened but kept to her room.

  I sat across the desk from Inspector Longly in Sebastian’s study. Jasper sat in the chair next to me, and Sebastian hovered in the back of the room by the bookshelves.

  Inspector Longly had been questioning Jasper, having him tell every detail of the evening from his perspective. “And then I held tight to Muriel until we had her locked up,” Jasper said. “I understand the local police chaps carted her off. Is she still about?”

  Longly looked up from his scrawl of notes. “She’s been transferred to London,” he said, then moved his gaze to me. “She’ll be charged with Alfred’s murder as well as attempted murder.”

  The corkscrew of worry and tension inside of me unwound a few degrees. “That’s wonderful news for Violet.”

  Longly put down his pencil. “Yes, but it could have gone so differently.”

  A white-hot rush of guilt raced through me. The more time I’d had to think about the events of the night, the more I regretted them. I sat forward and gripped the edge of the hefty desk. “I know, and I’m so sorry—when I think of what could have happened, I—well, I feel physically ill.”

  A tightness squeezed my lungs, and I closed my eyes for a moment to focus on drawing in a breath. “I never imaged it could be Muriel—” Breathe. Take a slow breath. In. Out. “Or that she’d be so desperate as to kill Thea.”

  The image of Paul, his eyes blurry with sleep, came to me, and a knife-sharp pain pierced me at the thought of how close he and Rose had come to being motherless. I knew how ghastly it was to not have a mother. The thought that I might have actually caused another child to be in that position . . .

  Longly’s words registered, and I dragged my thoughts back to the study. “. . . couldn’t have waited until I arrived?”

  “Setting a little trap seemed the best thing to do. I was so sure that Thea had pushed Alfred, and she was scheduled to leave the country today.” Jasper gave me a small encouraging smile. I pulled in another breath, and it came easier this time. “Even if you had arrived before Thea left and talked to her, all she had to do was deny everything. There was no way to prove she’d actually done it. Even the piece of her necklace I found on the terrace wasn’t proof she’d killed Alfred. All she had to say was her necklace broke sometime during the evening, and it had been mended.”

  Longly frowned at me. “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have interfered. I won’t say anything else because I can see you’re punishing yourself quite enough. And you shouldn’t have interfered either, Mr. Rimington. It’s always best to leave these matters to the police.” He pulled his notebook toward him and focused on it. “I have everything I need at the moment, but I’ll need to speak to you both later. You’re free to go now.”

  Jasper held the door for me. As we walked down the hallway, I said, “I feel about the size of an ant.”

  “Nonsense,” Jasper said. “The dutiful inspector had to give us a good talking-to. Probably in the regulations. Don’t let him worry you. You caught your man—er, woman, I mean. That’s the main thing.”

  “With your help,” I said. “I don’t want to think about what could have happened if you hadn’t been there with me at the end. You were exactly right, you know. I move too quickly sometimes. It wouldn’t hurt to slow down.”

  He grinned. “Only occasionally.”

  Gwen emerged from the drawing room. “There you are. We’ve been waiting for you.” She took my arm and propelled me to a sofa where she plunked us down side by side. Violet and James were already sitting in chairs next to the sofa, and Monty folded the newspaper he held and strolled across the room. Tug sat slumped in a chair away from everyone else, sipping a drink.

  Gwen said, “We want you to tell us everything that’s happened. We can’t get a word out of that inspector—infuriating man. Was it really Muriel who killed Alfred? Is it true?”

  “Yes, it was Muriel,” I said. “I thought it was Thea, but I was completely wrong.” Funny how the more I said it, the easier it got. I explained about Thea’s pearls, then said, “But it was Muriel. Alfred had a hold over her. She was Songbird.”

  Violet’s eyes widened. “Alfred was blackmailing Muriel?”

  “Yes, she and Alfred were on the same vaudeville circuit. She was the Songbird Serenader.” Longly had unbent enough to confirm that his men in London had examined the playbills found in Alfred’s flat. Both Muriel and Alfred were listed on several of the playbills.

  “But Muriel’s British. How did she end up in vaudeville?” Monty asked.

  Longly had also given me what background they’d been able to find on Muriel. “Remember when Thea told us Muriel went to live with an aunt after her parents died? Well, that aunt was in America.”

  Violet said, “And Thea said Muriel and her relative didn’t get along.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “After a year, Muriel ran away and used her singing to survive on the vaudeville circuit. Later, just like Alfred, she reinvented herself, applying for a position as a governess for a British family with five children t
raveling from America to London. After working for the Canniford family for a year, she replied to an advertisement and became Thea’s secretary and governess. It was because of her relationship with Hugh that Alfred was able to use her past to blackmail her. Thea wouldn’t have been thrilled to find out she was employing a former vaudeville performer, but Hugh’s family . . .”

  “So that’s why Hugh departed so suddenly,” Violet said as Sebastian came into the room.

  “Hugh’s gone?” I asked.

  Sebastian nodded. “He left moments after the police said he could leave.”

  “As did Lady Pamela,” Monty said. “Although, she seemed much more reluctant to leave.”

  “Lady Pamela’s gone as well?” I’d missed more than I thought while Jasper and I were closeted with Longly. Lady Pamela’s departure explained Tug’s morose air. He hadn’t moved from his chair and seemed to be only interested in the drink in his hand.

  Monty tucked his newspaper under his arm. “Lord Harlan sent a dragon of a woman—an aunt, I believe—to collect Lady Pamela. They’re off for an extended stay at some health resort.”

  Gwen and I exchanged a glance. I could tell that Gwen thought the same thing I did—Lady Pamela wasn’t on her way to a spa.

  Violet said, “I bet Lord Harlan’s sent her to one of those exclusive hospitals for a drug cure.”

  Gwen and I stared at Violet. Gwen asked, “What?”

  Violet raised her eyebrows. “You thought I didn’t know?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Everyone knows—or suspected. Isn’t that right?” Violet looked from James to Monty to Sebastian. “See? They know too. I don’t know how someone could miss it, actually.” She shifted toward me. “Now, Olive, let’s get back to Muriel and Hugh. If his family found out about Muriel being a performer, they’d be horrified. Absolutely horrified. They’re the highest of sticklers.”