by Shéa MacLeod
Then the light snapped on somewhere near the sitting room. I could see the faint glow, as if it came from a hallway beyond. Next, the front door opened and Sir Eustace—I was certain it was him though he was dressed in an overcoat with the collar up and a hat pulled low over his head—exited.
He pulled the door shut and locked it carefully behind him before hurrying to his motorcar. Within moments the headlights came on and he was racing down the drive. How strange. Why would he leave in the middle of the night? Was there an emergency back in England? Perhaps that’s why Elenore had screamed. They’d gotten bad news. But then why wasn’t she going with him?
After wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I laid back down, drifting into that strange hinterland between waking and slumbering. I was jerked fully awake by the rumble of a returning motorcar. I squinted at the clock. It had only been about twenty minutes. Had Sir Eustace forgotten something?
I got up again and peered through the rain splatting against the window. Sure enough, it was Sir Eustace returning. He clambered out of his car, opened the boot, and took out with a large parcel. Curioser and curioser.
He reentered the house, and by the way the lights came on, I could tell he was going back up the stairs to Elenore’s room. I stared at that light glowing between the slats in the shutters for what seemed like forever, my eyes growing heavier by the moment, my forehead pressed against the cold glass.
At last I gave up and, with a shrug, got back under the covers. Whatever was going on, I could find out from Elenore at a decent hour.
I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I knew, I was awoken by what sounded like the slam of a door. I sprung out of bed and dashed to the window. The rain had stopped, but there was Sir Eustace—overcoat on and hat pulled low—trudging from the sitting room door into the garden. He paused at the edge near what I knew were the rose bushes and knelt down.
By this time, I was wide awake, but I wasn’t about to turn on my own light and alert the man he was being watched. Finally, he stood, brushed off his hands, and then headed back into the house. The door shut behind him and a few moments later, all the lights in the house went out.
What the devil was going on?
Chapter 5
The next morning dawned bright and cheery, as if last night’s storm had never been, though I was feeling a bit rough. My eyes were bleary and my throat scratchy, though my headache had somewhat subsided. I figured it was simply a matter of lack of sleep. Perhaps I should take a nap this afternoon.
I risked a quick peek at the villa next door and noticed the shutters were open again, but there was nothing to be seen. No sign of either Sir Eustace or Lady Scrubbs anywhere about. It made me wonder if the events of the previous evening had been some kind of drug-fueled fugue. I also reminded myself to have a sharp word with Maddie.
“Weren’t me, m’lady,” she insisted as she helped me freshen up and dress in a comfortable pair of lounge pajamas. “Your aunt insisted. Said you needed a good night’s sleep after your near visit to the bottom of the sea.”
“Good night’s sleep indeed,” I muttered. “You’re both exaggerating.”
Chaz arrived just as Maddie was leaving to procure my breakfast. Apparently, another of Aunt Butty’s orders was that I was to dine in bed. As if I were some kind of invalid.
“Make that two, Maddie. I’m going to dine with her ladyship.” He shot her a saucy wink, and she huffed at him before marching down the stairs.
“Stop aggravating her,” I ordered. “Do you know how hard it is to find a decent maid in this day and age? All the girls are off to typing school or whatnot. Nobody wants to be in service.”
“As if she’d ever leave you. She thinks the sun shines out your... well, you know.”
I might have made a rude gesture. Didn’t faze him a bit. He busied himself rearranging my room to his satisfaction, dragging over the small table from the corner so that it sat next to the bed, bringing over a comfortable armchair that I’d set beneath the window, then shoving the windows open as wide as they would go to let in the sunshine and fresh sea breeze.
Below, I could hear a high-pitched barking. Since Chaz was still rearranging the furniture, I got up and stuck my head out the window. A small dog ran into view, darting across my veranda and wriggling under the bushes into Sir Eustace’s yard.
“Peaches, come back here immediately!” a nasal voice ordered.
“Whose dog is that?” I asked Chaz as the fluffy little thing began digging beneath Sir Eustace’s prized rosebushes.
“Louise Pennyfather. She’s come to visit your aunt. Arrived this morning at some ungodly hour.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Louise Pennyfather is a terrible influence on my aunt.”
“I would have rather thought it was the other way around,” Chaz said dryly.
The two women were bosom friends and spent a great deal of time together whenever they were both in London at the same time. Together they could get up to shenanigans that made my own adventures look tame in comparison, even factoring in all the dead bodies.
Last time they’d gone to a party together, Lord Everett had somehow lost his trousers. He’d been found wandering the garden, reciting dirty limericks while the two women egged him on. The only reason it had stayed out of the papers was that Louise’s husband did something with the government. Something very secret and hush hush. Something that prevented trouserless lords from winding up on the front page of the Daily Mail.
“There’s Elenore,” I said. She had come to the window of what I assumed was her bedroom and was peering down at Peaches, who was still digging in the flowerbed. The look on her face was impossible to make out. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or something else.
“Yoohoo!” Louise came into view. She was dressed in a pair of bright yellow and lime-green-striped beach pajamas with an equally yellow floppy straw hat perched on her head. She waved up at Elenore. “I do apologize for my little doggy, Lady Scrubbs. I shall get him directly.”
“No, no,” Elenore shouted back cheerfully. “Let me.” She disappeared from view and reappeared in the garden, easily shooing off the ball of fluff with gentleness.
“Oh, thank you,” Louise said. “Too kind. I shall endeavor to keep him out of your roses.”
“They’re not really my roses. Yet. Oh, I hear Eustace calling. Please excuse me.” And she disappeared back inside before Louise could rope her into conversation.
Just then, Maddie reappeared along with Aunt Butty’s maid, Flora, each carrying a loaded tray. I was immediately distracted from thoughts of Sir Eustace’s odd behavior by the delightful scent of bacon which wafted from underneath the silver cloches. After Maddie and Flora departed, Chaz and I tucked into our breakfasts.
“You know, Chaz, the most dashed odd thing happened last night.”
“I know. Terrible storm. Hardly slept a wink.”
“No, no. I don’t mean the storm itself. Something happened during the storm.”
He dunked a bit of toast in the yolk of his soft-boiled egg. “What sort of something?”
I told him how I’d been woken first by a scream, then how I’d witnessed Sir Eustace going in and out. “It was almost as if... as if he were burying something in the garden.”
He lifted a brow. “In the middle of a storm? Are you sure you just didn’t dream the whole thing? You were on some pretty hefty drugs.”
“You knew Aunt Butty dosed me?” I asked, outraged.
“Only after the fact. Figured it would do you good. Let you get some sleep. Nearly drowning can really take it out of a person.” He eyed me closely. “Not to mention I’m still not convinced you don’t have a concussion.”
“I swear I am going to give that woman a piece of my mind. If I did have a concussion, I shouldn’t have been sleeping!”
“She had your best interests at heart, you know,” he reminded me. “And she made sure Maddie was with you most of the night.”
I hadn’t realized that. “I know.”
I huffed, the anger going out of me. “But no more. Mixing whatever is in her powders with alcohol is a terrible idea. And I prefer alcohol.”
“Cheers to that!” He toasted me with his cup of coffee.
I glanced next door. Through the partially closed slats of the shutters of Sir Eustace’s bedroom. From what little I could see, it was manlier than Lady Scrubbs’s pink papered room with blue and white striped walls and heavy, dark furniture. I could see his shadowy figure dressed in a thick, terry cloth bathrobe. He held a towel in his hand and I was suddenly reminded of red wine on a white tablecloth.
“Is that blood?” I whispered, eyes glued to the towel in Sir Eustace’s surprisingly delicate hands.
Chaz glanced up from buttering his toast, a line marring his forehead. “What?”
“The towel in Sir Eustace’s hands. I think it has blood on it.”
“Cut himself shaving maybe?”
“That’s an awful lot of blood for a shaving accident.”
He leaned forward to get a better look, toast forgotten. “Are you sure it’s blood? Hard to tell, but it could be paint or something.”
We watched as Sir Eustace stuffed the towel into a paper bag and tucked it under the bed. I glanced over at Lady Scrubbs’s window. The shutters were completely closed, and the room beyond dark from what I could tell.
“I wonder where Elenore is?”
“Maybe she’s still abed,” Chaz suggested, nibbling on a piece of bacon. “Look, Sir Eustace closed his shutters. Wonder why?”
I frowned. “Taking a nap?”
“At ten in the morning?”
“He was running around all night,” I said. “Something fishy is going on.”
“Let me guess,” he said dryly. “You’re going to find out what it is.”
“Damned right, I am. And you’re going to help.”
Chaz groaned.
BY THAT AFTERNOON I was feeling much worse. My throat was raw, my head ached abominably, and when Aunt Butty felt my forehead, she declared I was running a fever.
“All that nasty seawater you swallowed,” she said. “You’ve probably got pneumonia on top of a concussion.”
“I do not have pneumonia,” I insisted. “Probably just a bit of a cold.”
She snorted. “I’ll tell Maddie to make you some mustard plasters and Cook can whip you up some chicken soup.”
“Lovely.” It might have come out a bit more sarcastic than usual.
“One of my tinctures might work.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“No! No tinctures. Just have Maddie bring me a hot toddy. I’ll be right as rain in no time.” Which would have been a more impressive declaration if I hadn’t been interrupted mid-sentence with a wracking cough.
So with me in bed covered in mustard plasters and filled with delicious rum goodness, Aunt Butty and Louise took the car into town for some shopping, leaving Peaches in Mr. Singh’s care. Chaz told me he had run into a friend and wanted to “do lunch.” More like he wanted to visit the casinos. And I was left to sleep the morning away.
Maddie delivered my luncheon around one o’clock. Since it was a tiny bowl of chicken soup, I immediately sent her to the kitchen for something more substantial. She returned with a simple repast of cold cuts, cheese, and bread accompanied by a salad of fresh fruit and several chocolate biscuits, then disappeared. No doubt to read one of the romance novels she was in the habit of pilfering from my library.
Which left me to my own devices. I was feeling a tad bit better, so I climbed into my armchair next to the window, curled beneath a thick quilt. Alas, it was for naught. Even Sir Eustace, who appeared to be fast asleep in his bed, provided no amusement. Perhaps he had a cold as well. Meanwhile, Lady Scrubbs made herself some toast—apparently the Scrubbs household didn’t have a cook, shocking!—and took it to the garden where she polished it off while sunbathing.
Part of me breathed a sigh of relief. After the scream last night, I was half afraid Sir Eustace had done something awful to her. But no, there she was, happy as a lark.
I flipped through my magazines a second time. Buffed my nails. Inspected my face for wrinkles and gray hair in the hand mirror. Tried on three shades of lipstick I’d brought from America. And likely drove Mr. Singh crazy with constant demands for biscuits, coffee, and cocktails. He gave in to the biscuits, but would only give me hot toddies for libation, which made me nod off.
I even tried reading Margery Allingham’s Look to the Lady, but I’d already read it and the crime solving adventures of Albert Campion couldn’t hold my attention. Mostly because my head ached. I put the book down with a frustrated sigh and willed something to happen. Anything.
The clock ticked with aching slowness toward five. This day would never end. I flipped through my magazines again.
At a quarter to six, Chaz arrived in my room, dressed in a dashing white suit which looked rather nice against his sun-kissed skin. “How are you feeling, love?”
“Like I might simply burst. I feel pretty dreadful, but I’m bored out of my skull. Can’t I join you all for cocktails?”
“I don’t know, old thing. Shouldn’t you rest?”
“Fresh air is good for ailments such as mine,” I assured him. “If I’m well enough to sit by this window, I can certainly sit in a lounge chair outside.”
“Seems reasonable enough. Right, ho. I’ll set it up for you myself.” And he went about collecting pillows and quilts while I made myself decent.
Aunt Butty and Louise were already seated at the outdoor table, Peaches lounging at Louise’s feet. Once Chaz had got me situated in my lounge chair with cushions at my back and no less than three quilts on top, he seated himself. Mr. Singh appeared, as if from nowhere, with a tray of cocktails. Bijous all around, apparently. Only I was handed yet another hot toddy. Whiskey, this time, which was at least a change from rum.
“You’re looking peaked, Ophelia,” Louise said, eyeballing me. She was a tall, spare woman with a long face and an unfortunate overbite which made her look somewhere between a horse and a rabbit. She wore the most shocking pink lipstick and her powder had settled into the deep creases of her face, making her lines and wrinkles stand out even more. Time had not been kind to Louise Pennyfather, but she was a good-hearted woman, if a rather bad influence on my aunt.
“Thank you, Louise,” I said dryly. “I’m feeling better than I look. I’m so glad you could come and keep my aunt company.”
“It was kind of you to ask,” she said politely. “Peaches and I were simply dying to get out of London, you understand. So dull this time of year. And so unpleasant. The weather!”
“And Mr. Pennyfather?” Louise’s husband was very wealthy and did something in the government, though I was never clear on what. He always seemed to be gadding off to one uncivilized place or other, leaving Louise to her own devices.
She waved an airy hand and I noticed her nails were painted a coral that clashed rather badly with her lips but went rather well with her simple white and green voile day dress. “He’s off to India again. No idea why and not a breath of warning. ‘Goodbye Louise, I’m off.’ That was it. Out the door he went. Haven’t heard from him in a month.” Her expression made it clear that was exactly how she liked it.
“I for one am delighted, for it meant you could come visit us here!” Aunt Butty also wore a voile day dress, but hers was a garish design of navy blue, crimson, and white flowers which practically seared the eye of the viewer.
It was not, of course, usual for those of the upper classes to wear cotton day dresses to cocktail hour, but it had been beastly hot all day and none of us were prone to standing on ceremony. After all, I was wearing pajamas. And a pile of quilts. Although, in my defense, not only was I ill, but also they were proper lounging pajamas meant to be worn about, not the type one sleeps in.
Over cocktails, Aunt Butty and Louise regaled Chaz and I with stories of their exploits in town. As usual, their shenanigans involved handsome men.
“So there we were
, eating our ice cream as one does, and who should walk by but Pierre!” Louise said.
“Who is Pierre?” Chaz asked. Whilst I simply groaned.
“Aunt Butty met him at an art show in London last year,” I explained. “Ne'er-do-well. Lives off wealthy women.”
“Ah, a gigolo,” Chaz said.
“Don’t be beastly,” Aunt Butty tutted. “He’s a delightful man, though very brown, wouldn’t you say, Louise?”
“Looks like a roasted chicken,” Louise confirmed with customary bluntness. “Far too much time in the sun. He’ll look like an old handbag if he isn’t careful.”
Chaz and I exchanged looks. She was one to talk.
“But the tan does look marvelous with those blue eyes and dark hair,” Aunt Butty said approvingly.
“Although I don’t approve of that tiny moustache,” Louise said. “I never approve of men with small moustaches.” She didn’t explain further and somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Chaz, on the other hand, was too busy trying not to laugh.
“In any case,” Aunt Butty continued, “Louise suggested we follow him, which of course we did.”
“Of course you did,” I muttered.
“What’s that, dear?” She gave me the eyeball.
“Nothing, darling. Go on.” I took a swig of my hot toddy. It was tastier than the previous ones I’d been offered. Perhaps because of the whiskey. Or maybe the fact someone had a heavy hand with the honey.
“We followed him right down the promenade,” Aunt Butty said. “And then he went into this club. So we followed.”
Oh, dear. “What sort of club?” I asked, almost dreading the answer.
“Well, we thought it was a burlesque,” Aunt Butty said. “I do love a burlesque. Very tasteful and gives one a real sense of empowerment.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t a burlesque,” Chaz said dryly.
“It was,” Louise said calmly. “Although it was particularly naked.”