Lady Rample Sits In

by Shéa MacLeod

  “When is Enzo coming?” I asked.

  “Not sure. Said he’d pop by soon as he was free. If he’s smart, he’ll come for luncheon. Don’t know what Cook’s making, but it smells divine. There’s one thing that can be said for the French. They know their food.”

  I glanced toward the window, wondering what Sir Eustace was up to. Obviously, he hadn’t done away with poor Elenore, so why did my skin crawl?

  “He went out,” Chaz said.

  “What?” I asked, all innocence.

  He gave me a look. “Sir Eustace. Saw him drive off early this morning.”

  “He didn’t have his suitcase with him, did he?” I asked, suddenly worried he might have flown the coop, as the Americans say.

  “No. He wasn’t carrying anything.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

  “He was wearing some ghastly outfit... baggy trousers and a shirt three sizes too big for him. You’d think a man like Sir Eustace could afford something better.”

  “I know,” I said. “But Elenore holds the purse strings. Maybe she won’t let him.”

  Chaz snorted. “Her? Please, love. When Sir Eustace tells her to jump, she asks how high. Purse strings or not.”

  I realized he was right. If Sir Eustace wanted anything, he only had to ask and Elenore would get it for him. She was clearly afraid of him and his nasty temper. If he were wearing ill-fitting clothes, it was because he wanted to. But the Sir Eustace I’d met aboard ship had been perfectly groomed, his clothes obviously Saville Row tailored. It made no sense. Unless...

  A sneeze caught me, chasing the thought right out of my brain.

  “You need rest, Ophelia,” Chaz ordered, taking away my breakfast tray. “I’ll let you know when Enzo arrives.”

  I wanted to stay awake and recover whatever it was that had been teasing the edge of my mind, but Chaz was right. I needed rest. And sleep claimed me before I could ponder anything further.

  ENZO ARRIVED IN TIME for luncheon, looking dapper in a pale gray silk suit, an ice blue button down shirt which made the gold flecks in his eyes even brighter, and a classic Panama hat which added a casual yet dangerous edge to his ensemble. He was an incredibly handsome man for his age and I could almost feel the charisma rolling off him. I, however, was not to be swayed. I was on a mission!

  Once again, we were seated around the table on the veranda, only this time I’d managed to avoid Aunt Butty swaddling me in a hundred quilts. Instead, I’d wrapped myself in a plum colored pashmina and insisted I was fine. Minor lie. I was decidedly woozy, but she didn’t need to know that.

  Mr. Singh and Maddie brought out bowls of vichyssoise—that lovely creamy, cold soup of potatoes and leeks—along with crusty bread. Flora had been banned from serving ever since the cocktail incident. We didn’t want her dumping soup on Enzo.

  Along with the vichyssoise was provided a platter of cold meats and cheeses and fresh figs with a tarte tatin for pudding. A marvelous feast, sure to loosen tongues and encourage Enzo to be cooperative.

  “It’s so marvelous of you to come, Enzo,” Louise said. Her eyes were still a little red-rimmed. No doubt her concern over Peaches was growing. The little dog still hadn’t returned and even I was getting nervous. He’d missed his meals. What could possibly be keeping him away? Surely Sir Eustace wouldn’t have hurt the little thing just for digging in his roses.

  “So kind of you to invite me,” Enzo said charmingly. “Though where is your Peaches?” He glanced around as if the dog might suddenly pop out of the bushes.

  Her face fell. “He’s gone missing. Since last night. I’m beside myself.”

  “He will no doubt turn up,” Enzo said comfortingly, taking a bite of bread and cheese and chewing enthusiastically before downing half a glass of red wine.

  “That’s what I told her,” Aunt Butty said, but the look on her face said something else. She clearly was as worried about Peaches as the rest of us.

  “He’ll turn up.” Chaz sounded quite positive.

  I decided it was time to address the matter at hand. I turned to address Enzo. “What did you find out about our situation?”

  He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin. “I was able to speak to one of the porters at the station in Nice. I asked him about the morning after you saw Sir Eustace make his strange little trip. The porter remembered Sir Eustace clearly. First, he posted a letter. There is a collection box at the station. Then apparently, he was meeting someone on the train from Paris.”

  “Who?” I asked, surprised. No one had shown up at the Scrubbs household. Perhaps their visitor was staying in a hotel?

  “A gentleman. The porter saw him most clearly. He was several inches taller than Sir Eustace, lean, and perhaps forty-five in age. The porter believed him to be English, for that’s the language in which the two of them conversed.”

  “Who was he, I wonder?” Chaz mused.

  “The porter claims he overheard some of their conversation. He has enough English to understand this gentleman is here for a holiday and the two men appeared friendly. Nothing more to it.” Enzo seemed quite satisfied with the explanation.

  I, on the other hand, was not. Who was the man at the train station? If he was friends with Sir Eustace, why hadn’t he come back to the villa? So many questions.

  “But what about the trunk?” I demanded. “Surely that can’t be explained away so easily.” Although, honestly, I don’t know that it could be anything nefarious now that I knew Elenore was alive and well. Still, I couldn’t help that niggle of unease that was growing by the day.

  “It was shipped to Calais. I have men looking for it. I’ll know more soon. But my guess is they’ll find nothing of interest.” Enzo dug into his slice of tarte tatin with gusto. “Nothing more I can do, I’m afraid.”

  He didn’t say it, but I could hear in his voice he thought the whole thing nonsense. A product of boredom and the overactive imagination of an ill woman.

  But something in my gut told me there was more going on. I was certain we had yet to get to the truth.

  Chapter 10

  I spent the afternoon back in my room, worn out from trying to carry on as if I wasn’t stricken with the virulent plague. Perhaps I was being stubborn, but I didn’t much care to rely on others or be relegated to my bed, unable to move about in the world.

  I curled up in the chair by the window and tried to read, but my attention was drawn again and again to Sir Eustace’s villa beyond. The windows, however, remained dark, and the place was entirely still. No hint of movement. Nor was the car in the drive, though, of course, it could have been in the garage. Though I doubted it. Sir Eustace seemed loathe to put the thing away properly.

  It was gone four and I was having my afternoon tea alone when at last his car came rumbling up the drive, sending plumes of dust into the air. It came to a halt near the front door and Sir Eustace got out—dressed exactly as Chaz had described in baggy clothes and a floppy hat—carrying a large shopping bag and what looked like a bakery box.

  The door slammed behind him and a few moments later, the shutters on the French doors were flung open. Sir Eustace plopped down on the sofa and pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag. He popped the cork, bubbles foaming everywhere, and then lifted the bottle as if in a toast. Then he drank straight from the bottle.

  Next, he opened the bakery box, revealing a delightful array of fancy pastries. He dug in with gusto. Elenore was nowhere to be seen.

  “What the deuce?” I muttered to myself. Why would he be celebrating?

  Surely, Elenore would notice the crumbs and empty champagne bottle and comment upon it. Why wasn’t she celebrating with him?

  Unless...

  Unless she wasn’t around to celebrate. After all, I hadn’t seen her this morning. Maybe he’d killed her after all. Only later than what I’d thought.

  I remained at my post, watching closely as Sir Eustace polished off his repast. Then he took the stairs up to his room to his room, removed a
suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and began shoving things into the case.

  When the case was about half full, he exited his room, strode into Elenore’s, and grabbed her jewelry box off the dresser. Then he returned to his room and tucked it into his suitcase. Was he stealing her jewelry?

  A knock at my door jarred my attention away from the window. “Come in.”

  It was Aunt Butty. “Louise and I are going out searching for Peaches again. Chaz is coming with us. You’ll be alright on your own.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course. But come here.” I waved her over. “What do you see.”

  She leaned over me and I could smell the fragrance of her rose perfume. “Sir Eustace is packing. That’s dashed odd. Elenore said nothing about them leaving.”

  I whirled on her. “When did you speak to her?”

  “Oh... yesterday, same as you. When she was out in the garden.”

  “Have you seen her since?”

  She pondered a moment. “Well, no.”

  “I think he really did it this time. I think he really killed her. I mean, I know he couldn’t have put her in the trunk. She was still alive when that shipped. But what if he buried her in the garden or something?”

  Aunt Butty sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ophelia. She wasn’t dead before and I’m sure she’s not dead now.”

  “But look. He was celebrating without her. Champagne and pastries. Can you imagine her letting him enjoy himself without her? And now he’s packing. See the box there in his suitcase? That’s hers. Why would he put it in his bag?”

  “Maybe he has more luggage space. Married people share suitcases all the time. It doesn’t mean he murdered her.” I could almost hear her eyes roll.

  “True,” I admitted. “You did say she was the one with all the money. He had to dance to her tune. And it was clear he didn’t like it.”

  “So what? You think he murdered her, so he could sell her jewelry?” She trilled a laugh.

  It sounded ridiculous put that way. “I’m sure there’s more to it than that,” I said lamely. “Maybe he just locked her in the cellar, so he could pawn it.”

  “Ophelia, darling, I know you’ve solved a few crimes in the past, but I think you’re wrong on this one.” Aunt Butty straightened. “And I have a dog to find. Beside which, we both spoke with Elenore just yesterday. So there you have it. How can you argue with the facts?”

  “I can’t,” I admitted. “But who was the man on the train?”

  She threw up her hands. “What does it matter? Please, Ophelia, you need rest. Stop this nonsense.”

  I sighed. “Very well, Aunt.”

  She eyed me with suspicion, but let it go. Which was for the best. Because I’d no intention of obeying.

  IT WAS QUITE LATE IN the day when Mr. Singh rapped on my door and entered with a slight bow. “My lady, there is a gentleman on the telephone for you. Mr. Enzo.”

  “Oh! He must have discovered something about the trunk,” I said from my spot near the window. I’d been watching the villa next door like the proverbial hawk, but so far had seen nothing. My head still throbbed a bit, but my throat was better, and I’d stopped sneezing. Mostly.

  “I couldn’t say, my lady. Should I take a message?”

  “No, no. I’ll go. Take this blanket, will you?”

  “Of course.” He took it from me and folded it neatly while I managed to hoist myself to my feet.

  Since I was feeling a bit woozy, I made use of Mr. Singh’s arm as we descended the stairs. The telephone sat on a mahogany side table beneath an antique gilt mirror in the front hall. Mr. Singh dragged a chair over so I could sit comfortably, bowed again, and strode off toward the kitchen.

  “Hullo,” I said. “Ophelia, Lady Rample speaking.”

  “Enzo here. I’ve got news back on the trunk.”

  “Do tell,” I said, eager to find out whatever I could.

  “The police in Calais report the trunk has already been sent on to England.”

  “Yes?” My heart thumped excitedly. “Were they able to open it before it went?”

  “Indeed not. It would have required a warrant, which they did not have.”

  I wanted to let out a scream of frustration. Instead I asked calmly, “Anything else?”

  “They were able to obtain its directions. It is to be collected in London by Lady Scrubbs. So, you see, she is not dead at all.” There might have been a hint of sarcasm in his voice at that last one.

  I sighed heavily. “I was hoping... never mind.”

  “I know what you were hoping,” he said rather sternly, “but there is nothing suspicious going on, my lady. You must put this... nonsense aside and focus on your own well-being. I know you have been quite ill.”

  That may have been overstating the matter, but I smiled stiffly even though he couldn’t see me. “Well, thank you for letting me know.” A thought struck. “One other thing...”

  It was his turn to sigh. “Yes?”

  “What about when the trunk reaches London?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, don’t you think it would be interesting to see who picks it up? What’s in it?”

  There was a long pause. “No. No, I do not. For I am certain it will be Lady Scrubbs. And what is in it is surely none of our business. Good bye, Lady Rample.” And the line went dead.

  Frustrated, I slammed down the receiver and glared at the telephone. My mind was a whirl. I didn’t care what Enzo said, something was going on. Picking up the ‘phone again, I dialed international. The other end rang several times before it finally picked up and a tart voice said, “Lord Varant’s residence.”

  “Hullo, is Varant there? This is Ophelia, Lady Rample. It’s most urgent I speak to him.”

  “One moment, please, my lady.” I could hear the telephone being set down, then the butler’s measured footsteps receding. It felt like an age before someone came back on the line.

  “Ophelia, is that you?” Lord Peter Varant had simply the most soothing voice. He was about as posh as they come. A peer of the realm, naturally, and he’d played at being my suitor off and on for some time now, although I wasn’t that keen on him, to be frank. He was attractive, naturally. And suitable. But my eyes and heart were elsewhere.

  “Yes, it’s me. I need your help.”

  “But of course. Where are you?”

  “My villa in France.”

  There was a slight hesitation. “It will take me some time to get down there, but I’m certain—”

  “Oh, no! No need. What I need you to do is right there in London.”

  “Oh?”

  I quickly told him the whole story and my suspicions about Sir Eustace. What Enzo had discovered about the trunk. And what I suspected.

  “What would you like me to do?” There was no judgement in his tone, which was a rather nice change of pace. He could be ever so cooperative.

  “Well, have you ever met Lady Scrubbs?”

  “I’m afraid not. Though I have seen her once or twice at gatherings and such.”

  “Then you know what she looks like?” I asked.

  “More or less. I think I know what you want. You want me to meet her at the station. See if she’s the real Lady Scrubbs.”

  “Could you, please? And then maybe you could make her show you what’s in the trunk.”

  There was a pause. “Do you have any idea what train the trunk is to be on?”

  “None,” I admitted. “The last I saw of her she was here in France. She never said anything about leaving.”

  He sighed. “Without knowing what train she is on, there isn’t much I can do. However...”

  “Yes?”

  “I could much more easily trace the trunk. If it’s being sent to London, Lady Scrubbs must either collect it herself—as that is the direction—or send a representative. I could watch and see if the woman who shows up is the real Lady Scrubbs. As to the contents... well, I can only promise to try.”

  I almost danced up and down in
my seat. “Brilliant! Could you? Please!”

  “If you wish.”

  “Oh, I do!”

  “For you, I will do my level best.”

  “Thank you so much. I owe you.”

  “Yes, you do, rather,” he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. “Don’t worry. I plan on collecting.” And with that he hung up.

  I sat there a moment, staring at the phone, feeling equal parts consternation and thrill, wondering how exactly he planned to collect on my debt. I suppose I should feel guilty because of Hale, but I really didn’t know where Hale and I stood, and this trip to France hadn’t clarified things in the slightest. It would be most interesting to see how this played out. I wondered, would Varant—

  A scream disrupted my musing and I realized the scream had come from outside the house. The veranda. I surged to my feet and, despite feeling a bit light-headed, rushed toward the lounge when a second scream echoed through the house, and I realized it was Louise. Which was confirmed with her next words. Words that chilled me to my core.

  “He killed him!” she screamed. “That bastard murdered my dog!”

  Chapter 11

  I hurried as quickly as I could, the marble floor chilling my feet. I realized in my haste to take the call from Enzo, I’d forgotten to put on slippers.

  Louise’s sobs could no doubt be heard from here to Nice. Beneath the shrieking, I could faintly hear Aunt Butty trying to console her.

  Surely Sir Eustace wouldn’t do anything so ghastly as to kill a small, lovable dog. Surely, he wasn’t that... evil. Whyever would he do such a thing? Simply because the creature loved to dig in his rosebushes? Surely not.

  I finally made it to the veranda. Louise’s angular frame was hunched over in one of the dining chairs, Aunt Butty hovering above, patting her back. Chaz was already there, along with Mr. Singh, standing to the side, looking down at something. I hurried over to them.

  Chaz turned, saw me, and held up a hand. “I don’t think you want to see this.”